Free Safe in the Fireman's Arms by Tina Radcliffe Page A

moved behind the counter and scanned her computer screen. “What can we do for you today? I don’t see any notes next to your appointment,” Sally-Anne said.
    Maggie gripped the small clutch purse in her hands tightly and searched out the window, hoping to spot Susan or her little red car. “My cousin is supposed to meet me here. Maybe I should reschedule.”
    “Nonsense. We’re booked solid due to the Founder’s Day events on Saturday.”
    “Okay, then, I guess a trim would be good.” She pushed a loose lock of hair behind her ears.
    “A trim?” Sally-Anne stepped from behind the counter and circled Maggie.
    Maggie heard the acute disappointment in the woman’s tone.
    She reached out a hand to inspect a strand of Maggie’s hair. Then she fingered another strand and rubbed it between her fingers. Raising red-framed glasses from the chain around her neck onto her nose, Sally-Anne examined the ends of Maggie’s hair, all the while uttering dispiriting noises of assessment under her breath.
    Behind them the door burst open, setting the bells into a frenzy of noise. Susan. The cavalry had arrived.
    “Style and cut and low lights. I brought a picture.” Susan handed Sally-Anne a page torn from a magazine, then glanced at herself in the mirror behind the front counter and adjusted the Peter Pan collar on her white silk blouse.
    “Hmm.” Narrowing her eyes, Sally-Anne analyzed the photo for a moment before holding the paper next to Maggie’s face. Then she turned to Susan. “Deep conditioning is critical. The follicles have been seriously neglected.”
    Neglected follicles. The accusation stabbed at Maggie’s already dismal self-esteem.
    “That will be fine,” Susan said. “We want her to dazzle. She’s going to the supper with Jake, you know.”
    Maggie’s eyes widened when Sally-Anne perked up, and her jaw sagged in surprise.
    “You have a date with our Jake?”
    A buzz started through the shop. Someone under the dryer whispered loudly to the woman seated next to her. “Late with Jake?”
    “No. A date with Jake,” her dryer partner corrected.
    Maggie cringed. “Not exactly a date,” she said. “I won him.”
    “Oh, it was you. I heard a Margaret won. I thought it was a woman at the retirement home.”
    “Maggie. Margaret. I’m named after my grandmother.”
    “Two hundred tickets, was it?”
    Maggie swallowed. “One hundred and forty-seven. Actually Susan bought the tickets.”
    “I thought we were playing fair,” Sally-Anne said.
    “Oh, come on now,” Susan responded. “You, of all people, realize that rules are out the window when it comes to firemen.
    “Humph.” Sally-Anne dusted off the first throne and ushered Maggie to sit on the black leather upholstery. She snapped black latex gloves onto her hands. Then she carefully mixed tubes of color into a black bowl and began to paint sections of Maggie’s hair with a brush, before carefully folding each section in foil.
    “Would you like something to drink while your hair processes?” Sally-Anne asked as she rolled the gloves off her hands.
    “No. I’m fine, thanks.” Maggie sat quietly watching the other women in the shop and the procedures going on with interest. Across the room, Susan sat in a reclining chair enjoying a pedicure and a cappuccino.
    Sally-Anne came over to Maggie’s chair at intervals and peeked inside the foil on her head, then nodded her approval and left again. When a buzzer signaled the color was done, Maggie was turned over to a technician at the shampoo sinks.
    “The works,” Sally-Anne commanded. “Give her the deep conditioning treatment, as well.”
    Once shampoo and deep conditioning were complete, a towel-headed Maggie was moved to yet another chair.
    “Very nice,” Sally-Anne observed, combing out Maggie’s hair. “Wear a hat outside from now on. The Colorado sun is ruthless, especially at this elevation.”
    Maggie nodded at the instructions.
    “When was your last salon visit?”
    “Oh, this