by Lucy Quinn
Rain, on the other hand, laughed, long and loud. “You mean he’d been manscaped?” she all but bellowed. “Nice! Not enough men take the time to prune the hedges, if you know what I mean. And a lot of women don’t, either.” She turned to Hunter and leaned in a little as if telling a secret. “Not me, though,” she confided. “I’m very tidy about it.”
“Oh?” Hunter gulped and nodded, taking a sudden interest in his omelet. “Good for you.”
“Absolutely,” Rain assured him. “Why, just the other day I was at the Dip, Clip, and Rip, getting a Brazilian.” She kicked back her chair and rose to her feet, her hands already going to the buttons of her cut-off jeans. “Want to see? Peaches did a fantastic job, she even—”
“Mom!” Cookie managed to interrupt, and lunged over to grab Rain’s hands before they could finish their task. Across from her, Hunter had gone pale. “Hunter really doesn’t need to hear about that, or to see it.”
“Are you sure?” her mother asked, glancing at Hunter for confirmation. “She really did a beautiful job. My hoo-hah’s practically a work of art.”
Hunter looked almost ready to pass out, and Cookie would have laughed at his delicate sensibilities if she hadn’t been so mortified herself. “We’ll take your word for it,” she insisted.
“Fine.” Rain stopped fighting, and after another second Cookie released her hands. “I do feel bad for the poor thing, though,” her mother said as she slid back into her chair.
“What thing?” Cookie asked cautiously, not sure they weren’t still talking about her mother’s private parts. Which really was not appropriate breakfast conversation.
But her mother laughed at her. “Peaches,” she answered, apparently over any disappointment at not getting to expose herself to Hunter. “My esthetician.” When Cookie and Hunter both frowned, she explained, “My waxer. She was so upset yesterday, the poor dear.”
“Upset?” Cookie’s instincts flared, and she found herself actually paying attention to what Rain was saying for once. “Why was that? What did she say?”
“Oh, it wasn’t what she was saying,” Rain replied, “but how she looked. Like she hadn’t slept all night, and like she’d been crying her eyes out. Her hands were shaking, too—at one point I thought I was going to end up with a crooked landing strip by mistake, she was so unsteady. But thankfully she got herself back under control. Imagine how that would’ve looked at the clothing-optional beach.”
Cookie stared at the ceiling, cursing her mother and the image now burned in her brain.
“Did you ask her what she was so upset about?” Hunter asked, somehow staying on point. He seemed to be recovering from his earlier shock.
Rain nodded. “I did, but she just started crying again.” She sighed, raking her fingers through her short, shockingly-red hair. “I’d heard about Dickie by then, of course, so I asked Peaches if she’d heard about him, too. I figured there couldn’t be that many tragedies on such a small island in one day. And sure enough, when I mentioned his name she started bawling again. I did my best to calm her down, but she just kept going on about how she couldn’t believe he was gone.” She fluttered her hands and leaned in, whispering. “I think they might have been dating.”
Cookie and Hunter exchanged a glance, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. A man, found dead and freshly manscaped. A woman, apparently distraught over his death who happens to be a waxer. It was clear they would need to go speak with Peaches right away.
Chairs scraped as they both stood up, Cookie grabbing another piece of bacon as she did, and Hunter taking a last swallow of his coffee. Unfortunately, Rain rose to her feet as well. And she was still talking.
“I really hope Peaches doesn’t take it too hard,” Rain said. “I can’t imagine where I’d find another one like her, she’s just so talented. Why, you should see what she did to my—” And before Cookie could stop her, Rain had spun around and started to yank down her shorts, exposing her backside.
“No thanks, we’re good!” Cookie shouted over her shoulder, shoving Hunter out of the room ahead of her. “See you later, Mom!” Then she hurried out after Hunter.
By the time she caught up to him, he was standing on the porch, gasping for air like he’d just run a marathon. “I swear,” he said, turning to Cookie as she joined him, “your mother is trying to scar me for life.” The last time he’d been here, he’d been with Cookie when she’d walked in on Rain screwing one of the local lobstermen.
