by Linda Coles
Jeremy was pumping styling mousse into his hand when he exclaimed, “Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you. I’ve got gossip.” He rubbed mousse into her hair, then wiped his sticky hands on a nearby towel.
“What, you? Jeremy the hairdresser nearly forgetting gossip? Are you feeling unwell, by chance?” Sarcastic. She caught an affectionate slap on her arm for her tone.
“I don’t gossip! I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never spoken ill of anyone.” Then he added, “But I’ve thought it,” winking at Amanda’s reflection in the mirror, and they both burst out laughing. He grabbed the hairdryer.
“But seriously,” he went on, “I had to make a house call last weekend, on a Sunday no less. To attend to an urgent matter,” he said in a more sinister voice.
“What was so urgent that someone needed a hairdresser on a Sunday?”
“Are you ready for this?” he said, leaning in to her ear so he couldn’t be overheard, giving an extra frisson of theatre and intrigue to the coming story. Jeremy had missed his calling; he should have been an actor.
“The daughter of a client had apparently had her hair chopped off. Severed completely. In a prank, apparently. What do you make of that, then?” He stood fully upright behind her, a look of pure incredulity on his face in the mirror as he watched for Amanda’s reaction.
She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
“My thoughts exactly,” he said in a satisfied tone. “It looked to me like they’d taken her ponytail, from what was left. Tied her hair up high to get the most hair, and then ‘chop!’” he added, sweeping his hand down like a guillotine blade. “What kind of friends does this girl have, I asked myself? And she had such gorgeous red hair, too – it would have been spectacular in all its glory. And now it’s gone.”
“That’s meanness on the grandest scale. Who would do such a thing?”
“I know, right? I said she should have reported it to the police.” He turned on the hairdryer and it whirred into action. He began to run his fingers running expertly through her hair, tousling it dry. Amanda raised her voice to be heard over its din.
“So why didn’t she?”
“Didn’t want the fuss, I suppose. And really, what could the police do – slap them on the wrist?”
Amanda had to agree there. An assault charge would be all, and, really, who would bother?
“Well, I hope she’ll make some nicer friends and ditch the culprits who did it. Was she bullied, do you know? Is that why these ‘friends’ did it?”
“Not from what I could see. She was a very beautiful and confident young woman, just home from working in New York. I don’t know her myself; only her mother, the one who called me. But who would know?”
He turned the hairdryer off. Amanda’s short hair took only moments to dry. They began to speak normally again as Jeremy rubbed hair putty onto his hands. Running his fingers through her hair once more, he teased it into shape, fiddling with the hair around her face. When he was satisfied, he stood back and smiled.
“You look gorgeous. Amanda Lacey, as always. Your hairdresser has done a fine job once again,” he said, and beamed at her through the mirror. Amanda rolled her eyes at him and smiled her appreciation.
“Not really sure about the gorgeous part, but you do a great job. Thanks, Jeremy.” He pulled her chair back as she stood.
“And only one more visit before the big day,” Jeremy said as Amanda paid. He added thoughtfully, “I think I’ll open some bubbles at your next appointment to celebrate. What do you say?”
“I say maybe when you’ve finished my hair, not while you’re working on it. I don’t want to end up pink.”
“Now there’s an idea! Pink would so suit you. You should give it some thought – a nice baby pink.” Jeremy was seriously thinking about it now. He struck a pose, his bent forefinger resting between his lips and his hips thrust forward.
“I don’t think so. We’ll stick to blonde.”
He leaned in to peck her cheek. “Well, enjoy your day, and I’ll see you in five weeks, hun. Bridal hair, here we come!”
Leaving the salon with his astonishing gossip still ringing in her ears, Amanda’s thoughts were with the poor woman who had had her hair hacked off by her so-called friends. What a truly nasty thing to do.
What had the girl done that was bad enough to deserve that?
