Crafting for Murder by Barbara Emodi

Author:Barbara Emodi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: C&T Publishing

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Darlene lived at the end of a cul-de-sac called Flying Cloud Drive. I always wondered what burst of whimsy at the planning office had inspired the name but was happy to think even bureaucrats were romantic.

Her house was much like my aunt’s bungalow, with the addition of a side porch with a door down to the salon. I envied the life Darlene had made for herself. Even though men came and went, Darlene had stayed here, always the same, her cash flow and rhythm uninterrupted.

There were lights on in the basement—Darlene had a late client. I took Toby up to the kitchen and went down to the salon.

It was glamorous down there. The salon’s color scheme was modern and chic—white walls and black decor, with a gilt Greek key border that ran along the top of the walls, dipping up, down, and around the small basement windows. Darlene had done all the painting and stenciling herself and was very proud of her cursive work behind the appointment desk. “If you’re happy, I’m happy” it read. Three of the salon’s walls were covered in framed trade posters collected at the industry training sessions Darlene never missed, each intended to inspire hair colors and styles unlikely to ever be worn in Gasper’s Cove. The remaining wall, the one behind the sinks, was reserved for Darlene’s certificates and diplomas: Master Stylist, Advanced Colorist, Spa Management.

This evening Darlene was at the sinks. Maureen McRae, Mack’s wife, was in the chair, her head tilted back, water running down her brown, wavy hair, her glasses held tight in the manicured hands folded over the plastic cape. Darlene heard me come down the stairs, paused to give me a short smile, and then continued her conversation with Maureen.

“Sure, I’ll donate. Now, which committee is this for?” Darlene asked as she worked conditioner into Maureen’s dripping hair.

“The Beach Cleanup, not the Ladies Golf Association, the auxiliary, or the church. This is the last year I will be chairing the cleanup. There’s some bylaw about not being chair more than three times in a row, but I can’t imagine who else would do it. So much work.”

“Got it. You’re a busy lady. What would we all do without you?” Darlene was distracted. “Excuse me, Mrs. McRae. I’ll be a moment.” She wiped her hands and walked over to me.

“We have to talk,” I whispered. “I left a bunch of messages.”

“I know. I know. I got them. I’m really busy. Look around— still at it.”

“I don’t want to bug you at work. I’m going upstairs. Toby and I can wait until you’re free. Okay?”

“Are we done at the sink?” Maureen called. “I have to get ready for Meals on Wheels early tomorrow morning. I promised the board. There’s no one else to do it.”

“I’m coming,” Darlene said, then turned to me, her face carefully blank. “I’ll be up there in a bit.”

Up the narrow stairs again, I joined Toby in Darlene’s small, impossibly neat kitchen, and sat down to wait.

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