Deadly Dye and a Soy Chai: a Danger Cove Hair Salon Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 5) by Traci Andrighetti, Elizabeth Ashby Page A
Authors: Traci Andrighetti, Elizabeth Ashby
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too."
I sat at the end of the table and angled a glance at Dee. From what I could tell, she was around the same age as Margaret. "How long did the two of you know Margaret?"
"About five years, I'd say," Emma replied as she removed several pins from a pincushion.
Dee jabbed her needle into the quilt. "I met her when she moved to Danger Cove some thirty years ago."
I leaned forward in my chair. "Wow, so you must have been pretty close."
"Can't say we were," Dee replied. "Margaret kept to herself."
"That's weird." I looked down at colorful strips of fabric that had been sewn together into binding. "Whenever she was at the salon, she was always chatting about her friends around town."
Emma stood over the table and began pinning a strip of binding to the edge of a sampler quilt. "What Dee means is that Margaret was private. Unlike the rest of us, she didn't talk about herself or her family at meetings."
Now that she mentioned it, I realized that I'd never heard Margaret share anything personal when she came into the salon—that is, apart from the jaw-dropper about her and my uncle. "But was Margaret still a guild member? I heard that she had to quit because of some sort of issue with Bertha Braun."
Dee grunted and grabbed a pair of scissors, and I scooted my chair back a few inches—just in case. "Bertha's the one we asked to leave. But Margaret quit around that same time because of her rheumatoid arthritis."
I nodded, remembering Margaret's deformed fingers on my arm.
"Margaret and Bertha butted heads like two bighorn sheep from the day they met," Dee continued as she clipped a few stray threads from the quilt.
Emma stood up and massaged her lower back. "Those two didn't see eye to eye on anything."
"I noticed," I said. "At the salon yesterday, things got ugly when Ms. Braun started bragging to Margaret about an upcoming date with some man."
Dee arched a white brow. "With Santiago Beltrán, I presume."
"How'd you know?" I asked.
Emma waved her hand in a shooing motion. "Oh, they'd been fighting over him for ages, the ninnies."
Dee gave me a steely stare. "Like your Uncle Vincent, Santiago's something of a local Lothario—but among the older crowd. He lives at the Coveside Retirement Resort."
My cheeks grew hot from embarrassment. If Margaret was any indication, Uncle Vinnie had been popular with the elderly ladies too. But I kept that little tidbit to myself. "Did Santiago have anything to do with Margaret leaving the guild?"
Emma removed a pin from between her lips and inserted it into the binding. "Indirectly. Bertha found out that Margaret was making him a quilt, and she pitched a fit."
"That's putting it mildly," Dee remarked. "What she said was that if Margaret so much as mailed him that quilt, she'd kill her."
I flinched as though I were the one who'd been threatened. "Are you sure she used the word kill ?"
"Not only that," Emma began, "she said that she was going to skin her like Buffalo Bill did to those women in Silence of the Lambs ."
My jaw fell open, and I gripped the edges of my seat. " Skin her?"
"And make a quilt out of her," Dee added in a matter-of-fact tone.
Emma nodded. "Yes, because remember that Buffalo Bill was going to make a woman suit from the flesh of his victims."
I was speechless. Bertha was a bully, but I never dreamed she would make such a violent threat to anyone.
Dee snipped her sewing thread. "And old Bulldog could have done it too. Before she retired, she was a surgical nurse for Dr. Seth Windom, our resident orthopedist."
"But she didn't do it, Dee." Emma turned to me. "Surely you don't think Bertha had anything to do with Margaret's death? The paper suggested that she was poisoned with hair dye. How else would she turn as blue as Tide liquid detergent?"
"Not Tide," Dee barked. "Ty-D-Bol."
Emma pressed a hand to her forehead. "Oh, that's right."
Dee tossed the scissors on the table, and the clatter practically made me jump out of my skin—er, let's leave it at
I sat at the end of the table and angled a glance at Dee. From what I could tell, she was around the same age as Margaret. "How long did the two of you know Margaret?"
"About five years, I'd say," Emma replied as she removed several pins from a pincushion.
Dee jabbed her needle into the quilt. "I met her when she moved to Danger Cove some thirty years ago."
I leaned forward in my chair. "Wow, so you must have been pretty close."
"Can't say we were," Dee replied. "Margaret kept to herself."
"That's weird." I looked down at colorful strips of fabric that had been sewn together into binding. "Whenever she was at the salon, she was always chatting about her friends around town."
Emma stood over the table and began pinning a strip of binding to the edge of a sampler quilt. "What Dee means is that Margaret was private. Unlike the rest of us, she didn't talk about herself or her family at meetings."
Now that she mentioned it, I realized that I'd never heard Margaret share anything personal when she came into the salon—that is, apart from the jaw-dropper about her and my uncle. "But was Margaret still a guild member? I heard that she had to quit because of some sort of issue with Bertha Braun."
Dee grunted and grabbed a pair of scissors, and I scooted my chair back a few inches—just in case. "Bertha's the one we asked to leave. But Margaret quit around that same time because of her rheumatoid arthritis."
I nodded, remembering Margaret's deformed fingers on my arm.
"Margaret and Bertha butted heads like two bighorn sheep from the day they met," Dee continued as she clipped a few stray threads from the quilt.
Emma stood up and massaged her lower back. "Those two didn't see eye to eye on anything."
"I noticed," I said. "At the salon yesterday, things got ugly when Ms. Braun started bragging to Margaret about an upcoming date with some man."
Dee arched a white brow. "With Santiago Beltrán, I presume."
"How'd you know?" I asked.
Emma waved her hand in a shooing motion. "Oh, they'd been fighting over him for ages, the ninnies."
Dee gave me a steely stare. "Like your Uncle Vincent, Santiago's something of a local Lothario—but among the older crowd. He lives at the Coveside Retirement Resort."
My cheeks grew hot from embarrassment. If Margaret was any indication, Uncle Vinnie had been popular with the elderly ladies too. But I kept that little tidbit to myself. "Did Santiago have anything to do with Margaret leaving the guild?"
Emma removed a pin from between her lips and inserted it into the binding. "Indirectly. Bertha found out that Margaret was making him a quilt, and she pitched a fit."
"That's putting it mildly," Dee remarked. "What she said was that if Margaret so much as mailed him that quilt, she'd kill her."
I flinched as though I were the one who'd been threatened. "Are you sure she used the word kill ?"
"Not only that," Emma began, "she said that she was going to skin her like Buffalo Bill did to those women in Silence of the Lambs ."
My jaw fell open, and I gripped the edges of my seat. " Skin her?"
"And make a quilt out of her," Dee added in a matter-of-fact tone.
Emma nodded. "Yes, because remember that Buffalo Bill was going to make a woman suit from the flesh of his victims."
I was speechless. Bertha was a bully, but I never dreamed she would make such a violent threat to anyone.
Dee snipped her sewing thread. "And old Bulldog could have done it too. Before she retired, she was a surgical nurse for Dr. Seth Windom, our resident orthopedist."
"But she didn't do it, Dee." Emma turned to me. "Surely you don't think Bertha had anything to do with Margaret's death? The paper suggested that she was poisoned with hair dye. How else would she turn as blue as Tide liquid detergent?"
"Not Tide," Dee barked. "Ty-D-Bol."
Emma pressed a hand to her forehead. "Oh, that's right."
Dee tossed the scissors on the table, and the clatter practically made me jump out of my skin—er, let's leave it at
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