I lift a finger to make my point. “But if what Pete says doesn’t have relevance, it won’t go into your report, right?”
“Wrong. Every data point goes into the file. Including the note I made on my phone last night about who was supposed to get which flowers. But sometimes it’s good that the person being questioned, who happens to be a gossipmonger, doesn’t know he’s being questioned. You can help me with that.” Dylan opens the door to the barbershop for me and whispers, “Don’t ask Pete a thing. He won’t be able to stand it, and he’ll ask us the questions.”
“I can do that.” Wow. Dylan is going to let me help for a change.
“Thanks.” Dylan takes my hand and leads me inside.
There are three empty swivel chairs lined up in front of mirrors, and Pete is in the fourth, the closest to the street, reading a newspaper. He glances up and smiles. “Hi, guys. What can I do you for?” The aroma of shaving cream and men’s cologne wafts in the air.
Dylan sits in an empty chair and says, “I need a trim, but Sawyer thinks I always get it cut too short. Thought I’d bring her along to tell you when to stop.”
Pete lumbers out of his chair, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Happy wife, happy life and all. Have a seat.”
I start to correct Pete about the wife part, but Dylan’s head shakes ever so slightly, so I let it go. “I like the way you make it short on the sides, Pete, but a little longer on the top would be nice.” I run my fingers through Dylan’s thick hair and lift it up. “Maybe a little more volume here. Especially the way it curls so naturally.”
Pete twists his mustache as he considers it. “I can do that, I suppose. But don’t you think it looks a little…girly?”
I laugh and lay a hand on Dylan’s bulging bicep. “I don’t think it’s possible to look anything but intimidating with these guns. But let’s compromise. Give me just a little extra on top this time, and we’ll see how it grows out.”
“Fair enough.” He wraps a cape around Dylan’s shoulders and whispers, “Lucky for you, Sheriff, that can be fixed later.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and instead sit on a hard plastic chair. The magazines on the coffee table are all about cars, trucks, and camping. Luckily, I’m not here to catch up on my reading, but I need to pretend I am, so I dig in.
Who knew RVs these days could be so lovely? I need to tell Meg about that. Even she could be happy with the spacious bathrooms they have.
After about five minutes with no conversation at all, Pete says, “So I was thinking about what happened backstage and all.”
I lay the open magazine on my lap. “You mean about the flower name-tag switch?”
“No. Not that.” Pete sets his razor down and picks up a pair of scissors to start on the top of Dylan’s head. “I was thinking about last week, during dress rehearsals. That same electrical outlet that Max used for the bull’s-eye wasn’t working right for Missy’s presentation. You know, the one where she does a whole monologue about some women’s hard journey nonsense? We had to move the table and little light to the other side of the stage. So maybe that original outlet was to blame?”
Dylan says, “Did you ask someone to fix it?”
“Nope,” Pete says as he snips minuscule pieces of hair from the top of Dylan’s head. “Frank owns this shop too, so I know how long it would’ve taken to get him to fix it. Moving the props to the opposite side seemed easier.”
I ask, “And my dad wasn’t here for dress rehearsals because he was on the road?”
Pete nods. “I forgot about the broken outlet until last night. Right before I went to sleep.”
I toss the magazine aside. “So, Uncle Frank might not have known the outlet wasn’t working when he helped my dad set up the trick?”
“Or maybe he did. Who knows?” Pete shrugs. “But it’s still odd about the name tags, Dylan. Was Emily embarrassed when you called her out for switching Tina’s purple flowers for the red? I swear, women are picky about the littlest things. If you ask me, they waste too much time worrying about nothing.” Pete laughs like he’s the brightest guy in the world.
I’d have another name to call him, but I won’t. We just learned what we came for and a bit more. Why did Emily switch out the flowers that later Uncle Frank switched again? Could that little prick on Tina’s finger from the rose have something to do with her death? Or was the rose just another prop to provide misdirection?
Maybe Tina’s little wound was caused by something else entirely.
Chapter 5
Dylan and I hit the sidewalk outside the barbershop, and I wait until the door swings closed before saying, “Pete told us more than we’d bargained for. He and a few others knew the outlet was faulty, and that Emily switched the flower’s name tags too.”
He grunts. “Weird how that happened.”
“Okay.” I poke him in the ribs with my elbow. “You were right about the staying-silent technique. Pete spilled like a waterfall. But I’m surprised you let me help.” Dylan and I usually get crosswise when I snoop around his cases.
“If you can’t beat ’em, might as well join ’em.” He steps aside so I can unlock my store.
“Glad you finally came to your senses.” I turn the lock and pat my eager dog, who’s super excited to see Dylan too.
Dylan squats to play with Cooper. “I don’t think I’d call it sensible. But in this case, your help came in handy. So, thank you.”
“Welcome. And I can help you again. Because I kept Brittany home from school, I have an excuse to talk to her teachers and
