Black and Blueberry Die (A Fresh-Baked Mystery Book 11) (5 page)

Phyllis had been in many beauty shops over the years, and to one extent or another, they all smelled the same, similar to chemical factories, with pungent fumes. The combination of excessive heat from all the hair dryers with chemicals used in hair dyes, hair straightening, permanent waves, and hairsprays created some interesting fumes. Paul’s Beauty Salon, being the upscale establishment it was, was obviously well ventilated and tried to mask that distinctive mixture of chemical scents with a pleasant peppermint aroma, but to Phyllis, as soon as she stepped into the place it still smelled like a beauty shop.

The heavy wooden door with a double layer of stained glass slowly swung shut behind her. The floor was brilliantly polished wood as well. The lighting in the entrance foyer was subdued, although Phyllis could see through double glass doors into a much larger and better lit area where the beauticians’ chairs, wash stands, and hair dryers were arranged around the room. To Phyllis’s right in the reception area were a comfortable-looking leather loveseat and a pair of matching armchairs. To the left was a desk with a computer on it and a young woman with blue and purple hair behind it.

She wore a small, floppy-brimmed hat that looked Sixties vintage to Phyllis. The hair on the left side of her head was blue, long, and straight, and hung down over her shoulder. The purple hair on the right side of her head was done in tightly braided corn rows. Her left nostril was pierced and had a tiny stud in it. A tattoo of some sort serpentined down her bare, muscular right arm. Despite all those things, which just looked
odd
to Phyllis, the young woman had a pretty face, beautiful brown eyes, and a friendly smile as she looked up from the computer monitor and said, “Hello. Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’ve heard wonderful things about this salon and was hoping I could make an appointment to have my hair styled.”

“Of course.” A look of concern appeared on the young woman’s face. “But I’m afraid we’re booked solid for the next two weeks.”

Phyllis’s glance through the double glass doors had told her the salon was busy, with clients at most of the stations. Being the scene of a murder might have hurt business for a while, but that crime had taken place long enough ago that the effect had worn off. Anyway, as morbid as most people were these days, it was entirely possible the grisly notoriety might have been
good
for business.

“I can put you on our cancellation list if you’d like,” the receptionist went on.

“That would be very nice, dear.”

The young woman tapped a few keys on the computer and asked, “What’s that name?”

“Phyllis Newsom.” Phyllis wasn’t the sort to go incognito. Keeping up with a false identity would have been too much trouble, too difficult to remember.

“And the phone number?”

Phyllis gave the receptionist her cell phone number.

“We’ll give you a call right away if something opens up. My name is Aurora, by the way.”

“Why, that’s a lovely name.”

“Thanks.” She grinned. “It’s kind of a hippy-dippy name, I know, but you can blame my grandma for it. My grandparents were hippies, I guess. Grandma insisted my parents call me Aurora. She said the name came to her in a vision from another spiritual plane.” Aurora lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I think she may have been dropping some acid back then, though.”

This conversation was starting to make Phyllis feel old. Her own grandson was still a pre-schooler, and yet this young woman with her multi-colored hair was the granddaughter of someone who had to be roughly the same age as Phyllis.

“You said you’d heard good things about the salon,” Aurora went on. “Do you mind me asking who told you about us?”

Phyllis didn’t have an answer ready for that question. She said, “Oh, goodness, I don’t really remember, one of my friends who lives over here, it must have been. This has been a while back.” She paused. “But I do recall her mentioning that her favorite stylist was named Roxanne. If it would be possible to have her take care of me...”

Phyllis knew that mentioning Roxanne’s name was a bit of a risk, but she thought she could chance it, as friendly and innocuous as the conversation had been so far.

Aurora’s smile disappeared instantly, though. Her tone was professionally polite and nothing more as she said, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Roxanne doesn’t work here anymore.”

“Did she go to another salon? My friend was really fond of her.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t remember which friend recommended us.”

“Well, I’m not sure—”

Aurora cut her off with a curt head shake.

“It doesn’t matter. Roxanne is dead.”

Phyllis opened her eyes wider and tried to look shocked. She said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry if I upset you by mentioning your friend—”

Aurora interrupted her again by saying, “Roxanne wasn’t my friend. She just worked here. Anyway, it was a while back. If anybody was upset, they’re over it by now.”

The way she phrased it made it sound as if Roxanne’s murder hadn’t really bothered anyone at Paul’s Beauty Salon, Phyllis thought. There hadn’t been anything in what she had read to indicate that Roxanne wasn’t well-liked at the salon, but if that was true, it made things a bit more interesting.
Someone
must have had a good reason for killing Roxanne, and if it wasn’t Danny, the next most likely suspects were the people she worked with.

“So, I’ve got your name on the cancellation list,” Aurora went on briskly. “If there’s nothing else I can do for you...”

Phyllis knew she was being dismissed. She didn’t like the feeling, especially when it came from someone so much younger than her. She controlled that reaction, though, and said, “Really, again, I’m sorry—”

Aurora stood up, revealing that she was a couple of inches taller than Phyllis. The jeans she wore, fashionably snug and torn at the knees, and her t-shirt hugged the trim body of an athlete. The muscles in her arms showed that she worked out. She said, “It’s all right. I have to go—”

Phyllis wasn’t sure where she was going, since her job was to sit at this reception desk, but before either of them could do anything else, one of the glass doors swung open and a woman stepped into the foyer.

