Borrowing Trouble (19 page)

“At some point.”

As they pulled into Glory Junction, Sloane sighed.

“What's that about?”

“It's so freaking cute here.”

Brady found a parking space on Main, a cobblestone street flanked on both sides by cutesy shops with old-time wooden signs that catered to tourists. The town was at the bottom of five ski resorts and had lifts and gondolas going up and down the mountainside, with skiers and snowboarders in the winter and mountain bikers in the summer.

The Glory River and a boardwalk with concession stands bordered the western side. Picturesque as hell, but Brady preferred Nugget. When the skiing was good here, the place was awash with people and cars. Same thing in the summer, when the weekenders and sightseers came to take advantage of the rivers and lakes. Sometimes the traffic was so bad you couldn't move.

“What time do you think the stores close?” Sloane asked.

Brady pretended to look at his watch. “Now.”

She smacked his shoulder playfully. “Let's just take a quick peek. Look, there's a cooking store over there.”

Brady had seen it during his many ski visits. Filled with overpriced pots and pans and ridiculous gadgets, like chocolate fountains and snow-cone makers. He let Sloane drag him inside, and for her sake feigned interest in the shelves covered with salad bowls, pewter servers, and ceramic dishes. She painstakingly looked at everything, which he found cute. Sloane might be a kickass cop, but she was also a girlie girl.

Their next stop was a fudge shop—more Brady's speed. He bought them each a piece for after dinner. Sloane found a place that sold furniture, which had a couple of Colin's pieces. They talked to the owner for a while and Sloane bought cushions for her rocker. He put them in the van while she hit a couple more stores. Eventually, Brady found her in a combination gift and clothing boutique, trying on furry boots.

“They're on sale,” she said. “And I don't have any.”

He didn't bother to tell her that winter was almost over. In his experience women weren't that practical. To them “sale” was the magic word. The store had a nice plump chair, so Brady made himself comfortable. He figured they'd be there for a while.

“What do you think?” She stood in front of the mirror examining the boots.

“They're nice.”

“But do you think they'll go with enough of my clothes?”

The saleswoman saw him struggling to answer and took pity, ticking off about twenty things that would work well with the boots.

“All right, I'll take them.” Sloane went to the cash register, paid, and pulled him out of the chair. “Let's eat.”

The Indian place was up a side street and owned by a nice couple. The wife immediately recognized Brady, greeted him with a big hug, and escorted them to a private table.

“You must come a lot.” Sloane perused the menu.

“Occasionally while I'm here skiing.”

“I always wondered why you never invited me.”

“To go skiing or to eat here?”

“Since there hasn't been any snow, at least to eat,” Sloane said. “You were a bit standoffish in the beginning.”

“What? Are you used to men falling at your feet?” He grinned at her. Truthfully she probably was. Smart, beautiful, charming, athletic, self-sufficient. A man's dream woman.

“No. But I thought we could be friends.”

“And so we are. What are you getting?”

“I don't know. What do you recommend?”

He looked down at the menu. “You want to share a few entrées and get a couple of side dishes?”

“That sounds like a lot of food,” she said.

“So? We can take home what we don't eat.”

She leaned across the table. “I like the way you think. Growing up in an Irish household, you either cleaned your plate or were tortured with stories about the potato famine.”

He laughed and proceeded to order half the menu. When her eyes grew big, Brady said, “This is the way food people do it.”

She held up her arms in surrender. “Works for me.”

As it turned out, they took the bulk of it home, which was fine with him. He'd be so busy preparing for Jake and Cecilia's wedding that living off leftovers for a few days would save him from more cooking.

“I want to make you dinner Thursday night,” Sloane said as he slowed down to take a curve. “I have the day off. But will the timing be bad?”

“Hard to say.” He watched for deer crossing the road. With the dry weather there were even more of them coming down from the mountains, looking for water. It was not unusual for a mother and her babies to dart out onto the highway. “I've got a couple of people helping me with prep, but they aren't trained cooks. Let's see how it goes between now and then.”

“If you can't, I won't take the day off. I'll save it for another time when I can make you dinner.”

He put his hand on her leg. “You gonna dance with me at the wedding?”

“Are you as good a dancer as you are everything else?” In the faint light he could see her smiling.

“I'm not much of one, no. But for you I'll kick it up a notch.”

 

Sloane wound up working Thursday since Brady was swamped. But Friday she took off. Darla had promised to do her hair for the rehearsal dinner. Apparently Maddy, Emily, and Donna had had the same idea.

“Hey, Sloane,” the women chimed in unison as she entered the barbershop.

“Hi, everyone.” She grabbed one of the plastic chairs and joined the party.

“Make sure this'll last through tomorrow night,” Donna told Darla, who was setting her hair in fat curlers. “I'm not coming in twice.”

“It'll be fine as long as you don't get it wet.” Darla finished and pushed Donna under a drier and stuck a magazine in her face.

She signaled for Maddy to jump in her chair. Snapping a cape around her, Darla went to the back of the shop to mix her highlight color.

“You doing Cecilia's hair?” Donna called to her.

“Not for the rehearsal. She's wearing it loose. But I'm giving her an updo for the wedding. Now there's a woman with beautiful hair.” Darla returned with a box of square foils and a bowl of color.

“You saying that we don't have beautiful hair?” With a quick glance around the room, Donna stuck her chin out at Darla, who was brushing on Maddy's highlights.

“Yours is better now that it's gotten my tender loving care. But no one has hair as healthy as Cecilia's. Hers is thick and luxurious and she doesn't even use product—just supermarket crap. She once told me that once a month she slathers it with mayonnaise. That's it. Even the streaks of gray look good on her.”

“We don't have any gray,” Emily said.

“You, Maddy, and Sloane don't,” Darla corrected.

