Wave Good-Bye (21 page)

“The schedule has already been changed to reflect Lisa’s absence,” she said. “Supplies were ordered last week. There ought to be enough for a week or two. Of course, I’ll be in and out. We can’t leave town until…” She stopped talking and teared up.

“If I need help, who’s the best person to answer my questions?”

“Carol can answer any questions about money, purchases, petty cash, and so on. I gave her a day off, so you won’t see her until tomorrow. Suzee Gaylord is our senior stylist. Been with the company three years. She’s not here today, or I’d introduce you, but you can ask her any questions on procedure.”

I nodded and took a deep breath. “I’d like to hire Mom, Althea, Stella, and Rachel from our shop. Mom can do almost anything. Althea specializes in facials and treatments, but can do styling, although that’s not her favorite service. Stella does nails and pedicures. Rachel is an all-around helper and a shampoo girl.”

“That’s up to you. As long as you make the numbers, you can hire anyone you want. Here are the projection sheets.”

Pulling down a clipboard from a row of them, she handed it over to me. “See all the clipboards? Notice the labels. There’s one for the scheduling, one for sales of products,
one for total sales projections, and one for shrinkage. Just about everything you need to know is there on its own clipboard. If you don’t mind, I need to check my e-mail while you look everything over.”

At first I thought the revenue projection sheet must have been for the whole company. Or for all their stores in Georgia, the numbers were so high. But once I studied the sheet carefully, I could see this place was projected to make ten times the income we had at Violetta’s. Best of all, it was on pace to do so!

Next I took down the scheduling clipboard. Working Mom, Althea, Stella, and Rachel in wouldn’t be hard.

The shrinkage proved negligible. I wondered why Carol Brockman thought someone was stealing, so I looked over the cash register report more carefully. One day the till was over, and the next it was under. The amounts varied. Could it have been caused by making change sloppily? I’d have to ask Carol.

The amount of products sold surprised me. For Violetta’s, retail products made up a small portion of our revenue. A quick look at these numbers told me that Snippets pumped the merchandise in and out. A second sheet explained why: incentive contests. For each one hundred dollars in product that employees sold, they got a twenty-dollar bonus. Neat!

All in all, the numbers looked to be in order. But somewhere, somehow, one of these reports might point to a reason for Lisa Butterworth’s death.

Hank’s policing manuals emphasized that the key to solving a murder was motive, means, and opportunity. It would be difficult to figure out who had had opportunity since the crime happened after regular business hours.

Means? I had no idea how Lisa had died. None. Hmmmm. The fish tank was involved, but how?

Motive? Okay, so she was disliked. Lots of people had enemies, but they were still walking around unharmed.

Eve was on the computer checking e-mails from the other salons. I glanced over her shoulder. She had fifty new e-mails. I couldn’t imagine dealing with all those! She glanced up, which gave me an opening to ask, “Eve, I heard that Lisa also sold the client list from Peter Wassil over at Chez Pierre. Is that true? If so, Peter might be a suspect.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “But Peter had an attorney call Lisa. She gave back the list and deleted all the names from the computer.”

Why hadn’t I thought to do that? Hadn’t Vonda suggested that to me? I wanted to pick up all those clipboards and whop myself up the side of the head.

“So Peter had no reason to want to see Lisa killed, right?”

She nodded and put a hand to her mouth. “No. I don’t think so. Oh, I forgot to tell you. If you stay long enough, you get profit sharing.”

“Profit sharing?”

“Uh-huh. We match what you put into your 401(k). Because Lisa was such a good manager—income- and expense-wise, not personality-wise—everyone in this salon was on pace to add a significant amount of revenue to their retirement plans.”

“What do you call ‘a significant amount’? I mean are we talking about enough to buy a case of whoopie pies? Or what?”

“An amount roughly equivalent to one-quarter of their yearly income.”

I nearly fell off my chair. “So let me get this straight. Your employees are the best paid in the industry, you offer paid ongoing training with big-name stylists, medical benefits—”

“And dental.”

“And dental. You offer paid vacations, bonus money for selling product, and profit sharing.”

“Right. And remember, this salon was ahead of projections for hitting their profit-sharing goals, in part because of Lisa Butterworth.”

I whistled through my teeth. “I’d kill for a job like this.”

Chapter Thirty-five

“I HAVE ONE OTHER QUESTION. ONE THAT’S REALLY bugging me. As long as you are being candid, I might as well ask.” We were, after all, alone in the salon, and I wanted to get this off my chest.

Her smile flickered, a tentative okay. Her hand froze on the mouse as she waited.

“Why are you really staying with Wynn? In this day and age, you could easily raise a child without a father. His behavior yesterday with the massage therapist was outrageous! Not to mention, he could get you sued for sexual harassment.”

“I told you. I want my child to have a father.”

“Gimme a break. Your dad is still alive. You are young. You could remarry. Wynn would always be a part of your
child’s life, but you shouldn’t have to put up with this ongoing humiliation. No woman should!”

“Remarry? For my money, right? Look Grace Ann, take a close look. I wasn’t blessed with stunning features. I’m not as pretty as you are. Even when I’m at my best, I’m what? A six? You’re an eight or nine. I’m lucky to have found a guy like Wynn.”

“That’s a load of crap, and you know it. As for your looks, you aren’t giving yourself enough credit. Besides, there are a few tricks you don’t employ that you should. Which is sort of a shock, seeing as how you’re in this industry.”

She shook her head at me. “I would feel weird walking into one of my salons and letting someone I hired work on me.”

