Murder Is No Picnic by Amy Pershing

Author:Amy Pershing [Pershing, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-06-07T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-FIVE

I am not one for the setting of alarms. Mostly because I find that when I do set an alarm, I tend to wake up about five times during the night just to make sure that I remembered to set the alarm. Also, Diogi’s needs usually mean he’s nosing me out of bed most mornings before eight anyway. But there are situations that call for punctuality, and this was one of them.

When I’d decided that I would celebrate Jason’s homecoming with a new haircut, I’d naturally consulted with Krista, she of the Beautiful Hair. With her help, I’d managed to snag an appointment at Hyannis’s Blue Door Salon to have my hair “done.” Apparently you’re supposed to call at least two weeks in advance for appointments with a “stylist,” but Krista, who’d been going there for years, made a call or two, and suddenly I was on for eight thirty Thursday morning with Krista’s very own “stylist,” Marina. So there I was with my cell phone’s alarm buzzing in my ear at the godawful hour of seven in the morning.

About fifteen minutes later, Krista called me. “So,” she said briskly when I answered. “What are you wearing to the Blue Door?”

Krista is not one for social niceties like “Hello, how are you, etc.” She figures you’re fine. And if you’re not fine, she figures she doesn’t want to hear about it anyway.

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I said. “Whatever I can find that’s clean, I guess.” This tends to be my approach most days, which is why most days you will find me in jeans and a T-shirt. I have enough T-shirts and blue jeans to last me almost two weeks without doing laundry. I hate doing laundry.

“No,” Krista said definitively. “You need to dress how you want your hair to look. Believe me, the stylist takes their cue from what you wear.”

“Really?” I asked. “Does everybody know this except me?”

“Probably,” Krista said. “Anyway, how do you want your hair to look?”

I thought about that for a moment. “Um, neat and clean?”

Krista sighed.

I gave up. “How do you think it should look?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Long, but not too long. Long enough to pull back into a ponytail, but not so long that when it’s down, it just lies there. And with some feathered layers around your face to emphasize your cheekbones. And didn’t you say something about wanting highlights?”

“Highlights?” I repeated, clueless.

“Blond streaks,” Krista said with a little sigh. “We call them highlights.”

“Yes,” I said with all the dignity I could muster. “I would like highlights.”

“Okay,” she said, “but tell Marina to keep it subtle. Your hair is already a beautiful color.” It is? Mousy brown is a beautiful color? “We just want a touch of gold around the face, I think.” A touch of gold? “How does that sound?”

I was amazed she even asked. And the truth was, it sounded fantastic.

“It sounds fantastic,” I said.

“Good. In that case, wear one of those floaty dresses of yours, with sandals, not flip-flops.

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