Chapter Twenty-Four
In his secret room, Terrance sat transfixed, perusing his acquisitions in tranquillity and privacy. No one knew he was there; no one could disturb him, and he took his time to appreciate his collection. He marvelled at how large it had become over the years, and yet with each addition, it still excited him to think how many more he could gather to feed his desire. The last cabinet to have been utilized now glowed with the others. Inside it, a long, beautiful piece of red hair was positioned perfectly to catch the light and show itself to him. A smile played on his lips at the recent memory of meeting the young woman who herself had worn it so well. That was why he had been drawn to her. The colour had glowed like a beacon to him, spoken to him out loud, and he had known at once that he had to have it. He hoped the woman hadn’t been too distraught when she’d awoken.
There had been nothing in the press; she’d been the sensible type and, as instructed, had left the ‘incident’ unreported. He silently thanked her for that. Not that it would have come back to his doorstep. Oh, no; the service he paid so handsomely would have seen to that. After all, that’s what he paid their steep fee for. Idly, he wondered what was in her past that they had on her to keep her from telling. Yes, he knew just how they operated. He’d seen the evidence, not from his own personal dealings with them, but via others who frequented the very specialized group. And that reminded him he still had a task to complete now he’d had his initial fun.
His smile widened as he thought back to that night – had that only been a few days ago? He’d taken the box and carried it carefully upstairs to his bedroom and placed it on his bed. Then he’d stripped and slid between the sheets, feeling the coolness of fresh cotton on his naked skin. He’d lain down, the box alongside his long lean body, and relished the knowledge that the best was yet to come. How long could he control himself before he stroked it? How long could he bear it so close to him, protected by its casing? His pulse had raced, throbbing in his neck like a second heart, and as his breath had caught in desire, he had known he couldn’t stand the wait any longer.
The lid had slipped back silently under his fingers and the fingers of his right hand had dared themselves to touch the contents. As the initial jolt of both satisfaction and desire shocked his body, he’d whimpered. To his touch it had felt like Mulberry silk, the softest silk in the world, and he’d dared himself to place his whole hand into the box and stoke it fully. He’d whimpered again, feeling himself harden, his heart beating hard with anticipation. When he could stand the sensation no longer, he’d pulled the hairpiece from its confines and brought it to his face. Taking a deep breath in, he’d held it. It smelled just as he’d hoped it would, of apples and pears and orchards gone by. With a long, satisfied sigh, he’d let his breath go and drunk its perfume in again, then again, and then again. With his eyes firmly closed, he’d reminisced about his boyhood nanny leaning forward to kiss him good night, her hair falling away from her face and touching his as she did so. It had smelled of orchards. He’d held the piece in one hand, running the fingers of the other through the softest of strands just like he had with Prudence’s hair. She’d liked it. And so had he. And it had soon become part of their evening routine together as she sat on the edge of his bed. She’d held her head still for him after each good-night kiss, and he’d taken as much of her hair as he could, slowly, relishing the feel of its softness between his fingers, stroking, enjoying. Her face was as clear in his mind as if she’d been sat there on the bed with him, gazing down at him with her own enjoyment in her eyes. He had smelled the apples and pears of Prudence’s shampoo, and, still stroking the cognac lock
s, had found his release.
Taylor Palmer’s glorious hair had been a delight to experience all on his own, to take his time with, but now he had one last task to do to complete the transaction at his end. He pulled his camera out of the secret compartment of the plinth and went towards the cabinet to retrieve the hair. The effect on him was instant as the softness once again touched his skin, sending a frizzle to his groin. He laid the hair down on the table, gently, carefully, as if it were alive, making sure it was well displayed in all its glory. Standing back to admire it again, he snapped several shots of it, allowing the light in the room to show it off from various angles. When he was satisfied he had what he needed, he carefully placed the piece back into the security of its own cabinet and let out the breath caught in his chest. With one last look at the room’s contents in their entirety, he slipped the memory card out of the camera and put it in his pocket, then left the room, the lights dimming slowly as he did so. Now all he had to do was log on and share his prize with others who appreciated his collection.