I waved the paperwork she’d given me around. “I haven’t handed over my employment contract yet. Or a W-2 form.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t officially work for you…yet. Go clean your face and let me give you a makeover.”

“What? I don’t have time for that.”

“Sure you do. It’s your job to be a walking, talking ad for Snippets.” I pointed to the large framed picture of her that hung over the manager’s desk. She’d signed it with a hearty, “Love to all of you at my newest Snippets!”

I made brushing-away gestures with my hands. “Now go. Wash your face. This won’t take long. It’ll give you a chance to see if I know my stuff or not.”

To my vast relief, she giggled and walked away, coming back with a clean slate for me to work with.

“Come on,” I said, beckoning her to one of the workstations. “Let’s have a little fun.”

Blinking rapidly, she said, “You won’t do something silly, will you?”

“Nope. However, I’m going to start by trimming your bangs.” And I whipped a cape over her shoulders. “Let me grab my scissors. You might want to take off your scarf.”

“Oh, I’d rather not. It took me twenty minutes to arrange it right,” she said, as I came back with the scissors. Her reflection startled me. I’ve never seen a more frightened client. “Relax. I’m only going to slightly angle your bangs,” I said as I combed, measured, and trimmed her hair. “Right now with them straight across your forehead, they invite the eye to calculate the distance between your orbital sockets, which is a bit narrow.”

“Don’t I know it,” she murmured.

I smoothed on foundation, but when I got to her neck, she flinched, pulling away from me. Her scarf shifted, revealing two long scratches on her throat. Obviously, she had hoped to hide them with her neck gear. Saying nothing seemed the wisest course.

“Next I want to pluck a few of the eyebrow hairs closest to your nose. That will also help with the illusion that there’s more space between your eyes.”

To her credit, she didn’t flinch. When we were done, I led her over to the vast makeup display and encouraged her to sit.

“Adding a few false eyelashes only to the far outside edges of your eyes will elongate them, and again, draw the viewer’s attention outward.” After going through a drawer, I found a suitable pair of falsies, trimmed them, put on the glue, let it get tacky, and added them to her upper lids.

“Now we’ll add foundation. Notice that when I finished, I also put a dab of lighter foundation on each side of the bridge of your nose. I ran a bit of highlighter up the bridge of your nose.”

She sat perfectly still with her eyes closed.

“The eyeliner should be black for maximum wattage.
I’m extending it beyond the outer edges of your eyes. I’ll go over it with brown, to soften the look. The shadow I’m applying is lighter at the bridge of your nose and darker at the outside edges. As for your brows, I’m extending them outward, too.”

I could have been working on a sphinx, so quiet and still was she.

“Last of all, I’ll add taupe pencil under the outer two-thirds of your lower lid.”

I lined her lips and added a soft shade. “Okay, take a look.”

Her mouth went slack. She stared at herself. “Wow. Wow. Wow.”

“Is that your parrot imitation?”

She giggled. “I’ve never looked this good. I’m almost an eight.”

“Even if you were a one, you wouldn’t deserve a man who isn’t faithful.”

With a sigh, she nodded. “The real reason I stay married? The one I’d never say out loud? My dad begged me not to marry Wynn. Daddy told me, ‘I see how he is with other women. He will never be true to you.’ But I ignored my father. Usually, I do whatever Daddy says. I’ve always been a daddy’s girl. The one time I chose to rebel, and see what happened?”

“Rebellion. I totally get that. My mother’s nickname for me when I was growing up was Rebel.” I put back the brushes and tossed the cotton tips I’d used. “Did you see where I set the employment papers?”

“Absolutely. I’ll go fax them to our attorney. Is there a paper I can sign to hire you as a friend?” Her lower lip trembled.

“Nope. That’s a promise written on our hearts, one letter at a time.”

Chapter Thirty-six

MOST OF THE STAFF WERE AT THEIR STATIONS AND ready to go by eight forty-five, and we opened at nine. Although this salon wasn’t cozy like Violetta’s, I had to admit that the layout was superb, with a great flow. Each stylist had a station designed so that all the tools were within easy reach. The sinks were new, and the seats tilted perfectly at the touch of a button. Whereas we bumped into each other a lot at Violetta’s, there was adequate space for walking around, but not an inch of waste.

“Everyone!” Eve clapped her hands. “Gather around, please!”

The stylists did as directed. If they looked a bit wary, who could blame them after hearing that their boss had been murdered. I studied the expressions on their faces.
While they seemed respectful of Eve, they didn’t seem cowed or uncomfortable.

“As you all know, we mourn the passing of Lisa Butterworth. She did an admirable job getting this place up and running and making a profit. However, her loss means the salon needed a new manager. I am honored to introduce Grace Ann Terhune to you. She’s—”

“The best overall stylist I ever trained,” said a voice from behind us.

Wynn sauntered over until he stood at his wife’s side. “I trained stylists for Vidal Sassoon for nearly five years. I must have seen three hundred or more come through. Not one of them held a candle to Grace Ann. She should be teaching master classes in cutting in New York. Or coloring in LA. But she’s here and we’re lucky to have her.” With that, he led applause.

I stepped forward, keenly aware of his eyes on me. With a slight nod of my head, I said, “Look, y’all, I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, having lost Lisa in such a violent way. I am truly, deeply sorry about that. If I can do anything at all to make you feel better, don’t hesitate to ask. And if you’d like, I was thinking that this coming Sunday we could have a moment of silence and light candles in her memory before the salon opens. I’ll bring a smudge stick, too. That’s supposed to dispel any bad energy. What do you think?”