Chapter 12

On Tuesday, Cathy took Drew for his checkup and vaccinations, meaning I was stuck in the shop selling toys. When not waiting on customers, I paced the aisles, itching to get out and continue my own investigation. After all, the clock was ticking. A murderer was out walking the streets, free to tamper with evidence or just skedaddle, while the police were busy compiling evidence—in their methodical, plodding way—possibly against someone once close to me. That my aging and supposedly retired father had to shoulder all the stress of leading the investigation didn’t sit well on my stomach, which also churned with unanswered questions about Marya’s background. And her sister’s.

After all that time trying to keep Dad from going out and involving himself in police investigations, here I was, doing the same thing. I guess it’s true: we become our parents.

I had my coat and boots on and car keys in hand when Amanda and Kohl came to relieve me at four. Of course Kohl was too young to be on the books, but he enjoyed the toyshop, especially sorting through all the comic books. Dad always let him keep a book or two every time he worked.

“Someone’s in a hurry to leave,” Amanda said as I paced the shop while they removed their coats. “Hot date?”

“That was last night.”

“Do tell!” Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Did this Browning fellow sweep you off your feet?”

“No, this was Mark Baker. I think you’ve seen him. He’s been to a few game nights.”

“FBI guy? Older fellow?”

“He’s an FBI accountant, and he’s not that much older.”

“Okay,” she said.

“More than okay,” I said. “He’s a really nice guy.”

“Still processing.” She nodded. “Yeah, I can see that working. Is that where you’re headed now?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk with Ken.” I glanced at my watch. “And I need to be back in time for Cathy’s doll meeting tonight.”

“You’re seeing Ken!”

“Not that way. Last night when we were discussing the case, I learned that Ken stopped talking to police. I hoped he might talk to me.”

“Last night when you and Mark were discussing the case?”

“And Dad.”

“On a date? Liz, not that you asked my advice, but you need to keep your father out of your love life.”

“Working on that. You okay here by yourself?”

Amanda roughed up Kohl’s hair, and Kohl rushed to straighten it. “I have my favorite guy to help. We’re good.”

*   *   *

Halfway to Ken’s house, Dad’s warning not to chase any more geese niggled at my brain. But I relegated it to the category of “optional parental advice,” along with finishing broccoli before dessert and not dating Timothy Collins. (Okay, he’d been right about that last one.) But while Dad might not be pleased, I was determined not to let his overprotective instincts prevent me from helping keep Ken’s neck out of the noose. Or mine, either.

Moments later, the door pushed open and Nancy stood there, drooling and panting. Okay, maybe that part was my imagination. On my way over, I’d nicknamed those two guard dogs that Ken called his sisters as Cujo and Mad Max.

Cujo, aka Nancy, squinted at me. “Liz, right?”

I nodded. “I hoped I might speak to your brother.”

She swung open the door, and I followed her inside.

The front door led directly to the living room, so I pushed off my snowy boots and left them on the mat. Cujo and Mad Max were already seated on the sectional by the time I finished, and after wiping the fog from my glasses, I realized the sisters were glaring at me. At least Nancy was.

“He’s not here,” she finally said.

“We thought he might be with you,” Grace added.

“You don’t know where he is?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Nancy said. “He left early this morning before we woke up, and he’s not answering his cell phone. The police …” Her eye twitched. “And by the police, I mean your father. He came by already, wanting to talk to him. We said Kenny’d just stepped out, but that was hours ago. Do you think they arrested him?”

“If they had, you’d likely be one of the first to know,” I said, sliding into the stiff chair.

“One would think,” Nancy said. “At least back home, someone would have the courtesy to call—not that we have much experience with that kind of thing, mind you. But up in New York?”

“You’ll be relieved to know that the whole innocent-until-proven-guilty thing and the Constitution are in full effect here, too,” I said.

“That’s good to hear.” Nancy picked a lint ball from her heavy sweater. Not quite sure why she needed it. The room felt as if someone had upped the thermostat to ninety.

