by Linda Howard
At last the torture part was over. She was unwrapped, washed, and deposited in the stylist’s chair once more. After three glasses of wine, Daisy didn’t even wince as Amie set to work with her scissors, snipping industriously away. Long strands of hair slithered to the floor. Daisy finished the last of the wine in her glass and held it out for more.
“Oh, I think you can do without reinforcing, now,” said Todd in a lazily amused voice. “How much wine have you had?”
“That’s just the third glass,” she said righteously.
“Darling, I hope you ate this morning.”
“Of course. And Amie gave me a croissant. Three glasses in three hours isn’t too much, is it?” Her righteousness changed to anxiety. “I’m not tipsy, am I?”
“Maybe a little. Thanks,” he said in an aside to Amie.
Amie, a tall, thin young woman who wore her black hair in a crew cut, smiled at him. “It’s been a pleasure. It would be worth two croissants to see this kind of a change in someone’s appearance.”
Todd lounged against the workstation, dapper in his customary khakis and a blue silk shirt, and watched as Amie used a round brush to shape Daisy’s hair as she dried it Daisy watched too, terrified because she was going to have to do this on her own the next time. It didn’t look complicated, but then neither had mascara.
She had breathed a sigh of relief when the last washing had revealed hair that seemed dark, though she’d been a bit indignant that three hours of torture had had such little result. Why, even the lemon white had at least shown that something had been done to her. As Amie’s hair dryer worked, though, Daisy watched her hair become lighter and lighter. It wasn’t lemon white, but it was definitely blond. Different shades shimmered through it, catching the light with gold here, a pale beige there.
When Amie was finished, she whisked away the cape while Daisy stared openmouthed at her reflection. Her dull, mousy brown hair was a distant memory. This hair was glossy, full of body. It swung when she moved her head, then settled back into place as if it knew exactly where to go. The style was simple, as Todd had promised; the length barely reached her shoulders, the ends were turned under, and the top swept elegantly away from a short side part.
Amie looked incredibly smug. Todd hugged her and kissed her cheek, “You did it. That’s classic.”
“She has good hair,” Amie said, accepting Todd’s tribute and giving him a return kiss on the cheek. “Not much body, but nice strong hair with a smooth cuticle. With the right styling products, there’s no reason she can’t look like this every day.”
It was a good thing Todd was along, because Daisy was in a trance. He made certain she had the styling products Amie recommended, he reminded her to write a check for services rendered—she was so dazed she would have walked out without thinking—and, thank God, he was driving. Daisy didn’t know if it was the wine or just plain shock, but she wasn’t certain her feet were touching the ground.
That was good, because their next stop was at a large mall where she got her ears pierced. It took only a minute—all she felt was a pinch—and the next thing she knew she was walking out with discreet gold hoops in her ears.
For the next four hours, Todd walked her into the ground. She tried on clothes until she was exhausted, and began to see what he meant when he said “old money.” The styles were simple, such as a plain beige skirt worn with a sleeveless white blouse. But the fit was slim, the skirt stopped at her knees, and a narrow belt drew attention to her waist. “Old money is never frou-frou,” he said. “It’s sleek and classic and understated.” She bought shoes, graceful sandals that showed her sexy red toenails, and classic pumps with two-inch heels, in black and taupe. “Never white, darling,” he said firmly. “White is for casual shoes, not pumps.”
“But—”
“No buts. Trust me.”
Because his taste so far had been infallible, in the end, she could do nothing else. And maybe her own tastes had something to do with it, because invariably her own preferences had been his, too. She had just never before had the nerve, or the incentive, to do anything about the way she looked. She had stayed with what was familiar, what was comfortable, what was easy. Looking good was a lot of work, plus she had never really seen herself as pretty or stylish. Beth had always been the pretty one, while Daisy had accepted her own role as the smart, studious one. Maybe she couldn’t be pretty as effortlessly as Beth could, but she was definitely pretty, and it was her own fault she was only now discovering that.
