Free Deadly Dye and a Soy Chai: a Danger Cove Hair Salon Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 5) by Traci Andrighetti, Elizabeth Ashby

cousin of yours?"
    I threw the magazine onto the table. "That's none of your business. Besides, Margaret could've died of natural causes, you know."
    Donna smirked, causing her mustache to fluff. "Not when she turned as blue as a bottle of NyQuil, she didn't."
    I sighed. The blue analogies were getting blooming annoying. "Look, even if someone did do something to harm Margaret, why do you think that it was one of us? Her stylist wasn't with her every second, and there were other people in the salon that day."
    "Really?" Her eyes lit up like a slot machine that had just hit the jackpot, and she scooted her chair closer to mine. "Like who, for instance?"
    I leaned back. Donna smelled like Pumbaa and my paternal aunts too—kind of a cross between musk and garlic. "I couldn't tell you that even if I wanted to." I gave her a pointed look and added, "And as I'm sure you already know, the police are investigating what happened. So, let them do their job, okay?"
    "Well," Donna exclaimed, her oversized nostrils flaring. She crossed her arms and turned away.
    The main door to the office opened, and a haggard-looking, fifty-something male with his arm in a sling entered and approached the reception desk. He handed a stack of paperwork to the middle-aged brunette behind the glass partition. "I'm Clyde Willard," he said in a gravelly voice. "I have a two o'clock appointment."
    "This is a workers' compensation case, right?" she asked as she flipped through the papers.
    "Yeah, a couple of us was in an accident out at the Pirate's Hook Marine Services," he replied in a thick southern accent. "A boat we was workin' on came off its stilts, and I fell and busted up my arm."
    "I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Willard," the receptionist replied.
    I thought about Zac and wondered whether he'd been injured too. Not that it mattered to me on a personal level, of course. It's just that I hated to see anyone get hurt.
    The receptionist handed Clyde a clipboard. "Fill this out, and a nurse will call you back in a few minutes."
    He took the clipboard with his free hand. "Is Bertha around?"
    My ears pricked up. From the sound of things, Bulldog knew every man in town.
    "She hasn't worked here for over a year."
    He nodded and took a vacated seat.
    Donna leaned toward me. "It's a good thing for us that Bertha's gone."
    I looked at her, confused. Apparently, her outrage of moments before was overcome by her need to gossip. "What do you mean?"
    She looked from side to side to make sure that no one was listening. "Bertha worked for Dr. Windom for years. She did everything from suture patients after surgery to prescribing their pain meds."
    "But she's retired now, right?"
    Donna shot me a knowing look and clasped her hands around her crossed leg. "Yes, but she was forced into retirement." She gave a smug smile. "As in, f-i-r-e-d."
    "Fired?" I straightened in my seat. "How do you know that?"
    She held her nose high. "I'd rather not name names, because I'm not one to gossip, you know. But I'm friends with Dr. Windom's previous receptionist, and she was here when he let Bertha go." She glanced around the room and leaned in. "A former patient had filed a complaint against Bertha."
    "Do you know why?" I whispered.
    She leaned back and put a hand on her hip. "Does the pope know he's Catholic?" Then she shielded her mouth with her hand. "After a routine surgery, Bertha prescribed the pain reliever Darvocet to the patient, knowing full well that she was violently allergic to it. The woman got so sick," she began, her eyes opening wide, " it was coming out both ends ."
    I was shocked, not to mention disgusted. I mean, I could have done without that last detail. "Did the woman press charges?"
    Donna shook her head. "She couldn't."
    "Why not? Was there no evidence?"
    "That, and…" Her voice trailed off, and she gave a wry smile as she savored the suspense she was creating. "…she died."
    I gasped and put my hand to my chest. "From the Darvocet?"
    "That would've made for a