Voodoo or Die Page 16

  "Oh. Right." The young woman came closer, squinting. "Actually, it's kind of cool—are you sure you want to change it?"

  "Quite sure."

  The woman glanced at her watch. "Melissa Phillips is our colorist, but she's running late. She should be here soon if you'd like to wait. Or you could come back later and we'll squeeze you in."

  "Actually, I'd rather wait," Gloria said, then glanced at the gathering of women. "Unless I'm imposing."

  "No, join us, Gloria," Marie piped up.

  The woman in the pink lab coat smiled and motioned for Gloria to walk past the counter. "I'm Jill Johnson."

  Gloria tucked her hair behind her ears—she must look a fright. "Hi, Jill. I'm Gloria Dalton."

  "Oh, the new attorney."

  Gloria nodded and greeted Marie and Cecily.

  "Have a seat, Gloria," Marie said, pouring an additional cup of coffee from an odd-looking ceramic pot. "This is Hazel Means," she said, gesturing to the plump, middle-aged woman. "Hazel works at the Looky-Loo Bookstore a few doors down."

  "For now," Hazel added, then nodded a greeting.

  "We're talking about the town's economy," Cecily offered, taking a sip from her cup. "With the museum being closed and all the bad publicity, there are rumors that a lot of businesses in town might close, including the bookstore."

  Gloria accepted the cup of dark liquid from Marie and took a sip, surprised at the unusual flavor.

  "Apricot and cardamom," Marie murmured to her unasked question.

  Gloria nodded. "It's good. Who owns the bookstore?"

  "Mona Black," Hazel Means said. "She hired me to work there after the voodoo museum closed and I lost my job."

  Mona didn't strike Gloria as the bleeding-heart type, so she assumed that Hazel was a good employee. "If you worked at the museum, you must know Diane Davidson."

  Hazel smiled and gave a little shrug. "As well as anyone can know Diane. She's an odd bird."

  The other women nodded, and Gloria had to cover a smile by sipping the spiced coffee. That was quite a statement coming from the motley crew assembled. "Because she's Wiccan?"

  "No," Jill said, pulling up another chair. "Because she hangs around with that mountain man, Jimmy Scaggs."

  "And apparently she has an arsenal of guns in her house," Marie said conspiratorially. "Penny and B.J. saw them when they were investigating Deke's murder."

  "Maybe that's because people were vandalizing her home," Gloria said, compelled to defend the woman in her absence.

  "That's right—she's working for you now," Marie said.

  "Yes... and she's a good employee."

  "I heard on the police scanner that her house was spray-painted again last night," Jill said. "The cemetery was vandalized, too—headstones turned over, graffiti everywhere."

  The women shook their heads, and Gloria sipped from her cup. "Sounds like a bunch of kids looking for trouble—maybe some of her former students."

  "Maybe," Hazel agreed. "But you're right, Jill. Diane Davidson isn't doing herself any favors by hooking up with the likes of Jimmy Scaggs. Did you hear that Jimmy said he found a body in the woods?"

  Jill rolled her eyes. "If he did, he probably put it there."

  The women all chorused their agreement and drank from their cups in unison.

  "How are you liking Mojo, Gloria?" Hazel asked.

  Gloria patted her wiry hair and weighed her words. "I'm afraid I've been out of sorts since I got here."

  "That's understandable," Cecily murmured. "Do the police know any more about how Steve Chasen was poisoned?"

  Gloria casually cut her glance to Marie to see if the woman's demeanor changed. Marie fidgeted and didn't make eye contact, but Gloria knew the blue-haired woman was listening. "No. At this point it looks like a random accident, or possible product tampering."

  Cecily shuddered. "When I think about how many of those chocolate bars I sold in the dry cleaner's..."

  "Us, too, right here in the salon," Jill said. "Penny sold them at the health food store, too, didn't she, Marie?"

  Marie nodded. "But not too aggressively, since selling candy bars sort of runs counter to selling health food."

  "Chocolate has antioxidants," Hazel said.

  "Not milk chocolate," Marie said with a laugh. "But nice try." She looked at Gloria. "Did you find a home for Steve's cat?"