“Look,” I said, “I know you’re having a rough time with all of this, but please understand that nobody is trying to railroad your brother. In fact, I was hoping he’d tell me a little about Marya.” Then I remembered what Ken said about his sisters being closer to Marya than he was. Maybe, if I didn’t seem too much like a “pushy Yankee,” I could wheedle a little information from them.

“Why?” Grace asked.

I slipped off my coat. “If Ken didn’t kill her—and I know he didn’t—someone else did. Maybe there’s something in her background before she came here that might give the police another avenue of investigation and clear Ken.” And me, but I doubted they’d care too much about that.

“The lawyer advised him not to say anything,” Nancy hedged.

I put my hands up. “I’m not asking for anything that would incriminate your brother. I’d just like to know a little more about Marya. Maybe before she married Ken.”

The two sisters shared several glances, then Nancy finally said, “Grace went to school with her.”

“You were friends?”

“Not friends, exactly,” Grace said. “I’m not sure Marya had any friends. She seemed quite the loner, even back then. And kids can be so cruel. We had no idea …” She trailed off and turned to Nancy.

Nancy scooted forward to the edge of her seat. “Grace is too hard on herself. We come from a small town, and families there go back a ways, with most tracing their ancestry to the Civil War and many to the Revolutionary. Just about everybody there is kin to everybody else. Friendly. Established.”

And rampant inbreeding, I thought, but kept my tongue.

“Marya was different,” Grace said. “She had that funny accent. Nobody knew much about where she’d come from or where she lived …” Grace trailed off and all was silent except for a large grandfather clock which continued to tick loudly as the pendulum swung back and forth. And back and forth. And …

“Where did she live, may I ask?” I hoped it sounded more polite with the “may I” tacked on. One thing I learned from being a cop’s daughter is that interrogations could be most effective when the subject had no idea they were being interrogated. It would be nice to be on the other end of that whole process. So I put on my most innocuous smile and waited.

Finally, after a few more shared glances and when my fingernails were dug so tightly into my palm I worried they were going to pop out the other side of my hand, Nancy broke the silence. “Do you know anything about chicken ranches?”

When I put my dropped jaw back into alignment, I said, “You mean … prostitution?”

“Well!” Nancy barked, sounding more like Cujo by the minute.

Grace paled. “Certainly not! I mean literal chicken ranches.”

“Where they keep literal chickens?” I asked.

“Of course,” Nancy said. “And slaughter them and pluck and disembowel them and get them ready for restaurants and supermarkets.”

Grace had scrunched up her nose. “It’s awful work. I did it for three days in high school when I was trying to save up for a car, and I decided my bicycle would be just fine.”

“They could never get enough workers to fill all those jobs.” Nancy pulled a throw pillow into her lap and smoothed the nap of it as if petting a cat. “So I guess they cut a few corners when it came to recruiting workers.”

“Like checking immigration status,” I said. “And maybe age. Did Marya work there?”

Grace shook her head. “The one good thing her sister did for her was keep her out.”

“Anechka?” I said.

“Oh, good,” Nancy said. “You know about Anechka then.”

“Just the name,” I said.

“She and a number of other workers and their families lived packed in these little rundown trailers near the plant,” Grace said. “When you passed the bend in the road, it was really funny how similar the trailers were to the cramped chicken houses.”

“And these other workers,” I said, trying to speed up the conversation. “Did they also come from Russia? Legally?”

“Not sure about that,” Nancy said, “but Marya told me once it was under false pretenses. Some thought they were coming as models, actresses, even teachers.” She set the pillow next to her and fluffed her claw marks out of it. “Anechka thought she was bringing Marya to America with her for a better life.”

“She was only a toddler when they arrived,” Grace said. “She had a fairly normal life, as much as Anechka could provide on what she earned plucking chickens. They had plans to quit and find a better situation as soon as she paid them back.”

“Pay who back? For what?” I asked.

“For the passage. The paperwork. The housing,” Grace said.

