Chalk Lines & Lipstick: a Maren Colepepper cozy mystery (Maren Colepepper Mysteries Book 1)

by Ophelia London

  Sven Mattsun was a Swedish exchange student from Stockholm whom Lucy had fallen head over heels for two years ago during their senior year at Danger Cove High School. Ever since he'd returned home last year, Lucy had been scrimping and saving to pay for her to move to Sweden and their wedding.

  Gia snorted. "What do you really know about the Swedish Fish, anyway?"

  "Gia!" I scolded. "Sven's not a piece of candy."

  "Too bad for Lucy," she said, examining a lock of her hair for split ends.

  Lucy's chin trembled. "I know that I love him, no matter what you think."

  Gia tossed the lock of hair to the side and shook her head.

  "I met Sven when he came for a visit, and he's very nice," I said in a soothing tone for Lucy's benefit. Then I turned to Gia. "He's way better than those brainless bodybuilder types you go for. They can barely carry on a conversation."

  She flipped her silky black hair over her shoulder. "Who needs to talk?"

  I smirked. "Men aren't just for sex, you know."

  "Who said anything about sex? I just meant that men aren't exactly known for their conversational skills."

  She had me there. "Give it a little more time, Lucy. I have some ideas to bring in more business."

  "Really?" Her eyes widened. "Like what?"

  "For starters, The Clip and Sip now serves alcohol." I handed each of them a copy of the new drink menu. "Every customer gets either a free glass of wine or one of my homemade liqueurs."

  Lucy's face brightened. "This is awesome. It'll feel more like a spa experience."

  Gia took a sip of soda as she perused the drink list. "And a little Texas moonshine might help to alleviate the bitter taste in people's mouths about the building's past."

  I shot her a look. "Peach liqueur hardly qualifies as moonshine. Anyway, Gia, you'll also offer a complimentary manicure to our customers."

  She dropped the menu. "How will I get paid?"

  "I'll have to cover your commission during the promotion." I couldn't afford it, but it was the least I could do. Even though my aunt Carla had married Gia's father, Frank, ten years before when we were both sixteen, my Uncle Vinnie hadn't left Gia so much as a mention in his will. Apparently, he hadn't been as into family as my dad, Domenic. But now that I thought about it, ever since my dad had divorced my mom last year and moved back to his native New Jersey, he didn't seem too interested in family, either, because I'd hardly heard from him since.

  Gia patted me on the back. "Thanks, Cass."

  "Also," I began, "since we're so close to Seattle, we're going to offer coffee drinks. I bought a professional-grade espresso machine by Nuova Simonelli."

  "Those are like twelve grand!" Gia exclaimed. "I knew your Uncle Vinnie was loaded."

  "He wasn't. I bought the machine on credit." My stomach turned as I admitted that last part. "Anyway, I'm glad you're excited about the machine, because you're going to make the drinks."

  "I'm going to make cawffee too?" she squawked, her New Jersey accent rearing its colorful head. "Why do all of your new promotions involve me?"

  "Because you have skills that Lucy and I don't," I replied. "Plus, your makeup services haven't exactly taken off."

  Her eyes narrowed. "It's not my fault that the nature-loving ladies of Danger Cove don't appreciate the smoky eye."

  The smoky eye was the unofficial state look of New Jersey. But the combination of purple, blue, and even green eye shadow with smudged eyeliner would be more appropriately named "the sickly eye." "No, but it is your fault that you don't apply makeup that's suited to the client."

  "But the whole point of makeup is to look made up, not"—she wrinkled her mouth—"natural."

  "The whole point is to make the client happy," I snapped. "Now, starting today, we're running an ad about our new services in the Cove Chronicles. In the meantime, I need the two of you to spread the word, especially you, Lucy. Tell all of your girlfriends and their moms."

  She nodded. "I'm sorry to bring this up, but…"

  Gia exhaled loudly. "For crying out loud—just spit it out."

  "Is there any update on getting the ceiling fixed?"

  Gia and I exchanged a look.

  "I know it's a sensitive subject," Lucy continued, "and I wouldn't normally bring it up, but it's starting to sag. And since it's right above my chair…"

  I shifted in my seat. "Well, I'll have to get police permission for a plumber to go into Uncle Vinnie's room. I can stop by the station today."

