“God, no,” Christine said. “If word got around that I was talking about clients, I’d lose my business. People confide in their stylists—it’s a sacred trust.”
Mel and Angie exchanged a glance in the mirror and then Angie asked, “Did Elise ever confide anything of interest to you? I only ask because she is deceased now, which would make your vow of silence obsolete and you could tell us who everyone thinks the murderer is.”
Christine blew out her lower lip, sending her precisely cut bags up into the air. She met Angie’s gaze and then glanced at Mel. She shook her head as if she didn’t know what to do with them.
“Aren’t you getting married today?” she asked Angie. “Shouldn’t you be consumed with that?”
“Nah.” Angie waved a hand under the big apron Christine had thrown over her. “If I think about the wedding, I get throw-uppy. I mean, what if I say the wrong name, or catch on fire during the lighting of the unity candle, or trip coming down the aisle?” She shifted the apron and held up her hands, which were shaking. “Murder is much more soothing to my nerves.”
“You two are so weird,” Samantha said.
Christine gave her a look and Mel suspected Samantha was about to get chastised. She was wrong.
“They are weird, aren’t they?” Christine asked.
When Mel and Angie both looked at her, she laughed. “What? It’s true.”
Mel shrugged. She couldn’t really argue it.
“Look up,” Samantha ordered.
Mel did and Samantha worked on her makeup with a gentle touch.
“Okay, close your eyes,” Samantha said.
Not being much of a makeup girl, it was weird to feel all of this stuff on her face. Even though Samantha was keeping it light, Mel felt as if her skin was unhappy. She decided to think of something else.
“So, did Elise tell you anything of interest?” she persisted.
With her eyes shut, she couldn’t see Christine, but she heard her huff out a sigh.
“Even if she did, she wrote the book ages ago,” Christine said. “It’s not like I can remember. Besides, anyone too close to Elise even in a professional way appears to wind up dead.”
“Aw, come on,” Angie said. “Consider it a wedding present to me.”
“I thought doing a spectacular job with your hair was the present,” Christine said.
“No, because you would do a spectacular job even if you hated me,” Angie said. “It’s just the kind of hair sorceress you are.”
“Sorceress, huh?”
If she could see her, Mel would have high-fived Angie so hard. Praise was always an excellent way to get to Christine.
“Let me think about it,” Christine mumbled. She sounded as if her mouth was full of pins.
“Okay, lips next,” Samantha said to Mel.
She opened her eyes and glanced over at Angie. Her hair looked amazing. Christine was anchoring the fat braids down with pins and her delicate hands were moving swiftly through Angie’s hair, tucking and pinning in a pattern that was feminine and flattering.
“Open your mouth wide,” Samantha instructed. Mel did, feeling a bit like a baby bird while Samantha slathered color on her.
“Frankly, Elise liked to talk—or more accurately, complain—so I tuned her out quite a bit,” Christine said.
She took the last pin out of her mouth and tucked it into the braid. She then took up the hair curler and began refining the thick curls that cascaded down Angie’s back.
“There was this one time that she came in for highlights,” Christine said. “She was fuming, talking about Hair Plugs and the Child Bride and how she was going to ruin them with her book. This was right after it became common knowledge that she’d sold the book to Leighton Press.”
Mel moved forward and Samantha sighed as the lipstick went sideways.
“Sorry,” she said, and leaned back. Samantha bent closer to repair the damage and Mel sat frozen.
“So there’s motivation for Hair Plugs,” Angie said. “She was intent on ruining him.”
“Yes, but on that day, she also went off about this person who was stalking her,” Christine said.
“Who was it?” Mel asked.
Christine frowned and her arching brows drew together in their own punctuation mark of concentration. “I can’t remember if she named them.”
“Anything she said may be of help,” Mel said. “Was it someone she was dating, or maybe a friend?”
“Like her friend Shanna, who was married to some guy named Carl, who stroked out over the contents of Elise’s book because it outed his wife’s affair?” Angie asked.
“Exactly,” Mel said. “Maybe Shanna wasn’t as happy as she pretended to be at the signing.”
“Shanna Mathews?” Christine asked. “No, she’s happy, believe me—to the tune of three-billion-dollars happy.”
“It’s not fair,” Samantha said. “How does a woman like that—she’s not even nice—bag a shriveled-up old billionaire?”
Samantha moved over to Angie to start on her makeup while Christine finished her hair.
“Do you want a rich old prune?” Christine asked her.
“No,” Samantha admitted. “But I wouldn’t mind one in younger packaging.”
“Those are rare, like Yeti,” Mel said. “It takes their entire life to make their fortune. That’s why they marry women a quarter of their age when they finally make it.”
“Maybe you could downsize to a nice millionaire,” Angie suggested.
She looked up while Samantha did her eyes. Then down. Mel watched the transformation, thinking her already-beautiful friend was going to be stunning. Tate would lose it when he saw her. The thought made Mel smile.
“At this point, I’d be happy if I met a guy who was employed,” Samantha said.
Christine fluffed Angie’s big curls. They were holding well, but she hit them with a mist of fixative spray.
“Angie! Oh, you look beautiful!” Kaylee popped her head around the corner of the doorway. “Mom says we’re leaving and we’ll meet you back at the house to get dressed.”
“Okay, see you in a few,” Angie said. A look of raw nerves flashed across her face, and Mel knew from Angie’s trembling lips that she was about to panic.
Oblivious, Samantha started in on Angie’s lip color. She’d chosen a deep red that complemented Angie’s skin tone and made her teeth