And I guessed their silence.

“Anechka really did her best to provide for them,” Nancy said. “And caring for her sister meant it took longer to pay back the—”

“Traffickers?” I wasn’t about to excuse them with a polite word.

“And then there was the medication,” Grace added, although Nancy shot her a foul look.

“Whose medication?” I asked.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Lemme guess,” I said, running out of patience and having a pretty good idea of how this went down. “Anechka comes to this country under the guise of becoming a …?”

“Russian teacher,” Grace offered.

I winced. “And brings her little sister along in hopes of a better life.”

“Her orphan sister,” Nancy said. “Their parents were dead.”

“Right,” I said. “But after she arrived, she realized she’d been duped and was put to work long hours basically in a sweatshop.”

Grace nodded.

“Where she proceeded to do her best to pay back the scumbag traffickers and raise her sister outside of their influence—which probably cost her more.”

Now they were both nodding.

“You can see how this would take a physical and emotional toll on a young woman,” Nancy said. “And chicken needs to be kept cold, so that means working with sharp implements in a freezer all day. Fingers go numb … and then accidents happen.

“Usually Anechka tried to keep her hands in her pockets,” Grace said, “but once I caught a glimpse and they were all swollen and bandaged. Anyone could tell she was in a lot of pain. You can’t blame her for taking something for that. And to get through the day. Some quack at the plant handed them out like candy.”

“Of course they did,” I said. “So by the time Anechka had been here a year, she was probably pretty well hooked on …”

“Oxycodone and Diet Pepsi,” Nancy said.

“So even if Anechka could find another job, which would be difficult given her lack of proper paperwork, she now had a drug problem. And they were her suppliers.” An uncomfortable thought hit me. “How did Ken enter this equation?”

“Kenny was a rookie cop when he answered a call at the plant,” Grace said.

“Anechka had passed out,” Nancy said. “Some kind of fever it turned out, but Marya rushed over when she heard. There was an argument. Well, a fight, really. And when Marya was taken in, she had some of Anechka’s oxycodone in her possession.”

“There’s no record,” I said.

“She was still a minor,” Grace said. “Her blood test came up clean, so she pled down to community service and was required to join a substance abuse program.”

“Only things went catawampus after that,” Grace said. “Kenny asked a few too many questions about the place. Questioned why the inspectors didn’t flag any violations.”

Nancy rubbed her fingers together in the universal sign for “show me the money.” “It seems the chicken ranch was owned by the mayor’s cousin. The more Kenny investigated, the more enemies he made.”

“Talk was that Marya would be sent back to Russia,” Nancy said, “even though she didn’t even remember living there. Eventually though, folks just seemed to forget about it. Marya was convinced that Anechka made some kind of deal to keep quiet, and that the traffickers paid off officials so that Marya would be allowed to stay in the U.S.”

“Fortunately,” Grace said, “Marya enrolled in the cosmetology program at the high school. She cut all the girls’ hair for practice.”

“So after graduation she rented a space in an established shop downtown,” Nancy said. “Since she was self-employed, nobody asked to see a green card, and she kept a low profile. After a few years, questions about her citizenship surfaced again. This time, Marya turned to Kenny for help. They must have hit it off. They … eloped.” She shrugged, as if this were a perfectly normal, everyday solution.

Grace leaned forward. “They couldn’t go after her then because she was married to a cop. But it hurt his career, I think. People under him started advancing faster, making more money.”

“Probably why he ended up moving here,” Nancy said with a sigh.

“And Marya chose not to come with him?” I asked.

The sisters clammed up. I’d hit a sore spot, and I swear that clock was ticking even louder. Getting them to open up more about this aspect of Ken and Marya’s relationship would be challenging.

I leaned back, feigning disinterest. Maybe if I played on their natural desire to defend their brother?

“Of course men can be insensitive at times, chasing their careers without a thought to how their decisions impact others. Did he even ask Marya if she wanted to move … up to this frozen wasteland?” I adored it here, of course, but I thought that might play well with this crowd.

