Over by the elegant front desk-seemingly designed to look like a marble and gold sacrificial altar-Gloria was speaking earnestly to a tall, thin, courtly-looking older man.
Alessandro returned and escorted A.J. to the “styling pavilion.” Here A.J. was given a flute glass of champagne to sip while Alessandro asked her a variety of questions about her job, morning routine, and exercise habits in order to determine the best possible haircut for her.
Back when A.J. had been an up-and-coming freelance marketing consultant she had paid major dollars to have her long, chestnut hair highlighted at the John Barrett Salon on Fifth Avenue. She really hadn’t taken time to get a serious cut and color since she’d moved to New Jersey. Maybe it was time for a new look.
Alessandro certainly seemed to think so and made numerous suggestions-most of them good. One thing for sure, he wasn’t just a pretty face. He did know his craft, and in between the amiable third degree he snipped and trimmed, eyes narrowed as he measured one side of A.J.’s hair against the other.
“So you’re just having a girls’ day out, Anna?”
“Yes. Call me A.J.” She watched the silver flash of scissors. “How long have you worked at the salon?”
“Just about a year. And your mom used to be a movie star?”
“In Britain, yes.” A.J. preferred not to go there. Elysia had a startlingly large cult following among young males. Her gaze fell on Gloria who was still talking to the handsome, but increasingly restive-looking, older man. “Who is Gloria talking to?”
“That’s her partner Stewie Cabot. Are you married, A.J.?”
“Nope. Not anymore.” She smilingly batted the ball back in Alessandro’s court. “Are Gloria and Stewie involved?”
“Nah. No way. Stewie’s gay.” Alessandro chuckled. “You’re engaged, I bet?”
And so it went. Alessandro was charming and attentive and never shut up. No, that wasn’t true. He listened very carefully to all of A.J.’s answers to his questions-and he had many questions. Somehow his interrogation managed to skirt the line of actually being intrusive; Alessandro seemed merely young and guileless. Maybe A.J. was conscious of how many questions he was asking because she was doing her best to question him.
While they fenced, Alessandro snipped and styled. At the end of two and a half hours A.J. had a short, feathery cut that was stylish but wouldn’t require too much work with her active lifestyle.
“It’s lovely,” she admitted, holding a hand mirror to examine the close cropped back of her head.
Alessandro handed her his card. “My pleasure. I would love to see you again, A.J. Anytime.”
A.J. thanked him. When they shook hands, Alessandro gently, meaningfully squeezed her hand.
Elysia stood at the front waiting for her. Her eyes widened at A.J.’s approach. “You look absolutely fabulous, pet.” She bade A.J. turn, which A.J. did.
“The rolling eyes make you look a bit unhinged, but otherwise, a truly lovely job.”
A.J. noticed that Stewie, Gloria’s business partner according to Alessandro, was smiling as he observed them.
“Gorgeous,” he agreed, joining in the conversation. “Of course, it helps when we have such lovely raw material to work with.” He turned to Elysia and expertly delivered the finishing stroke. “Your baby sister?”
They chatted with the smooth and personable Stewie for a few minutes and then he excused himself to speak to a customer on the phone. Shortly after, Medea joined them.
One glance at the older woman’s face told A.J. something was very wrong. Medea was visibly shaken, her face white and her eyes red-rimmed.
“What’s wrong?” Elysia demanded. “You’re not happy with the cut?”
Medea shook her head. Paying the cupid-cute male receptionist for her cut with shaking hands, she pushed out through the amber crackle-glass doors. Elysia and A.J. had to hurry to keep up with her.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Elysia persisted.
Medea gave another swift shake of her head. They reached the underground parking garage, Medea walking so swiftly the other two had to trot to keep up.
They found the Bentley amidst the rows of shining, silent cars. Medea unlocked the doors and they got in.
Slumped behind the wheel, Medea took deep, unsteady breaths.
Elysia put a hand on her shoulder and Medea’s face twisted up.
“Maddie, petal, tell me what’s wrong,”
Medea let out a long, shaky sigh. “Peggy Graham is dead.”
Thirteen
“Who’s Peggy Graham?” Elysia asked blankly.
“Peggy. Peggy Graham.”
“Yes, got that much, love. Who is Peggy Graham?”
Medea hiccupped a half-sob. “A friend. I’ve mentioned Peggy, surely?”
“Er… refresh my memory.”
“Peggy and I sat on the League of Historical Societies.”
As she began to speak of her acquaintanceship with Peggy, A.J. suddenly remembered the name of the woman who had been harassing Dicky before his death. Had the police investigated Dora Beauford at all? Did they even know of her existence?
Preoccupied with her own thoughts, she only vaguely heard Medea’s shaky, “Well, she’s killed herself.”
Following a shocked silence, Elysia said, “When?”
“Nearly a month ago. They’re saying she took sleeping pills.”
“Do they know why?”
Medea shook her head.
Elysia bit her lip. “I’m so sorry, Maddie.”
“It’s not true! She wouldn’t have!”
Elysia patted her back. “Perhaps she was ill. Perhaps-”
“No.”
“Then it was an accident.”
“No!”
Elysia stared at her. “What are you suggesting?”
Medea, face working, stared out the window.
“Are you saying someone killed her? What are you saying, Maddie?”
“I’m saying it was murder.”
“Murder? Who killed her?”
“They did!”
“Who?” A.J. and Elysia chorused.
Medea shook her head fiercely.
When she said nothing else and made no further move, Elysia said, “You’d better let me drive, petal. You’ve had a shock.”
“I’m fine.” Medea seemed to shake off her paralysis. She started the car engine. She drove carefully, slowly, out of the underground garage and turned onto the main street.
Elysia asked at last, “When was the last time you saw Peggy?”
Medea’s gaze stayed glued on the busy road before them. “It’s been a wee while.”
Why the guilty look?
“Had you and Peggy been friends long?”
“Years.” Medea swallowed. “Six years. We weren’t… as close as we once were.”
“Had something happened between you?”
“No. Not really.” But Medea didn’t sound convinced. “People change. Friendships… alter.”
Yet Medea and Elysia had stayed close even when they were not in regular contact.
A.J. questioned, “Do you have any reason to believe someone wished Peggy harm?”
Medea opened her mouth and then closed it again. “No.”
It was probably the least convincing thing she’d said so far. “If you know something about your friend’s death,” A.J. said, “the best thing to do is tell the police.”
Medea shook her head fiercely.
Elysia said, “Or tell us. You said ‘they.’ Who did you mean?”
Another fierce shake of Medea’s head.
Did Medea actually have someone in mind, or by “they” did she merely mean the usual suspects everyone referred to by “they”?
“Do you know if Peggy did take sleeping pills?” Elysia asked, thoughtfully. Clearly her sleuthing instincts were roused, but that really wasn’t saying much since Elysia hoped for mystery like most people hoped for winning lottery numbers.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember her ever saying so.”
“Did she take any kind of medication?”
“I don’t know. The usual things for blood pressure, I suppose.”