Armed and Glamorous

by Ellen Byerrum

  “Okay, I get it.” Stella, my matron of honor? “But before you did your blond Surfin’ Sandra Dee thing, I never heard you talk about getting married.” Lacey had never wanted to start planning her wedding far in advance of the proposal, as many women do. But she realized if she didn’t plan it, Stella might plan it for her. Eloping might be nice.

  “Before I met Nigel, I was completely not interested in wedded bliss. I was like totally playing the field. But now—”

  Let’s change the subject! Please! “Stella, I meant to ask you. I sent a woman named Willow Raynor to see you.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Stella said. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for that. She spent a ton of money here. And she’s a pretty decent tipper too.”

  “You made her really blond, Stella. I didn’t expect that.”

  “Don’t go thinking it was my idea, Lacey. I didn’t really want to take her so blond, not all of a sudden anyway. It can be a shock to your system, Suddenly Blond Brain Death Syndrome or something. But she insisted, and it wasn’t that hard. She had way virgin hair, even if it was really dull, like dead varmint color. It had never even been bleached or permed! Can you imagine? Was she living under a rock?”

  “So you were thrilled to get your hands on all that virgin hair,” Lacey said.

  “So sue me. She wanted it. It’s like one step beyond my own color, it’s called ‘pillowcase white.’ It’s like platinum blond, it’s the very same color Marilyn Monroe used. Very few people can pull that off. It was a professional challenge. And I am nothing if not up for a challenge. Besides, she said she wanted to look totally different on account of she’s hiding out from some old boyfriend of hers, she tell ya about him?”

  Stella’s attention was caught by her own reflection in one of the salon’s mirrors. She leaned forward and wiped an imaginary speck of dirt from beneath her elaborately made-up eyes and their dramatic eyeliner wings. She cocked her head and fluffed her golden-blond tresses with her fingernails.

  “She’s on the run from that evil abusive Eric guy; she told me all about it. If a woman is in that kind of trouble, I am the first person who’s going to help her out. And you wanted to help her out too, Lacey, or you wouldn’t have sent her to me.”

  “I figured if anyone could work some color magic on the colorless Willow Raynor, it was you.”

  “A compliment! For once! From the famous Lacey Smithsonian! Lemme write this down so I can put it in my blog!” Stella beamed and gave Lacey a quick hug. Lacey would have hugged her back, but Stella grabbed her hands and stuck them back under the nail dryers. “Don’t ruin those nails! You know how you are, you are always knocking them into something before they’re dry and scratching the polish and making me redo it.”

  “My flaws have been duly noted,” Lacey said. She made a face and kept her hands still. Stella sat down again, and the mirror behind her reflected the ‘pillowcase-white’ blonde herself, just leaving one of the private rooms devoted to more personal services like waxing and massage. “And there she is! What’s Willow doing here?”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you? She’s here for her expert makeup lesson. She’s been back there with Michelle, getting the works. Who needs it more, right?”

  “That was quick. She looked pretty pale last night at PI class.”

  “Yeah, she said you recommended a shot of color.” Stella waved at the woman. “Hey Willow! Look who’s here?”

  The transformed Willow looked striking. Lacey stared in surprise. Michelle’s makeup session had enhanced and brought out her small, pale features. A bit of lavender shadow emphasized the color of her eyes. Lacey noticed for the first time that they were a violet blue. Her mascaraed lashes contrasted dramatically with the fluffy white-blond hair. She looked rather like a starlet, from the neck up. Below the neck, however, she was still the same woman drowning in an oversized sweater and shabby khakis.

  “Hi Lacey! It’s the new me, do you like it?” She seemed anxious for approval. “Now all I need is a new wardrobe too.”

  “I told her to start with something simple,” Stella explained. “Classic. Like Audrey Hepburn.”

  “The famous little black dress?” Lacey ventured doubtfully. Willow’s look was about as far from Audrey Hepburn as you could get.

  “You’re reading my mind.” Stella twirled the golden key.

  “That’s such a pretty necklace, Stella.”

  Willow reached out as if to touch it, and Stella quickly covered the key with her hand.

  “Don’t touch! Something special my Nigel gave me.”

  “Sorry.” Willow pulled her hand back reluctantly. “Nigel is your new boyfriend, right?”

