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

about us?”
    Phyllis didn’t have an answer ready for that question. She said, “Oh, goodness, I don’t really remember, one of my friends who lives over here, it must have been. This has been a while back.” She paused. “But I do recall her mentioning that her favorite stylist was named Roxanne. If it would be possible to have her take care of me...”
    Phyllis knew that mentioning Roxanne’s name was a bit of a risk, but she thought she could chance it, as friendly and innocuous as the conversation had been so far.
    Aurora’s smile disappeared instantly, though. Her tone was professionally polite and nothing more as she said, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Roxanne doesn’t work here anymore.”
    “Did she go to another salon? My friend was really fond of her.”
    “I thought you said you couldn’t remember which friend recommended us.”
    “Well, I’m not sure—”
    Aurora cut her off with a curt head shake.
    “It doesn’t matter. Roxanne is dead.”
    Phyllis opened her eyes wider and tried to look shocked. She said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry if I upset you by mentioning your friend—”
    Aurora interrupted her again by saying, “Roxanne wasn’t my friend. She just worked here. Anyway, it was a while back. If anybody was upset, they’re over it by now.”
    The way she phrased it made it sound as if Roxanne’s murder hadn’t really bothered anyone at Paul’s Beauty Salon, Phyllis thought. There hadn’t been anything in what she had read to indicate that Roxanne wasn’t well-liked at the salon, but if that was true, it made things a bit more interesting. Someone must have had a good reason for killing Roxanne, and if it wasn’t Danny, the next most likely suspects were the people she worked with.
    “So, I’ve got your name on the cancellation list,” Aurora went on briskly. “If there’s nothing else I can do for you...”
    Phyllis knew she was being dismissed. She didn’t like the feeling, especially when it came from someone so much younger than her. She controlled that reaction, though, and said, “Really, again, I’m sorry—”
    Aurora stood up, revealing that she was a couple of inches taller than Phyllis. The jeans she wore, fashionably snug and torn at the knees, and her t-shirt hugged the trim body of an athlete. The muscles in her arms showed that she worked out. She said, “It’s all right. I have to go—”
    Phyllis wasn’t sure where she was going, since her job was to sit at this reception desk, but before either of them could do anything else, one of the glass doors swung open and a woman stepped into the foyer.
    “Anything wrong out here, Aurora?” she asked.
    The newcomer was in her forties, maybe close to fifty, Phyllis estimated, but still attractive with fluffy red hair cut fairly short around her head. Unlike the stylists, who were younger and wore snug black pants under their salon smocks, this woman had on a nice black dress, nylons, and sensible heels. Her voice had an unmistakable Southern accent, much more Georgia or Alabama than Texas.
    “No, Pauline, it’s fine,” Aurora answered. “I was just adding this lady’s name to the cancellation list.”
    The redhead smiled at Phyllis and said, “I don’t recall seeing you in here before.”
    “First time,” Phyllis said.
    “A friend of hers recommended us to her, but she doesn’t remember who,” Aurora said, making the comment sound vaguely accusatory.
    “Well, I’m not surprised, we have so many ladies coming through here,” the redhead said. She held out her hand to Phyllis. “I’m Pauline Gibbs. This is my salon.”
    Phyllis took the woman’s hand and said, “Phyllis Newsom. There’s no Paul of Paul’s Beauty Salon?”
    Pauline Gibbs laughed and shook her head.
    “No, I’m afraid poor ol’ Paul is a figment of my imagination. Some ladies like the idea of a male stylist. All the superstars in the field are men, you know.