Plotted For Murder

by ACF Bookens

  I laughed. “I would love to have your hair. It’s so—”

  “Straight. Boring. There are many great things about my Korean heritage, but I wouldn’t rank my hair as one of them.” Cate flipped her hair back, and it fell into the exact position it had been in before.

  If I did that, I’d have some rogue curl flinging wildly in the air. On rare days, I loved my hair, but today was not one of those days. And I definitely needed a haircut. Right now, the sides were puffing out and making my hair look a third bigger than it was. “I’m in. What time?”

  We made plans for our haircuts at three p.m., and Rocky sent Cate out with a big mug of coffee and a cinnamon scone. I followed her to the door to turn on the neon open sign and to greet Galen and Mack on their weekly visit to the bookstore.

  Mack took a hard left as soon as he was in and nestled himself – with a bit of brute force – between Mayhem and Taco in the window as Galen headed back to the mystery section with a big wave. Not many men read cozy mysteries, but Galen did – voraciously. That man could finish a novel a day most weeks, and he was, hands-down, my best customer, even without his continual promotion of the shop on his Instagram feed.

  I waved back and then headed to the front of the store to snap a picture of the dogs for our own Instagram page. Our likes always climbed when I tagged Mack. Someday, we might have as many followers as the Bulldog, but not any day soon.

  A few minutes later, Galen came to the counter with his usual stack of titles. “This one is for you.” He handed me a small paperback book with brightly colored yarn on the cover. “I mean for you to read. Obviously, it’s yours since you own it.” The wrinkles at the corners of Galen’s gray eyes got deeper in his white skin. The man is probably close to seventy-five, but he hasn’t lost any of the spring in his step. “The sleuth reminds me of you.”

  A groan sounded somewhere over my shoulder, and I looked back to see Marcus standing behind me. “Harvey does not need any encouragement in the sleuthing department. I thought you knew that, Galen.” Marcus was smiling, but there was a serious undertone to his words.

  “Oh, it’s not the sleuthing I’m thinking of – although now that you mention it.” He winked at me. “No, she’s a business owner in a small town, or at least she becomes one.” Galen winced. “Sorry. That’s a small spoiler, but the book is still good.”

  “Yarned and Dangerous. Sounds fun. Thanks, Galen. I’ll give it a read.”

  “Good. And then write the author and tell her we need more books in this series. There are only two, and I’m aching for more.”

  I laughed. “Ah, so you’re just using me for your own bookish ends.”

  “You bet I am, Ms. Beckett. I have to get my book fix whatever way I can.” He slid the rest of the stack – maybe ten books – toward me. “These, however, are for me to take home.”

  I glanced at his titles. Mostly mysteries but a couple YA fantasy titles, too. “I didn’t take you for a Ghost Academy reader, Galen.” I’d read the books a couple of weeks earlier and reviewed them on my Goodreads feed, but they weren’t to everyone’s taste.

  “Believe it or not, I read most of the things you recommend, Harvey, even books about ghosts who have to go to school.”

  I cackled. “I’ll take that as a high compliment.” I bagged his purchases and then handed him a dog treat. “Rocky has started offering doggy goodies in the café. She wanted Mack to be the first to sample her latest – pumpkin cookies.”

  Galen waved the cookie in the air, and as if by some sort of psychic sense, Mack lifted his head and then lumbered over. Without hesitation, he ate the whole thing in one bite. “Mack approves,” Galen said to Rocky as he headed her way. “Let’s do a photo of those, shall we?”

  Rocky laughed. “I’d be honored.”

  * * *

  By some great gift of fortune or friendship, Lu parked her truck right in front of the shop for the lunch rush, and Marcus and I had our hands full for the late morning and early afternoon as customers decided to browse our shelves before or, it appeared from the greasy fingerprints on the front door, after they sampled Lu’s delicious offerings.

