Killer Cuts: A Dead-End Job Mystery (14 page)

P
hoebe flounced out, slamming the salon door behind her.”Do

the Hustle,” the disco tune that got Miguel Angel’s useless as

sistant fired, faded away in a flurry of silly squeaks.

Helen and Ana Luisa stared at each other.The silence was deafening, but the two women didn’t dare break it.Ana Luisa raised one perfectly waxed eyebrow.

“I should have fired her weeks ago,” Miguel Angel said.”God knows how much business she’s cost me with her stupid remarks.”

Helen was relieved that Phoebe was gone, but she was worried by her threat. Now the bitter assistant knew that Miguel Angel had es caped the police by dressing as a woman—wearing the same outfit as the last person seen talking to King before his death.

“Miguel, do you have Honey’s dress in your apartment?” Helen asked.

“No,” he said.”I threw it away.”

“Where?” she said.

“In the Dumpster in back of the salon.”

Fear gripped Helen’s heart. “Phoebe heard us talking about that dress.What if she tells the police?”

“She won’t,” Miguel Angel said.”She can’t go to the police because of her boyfriend, Ramon. He’s a drug dealer.”

“The skanky guy with the brown hair and bad skin?”

“That’s him.”

“He looks like a rough-trade Fabio. His hair is dirty.You’d think Phoebe would at least wash it for him. Doesn’t he make deliveries for the shops around here? I wondered what she saw in him.”

“A lot of white powder,” Miguel Angel said.”He delivers more than Cuban sandwiches. Besides, she was wearing a blue dress at the wed ding, too.”

“But—” Helen said.

“I am not going to worry. She has as much to lose as I do. Drug dealers’ whores do not go to the police. I’m safe.”

Before Helen could say anything more,Ana Luisa softly interrupted. “Virginia is here,” the curvy blond receptionist said. “She’s scheduled for color, a cut and blow-dry.”

“Just what I needed today,” Miguel Angel said. “Well, I will deal with it—and her.”

Virginia’s clothes dripped designer labels. She was a gym-toned woman in that gray no-man’s land between fifty and sixty. And it was gray. Her roots were nearly an inch long, but she’d combed her hair to hide as much gray as possible. Some women thought they saved money by delaying their touch-ups. Instead, it cost them more. Their color grew dull, and Miguel had to give them new highlights plus color, in stead of a less expensive touch-up.

Miguel Angel commandeered the darkly handsome Carlos, the as sistant to Paolo and Richard, the other two stylists, to wash Virginia’s hair. Helen brought a Diet Coke for her and a thick Cuban coffee for Miguel Angel. The demitasse cup was so small, there was barely room for all the sugar cubes he used.

“Dear,” Virginia said in a syrupy voice, as Helen started to walk away. “Hey, you!” she shouted.

Helen stopped.”Are you speaking to me?”

“Yes. I think my parking meter has expired. Would you put some money in it?” She handed Helen two dollar bills. “I drive an eightysix Jaguar. It’s the black XJ6 in the lot behind Las Olas. I drive one of the real Jaguars, before they became Fords.You can’t miss it in the first row.”

Ana Luisa helped Helen exchange the two dollars for eight quarters. Then Helen walked four blocks in the sweltering June heat and duti fully dropped coins into the almost-expired meter.

Two hours later, Virginia’s hair was a glorious red-gold. She paid her bill, then handed out three envelopes.”This is for you,” she said, giving Helen the thinnest envelope. Carlos got a slightly thicker one. Miguel Angel got the third, and fattest, envelope.

Helen opened her envelope and her eyes widened in surprise and disgust. “A McDonald’s coupon,” she said. “I hiked in the heat to her stupid car, and she tipped me with a McDonald’s coupon.”

“You got one,” Carlos said. “I got two. She is a cheap bitch.”With his Latino accent, it sounded like c
hip beech,
which made the insult somehow endearing.

