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Lydia was the first one to recover. She set aside the pick she was using on an older woman’s hair and said, “Ten-ninety-five.” Then she cleared her throat, as though she were composing herself, and said, “We didn’t hear you come in.?
??
“Obviously,” Liza replied. “You might want to consider one of those little bells over the door. Just so you know when someone might be listening to your conversations.”
“I… We…. Well,” she huffed.
One woman in the far corner, who’d been reading a magazine when Liza had stalked in, set aside the rag and stood up. She was a thin, wispy thing with her head wrapped in tin foil. She practically glided toward Liza while extending her hand.
Smiling politely, she said, “I’m Jessica Mills.” Liza didn’t recognize her voice and she was sure this woman wasn’t one of the many who’d been gossiping about her. “I own the flower shop down the way. You can call me Jess.”
Liza eyed her with speculation, trying to gauge her intentions. There wasn’t a flicker of deceit in her hazel eyes and her smile seemed genuine. So Liza gave her the benefit of the doubt.
“Liza Brooks,” she said as they shook hands. “You can call me Disco Ball.”
The other women laughed, taking themselves by surprise, it sounded like.
Jess’ grin widened. “You’re funny.” She released Liza’s hand and shot Lydia a “Behave!” look.
To which the reverend’s wife said, “I’m sorry you heard that. I didn’t mean anything by it, except… We’re not exactly used to that kind of dress here in Wilder.”
Oh the way she talked! Again in that haughty tone she’d used on Liza earlier. Liza got the distinct impression she considered herself the First Lady of Wilder.
But how loyal were her subjects?
Liza decided a little test was in order, just so she could gauge which lines had been drawn in the sand upon her arrival in town.
“Well, ladies,” she said in a more congenial tone as her gaze swept over all of them. “I’m not one to interrupt a much-deserved day of beauty, so I’ll just be on my way.” They seemed genuinely surprised by her non-confrontational retreat. All eyes were on her—including Lydia’s—as she added, “You all are going to look so lovely at church tomorrow.”
Lydia’s spine stiffened. “Will you be joining us?”
Liza gleaned a bit of satisfaction out of the shock that registered on the reverend’s wife’s face when she said, “Your husband was kind enough to stop by my cottage earlier to invite me to the service. Really…above and beyond the call of duty, don’t you think?”
If looks could kill, Liza would have been six feet under at that very moment. She fought back the triumph she felt at having rattled Lydia’s cage. Served the First Lady of Witchiness right.
“We’ll be pleased to see you tomorrow,” one of the ladies under the hairdryers said with a friendly smile, taking Liza’s side.
“Oh yes,” another chimed in. “Do stop by the recreation room after the sermon for cake. I’m bringing my famous red-velvet triple tier.”
“Sounds divine,” Liza said. Most of the room beamed back at her for being so gracious.
This round goes to me!
“Unfortunately,” she continued on, “I’ll have to take a rain check. I’m not much for Sunday worship. But I’m sure I’ll run into you again. Good evening, ladies.”
With that, she turned on her high heels and marched back into the hallway, dropping off the shampoo she’d never intended to buy. Pushing open the door, Liza found that she didn’t mind the thick, humid air so much. It was infinitely less oppressive than the air inside Lydia’s shop.
Her victory was short-lived, however. She suddenly wanted to kick something—maybe herself—because it dawned on her that Lydia was the local hairdresser. After today’s mishap and now this reverse snub, Liza was sure to be banned from her chair.
Shit! What was she going to do about her fading highlights?
Shaking her head and muttering under her breath, she stalked down the sidewalk.
Well, hell. She might have been one or two up on Lydia Bain for calling her out in front of her girls, but Lydia had inadvertently evened the score. It wasn’t as if Liza could go to her now for highlights or a “Cut-N-Color”.
She was two feet from her car when she realized she’d parked in front of a drugstore. Her eyes rolled. Here was another low point in her life. Liza made a sharp turn, pushed open the door—which did have a silver bell above it—and searched the aisles for a highlighting kit. Selecting one based on nothing more than a whim, she dropped the box at the counter and pulled some bills from her purse.
How difficult could this be, really? According to the instructions on the side of the box, all she had to do was place a cap over her head, pull through the strands she wanted highlighted, mix the chemicals and slop them onto her hair.
