by Tina Kashian
CHAPTER 14
Thursday afternoon rolled around quickly, and Lucy found herself waiting in her Toyota Corolla outside the Big Tease Salon. The place was located in the center of town across from Cutie’s Cupcakes, Ben’s Barber Shop, and next to a small park with a man-made lake. She was anxious and changed radio stations every few minutes.
At last a fancy, blue Mercedes turned into the salon’s parking lot. The high-end vehicle matched the description of Holly Simms’s car that Katie had given her. The car door opened and the tall, slim, fifty-something brunette who stepped out also looked just as Katie had described Holly. Dressed in a black skirt with high heels, she sauntered past and opened the door of the salon. Lucy waited ten minutes, then stepped out of her car and followed.
The salon was busy and ladies occupied many of the chairs. Beatrice Tretola, the salon’s owner, was teasing a blond woman’s hair and spraying each section with a good amount of Aqua Net. The customer must have had her makeup done as well. Her eyelash extensions reached just shy of her eyebrows, and her lips were lined with a dark cherry shade.
Beatrice was a slender, middle-aged woman who wore a bohemian-style red dress with vivid orange flowers, chunky turquoise bracelets and rings, and gladiator sandals. She was chewing gum and talking nonstop as she worked. The last time Lucy had a scheduled haircut appointment, Beatrice had told her that she’d given up smoking and had started chewing gum to help with the nicotine cravings.
“Lucy! Good to see you.” Beatrice waved as soon as she spotted Lucy by the front door. “I’ve been meaning to make it to the restaurant now that you’re the new manager and that hunk is the new head chef.” She winked. “But the salon’s been super busy.”
Lucy approached and smiled. “Hi, Beatrice. Good to see the place so crowded. How about I have lunch delivered here tomorrow instead?”
“That would be great!” Beatrice’s excitement subsided as she scrutinized Lucy’s hair up close. “Are you here for a blow out or a straightening treatment? You’d look very nice with straight hair. Wouldn’t even recognize yourself.”
Lucy stifled a groan. Every time Beatrice visited the restaurant or ran into Lucy in town, she commented about straightening Lucy’s hair. Of course, it seemed every time Beatrice saw Lucy her hair was frizzy from the hot kitchen or the Jersey shore humidity.
“Not today, Beatrice.”
“You want a trim?”
Lucy shook her head and held up her hands for inspection. “No. I’m here for a manicure.”
Beatrice’s eyes lit up like Christmas trees. “Well, it’s about time. Do you have a date with the chef ?”
Goodness. First, her mother. Now, Beatrice. Did everyone want her to date Azad?
“No. Katie suggested that I take care of my nails.”
“Katie’s right.” Beatrice set down the can of hairspray and whipped the drape off her customer. “I’m just finishing up here. Have a seat by one of the nail stations and I’ll be right with you.”
Lucy chose one of the padded black seats beside Holly Simms. Holly’s right hand was already soaking in a bowl of bubbly pink liquid, and a pretty Asian manicurist was laying out her tools.
Holly glanced her way, and Lucy smiled. Holly’s makeup was expertly applied, but heavy. She knew Holly was in her late fifties, but her makeup made her appear a decade younger. Katie had said that Holly never skipped her biweekly salon visit and that she was obsessed with looking younger.
Up close, her outfit appeared to be costly—a silk blouse, black pencil skirt, and leather boots. Her designer bag hung from a hook on the side of the manicure table. Her shoulder-length chestnut hair had the perfect tint of highlights.
It was obvious that Holly took great pains with her appearance. Not for the first time, Lucy wondered how she’d taken her husband’s affair with a much younger woman.
Time to find out.
“Good afternoon,” Lucy said. “Are you Holly Simms?”
Holly arched her pencil-thin brows into triangles. “Yes. Do I know you?”
“Not personally. But Henry assisted me with a loan a while back at the bank, and he was very helpful,” she fibbed. “My condolences.”
“Thank you. The funeral is Friday.”