And share in theirs.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Come on in, Jack. You know the way.” Amanda held the door open for her partner, or her work husband, as she had been calling him lately. He was more like her work father in reality, though she took care of him more than he did her. Amanda watched as he made his way down the hall towards her kitchen at the back, a six-pack of Heineken in one hand, a bottle of red in the other. Looks like he’s in the mood for a drink or two, she mused. Placing the booze on the worksurface, he took a can from the pack and pulled the ring open; creamy froth filled the opening. He wasn’t quick enough to put his mouth over the hole and froth spilled over.
“Shit,” was all she heard, and she smiled at the older man. It wouldn’t be long now until he retired, and she often thought about how that would change her work life, having to get used to another person’s ways and foibles like she had with Jack. And like Jack had with her, if she was being fair. Still, he had that fatherly thing going on, and since her father was long gone she’d allowed the relationship to swing that way. Even though she was technically his boss, they were more like equals.
As she entered the kitchen and reached for a glass for herself, she asked, “Want a glass or are you drinking from the can today? Which will you make the least mess with?”
“Since I’m at your house, I should have a glass. I don’t want to bring the standards down, eh?” His smile was always a comfort to her no matter what her mood, and she reached up for a tall, dimpled glass and handed it to him. He watched as she poured wine into her own before he took a mouthful from his. He clunked his glass with hers and smacked his lips.
“Cheers, Lacey. I’ve been looking forward to a beer all day. Where’s Ruth? She not joining us?”
“She’ll be here shortly. She’s gone to pick dinner up. I know I said we’d cook, but neither of us has been organized enough, so we ordered take-out.”
“Fine by me. I’ll eat anything, as you know. As long as it’s hot if it’s supposed to be hot and cold if it’s supposed to be cold, I’m easy.” He downed a couple of long mouthfuls, making his glass less than half full.
“You thirsty today, then?” she asked, pointing to his glass. “You’ll be on the floor if you’re not careful. You know you’re a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.”
“I must be the only detective in the world that can’t hold his drink. Never been any different. Two whiskies, max, and I’m done.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” she said. “I’d rather work with a lightweight than a drunk. At least your head is clear.” She sipped her red wine as the front door opened and a woman’s voice called ‘Hello.’
“Down here,” Amanda called back, and couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her face. Jack didn’t miss its arrival either. He was glad she’d finally found someone to settle down with, just like he had done many years ago with his Janine. But she was gone now, gone from the world forever, but never from his heart. When he was feeling particularly melancholy, he played a particular song from his ELO CD, “Sweet Talkin’ Woman.” It usually made his eyes well up. He missed his Janine every single day.
Ruth’s footsteps on the hardwood floor brought him back to the present, and as she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek in greeting, he realized these two women in his life were a blessing. It’s not often a man finds two women to love in his later years; these two were the family he’d never had. Ruth ruffled his salt-and-pepper hair affectionately with her hand, sending wispy bits in all directions.
“Time for a trim, young Jack, isn’t it?” Ruth teased him at every opportunity.
“Cheeky sod. When you’ve not got much up top, you can do with all the hair help you can get. Wait until you get to your fifties – you’ll have your own issues to worry about, mark my words. Just different issues to hair on your head.” Thinking and grinning he added, “Like hair on your chin.” Ruth’s hand raised in a mock swipe, pretend outrage on her face. Amanda burst out laughing at them both.
“Would you listen to you two? Anyone would think you’re the first people to get old. I’m starved. Can we eat, please?” Ruth handed the plastic bag over; the faint smell of hot Chinese food filled the kitchen. “I got a double of pork balls, purely because Amanda and I will eat so many that there wouldn’t have been enough to go round with only one portion.”
“I don’t know how you keep so slim. Do you not eat anything else?”
