Four-Patch of Trouble (31 page)

I waited for him to say something. When he didn't, I cleared my throat. "Would it be all right to have a plumber come out and fix the leak?"

He exhaled. "Your uncle's room is no longer an active crime scene, but since the investigation is still ongoing, we'd like to keep it as intact as possible." He glanced at me. "You're not using the room, are you?"

"Me?" I shuddered. "Oh, no way, sir. I mean, Detective. I keep it locked at all times."
"Good." He hit the gas. "Because there's certainly no shortage of bedrooms in the place."

"So," I began, eager to shift the conversation away from all those sinks and bedrooms, "does that mean I can't call a plumber?"

He hooked a left onto Fletcher's Way. "Make an appointment and let me know the date and time. I'll send an officer out to keep contamination to a minimum."

I stiffened. The last thing The Clip and Sip needed right now was a cop car out front. "I don't suppose that there's anyway you could send someone in an unmarked car?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks." At least there was some good news where the salon was concerned, but I was starting to wonder whether there was ever going to be any good news for my family and me about my Uncle Vinnie's homicide investigation. "I don't suppose there've been any developments in the case?"

"Something has come to our attention, yes." He fell silent.

I'd heard that Detective Ohlsen was a man of few words, so I pressed on, desperate for some information about my uncle's murder. "Can you tell me about it?"

"Vinnie's former receptionist said they often got strange calls from clients."

"Strange how?"

"That part's privileged." He slowed the car to a stop in front of the salon.

"I understand." I opened the car door. "You know, I really appreciate your work on the case. I didn't really know my Uncle Vinnie, but his death has really taken a toll on me and my whole family. And honestly, if it's not solved soon, I'm not sure what will become of the salon. Or of me, for that matter."

He turned to face me. "If you don't mind my asking, Miss Conti, why
would
you want to live and operate a business on the site where your uncle was murdered?"

Detective Ohlsen wasn't the first person to ask me that question. I took a deep breath and decided to tell him the truth. After all, he was a cop. "I kind of made a mess of my life back home. And just when I was thinking that I needed a do-over, I inherited a home and a business in another state. All things considered, I figured it was a pretty sweet deal for a twenty-six-year-old."

"I imagine so." He nodded. "Good day, Miss Conti."

"Bye, Detective. And thanks for the ride." I stepped out of the car and walked up the sidewalk to the old Victorian building, wondering for around the hundredth time whether it really was such a sweet deal.

There was no direct entrance to my house upstairs, so I decided to enter through the front door of the salon and see whether Lucy needed help closing up shop. As I pulled open the door, I glanced at the time on my phone. It was almost five o'clock, which meant that I had the evening to study for my quiz. And I was going to need every minute of it.

I shoved my phone back into my bag and looked around the salon. There was no sign of Lucy, but Margaret was still dozing beneath the dryer. Apparently, the caffeine in the soy chai latte hadn't been enough to keep her from that date with her afternoon nap.

"Date" turned out to be a poor choice of words because I got an instant visual of Margaret and my Uncle Vinnie locked in a passionate embrace. I shook my head to dispel the icky image and grabbed the mail from the reception desk as a distraction. But the stack of bills was an equally sickening sight.

I tossed the mail back onto the desk and headed to the break room. Like it or not, it was time to hit the books. But before I could do that, I had to find Lucy. She needed to wake up Margaret before the dye dried out her hair.

"Lucy?" I peered into the room.

But she wasn't there. Nor was she on the back porch or in the bathroom adjoining the break room.

I was starting to get concerned. Lucy wouldn't leave during the middle of an appointment, especially not when she was the only stylist in the salon.

"First things, first," I muttered as I walked out to the dryers. "Time to rinse your hair, Ms. Appleby."

As usual, she didn't budge.

I bent over and reached out to shake her, but then my hand recoiled. And I blinked—hard.

Because either my eyes were playing tricks on me, or Margaret Appleby had turned the exact same shade of blue as her hair.

DEADLY DYE AND A SOY CHAI

A DANGER COVE HAIR SALON MYSTERY