Free Tressed to Kill by Lila Dare

shut his eyes as if in pain and then opened them to glare at me in the mirror. “You seriously met a man you think is a murderer in a field in the middle of nowhere.”
“Ssssh,” I hissed as my mom turned to stare at us. “I guess it wasn’t the brightest thing I’ve ever done.”
“That’s one way to put it,” he said. “The word stupid comes to mind. And idiotic. And foolhardy.”
“Fine,” I said, jerking the smock off him with a ripping sound. “Don’t believe me.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t believe you.” He rose to his feet in a leisurely way. “I only said you were stu—”
“I heard you the first time!”
He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I didn’t say I did believe you, either. We haven’t been able to verify your so-called alibi yet. Judge Finnegan hasn’t returned my calls. I find that suspicious.”
“She’s in Haiti!”
“Convenient for you. At any rate, the investigation is ongoing. I suggest you let us do our jobs and not muddy the waters any more with your Miss Marple amateur hour.” His voice was stern.
“Veronica Mars, actually,” I said, then clapped a hand to my mouth.
“What?”
“Nothing.” The door jangled open, and I looked over with relief to see Patricia Farnsworth enter, her blond hair two weeks past due for a touch-up. “My client’s here.”
“We’re done for now,” Special Agent Dillon said, retrieving his blazer from the closet and shrugging into it. “Let Mrs. Terhune know I’d like to chat with her again when she has a chance. Just routine.”
Yeah, right.
He handed me his card. “She can call my cell.” And with a generalized wave to the salon’s occupants, he left.
Relief slumped my shoulders, and I took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before blowing it out. I hadn’t been aware of the tension building up in my muscles. “I’ll be with you in a minute, Patricia,” I said. I handed the man’s card to Mom and gave her his message.
“What was that all about?” She gestured with her comb toward my station.
“Nothing much. What do you think about trying to attract more male clients?” I asked in an effort to distract her. “Of course, we’d have to get smocks in a more . . . neutral color. Say, black. Or dark green.”
She pursed her lips with interest. “It’s a thought. Let’s see what Stella and Althea think.”
“More men get their nails done these days and have facials, too.” I kept an earnest expression on my face, but inside I was celebrating. I’d done it—successfully led her away from the explosive topic.
“Why not? Skin care is for everybody,” she said. She peered at me over the top of her glasses. “And don’t think you’re putting one past me, missy. You can fill me in when this place clears out.”
My distraction techniques never worked when I was in high school, either. Well, two could play that game. “Fine. And you can tell me why Althea ran out of here in a lather yesterday.” I turned on my heel to shepherd Patricia to the sink.
    Chapter Six
     
     

     
    MOM AND I ROCKED ON HER VERANDA AT SEVEN thirty that evening, enjoying the cooling air and the chirrup of crickets as the sun lazed its way down the horizon. Citronella candles kept the mosquitoes at bay and their scent mingled with the perfume of gardenias and camellias floating up from bushes planted at the base of the house. I love summer nights, where twilight lasts longest and the world seems peaceful, suspended in time by the magical gloaming. I sipped my Budweiser and rocked, unwilling to shatter the serenity to interrogate my mom.
She showed no such reluctance. Setting her beer can on the ceramic elephant plant stand we use as a table, she said, “So. What were you telling Special Agent Dillon about meeting someone in a field last evening?”
The woman had a bat’s hearing. I swear, when I was a teenager, she could hear Vonda and me plotting mischief even if we were in my bedroom with the door closed and she was cooking dinner. I sighed and took another sip of beer. Mom watched me, not pushing, her hair spikier than