  “He’s the one!” Stella gave Willow a big grin. “And it’s okay, Willow, great taste is universal, right?”

  “I was just thinking I need something special to really perk up my wardrobe,” she said, gazing into the mirror. “Some new jewelry to go with the hair and makeup? I don’t think he’ll know me, do you? I hardly know me.”

  Lacey broke in. “Eric, you mean? Can you tell me more about this Eric O’Neil? Like what he does for a living?”

  Willow shut her eyes. “Let’s please forget about Eric, okay?”

  “If he has nothing to do with Cecily Ashton and he’s not menacing you anymore, yes, we can forget him. But—”

  “He’s a manager for some computer company.” Willow hesitated. “I don’t know exactly what he does. Software, hardware? Something. Okay?” She sighed resignedly. “I’m sorry. Talking about him makes me jumpy.” Willow sat down in the chair and put her face in her hands. “No one believes me. See, Eric is really charming, he just has everyone in the palm of his hand. But it’s like he’s two different people, it’s scary. He’s a smooth liar. People believe everything he says.” She looked up meekly.

  He worked in computers in Philly. Maybe Lacey could find the guy herself. “And that gallery you were telling me about—Up and Downtown Arts—it has a second gallery, doesn’t it? The one that displayed Cecily’s collection?” Willow stared at the floor and fidgeted like a small child caught in a lie. “Look, I know you said you didn’t know Cecily Ashton,” Lacey said, “but I called the gallery and they said all the staff at both galleries helped out with the Ashton show. They said you were there.”

  “Yes.” Willow’s eyes filled with tears, but she fought them from falling and smearing her fresh makeup. “I did see the exhibit, it was so beautiful, all those exquisite things. I met her once, at the opening, and she was very nice. Eric was at the opening and we had a terrible fight. I never expected to see her here in D.C. But then she died! Right there at the PI school and I totally freaked out! I immediately thought of Nina and how she died and I thought of Eric. Now I can’t get the picture of Cecily out of my mind.”

  “You poor thing.” Stella sat in the chair next to Willow and gave her a hug. “You knew that Cecily woman that got killed in the parking lot? Wait a minute, you told me this Eric creep killed your friend Nina instead of you—you think he followed you here? And you think he killed Cecily too? Holy cow!” She looked out the window in alarm, as if Eric O’Neil might be out there.

  Willow nodded furiously. “It’s like he was leaving a message for me. He knows where I am. It’s like he’s just getting closer and closer.”

  Lacey stared at her, unmoved. “You might have told me that last night.” Stella loved a sob story, every hair salon is full of them, but Lacey was suspicious. It wasn’t that hard to tell the truth, was it? She hated the way people like Willow would leak a story bit by bit, telling petty lies about the embarrassing parts and making a reporter spend days dragging vital pieces of the puzzle out of them. When called on it, the source would invariably say, I didn’t think you wanted to know THAT! It’s not like that’s IMPORTANT, is it? Lacey knew her face betrayed her irritation, she could see it herself in the salon mirrors.

  “I’m so sorry, Lacey.” Willow raised tearful eyes to Lacey. “I didn’t mean to lie about Cecily. I didn’t really know her. It w
as one of those work things. But I didn’t want to talk about her because it all feels like I’m being followed.”

  “Give her a break, Lacey,” Stella cut in, smacking her lightly on the arm. “You of all people should know how murder affects people. It makes you totally crazy. And Willow here is so sensitive.”

  Willow raised her head, her eyes swimming. “Please forgive me, Lacey. It’s just that I’m so freaked out and I’m trying to be brave, but I’m not really good at it.” A tear trickled down her cheek, leaving a black mascara trail.

  She would have to learn about waterproof makeup, Lacey thought. Whatever the real truth was, Willow was pretty interested in pinning a murder or two on her former boyfriend. Did she really believe he killed both women, or did she hate him so much she was willing to implicate him? Was Willow really so unstrung by recent events that she was afraid to tell the truth, or did she just see a way to punish a jerk who’d hurt her?

  “Hey, don’t cry, Willow, you’ll smudge your makeup! No crying in my salon,” Stella ordered. She hated crying because she was so likely to join in. “It’s bad for business. People will think you got a bad haircut or something.”

