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“Yeah, that’s your dad and me. Private investigators on patrol.”
“One, legally you’re not a private investigator. They have a license with the state. And two, Dad’s not a cop anymore. So you’re just private citizens getting a little information for me. Don’t make me regret this idea any more than I already do.” Drew didn’t sound happy.
Rarity had Drew on speaker so Jonathon could hear too, but after that comment about him not being a cop, she wondered about the wisdom of letting him listen in. That had to hurt. “Look, Drew, you sent us here to check on a few things. If we have access to talk to the roommate, that’s not your business if we do. I’ve told you what she said, so you can’t say I’m holding back evidence. I think you should be nicer to people who are just doing you a favor.”
Rarity hung up the phone before Drew could answer. She tucked it in her purse.
Jonathon looked over at her.“Are you okay?”
She nodded and stared straight ahead. “Let’s go talk to this hairdresser so we can go get those milkshakes. I’m getting a little worked up here, and sugar will help.”
“Sugar always helps.” Jonathon turned the car onto the street where the salon was located and found a parking spot. He looked over at the place. “It looks fancy. Maybe I should stay in the car.”
“Are you afraid they’ll force cucumberwater on you?”
He chuckled. “Edith has already done that. Actually, I’m thinking they might talk a little freely without a big guy who looks like an ex-cop hanging around.”
“Whatever you want.” Rarity focused on what she needed from the conversation. “So we just need to know if Trish really had a hair appointment the Saturday morning that Janey was killed.”
“And the times she arrived and left. Sometimes you can’t overlook the obvious.” He pointed to a bench. “I’ll wait here. Scream if they try to do the Stepford Wife treatment.”
She shook her head. “You really need to watch some new movies.”
“I read the book, I’ll have you know.” He settled on the bench and pulled out a paperback novel. “Now I look like a long-suffering husband just waiting for his wife to finish.”
“And apparently, I’m the trophy wife. Not one of my ambitions in life.” Rarity patted his shoulder. “I should be back in a few minutes. If I go past fifteen, come and rescue me. Unless I’m getting a massage.”
“Got it.” He grabbed her arm. “Just be careful.”
“It’s abeauty salon.”
“And you’re asking about a murder,” he reminded her. “Just don’t take anything for granted.”
Armed with that advice, she squared her shoulders and headed to the door. She had been referred by Trish Ford. She couldn’t remember who she saw, but she’d been in for an appointment on Saturday. Could the receptionist look up who she saw that day? And, how long it took? She wanted the same cut and style but had to fit it in between real estate showings. That should be enough of a story to get what she needed. If she needed to prime the pump any more, the guy’s name had been Roger Kamp. Maybe she could ask for an appointment with Mr. Camper? She shook her head. She’d leave that in case the woman couldn’t find Trish’s appointment. Trish had looked like she had a regular cut and at least highlights put in her hair.
Rarity glanced at her clothes. Maybe she should have upgraded a bit. But at least she had her high-end purse. That got a lot of attention from women wanting an upscale look. She was always being asked if it was real or not. She’d bought it as a birthday present for herself just before she’d left St. Louis. And, yes, it was real and had a real price tag. She’d had sticker shock for a while after she’d bought it, but she had to admit, she loved the look and the feel of the purse.
She moved the purse closer to the front of her body and pushed the door open. The spa smelled like she’d walked into a secret garden of flowers. She moved toward the Queen Anne–style table where a woman sat with a laptop. She wore a name tag. Fay looked up from her work and smiled. “Are you here for an appointment?”
Rarity took a breath. “Actually, no. I’m here to try to get an appointment. One of my friends had her hair cut and highlighted here. I’m ashamed to say I don’t remember who she said did it, but I met her and a few others for lunch two Saturdays ago, and she’d just had it done. I really want something like her cut done to my hair.”
“Oh, what’s your friend’s name?” The woman didn’t look up, but Rarity could see that Fay was looking at a calendar on her computer.
“Trish Ford. I’d call her, but she just lost her sister, and I don’t want to intrude on her at this time.” Rarity leaned over to watch the woman search appointments.
“Here it is. Trish Ford saw Roger Kamp at eight that morning. He’s one of our most popular stylists. I’m not sure I can get you in this week.” She looked up at Rarity. “When did you want your appointment?”
Rarity pulled out her phone and pretended to be scanning her calendar. “Not this week, darn. How long of a session do I need to have something like Trish’s hair. Not that I want to copy her, you understand.”
“Your hair is a different texture from Miss Ford’s, so it will look different, even if Mr. Kamp does exactly the same process.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, we won’t tell her.”
“That’s a huge relief. Anyway, how big of a block am I looking at?” She held a finger on her phone, pretendingto be waiting.
“Let’s see.” Fay scrolled back and leaned in to look at the appointment. “Miss Ford was here from eight to eleven thirty. She must have had a nail treatment or facial as well. I would block off at least two hours.”
“Okay, what’s your first appointment with Roger?”
“Saturday at seven.” The woman wrote down the time and date on a card. “Now, whatis your name?”
