And after all, maybe I’d have to change only a little.
Denise twirled my chair to face the mirror and flung a plastic cutting cape over my top half. “What are we doing today?” she asked.
I glanced briefly at my image in the mirror, then looked away. “How about auburn hair just past my shoulders that has enough body to hold a curl, but not enough curl to be unmanageable?”
“Honey, I’m a hairdresser, not a magician.”
She twirled me around again and released the chair’s back. The base of my skull snugged into the guillotine-like gap in the sink. I relaxed as Denise ran warm water over my head.
“Normal cut?” she asked. “Two inches off the bottom?”
“I wish you could take two inches off my bottom.”
She laughed. “Not with scissors, you don’t.” The shampoo bottle squeaked as she pumped out a dollop of goo. “I hear you’re cozy with Erica Hale these days.”
“I’m on the PTA committee, that’s all. Erica’s okay.”
“Don’t get on her bad side.” Denise rubbed shampoo into my temples. “She can be vicious as a cat with kittens. Uh-oh. Did I scrub too hard? Sorry. I get carried away when I talk about the lawyer my so very ex-husband hired.”
I winced away from her overeager shampooing. “Divorce is never easy.”
“You got that right.” She rinsed my hair, put a towel around my head, and sat me up straight. “Speaking of divorce, do you know about Dorrie and Jim? According to Dorrie, it’s really over this time.”
“That’s what she said the last time.”
Denise started combing out my hair. “And probably the time before that. Two inches?”
As she snipped away, I wondered what the difference was between an expensive haircut and a normal one. I’d always figured it was about sixty dollars, but maybe Debra was onto something. Maybe one of these days I’d spring for a fancy salon cut. Like after the kids were married and before I became a grandmother.
But why was I wasting my time with idle thoughts? I had questions to pose, things to do.
“So how’s your brother these days?” I asked.“Haven’t seen Nick or Carol at any PTA meetings lately.”
“Oh, they’re fine.”
I watched her in the mirror. Such a short answer wasn’t typical for Denise. “Really? I kept looking for Nick at the meetings about the school addition, you know, before Agnes was killed.” Small lie, but not a big one. My ears couldn’t be more than a faint pink.
“They’re stuck in Florida,” she whispered. Snip snip snip went the scissors.
“Stuck? In Florida?”
“Shhhh.” Denise looked around. “Carol’s really embarrassed about it. She doesn’t want anyone to know, okay? She’s afraid of it coming out on . . . on that blog.”
My gaze met her mirrored one. “Carol’s okay, isn’t she?”
“She will be.”
“What happened?”
“A week or two ago they went on a Caribbean cruise. For their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, you know?”
“Sounds nice,” I said.
“It was all fine and dandy until Carol came down with some weird tropical disease.”
“How weird is it?”
“Weird enough that she won’t tell me any details.” Denise sounded miffed. “All that sister-in-law of mine will say is that she’s not coming back for a while, not until small children won’t run away from her, screaming for their mothers.”
“Some skin disease?”
“That’s my guess.”
Ick.
“But,” Denise said, “she’s also losing some serious weight, so she’s not exactly down in the dumps about the whole thing.”
I laughed. “How long have they been gone? Do they even know that Agnes Mephisto is dead?”
“They left the Friday before, so they weren’t here, but I told them when they called in to say Carol was sick. Nick didn’t sound one bit sorry. I know he didn’t like her and all, but he could at least have faked a little sympathy!” She went on to list her brother’s faults, one of which was apparently the ability to telecommute from Florida while his wife was in the hospital.
My head nodded at appropriate times, but my mind was miles away.
As Bike Trail Nick clearly wasn’t the killer, one more name could be struck from the list. I smiled into the mirror. At this rate I’d have the case solved by the end of next week.
Friday night the kids and I went to Marina’s house and ate more pizza than was good for us. When I mentioned this, she drew herself up and put her nose in the air. “My pizza,” she said with a horrible Italian accent, “iz made of ze freshest ingredients, no?” The three youngsters giggled, egging her on. “Flour from ze new bag. Yeast from ze unopened packet. Tomato sauce from ze can bought only this morning.”
I forked off a piece of thick-crusted pepperoni and sausage. Guy pizza, but every once in a while it hit the spot. “Your Italian accent sounds like it has spent too much time watching old French movies.”
“The Swedish chef,” Jenna said, and for some reason this sent Oliver and Zach into paroxysms of laughter.
Oliver recovered first. “Know what?” He thrust his pizza-laden fork into the air. “We’re getting a dog!”
“You are?” Marina looked at him, then looked at me. “You are?”
“Um, yes.”
“When did this come about?” And why? her tone implied.
“Oh, we’ve been talking about it for a while.” On and off. Mainly off.
“Really?” Marina arched her eyebrows. “You never mentioned it.”
“Not a dog,” Jenna said. “A puppy.”
“Future dog.” Zach’s face lit up. “Cool. I’ve never had a dog. What kind are you getting?”
“Snoopy dog!” Oliver shouted.
“I want a golden retriever,” Jenna said.
Zach looked thoughtful. “Nathan O’Conner has a chocolate Lab. He jumps into the water and catches tennis balls.”
“Don’t want a Lab dog,” Oliver said. The three children started talking at once, each arguing at the top of his or her lungs for the breed of his or her choice.
I put my fingers in my mouth and whistled loud enough to make us all wince. The kids fell silent. Whistling was my best trick, but it didn’t do to use it too often.
Marina fixed her gaze on her son. “You’ll take the plates.” She pointed at Jenna. “You’ll be in charge of the silverware.”
Oliver bounced in his chair. “What do I do?”
“Hmm.” Marina tapped her nose. “Reroof the garage?”
He giggled and, once again, my heart melted into a puddle of love.
“Maybe eliminate national debt?” Marina frowned; then her face cleared. “I know. How about you find a cure for avaricious greed?”
Oliver tried to repeat the word, looking like a little bird hoping for worms to be dropped into his mouth.
“No.” Marina drummed her fingers on the table. “Eliminating avaricious greed might take longer than one night. What do you think about putting the napkins in the trash instead?” Oliver nodded happily. “Ready?” The three kids half rose. “Back, back, back,” Marina ordered. “Down, down, down.” They dropped their hind ends in their chairs and she held up her closed fist. “On three.” She put up her index finger. “One. Two.” A second finger went up next to the first. “Three!”
Before her third finger went up, the kids were hurrying around the table, collecting and clearing like professionals. Table clear, dirties in the dishwasher, they scampered off to the family room with only empty place mats to show they’d ever sat down with us.
I looked at Marina with admiration. “How did you do that?”
“Bribery.”
“Why doesn’t it work that well for me?”
“Got to bribe them with the right stuff. Next time,” she said, nodding sagely, “try cold, hard cash.”