  “I wouldn’t want people to think that.” Willow swallowed a sob.

  “And look at yourself, Willow.” Stella gently turned her around to look in the mirror. “You’re a completely different woman from the drab little gerbil who walked in here a couple of days ago.”

  “I’m not completely different yet,” Willow said. “Not on the inside.”

  “On the outside,” Stella reassured her. “The inside? You’re gonna be fine.” Stella smoothed her hair soothingly. Willow wiped her eyes and tried to smile.

  The front door chime rang as someone entered the salon. Willow jumped nervously at the sound and dropped her purse. She bent down to retrieve it.

  “Well, well, well, what have we here?” Lacey spun around at the sound of that particularly irritating British accent. “Could it be the Murder of the Month Club? Solved the mystery for us all yet, Smithsonian?”

  If it wasn’t Nigel Griffin, always the biggest smarty-pants in the room.

  Chapter 28

  “You have the most irritating way of saying hello, Griffin.”

  “Did I forget to say hello? Hallo, Smithsonian! There, I said it,” Nigel Griffin said. Stella scampered to the door and flung herself at Griffin’s neck for a kiss. “Hallo, love. What news, Smithsonian?”

  “Cecily Ashton is still dead,” Lacey said acidly. “You heard it here first. Killer unknown, forecast cloudy, one-hundred percent chance of scattered confusion.”

  He looked down his nose at her. “Heaven only knows where you get your reputation as a sleuth, Smithsonian. Fashion clues indeed.”

  “Nigel, baby! Be nice to my friends.”

  Griffin kissed Stella and gently fingered the key she wore around her neck, touching her neckline lovingly. Lacey looked away before her eyes started rolling, but she noticed Willow staring at this picture with a kind of awe. Lacey hoped this new blonde was immune to Griffin’s peculiar charms. I can’t be the only one.

  “Are we on for lunch, or are you terribly busy with all these customers?”

  “Lacey was just here for a manicure. You should have seen those talons of hers. Disgraceful!”

  “Brilliant, Stella, my sweet,” Nigel interrupted, “but Smithsonian has work to do. You needn’t aid and abet her in the dereliction of her duties.”

  Stella stroked his cheek and purred. “Nigel, you have to let Lacey do her own thing and sometimes that means a beauty boost. Like her nails might be soaking, but she’s always thinking deep thoughts.”

  “Very well,” Nigel said, indulging her, “but the clock is ticking.” He glared at Lacey. “Despite what your crazy friend with the ‘voices’ says, Falls Church’s finest are not very interested in him.”

  “They’re still looking at you? They don’t like your alibi?”

  “They don’t like it one bit. Driving to Richmond alone leaves something to be desired as an alibi. Like a witness. Let’s say I’m on their top ten most popular suspects list, but this is not the kind of popularity I crave.”

  “Because of your affair with Cecily?” she prodded.

  “I didn’t sleep with the late Mrs. Ashton! Will you just get off that, Smithsonian? Besides, when I met Cecily I was seeing someone else at the time.”

  Lacey gave him a sharp look. “Do tell.”

  “It was before I met my lovely Stella here, which actually— and oddly—I have you to thank for. And those romantic autumn nights in old New Orleans—”

  “And this other woman who wasn’t Cecily?”

  Griffin looked uncharacteristically somber. “It was short. It ended badly.”

  Why am I not surprised? she thought. Does anything not end badly with this guy?

  Stella turned her wide and overly made-up eyes to Lacey. “Lacey, please! Nigel’s reputation is at stake! As a man and a jewel retriever. Not to mention his freedom, and that would totally frost my sheets, if you know what I mean.”

  “Enough said.” Lacey put up her hands in surrender. “I’ve got the picture and it’s making me queasy.”

  “Sorry to break in,” Willow said softly to Stella. “I have to get going.”

  “Oh Willow, I want you to meet Nigel, my boyfriend,” Stella gushed, pulling the paler blonde over to meet him. “He’s the one who gave me the key! To his heart, you know. Nigel, Willow Raynor. I have worked miracles here.” She indicated Willow’s hair.

  “Charmed.” Griffin shook Willow’s hand and Lacey thought he held it a little too long. Nigel smiled the bad boy smile that melted so many too-susceptible hearts. “Have we met?”