She didn’t even try to keep track of the money she spent. This was all for a good cause: her own. She didn’t just buy clothes, though that was the majority of her purchases. She bought perfume, and a couple of chic handbags, and earrings she liked. Todd talked her into an anklet, telling her, with a sly look in his eyes, “There’s nothing sexier, darling.”
At last they were on their way home. Daisy sat quietly, still numb from the entire experience. If there was such a thing as cosmetic war, today she had waged it. From today on, her life was changed. It wasn’t just the way other people would see her, but the way she saw herself. She had always been content with the background, thinking that it was all she deserved. No longer. From now on, regardless of what happened in her personal manhunt, she was going to make the most of herself for the sake of her own pride, if nothing else.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Todd said after about ten miles of silence while she assimilated the day, “what was behind this sea change?”
Daisy sighed and rested her head against the seat, letting her eyes close. “My thirty-fourth birthday.”
“Really? I would have guessed you’re in your late twenties.”
Despite her fatigue, that brought a smile to her face. “Really?”
“Cross my heart. Maybe it’s your skin; you haven’t been out in the sun much, have you?”
“Not a lot. I do tan, but I also burn easily.” Plus she had always been inside with her nose in a book.
“That’s good. You also have a charming air of innocence that makes you look younger.”
Daisy opened her eyes, and felt her cheeks heat. “I don’t get out much,” she confessed. “That’s another reason I wanted to change. I want to get married, and let’s face it, the way I looked before no one paid any attention to me.”
“That’ll change now,” he said, and smiled at her. “I guarantee it.” He paused, then said, “Is there any certain man you’re interested in?”
She shook her head, and felt the wonderful swing of her hair. Goodness, that was amazing! “No. I’m just going to go out looking. I’ve never been to a nightclub before, but I figure that’s a good place to start. Do you know any good places?” Too late she realized that the clubs a gay man knew were probably not the clubs where she would have a good chance of success.
“I’ve heard the Buffalo Club is good,” he said casually. “Do you dance?”
“I know how, though I haven’t done it much since I took lessons. Dancing is a good way to break the ice, isn’t it?”
“Very good.” His tone was grave. “Do you think you might go out tonight?”
“I don’t know.” Going alone to a nightclub would take nerve, she thought, and after today she might have used up all her reserves.
Todd glanced at her, then returned his attention to the road. “Sometimes, once you get started, it’s easier just to keep going than it is to stop and then start up again.”
Meaning he thought she should go out tonight, after making the huge effort all day long to change her outward image.
“I’ll think about it,” she said. A thought occurred to her. “I don’t know how to act like ‘old money,’ though. Is there anything special—”
“No,” he interrupted. “Old money is just a style. Don’t get presentation and personality confused. Just be yourself, and then you don’t have to worry.”
“Being myself never got me noticed before,” she said ruefully.
He laughed. “It will now, honey. It wil
l now.”
EIGHT
Have you found Mitchell yet?” Temple Nolan asked.
“Not yet.” Sykes was annoyed that the mayor had even asked. If Sykes had found him, he’d have said so, wouldn’t he? “I figure he’ll hide out for a week or so, but then he’ll either figure it’s no problem that the girl died, or he’ll get antsy and figure it’ll be safe for him to find some action as long as he doesn’t go to his regular places. I’ve got it covered. When he shows, I’ll know about it within five minutes.”
“Mr. Phillips wasn’t a happy man. There was a big buyer lined up for the girl. Now the guy has found another source, and we’re out the money. Mr. Phillips wants Mitchell dead.”
“He will be. Just be patient. If I start beating the bushes for him, he’ll hear about it and bolt like a rabbit.”
“Mr. Phillips isn’t in the mood to be patient. It was a lot of money.”
