Killer Cousins by June Shaw Page A

hairdressers. Most took clients by appointment only. For others, I told Stevie’s address and asked if they were far away. The hairdresser who said her shop was closest and could take me soon was the person whose address and directions I wrote.
    “Stevie, I’m going to the Beauty First shop,” I said through the still-closed hall door. A rumbling sound seemed to emanate from some abstract source.
    I hustled away from the house. Easily following the directions, I drove only a few streets over.
    Beauty First was painted bright pink on a red sign. Gingerbread trim on the building. I was surprised to see only one car in the parking lot. Surely other women wanted to put beauty first, especially early on a Saturday afternoon.
    “I need a little touch-up on my roots,” I told Audrey Ray, the shop’s owner. Her hair was jet black, teased in a sort of beehive. She wore electric blue eye shadow. Gooey blue-black mascara glittered along her lashes. Her lipstick was magenta. Her cheeks were pink circles of blush, adding to my feeling that maybe I should have chosen another salon.
    She had me sit in front of a huge mirror. The nostril-stinging odor of solution for perms made me happy. Some customers must come here. Audrey Ray had an instrumental CD playing softly.
    “Um,” she said, pulling my waves until they stood out from my head like wings. In the mirror surrounded by too-bright lights, I watched her grimace.
    “My color’s natural,” I told her. “Natural burnt sienna. There’s a pinch of gray at the roots because my previous hairdresser put that in.” I grinned at her reflection. Wished she’d take the joke and smile back. “Why are you getting those scissors?”
    “Your ends need a nip. And you need a lot more than a touch-up.”
    “No, I don’t.” I reached my hand up to block her scissors. Too late. She’d already nipped the hair near my face. Possibly she was right. I drew my hand away. “Maybe a little.”
    Her reflection grinned. Her hands swept over my waves, nipping tips. “I don’t have that color. You’ll need to pick another one.”
    I hadn’t planned to change color yet, but maybe this was a good time. “Let me see what you have.”
    “Here’s a few shades. Oh, and I sell lipstick that changes color. That’s what I’m wearing.”
    She handed me samples of miniature ponytails in different colors. I mused, grinning while I recalled the last idea I’d had for a new color. I pointed to it.
    “Perfect.” She parted my hair and spread in her mixture. “Now you can stay there while we wait, unless I get a walk-in who needs that chair.” She washed her items in a sink. I peered in the mirror circled by globe lights.
    When did those sags develop under my eyes? And the crowfeet near them had lengthened since I last looked. Ugh, that lumpiness under my chin? Surely from Stevie’s sugared coffee and fatty meals.
    I eyed my neck. Tight skin had always clung there.
    I jumped from the chair as though it were a hot seat. No benefit to studying a maturing woman in a well-lit mirror.
    Audrey Ray moved behind a beaded curtain in a small room. A microwave ding ed. “Would you like hot mint tea?”
    “Sure, thanks,” I said, and she fixed me some. I told her how much I loved the scenic landscape here, and she expressed how much she appreciated nature’s gift. She’d divorced twice. I mentioned my husband Freddie dying a couple of years ago and then hinted at why I was especially glad she was freshening up my hair color. “My cousin and I might eat at a restaurant tonight. They serve Cajun dishes.”
    “I love that new place. Wonderful food and such funny jokes.”
    “Right. And when you went, was the owner there? A distinguished-looking man, about my age? His name is Gil Thurman.”
    She stared at my face. I feared she was picking out each sag and cavernous line, and deciding I was much older than Gil. “Not that I noticed.”
    “Oh.” I was done with anticipating Gil’s presence.
    “You