Something to Dye For (Curl Up and Dye Mysteries, #2)

by Aimee Nicole Walker

  “I like it,” Gabe said, running his hand through my hair. “It’s the same color as those Andrew Christians I like so much.”

  “Really?” I unbuttoned my jeans and opened the fly to reveal the bright color I wore beneath. “Hmm. I guess you’re right.” My little stunt had the desired effect and we were much later getting to the diner to eat than originally planned.

  I learned that as high maintenance as I was, compromising and adjusting actually came easy to me. Gabe was extremely easy to please and very cooperative, but I had to remind myself not to take advantage of his pleaser personality. Perhaps I overcompensated too much, because I drew Gabe’s ire when I ordered pizza without any mushrooms.

  “For fuck’s sake, Josh,” he exclaimed when the pizza arrived mushroomless. “I never said anything about the mushrooms to my mom because she worked hard and they were easy to pick off. There was no deeply-rooted motivation for it like she thinks. I will not lie and say that I didn’t have issues with being adopted when I was a kid, but the mushrooms were not an example of me trying to avoid getting booted from the family.”

  “If you say so,” I said complacently, just wanting to eat my pizza in peace by that time. I had to admit it sounded awfully similar to the “yes, dear” my father used on my mother in similar circumstances. Gabe was just as pissed as my mother had been.

  Gabe threw his hands up in frustration. “I made you chicken Marsala and one of the key ingredients is mushrooms.”

  I put my pizza down on my plate and turned to face him. I was New Josh and I didn’t have kneejerk reactions to things like little fights over mushrooms. I took in the pinched and tired expression on Gabe’s face and realized that our little tiff had nothing to do with mushrooms.

  I removed his plate from his hand then set it beside mine. “Gabe,” I said, crawling on his lap. “Maybe you tell me what’s really upsetting you. And don’t tell me it’s about the mushrooms or anything else. I know you’re not really mad that I didn’t put any mushrooms on the pizza.” Even though I knew I was correct, I thought it might not hurt to be so obvious next time. “So, what’s going on with my man today?”

  I slipped my hands in his dark hair and massaged his scalp and, just like that, he melted into the couch and gave up all his secrets. “There’s been no new breaks in either case and Rocky Beaumont is threatening to sue the department if Nadine finds out he’s been sleeping with commissioner Wallace. I don’t know why he thinks we…”

  “Wait a damn minute!” I waited for Gabe to open his eyes and focus them on me. “Are you saying Rocky likes the D?”

  “Um…” I could tell the wheels were spinning as he tried to come up with a way to backtrack or imply I misunderstood.

  “No, nuh huh. I heard exactly what you said.” I dropped my hands from his head to my waist as I sat in disbelief of what he just said. “You never told me?”

  “You know I can’t talk…”

  “…About open cases,” I interrupted again. “Wanda confessed to trying to kill Rocky so his case is closed.” I still couldn’t believe my Sunday school teacher was capable of murder and attempted murder. “Why didn’t you tell me? I know it’s not because you think he’s a swell guy. You practically growl and snarl whenever you see him around town.” Then it felt like a crushing blow to my heart when I realized why he hadn’t told me. “You still don’t trust me,” I whispered softly. I moved to slide off his lap, but he grabbed my hips and held me to him.

  “Not true,” he argued. “I do trust you and I know damn well outing a guy–even someone as vile as Rocky–isn’t something you would do. There is an open case that could involve Rocky and I should never have said anything to you.”

  “What case?” Then I thought about it. “Oh, you mean Georgia’s house getting broken into and ransacked.”

  “Yes, that one. Rocky had a lot to lose if those photos ever came out. Perhaps he did hire someone to look for them while he was safely out of town. It’s doubtful, but I had no business saying what I did. I won’t ask you to keep it quiet because I know that you will.”

  “Damn straight,” I replied, feeling mollified. “You better not let anyone rub your scalp around town because you sing like a damn canary,” I said joking. “Hey, I know,” I said with wide eyes, “maybe the police department can hire me to come in during interrogations and give head massages until the perp confesses.”