Sykes shrugged. Virgins always commanded a high initial price anyway, but sometimes there was a special demand from someone willing to pay big bucks. Sykes couldn’t see anyone paying that much just to have sex with a virgin, so maybe they had another reason. He didn’t think there were any ritualistic sacrifices going on, but he’d lived long enough and seen enough that he didn’t put anything beyond some people. Whatever happened to the girls after they were delivered didn’t concern him, anyway. They were merchandise, nothing more.
“Like I said, he’ll turn up, and I’ll be waiting when he does.” Sykes had to make an effort to keep the impatience out of his voice. How often did he have to say it? Mitchell was as good as handled. And in the meantime, business continued. “We have another shipment scheduled to come in next Tuesday night, five girls. I’d rather not take them to the usual place, just in case Mitchell has already talked to the wrong people. That’s another reason I don’t want to push too hard in finding him; if he gets scared, he may go to the D.A. and try to cut a deal, our names in exchange for protection. You got any ideas for another holding pen, to be on the safe side?”
The mayor rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. The problem was that they had to find a place that was isolated enough to be private, but not so isolated that some traffic couldn’t be expected. Rural folk were incurably nosy. If they saw headlights where there shouldn’t be any, they’d investigate—and they’d usually be toting at least a .22 rifle. Neighbors looked out for neighbors. That was nice if you were one of the neighbors, but it was a pain in the ass when you were trying not to be noticed. The usual holding pen was an old travel trailer set well back from a dirt road. During dry weather, the road itself was a warning system, with any approaching vehicle sending up clouds of dust that could be seen well before any car came into sight.
“I’ll find something,” he said. “If nothing else, I’ll rent a big U-Haul truck.”
They’d done that before, in a pinch. It was amazing how little attention was paid to the rental trucks. The girls couldn’t take a bath—and God knows they always needed a bath—the way they could in the travel trailer, but if the client had to take delivery of merchandise that was less than sweet-smelling, well, this wasn’t exactly a dating service. But it was also a pain in the ass to use a rental, because if you parked the thing, sooner or later you could expect a deputy to come check it out. So you had to drive around until it was time for the clients to pick up the girls, then meet them somewhere and make a fast exchange. A rental just wasn’t the best arrangement.
The mayor’s pager began to beep. He silenced it and checked the number. “I have to go, but I’ll get back to you about the alternate location. Just find Mitchell, for God’s sake!”
Daisy paused at the closed double doors of the Buffalo Club. After much consideration, she had decided this was the place and now was the time to debut her new look and try her new approach to man-hunting. She was tired from the long day of shopping and being cosmetically tortured, but she was also still riding high on elation. When she had arrived home after the shopping trip, she hadn’t called out a greeting as she usually did, just walked into the kitchen where her mother and Aunt Jo were busy putting up peach preserves for the winter. Her mother had glanced around, then whirled in alarm, sharply saying, “Who are you?”
Daisy had begun giggling. The other women had then squealed in delight and thrown themselves at her, exclaiming over the blond hair and the chic haircut. The peach preserves hadn’t been able to wait, so while they continued with their canning, Daisy had fetched all her shopping bags out of the car and displayed her take, which reached truly amazing proportions.
When she carted all of it upstairs to her room and began hanging the garments in her closet, she couldn’t resist trying everything on again. And though she was tired, when she put on one of her trim new skirts and that classic white sleeveless shirt, then the taupe heels, a thrill ran through her. That stylish, pretty woman was really her. She wasn’t gorgeous, she never would be, but the uncluttered hairstyle made the most of her rather unremarkable features and made her look. . . oh, reserved, maybe, instead of just mousy. And Todd was right: that anklet gleaming on her right ankle was down-right sexy.
It was a shame to waste this look. She might not be able to get her hair in exactly this style again. And she was already made up . . .
With that in mind, she drew in a deep breath and made a decision:
It was now or never.
