Really now. He hadn’t looked too thrilled to be there.
“I can’t really do anything else,” he added.
Ah, volunteered information. I couldn’t think of anything to say in response to that.
“So,” I scrambled for another question, “What do you do for fun?”
“I get my hair cut,” he replied immediately.
Low and behold, the man could make jokes. I smiled at him in the mirror.
“Uh, I like learning new things. School and me weren’t friends when I was the appropriate age, but now I’ll pick up at-home courses, or take online classes. How about you?” he asked.
“Well, I love running. I used to do kickboxing, and I’m in a band.” I picked the first things that came to mind.
“Use to do kickboxing? Why did you stop?” he was watching me carefully in the mirror, as I moved to the sides of his head.
“Well, it’s considered bad manners to knock the wind out of your instructor with a punching bag. I spar with friends occasionally, but I don’t play well with others, so a class setting really isn’t for me.”
“What do you play?”
My, my, what a curious boy.“Violin.”
“Oh.”
I didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t that. He didn’t ask any more questions about the music. I’m pretty sure he assumed I played classical, which I do. It’s classical with distortion.
He didn’t ask any more questions. I finished up the cut in silence, combing it this way and that looking for imperfections. When I was satisfied, I took my hands off him and stood back.
“Check that out, and tell me what you think.”
He turned his head a little to the left, then to the right. “Looks good to me.”
“Great.” I took his cape off and blew the loose hair off with my blow dryer. “I’m just going to clean up, and I’ll meet you up front.”
He nodded.
I swept up my mess, then cashed him out, expecting him to leave.
But he didn’t. Instead, he wandered around our little museum, reading every tag, every plaque, and inspecting every detail.
I kept an eye on him as I worked. Why wasn’t he leaving?
When I finally got a moment, I made my way out back, closing the door between the salon and the rest of the house firmly, then heading for the library.
I heard the door open and shut behind me, and I whirled around, snarling, about scaring the pee out of Doug.
“Whoa, I just wanted to ask you some questions.” He held up his hands palm out, keeping me at bay.
“Sorry, I don’t have time.” I turned again, continuing my trek to the library.
The sound of his footsteps following me set me further on edge. “Seriously, Doug, I’m busy. I’ve got a lot going on right now, and I just don’t have time to be a curiosity.”
“Sorry,” he said quietly, standing his ground.
“Leave before I make you leave.” I took a step towards him, trying to scare him again. I drew my wolf on around me and wore her like a mantle.
“I need your help,” he confessed, his hands still held steady up in front of him.
“Gretchen is closed for business. Is there anything I can help you with?” Hades emerged from the library, bearing a tray of empty tea things.
“I doubt it,” said Doug. “Unless you’re the same as her.”
“We have certain... similarities.”
“But you’re not a werewolf,” Doug persisted, letting his hands fall back to his sides.
“No, I’m not. I’m Hades. Nice to meet you.” He held out a hand, demanding return.
Doug shook it.
“He’s clean. Not a drop of blood on him.” Hades turned to me and nodded his approval.
“Huh?” He’d lost me, I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.
“He’s not your killer. He’s very human and has definitely never taken a life,” Hades clarified.
“How can you tell that?” asked Doug.
“He’s the god of the dead. I think he can sense stuff like that,” I said, trying to hold back a smirk.
“Like from the Greek myths?” He finally caught on.
“Exactly from the myths. He’s the one and only Hades. Hades, this is Doug the circus freak.” I made the introductions and left them discussing in the hall, giving me the opportunity to slip past them and get back to work.
The remainder of the day was going to be tense, knowing that Doug was still in the house, still waiting to ask questions that I definitely did not want to answer. I might have butted my way into his life, but did he really have to retaliate? I was under the impression that he’d had enough of me when he slammed his door in my face. Hey, what do I know?
When I got back into the salon, everyone was gathered around the woman in Lacey’s chair. She hadn’t even started the cut yet, and their faces were all serious.
Hopefully Lacey hadn’t gotten a jerk too. She wouldn’t sprout fur or anything, but she could easily break her neck.
“What’s going on?” I asked, joining them.
“More bad news, that’s what,” said Lacey, with a scowl on her face and her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Was this something I really wanted to know? Curiosity got the better of me. “What?” I stood with my own arms crossed and studied the petite brunette in the hot seat.
“My best friend’s sister was murdered last night.”
Was it someone I was supposed to know?
“She was a hairdresser,” Percy filled me in quietly.
I looked from Percy to the client. I wanted details.
“It sounds like something from a horror movie.” The client spoke in a hushed, frightened voice.
I waited as patiently as I could force myself to be, shifting my weight from leg to leg.
“Her fiancé found her. He’d only taken a 10 minute shower, but when he got back she was in bed, dead.”
“How?” I asked.
“Gretch, don’t be morbid.” Percy placed and an admonishing hand on my arm.
“No, it’s all right. I didn’t really know her. Her jugular was cut on one side. The killer managed to drain all her blood and not spill a drop. My friend said the cops don’t have a clue how it could have happened so fast. There was no mess, no sign of a struggle. Her fiancé said he never heard a thing.”