“Did you get money?” Helen asked Miguel Angel.

“I got coupons, too,” he said.”But because I did such brilliant work, I got five.”

“And they are worth what? One one-hundredth of a cent?” Helen said.

“They are worth nothing.And she is worth millions. She has a man sion on Hendin Island, and she inherited a share in her father’s autoparts business.”

A standard tip for a salon like Miguel Angel’s was twenty percent for the stylist, which meant he should have had at least sixty dollars—more than the average woman paid for a haircut. Carlos should have had at least a ten spot, and Helen should have had a fiver for running an out side errand.

“How can people be so cheap?” Helen asked.

“Because they have no shame,” Miguel Angel said.”When I am tired of her, I will dye her hair orange, and she will torment someone else.”

Helen was amazed by the cheapness of the superrich. It was almost a sickness the way they clung to their money until it hurt them person ally and professionally.Virginia needed Miguel Angel to maintain the illusion of youth that was so important in her circle. Few stylists could match his skill with color. Yet she’d insulted him with a worthless tip.

Helen crumpled her coupon and took a small, spiteful glee in toss ing it in the trash.

She went back to dusting the salon counters, using her anger to at tack the hair that drifted over everything. Humans shed like dogs.When Helen wasn’t sweeping up the cut ends, she was wiping hair off coun ters, picking it off shampoo jugs and shaking it out of glossy magazines. It was a battle she and a daily cleaning crew could never win.

As she worked, Helen pondered King and Honey’s fatal marriage and wondered if it was an omen for her own wedding day.

No, that was ridiculous. King had lived a dreadful life and paid the price. She wondered who’d killed him and why. Was it his bride, Honey? One of his many ex-girlfriends? His former wife? Some em ployee he’d groped? His humiliated daughter? A celebrity whose career he’d ruined? King’s gossip blog could be unbelievably cruel. He’d ridi culed Valencia, a runway model, for being fat.When word got out that Valencia had breast cancer and was taking medication that made her gain weight, he never apologized.

If ever a man deserved killing, it was King. Helen didn’t envy the police this investigation. She’d wandered into a few murders by acci dent, but she wanted to stay away from this one. She was going to be married soon.

Helen sighed happily at that thought. She imagined herself and Phil saying their vows before a minister in the soft twilight at the Coronado Tropic Apartments. Her wedding would be simple and sweet.The only guests would be their friends and her sister, Kathy. After the backyard reception, she and Phil would leave for a honeymoon in the Keys and live happily ever after.

These bridal daydreams were interrupted when a woman of about eighty tottered into the salon.

“Bernice is here,”Ana Luisa announced.

The client held herself like a grande dame and wore a flattering shade of lavender, which made her big eyes seem bluer. Her bones said Bernice had been a beauty once, but too many years and too many face-lifts had taken their toll. Now her trim body sagged and her long hair was stringy.

Helen handed Bernice a robe and a hanger, and the woman went into the dressing room to change. When she came out, Helen settled her into Miguel Angel’s chair, brought her a magazine and iced tea. She saw an old square-cut diamond ring on the woman’s finger and felt a small pang of sadness. Bernice had been a young bride once. Now Helen could see pink scalp shining through Bernice’s carefully arranged hair.

“Miguel Angel, I want my hair to be longer and fuller,” Bernice said. “And don’t tell me to get a wig.They’re too hot in June.”

“I will do my best,” Miguel Angel said.

Back in the prep area, he mixed products while Helen dusted the shelves.

“I am forty years too late to help her,” he said. “And she is a nice lady.”

Ana Luisa glided into the room, a fearful look on her face. She stood there, not saying a word.

“Yes?” Miguel Angel said.

“Phoebe called and asked if she could get her tote bag from the staff storage area. She says she was too upset to get it when she was … uh, let go.”

“She can get it,” Miguel Angel said.”But she’d better not come near me. She’s lucky I didn’t throw it away.”