So here she was at the Buffalo Club, a large, sprawling country music nightclub just over the Madison County line. It had live bands, a big dance floor, and sort of a reputation. The occasional stabbing and fight had been known to happen, but it wasn’t so far gone that women didn’t feel comfortable attending. Another plus was that the cover charge was just two dollars; after the money she had spent that day, economy seemed prudent.
If she gave herself time to think, she knew she’d chicken out, so she just forged ahead. She took her two bucks out of the slim envelope purse swinging from her shoulder on a narrow strap. Her everyday purse was big enough to hold a month’s rations, but Todd had insisted she carry something more elegant. “Don’t carry a lot when you go out,” he’d instructed. “Just enough cash to get by, a tissue, a lipstick, and stick a credit card in your bra.” That was good, because that was about all she could get in the slim little excuse for a purse anyway.
A big guy wearing blue jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt collected her two dollars at the door; then he allowed her to pass and she stepped into a din of colored lights, loud music, and even louder conversation. Voices competed with the band and each other to be heard. The place was jammed. She was bumped from behind, shoving her into a tall redhead with big hair who gave her an irritated look.
Daisy started to mumble an apology, then remembered that she didn’t mumble anymore. Besides, a mumble couldn’t possibly be heard in here. “Pardon me,” she said clearly, her head high as she moved away. Her hair looked better than the redhead’s, she thought with a little thrill. She couldn’t remember ever thinking her hair looked better than someone else’s before.
She squirmed her way to a relatively sheltered spot where she could take stock. The bar, a big square, was lined with stools, and people stood three deep around it. Couples swayed on the dance floor, with colored lights flickering around them, while the lead singer of the band crooned a love song. The band was situated on a small stage behind a protective netting of chicken wire.
The chicken wire worried her. Maybe the Buffalo Club was a little rougher than she’d heard.
There were a multitude of tables arranged willy-nilly around the dance floor, but they were all taken. Sawdust and peanut shells littered the floor, while jeans-clad waitresses dipped and wove with deftly balanced trays through the swarming crowd.
She was overdressed, Daisy thought. Jeans seemed to be the dress code, on men and women alike, though every now and then she spotted a short skirt paired with a halter and cowboy boots. Todd would have sniffed and pronounced such an ensemble “tacky.”
Daisy had kept on the pu
mps and the khaki skirt, and the sleeveless white shirt with the first two buttons unbuttoned. The gold anklet drew attention to her slim, bare legs. She looked cool and classic, not quite the usual thing at the Buffalo Club.
“Well, hello!” A hard male arm clasped around her waist and swung her around. She found herself blinking up at a smiling dark-haired man with a beer bottle in his hand.
“Hello,” Daisy replied. She had to almost yell to make herself heard.
“Are you here with someone?” he asked, bending so his mouth was close to her ear.
Why, he was flirting. The realization zinged through her. This was a pickup! A man was actually trying to pick her up!
“Some friends,” she lied, because it seemed prudent to do so. She didn’t know him, after all.
“Would the friends mind if you danced with me?” he asked.
Because he was smiling and his eyes were friendly, she said, “Not at all,” and with a grin he set down his beer, took her hand, and led her to the dance floor.
My goodness, that was easy! Daisy thought giddily as she slipped into the man’s arms. He held her close, but not so close that she would have been embarrassed. For a moment she was terrified her dancing skills would desert her—after all, it wasn’t as if she’d had a lot of practice—but he was fairly smooth and she found that, if she didn’t think about it, her feet seemed to do what they were supposed to do.
“My name’s Jeff,” he said, again putting his mouth next to her ear so she could hear him.
“Daisy,” she supplied.
“Have you been here before? I don’t think I’ve seen you, and believe me, I would have noticed.”
She shook her head, just to feel her hair swing and settle. “First time.”
“Don’t let it be the last—” He broke off, turning his head to glare in annoyance at a man who had tapped him on the shoulder.
“May I break in?”
“No,” Jeff said rudely. “What the hell do you think this is, a prom? Go away. I saw her first.”