  "Thanks, Cassidi."

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the room.

  Gia turned to me and cocked a well-plucked brow. "Is that it?"

  I looked at my meeting agenda. "That's all I have."

  "No, I mean, is that all you have planned to bring in new clients? Because, if you ask me, we need something bigger."

  Of course, I hadn't asked Gia, but I knew from experience that she was going to tell me exactly what she thought. "What do you have in mind?"

  "Egypt." Her face beamed brighter than her outfit.

  I blinked. "I'm not following you."

  Gia stood up and started to pace. "Think Cleopatra, the most regal and seductive queen of all time."

  "O-kay," I said.

  "We want to make women feel like her. You know, spread out all sexy on a gold chaise lounge."

  I was pretty sure that the chaise lounge was a modern French invention, but whatever.

  "So, picture this," Gia continued, motioning like a movie director. "We give the clients blowouts. But instead of the smoky eye, we do the Cleopatra eye. And the whole time they're in the chair, tanned bodybuilders are fanning them with those big feather-duster things and feeding them with their hands."

  I stared at Gia openmouthed, and Lucy went pale.

  "You do realize, don't you, that using sex to sell the salon is exactly what I don't want to do?" I paused for effect. "For obvious reasons."

  "Gawd!" Gia threw her head back in frustration. "Sex sells, Cassidi. It sold when this place was a brothel, and it sold when your Uncle Vinnie ran his hair salon here. That's why his business was so successful."

  "Yes." I met her gaze straight on. "But that's also what got him murdered."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gia was the first to speak. "You don't know that Vinnie's death had anything to do with sex."

  "Oh, no?" I arched a brow. "Then how do you explain the black fishnet stocking around his neck? The one with the red sequin heart appliqué?"

  "Don't forget the black silk ribbon," Lucy added with a nod.

  "That doesn't prove he was with a woman," Gia said with a shooing motion. "Maybe a jealous husband strangled him."

  I crossed my arms. "Still sex related."

  Gia flipped her hair. "Well, even if it was, he was living the life. You know, that whole 'wine, women, and song' thing that old people always talk about. And he told my stepmom that business was so good, he already had enough money to retire."

  "Maybe he was trying to impress Aunt Carla," I said. Because the amount he'd left me was only enough to keep afloat for about six months.

  The salon bell sounded.

  "That must be Margaret Appleby," Lucy said, rising to her feet.

  Gia grimaced. "You mean, Miss Marple."

  "Lower your voice," I whispered.

  Lucy grabbed the new drink menu. "I'll take this out to her."

  I turned to Gia. "Margaret has been coming here since Uncle Vinnie owned the salon. Please be polite to her."

  "Fine," she huffed. "But, blue hair aside, that woman is straight out of an Agatha Christie movie."

  "Novel," I corrected. "And she's one of the sweetest ladies I've ever met."

  "I agree, but it totally creeps me out when she takes a nap under the hair dryer. She looks like she's dead."

  "Give her a break, will you? She's eighty years old."

  "I know." Gia gave me a pointed look. "But I get that bad feeling every time she comes in."

  I sighed. Ever since Gia had predic
ted that my relationship with my ex, Shane Austin, would end badly—a fact that the entire town of Fredericksburg had also foreseen—she thought that she had psychic powers. "I don't care if you get a stabbing feeling—you're going to greet her with a smile. Because if I go under, you go under. Capish?"

  Gia's mouth opened in outrage as she shot to her feet. "Sometimes you're such a prima donna."

  Oh, the irony.

  As I entered the salon, I smiled at the stooped woman sitting in Lucy's chair. "Hi, Ms. Appleby. Have you had time to look over our new drink menu?"

  "Why, yes." Her blue eyes twinkled. "I'll have a chai latte, dear. But with soy. I can't tolerate milk, you know." She squeezed my forearm with knobby, arthritic fingers. "Gives me gas."

  Gia wrinkled her nose as if she smelled said gas. "I'll get right on it."

  The door opened, and a cute, athletic-looking brunette entered. "Do you take walk-ins?" She smiled and raised a hand to her bob. "My bangs could use a trim."

  "Absolutely." I tried to hide my excitement as I ushered her to the station beside Lucy's. "Welcome to The Clip and Sip. I'm Cassidi."