  Fortunately, though, the crowd thinned by the time Daniel arrived, and the warm sun made it possible for us to eat our tacos on a bench just up the street. It was one of those autumn days where everything felt perfect. The sunlight was that particular shade of gold that only comes in the autumn, but the breeze carries with it the scent of leaves and last night’s wood fires. “This day is perfect,” I said as I leaned back and rubbed my stomach, now full of Lu’s new chicken with mole tacos. “I could live a year of days like this.”

  Daniel sighed. “I know what you mean, but don’t you think maybe it’s particularly amazing because we don’t have a year full of these kind of days. They might not be so amazing if we didn’t have the skin-boiling heat of late August or the near-freezing rainy days of March, right?”

  I sighed. “You may be right, but today, I’m going to pretend I’d like every day to be this way.” I sat up and stretched my arms above my head just as a group of joggers passed by in the bike lane on Main Street. “I know I’m not a jogger, but I don’t think I’d choose to run on this road.”

  “It is a little tight,” Daniel agreed as he reached down to pat Taco’s belly. The Basset was stretched full-length beneath the bench, and Mayhem was resting against my shins. “But you know that for some people, exercise is a spectator sport.”

  I guffawed. “You mean the way I do it? As a spectator.”

  Daniel grinned. “No. I mean that some people run or bike or lift weights by the windows of the gym so that people will notice. It feeds their ego.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I guess, but it’s hard for me to imagine. I prefer no one see me all sweaty and red-faced myself, but then, I don’t look like that when I run.” I pointed at a tall, blonde woman with long legs fairly gliding down the road.

  “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  “And be glad of that because as I’ve said, if I’m running, it’s because something is after me.”

  Daniel helped me to my feet. “ Word has it you’re in for a haircut today.”

  I threw my head back. “I can’t believe it. The gossip mill of St. Marin’s even has the chain going for a haircut.”

  “You, my dear, are often the talk of the town.” He flipped my hand into the crook of his arm and then bent to pick up the dogs’ leashes. “But this time, I think it’s the where of your styling that is big news.”

  I stopped. “Why? Is this stylist infamous for shaving random stripes in your hair?”

  “Oh, nothing like that. He’s really good. Just, well, unconventional for St. Marin’s.”

  I took a step back. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “Nope. Some things are better as surprises. Stop by the garage when you’re done. I can’t wait to see how Scott works his magic on you.”

  I started walking again and huffed as I went. “So you think I need a new haircut, too?”

  Daniel put both hands up in front of his chest. “I never said that. You always look amazing.” He held my gaze to affirm that he meant what he said. “I’ll just say this, Scott is to hair what an expert pin-striper is to a hot rod.”

  I groaned. “Like I’m going to get a car metaphor. Thanks a lot.” But I was laughing. All this mystery was actually getting me a little excited about the appointment. Daniel laughed too as he handed me Mayhem’s leash and headed toward the garage with a smile.

  * * *

  At two thirty, I waved to Marcus and headed down the street with Mayhem to the art co-op. I’d told Cate I’d meet her there because she said the new salon was closer to her place than mine. As I walked, I saw Elle outside her farm stand. She had sawhorses and some long boards in front of her. I waved, and she lifted a quick hand in front of her before dropping her head and starting up the circular saw. Clearly, she was focused on her project. I wondered if all that woodworking had to do with her
new business venture, and I was curious about why she hadn’t asked our friend Woody, an expert carpenter, to help her with her project. I sighed and pushed down my curiosity. I’d find out what I needed to know when I needed to know it . . . or when I found a subtle way to get more information.

  I walked the next couple of blocks brainstorming what books I might order and give to Elle to spark a conversation about her new project. My friends were right. I was downright nosy, so why not embrace it?

  As I walked up to the co-op, I lost all track of my nosy conniving when I saw the storefront next to art studios. Hanging from almost invisible lines were several dozen hand mirrors. Each of them was unique – some painted bright reds or purples and others the original gilt of silver or gold. They hung from the base of the window to the top, and I was mesmerized by their spinning and the way they reflected light into the shop behind them and out onto the street, too.

  I felt a hand slip around my waist. “Amazing, isn’t it? Scott’s got a flair for the visual, that’s for sure.”