Beatrice came over with a bowl of pink suds. She took Lucy’s hands, turned them this way and that, and frowned in obvious disapproval. “When was your last manicure?”
Lucy squirmed in her seat. “A while. I haven’t had much time lately.”
Beatrice clucked her tongue. “A lady needs to treat herself on a regular basis.”
“Amen to that advice,” said Holly as the manicurist lifted Holly’s hand out of the bowl and set it on a towel on the table.
The manicurist mumbled in Korean, and Beatrice looked over. “Good grief, Holly. What happened to you? Did you get your hand caught in a car door?”
Lucy glanced over. Three of Holly’s long nails on her right hand were jagged and broken.
Interesting.
Forget the car door. What if she broke her nails while stabbing her husband in the neck with a shish kebab skewer?
“Lin can fix those in no time,” Beatrice said as the manicurist produced a nail file and began filing down Holly’s jagged nails.
Beatrice reached in a drawer and laid out her own instruments. One looked like a small wire trimmer, and Lucy didn’t like the ominous look of the tool one bit. Beatrice lifted her hand from the bowl to pat it dry with a warm towel. “Put your other hand in the bowl,” she instructed, then picked up the scary-looking instrument and began trimming away at Lucy’s cuticles.
“Ouch!”
“No whining.” Beatrice popped a bubble. “Did you pick a color?”
“How about you choose for me?”
A pleased expression crossed Beatrice’s face, and she pushed back her chair and sashayed to a wall-mounted rack of nail polishes in the front of the salon. Lucy took the opportunity to turn to Holly.
“Pardon my asking, but do the police have any leads?” Lucy asked.
“Not that I know of, and there haven’t been any arrests,” Holly said as the manicurist began painting her nails with a red polish that looked like . . . well . . . blood.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I still can’t believe it.” She leaned forward in the pink chair. “After all, who would want to harm him?”
Holly’s lips parted, but she was stopped from answering as the door opened and the salon’s bells tinkled.
Lucy looked up to see who had stepped inside and was stunned to recognize Cressida Connolly. Her long red hair was pulled back from her face with small jeweled clips and fell in loose curls down her back. The style emphasized her flawless complexion and blue eyes. She wore a miniskirt and tight top, and she looked like she was plucked right from a college campus. She didn’t look at the salon’s occupants, but went straight to the rack of displayed nail polishes.
Lucy swiveled in her seat to glance at Holly and froze. Sheer hatred crossed the woman’s face. Her entire body had stiffened and the unpainted nails on her left hand curled like talons on the towel.
Whoa! If looks could kill, Cressida would have dropped dead on sight.
Beatrice returned, carrying two bottles of nail polish—one a bubblegum pink that matched what she was chewing and the other a bright green. Neither was something Lucy would have picked.
“Which one do you like?” Beatrice vigorously shook both bottles.
“I’m not sure either, especially the green.” Her mother would have a fit if she showed up for cooking lessons with green nails. She’d think Lucy had forgotten to clean out the walk-in refrigerator and found something moldy.
“Nonsense,” Beatrice said. “This is called Sea Green and it’s fashionable, but if you’re dead set against it, then we can go with the pink.”
Beatrice smeared a pink streak down Lucy’s finger. “See? That’s pretty.” Lucy wasn’t so sure. Now it looked like she’d accidentally popped Beatrice’s bubble and was left with a wad on
her finger. But pretty nails weren’t the purpose of her visit to the salon. Getting Holly Simms to talk was her ultimate goal.
Beatrice kept painting and talking, oblivious to the tension radiating from Holly. Meanwhile, the manicurist had finished Holly’s nails and left her to dry.
“Holly, you need to keep your fingers straight or you’ll smudge your polish,” Beatrice chided. “If you want, you can move to the nail dryers or sit in a chair over there,” she said, pointing to a reclining chair beside a table with numerous bottles and jars of what Lucy assumed were facial scrubs, “and I’ll start your facial when I’m finished with Lucy.”
“Forget the facial.” Holly’s eyes narrowed to unattractive little slits as she glared at Cressida’s back. “I just remembered I have somewhere I have to be.”
