An hour later, I entered the nail salon, and experienced that uncanny silence from the women seated at the stations getting manicures. A few of them scanned me up and down before turning back to their conversations.
It was quieter today, which was maybe a good thing? I wasn’t sure.
I searched the place and spotted Trinity, the bunny eater who was possibly my least favorite person in Star Lake thanks to that fact. But she was the only lead I had at this point.
“Trinity,” I called, waving at her.
She stared at me from under thick, tinted lashes from the coffee area at the back of the room, where she’d been engaging another nail tech in conversation. Or, you know, sharing more torturous recipes for pets.
“Yeah?” Trinity replied. “If you want to make a booking, you’ll need to talk to Natalie at the front desk.”
“No, I wanted to talk to you about something else.” I went over so I wouldn’t have to shout across the crowded salon.
“Oh yeah?” Trinity leaned on the counter that held the mugs, coffee pot, and cream, her eyebrows arching. She was in the mood for gossip, it seemed. She flicked her beautifully done nails at the tech she’d been talking to and the other woman huffed and left us alone. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Angela came in the day before yesterday,” I said, “when you were doing Sue’s nails?”
“How could I forget?” Trinity rolled her eyes.
“Right, so she had her nails done then, correct?”
“Yeah,” Trinity replied, engaged now I was talking about a dead woman. As crass as it sounded, everyone in Star Lake was fascinated by what had happened. And I’d noticed the accusatory glances from the women in the salon. They thought I was involved.
“Was that the last time you saw her? Do you know who did her nails?”
“LaVonne did her nails,” Trinity said, “the day before yesterday. But I did her nails early yesterday morning.”
“Wait a second, so Angela came in here yesterday morning?” I asked.
“Sure, she did.” Trinity lowered her voice, glancing toward a rather large woman doing a customer’s nails nearby. “See, LaVonne is new. She’s… trying her best. Usually, Miss Betsy does Angela’s nails herself, but we were slammed the day before yesterday, and Miss Betsy had another client to attend to. So LaVonne did Angela’s nails. And, she, uh, she kind of messed them up. They were chipped and of really bad quality.”
Then if she fixed them, how were they a mess yet again?
Women usually looked after their nails after having them done, whether they were natural or acrylic.
“OK, so you fixed Angela’s nails?” I asked.
“Correct,” Trinity replied. “See, Angela threw a temper tantrum after LaVonne had finished, and since I didn’t want LaVonne to get in trouble for it, I offered to do the nails for her, free of charge. But there wasn’t time that afternoon, so I asked her to come back the next morning. Let her set the time and everything.” Trinity pulled a face. “And wouldn’t you believe it, Angela decided she wanted her nails done first thing in the morning! I had to get up extra early to come in here. And open the whole place myself. LaVonne owes me big time.”
“What time exactly did Angela come in to see you?” I asked.
“Oh, like… I think it was around seven?”
“Seven.”
“Yeah. Real early.” Trinity checked her curls in the reflection from the coffee pot.
“What shoes was she wearing?”
“Uh, what? Excuse me?”
“Her shoes. Did you notice what shoes she was wearing?”
“Honey, that’s a really strange question. You know that, right?”
“I know. But bear with me,” I said. “Please?”
“Fine. But only because you’re Sue’s friend.” Trinity squinched her eyes up. “She was wearing high heels. Pink ones. I think. I remember her coming in and the noise her heels made on the tiles. But I can’t be sure of the color. I glanced at them and that was about it.”
“Thanks, Trinity. Just one more thing?”
“Sure. I mean, I’m answering questions about a dead woman’s shoes. What else you got?”
“Did you notice anything strange that morning? When Angela came in? Was she acting different or… anything like that?”
“You sound like a cop,” Trinity said.
“I used to be one.”
“Shoot.”
“I can’t. They took my gun and badge.”
Trinity’s face went slack for a second before she burst out laughing. “That was a good one! Honey, you’ve got a sense of humor. I never would’ve expected that.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Oh, girl, I didn’t mean it like that.” She patted my arm. “As for your question, well… let me think.” Trinity curled her fist under her chin, tapping her long nails against her palm repeatedly. “OK, yeah. Angela was upset that morning, and not about the nails.”
“Do you know what she was upset about?”
“No. I assumed it was something to do with that boyfriend of hers. Rumors have been going around town about them. Apparently, they’ve been getting into a lot of fights. Verbal arguments. But Pamela over there told me that she’s friends with Peter’s cousin, and he said that Angela was a hitter.”
I grimaced.
“Yeah. And, oh, there was another thing. She rushed out before I could finish her nails because she had another appointment to get to.”
“Where? When?”
“She was going to see Roxanne Maas, that woman who sells jewelry at the intersection on Fifth and Bundine Boulevard? Apparently, they had a meeting or something. I didn’t ask what it was about. I was tired.”
This was great. I’d been gifted so much information about the case.
“Thanks, Trinity. I appreciate you talking to me about this.”
“Sure. Just don’t kill me next,” she said.
“I… I assume you’re joking.”
Trinity flashed me a white-toothed grin.
I left her to her gossip—I’d have bet anything she’d tell the other women about my questions—and stepped out onto the pretty paved sidewalk. I brought out my phone and started making notes.
07:00 a.m.—Angela stops by the salon to have her nails fixed but leaves early. She’s wearing pink high heels. So something must’ve happened to her shoes in the half an hour before she entered the cafe. Her next appointment is with Roxanne Maas, who sells jewelry. Could this be the business venture Angela had mentioned?
A text blipped through on my phone before I contemplated the connection in more detail. It was from Sue.
“Meet me at Pigoli’s for lunch?”
“Sure!” I sent the text back and checked the time. It was nearly noon. Time had flown by during my morning’s activities, and I was only just getting started.