Donna gave her the finger. “What you need, besides respect for your elders, is a manicurist. I could be getting a mani-pedi while sitting here under the drier. Kill two birds with one stone. Then I wouldn't have to go to Graeagle.”

Darla let out a sigh. “I've been thinking about it, but it'll take some convincing to get my dad on board. He already thinks I've turned this place into a”—she made finger quotes in the air—“hen parlor.”

“When's Owen going to finally retire?” Donna asked.

“Who knows? It was supposed to happen more than a year ago.” Darla put the last foil in Maddy's hair. “You're awfully quiet.”

“Just making plans in my head,” Maddy said. “We've got a full house with the wedding.”

“How are you setting up for the rehearsal dinner tonight?” Donna asked.

“Just opening up all the common rooms where folks can mingle and eat. Brady is doing a lot of passed hors d'oeuvres and a buffet in the dining room. We're putting the bar where the reception desk is.”

“Are Jake's kids staying at the inn?” Sloane asked.

“Yep. He's putting a few guests up at his cabin. But most everyone else traveling here is staying at the inn. A couple of Lucky's friends are bunking at his place. We even had to send a few to the Beary Quaint.” Maddy made a face.

“Those Addisons weren't invited, were they?” Donna asked. “It would be worth it just to see what they'd wear. Formal attire with goddamn bears.”

Sloane started to laugh and quickly shut her mouth. Not good for the law to participate in lady snark.

Sam came in the door and everyone greeted her. Darla had Donna and Maddy switch places under the drier and began taking out Donna's rollers in front of the mirror.

“You can still fit me in, right?” Sam asked.

“Of course.” Darla did appear incredibly organized, moving from one client to the next. “Emily, do me a favor and take that sweater off. I don't want to get color on it.”

Emily disappeared behind a screen made of picture frames that displayed various hair styles. Clever, Sloane thought.

“That the color you're sticking with for the wedding?” Donna asked Darla while she combed her hair out.

Today, Darla's hair was bright fuchsia. The hairstylist was known for her bold accessories and loud colors. In LA it would've been nothing. Here it was the talk of the town.

“Just plain old blond,” she said.

Emily came back in a smock. “Sloane, anything new on the deceased man?”

“Not yet. But we're still sifting through missing persons reports. Harlee's story got picked up by the wire services, so hopefully that'll drum up some leads.”

“I'd like to help,” Emily said, and the room went quiet. “I could put a few hours in on the hotline or drive those fliers to neighboring towns. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Emily.” Sloane had heard that on account of her missing daughter, Emily volunteered for the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. “At some point we'll definitely put you to work.”

“I hear you've got Margaret Jones's girl working over at the police station,” Donna said. Darla styled her hair into a poufy bob. Very flattering.

“Rose. You know her mother?”

“Oh sure. Poor woman. Four years ago her husband walked out on her and never came back. She's so busy trying to earn a living that those two kids of hers have to fend for themselves. I understand Skeeter's working at Union Pacific now. The extra income should help. So what did Rose do? Word is she got suspended from school and is paying penance at the police station.”

“Fighting,” Sloane said. “Some girls have been picking on her. Actually, Darla, I was thinking about bringing her in for a haircut and some of those skin products you sell. She could use a self-esteem boost.”

“That's so nice of you.” Darla scooted Donna out of her chair and crooked her finger at Emily. “After the wedding I've got lots of time.”

“Hey, Darla, I want to run back to the inn and make sure Brady isn't slammed.” Sam grabbed her purse. “Just text me when I'm up.”

“I'll be right over,” Maddy told her sister-in-law.

Darla sent Maddy back to the shampoo station while she put on Emily's color.

Donna left cash at the register. “I'll see you ladies tonight. And, Sloane, that is very sweet of you to take Rose under your wing. Poor girl could use a little help in the beauty department.”

“Donna!” Emily shook her head.

“The girl is going through an awkward phase. Someone pretty like Sloane can help her with that.”

After Donna left, Darla shampooed Maddy, then trimmed and blew out her hair. She finished with Emily and by the time she got to Sloane, most of the morning was gone. But it had been worth the wait. Sloane's hair looked fantastic. She didn't get this good a haircut even in Los Angeles.

Because she couldn't stop herself, she stuck her head inside the police station. “Anything going on?” she asked Connie.

Connie nudged her head to the back of the room, where Rose and some goth-looking boy wrote names on a dry-erase board.

Sloane made her way over to them. “Hi.”

“Hi, Officer McBride.” Rose went back to writing.

Sloane meaningfully looked at the boy and asked, “Who is this?”

“Sorry. This is Simpson. He's helping me with the John Doe. Chief Shepard said it was okay.”

“I'll be right back,” Sloane said, and went directly to Rhys's office. “You got a second?”

“I thought this was your day off.” Rhys had his feet up on the desk and was eating a Bun Boy burger.

“It is. I came in just to say hello and met Simpson.”

“Yeah. That kid is the bane of my existence. Has a thing about smashing people's mailboxes.”

“Then why is he here?”

Rhys sat up. “Rose told him what she did and he wanted to help. I figure it's better than having him out, running around, vandalizing private property. Consider him part of the pilot program.”

“Okay. I don't know if I have enough for them both to do.”

“We'll come up with stuff. Hell, they can wash the police rigs.”

“All right.” She hitched her shoulders. The more the merrier, she supposed. “I better see what they're up to.”

“Sloane, have your day off, for God's sake. It's bad enough you worked yesterday. And by the way, nice hair.”

She went and checked on the kids anyway. They spent their time methodically sifting through each missing person's summary. The ones that fit their John Doe's description, Rose wrote on the board.

“You guys are doing great,” she said.

“You think someone murdered him and then chopped off his arms?” Simpson asked.