  I looked over at Cate beside me. “This is Scott’s shop? Scott the hair-dresser?”

  “Sure enough.” My friend looked down at the huge, pink Swatch watch she wore on her left wrist. “We’re right on time.” She pushed open the silver door to the left of the window and held it open while I walked into the most amazing hair salon I’d ever seen. I couldn’t figure out what to gawk at first – the beautiful wallpaper of giant dahlias in bright colors, the antique mirrors that hung in front of the two salon chairs, or the barn-wood that clad the check-in desk. It was so wild and so eclectic that I didn’t think I would ever get tired of being there.

  Then, when a huge man with tattoos on every inch of visible skin, a massive nose ring, and a smile came to the desk to greet us, I was totally sold. I would get my hair cut here for the rest of my life. “I’m Harvey, and this is Cate. We’re here for cuts. You must be Scott?”

  Often, people assumed I was extroverted because I was really friendly, case in point here, but really, I just loved people. And I loved unusual people who were comfortable being themselves the most. Clearly, Scott was one of those people.

  “Hi Harvey and Cate. Yes, I am Scott. Glad you came in. Harvey, Cate has insisted you go first. That okay with you?”

  I looked at Cate who wiggled her eyebrows toward me, and then said, “Sure.” Scott pointed toward the chair closest to the front of the shop and then said, “Let me get you a chair, Cate. We can all talk together.” He then came around the desk and picked up a paisley velvet wingchair with one arm and brought it to his styling station.

  I slid down into the styling chair, and as Scott pumped me to the height where all of my head appeared in the gold-filigreed mirror in front of me, he said, “So what are we doing with all this beautiful, curly wildness? Not coloring out your racing stripes I hope.”

  “I call them the same thing,” I said, tugging at the white stripes of hair that were growing ever wider near my temples. “No, I actually like those. But color? I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Cate winked at Scott and then looked at me. “That’s actually Scott’s specialty. Color, that is.”

  I turned my head and looked at Cate. “Oh, it is, is it?” I put my hand over my mouth and whispered very loudly. “You brought me here to fulfill your evil plans for purple haven’t you?”

  Scott tapped my shoulder. “I’m really hard of hearing, so if you could, please be sure I can see your lips in the mirror. That way, I can fill in what I miss by reading your lips.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just teasing Cate. She’s been trying to get me to do a purple stripe in my hair for months now.” I looked steadily into the mirror and spoke a little more slowly.

  “Oh, I like the idea of a stripe,” the stylist said as he pulled his fingers through my hair. “But I think blue, like a shade darker than royal, would be better.”

  I blushed and tried to picture it. But I was not a person who had been gifted with the ability to visualize things. Fortunately, I was very trusting, and Scott looked like someone I could trust. “I like the sound of that. That is my favorite color.”

  “I thought so,” Scott said. “Now, let’s get you washed up.” He led me to the wash basin, which was delightfully covered in flower stickers. As he draped the towel around me, he said, “You probably already know this, but curly hair needs special care.”

  He stepped in front of me so he could see my mouth as I responded. “I know some, but I’d love to hear it from an expert.” So while Scott gave my hair a great scrub and then almost put me to sleep with the most amazing head massage, he told me all about the schedule for washing my hair, what kind of towel I needed to dry it with, and what shampoos and conditioners he’d recommend.

  When he was done, he led me back to the chair, and Cate waved a notebook at me. “Don’t worry. I wrote it all down,” she said. “You looked like you might not be able to pay attention at the moment.”

  “I would pay just to have someone wash my hair for an hour,” I said with a contented sigh.

  “You know, that might be a really legit line of business if someone can get the marketing right,” Scott quipped. Then his expression got serious. “Thoughts on a cut.”

  “Honestly, I know I just met you, but I trust you. Do your thing.”

  Scott grinned. “I love when people say that.”

  For the next thirty minutes, I watched as wisps of hair fell to the ground and wondered exactly what the final product would look like, especially with the new blue stripe he was applying to the asymmetrical cut. I would have to wait, though.

