A Toast to Murder

by Michele Scott

  “Tails are passé.”

  “Never. Not in a million years. Lookie here. How cute. I just passed the blushing groom-to-be. Uh-oh. I see the bride is not blushing. What gives?”

  Nikki didn’t get a chance to explain about Derek’s friends coming into town or the note and photo, because Violet woke up and heard one of her daddies. “Daddy,” Violet said. She called Simon “Daddy,” and Marco, “Papa.”

  Simon reached his arms out. “There is my little rose-bud. How is Daddy’s little girl? Come here, Vivi.”

  Violet tried to pull her hands from Nikki’s hair to go into her father’s arms. “Ouch,” Nikki said. Violet whimpered. “What in the world? I think her hands are stuck.” Nikki looked up at Simon.

  “What do you mean?” Simon asked.

  “I don’t know. But I can’t get them loose.” Violet kept trying to free her hands but couldn’t, and she began to cry. “They’re stuck in my hair.”

  “Was she playing with glue?”

  “Of course not.”

  Simon reached behind Nikki’s back. “Lean forward a little.”

  Nikki did so. “What’s the problem?” Now Violet was starting to really cry and Petie was waking up.

  “Hmmm.”

  “What is it?”

  “Um, Snow White . . .” He clucked his tongue. “It appears we definitely have a bit of a sticky situation.”

  Two

  SEATED in the beauty shop with clumps of her hair missing, Nikki swallowed hard. This was so not good. The clumps were up high, too. The sticky situation had turned out to be bubble gum from her purse. Petie explained, after he stopped crying from being woken up in not the gentlest of ways, that he had found the gum, chewed it, and had given Violet a few pieces. Thankfully Violet hadn’t swallowed and choked on it. Not so thankfully, the gum had made it into Violet’s sticky fingers and then into Nikki’s hair. The gum had gone unnoticed for over an hour while they slept, giving it plenty of time to cement onto her hair. Simon had to cut Nikki’s hair out of Violet’s hands, all the while scolding Nikki on how badly it all could have gone. He backed off when Nikki spouted tears. She wasn’t notorious for crying, but lately with all the pressure of the wedding and guests flying in, it didn’t take much to set her off. And news flash to Simon—having her past the shoulders long hair cut within a few inches of the scalp only a few days before the biggest day of her life is sort of a big deal. Just a tad.

  Simon now sat on the sofa in the salon, reading a copy of Brides and drinking a latte. Marco had picked up Violet and taken her back to work at the Malveaux Hotel and Spa. He’d been working hard to have all of the rooms ready for the guests that would be arriving over the next few days, including Nikki’s Aunt Cara and her new beau who would be arriving some time the following afternoon.

  Unable to get in to see her regular hairdresser on such short notice, she couldn’t help but feel a bit skeptical as she sat in a different stylist’s chair. Blanche was in her fifties and nice enough, but Nikki had noticed the lady who’d left before her—eighty something, hair coiffed into a wavy, perfect silvery head of hair that was perfect for an eighty-year-old. Fingers crossed Blanche also did hair for a younger set.

  Nikki couldn’t watch as Blanche picked up the scissors and hacked away. She closed her eyes tight.

  Forty minutes later, Simon stood over her, fingers on his chin and looking pensive. Nikki stared in the mirror as Blanche grabbed a bottle of hairspray and started to lacquer the new do.

  “Very soccer mom, honey,” Simon said.

  Nikki didn’t have the heart to reply. It wasn’t even soccer mom chic. Not even close. It reminded her of the Dorothy Hamill cut she’d had when she was ten. The tears welled up again.

  “What’s a matter, don’t you like it?” Blanche asked.

  Simon handed her a hundred bucks and grabbed Nikki’s hand. “She loves it.” They made it to his car. “This isn’t going to work.” Nikki couldn’t comment. “Let me think for a minute. He slammed his hands against the roof of the Porsche. “I’ve got it!” Simon flipped open his phone and dialed. “Hi. Maximilian, please.” A few seconds passed. “Max. It’s me, Simon Malveaux, and I have a huge problem. Like ginormous.” He went on to explain Nikki’s hair dilemma. “Uh-huh. I understand.” He paused. “I could probably hook you up with some wine for your cellar. The Cab is divine. You are right. Certainly. Will do. You are a lifesaver. We’ll see you within the hour.”