  I could feel Gabe’s muscles tightening against my body and it was obvious he was getting jealous thinking about my hands in other men’s hair. “I don’t think so, Josh. I’m the only one who gets scalp massages from now on.”

  “My clients will have a big problem with that, babe. I’m famous for my massages.” The leering grin he gave me said he was remembering the special massage I gave him in my salon. “Not that kind of massage,” I clarified. “That one only belongs to you. I was referring to the massages I give while I shampoo hair.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to upset the ladies…”

  “And Kyle,” I amended.

  “Excuse me?” Gabe asked angrily.

  “I cut Kyle’s hair too,” I told him. “Sometimes he comes in for a quick dry trim in the morning and other times he wants the shampoo and scalp massage thrown in.”

  “I just be he does,” Gabe snapped.

  “Hey,” I threw up my hands, “it’s not like that. There’s never been a spark of anything there. Wait,” I said as I realized something. “Didn’t you know I cut Kyle’s hair?”

  “No,” Gabe admitted softly. “He never said and I never asked.”

  I thought his lack of knowledge about his ex was kind of sad, but I wasn’t going to bring it up. They were exes for a reason and I was the beneficiary of that fact. Instead, I shifted my mind onto something else that had been on my mind involving Gabe and hair.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll let me cut your hair,” I said to Gabe. His eyes widened and I quickly amended, “Trim. I meant to say trim your hair.” I thought maybe he was trying to grow his hair out, but the spooked expression on his face told me there was a lot more at play. “Oh my, you have tonsurephobia.”

  “You watch your mouth,” Gabe said, but the rapid way he blinked his eyes told me he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.

  “A fear of getting haircuts,” I told him.

  “That’s a thing?” he asked in disbelief. Or, was it relief?

  “It’s definitely a real thing and I think you have it,” I told him. “Did you have a traumatic experience as a child?” I could tell by the way he bit his lip there was something in his past. “I promise I won’t laugh at you.”

  “Okay,” he said after long moments of searching my face for sincerity. “My mom took me for a haircut at this new place when I was like five or something. It had a carnival theme to it with bright balloons and colors everywhere, sort of like the party your mom threw for me. I was so excited because they had special chairs designed for kids.” Gabe swallowed hard and I bit my lip so not to giggle because he was so damn earnest and cute. “We roll up to that joint on opening day and it was a fucking circus inside and I don’t mean the place was busy, I mean it was packed with clowns.” The hard shiver that worked through Gabe shocked me.

  “I’d never seen a clown before then and I was overcome with this insane fear of them. I passed out cold when one of them came bouncing over in those damn big shoes and reached for me. Next thing I knew, I’m waking up in one of those kiddie barber chairs and see myself in the mirror. I don’t know why, but there was a barber standing behind me with a pair of scissors in his hand. Maybe he came running over when he heard the commotion, but all I knew was that I had blood streaming down the side of my face and he and MoMo the clown were both standing behind me.”

  “Babe, you’re coulrophobic too?” I asked sympathetically.

  Gabe rolled us over suddenly and pinned me beneath him on the couch. “Are you questioning my manhood?” he asked.

  That I couldn’t take seriously and burst into laughter. “
It means you’re afraid of clowns,” I told Gabe. “Hell, no wonder you’re afraid of haircuts.” I raised my hand and rubbed my fingers over his brows. “I promise you that I’m not at all scary and I won’t make sudden moves at you with my shears.” My words were spoken tenderly without a hint of humor in them because it wasn’t funny. It broke my heart to imagine a terrified five or six-year-old Gabe.

  “Okay.”

  Gabe and Buddy followed me down to the salon. Buddy was curious because he hadn’t spent much time down there and I thought maybe he sensed Gabe’s distress. I led Gabe to the washroom and took extra time to shampoo and massage his scalp to loosen him up. He seemed to be doing okay when he sat down in my chair. I had to admit that I liked seeing the cape with my salon logo on it wrapped around his broad shoulders. It felt a lot like I was marking my territory without pissing on his leg, which was gross and not at all my kind of thing.

