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“Are you tired of looking like an eighties rock star,” she remarked with a laugh. “I think it suits you.”
“Thanks, but yeah. How much?”
“If I was open,” she said pointedly, “seventy-five dollars.”
“My natural hair color is light brown. I’ve been working undercover, but that’s over now. Can you bleach out the black dye I’ve been using and add some blonde highlights?”
“Sure, but it will take some time.”
“Would three-hundred in cash keep you here long enough?”
She grinned.
“Three hundred cash will do it—and because it’s you,” she replied, winking at him.
“I want to lose the mustache as well. Do you have a bathroom and a razor?”
“Of course,” she said, guiding him over to the shampoo station, “but let’s start with your hair. Any idea what style you’re after?”
“Yep, but you have to promise not to laugh.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Kind of short and layered, like Justin Bieber used to have.”
“So—from long-haired eighties rocker, to nineties teen idol.”
“Exactly,” Dan exclaimed, breaking into a grin.
“No problem.”
“Thanks—uh—I still don’t know your name.”
“My apologies,” she said as he leaned his head back into the basin. “It’s Roxy, Roxy Richards.”
“Ah, so Roxy Hair is you. Catchy, thanks, Roxy Richards.”
“You’re a very interesting man, Detective Miller.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he said, winking at her as she stared down at him, “and you can call me Danny.”
Drinking the velvety cabernet, munching the broiled parmesan toast, and devouring the delicious lasagna, Scott felt unusually mellow. Even the prospect of the looming operation wasn’t producing any anxiety. Scooping up the last bite, he pushed back from the table and ambled to the Keurig coffee maker.
“Do you want a cup, Elizabeth?” he asked, popping a pod into the machine.
“Yes, please, and I’d like to talk to you,” she said, rising to her feet and walking up to join him.
“About…?”
“You’ve given me the bullet points about what will be happening tomorrow night, but please will you tell me the details?” she asked softly, sidling up to him and leaning against his shoulder. “Pretty please?”
“Sure, I was planning on filling you in over dinner but I was too busy eating. I’d like to get your input.”
“Really?”
“Why are you surprised?” he asked, carrying the mugs back to the table. “You were around Conchello for almost a year.”
“You just made my day, Captain Scott.”