  “Where are we going?” Nikki mustered. “And who did you just promise a case of wine to?”

  “Where we should have gone in the first place. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking. Brain fart or lack of sleep from the wee one getting up at night.” He shook his head.

  “Simon!”

  “What? Get in the car. We have to hurry. I cannot believe that I allowed you to go to that Podunk of a salon. That’s not even a salon. It’s barely a step up from a barbershop. Not even in Supercuts’ category! Good Lord in heaven. No need to worry, because I am going to take care of this. And it’s three cases of wine and well worth it. Trust me.”

  Another hour and Nikki was at another salon. This one was contemporary in style—all reds, blacks, whites, and lots of chrome and silver. It was a hubbub of activity, and Simon explained that Maximilian Werlin was simply the best that the wine country had to offer.

  “Oh, darling, Simon was right. I am so glad he brought you here. Who did this to you? That’s hideous. Call me Max.” He stuck out his manicured hand and gave her a limp handshake. Max was polished from his head down to his toes with golden waves of hair that skimmed his shoulders. He looked to be wearing mascara around his dark blue eyes. He looked like he’d spent either time in the tanning booth on a regular basis, or used that spray-on tan that gave off an orange glow. He wore dark jeans that appeared to be plastered on, and a tight white tee. A diamond stud glimmered in his left ear. “Now, I don’t do hair any longer. I don’t need to. I run all of the show here.” He waved his arms flamboyantly in the air. He basically scared the hell out of Nikki. “The little people listen to moi. I would have loved for you to see Shereen but she’s booked, so I’m going to take you over here and have you take a seat at our newest designer’s chair.”

  “Designer? It’s my hair not my house.”

  Max looked at Simon and paused for a second until Simon started laughing and rolling his eyes. Max followed suit. “She’s adorable. Where did you find her?”

  “She’s marrying my brother. This weekend.”

  “Love it. Lovely. Darling, let’s pink you up.”

  “Pink me up?”

  Max laughed again. “Oh, how much fun are we gonna have.” He clapped his hands. “Know what? I am not going to take you over to Chi-Chi’s chair.”

  “Chi-Chi?” Nikki thought she was in some type of bad sitcom.

  “Yes. Our darling Chi-Chi. Isn’t that a great name?”

  “For a Lhasa apso.”

  “Adorable.” Max pointed at her and winked at Simon. “Simon grab me that towel and drape it over that mirror. She’s all mine.” He pointed to a mirror in front of one of the stations. “We’re going to have a little fun together, and I get to change your life for the better. Top Model Makeover.”

  “Goodie. Simon,” she growled. “Top Model Makeover?”

  “You don’t watch Tyra? Come on. When they make over the models? Have you been stuck in a closet?” Max shook his head.

  Nikki glared at Simon.

  He bent over and whispered in her ear, “It’s going to be fine. Trust me. When have I ever led you astray?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?” She sighed. “I have to be back soon. Derek’s friends will be arriving.”

  “Hush. You are a bride to be. Your man can wait and I will make it worth his while. You are now in the hands of a master.” Max took a bow. “Allow me to work my magic. Why don’t you pour her a glass of wine, Simon? There’s a lovely Rosé in the fridge and make sure you grab a slice of the apple ga
lette with some aged Gouda. I have Bouchon do all of my catering, and I make certain that my clientele does not leave here without a perfect do, a little buzz, and a full tummy.” He rubbed his stomach. “Life doesn’t get any better than that.”

  “I agree,” Simon replied.

  Nikki felt nauseous. “I don’t need any wine or galette and cheese.”

  “Nonsense.” Max’s eyes narrowed. “Get her the wine and the galette.”

  Simon scurried off.

  Nikki sighed. “Can you take the towel off the mirror? I’m a big girl. I can handle this.”

  “No no.” He shook a finger in her face. “When I work with a client—which is so rare because remember I am the boss man now, el jefe—anyway, when I work with a client, this is how I do it. You have to trust that I am going to create art, a masterpiece, and you will be stunned into bliss.”