Confusion crossed Beatrice’s face. “Are you sure? It won’t take me long to finish here. And if you’re worried there will be a wait, my afternoon appointment canceled.”
“I’m sure. And by the way, something smells rotten in here.”
“Rotten?” Beatrice set the bottle of nail polish aside and turned to another stylist, who was cutting hair. “Billy Jean, did you bring leftover fish for lunch again?”
Billy Jean froze. “No. I learned my lesson the last time I tried to microwave leftover salmon.”
Beatrice sniffed the air and then turned back to Holly. “I don’t smell anything.”
Just then, Cressida plucked a bottle of nail polish from the shelf and headed their way. Her step faltered the moment her eyes settled on Holly and recognition dawned. The two women’s gazes clashed and the air crackled with tension.
Lucy looked from the young woman to the older one, then back to the younger. What were the chances Cressida would show up at the salon at the same time as Holly?
Maybe Lucy should drive straight to Holloway’s and buy herself a lottery ticket.
“I’m positive.” Holly’s voice was tense. “Something reeks in here.” Oblivious to her wet nails, Holly hooked her arm through the handle of her designer bag, lifted it from the little hook mounted on the manicure table, and stood. For a brief moment, Lucy wondered if a fight was about to happen.
Cressida opened her mouth, must have thought better of it, then shut it as Holly swept by her and shot her a black look as she passed, then sailed out of the salon.
“Don’t touch anything else until they dry!” Beatrice shouted at Holly as the door swung closed.
The ladies in the salon remained silent. Even Cressida stood frozen with the bottles of nail polish in her hand.
Making a snap decision, Lucy rose. “I’m sorry, but I need to leave, too.”
“But you’re not dry yet either,” Beatrice protested, then sniffed the air. “Is it the smell?”
“No. Please don’t worry about that. There’s no odor. I just forgot I have a restaurant delivery.” At least she could put poor Beatrice at ease. She didn’t want her to close the salon and cancel her remaining appointments for the day because of a fictitious odor. “I promise I’ll send you lunch tomorrow. How about shish kebab and baklava?”
Beatrice cracked a smile. “That sounds delicious.”
“Great. Now, please excuse me. I really have to get back.” She gave a jaunty wave as she rushed out the door.
Once outside, Lucy shielded her face with her hand from the bright sunlight and scanned the parking lot for Holly’s Mercedes. She spotted her opening the driver side door. “Mrs. Simms!” Lucy called out, then hurried toward her.
Holly halted. “What is it?”
“Are you okay?” Lucy asked. “You seemed really upset in the salon.”
Annoyance flashed on Holly’s face. “I’m fine. I just forgot an appointment.”
“Are you sure? The young redhead that walked in the salon—it’s clear that she upset you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her words cold and clipped.
Lucy took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I was there the day of the wedding.”
“Oh? I don’t remember seeing you.”
“That’s because I wasn’t a guest. I was working in the kitchen.”
Holly’s brown eyes sharpened. “I thought you looked familiar. I must have seen you with the waitstaff.”
“Most likely. I was supervising them that day.”
“Supervising? You must be from that Mediterranean restaurant that catered the food.”
“Yes, Kebab Kitchen.”
Holly’s vexation was evident. “You never received a loan with my husband’s bank, did you?”
“ No.”
“But your head chef attempted to in the past?”
At Lucy’s silence, Holly huffed. “He’s the man the police consider a prime suspect.”
So, Holly did know that Azad was on the top of Detective Clemmons’s list. “He didn’t do it.”
“What makes you think so?”
Lucy decided it was time to raise the stakes and press Holly for answers. “I spoke with the wedding planner, Ms. Redding. She claims the woman who just walked into the salon, Cressida Connolly, was involved with your husband.”
Holly’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Involved? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
Lucy remained silent, and Holly huffed. “Her little flirtation with my husband didn’t matter. Henry would never have left me for a light skirt like her. He needed me.”
