Killer Cuts: A Dead-End Job Mystery (3 page)

Special thanks to Mario, Gracie Cuervo, James, and the other stylists and staff at the salon. I enjoyed watching artists at work. Gracie has an amazing ability to squeeze extra hours into the day for scheduling ap pointments.

Many other people helped me with this book, including Detective R. C. White, Fort Lauderdale Police Department (retired), and Rick McMahan, ATF Special Agent.

Special thanks to Valerie Cannata, Colby Cox, Jinny Gender, Karen Grace, Kay Gordy, Jack Klobnak, Bob Levine and Janet Smith.Thanks also to Carole Wantz, who could sell burnt matches. There are also some who I cannot publicly acknowledge. I appreciate their help all the same.

Thanks once more to the librarians at the St. Louis Public Library and Broward County Library.Anyone who believes the Internet made libraries obsolete has never needed a serious search.

Thanks to my editor, Kara Cesare, who thoughtfully critiques my manuscripts when many editors are too busy to do that.Thanks also to Lindsay Nouis, who always has time to help, to publicist Megan Swartz, and the staff at the Penguin Group.To my agent, David Hendin, who is still the best (sorry, he’s not taking any more clients) and to Patti Nunn and the staff at Breakthrough Promotions (she is taking more clients). And to my husband, Don Crinklaw, who is my friend, lover and first editor.

Thanks also to my sister bloggers on the Lipstick Chronicles for their advice and encouragement—Nancy Martin, Michele Martinez, Harley Jane Kozak, Sarah Strohmeyer, Lisa Daily, Kathy Sweeney, and Margie.You can read us at thelipstickchronicles.typepad.com.

I’m also grateful to the many booksellers who hand-sell my work.

Is the six-toed Thumbs a real cat? He belongs to librarian Anne Watts. She gave me the literary loan of her cat. Thumbs has six toes on each paw, like the famous Hemingway cats in Key West. Check out Thumbs’ photo at
www.elaineviets.com.

T
wo tiny women in their sixties stood outside the door to

Miguel Angel’s salon on Las Olas.They were both about five

feet tall and wore pantsuits, one pink and the other blue.Their hair was short and gray.They looked like little round twins.

Helen Hawthorne towered over them as she opened the salon door. “May I help you?” she asked.

“Is this where Miguel Angel works?” Ms. Pink asked. She pro nounced his name “Mig-well” and said
Angel
with a flat Midwestern accent.

“
The
Miguel Angel,” said Ms. Blue.

“Yes, he’s the owner,” Helen said.

“Wow, you’re tall,” Ms. Pink said, looking up at Helen.

“Six feet,” Helen said.

“Are you a model?” Ms. Blue asked.

“I’m only a gopher,” Helen said.”I go for drinks and magazines for the clients, fetch lunches and run errands for Miguel Angel. I’m too old to model.”

“You don’t look old,” said Ms. Pink.”Your dark hair is pretty.”

“Thanks,” Helen said.”Getting my hair done by Miguel Angel is the best perk of this job.”

“We saw the
People
magazine article about how he changed LaDonna and gave her a new look. It saved her acting career,” Ms. Pink said.

“‘From street to elite,’ ” Ms. Blue said.”We’d love to meet him. He’s a real artist.”

“He’s here,” Helen said.”Come on in.”

“Can we actually come inside?” Ms. Pink asked.

“Sure, why not?”

“Because we’re fat,” Ms. Blue said. She said the F-word as if being slightly chubby was shameful.

“We like fat,” Helen said. She didn’t add that the salon really liked fat wallets.

The two women entered cautiously, as if they expected a supermodel with a flaming sword to banish them.They surveyed the sculpted black-and-chrome client chairs, the chic black dryers, the outrageous bouquets of flowers. Billie Holiday was crooning “Stormy Weather.”

The salon’s softly lit mirrors were designed to flatter.The floor spar kled as if sprinkled with diamond dust.

“Oh, my,” Ms. Pink said.

“It’s beautiful,” Ms. Blue said.

“Everyone here is beautiful,” Ms. Pink said.

Black-clad stylists were working on two models in the sculpted chairs. Paolo was doing the blonde’s color: Her head was crowned with tinfoil for highlights. Richard was adding extensions to the glossy hair of a brunette.You could have built condos on their jutting cheekbones.

Ms. Blue ran her hands over the leather scrapbooks on the salon’s rosewood center table.

“Those are Miguel Angel’s credits,” Helen said.

Ms. Pink opened one book. “Look at that. Miguel Angel has been

in V
ogue, W
,
Glamour
, V
anity Fair
and
People.
He did the MTV awards show. He’s worked with so many celebrities.”

“May we have his autograph to take back to Pittsburgh?” Ms. Pink asked.”Our friends won’t believe we actually had the nerve to walk in here.”

“Let me see if he’s busy,” Helen said. “Would you like some water or tea?”

“Oh, no, we can’t afford to stay,” Ms. Blue said.”We just wanted to say hello. Everyone talks about his work. He’s famous.”

“And handsome,” Ms. Pink said. “Even if he won’t be interested in us.”

They giggled. Helen wondered if they knew Miguel was gay, or if they were talking about their cute, frumpy figures.