“It’s called running, Jack. You should try it sometime,” she said, and patted his soft midriff as she passed him to get a glass of wine.
Jack one point, Ruth one point.
Amanda changed the conversation to something a little more serious as she removed lids off trays and placed the food in the centre of the table. Sweet-and-sour scented steam rose invitingly.
“Talking of hair, I had an interesting yet a bit disturbing conversation with Jeremy in the hair salon.”
“I can see how that would be disturbing,” Jack chimed in, and Ruth laughed with him.
“There’s nothing wrong with Jeremy. He’s just a bit of a drama queen, that’s all.” She knew she’d said the wrong words as soon as they’d left her mouth, and all three erupted in laughter. Amanda flapped her hands, trying to bring some decorum back to the table.
“No, this is serious. Listen to this.” She pushed on. “He was called to a house on Sunday evening, for a woman who was in need of some emergency attention.”
“Emergency hair attention?” Jack was confused. So was Ruth.
“Yes. And you’ll never guess why.”
“So tell us.”
“Someone had chopped her ponytail off, taken most of her hair. One of her ‘friends,’ apparently. Can you imagine that? Why would someone do such a cruel thing? I can’t imagine.”
“Wow, that’s wicked. And it must be distressing, too,” said Ruth. “No wonder he had to go over. Every time she looked in the mirror she’d have been horrified, I’m sure.”
Jack, ever the detective, had his own thoughts. “It was definitely a so-called friend? Was she bullied, perhaps?”
“I asked that, Jack, but no. A bright, confident young woman recently home from the US. Catching up with friends and her hair gets lopped off in a prank, presumably.”
Jack wasn’t entirely convinced. “Seems unlikely, though, doesn’t it? On the surface, I mean? You haven’t seen your mates because you’ve been overseas, then wham, they move in and, in what amounts to assault, chop your hair off? As a welcome home present? It doesn’t fit with me. There’s something more to it.” He put a pork ball in his mouth and tried to chew the whole thing. Tiny pieces of crispy batter fell from his lips. Ruth couldn’t help herself.
“Try cutting it up, Jack. You’ll have more joy keeping it all in your mouth.” Another point to Ruth. 1–2.
When he’d finally swallowed his mouthful, he said, “Fun fact alert.” Both women groaned but listened to what Jack was about to say. “Stolen hair is bi
g business in some countries, actually. Venezuela, for instance. Women have been attacked in shopping malls for some time. One person holds the woman and another chops her hair off. It’s over in a matter of seconds and the women are usually too dazed to remember much about their attackers. They sell it on for wigs.” Jack was full of fun facts about all manner of things.
He cut another pork ball in half. Sensible.
“You think something is going on here, then, in London?” asked Amanda.
“Could be – why not? Hair is hair, and nothing surprises me anymore. Easy enough to sell on, I expect. You can sell anything these days, and don’t forget the dark web. It’s a whole shopping mall in itself. Want something peculiar or particular? There’s a place to purchase it from.”
“Well, it’s going to be a bit difficult to do much. The woman in question didn’t report it to the police, so there’s nothing to investigate. No case. Not officially, anyway.” Amanda topped up her wine glass and Ruth’s and opened a fresh can for Jack. “Doesn’t stop us keeping our ears open, though, does it?”
Jack understood full well what Amanda’s version of ‘keeping her ears open’ meant.
She’d be digging as soon as dinner was over.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ruth, Amanda and Jack had both had more than their fair share of Chinese food, the remains of which still sat congealing in trays on the kitchen counter. Amanda picked a tray up and peered inside, curling her nose up with distaste. Her finger touched the orange skin that had now formed on the food, springy and not too dissimilar to homemade jam.
Ruth watched her. “It’s funny how you don’t mind eating it when it’s hot,” she said, “but as soon as it goes cold, it takes on another form. I bet a dog wouldn’t be interested in that MSG-laden concoction, and I’m guessing you’re not going to save it and reheat it? Or worse, eat it cold later?”