Grace bit her lower lip, but Nancy jerked her head up. “I’m sure Kenny thought he was doing the right thing. By then … maybe they needed a break from each other.”

“A temporary one,” Grace said. “After all, Marya kept on living in their house. We just felt they needed a little time apart to work out whatever.”

“Of course, Marya was always sweet as she could be to us,” Nancy said. “Kept doing our hair like regular. And for free.”

“And then we heard talk of a divorce!” Grace said.

“Couples do divorce,” I said.

“But with Marya not a citizen yet?” Nancy said. “I don’t know what Kenny was thinking.”

“So when the immigration people started asking questions,” Grace said, “we told them that Kenny went on ahead and that Marya was staying behind to get the house ready to sell.”

“It was the least we could do,” Nancy said.

“After all, she did our hair for free.”

“How were we to know they’d keep coming back?” Nancy said. “So we helped Marya pack up the house and put it on the market, and then sent her up here so she could prove that she didn’t have one of those marriages of convenience.” Nancy huffed. “I’ve been married for twelve years, and let me tell you, it’s not always convenient.”

“Of course when she arrived,” Grace said, “she discovered …”

“That Ken had started seeing someone else.” I sighed. “Look, you need to know that I wasn’t aware that Marya even existed. Ken never told me.”

“That doesn’t seem like our brother,” Nancy said.

“Kenny was always honorable, to a fault,” Grace said.

“Eagle Scout,” Nancy said.

“Returned money to the cashier if she accidently gave him too much,” Grace said.

Nancy laughed. “Like that time at the Piggly Wiggly. She actually stood there and argued with him, mainly because she was too lazy to open her till.”

“We just figured there were extenuating circumstances,” Grace said. “For him to take up with someone else when he was still legally married.”

“Extenuating?” I said.

Nancy narrowed her eyes. “Things are a little different up here, aren’t they?”

“Different?” I paused to consider what they were hinting at.

“Where we come from,” Grace said, “women are a little less gussied up, and they let men do the pursuing.”

“We see how Kenny might have been flattered.”

Ah, so I was the pushy Yankee temptress who lured their brother from the straight and narrow. And convincing them otherwise would be impossible, since they had the quorum. I pushed myself out of my seat. “And you don’t know where Ken went?” I gathered my coat.

They rose, too.

“No,” Nancy said. “I sure hope something we said helps our brother.”

“And Marya. We adored Marya,” Grace said, giving me a pointed look. “Despite their differences, we always thought she was perfectly suited to him.”

Implying I wasn’t.

“Anyway, thank you for your time.” I shoved my feet into my boots, hopping to keep my balance. With my hand on the doorknob, I turned back to them. “Now if you good ladies will excuse me, I need to get gussied up and chase some men.”

*   *   *

Still wanting to see the video footage that Lionel Kelley claimed he had—I was beginning to doubt its existence—I swung by his PI office. I pulled up just as he turned the key in the front lock. Coming or going, I couldn’t tell.

“Glad I caught you!” I said as I climbed out of my Civic parked just out front.

Kelley’s shoulders stiffened, and he spun around slowly. “Hello, Liz.”

“You haven’t been returning my texts,” I said.

“You texted?” He pulled out his phone and flipped through.

“I wanted to report back on what I discovered at the library and pick up the video you promised.”

“Senior speed dating? Already heard about it. Not the nefarious plot I was led to believe. And I’m afraid I’m not done with the video yet.”

“A copy, then?”

“Perhaps, but I don’t have time to fiddle with that now.”

“I could make a copy.”

He rolled his eyes. “Look. I’ll try to have it for you tomorrow. Best I can do. Now if you’ll excuse me.” And with that he jogged down the sidewalk. Bad idea in the winter. Three businesses down, he lost his footing, skidded a bit, and bumped into an elderly shopper, upsetting her packages. And this was no sweet, old woman. She swore a blue streak at the top of her lungs and shook her cane while she did it. I watched a moment longer to see if she might whack him with the cane or bash him with her purse, but instead Kelley helped her pick up her packages, then they went on their merry ways.

