A Fashionable Murder by Valerie Wolzien Page A

different planet or perhaps in a different—and wealthier—solar system. “Not everyone is fortunate enough to have someone else raising his or her children,” she said, remembering Tyler’s infancy. She had been forced to leave him to go to work during the day, but she had never had the luxury—or the desire—to leave him to socialize in the evenings.
    “And not everyone wants someone else to raise their children,” Betty added flatly.
    “No? Well, you young mothers always seem to feel you know what’s best. Time for my manicure.” Pamela Peel’s unofficial aunt, apparently deciding further conversation would be a complete waste of time, turned and walked away, waving ten perfectly oval and polished nails in their direction.
    “She needs a manicure?” Josie asked no one in particular.
    “She gets a manicure every week, whether she needs it or not,” Mia answered. “She’s one of our regulars.” She picked up a pair of scissors and began to snip at Josie’s damp hair.
    “Do you have many people like that?” Betty asked.
    Josie, noting that Betty was losing her hair a fraction of an inch at a time while Mia was lopping off her own curls in half-foot-long sweeps, didn’t pay much attention to the answer.
    “Oh, yes. Of course, Pamela Peel used to come here, but she followed her hairdresser.”
    “Pamela Peel? The decorator?” Josie asked to make sure they were talking about the same person.
    “Yes.”
    “What do you mean, she followed her hairdresser?” was Josie’s second question.
    “The person who did her hair left for greener pastures and Ms. Peel followed close behind,” Mia explained. “It happens all the time.”
    “Maybe that’s a good thing now,” Betty’s hairdresser said, standing back to admire her own work.
    “Why?” Josie asked.
    “Maybe a bit more off on the left side” was Betty’s contribution to their conversation.
    “There’s a rumor going around that she’s dead,” Mia said quietly.
    “Murdered,” Betty’s hairdresser added.
    “We heard that too.” Betty spoke up when Josie didn’t respond.
    Josie, realizing Pamela Peel’s body had been discovered less than twenty blocks away, was amazed that the news had traveled so quickly. “How did you hear about it?” she asked, hoping Mia wouldn’t be surprised by the question.
    Apparently not. “Everyone was talking about it when I first arrived this morning. I don’t know exactly who heard about it first. I suppose it was on the radio or something. She is pretty famous. At least in this part of New York.”
    “And when I was getting some coffee earlier I overheard someone saying that her boyfriend was going to be arrested for her murder. . . .”
    “Her boyfriend?” Betty asked, sitting up straighter in her chair.
    “That’s what I heard.”
    “Do you know his name?” Josie asked. “Could it have been Sam?”
    “I suppose so . . .”

SEVEN
    JOSIE AND BETTY were back on Fifth Avenue before their hair spray had dried. “Where do we go? Where do you think Sam is?” Josie asked frantically, looking up and down the sidewalk.
    “I have no idea . . . Oh, excuse me.” Betty bumped into a man rushing by, cell phone to his ear. “Is your cell phone on? Why didn’t Sam call?”
    Josie rummaged in her purse. “I thought . . .” She was so upset that her hands were shaking, but she managed to press the correct buttons. “Two messages. There are two messages. Probably from Sam. Just wait one minute.” She pressed the buttons required to retrieve her messages and listened intently. “The first is from Tyler. He’s fine, may need more money . . .” Impatient, she pressed some more buttons and listened, a frown on her face.
    “What? What is it?”
    “He says not to worry. He got an advance on his salary.”
    “Why does Sam need a loan?”
    “It’s Tyler, not Sam. Both calls were from Tyler.” For the first time in her life, Josie ignored an opportunity to worry about her son. “Betty, where could