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After giving the goodest boy all the kisses, she returned to the family vehicle with Tiffany in tow. The other woman wore a blush pink catsuit and black, spiky stiletto heels. If she hoped to prove she’d gotten back her groove, that outfit did the trick.
“Don’t you have a normal car?” Tiffany asked, cringing as she buckled in.
“Why did you demand to accompany me to get a trim just to complain now?” With the twist of a key, the car’s engine purred to life.
“Are you kidding? I’ve been cooped up with the dead and needed to see living people. Even though the living are the worst.”
“Sometimes. Most times. But not always.” Proof: Conrad, Fiona, Beau, the triple stack yum-yums Holden, Trick and Isaac. “So? What time am I meeting with Mrs. Thacker?”
“We are having drinks with Jessie at the Treasure Room. Two sharp. And fair warning. If you think I’m a snob, wait till you meet her. Trust me, you require backup.”
Jessie? Jane buried a series of groans, keeping her protests to herself as she eased onto the main road. In the name of justice, she could do anything–even tag team a murder suspect with Tiffany Hotchkins. And yes, Jessica Thacker was a suspect. How many lines would the woman cross to protect her alleged lover from the cop screwing with his future? Not to mention the fear of outing her affair. The blackmail potential was off the charts.
“What do you know about, um, Jessie?” Jane asked, catching sight of Beau’s truck in her rearview mirror. “Rumor has it, she and Thomas Bennett are linked.”
Tiffany wrinkled her nose. “She would never get involved with someone like Tom Cat. She eschews any hint of scandal.”
They reached the wrought iron double doors of the Gilded Scissor Salon a few minutes later. Beau parked a good distance away, then remained many steps behind as they approached the shop. Two oversized windows flanked the door, both adorned with gauzy golden curtains that allowed only the tiniest glimpse of the inner sanctum dedicated to outer beauty.
Jane and Tiffany made their way inside. On the walls hung a mishmash of vintage posters of past styles, pictures of modern cuts, and decorations handmade by the staff. The sound of hairdryers, running water and laughter filled the space, as everyone caught up on the latest town gossip. Hairspray and freshly brewed coffee scented the air.
“Ugh. So much hair,” Tiffany said with another cringe, motioning to the different colored and textured locks being swept into a pile.
Had the widow never been inside a beauty shop? What, had a stylist always come to her home?
Denise turned the corner, tying a black apron with golden piping around her waist. She secured her newly dyed fire engine red hair in a high ponytail that bounced with each step. Jane had never seen her without bold cat-eye eyeliner. She wore an even bolder lip stain—the same product she sold—and a checkered black and blue miniskirt with vibrant pink tights. Over forty but young at heart, she dictated her own fashion.
She spotted Jane, put her fists on her hips, and said, “Jane Ladling. The moment your name popped up on my appointment log, I knew why.”
“Oh?”
The older woman nodded. “You want to question me about Joshie. And that’s fine. I didn’t like him toward the end, but I didn’t want him dead. I’ll help you catch the killer any way I can as long as I’m also working on your hair.”
A deal worth taking. “Feel free to trim an inch or two,” she said, sinking into the hot seat. Yes, she’d worn the same hairstyle for years, but she liked it. She’d cut the bangs after a breakup with Christopher. Now, the thick fringe boosted her confidence.
“Layer, too,” Tiffany commanded. “She’s growing out the bangs.”
What! “Don’t listen to her. She’s wrong.”
Denise stepped back and examined Jane as if she were a bug under a microscope. “No, she’s right. You need layers.” That said, she got busy securing a poncho around Jane’s neck and leading her to a sink to wash her hair. “When did you two become friends?”
“I wouldn’t say we’re friends,” Tiffany answered, sitting nearby.
The bell over the door tinkled, and Beau entered. He winked at Jane, then claimed a chair in the small waiting area. “Be with you in a moment, hon,” Denise called, then lowered her voice. “Whew, that man is pure fire.”
“I’d do him,” eagerly called another stylist, who’d only scrolled on her phone up to this point. “His hair, I mean.”
“You just sit your tush back in that seat, McKayla, and play your penguin bowling game,” Denise chided. “I’m not losing out on my chance to suds a stud like that.”
Jane choked, then cleared her throat. Well, only days ago she’d thought of Beau as a great weapon in her arsenal. Here he was, proving it. But okay, enough letting his presence distract her. Focus up. “While you were dating Deputy Gunn—Joshie—did he ever mention Tom Bennett or a crime boss known as the Gentleman?” Through Conrad, I knew she had. But would she lie?
