The girls’
eyes
went
very
wide. “Uh, I’m not sure about all that,
Stella,”
Lacey
cautioned.
“We’re
on a timetable
here.”
“Lacey,
look at this
hair,
it
hasn’t
been
washed
in weeks!”
Jasmine’s
sullen look returned.
Stella’s
assistant
manager
Michelle took
over
soothingly.
“Ah,
good
hair,”
she declared.
“Strong
and
healthy.
It
will
be
so
pretty
when
it’s
washed.”
“Can we really?” Jasmine
looked
to
Lacey.
“Of course you
can,”
Stella said, ignoring
Lacey’s
look of alarm.
“I’ll
put it all on
Lacey’s
tab.
No probs. So what do you
say,
girls? Something
different?
Short and
spiky?
Buzz cuts?”
“No cutting!” Lily Rose grabbed her hair so Stella
couldn’t
cut it. “Maybe braids?”
“Stella!
No
teasing
the
girls!
And
no
buzz
cuts,”
Lacey
warned. “They
have
beautiful
hair.”
Their long hair
was
proba bly their
mother’s
pride, she thought.
They
probably
looked
a lot
like
her.
“I’m just funning you,
Lace.”
Stella laughed.
“You
should
have
seen the look on your
face.”
She addressed the girls. “Did you see that look? She totally cracks me up. So maybe we just trim a couple of inches, shampoo, condition,
blow
dry?”
“It’s
been a super long
day,
Stella.
We
have
to be out of here by—” She
looked
at her
watch.
“By nine o’clock.
Latest.”
At nine
they
would
go see Miss
Charday.
Lacey
had called Mac and
Vic;
neither answered,
but
she left messages. By nine she
was
sure
they
would
get back to
her,
and
they
could meet them in
Shaw
to help
explain
the situation to the
woman
who
had
been
helping
the
girls.
And
if
their
hair
was
clean
and
braided and the girls
looked
happy,
Lacey
thought, Miss Char day
would
be easy to win
over.
“Oh ye of little
faith.”
Stella snapped her
fingers
and things started happening.
Lacey
gazed
at
the
girls’
expectant
faces.
They
looked
dirty
and
neglected,
but
at least their stomachs were full of
burgers
now.
Who
knows
how
long
they
had been running from street
to
laundry
room
to
couch,
without
a
mother
to
take
care
of
them?
“And
in the spirit of the season, Lace,
I’ll
give
you a dis
count,”
Stella said.
“A
real
discount?”
Lacey
inquired.
Stylettos’
basic
rates
weren’t
expensive,
but
Stella
loved
to pile on the à la carte serv ices and then alarm her customers with the terrible
fate
their hair
would
face
without her tender
loving
care. And lots of
ex
pensive
“product.”
“Totally.
Two
for the price of
one.”
She ushered the girls back to the dressing room to hang up their
new
coats. “So what are you
two
doing here with
Lacey?”
“We’re
getting
away
from the Santa
Dude,”
the younger one said.
“Lily Rose!”
Jasmine
gave
her
sister
a
look.
“It’s
a
secret,”
Lily Rose told Stella
earnestly.
Lacey
rolled her
eyes.
The
stylist’s
eyes
lit up
like
the jackpot on a pinball ma chine.
“Well,
you’ve
come to the right place. I
love
secrets.”
“Stella,”
Lacey
warned.
“Lacey
tells me all her secrets.
Now,
you tell your Auntie
Stella
all
about
it.”
She
gave
Lacey
an
evil
grin
and
whisked
the
girls
away
to the shampoo
bowls,
where no secrets could with
stand
Stella’s
magical
massaging
fingers.
Lacey
grabbed
an
empty salon
chair.
There
was
a message on her phone from
Vic.
She called him back: No
answer.
She left another message. She
finally
reached Mac, who
picked
up on the
first
ring.
“Mac,
I’ve
got the
girls,”
she said.
“We’ll
be at an address in
Shaw
later,
in about an
hour.
Write this address
down,
are you ready?”
“You’ve
got
the
girls?
