He glanced at my own purple locks.
“Some people,” I quickly added.
He nodded. “Uh huh. So, this hairdresser guy, he can get us access to Katie?”
I nodded. “No sweat. Her new movie comes out next month, and she’s in the salon daily for touch-ups during promo. All I have to do is find out what time her appointment today is and-” I paused, narrowing my eyes at the hulk of man sitting on the edge of my desk. “Wait, what do you mean ‘us’?”
“Us. From the German Gothic uns. Plural form of I. I’m sure you’re familiar with the word.”
“There is no plural ‘I.’”
“There is now.”
I gritted my teeth together. Though I had to be just a little impressed by anyone who could rattle off word origins like that. “This is exactly why I didn’t want Felix calling the police. These people trust me. I start bringing the National Guard with me, and there goes my lifeline to Hollywood.”
“I’m hardly the National Guard.”
I looked down to where the butt of his gun peeked out from the waistband of his jeans. “You’re carrying a.32. You don’t exactly scream ‘friendly.’”
He pulled the hem of his T-shirt down to cover it. But instead of arguing the point, his voice took on a firm tone. “Let me help you.”
I stood, meeting him almost at eye level. Give or take a foot. I lifted my chin, crossed my arms over my chest.
“I don’t need your help.”
He gave me a slow, assessing stare. “No, I don’t think you do. But,” he added, “if you’re smart, you’ll take it anyway.”
I took a deep breath, biting back the refusal on the tip of my tongue. Mostly because he had a point. The smart move here was to take the assistance of the guy with the gun. No doubt he had a lot more experience tracking down bad guys than I did. And the sooner I found this creep, the sooner my life could go back to normal. And the sooner I could dismiss my musclebound shadow.
“Okay,” I finally said.
“Good.” It irked me just a little that he didn’t seem the least surprised at getting his way. “So, Katie Briggs?”
I nodded. “Katie Briggs.”
We were in luck. My friend at the salon said Katie had an appointment on the books for ten that morning. The bad news? It was nine thirty-five. And we were across town. I told my friend to stall her at all costs, then grabbed Cal by the sleeve and made for his ozonekilling machine.
Exactly forty minutes later, we pulled to the curb in front of the opulent glass doors of Fernando’s salon in Beverly Hills.
Fernando was a famed hairdresser to the stars, an incredibly tanned, incredibly flamboyant, and incredibly talented man who’d burst onto the Beverly Hills radar about five years ago. While he claimed some sort of Spanish nobility in his ancestry, his actual past was a little hazy. But as long as his extensions kept winning oohhs and ahhs on the red carpet, no one really cared.
I pushed through the doors and into the reception area, this month decorated in a medieval castle theme. Plush red sofas lined the windows, and a large crystal chandelier hung over an intricate parquet floor. Beyond reception, cut-and-color stations outfitted with huge gilded mirrors lined the room, while lengths of thick tapestries hung from the walls, depicting scenes of men out for the hunt, while maidens wearing shockingly little for the cold English countryside fawned over fairhaired boys. A reception desk complete with turrets took up one corner of the room, and behind it stood a slim, Hispanic guy wearing more eyeliner than I even owned. As soon as he spotted me, he skipped (yes, actually skipped) toward me.
“Tina, dahling, where have you been hiding yourself?” he called, descending upon me with air kisses.
“Hi, Marco.” I returned his quick shoulder hug and stepped back. “Marco, this is Cal, my…” I trailed off, not really sure what to call him. Bodyguard seemed so melodramatic. And rent-a-goon just seemed rude.
But Marco didn’t seem to notice, grabbing Cal’s hand in both of his. “Well, hell-o, Cal.” He pumped vigorously, holding on just a little too long as his eyes rested on Cal’s biceps. “Always a pleasure to meet one of Tina’s friends.”
Oh, brother.
“So, is Katie here?” I asked, lowering my voice as my eyes scanned the salon.
Marco nodded. “Getting a touch-up. In the back.”
I looked over his shoulder to a discreet station near the rear. A brunette with big pouty lips was scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror while the master Fernando spun around her with a straight razor like he was Edward Scissorhands.
“Perfect. You think you could distract Fernando for a sec so I can talk to her?”
Marco clucked his tongue. “Aye, girl. You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
“Pretty please, Marco?” I batted my eyelashes at him. “With Brad Pitt on top?”
Marco grinned. “You know I can’t deny you, doll. Give me two shakes of a lamb’s tail, and that A-lister is yours.” He threw me a wink as he made his way through the buzzing hair dryers and pungent chemical rinses to Katie’s chair.
“Is that guy for real?” Cal asked, watching him skip (yes, skip) through the salon.
“Shhh,” I said, batting him on the arm. “Just let me do the talking.”
I waited two beats, then followed Marco’s path, my shadow a step behind me. I caught up just in time to hear him say, “So sorry to interrupt, Fernando. But something has come up at the front. Can I steal you away for the teeny tiniest moment?”
“I’ll be right back,” I heard Fernando promise Katie, then watched out of the corner of my eye as the pair made their way to the front.
Luckily, the station next to Katie was vacant. I waited a three-Mississippi count, then grabbed a copy of Cosmo from a rack on the wall and sat down. Cal hovered just to my right, pretending to rearrange the brushes at the next station over. I gave him a look that clearly said, “stay out of sight!” then turned to the brunette fluffing her hair beside me.
“Hey, you’re Katie, aren’t you? Katie Briggs?” I asked.
She turned, a bored expression in her big blue eyes as if even she was tired of hearing that name.
“I’m…Jeannie,” I lied, sticking a hand her way. “I’m a huge fan. I love, love, loved your last movie! That scene with the mother, right before she died after being stabbed by the circus clown hired by the mob-so realistic!”
A smile tickled her oversized lips. “Thanks.” Then she turned back to the mirror.
Okay…so what now? I bit my lip. I couldn’t very well come right out and ask her if she was the one threatening my life. I tapped my nail on the plastic edge of my chair.
“You know, I’ve read all about you,” I said, vying with her reflection for her attention. “In the Informer.”
Her expression puckered into what would have been a frown had she not been a plastic surgery devotee. “The Informer?”
“That newspaper. Have you read it?” I asked.
She clenched her jaw, her lips drawing into a thin line. (Okay, considering she had about a gallon of collagen injected in her lower lip, maybe “thin” wasn’t an accurate description. But it was at least thinner.)
“I’ve seen it,” she spit out.
“Oh, you should totally pick up a copy. That Tina Bender, she’s a hoot!”
She glared at me. “Hoot?”
“Oh sure,” I said, forging full steam ahead. “The way she likened your love life to a string of bad Spanish soaps just yesterday. I swear, I spit out my latte at that one.”
“Tabloid trash. They’re all printing lies. Malicious lies.”
Malicious. My ears perked up. That was exactly the term Mystery Caller had used, too.
“Wow. I wonder how she gets away with printing lies. I mean, don’t you think someone should stop her?” I asked, carefully watching her reaction.