Death of a Russian Doll by Barbara Early

Author:Barbara Early
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crooked Lane Books

Chapter 14

When I woke up the next morning, I had no idea what time it was. Gray clouds hung low, giving the effect of perpetual twilight.

The TV weatherperson droned on about lake-effect snow in the forecast, and Dad was still there when I stumbled out of my bed in my Wonder Woman pajamas and somehow made it to the kitchen.

“Why, Miss Prince,” he teased. “Coffee?”

I pulled out a chair at the table and buried my head in my hands. “Why am I so tired?”

“I don’t know,” he said as he put a large mug in front of me. “Sleuthing by day, gallivanting with rich playboys by night. It’ll wear a person out.” He sat in the adjacent seat next to his open newspaper. “And don’t think me insensitive, but what in the blazes happened to your hair?”

“Antoine,” I said. “Marya’s biggest competitor. Everybody said it looked amazing yesterday. I must have slept on it funny.”

“At least,” Dad said.

Finally my eyes focused on the numbers on the clock. Half past seven. “What are you still doing here?”

“I’m leaving in a few minutes. No hurry this morning.”

“That sounds ominous. Is the investigation slowing down?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Initial leads are drying up, one by one. We even looked into your new buddy, Antoine.”

I shook a finger at my father. “Don’t make fun of me. He had motive.”

Dad took a sip of his coffee. “You know what else he has? A clear alibi. He was out at some special Reiki certification class. Multiple people can verify it.” He folded up his paper and creased it with his thumb. “What I really need to do is talk with Ken Young.”

“He still missing?” I asked.

“Last night his sisters came in to fill out a missing persons report. As if we weren’t already looking for him.”

“Do you think something could have happened to him?”

Dad cocked his head. “You mean like whoever killed Marya came back for him, too?”

The thought tied knots in my stomach.

Dad scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’ll make sure we consider that angle. At least it will appease his staunch supporters in the department, especially if I end up having to put out a BOLO. It gives us a new question, though. Who might want both of them dead?”

“Ken’s not dead,” I said.

Dad nodded, but his face wasn’t all that convincing.

* * *

Dad was right about my hair looking awful, and traces of that lipstick were stuck in the cracks of my lips, giving the appearance of pink scales. I’m surprised he didn’t run away when he saw me.

A shower did little to improve things. I spent the whole time worrying about Ken. “Please don’t be dead,” I said a couple of times to my shampoo and conditioner bottles.

And when I finally blow-dried my hair, I’d made a new discovery. Straight and styled by a professional, the short cut might have made me look like a “sleek, beautiful woman,” as Antoine put it. But styled by me? It all curled up, making me resemble a poodle.

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