  “Ready, babe?” I asked.

  “Yep,” he said confidently.

  “Coming in hot,” I warned, as I raised my hand that held the shears.

  I took my time and talked to Gabe the entire time to keep his mind on a friendly conversation rather than what I was doing. He talked a lot about his childhood and I noticed that none of the stories were about scary clowns, but almost all of them included the brother he idolized.

  “How do you know all that stuff about phobias?” Gabe asked me at one point.

  “Psych one-oh-one,” I reminded him of how he teased me.

  “You seriously took those classes?” he asked.

  “I loved psychology and learning about what makes people tick. It would’ve been my minor degree.”

  “You were going for accounting and psychology degrees?” Gabe asked. “Were you going to council your clients when they got depressed about the taxes they owed?”

  “My father was an accountant and I thought that following in his footsteps might make me more respectable, especially to men that I wanted to take me serious. The psychology was my attempt to understand why people were so cruel to one another.”

  The smile slid off Gabe’s face when he heard my explanation, but I didn’t want to see sadness or pity in his eyes. I wanted to see laughter and happiness in them so I bent over his upturned face and kissed him softly until the moment passed. When I pulled back, I was happy to see his love for me twinkling in his dark eyes.

  After I finished his haircut, I shaved the back of his neck and dusted it with powder. “I don’t suppose you’d let me shave your face, would you?” I asked.

  He looked up at me with such trust in his eyes and said, “I’d almost let you shave my balls, Sunshine.”

  “Almost?” I asked but laughed hysterically. That wasn’t a privilege a man gave lightly, if at all. I was madly in love with Gabe, but I wouldn’t let him near my boys with a razor. I left him in my chair so I could get the shaving supplies that I hardly ever got to use.

  I gently placed a warm, hot towel on Gabe’s face so it would open his pores. I could tell by the happy humming that came from his throat that he was enjoying it. Once I had the shaving cream lathered up, I removed the towel, and spread it on his face. I was so proud of myself for not cracking jokes about my cream all over his face, although I was certain I would bring it up at some point.

  I had been trained in the art of straight razor shaving, but I hadn’t done it many years, so I used a standard razor on Gabe’s handsome face. It was something I would love to do for him in the future though. Look at that. I thought of Gabe and the word “future” in the same sentence and didn’t freak out. I took my time and gave him a close shave, loving that I would feel the softness of his face against mine once we got upstairs.

  Gabe rose from his chair when I was finished and pulled me into his arms. “Thank you, Sunshine. I love my haircut and shave.”

  “That’ll be forty-five dollars,” I told him.

  His eyes widened and he said, “Uh oh, I forgot my wallet. Can I work it off somehow?”

  “Absolutely.” I turned and put an extra sway in my hips as I made my way to the door that led upstairs. “There’s dishes you can do.” I started to run when I heard him coming after me, but I didn’t run too fast or too far. Sometimes it was so much better to be caught than to keep running.

  JOSH NEVER FAILED TO surprise me and, luckily for me, ninety-nine percent of them were great ones. I honestly expected him to laugh at my issues with haircuts and clowns. I didn’t expect him to know the names of the phobias or help me through them–well the hair one, anyway. It’d take a hell of a lot more than a hot body and some sweet kisses to get me over the clown one.

  Having him wash my hair felt almost as good as a full body massage. I felt the tension wash down the drain along with the shampoo he rinsed from my hair. His fingers felt like magic and I could see why there was never an open slot in his appointment book. He made me forget about the cases and my fears and helped me to just enjoy the moment. He truly was, and I hoped would always be, my Sunshine.

  I so badly wanted to find out who was making threats against Josh and why. There was no clear connection to any of it. Sure, Nate had called me one time, but it wasn’t like we’d been meeting on a regular basis or that he told me anything of importance. There was no need to threaten me. Unless they thought I knew more than I did because Nate told them so. To what end? Buy him more time, but to do what? He didn’t escape; he ended up dead in my county. I felt like the idea had merit, but I wasn’t sure what to do with it.