“She doesn’t see it as scarring,” Cookie replied, leading the way down the front steps. “She thinks she’s broadening your horizons, and showing you just what you’re missing.”
She saw him shudder when she glanced over her shoulder. “I’m going to be missing my sanity if she keeps showing me,” he insisted, and Cookie laughed.
“Well forget about my mother’s assets, and get your mind back on the job,” she teased as they walked away from the inn and toward the rest of the town. “We’ve got an esthetician to question, and I need you thinking about Dickie’s manscaping, not my mother’s work of art.”
Cookie was almost certain Hunter was only pretending to gag, but she didn’t turn around to check. She did pick up the pace, though, just in case.
6
“Oh, it’s you,” Mindy said, peering down her nose at Cookie when she and Hunter walked into the salon. “What, back to cause more trouble? Because of you, a lot of people have to go off island now for their recreational drug of choice. It’s a real inconvenience.”
“We were…” Hunter cleared his throat. “I mean Cookie was only helping me do my job. And no we’re not here to cause trouble—”
“Don’t tell me,” Mindy cut him off as she turned to me, “you’ve finally wised up and realized you need to do something with your hair?” She frowned, squinting at Cookie’s windswept auburn waves, then sighed. “Well, I can’t promise much, but I’ll do what I can.”
“Gee, thanks but no.” Cookie said, swallowing a nasty reply. The last time they’d been in here, investigating Chip Winslow’s death, Mindy had claimed that Daisy Harris had to be responsible. She’d painted Daisy as mean and spoiled, attributes that applied a lot more to Mindy herself. Those same accusations had led to Hunter actually charging Daisy with the murder—an action that had been misguided, since it had been Daisy’s brother Stone who’d actually committed the crime. Stone, the former local marijuana dealer, who’d gone out of business in an effort to clean up his act.
Mindy’s gaze flicked to Hunter, and a predatory smile formed on her perfect lips. “How about you, handsome?” she all but purred, gliding closer and running a delicate hand along his cheek. “Need a close shave? Trust me, I’ve got a very delicate touch.”
“I’m sure you do,” Hunter acknowledged, gently taking her hand and moving it aside. “But we’re actually here on official business. We’re looking for Peaches.”
The odor of acetate makes Cookie notice a woman at the manicure station. In the absence of paying customers, she was doing her own nails in a shocking metallic purple that matched her long, straight hair. She glanced up, shook her heavily pierced head, and returned to her current activity. Definitely not Peaches, Cookie thought.
“Peaches?” Mindy laughed. “Why, did she forget to pay a parking ticket or something?”
Whatever else Mindy meant to say was cut short as the curtain to the back parted and another woman stuck her head through. It was the same one Cookie had seen the last time they’d been in the shop. The woman was a pretty but artificial-looking California beach bunny type, right down to the injected lips, the fake tan, the sun-bleached blond hair, and the enormous rack.
“Did you need me?” she asked, and even her voice was that breathy Marilyn Monroe-meets-Betty Boop put-on accent you’d expect from a girl who looked like her.
“Are you Peaches?” Cookie asked, pretty sure she already knew the answer.
“That’s me,” Peaches agreed, emerging fully. “Hi!” She held out her hand.
“Associate,” Mindy repeated, then snorted. “What does that mean, exactly?” She glared daggers at Cookie. “You’re his bit of fun on the side?”
“I don’t know about you, but I would never settle for being ‘on the side’ for anyone,” Cookie shot back. “And I’m a deputy working for Sheriff Watkins.” She pulled out the badge the sheriff had loaned her, and flashed it at the two beauticians. “Got it?” Then she focused on Peaches and softened her tone. “We just have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind. Maybe we could speak in private?” The last thing they wanted was Mindy, who was clearly a busybody, listening in on their conversation.
“Oh. Sure.” Peaches gestured for them to follow her, and retreated back through the curtain. Cookie and Hunter trailed behind her, leaving Mindy to sit and fume out front.