Either he was lying, or we could all be in trouble.
“That sounds bad.” I didn’t know what else to say. We hadn’t heard anything the morning Penny’s body showed up in the salon either.
We appeared to have a serial killer on our hands. We’d be okay, being a bit better with defensive techniques than your average cosmetologist. We knew a lot of girls in the area through classes and such. They were competition, but we didn’t wish harm on them, by any means.
“Percy, do you think it would be acceptable for me to make some phone calls?” I would make one or two calls anyway, but I’d limit it to just that if she wanted me to.
“Yes, I think you should. Whether or not the cops wanted this public, girls have a right to know and to protect themselves. Do it.”
I didn’t have to be told twice. “What’s her name, and where did she work?”
“Her name was Heather McKay,” said Lacey’s client.
“She’s local. Bangor, right?” I’d heard her name mentioned by some clients before. In fact, the people who didn’t go to us generally went to her. She was real competition.
I booked my patootie over to the front desk and plopped it down on the stool by the phone. We have an address book specifically for the numbers of other salons. I pulled it out and looked up Amanda’s number first.
“Good afternoon, Babe’s Salon, Amanda speaking.” Her voice crackled over the line.
“Hey, it’s Gretchen.”
“What’s up?”
“What’s down,” I joked weakly. “ Another dead hairdresser. Heather McKay from Bangor.”
“The name sounds familiar. Wa
s it on the news?” Amanda asked.
“Not yet. We got a woman who’s best friend was McKay’s sister.”
“Really? Did you get the details?”
“Oh, yeah.” I filled her in on everything we’d just been told.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“This is scary stuff. Does anyone else know?”
“I have no idea, but you’ve got a directory, right?” I flipped mine to the middle.
“Yeah.”
“If you take the second half, I’ll take the first. We’ve got to start being careful, locking doors and all that.”
“No kidding. Hey, I’ve gotta get going. Work to do. Call me later?”
“Absolutely. Be careful,” I warned her.
“I will, you too.”
“Yeah, bye.”
“Bye.” She settled the phone down, leaving me with a dial tone.
I flipped my directory to the beginning and worked my way down the page. Some places had already heard. Others hadn’t and were obviously frightened to hear. There was no proof that it was by the same person. But four hairdressers in less than a month? Most disgruntled clients just never return and tell all their friends about it, not kill their stylist.
I paused to do a haircut, then got back to the important work. We didn’t talk about it with our clients unless they’d already heard about it. Dead hairdressers, especially locally, is bad for business. It creeps people out, and it should.
I reached the end of my half around dinner time.
Percy had a big, very rare steak waiting for me. Absolute heaven in the first bite.
“Persephone, you are the best goddess,” I muttered around the juicy mouthful.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” She smiled over at me from her place by the stove.
“Yeah, but I can’t cook.” I cut another bite and savored it.
She piled stuffing on my plate.
“I love you.”
Percy laughed at that. “Well that’s good.”
Lacey rolled her eyes from her perch on the counter. “You two are so human.”
“And that’s bad because…?” I trailed off, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
“It’s not bad. You’re just weird.”
“Well, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
She was just cranky because all she could eat or drink was blood. I could smell cayenne pepper and cumin. Apparently it was fiesta night in her mug.
“Bloody good fun,” I muttered.
“You’re a brat,” Lacey spat at me.
“Yeah, I’m okay with that.” I finished my steak and got up to help Percy with the dishes, drying them and putting the dinnerware in the rack away as we had yet to invest in a dishwasher.
I settled into bed that night with a lot to mull over. All in all, things had added up to a horrible day. Could it get worse? I had no doubt. This was only starting, the killings. My wolf was raring to go.
Tuesday brought about another interview day. After the manicurist interviews, I wasn’t looking forward to it. We were going to choose a stylist to take Penny’s old booth.
We’d repainted the vanity and mirror frame to help cut back on the feel that it belonged to Penny. I became the one responsible for putting it back together. The mirror was large and unwieldy, but I managed to hang it straight on the first try. Lacey muscled the vanity into place when she first came out. I just had to put the drawers back. Percy had lined the three drawers with flowery contact paper, which replaced the white-and-black polka dots from before.
On a whim, I decided to clean out my own station. My drawers were getting hairy, and my brushes were in need of cleaning, so I sat on the floor to do just that. I retrieved a comb and scrubbed it back and forth over the brush bristles, loosening the hair and bringing it up to the tips and edges. I grabbed off the loose bits, then used a razor to cut through the rest of the tangled mess, repeating the process for every brush.
All my brushes, combs, and clips were red because having signature colors is the easiest way to tell our stuff apart. Lacey-Marie, of course, had pink tools, while Percy had purple, to match her eyes, I’d guess. I’d gone so far as to get all my hot tools, blow dryer, and clippers in red. Lacey-Marie’s were pink, but Percy had a mishmash of colors.