  Nikki’s stomach clenched. “Whatever.” At this point, anything this Max character did to her couldn’t be any worse than what Blanche had done, and so she sat down and let Picasso do his thing.

  Simon brought her back the wine and galette. “Taste it!” Max ordered. Nikki did and was pleasantly surprised. She smiled and nodded. “I told you, didn’t I? And how pretty is that pink in that wine? It’s like a hue from a sunset blazing across the sky. Divine, darlings.”

  An hour and a half later, two glasses of wine and begging for another slice of galette, Simon continuously shook his head and reminded her that the big day was approaching. “You do not want to be getting chubby, my friend.”

  “Please,” she begged.

  “Can I have tails?”

  “No.”

  “Then, nooooo back at you.”

  “Fine.”

  “Are we ready?” Max asked.

  Nikki had been washed, clipped, sprayed, and whatnot, and now it was time for the reveal. She looked to Simon first and he seemed to be coming out of his skin. “I love it, I love it. It feels so vavavavoom, doesn’t it? Sexy. It is hot, baby, hot!”

  Max smiled smugly. “I told you.” He grabbed the towel over the mirror and yanked back. “Voila!”

  Nikki’s mouth fell open. She stared for a few seconds and brought her fingers to her hair. “That’s not me,” she said. “My hair. Me? What?” Two glasses of wine shouldn’t make her see things.

  “Looks like we can’t call you Snow White anymore. Not even Goldilocks.” Goldilocks had been his original nickname for Nikki when she’d arrived at the vineyard with golden blond hair a few years ago, before going back to her original dark hair.

  Nikki just sat there staring, shocked.

  “You can call her Gwen or Pink or Blondie,” Max said. “Look at her. Does she not look like a rock star?”

  “Or a porn star,” she said, breaking her silence. “I don’t want to look like a rock star. I want to look like me.”

  Max took a step back. “Porn star! Please. Ridiculous.”

  Nikki shook her head—her newly platinum blond, pixie-short-hair head. “Okay, I can get with the haircut. Fine. It’s not soccer mom.” It was sort of cute, and she had secretly always wanted a short do, but figured she’d wait until after the wedding. Derek loved her long hair. Oh no. Derek. What was he going to say? “But platinum? Couldn’t we do my normal color?”

  “Honey, your big day is around the corner and you need to make a splash. The camera is going to love you.”

  She sighed. “Right. But can we darken this up? A bit?”

  Max frowned and put his hands on his hips. “No, we can’t.” He glanced over at Simon. “Suddenly not so adorable, and suddenly I am out of time and patience. You look like a rock star and that’ll be two hundred and fifty dollars. And by the way, I wouldn’t try to color over that any time soon. Your hair could fall out or turn green. Simon, you can drop my wine off here at the salon.”

  Nikki wrote him a check and stormed out with Simon following her. “Look at me. Rock star, porn star, whatever star. Not the image I wanted for my wedding day. And two hundred and fifty bucks, plus three cases of wine! I don’t think so. He gets no wine.” She shook a finger at him. “Not a drop!”

  “You look amazing. You do. You’ll get used to it. I’ll take you to go see my friend Tanya and she’ll give you some new makeup tips to go with the hair.”

  “I’m done with your people.”

  “Should have put the purse away then, bridezilla.”

  “No kidding, brainiac.”

  They drove the rest of the way home in silence. Nikki got out of the car and headed into the house where she could hear laughter inside. Great. Just great. Derek had made it back with his friends. She turned to run back to Simon’s Porsche, but he peeled out and drove away. Maybe she had been a little ungrateful. A little bit selfish and it had all been her fault, but it was her hair and now her hair was really blond and really short and . . . This was not good.

  She walked around back and went into the house through the side door. She made it to their bedroom bathroom without being noticed, where she played around for a minute with her hair and tried to get past the shock of seeing herself like this. She put on some makeup and changed into a tea-length, black spaghetti strapped dress she planned to wear out for the evening. Their dinner reservations were in an hour, but first she had to let Derek know about her hair before she walked out into the family room and he didn’t recognize her. She took out her cell phone and dialed the house phone. The rings echoed. She should’ve called him before getting home, but she’d been too scared. He’d loved her long hair. He twirled it around his fingers at night, and she loved having him play with it. Now it was gone. Oh, for goodness sakes, it was only hair. She frowned, but it was her hair and now she had pixie short, blond hair only a few days before her wedding.