When I arrived back at the store, Amanda and Kohl were almost finished setting up tables for the doll committee meeting. I pulled open the last two folding chairs and slid them in place.

“Should I fetch more from the back?” Amanda asked.

I scanned the room. Eight chairs. More than enough. Especially since one of the committee members had been murdered since the last meeting. “It’s plenty. If we get a few more, I can always pull out more chairs.”

“Great,” Amanda said then instructed Kohl to put his coat on. “We’re headed over to Jack’s for dinner tonight. Would you like us to send anything back?”

“By Jack’s you mean the restaurant?” I said.

“Yes, I guess I just equate Wallace’s with him.”

“Easy to do, especially since you haven’t actually met his mother.”

She shut her eyes. “Don’t remind me. Meeting the parents. That’s coming in the near future. We’ve chatted on Skype, but Jack was always there. She’ll be here for the holidays, and I’ve heard she can be very protective of her son.”

“I don’t think you’ll have any problems.” I said. “After all, you have a couple of things going for you that I didn’t.”

She tilted her head.

“One, your father never arrested one of her boys, and two, you’re not named Liz McCall.”

She laughed until she saw that I wasn’t. “You’re serious?”

“Maybe she saw what we didn’t: that Jack and I were never right for each other. But you and him and Kohl? It’s like you all clicked from the beginning. I think she’ll see that, too. You’re just suited for each other.”

As soon as those last words were out of my mouth, I thought of what Nancy (or was it Grace?) had said about Ken and Marya. They suited each other.

Here I was, another interloper, standing in the way of true love. Like an overzealous chaperone at the school dance.

I laid a hand on her arm. “Seriously, you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Liz. Enjoy your meeting.”

Only after she had left did I realize that I never answered her that I wanted something for dinner. And since Cathy wouldn’t be there until the meeting, that left me two long hours to man the shop on an empty stomach.

But the candy counter hadn’t been sorted through in a while. So while the shop was empty, I sat down in front of it and started straightening things up and checking expiration dates. I scored when I discovered the Chuckles were expiring at the end of the week. I’d always liked the fruity, gumdrop-like candies which dated back to the 1920s, preferring them to their chewier German competition, the gummy bears, which debuted around the same time. I made a note to order more of each and pulled open a pack.

I don’t know if it was the sugar rush or the chewing—I always used to snack while I studied for exams—but my thoughts were drawn back to the case.

Someone killed Marya Young.

And, perhaps inspired by the vintage Let’s Make a Deal board game that was sitting at the counter, it seemed to me the killer was behind one of three doors.

Door number one. Ken. The Eagle Scout who wouldn’t lie but never bothered to tell me he was married. His sisters had said the couple had problems. That’s one reason why Ken had moved here and Marya hadn’t. I also recalled him saying that he thought that she might have been up to her old … something again. Tricks? Habits? What were those, and what had he been looking for in her financial records? It was enough to cause that ruckus that I’d overheard. Had it been enough to turn him into a killer?

I didn’t want to believe it, of course. But I’d known some perfectly nice people who I never thought would have crossed that line, yet they did. His sisters were welcome to keep their blind faith in him. I wasn’t sure I could afford to.

Especially now, since he’d gone MIA.

My laughter echoed in the empty shop after the truth hit: Ken wasn’t running from the law. He was running from his sisters!

And Door Number Two. Someone from Marya’s past. She had a sister who’d been trafficked into this country to work in a sweatshop. Who knew where Anechka was now or what she was up to? Or even if she was alive. The traffickers or even those shady employers might want to clean up some loose ends and make sure neither of the sisters could expose them—by silencing the two women permanently.

