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“A mobile home he inherited from an uncle. Not one of the cooler, newer ones. I’d kill for one of those, let me tell you. But ours? It’s old. Piece of shit, if you ask me. Up on Mount Hood. Sawtooth Road.” Her neatly plucked eyebrows drew together. “I’ve been calling him for over a day now, but he’s still not answering his phone, well, you know that. He blew you off. Right?”
“I guess.”
“That man.” She shook her head as the smell of brewing coffee filled the small interior. “Won’t take a call from his wife? Cripes! Pisses me off. Well, I suppose he’s not alone there, now, is he? It’s the way he gets when he is really into a project or needs some ‘me time.’” She made air quotes with her fingers. “And he’s been obsessed with what happened to your family and that brother of yours forever.” She let out a sigh and pulled a black apron off a hook near the exit to a back room. “But, I’m telling you, he doesn’t take care of himself. Nuh-uh. If it weren’t for me, he’d have been dead ages ago. Ages.” She sent Kara a knowing look. “If I’m not taking care of him, you know? He’s a disaster. No exercise. Doesn’t eat right. I’ve tried to get him into yoga and a healthier lifestyle, but no way. He’s too stubborn. Set in his ways. He drinks and smokes behind my back.” She rolled her eyes. “As if I can’t smell him coming a mile away. Who does he think he’s married to? I’ve got a nose like a bloodhound. For the love of God, does the man think I’m an idiot?” She looked beyond Kara, through the glass front of the building. “Uh-oh, my nine o’clock’s here. Right on time: ten minutes late.”
Kara glanced over her shoulder and spied a Cadillac roll into one of the spots in front of the shop while Celeste strapped on the apron, black plastic now covering her tunic. “Look, that’s really all I can tell you. My day is booked solid, and the other stylists show up just before ten.” There was worry in her eyes. “I can’t afford to have anyone recognize . . . Wait. Here.” She reached into a small flat dish positioned near her station, plucked off a business card, and handed it to Kara. “That’s got my cell on it. You can call me,” she said as the door opened, a bell dinged and a plump fiftyish woman swept through.
“Sorry I’m late, Celeste!” she said breathlessly. “Oh, thank the Lord, you’ve got coffee going!” Unwrapping a scarf and hanging it and a long coat over a hook near the coffee table, she let out her breath. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had! A nightmare! With Chuck and the kids? I’m telling you, it’s a living nightmare!” She was already pouring herself a cup of coffee from the half-full carafe and didn’t even cast a look in Kara’s direction. Which was probably good since Kara’s picture had been in the papers and on the news and she wasn’t in the mood for a discussion of the McIntyre Massacre with Ms. Nine O’Clock, who sloshed some of the coffee, drips sizzling on the hot plate of the coffeemaker.
Kara took the hint and left, pushing out the glass doors to the cold day beyond, but she couldn’t help but think, as she slid behind the wheel of her Jeep, that Celeste’s client had no idea what a living nightmare really was.
Unfortunately, Kara did.