“By ‘need’ are you referring to the life insurance policy you took out on your husband?”
“How do you know about that?”
“It’s not difficult to find that information.” Actually, it was. But Katie was gifted when it came to computer searches. “A million-dollar policy is a lot of money.”
Holly placed her hands on her hips. “You think I murdered my husband because he was cheating? Or because of a life insurance policy?”
“They are both good motives.” Lucy held her ground. The woman seethed with anger, not grief over losing her spouse.
“No, they’re not,” she insisted, her tone hard. “Like I said, Henry would never have left me for a young tramp like her.” She jabbed a still-wet, red nail at the Big Tease Salon. “As for the measly life insurance policy, I don’t need the money. I have a trust fund worth five times more. It was Henry who needed me for my money. Not the other way around.”
Lucy pressed on. “You don’t seem upset that he’s gone.”
“Go to hell.” With those final words, Holly swiveled on her heel and hightailed it to her car.
CHAPTER 15
Well, that went splendidly.
Lucy watched Holly’s Mercedes tear out of the parking lot. She tapped her foot and thought about what she’d learned. Holly knew about her husband’s affair, and from the bad vibes and hostility radiating from her when she spotted Cressida enter the salon, it was clear she knew exactly who Henry’s lover had been.
Lucy needed to fill Katie in. Crossing the parking lot, she came up to her car just as the salon door opened and Cressida stepped outside.
Her first thought was, that was one fast manicure. Her second was, where was Cressida going in such a rush?
Pretending to fish through her purse for her keys, Lucy kept an eye on the redhead. Cressida slipped her purse strap across her body, walked swiftly through the parking lot, and headed for the park. Lucy followed, careful to dodge behind trees and playground equipment to avoid being noticed. Cressida walked for a while, and Lucy thought she would exit the park, but at the last minute she paused by a park bench occupied by a woman wearing a trench coat and dark sunglasses.
Lucy immediately recognized Scarlet Westwood. The socialite wore the same disguise the first day she’d walked into Kebab Kitchen and hired Lucy to cater her wedding. She’d thought it had been a ridiculous disguise then, and it was no better now.
On impulse, Lucy stooped low behind a hedge and strained to hear their conversation. She couldn’t believe she was eavesdropping like this. Hiding in the bush
es in a public park wasn’t something she did every day, and she felt a moment of indecision, but then she pushed it away. If the two women had information, she needed to learn what they knew.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Cressida said as she sat beside Scarlet on the bench.
“I came as soon as you called,” Scarlet said. “What’s wrong?”
“I ran into Holly at the salon. The woman hates me.”
Scarlet waved a hand, and her large diamond flashed in the afternoon sunlight. “So? I don’t know why you care about her, Cressida. Especially now that the man is dead.”
Cressida’s voice was hoarse. “His name was Henry.”
“Okay.” Scarlet’s big lips pursed in annoyance. “You shouldn’t give a damn if Holly Simms hates you. If it was me, I would have publicly confronted her. You had the perfect opportunity at the salon.”
The prickly bush scraped Lucy’s cheek as she parted it to get a better look at the women.
“Confront her?” Cressida shook her head. “No way.”
“Why not?”
“Because what happened between Henry and me was private.”
Scarlet scoffed. “All my personal business is out there for the world to see and it doesn’t bother me.”
“What about your wedding?” Cressida countered. “You wanted it kept private, and you had a fit when the tabloids published those pictures.”
Scarlet’s mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “All right. You got me there. I was screaming mad, but only because I told that incompetent wedding planner to take every precaution to prevent cell phones and cameras at the reception.”
“Without frisking every guest, that was an impossible task.”
“Whatever.” Scarlet adjusted her oversized sunglasses. “Let’s go back to your problem. I still would have confronted Holly Simms. The rest of my personal life has always been splashed across the front pages, and it hasn’t harmed me.”
“That’s because it helps your fame. I don’t want this getting out. Henry wouldn’t have wanted it known,” Cressida said.
“You’re being too sensitive,” Scarlet argued.