And Door Number Three. Someone she met here. I had thought Marya hadn’t made a lot of friends, but that might have been jealousy. She must have met people at the twelve-step group. Hopefully Mark would get a chance to check that out soon. And she endeared herself to a lot of people, especially a lot of senior citizens, by granting discounts. Any one of them could have done it.

Okay, I could rule out Lance.

And then there was Ken’s suspicion that maybe there was someone else in her life.

And I could still rule out Lance.

I hadn’t finished rolling the problem around in my head when Cathy rushed in and brushed a few snowflakes from her coat.

“No Drew tonight?” I asked.

“Parker is keeping him home. He’s a little restless from his shots, I think.”

“Hard for Mom to watch?”

“He hates it. He wiggles and cries. But it’s over pretty quick. Better he’s protected.”

Glenda came through the door shortly after, her trusty knitting bag in one arm. I don’t know that I’d ever seen her without it.

Lori Briggs arrived with Diana Oliveri, and the group remained rather reserved at first, the only sound being that of Glenda’s knitting needles. I’d closed Val into the apartment to make sure that Diana wouldn’t have to worry about any black cats crossing her path.

Cathy waited a couple of more minutes to see if anyone else would arrive, but no one did. She began, “I’m sure by now you all have heard what happened to Marya Young.”

Everyone nodded, Diana made the sign of the cross, and Glenda sniffled, then dabbed the corner of her eye with the back of her hand—without letting go of her knitting.

“I had considered canceling,” Cathy said, “especially since that means more work for even fewer people, but it’s a worthy cause.”

“It’s for the children,” Glenda said.

“That’s right,” Cathy said. “So let’s see if we can get up to speed. First of all, does anyone have any suggestions on who might be able to do doll hair for us?”

Silence reigned, then a thought struck me. “When I talked to someone today, they mentioned that Marya learned to cut hair at her high school. Does anybody know if any schools around here have a similar program?”

“What a great idea!” Lori said. “I’m sure I could find out. And schools are always looking for community service ideas.”

“You’re deputized,” Cathy said. “And I think we should add some kind of memorial to the project to keep Marya’s name involved. She was very enthusiastic.”

I nodded. It must have taken a lot of courage for her to come to the meeting.

“Do we have any update on funding?” Glenda asked, stopping to massage her hands.

Cathy pointed to me. “Care to handle that, Liz?”

“Um, yeah. I have a … meeting set up with Ian Browning this Wednesday evening.”

Lori Briggs jerked her head up. “This Wednesday evening? You can’t have a meeting with Ian then. It’s the debut performance of The Nutcracker by the children’s dance school. Mostly inner-city kids who could never afford the lessons. The Browning Foundation is one of the major sponsors. He has front row seats reserved. He has to be there.”

“He did ask me if I liked The Nutcracker.”

Lori squinted at me. “You’re meeting with Ian at the performance?”

“He said something about dinner before.”

Lori’s jaw dropped. “Honey, that’s not a meeting. That’s a date. You have a date with Ian Browning. You have a date with the hottest bachelor in town!”

I wasn’t so sure I liked the incredulous emphasis on “you” in the last sentence, but I sat up a little straighter. With a nonchalant shrug, I said, “I guess I do.”

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Glenda said.

“What’s that?” Cathy asked.

Glenda shoved her knitting into her bag, cleared her throat, and sang a gravelly chorus of “We’re in the Money.” And everybody laughed.

Once Cathy regained control, the rest of the meeting progressed well enough. We hashed out a lot of details, and I managed to say “no” just often enough so that I was involved in the project without committing to do everything, something I’d struggled with in the past.

After a motion to adjourn, we offered more coffee all around and served the cookies Cathy had brought.

“Could I trouble you for a glass of water?” Glenda said. “I have to take a pill.”

“Not a problem,” I said and then retrieved a bottle of water from the refrigerator in the back room.

Before I could return, Lori waylaid me in front of the lunch boxes. “Sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked.

“In regards to?”

“To dating Ian, of course. He travels in some awfully powerful circles.”

“I thought everybody was for approaching the Browning Foundation for funding.”