  She slipped out of her sailing jacket and sat in the chair. "Prudence Miller."

  "Can I get you something to drink?" I asked, putting the cape around her. "We have tea, coffee, wine, and homemade liqueurs."

  "I'd love a glass of Pinot Grigio, if you've got it."

  "Coming right up." I looked at Gia, who had just handed Margaret her soy chai. She glowered and headed back to the break room.

  "I haven't seen you around town," I said as I turned on the water and waited for it to warm up. "Are you new to Danger Cove?"

  "Just passing through. I took a leave of absence from my job in LA to sail my boat to Alaska."

  "Wow, that's quite an adventure," I said in awe of her bravery. It had taken all the courage I could muster—and a couple of Xanax—to move to a ready-made house and business in Danger Cove. I wouldn't dream of sailing a boat that far on my own—not for all the oil money in Texas.

  I lowered the chair backward and began to wet her hair, and she closed her eyes as the warm water ran over her head.

  I studied her face for a moment. She was a dead ringer for Kate Jackson back in the 1980s. "What type of work do you do?"

  "Hospital administration."

  "Well, I'm jealous." I shut off the water and applied shampoo. "The beaches here in Washington are nowhere near as warm and sunny as the ones in California."

  She laughed. "Actually, I'm not much of a beach bum. I'm always too busy sailing."

  "Believe it or not, I learned how to sail in Texas," I said as I worked the shampoo into a lather. My mind drifted to the lazy summers I'd spent with Shane on Lake Travis, and then I promptly squashed those memories. "I did it for a guy, of course."

  The corners of her mouth turned up. "I think that's how a lot of women get into sailing."

  I turned on the faucet and began rinsing her hair. "What about you?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation going. "Did you learn to sail in LA?"

  "No, on Cape Cod where I grew up," she said quietly. "There, learning to sail is almost as common as learning to drive."

  Sensing that Prudence was tiring of the polite chatter, I let her relax in peace while I continued to rinse. Then I wrapped a towel around her head and raised the chair to an upright position just as Gia returned with the wine.

  "I really need this," Prudence said as she took the glass.

  Gia put on her poker face. "Don't we all."

  As I removed a sanitized comb from the canister, the bell on the salon door sounded.

  I glanced at the door and recognized Bertha Braun, a retired nurse and lifelong bachelorette in her late seventies whom I'd met during a marketing call at the Senior Citizen Center.

  "I'm here to see your makeup artist," Bertha announced, striking a pose in the lobby. "And I'm going to need some of that scrumptious Italian strawberry liqueur you make, Cassidi. What's it called? Frog-something?"

  "Fragolino," I replied, suppressing a smile.

  "You got it," Gia exclaimed as she practically ran to the break room—clearly thrilled to have her own client.

  Bertha's eyes zeroed in on Margaret. "I have a date tonight," she said at the top of her lungs as she sashayed to the chair behind Lucy's. "We're going to the Lobster Pot, so I want to look extra special."

  "Better get out the war paint," Margaret suggested sweetly before taking a sip from her teacup.

  Lucy, who'd been stirring the blue rinse for Margaret's hair, stopped in midmix and shot me a look of surprise, while Prudence sipped her wine and looked on amused.

  Bertha showed no sign of having heard the comment, and I was grateful. Her nickname around town was Bulldog, both because of her dogged personality and her barrel-chested body type. And the last thing I needed at the salon was an elderly throwdown.

  "In that case, Bertha," Gia began, returning in record time with a cordial glass full of the red liqueur, "you'll want Mad Makeup. It's my personal line that I designed to celebrate the glamour of New Jersey."

  Yeah, because the Garden State has long been known as the center of haute couture, I thought as I clipped Prudence's bangs.

  "Oh, that sounds exotic," Bertha cooed. "Just like my date. Maybe you know him?" She looked behind her to see whether Margaret was paying attention. "Santiago Beltrán?"

  At the mention of his name, Margaret straightened in her chair.

  "Never heard of him," Gia said as she opened her eye shadow case. "But he sounds like a real Latin Lover."

  Bertha's thin, wrinkled lips spread into a lizard-like smile. "That's because he's Cuban."

  "Well in that case, I think we should go with a strong look." Gia tapped her index finger on her cheek. "Something militaristic."