Both
of
them?
That’s
terrific!
Why
not meet
now?”
“We
made a little stop
first.
It’s
a little hard to
explain.”
“You
are right there with them,
aren’t
you?” Mac
growled.
“Of course I am. And
it’ll
take
you a while to get to
Shaw,
so—”
“So
what’s
the holdup?”
“No holdup.
They
loved
their coats,
they
were
hungry,
we had to eat, we had to talk, and
now
we’re
with Stella, getting all cleaned up and
pretty.”
“Your
crazy hair stylist? Smithsonian—”
“Listen, Mac,
they’re
willing to try the
fosterparent
thing as long as
they’re
not split up,
but
it
was
a tough sell.
They’ll
be much happier when
they’re
clean and
pretty.
It’s
a girl thing,
Mac.
Ask
Kim
about
it.
Now,
we
just
have
to
pick
up
their
things and talk to this
woman
they’ve
been crashing with.
It’s
important.”
“Nine o’clock sharp,
Smithsonian.”
He repeated the address. “Bring
Kim.”
Kim would soften his grumpiness.
“Maybe
ten
after.”
“We’re
both coming, Kim
wouldn’t
miss this for
anything.”
“Good,
I don’t
want
you
to
scare
them,
you
big
grouch.
They’re
just little
girls.”
“Smith—” he started to
say,
but
she hung up on him.
Lacey
gazed
in
the
mirror
and
caught
the
reflection
of
Jas
mine and Lily Rose being herded back to their
respective
sta tions from the shampoo
bowls,
wearing
towels
on their heads
and
Stylettos’
smocks
that
on
them
fell
almost
to
the
floor. Michelle took Jasmine. A stylist named Jamie, in a
festive
shag with red and green highlights, took Lily Rose.
“Where did you put their clothes?”
Lacey asked
Stella.
“In
the
wash,”
her
stylist
said
blithely.
The
salon
had
a
washer
and dryer in the break room to handle the endless wet
towels.
“Those
spiffy
new
coats are in the closet,
they
are
very
proud of them.
You’re
the aces, Lace, getting those girls
new
winter
coats.
But
the
rest
of
their
things
were
filthy,
and
I
run
a clean
salon.”
Lacey
couldn’t
argue
with that. The mirrors and chrome shone and the floors were spotless,
every
snipped hair
neatly swept
away.
“So
where’s
their mother
anyway?”
Stella
asked.
“I
kept
trying to get the rest of the
story.
The little
one’s
a doll, she
wants
to talk and talk,
but
the older one
keeps
shush ing her
up.”
Lacey
shook her head. “Their
mother’s
not coming home
anymore.”
“Gotcha. Poor babies. So where you takin’ ’em?”
“Mac
wants
to
fosterparent
them, Mac and Kim.
You
know,
Mac, my boss?”
“Jeez. Poor babies. So
what’s
this whole ‘Santa Dude’ thing all about? Spill,
Lacey.
You
got another killer after you?
What’s
it got to do with that thing that happened in your
alley?
It’s
not a
different
killer,
is it, ’cause that
would
be
like
two
different
killers at the same time, and that
would
be weird
even
for
you.”
Lacey
told Stella an edited
version
of
events,
emphasizing it
was
not to be broadcast in the salon. She demanded
Stella’s
vow
of silence.
“Are
you kidding?
Like
a tomb I am, silent as the
grave.
You
know
that,
Lacey.
Who’s
always got your back? Me!
Who’s
your best friend in the whole
world?”
Vic
called back.
Lacey
filled
him in and he agreed to meet them at Miss
Charday’s
apartment
building.
He
was
still tied up on something
classified,
and she and the girls
would
have
to
take
another cab to the
Shaw
neighborhood.
Lacey
found her self wishing
she’d
accepted the little green BMW
waiting
for
her
in
Vic’s
parents’
garage.
Why
am
I
being
such
a
fool
about
taking
the
car,
she
wondered.
I
need
Vic,
and
I
need
a
car!
Are
we a
couple
or not?