The back of the salon was divided into several areas. Peaches led them to the left, past a room with a row of tanning beds, and into a smaller, brighter room with a single reclining chair and two swiveling, backless wheeled chairs. Judging by the tools laid out on a small wheeled cart nearby, this was where Peaches did her “art.” Cookie had a sudden image of Rain stretched out on that big chair, which looked a lot like the ones you’d see at an OB/GYN, and shuddered. She quickly claimed one of the smaller seats, and Hunter did the same. It was possible, from his pained expression, that he’d thought of Rain here as well, and with similar results.
Peaches, on the other hand, blithely hopped up to perch on the edge of the big chair, swinging one leg as she waited to hear what they wanted.
“It’s about Dickie Dungworth,” Cookie started, leaning forward and doing her best to emit a friendly, nonthreatening vibe. “We understand you two were seeing each other?”
“Yeah, we were,” Peaches agreed, dabbing at her eyes, which were suddenly overflowing with tears. Either this girl was an amazing actress or she was genuinely upset. “He was such a great guy, I just can’t believe he’s gone!”
A snort from the doorway made Cookie turn. The manicurist stood there, arms crossed. If Peaches was a Californian beach girl, this one was an anime punk, with her bright purple hair, piercings, and tattoos, plus the street-tough rave-wear she was sporting. They certainly went in for an eclectic mix at this salon.
“Go away, Trina,” Peaches said not unkindly at the newcomer, waving her back. “I already know how you feel about Dickie.”
But Trina raised her pointy little chin and seemed perfectly content to plant herself right there blocking the exit. “I just don’t see why you’re getting so worked up about a guy like him,” she sniffed. “Dickie Dungworth was a two-timing jerk.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Peaches declared, suddenly full of fire. Her feet thudded when she hopped back down off the table and marched slowly toward Trina. The manicurist stood her ground, even though Peaches probably had four inches and at least fifty pounds on her co-worker. “You’re just jealous.”
“Jealous!” Trina all but spat the word, glaring up at Peaches as the two women faced off—although, in reality, Trina’s eyes were more on level with Peaches’ impressive chest than her face. “Of what, you? And those? Yeah, right.” She thrust out her own far smaller chest. “At least mine’s all real.”
“Clearly.” Cookie wouldn’t have thought a perky sunshine-and-roses girl like Peaches could even sneer like that, or use such a biting tone, but the blonde wasn’t done yet. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if they were full of metal like the rest of you.” She eyed Trina’s various rings and studs. “Are you hoping some poor guy’ll get caught on all those hooks? That’s not how you trap a man, you know.”
“No, you pin them between your fake boobs and cut off their air supply,” Trina shot back.
“Oh, I pin them, all right,” Peaches agreed with a syrupy-sweet smile. “But with my—”
“Ladies!” Hunter was up from his chair and thrusting himself between the two women—neither of whom, after their initial shock, seemed to mind much. “Please!” He turned to face Trina, peering down at her. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This is official business, and you’re interfering with our investigation.”
“Fine,” she huffed, and turned to stomp out with impressive noise for such a petite gal. “But Dickie was still scum!” her shout echoed back to them.
Hunter waited until he was sure the manicurist had gone before facing Peaches again. “Are you good?” he asked her in his I-mean-business voice.
She hesitated a second, then nodded.
“Okay. Now, maybe we can try this again.” He gestured back toward the big chair, and Peaches dutifully resumed her seat. Hunter than sank back down onto his. “You and Dickie were dating.”
Peaches nodded.
“For how long?”
“Just a few weeks,” Peaches replied, her voice even more breathy now from the adrenaline that had been pumping through her during the catfight with Trina. “We met right after he came to the island. He stopped in here for a haircut.” She smiled. “I liked the way he looked, and I guess he liked me too, ’cause he asked me to dinner that night.” She giggled a little, and Cookie repressed the urge to roll her eyes.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Hunter asked.