  "No," Gloria responded, then glanced around the circle of women. "Would anyone be willing to adopt a cat?"

  Hazel frowned. "What color?"

  "Black," Gloria said reluctantly. "He seems very well behaved."

  But they all lowered their eyes and murmured no.

  "So what happened to your hair?" Marie asked with a grin.

  Gloria grimaced. "I tried to touch up my roots with a kit I bought at Webber's pharmacy."

  Groans and guffaws sounded all around. "Everything on their shelves dates to prehistoric times," Cecily said.

  "But the expiration date on the package was good," Gloria argued.

  Marie gave a dismissive wave. "The owner probably stamped it himself."

  Gloria frowned. "Isn't that illegal?"

  "Probably," Marie said with a smile. "Maybe you'd better report it to Chief Riley the next time you see him."

  Jill giggled. "Like over breakfast."

  All the women chuckled knowingly, while Gloria's face grew hotter than the cup of coffee she held.

  "Come on," Marie cajoled. "His cruiser was in your driveway all night. You should've known it would be all over town."

  Jill pointed to a small black device that looked like a radio on a shelf. "Actually, it was on the police scanner."

  Gloria squirmed, mortified to be at the center of town gossip. And if the fact that Zane had spent the night at her house had been broadcast on the police scanner, that odious reporter Daniel Guess knew about it, too. Feeling obligated to offer some kind of argument, she said, "Chief Riley came by to get... something... someone left at my office the day Steve Chasen died."

  "I told everyone about the voodoo doll," Marie offered unapologetically.

  "Did you ever find out who left it?" Jill asked.

  "No."

  "Well, when the chief stopped by, you must have put some kind of voodoo spell on him yourself," Cecily said slyly, eliciting more laughter.

  The bell on the door tinkled, diverting attention away from Gloria, thank goodness.

  "There's our colorist, Melissa, now," Jill said to Gloria with a wink. "She'll get your hair back to normal."

  Gloria stood and followed Jill to greet the bustling Melissa, who seemed harried as she shrugged out of her coat and hung it on a rack nearby.

  "You're later than usual," Jill said with a laugh. "Is everything okay?"

  The brunette with the wildly teased hair turned to Jill, her mouth curling down in a frown. "Everything's fine! Besides, it's not like I had an appointment."

  Jill bristled. "I just meant that we missed you for coffee," she murmured, then gestured to Gloria. "This is Gloria Dalton. She needs an emergency color correction."

  Melissa peered at Gloria, still preoccupied with putting away her purse, then frowned. "Let me guess—a victim of the kitchen sink salon?"

  Gloria flushed. "Something like that."

  The woman adopted a surly expression as she jabbed a finger toward an empty chair. "That's my station. Have a sit down."

  Gloria eased into the chair and cringed at her reflection in the oval three-way mirror. She looked like she was wearing a clown's wig. She lifted her cup to her mouth but missed, spilling her coffee when the chair tilted slightly. She caught herself and closed her eyes, breathing deeply to ward off the dizziness... in... and out... in... and out.

  It was no wonder her body was rebelling. Sleeping with Zane, giving in to a blackmailer, trying to ignore the fact that someone living in Mojo might have poisoned Steve Chasen intentionally.

  A snapping sound made her eyes pop open. Melissa was shaking out a vinyl cape, which she draped around Gloria and f
astened behind her neck. The woman still seemed distracted, and Gloria remembered that when she'd been in Dr. Whiting's office, Brianna had mentioned that her friend "Melissa" had dated Steve.

  Hm.

  "Sorry for the trouble," Gloria said, flashing a friendly smile.

  "It's my job," the woman said in a clipped tone. "What color do you want it? Brown or blond?"

  Gloria blinked. "Brown, of course. That's what it was before I made such a mess out of it."

  Melissa leaned forward and parted Gloria's hair with her fingers. "Yeah, but it was blond before that." She squinted at Gloria in the mirror. "Are you sure you don't want it back to your natural blond color—that would look better with your complexion."

  Gloria sent a nervous glance to the women, who had paused from their coffee drinking and conversation.