  “Honey, where are you? I’ve been calling your cell and I was starting to get worried. My friends are here and they’re dying to meet you.”

  “I have to tell you something,” she said, sitting down on the end of their bed.

  “What is it? Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “In the bedroom.”

  “The bedroom?”

  “Yes. Our room. Please don’t let anyone know I’m in here.”

  “Nikki?” She heard him walking down the hall and come into their room. “Nikki?” She looked up at him. “Wow, your hair,” he said sounding stunned. He hung up the phone and stood looking at her. She wasn’t sure what the look on his face meant. Did he hate it? Was he angry? Amused? She didn’t know.

  “I know.” She started to tear up again. “Violet had gum in her hands and she put them in my hair and, oh, God. It’s a long story, but this is the result.” She tossed up her hands.

  Derek came over to her and cupped his hand under her chin. She looked up at him. Vulnerability wasn’t something she typically resorted to, but at that moment she couldn’t help feeling childlike and weak. She kept trying to remind herself that it was only hair. “You look beautiful. Bald, blond, short, long, blue, green, I don’t care. I love it. I love you.”

  “But you loved my long hair.”

  He nodded and sat down next to her. “Like I said, it’s you not your hair that I am marrying, and honestly I think you look great. Sexy. It’s really sexy.” He planted a kiss on her. Everyday Derek showed her more and more why she’d chosen to marry him. “Come on, let’s go. I want you to meet my friends. You’re going to love them and they’re going to love you, Pink.”

  “Pink?”

  “The pop star. Your hair.” He winked.

  “Now I get it. Simon,” she growled.

  “Simon?”

  “Yes. Your brother was the one who told the hairdresser to Pink me up. At the time I had no clue what he meant. If I’d known . . .”

  “I should have known my brother had something to do with this.”

  “You hate it, don’t you?”

  “I told you that I think it’s great. When did you get all insecure on me?
Now come on, beautiful.” He took her hand and led her out into the family room.

  “Everyone this is my gorgeous soon-to-be wife, Nikki,” Derek said as they walked into the open family room where two couples were seated on their distressed leather sofas, a photo album in one of the women’s laps. Ollie their dog was not necessarily one for company and he was off sulking in the kitchen. Being on the sofa was a right he felt was his alone, and sharing it, particularly with strangers, was an affront as far as he was concerned. When he saw Nikki, he walked in from the kitchen and started to growl.

  “It’s me, bud. It’s me.” Ollie then wagged his tail and sauntered over to her where he sat down next to her and licked her hand.

  “Nikki just had her hair done and the silly ridgeback here doesn’t recognize her.”

  The woman on the couch with the photo album, set it aside and stood, stretching out her hand. “I’m Savannah,” she said with a Southern accent. Savannah was petite, sort of delicate except for her large boobs. She had ivory skin, long strawberry blond hair curled around her shoulders, big blue eyes, and an expertly made-up face. She wore a two-piece knit ensemble in lavender, reminding Nikki of an Easter egg. “You certainly don’t look like your pictures.” She smiled a tight-lipped smile.

  Oh, great. This was someone Nikki was going to actually have to spend an entire evening with. She nodded. “I know. Mishap.”

  Savannah frowned. “Hmmm. Poor dear.”

  “I love it.” Derek smoothed his hand on the back of her head. “Sleek.”

  “I think she’s even more beautiful than her picture.” The man seated next to Savannah stood up. “Hi, I’m Tristan. You met my wife here.” He put his arm around Savannah’s shoulder and pulled her in close.

  Tristan didn’t exactly fit with the delicate Savannah. He was ruggedly handsome with a three-day-old beard, hazel eyes, dark wavy hair, and he wore a pair of jeans with a navy blue T-shirt. Savannah made a face when he hugged her.

  Derek smiled wide. “Tristan and I were known to get into a little trouble back in the day.”