“She’ll be here in ten minutes.” Ana Luisa looked relieved. She click-clacked away on her stylish black heels.

Miguel Angel was working on Bernice’s hair when Phoebe crept into the salon. He ignored her.The other two stylists, Paolo and Rich ard, were suddenly busy at their stations, cleaning drawers and examin ing brushes. Phoebe went to the prep area, where the staff kept their belongings.

Two minutes later, Ana Luisa was back again, wringing her hands. “We have a problem,” she said.”Tassie is here and she’s two hours early. She says she drove in from Palm Beach and couldn’t judge the time because of the traffic. I suggested she shop until her appointment, but she says she can’t wait.”

“Then Carlos can wash her hair and blow-dry it,” Miguel Angel said.”If that’s okay with him.”

“I’d love to.” Carlos smiled happily. He looked for every opportu nity to work on customers’ hair.

“Carlos has a gift,” Miguel Angel said to Helen.”You can tell by how he handles hair.The man is an artist with a brush.” He meant a
hairbrush
.

Phoebe walked by Miguel Angel’s chair, her face bright red with suppressed anger, her nose in the air. Her tote was slung over her shoul der. She didn’t say a word.

“Good riddance,” Miguel Angel said under his breath, as she closed the door.

Carlos was back at Miguel Angel’s chair, looking hurt. “Tassie said she doesn’t want me to touch her. She says she’s paying for you, not some assistant.”

“If she wants me, then she shows up at
my
time. I will talk to her.”

Miguel Angel marched over to Tassie. Helen couldn’t hear what he said, but there seemed to be angry words and furious hand waving.Tassie ripped off her cape and marched out. She was the second customer who left the shop angry that day. Hairstyling was an emotional business.

Miguel Angel stormed off to the prep room and fixed himself an other Cuban coffee. Helen thought he had to be wired like NASA after all that caffeine.

“Hah! She says she’ll never come here again,” Miguel Angel said.”I try to be nice. I try to be cute. But there are times when I can’t. I know what this is really about. Phoebe did this.

“The last time Tassie was here she told me,’I want my hair my natu ral color.’ Her hair was so neglected I couldn’t figure out what her color was. I was trying to guess when Phoebe said, ‘But your natural color is gray.’Tassie was insulted, but it was the truth. She just didn’t want to hear it. Now she rejects Carlos, who is too good for her. I should have asked you to get the pills out of her cheap, fake designer purse and give one to me. Because whatever she’s on, I need it today.”

Miguel Angel drank his coffee in one gulp and went back to Bernice and her thinning hair.When he finished with her, Helen thought Ber nice’s hair looked amazing for her age. But the woman wasn’t happy.

“It’s not what I expected,” Bernice said.

“I’m sorry,” Miguel Angel said.”It’s the weather.”

Bernice paid her bill with a smile, tipped generously and left.When she was gone, Helen said,”The
weather
?”

“Life is a hurricane,” Miguel Angel said.”She’s been hit hard.”

“You’re a genius if you can get someone to swallow that excuse,” Helen said.

“Yes, I am,” Miguel Angel said, without a trace of shame.

The salon door opened, and a uniformed police officer came in with a man in a navy blue suit. Helen’s heart sank. It was Detective Richard McNally—and he wasn’t there to get his gray hair colored.

“Miguel Angel?” Detective McNally said.

“Sí?”
Miguel Angel said.

“Don’t
sí
us, Mr. No Spik English.Your English is fine, except when you’re talking to the police. But we have an interpreter this time. Of ficer Gomez speaks fluent Spanish. We have a warrant to search your salon and your apartment.”

“What for?” Miguel Angel said.

Helen noticed that his accent, which was usually only a trace, had thickened so much she could hardly understand him.

“A blue dress, among other things,” Detective McNally said.

“What blue dress?” Miguel Angel said.

“The one you wore when you killed King Oden.”