Black and Blueberry Die (A Fresh-Baked Mystery Book 11) by Livia J. Washburn Read Free Book Online

do a little gossipin’ about the murder that took place here, right?”
    “That’s the idea,” Phyllis said. She got out of the pickup and walked toward the building.

Chapter 6

     
    Phyllis had been in many beauty shops over the years, and to one extent or another, they all smelled the same, similar to chemical factories, with pungent fumes. The combination of excessive heat from all the hair dryers with chemicals used in hair dyes, hair straightening, permanent waves, and hairsprays created some interesting fumes. Paul’s Beauty Salon, being the upscale establishment it was, was obviously well ventilated and tried to mask that distinctive mixture of chemical scents with a pleasant peppermint aroma, but to Phyllis, as soon as she stepped into the place it still smelled like a beauty shop.
    The heavy wooden door with a double layer of stained glass slowly swung shut behind her. The floor was brilliantly polished wood as well. The lighting in the entrance foyer was subdued, although Phyllis could see through double glass doors into a much larger and better lit area where the beauticians’ chairs, wash stands, and hair dryers were arranged around the room. To Phyllis’s right in the reception area were a comfortable-looking leather loveseat and a pair of matching armchairs. To the left was a desk with a computer on it and a young woman with blue and purple hair behind it.
    She wore a small, floppy-brimmed hat that looked Sixties vintage to Phyllis. The hair on the left side of her head was blue, long, and straight, and hung down over her shoulder. The purple hair on the right side of her head was done in tightly braided corn rows. Her left nostril was pierced and had a tiny stud in it. A tattoo of some sort serpentined down her bare, muscular right arm. Despite all those things, which just looked odd to Phyllis, the young woman had a pretty face, beautiful brown eyes, and a friendly smile as she looked up from the computer monitor and said, “Hello. Can I help you?”
    “Yes, I’ve heard wonderful things about this salon and was hoping I could make an appointment to have my hair styled.”
    “Of course.” A look of concern appeared on the young woman’s face. “But I’m afraid we’re booked solid for the next two weeks.”
    Phyllis’s glance through the double glass doors had told her the salon was busy, with clients at most of the stations. Being the scene of a murder might have hurt business for a while, but that crime had taken place long enough ago that the effect had worn off. Anyway, as morbid as most people were these days, it was entirely possible the grisly notoriety might have been good for business.
    “I can put you on our cancellation list if you’d like,” the receptionist went on.
    “That would be very nice, dear.”
    The young woman tapped a few keys on the computer and asked, “What’s that name?”
    “Phyllis Newsom.” Phyllis wasn’t the sort to go incognito. Keeping up with a false identity would have been too much trouble, too difficult to remember.
    “And the phone number?”
    Phyllis gave the receptionist her cell phone number.
    “We’ll give you a call right away if something opens up. My name is Aurora, by the way.”
    “Why, that’s a lovely name.”
    “Thanks.” She grinned. “It’s kind of a hippy-dippy name, I know, but you can blame my grandma for it. My grandparents were hippies, I guess. Grandma insisted my parents call me Aurora. She said the name came to her in a vision from another spiritual plane.” Aurora lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I think she may have been dropping some acid back then, though.”
    This conversation was starting to make Phyllis feel old. Her own grandson was still a pre-schooler, and yet this young woman with her multi-colored hair was the granddaughter of someone who had to be roughly the same age as Phyllis.
    “You said you’d heard good things about the salon,” Aurora went on. “Do you mind me asking who told you