  While the dye set, Scott set to work on Cate’s black tresses, and within twenty minutes she had this cute, sassy cut that fell across her forehead at the perfect angle to not block her vision for a moment.

  We chatted as Scott worked, and I found out that he and his wife had recently moved to town. They had two children, ages four and six, and they were cat people. Maine Coone Cat people to be specific. The three of us spent a fair amount of time discussing how Maine Coones were really the ideal cat – robust enough to handle rugged handling like a dog, but cuddly, too. Plus, they were pretty independent, which we all agreed was both a strength and a major character flaw. But it was their cute chirp of a meow that had made us all fall in love. Scott even showed us pictures of his cat Moose on his phone. I knew I’d have to meet that cat someday.

  As soon as I got back in the chair, Scott removed the foils and smiled. There it was, a bright blue stripe next to my white one. I loved it.

  “So I’m guess you’re a pomade and go kind of woman,” Scott said, “but I’d like to dry and style you today . . . no extra charge. That okay?”

  I laughed. “Sure.” Stylists always wanted to play with my hair. Something about how much of it I had and its curliness was irresistible to hair artists. “Just no flat irons, please. I always feel guilty when I can’t maintain that for more than a few hours.”

  “I would not even try it. The humidity would just undo it as soon as you went out the door.”

  I nodded. “Yep.” I had to admit being pampered felt pretty good. I felt my shoulders drop a millimeter as Scott fluffed and finger-curled my hair.

  “So there was a murder yesterday, right? I didn’t expect St. Marin’s to be a place for murder.”

  So much for my relaxed shoulders. “You’d be surprised,” I said.

  “Yep. If Baltimore had murder rates like this, Laura Lippman wouldn’t have to write fiction.”

  For a second, I watched Scott’s face to see if our comments were worrying him. The guy had kids after all. But he seemed fine. Nonplussed, in fact. I loved that word.

  “So who was the guy who was killed?”

  “The local track coach,” Cate said. “He coached at the high school but also trained individual runners. Our friend Mart was one of his athletes. She found him, actually.”

  Scott shivered. “Oh, that must have been awful.”

  “It was. She’s my roommate
. It was a hard day.” I remembered Mart’s frenzied face as she’d run into the shop.

  I watched as Scott somehow managed to get the giant tsunami of a wave on the right-side of my head to curve perfectly against my face and sighed. I was going to have to come here all the time now. That was going to be a big blow to my budget for Lu’s tacos.

  “Police have any leads?” Scott asked as he unvelcroed my cape.

  Cate glanced at me before saying, “Not that I’ve heard. Sheriff Tucker is good, though. He’ll catch the killer.”

  “Sure hope so,” the stylist said as he followed us to the front counter. “I don’t like the idea of a murderer being loose in town. Too bad about the guy, though. I used to be an athlete myself. I was thinking of taking up running. I could have used a coach.”

  I studied Scott’s broad shoulders and muscled arms. “I would have pegged you for more of a rugby player than a runner.”

  “Football actually. Tight end.”

  I nodded like I knew what that meant. At least I’d learned enough to recognize it as a position in the game. “Ah, yes. Coach Cagle was good, I hear, as a coach at least.”

  A flash of something – anger, confusion, frustration – went across Scott’s face, but it was gone before he looked up to take my debit card. “Good coaches, really good ones are hard to find.”

  “I wouldn’t really know, I guess. Not much of an athlete myself.” I took my card back.” Thanks, Scott. This is amazing. I’ll be back for sure.”

  We left the shop, and I felt more stylish and playful than I had in a long time. Cate kept flipping her hair from side to side, so I expected she felt the same way. “He’s good,” I said.

  “Yep, the best. I hear his shop in Minneapolis was the hot ticket.”

  “Ah, that’s where he’s from. I couldn’t place the accent.” Scott said “O” like it was two syllables . . . kind of like how I said “I.” “Well, I’m glad he’s here now.” I glanced down the street toward Daniel’s shop. “Think he’ll like it?”