Deadly Dye and a Soy Chai: a Danger Cove Hair Salon Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 5) by Traci Andrighetti, Elizabeth Ashby Page B
Authors: Traci Andrighetti, Elizabeth Ashby
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"jump." "Have you questioned that hairdresser of yours, Lucy O'Connell? After all, she was alone with Margaret while you and your step-cousin were out."
I looked at her open-mouthed. Was there anything this woman didn't know? "Honestly, Lucy is the last person I would suspect of something so terrible."
"Well then, you might want to keep this in mind," Dee began, pointing her needle at me. "You never really know people, not even the ones you're close to."
I leaned back a little, not so much from surprise but to get away from that needle. Dee had a point though. I'd misread Margaret Appleby, and I'd definitely underestimated my uncle. "I'll think about that, Ms. Madison. Now, I'd better get back to the salon. Thank you both for your time."
"You're welcome, dear," Emma said. "And if you ever want to take up quilting, you let us know."
I smiled and fled the room. I don't know what I wanted to escape more—Dee's seeming omniscience or the thought of learning to quilt with her.
Still, as I hurried down the stairs, Dee's last remark echoed through my mind. I just assumed that people around me were good, even if some of them were a little rough around the edges. But what did I really know about Bertha? Sure, she was notorious around town for her bad attitude. And she'd threatened Margaret twice, once really graphically. The question was, did that mean she'd murdered Margaret? And if so, how in the world had she done it?
CHAPTER FIVE
A cold wind blew as I walked up Fletcher Way toward the salon. I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck and glanced at the sky. Black storm clouds were rolling in like harbingers of bad news.
"Super," I muttered as I quickened my pace and glanced at my watch. It was almost nine o'clock, which was when the salon normally opened. But not today. The police had asked that I leave the crime scene untouched until Saturday, and naturally, I obliged. It wasn't like we were going to lose any business.
My "Whip My Hair" ringtone sounded. I pulled my phone from my Kate Spade shoulder bag and saw Amy Spannagel on the display. I pressed Answer. "Hey. What'd you find out about the dye?"
"I have to make this quick," she whispered. "If Ben catches me making a personal call, he'll dock my pay again."
Head Librarian Ben Bardsley was the only person in Danger Cove who was more tight-fisted than Amy. "So, this has happened before?"
"Yeah, I was thirty seconds late coming back from your place after lunch yesterday. And this morning he's been threatening to charge me for sharpening the pencils."
"Wait. Aren't they supposed to be sharpened?"
"Of course," she replied as though I were the dullest pencil in the box. "But he claims that I sharpen them too often. Scout's honor though, Cass, I wait until the points are dull. I'm no lead waster."
I didn't doubt it for a second. Amy was the thriftiest person I knew, not to mention the only woman in Washington State who'd been a Boy Scout—until the organization found out she was a girl, that is. She sewed her own clothes and grew her own food. She even made her own kitchen knives.
"Anyway," she continued, "I couldn't find any scientific studies indicating that the ingestion of hair dye alters skin color, but that doesn't mean it couldn't happen. I did learn that swallowing hair dye can cause rashes, edema, puss-filled blisters, oozing lesions—"
My stomach began to churn. "Wow, we've been talking for almost a whole minute now," I interrupted. "You'd better get back to work."
" Meine Güte ," she exclaimed. "See you at your place at five."
I hung up, wondering why Amy couldn't just say "my goodness" like other people and wishing that I didn't have to go out. But the Smugglers' Tavern was hosting a fundraiser for the Danger Cove Lighthouse, and as a local business owner, I was obligated to make an appearance—and a donation, which I didn't have. Plus, my absence could be interpreted as an indirect admission that the salon was culpable in Margaret's death, and I
I looked at her open-mouthed. Was there anything this woman didn't know? "Honestly, Lucy is the last person I would suspect of something so terrible."
"Well then, you might want to keep this in mind," Dee began, pointing her needle at me. "You never really know people, not even the ones you're close to."
I leaned back a little, not so much from surprise but to get away from that needle. Dee had a point though. I'd misread Margaret Appleby, and I'd definitely underestimated my uncle. "I'll think about that, Ms. Madison. Now, I'd better get back to the salon. Thank you both for your time."
"You're welcome, dear," Emma said. "And if you ever want to take up quilting, you let us know."
I smiled and fled the room. I don't know what I wanted to escape more—Dee's seeming omniscience or the thought of learning to quilt with her.
Still, as I hurried down the stairs, Dee's last remark echoed through my mind. I just assumed that people around me were good, even if some of them were a little rough around the edges. But what did I really know about Bertha? Sure, she was notorious around town for her bad attitude. And she'd threatened Margaret twice, once really graphically. The question was, did that mean she'd murdered Margaret? And if so, how in the world had she done it?
CHAPTER FIVE
A cold wind blew as I walked up Fletcher Way toward the salon. I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck and glanced at the sky. Black storm clouds were rolling in like harbingers of bad news.
"Super," I muttered as I quickened my pace and glanced at my watch. It was almost nine o'clock, which was when the salon normally opened. But not today. The police had asked that I leave the crime scene untouched until Saturday, and naturally, I obliged. It wasn't like we were going to lose any business.
My "Whip My Hair" ringtone sounded. I pulled my phone from my Kate Spade shoulder bag and saw Amy Spannagel on the display. I pressed Answer. "Hey. What'd you find out about the dye?"
"I have to make this quick," she whispered. "If Ben catches me making a personal call, he'll dock my pay again."
Head Librarian Ben Bardsley was the only person in Danger Cove who was more tight-fisted than Amy. "So, this has happened before?"
"Yeah, I was thirty seconds late coming back from your place after lunch yesterday. And this morning he's been threatening to charge me for sharpening the pencils."
"Wait. Aren't they supposed to be sharpened?"
"Of course," she replied as though I were the dullest pencil in the box. "But he claims that I sharpen them too often. Scout's honor though, Cass, I wait until the points are dull. I'm no lead waster."
I didn't doubt it for a second. Amy was the thriftiest person I knew, not to mention the only woman in Washington State who'd been a Boy Scout—until the organization found out she was a girl, that is. She sewed her own clothes and grew her own food. She even made her own kitchen knives.
"Anyway," she continued, "I couldn't find any scientific studies indicating that the ingestion of hair dye alters skin color, but that doesn't mean it couldn't happen. I did learn that swallowing hair dye can cause rashes, edema, puss-filled blisters, oozing lesions—"
My stomach began to churn. "Wow, we've been talking for almost a whole minute now," I interrupted. "You'd better get back to work."
" Meine Güte ," she exclaimed. "See you at your place at five."
I hung up, wondering why Amy couldn't just say "my goodness" like other people and wishing that I didn't have to go out. But the Smugglers' Tavern was hosting a fundraiser for the Danger Cove Lighthouse, and as a local business owner, I was obligated to make an appearance—and a donation, which I didn't have. Plus, my absence could be interpreted as an indirect admission that the salon was culpable in Margaret's death, and I
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