“Anything wrong out here, Aurora?” she asked.

The newcomer was in her forties, maybe close to fifty, Phyllis estimated, but still attractive with fluffy red hair cut fairly short around her head. Unlike the stylists, who were younger and wore snug black pants under their salon smocks, this woman had on a nice black dress, nylons, and sensible heels. Her voice had an unmistakable Southern accent, much more Georgia or Alabama than Texas.

“No, Pauline, it’s fine,” Aurora answered. “I was just adding this lady’s name to the cancellation list.”

The redhead smiled at Phyllis and said, “I don’t recall seeing you in here before.”

“First time,” Phyllis said.

“A friend of hers recommended us to her, but she doesn’t remember who,” Aurora said, making the comment sound vaguely accusatory.

“Well, I’m not surprised, we have so many ladies coming through here,” the redhead said. She held out her hand to Phyllis. “I’m Pauline Gibbs. This is my salon.”

Phyllis took the woman’s hand and said, “Phyllis Newsom. There’s no Paul of Paul’s Beauty Salon?”

Pauline Gibbs laughed and shook her head.

“No, I’m afraid poor ol’ Paul is a figment of my imagination. Some ladies like the idea of a male stylist. All the superstars in the field are men, you know. Startin’ out, I used to pretend that there really was a Paul and he owned the place, but as our clients came to know and trust us and rely on us, I gradually dropped that fiction. There wasn’t really any need for it.” She changed the subject by continuing, “I hope Aurora here took good care of you, Phyllis.”

Clearly, she was one of those women who was on a first-name basis with everybody right away.

“She certainly did,” Phyllis replied. Aurora still stood there, arms crossed over her chest now, not actually glaring but looking none too friendly. Phyllis thought about letting things go for the moment, but instinct told her to push just a little more. “I’m afraid I upset her, though.”

“Oh?” Pauline arched perfectly plucked eyebrows. “How did you manage to do that?”

“She asked about Roxanne,” Aurora said.

Pauline looked surprised. Phyllis said quickly, “I only asked about her because my friend was fond of the way this Roxanne did her hair. I had no idea there had been a...a tragedy of some sort.”

There, she thought. That made it sound like she didn’t know what had happened to Roxanne.

“Well, I’m sure you didn’t mean anything by it,” Pauline said. “You understand how it is, though...You work with somebody and something terrible happens to them, it’s a little hard to forget about it and move on.” She paused. “We’ve done the best we can, though.”

“Of course. I won’t take up any more of your time. I can see that you’re awfully busy...” Phyllis gestured vaguely toward the salon’s main room.

“Did you make an appointment for later on, in case nothing comes up sooner?”

“No, actually, I forgot.”

“Take care of that, would you, Aurora?” Pauline said. It was phrased as a request and the redhead’s voice was still honeysuckle and magnolias, but Phyllis thought she heard some underlying steel in Pauline’s tone. The way Aurora scuttled back behind the desk and started tapping on the keyboard told Phyllis that Pauline was accustomed to quick responses from her employees.

“How about...two weeks from next Wednesday at one o’clock?” Aurora asked without looking up.

“That’ll be fine,” Phyllis said. She didn’t know if she would keep the appointment or not. For one thing, she hadn’t asked what the prices were here. But it wouldn’t hurt to have the appointment. She could always cancel it later.

Aurora wrote the date and time on a reminder card and handed it to her. Phyllis thanked her, and Aurora managed to work up a perfunctory smile.

“We’ll see you then, if not sooner,” Pauline said brightly as Phyllis turned toward the outer door.

“Yes, thank you. Goodbye.”

She stepped outside and saw that Sam was already in the pickup. He had his phone out and was looking at it. Probably checking his e-mail or maybe reading one of his old Western novels, she thought, knowing that he had an e-reader app on the phone. He still preferred the scent of decomposing paper and dust, as he put it whenever he inhaled the aroma of a 50-year-old paperback, but being able to read on the phone sometimes came in handy, too.

“Find out anything?” Phyllis asked as she climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door.

“Just that the stores around here are on the fancy side,” Sam said. “Most of ’em seem aimed at the ladies, but there’s a menswear joint down at the other end of the shoppin’ center. I went in there and pretended to be lookin’ for a new suit. They were eager to help me out, but the fellas I talked to didn’t know anything about a murder down here at the beauty shop. One older man said he remembered it happenin’, but that’s all. The other two were younger guys and weren’t even workin’ there when Roxanne was killed.”

“You didn’t buy a suit?” Phyllis asked with a smile.

Sam shook his head and said, “Nope. I’ve got a good funeral suit, in case I have to go to one that’s formal enough to need it. These days, folks don’t dress up for funerals like they once did.” He paused. “Of course, when you get to be my age, you start thinkin’ about makin’ sure you’ve got a nice suit for your own funeral. Although jeans would work just as good as far as I’m concerned.”

“You’re not going to need that for a long time,” Phyllis told him.

Sam’s shrug was an eloquent way of saying
You never know.

“How about you?” he asked.

“What do I want to wear to my own funeral, you mean?”

He laughed and shook his head.

“Actually, I was askin’ if you found out anything there in the beauty shop.”

“It’s not really a beauty shop. It’s a beauty salon. I’m surprised they don’t have ‘Spa’ in the name. But I didn’t find out much.”

“Not much means you did come up with
something
.”