  “I imagine the CPD has scrubbed his computer clean and the sheriff may or may not have obtained copies,” Adrian said when I mentioned it the following morning while we made ourselves coffee. “Nice haircut, by the way. You get that at the Clip-N-Save?”

  “Is that a real place, Adrian? It sounds a lot like a coupon cutting group instead of a barber,” I told him skeptically. I pretended to hand him a coupon. “Here’s a fifty cents off peanut butter. Do you have any for toothpaste?”

  “You’re going to need one for boot retrieval out of your smart ass,” Adrian countered. He fought to keep the smile off his face, but lost. “You’re sounding an awful lot like your boyfriend these days.”

  “And that’s a good thing,” I replied because it was true.

  “You’re quoting Martha Stewart now?” Adrian asked.

  “What’s a straight guy like you know about Martha Stewart?” Teasing Adrian was one of my favorite parts of the job, and although I harassed him long before I met Josh, the barbs had gotten sharper.

  “The kind who has a wife who adores the woman. Hey,” Adrian said, puffing up his chest, “I’m a modern man. I’m in touch with my feelings, I’ll watch cooking shows with my wife, and I’m not afraid to cry.”

  “Cry later,” said a firm voice behind us. Adrian and I spun around to face our captain. His expression was moderately softer than his tone of voice. “I need you two in my office. Now.” We set our cups down and followed behind him without another word. We could make a fresh cup later, but whatever the captain had to say couldn’t wait.

  “I don’t ever discuss my personal life here at the office and I don’t believe this is news to either of you,” Captain Reardon said. I thought he was chastising us for our little chat at the coffee pot, but his next words erased that. “I’m not fond of my father-in-law and I don’t believe it’s news to anyone around here either.” It was news to me just a few weeks ago, but I kept my mouth shut. “He’s not been very forthcoming about anything his department has discovered in the Nate Turner homicide investigation. Well, I got a call just now and he’s changed his mind. You see, my wife and daughter–his daughter and granddaughter–are very fond of Mr. Roman and they don’t like the idea that he’s being threatened, and Big Papa,” the captain rolled his eyes on that one, “could be hindering our part in keeping Josh safe.”

  Relief flooded through my system. “He’s going to work with us?” I asked hopefully.

  “He wants to see us in his office at noon.” I could tell th
e time and location didn’t sit well with the captain, but the sheriff had us by the balls and he knew it. He wasn’t required to share details of an ongoing case with us so I was grateful for anything.

  “Be ready to leave at quarter till noon. I’m not about to get there early and then sit forever in his lobby while he holds his power trip over my head. It’s not going to happen.”

  “We’ll be ready to go, sir.” I rose to my feet and Adrian did the same. We thought it was best to let the captain work through whatever he was feeling in private.

  “Gabe,” he called out from behind his desk.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Martha Stewart belongs to everyone,” he admonished.

  “Yes, sir.”

  We hadn’t been in Captain Reardon’s office for very long so our coffee was salvageable. I took a big swig and nearly spit it out. “Who the fuck put salt in my coffee?” No one looked up from their desk to confess or rat out anyone else.

  “Paybacks,” I called out as I poured the remaining coffee in the sink then made a fresh cup.

  “Thanks for saving me, partner,” Adrian said as he did the same.

  I had just sat down at my desk when the phone rang. “Detective Wyatt,” I said into the phone.

  “Detective, this is Myrna Evans calling. I’m the editor-in-chief with the Blissville Daily News and I’m calling about a disturbing package that was dropped off through our mail receptacle.” I sat up straighter in my chair. “It’s a photo taken of you and Mr. Roman in his shop and the message reads: ‘The police didn’t take me serious, but maybe you will. Josh Roman is going to die.’ Now, I’m not sure what’s going on…”

  I cut her off before she could finish. “I’m coming over,” I said then hung up. I picked up my coat and Adrian did the same without question. I was sure the alarm he heard in my voice told him enough. “I tried to end things with him so that whoever this is would back off,” I told my partner once we were in the car. “If something happens to Josh…”