  "You're a natural blond?" Marie called across the room. "Wow, who covers up blond?"

  "Melissa is right," Jill offered. "Blond would look better with your coloring."

  "N-no, thanks," Gloria said. "I like it brown."

  Melissa shrugged. "Suit yourself. How often do you get a perm?"

  "Every couple of months, I guess."

  "It's ruining your hair," the woman said flatly. "Your hair is too fine to take that kind of abuse. Keep it up and you're gonna be bald."

  Marie stood and walked across the room to stand behind Gloria and angle her head. "You normally have straight blond hair?"

  "N-not that straight," Gloria stammered. "Or that blond. I just like it darker."

  "And curlier," Marie said, sounding thoughtful.

  Gloria met the woman's curious gaze in the mirror, then glanced away, trying not to think of anything incriminating in case the woman could actually read her mind. She was glad when Melissa leaned her back to wash her hair.

  "See y'all later," Marie called, and over the rush of water, Gloria heard the bell on the door tinkle.

  A few minutes later, when Melissa had toweled her hair dry and applied the hair color, Gloria said, "Someone told me you used to date Steve Chasen."

  The woman's hands stopped, and her mouth went pensive. "For a while."

  "What happened, if you don't mind me asking."

  The hairdresser resumed her ministrations, then wiped her hands and set a timer next to the sink.

  "I don't mind. The man was a conceited asshole with a two-inch-long dick, that's what happened."

  Gloria's eyebrows went up.

  Cecily gave a little laugh. "Gee, Melissa, tell us how you really feel about him."

  Gloria got the feeling from the woman's expression that she did want to tell more, but suddenly Hazel hushed everyone.

  "Something's coming over the scanner... there's a fire!" She adjusted the knob, and in between static bursts, a woman's voice calmly repeated the address where a Mojo house was ablaze. In the distance, sirens sounded.

  Hazel repeated the address. "Wonder where that is?"

  Gloria froze. She knew that address... she'd been there just this morning, to make a money drop. "It's Steve Chasen's house," she said, scrambling to remove the plastic cape and grab her purse.

  "But the hair color," Jill called behind her. "Gloria, you can't just leave!"

  "I have to," she shouted over her shoulder, her heart pumping like a piston. All she could picture was the black cat sitting in the living room window, staring out at her. If it perished, it would be her fault.

  And in the back of her mind, she had a bad, bad feeling that a fire at the poisoned man's house was just too damned coincidental.

  Chapter 20

  Gloria's heart threatened to come out of her chest as she swung into her car and retraced the path back to Steve Chasen's house. She wasn't a pet person, but the thought of the black cat succumbing to smoke and fire made her nauseous.

  As did the thought that someone might have set fire to Steve's house out of revenge... or to get rid of evidence.

  Cold wetness seeped under the white towel loosely tucked around her neck as the strong chemical odor of the hair-coloring product filled her lungs. She held a corner of the towel over her nose and wondered if she'd have a hair left on her head—blond, brown, green, or otherwise—by the end of the day.

  She turned into the neighborhood on two wheels, but a short distance later, the road was blocked by various vehicles and a volunteer fire department engine. She parked the Honda at a haphazard angle and jumped out to run toward the house. A crowd had gathered to gape at the spectacle, some neighbors in their bathrobes, a few with cameras. Firefighters shouted to each other as they rolled out equipment.

  Steve's house was engulfed in flames, the brick exterior and the lawn around the house charred black. The roof had burned away in the center, releasing dark pillars of smoke into the air. Gloria's breath caught in her chest as she pushed her way through the crowd, registering the fact that Zane's cruiser sat near the taped-off perimeter.

  Suddenly a man caught her arm. "You can't go any closer, ma'am."

  She turned to see Guy Bishop dressed in fireman garb. "Guy—Steve's cat was in the house. Have you seen it?"

  He winced. "No, sorry, Gloria."

  "What happened?"

  "I don't know."

  "Where is Chief Riley?"

  "I don't know—I can't talk now. Please stay behind the tape."

  She stepped back, hugging herself in the early morning cold, feeling helpless as little pieces of charred paper began floating down to settle in the grass. She picked up a piece that landed near her foot—it was a tiny burnt portion of a phone bill... perhaps the very one she'd opened... illegally.