“Yes, but Ian … let’s just say he’s left a few girls brokenhearted. And rumor is he can get a bit handsy.”

“At the children’s ballet?” I said.

“Yeah, better not use mace. What about a Taser? I’ll bet your Dad could hook you up.”

And suddenly an evening at the children’s ballet seemed more foreboding.

“I’ll keep that in mind. And my dad on speed dial.”

When I returned with the water, Glenda waved me off. “Sorry about that.” She pulled an empty pill bottled out of her purse. “I must have forgotten to put the lid on tight.”

“That’s happened to me,” Diana said. “Did they spill out in the bottom of your purse?”

I set the water on the table while they continued to rummage and went over to Cathy. “Nice job on the meeting,” I said.

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure how to handle that part with Marya. Are you going to be okay if we name the whole project after her?”

“Let me sleep on that,” I said.

When I turned back to Glenda and Diana, they had emptied the entire contents of her large purse on the table.

“Found one!” Diana held a tiny pill on her palm.

“Thank goodness,” Glenda said, then struggled to open the water bottle.

Diana helped her with that, too. I’d remember to at least loosen the cap next time.

“Thanks,” she said again, washing her pill down with a dainty sip. “The arthritis is getting worse, I think.”

As Diana and I both helped put everything back into Glenda’s purse, I found a coupon with giant scissors and Marya’s name on it.

“Did Marya cut your hair?” I asked Glenda.

“Yes.” She looked forlornly at the coupon before crumpling it up with a sigh. “Hard to beat her prices. Or her work.”

“She cut mine, too,” Diana said, pushing a lock behind her ear. “Can’t say I cared much for the woman, but her work was okay. She did perms and color, too. All the lowest prices around. Everybody went to her.”

Lori sent her a bemused smile. “Not me. I go to Antoine’s.”

“Can’t fault you for that. Antoine is dreamy,” Diana said. “And the way he massages your scalp?” She closed her eyes and swayed ever so slightly. “I suppose I could go back to Antoine.”

“Is there another hair stylist who lost a lot of business to Marya?” I asked.

“Are you thinking motive?” Cathy asked.

Lori grimaced. “I’m sure Antoine felt the pinch the most. But you can’t possibly think he could kill someone.”

“I couldn’t say,” I said. “I’ve never met him.”

“Who does your hair?” Lori asked.

And I stood there stupidly with my mouth open, then gave a slight shrug, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “My dad does,” I half-whispered.

Glenda threw back her head and laughed so hard she nearly lost her dentures. “Hank McCall cuts your hair?”

Lori gave me a full inspection, circling me once, then tugging on the back of my hair. “He actually does a nice job.”

“It’s just that he’s always done it,” I said. “I suppose I ought to grow up and find someone.”

“Sorry,” Glenda said, once she’d recovered. She took another sip of her water. “I shouldn’t laugh. Your hair always looks nice. Just the thought of Hank McCall … well, it’s not something you think the police chief does.”

“Please don’t tell him I mentioned it,” I said.

“If that’s the way you want it,” Glenda said. “But I was about to ask if you thought he might do mine.” She raised the water bottle in a toast, but Diana grabbed her arm in midair.

“Never toast with water,” she said. “It’s bad luck.”

“Sorry.” Glenda set the bottle down.

A wide-eyed Diana stared at the bottle. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but toasting without drinking can mean seven years of bad sex.”

Glenda chuckled. “Honey, at my age, I’ll take what I can get.”

After a little more small talk, Cathy and I walked the ladies to the door. As they shuffled through the snow to their homes and cars, I gave Cathy a hug. “You did a great job. Despite the setback with losing Marya, this is still going to work. So proud of you.”

“Thanks,” she said. “And let me know how it goes with Ian Browning.”

“Will do.”

And as I watched her head to her car, out of the corner of my eye I caught a glint of light through the shades at the PI office. When I turned in that direction, the light flicked off.

What was Lionel Kelley up to now?