I filled a Tupperware container with hot water and some concentrated barbicide solution to soak my clips. After a moment’s thought, I dumped in my clipper guards and all my combs in with them, glancing at the clock to note the time. I had to keep careful track because if I didn’t, the solution would eventually start eating away at the plastic.
My barbicide container was a bit crusty, so into the sink it went with the hottest water the tap could spew out. It would still need elbow grease to scrub, as loose flakes settled and stuck to the bottom instead of being soaked up by the water. Little bits of hair came with it as I scrubbed. After refilling it with powdered barbicide and more water, I set it back on my vanity along with my shears and razor to occupy their usual space at the center. Those, I meticulously cleaned every day.
Our first interview was due as soon as the doors opened. The plan was to get them all done by lunch, debate about which one to choose during our break, then call the winner to start on a trial basis for the afternoon. We only had two applicants, which we made sure to receive resumes and portfolios from ahead of time.
Apparently, the whole serial killer theory had made it around, even through the schools. These would be the women who really needed a job, who really wanted the job. The economy being what it was, a good job was hard to find. Working for us would be a very good job. Not only would they be doing hair, but they would be performing receptionist duties as well. We all did a little bit, but we were simply too busy to keep leaving our clients to answer phones. Hiring another girl would mean we would get to expand into being an actual day spa, which would mean more business and broader clientele. I was kind of excited.
My last-ditch cleaning effort was for my chair. Hair really does get everywhere. I sprayed it thoroughly with cleaner, wiped it down, pulled up the cushion, and wiped that down as well.
The whole salon was starting to gleam, and the three of us stood back to admire the effect.
“We should have done this whole cleaning thing a long time ago,” Lacey admitted.
Normally, we were all talkative when we occupied the same room, but it was first thing in the morning, and moving furniture was serious work.
“I agree,” said Percy. “Also, it will be nice to get some fresh blood in here.”
“I’ll third ya, Lace, and second Percy. I wish these interviews were over. I think I hate interviewing.” I said.
“You’re not kidding.” Lacey wandered away to study the waiting area. “I want to redo this.” She waved her hand at the whole set-up.
“Actually, that’s a good idea. We should. I’m thinking new furniture, and repaint the coffee table,” said Percy.
“Oh, yeah.” I wandered over to the couch. “We should move the furniture so it’s facing the museum instead of the front desk or us.” I turned to face our little museum.
“We could put the TV here,” I indicated the area closest to the museum, “and put everything else in a semicircle around it, and maybe we should close up the front desk so it’s more of a booth than a table. You know, have a half door to get in and out by. Then we won’t get kids sneaking over and messing with things quite so much.”
“Yeah! I like that. Could we hire a receptionist?” Lacey bounced on her toes.
“Hold your horses on that one. I don’t think we need to hire one full time. We’re taking on this girl part time at first anyhow. If we notice that she is in dire need of an extra paycheck, we’ll offer her reception work to bring up her time.” Percy was one smart cookie. The idea at the moment was we all took blocks of time to answer the phone. Having the new girl doing it officially would be even better.
“That’s a really good idea, Perce. But let’s not offer it
right up front. We want to make sure we hire someone who really really wants to be a cosmetologist and will only do receptionist stuff as a last resort. We don’t want to give money to someone who only pretends to need it if there’s someone else who really does,” I pointed out.
Lacey-Marie nodded in agreement. “It’s opening time, and I think our first interview is here.”
“Go open the door then,” I said, running back to rinse off my stuff, then dumped it all in no certain order in my drawers.
I jogged back to the waiting area and grabbed the résumés off the coffee table.
“Who’s first?” I asked.
“Meredith Winders,” Percy muttered to me as the aforementioned person walked through our front doors.
I glanced quickly over her credentials, then flipped through her stapled portfolio. I was ready.
She was young and had only been out of school for a year. She was out of work at the moment, which meant she badly needed the job. She looked cute in knee high, low heeled boots, jeans, and peasant top. It wasn’t exactly an interview outfit, but I suspected she hadn’t had the money to go out and buy one.
“Why do you think we should give you this job?” Percy asked as the phone rang.
“I’ll get it.” I reluctantly left the interview in lieu of secretarial duties. We really did need a receptionist.
“Good morning, Olympian’s Salon and Day Spa,” I spoke into the receiver. “Gretchen speaking.”
“Hi, I was wondering if you had any openings for next Thursday afternoon?”
“Do you have a preferred stylist?” I asked, with all our schedules spread out in front of me.
“No, I’ve never been there before.”
“Okay, give me just a moment, and I’ll see who’s free.”
I flipped through my own appointment book. It was full, just as I suspected. I grabbed the blank book that we’d purchased for the new girl.
“I’m putting you down for one o’clock, is that all right?”
“Two would be better.”
“Two’s fine as well. What’s your name?” I waited, pen poised.
“Portia Hollidat.”
I wrote the name down on the two o’clock spot. “And what are you looking to have done?”
“A cut and a wax.”
Beauty is the Beast: Beasts Among Us - Book 1 Page 14