  She looked up and saw Marie Gaston roll onto the scene straddling a red bicycle with a wire basket, her expression pensive. And was it Gloria's imagination, or did the woman exchange a worried glance with Guy Bishop, who was still trying to keep the crowd at bay?

  Gloria studied other faces on the scene and recognized Elton Jamison as a volunteer firefighter. B.J. Beaumont was there, too, and his brother Kyle, plus Cameron Phelps, all dressed in plainclothes and obviously taking a break from their sobering task at the voodoo museum to help the small community deal with another crisis.

  It seemed, however, there was little to do other than contain the fire. The house appeared to be a total loss. Two enormous streams of water kept the flames from spreading to trees and rooftops of other houses and slowly began to tame the blaze. Her eyes grew moist over the loss of the cat, the swell of grief surprising her. She wondered if the pet had inadvertently done something to start the fire, or if a burglar or vandal had set it....

  Then her gaze darted to the mailbox. Or if the blackmailer had started it.

  Had he been watching her from inside the house?

  She made her way through the crowd to the mailbox, glancing from side to side, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She leaned on the mailbox, shifted to stand in front of it, and when she thought that everyone's attention was elsewhere, she nonchalantly lowered the metal lid and leaned down to peer inside.

  "Looking for something?"

  Gloria straightened and spun around to find Zane staring at her wryly. Black soot stained his face.

  "H-Hi," she stammered. Relief to see him safe mingled with guilt, but it was immediately overridden by happiness when she saw the black cat in his arms. "You saved him!"

  She reached for the cat and it went to her, eyes wild and traumatized, his singed whiskers twitching, she realized, at the odor of the chemical in her hair.

  "He was sitting in the window of the living room when I noticed the smoke."

  She looked up. "You were... here... when the fire started?"

  He adopted a wide stance and put his hands on his hips. "Yeah. Before I forget, here's your key."

  He produced the key to her house and she took it, her pulse ratcheting higher at the intimate exchange. His gaze was suspicious, his body language rigid, nothing about him hinting at the animated lover he'd been last night in her bed. Gloria glanced at the mailbox, then bac
k to Zane, tamping down her panic. "Wh-why were you here this morning?"

  "I was about to ask you the same thing."

  Her throat constricted. "I don't know what you mean."

  He pulled a hand over his mouth, then looked back to her. "Look—I know you were here this morning, Gloria. I followed you."

  Her eyes bugged. "You followed me?"

  "Who has a business meeting at seven o'clock in the morning?"

  Her back stiffened as anger sliced through her chest. "I... had a hair appointment, as you can see," she lied, pointing to her wet head. "I came by here first... to feed the cat."

  "Oh?" He reached into his jacket and withdrew the envelope of cash that she'd left in the mailbox. "Want to change your story?"

  As she stared at the envelope, her mouth went dry. "I... that's not mine."

  "Then why is your driver's license in the envelope?"

  She blinked, then remembered she'd had to show her driver's license at the bank to withdraw the money. Some criminal she'd make. While her mind raced for an explanation, a soot-faced firefighter came jogging up to Zane, his breathing ragged. "Chief Riley."

  Zane turned. "What is it?"

  "I think you need to call the medical examiner." The man looked anguished. "We found a body in the fire."

  Shock reverberated through her. She tightened her grip on the cat, who responded in kind by digging its claws into her shoulder.

  Zane's jaw hardened, then he swung a steely gaze back to her, as if he were looking at a stranger. "Don't even think about leaving town."

  She blanched and watched him stride away, his shoulders set in an angry line. Was he a mind reader, too?

  Because she'd been considering doing just that.

  When she looked up, she was surprised to see Daniel Guess standing on the far side of the taped-off area, lowering his camera and staring at her. How had he gotten to the scene so quickly from New Orleans? And had he observed the exchange between her and Zane?

  Of course he had. And from the police scanner, he knew that Zane had spent the night in her bed.

  The reporter inclined his head to her, then lifted his camera and resumed taking photos of the house, fire engine, and the crowd.