Murder With All the Trimmings (35 page)

The hair washing, from soaping to a mini scalp massage, took almost ten minutes. When a wet-haired Honey was installed in Miguel Angel’s chair, Helen asked, “May I bring you a drink? How about a magazine?”

“Just water,” Honey said.

Helen went back to the prep room and poured ice and cold water into a crystal glass, added a thin lemon slice, then wrapped the glass with a paper napkin so the bride’s delicate fingers wouldn’t be chilled.

When she returned, Miguel Angel was blow-drying Honey’s hair. In half an hour, he had it up on her head in a golden twist.

“Now the veil,” he said. “Stand up.”

Honey stood. Miguel carefully draped the veil over her hair, pinned it in place, then added the tiara. The crystals caught the light and gave Honey an angelic halo.

“Beautiful,” he said.

“This is how I want to look,” Honey said. “Now will you brush out my hair? I want King to be surprised on Saturday.”

Miguel Angel unpinned the veil, and Helen carefully folded it and packed it away. The tiara went back in its small box. When Miguel finished brushing out Honey’s shoulder-length hair, the bride-to-be gave Ana Luisa her credit card, wrote a check to Miguel Angel for his tip, handed Helen five bucks and gave Phoebe a thick wad of money.

But she still didn’t leave. “I’m worried about Saturday,” Honey said. “All of King’s celebrity friends will be there. What if something goes wrong?”

“What can go wrong?” Miguel Angel said. “We’re supposed to have beautiful weather, and you’re a beautiful bride.”

“What if I trip and fall going down the aisle?”

“King will only love you more,” Miguel Angel said. “Do you love him?”

“Of course,” Honey said. “His first marriage was a mistake. He’d knocked up Posie and they had to hurry up and get married by a judge at city hall. Posie was so desperate, she signed the worst prenup agreement ever. But we’re doing this marriage right. King wants a traditional white wedding with all his friends there and a real honeymoon. He loves me. He tells me so all the time. And I love him to death. I mean, till death parts us.”

“You’re just having a case of bridal nerves,” Miguel Angel said. “What could go wrong?”

“I guess we’ll find out on Saturday,” the bride said, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.