“Tuesday night,” Peaches answered right away. She looked straight at Hunter when she said it, too, both details suggesting she was telling the truth. “We went out to dinner, then… back to his place.” Her rosy cheeks deepened into a full-on blush. “I left the next morning, right around dawn, to head home and shower and change before work.”
Cookie recalled what Jared’s preliminary report had said. Time of death had been some time Wednesday morning, most likely, only a few hours before she and Dylan had found him. If Peaches was telling the truth, Dickie had still been alive when she’d left him.
“And…” Hunter paused a little, flushing himself, which told Cookie exactly where he was heading next. “When we found Dickie, we noticed that he was… remarkably well-groomed. Was that your handiwork?”
Peaches giggled again. “Yeah,” she admitted, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “He wasn’t gross or anything, you know? But, well, this is my business, and I told him it’d be fun to let me do some manscaping. And it definitely was.” The way her lips parted unconsciously and her chest heaved, Cookie got a very clear idea of what the beautician meant by ‘fun.’ And, unbidden, she got a sudden image of kneeling beside a reclining and very nude Hunter, prepared to void him of hair in delicate places. Then the image changed to Dylan, then back to Hunter, both men smiling seductively up at her. Cookie fanned herself and gulped air, hoping the others wouldn’t notice her distraction or guess at its cause.
Hunter only had eyes for Peaches at the moment, however. “I see,” he said, nodding seriously like he dealt with issues of manscaping all the time. And maybe he did, but Cookie slammed the door on that thought before it led to any more images. They were working here. “There was something else, too,” Hunter continued, not noticing her distress. “He also had a large ribbon, uh, tied around his…”
“Really?” The blonde’s eyes widened, and her flush vanished. “I—I don’t know anything about that. We never did anything with ribbons.” Her full lower lip started to quiver as her eyes welled up again, and Cookie could easily guess what was running through her head because she was thinking the same thing herself. Had Trina been right? Had Dickie been two-timing Peaches?
Hunter surely noticed the beautician’s alarm as well, but he paused giving her a chance to pull herself together, then continued as if nothing had happened. “Thank you,” he said, rising to his feet again. “We really appreciate you taking the time to talk to us about this. I know it has to be difficult for you, and we’re very sorry for your loss.”
It was the standard line, but Hunter sounded sincere, and Cookie knew that wasn’t all
acting. Her ex-partner might come across as a hard nose to others, but she knew he was a good guy. He didn’t like to see decent people hurting. It was one of the reasons he’d joined the bureau, just like her.
Peaches only nodded. She was on the verge of breaking down again, Cookie could tell, and she was torn between staying to comfort the other woman or leaving and letting her cry in peace. The latter won out, especially since Hunter was stepping toward the door and motioning for her to follow.
“Let us know if you need anything, or think of anything else, okay?” Cookie said softly, patting Peaches’ hand as she stood and then moved after Hunter. Peaches nodded again, head down, face hidden by her hair. Cookie knew the beautician was moments from falling apart.
She walked out quickly, stopping at Trina’s work station. She studied the nail technician for a moment, taking in her scowl and the way she had her arms crossed over her chest. Nothing about the woman implied she wanted to speak to Cookie. “Want to tell me why there’s no love lost between you and Dickie?”
Trina leveled her gaze at her but said nothing.
“You seem to have a pretty big beef with him,” Hunter added. “‘Two-timing jerk’ I believe you said. Were you dating him, too?”
“Me?” she scoffed. “No way. I’d never date a scrawny rich boy whose only claim to fame is a famous sister. But he did hit on me. And practically every other woman under the age of fifty on the island. I just can’t stand Peaches getting all upset over a piece of work like him. It’s really irritating.”
Funny. He didn’t hit on me, Cookie thought. Then her ego took a bit of a blow. How old did she look anyway?
“So you just hate him on principle, then?” Hunter asked.
“Right.” She nodded, but then averted her gaze for just a moment before jerking her head back to stare Hunter in the eye. “But you on the other hand… I’m free Friday if you want to take me to dinner.”
Cookie coughed.