  “Um, no.” Willow managed a small smile and smoothed a hand through her hair.

  “You wouldn’t know her, Nigel honey. Doesn’t she look great now? She looked totally different two days ago. Mousiest hair you ever saw. No offense, Willow.”

  “None taken. I guess it was a little dull.” Willow looked mortally embarrassed. She edged toward the door.

  “Nice color.” Nigel squeezed Stella’s shoulder. “I would never have believed she wasn’t a real blonde.”

  “She is now,” Stella cracked. “Real blonde, just not a born blonde.”

  Willow picked up her khaki canvas bag. “I’m going shopping. All the places you recommended, too.”

  “Remember, no beige,” Stella cautioned. “Lacey’s Law. No beige and no boring.”

  “I remember.” Willow waved. She seemed to be carrying herself a little more confidently since her makeover. Never underestimate the power of a good makeover, Lacey reminded herself.

  Stella grabbed her purse too. “Me and Nigel are off to lunch. Want to join us, Lacey?”

  Nigel flinched. Lacey couldn’t help smiling. It would almost be worth it just to annoy Stella’s boyfriend, she thought. But not quite. It would annoy her even more.

  “No thanks, I’m off to think those deep thoughts I’m so famous for.” She waltzed out the door, hearing it chime behind her.

  Back in the newsroom, Lacey ran searches on the Web, called the Philadelphia police again, and finally put together enough information to find an Eric O’Neil. He worked for a computer repair company called Cyber Rescue Squad on Chestnut Street in Philadelphia, but she couldn’t get past their voice-mail hell. Apparently her call was very important to them, but all available technicians were busy assisting other customers, and the first available Cyber Rescue Specialist would be with her shortly. Business seemed to be booming.

  She finally drilled through the voice menus to Eric O’Neil’s mailbox and left a message for him to call her back. She said she was writing a story about Nina Vickers. She assumed mentioning an unsolved murder for which he might have been a suspect would get his attention. It wasn’t a complete lie, she thought. She didn’t know what she was writing about yet, so a Nina Vickers story was a remote possibility. Lacey didn’t mention Willow Raynor or Cecily Ashton.

&n
bsp; Now what? Lacey hated this part of the journalist’s job, racing to make a call based on some hot new lead and then waiting and waiting for a call back. In the meantime, something at the salon bothered her, something about the ornate little jeweled skeleton key Stella wore around her neck, the bauble that Willow had reached for and Nigel had fondled. It was an unusual key and it looked like real gold, not just an antique brass key someone had polished. The fluted edges, the precious stones stayed with her. The key reminded her of something. It tickled her brain. It drove her crazy.

  She dug out from her files the picture of Cecily’s vintage Rita Hayworth makeup case that had run with her feature article. The ornamental brass plate around the key hole had fluted edges and a pattern set in what looked like the same precious stones. The ornate head of Stella’s key looked like a match.

  Had Nigel given Stella the key to the Louis Vuitton makeup case? Or a key very much like it? Just how had he gotten his hands on such a thing? Lacey’s eyes went very wide. Did Nigel steal the case and give Stella the key?

  “That weasel!” She yelled out loud. Felicity looked over at her.

  “Weasel? I don’t have any recipes for weasel.”

  “Sorry, talking to myself. Working on a story. You know.”

  “Me too. I’m so confused.” Felicity returned her gaze to her own screen. Lacy looked over and saw a Web page filled with elaborate wedding cakes.

  Poor Stella. She thought she was going to get a wedding cake out of Nigel. And a ring. Surely Nigel knew where that key really came from, and Lacey suspected it wasn’t from some little antique shop somewhere. What kind of game was he playing? There was only one thing for Lacey to do. Talk to the weasel. Ewwww! She took a deep breath and called Stella at the salon. They must be back from lunch by now.

  “Hi Stella, listen, I need to talk to Nigel.”

  “Oh you missed him, he just left. He’s driving to Richmond again. Is it important?”

  Good question. Telling Stella anything about this was too dangerous. She would certainly jump to the wrong conclusion, and Lacey didn’t even know what the right conclusion was. She wasn’t about to tell Stella about the key, not without the full story. If Nigel was responsible for the burglary in some way, or even just fencing the stolen goods, Lacey might need backup herself.