A Donation of Murder (A Seabreeze Bookshop Cozy Mystery Book 12) by Penny Brooke

Author:Penny Brooke [Brooke, Penny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-05-12T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

Somehow we managed to grab a table by the window at the bustling Pink Whale. I tried to calm my racing thoughts as I gazed out at the square in the middle of downtown. The daylilies were in full bloom, and the streams of water shooting from the fountain seemed to be made of crystals as the street lights shone on them.

Tiffany took a sip of her second pineapple-mango daiquiri. Then she closed her eyes. “Today was just too much,” she said. “First there was a no-show. And then after that, a customer walks in with her hair down to her waist and a million tangles. It took me fifteen minutes just to get them out.” She took another sip and leaned back in her chair. “I was thinking to myself, has this full-grown woman never even heard of this thing called a brush? Not a new invention.”

“Unbelievable.” I picked up my drink. “But most days I imagine your job is pretty cool. You get to spend your days making people gorgeous—which you’re great at, by the way.” In addition to doing hair, she had also started offering her services as a makeup artist.

She took another sip. “Some days I kind of hate it and, Rue, here’s the thing. I really do want to help women be transformed into their most amazing selves! But I don’t want to do that by adding textured layers to their hair or turning them from brunettes into blondes. The job at the salon? It is so not me. I was born to create with pastel pink chiffon that flows just past a woman’s knees. To design show-stopping gowns in silky baby blue.” Tiffany’s eyes grew dreamy. “A navy cocktail dress that’s tea-length, off the shoulder! Very, very classy!” She reached out to touch my hand. “If you are in doubt, you can always go with navy.”

A dark look filled her eyes as she downed the rest of her drink. “Not that I will ever get to really use this knowledge. Sometimes I’m afraid that when I’m sixty-five, I’ll still be stuck at Reba’s, struggling to cut the hair of some preteen girl who cannot sit still when a Taylor Swift song plays. Do they not understand I have scissors in my hand?”

Both of us caught our breath at the mention of that word.

“Sorry!” Tiffany clapped her hand over her mouth. “That kind of just came out.” She scowled and looked down into her empty glass. “What I meant to say is that my life is the worst.”

This was a different version of the Tiffany I knew. It wasn’t new for her to have a day made up of small disasters. But almost every time by the middle of her first drink, she would have turned her bad day into the kind of story that had us in hysterics.

Not tonight.

Her laser focus on a career in fashion broke my heart. No one with decent vision (or a serviceable pair of glasses) would invest in one of those creations from her portfolio.

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