  While Gia elaborated on her plans for Bertha, I had to bite my lip to focus on Prudence's hair. If you asked me, Mad Makeup should have been named Commando Cosmetics. The colors included raging reds, bellicose blues, and glaring greens—there wasn't a pastel in the palette. The line also had alarming accessories, like camouflage eye makeup stickers and temporary lip tattoos. It was hardly a style appropriate for a quaint cove town.

  Bertha took a gulp of her fragolino. "That sounds perfect. Santiago's very macho, just like his famous countryman, Ricardo Montalbán."

  Margaret snorted, causing her turkey neck to wobble. "Ricardo Montalbán is Mexican. If anyone, Santiago is like Ricky Ricardo."

  "You mean, Desi Arnaz," Bertha corrected.

  "No, I mean Ricky Ricardo, because you're going to drive poor Santiago crazy, just like Lucy did Ricky." Margaret smirked. "After one date with you, he'll run screaming 'Babalú.'"

  Bertha's face grew dark, thanks only in part to Gia's handiwork. "You're just jealous. Tell us, Margaret. Exactly how many dates have you had in the thirty-odd years you've lived in Danger Cove?"

  "Just one," she replied, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "But it was enough to last me a lifetime."

  "Hogwash," Bertha spat. "Who was it with?"

  Margaret met Bertha's eyes in the mirror. "Vincent Conti."

  I gasped and narrowly missed lopping off one side of Prudence's bangs. My Uncle Vinnie was fifty-five when he died, which made him almost thirty years younger than Margaret Appleby. Surely what they'd shared had just been a…a friendly lunch?

  "I don't believe that for a minute," Bertha scoffed. "What would a handsome stud like that want with an old crone like you?"

  "To have his way with me, apparently." Margaret drained the last of her soy chai, as though the steamy memory left her parched. "Talk about a Latin Lover. Vincent was my Marcello Mastroianni. He even had a tattoo on that tight little tush of his that said 'La Dolce Vita.'"

  Everyone in the room was struck speechless, and I had to lean on my station to steady myself. Looks like they'd shared a lot more than lunch.

  "It's a shame he's gone," Margaret continued in the stunned silence. "I don't suppose you have any more uncles, dear?" />
  I stared at her open-mouthed. Was Margaret some kind of man-eater?

  "No, just her aunt Carla, my stepmom," Gia intervened. "Unless you count her dad, Domenic."

  "W-we're p-pretty small by Italian family standards," I stammered as I searched for some way to bring the sexual conversation away from my father. "Um, what about you, Prudence? Are you from a big family?"

  "I'm the only child of two only children," she replied. "So, it was pretty lonely growing up."

  Margaret frowned. "The important thing is that you had two parents who loved you, dear."

  Prudence nodded. "So true."

  Relieved that the conversation was on safer ground, I took one last snip from Prudence's bangs and picked up my hair dryer.

  "Oh, I always let my hair dry naturally," she said as she pulled cash from her front pocket. "How much do I owe you?"

  "Forty bucks," I replied.

  Prudence took one last sip of her Pinot Grigio and then handed me fifty dollars. "Thanks, Cassidi."

  "Thank you," I replied as I escorted her to the door. "Enjoy your stay in Danger Cove."

  "Definitely." She grinned. "This place is an answer to my prayers."

  Let's hope it's an answer to mine, I thought as I closed the door. I turned and saw Bertha climb from Gia's chair with two green, black, and brown eyes and a nonexistent mouth. She looked like she was ready to embark on the Bay of Pigs Invasion.

  "Always remember the Jersey rule," Gia advised. "Go with a nude lip—at the most, pale pink. The only thing you want to accentuate is the eyes, especially for a romantic dinner."

  "Oh, I agree," Bertha said. "Now I need to be on my way, or I won't have enough time to get ready."

  "Then your date had better be next year," Margaret said as Lucy helped her take a seat beneath a dryer, "because it's going to take at least that long to make a battle-ax like you look presentable."

  Bertha balled her fists at her sides, and her face turned so red that it was visible through her pancake makeup. "Lucky for you I'm in a good mood today," she said in a dangerously low voice. "Otherwise, I would shut that miserable trap of yours once and for all."

  Margaret's mouth formed an O shape in mock alarm, but Lucy's fear was real. She turned white and stepped out of Bertha's way.