Killer Hair by Ellen Byerrum Read Free Book Online Page A

Like angel’s hair. She was really proud of it too. She babied it, used the best conditioners, and never subjected it to harsh chemicals. She was good to her hair. You know what I’m saying?” One hundred and fifty stylists nodded in agreement and fought back tears.
    “So the police tell me that last Saturday night she whacked off a good two feet of gorgeous hair, razored her scalp in patches, slapped some blue and orange and purple dye on her head, and then killed herself. Like hell she did! I’m the one who found her in the salon. Me, Stella Lake. It was not a pretty picture. It was pretty awful, the most awful thing I’ve ever seen. Honest to God, it was like Angie was almost scalped by some psycho barber before she died! I’m telling you, if I know one thing, I know this: This was not the work of a professional stylist.”
    There were shocked gasps from the family in the front row, but Stella’s audience was rapt. “Well, I won’t go into that, because her mother and sisters are here and this is painful enough for them. All you stylists know what I’m talking about. But I promise you that somebody, a professional that I know, is going to get to the bottom of this. And she is here today.”
    Stella paused and looked pointedly at Lacey, who froze like Bambi in a laser beam. She didn’t say what I think she said. Stella aimed a lightning-bolted nail toward her. Lacey slumped down in her seat. “An expert,” Stella emphasized. “Someone who knows crime and style and fashion clues. Someone who cares.”
    You know, Lacey, nuns don’t need hairstylists, she told herself. There are some lovely convents in upstate New York.
    “Somebody really smart, with really great investigative skills, is going to find out what really happened to Angela Woods so she can rest in peace and we can all sleep easier. She’ll get to the bottom of this. She’ll find the killer. I guarantee it. Okay, that’s all I got to say. So long Angie, honey.”
    Stella wiped a tear from her cheek with one chewed fingernail and dropped the mike with a bone-rattling boom. Lacey noticed that Ratboy wiped his forehead and shifted in his seat. Josephine looked around the crowd, glaring. Son Beau had been stirred awake. His puzzled eyes followed Stella all the way back to her seat. Sherri Gold was twisting her fingers through her hair, a glazed look in her eyes. No doubt taking the train to Manhattan in her mind. I’m joining her right now.
    Spontaneous applause erupted for Stella’s proclamation. Angela’s sisters beamed with approval and hugged each other, and her weeping mother fell upon Stella with a grateful hug.
    “You answered our prayers, Stella, darlin’. I just know my angel could not ever take her own life. And her hair. That hair was her treasure. I . . .” Fighting tears, she took a breath. “She believed life was sacred. Thank you for telling that to all these people. For telling the world.”
    What a pair: the plump Southern matron and the crew-cut rebel. Now bosom buddies, Mrs. Woods hugged Stella like she had found the Holy Grail. Locked in an endless embrace, Stella signaled Lacey frantically for help, but Lacey just smiled and waved, already mentally speeding through the Midtown Tunnel.

Chapter 4
    The Radfords hosted a small catered reception at the Stylettos headquarters after the funeral. It was across the Potomac in Arlington, Virginia, in a nondescript building on Wilson Boulevard. The reception was set up in the stylist training center, a large room complete with wall-to-wall mirrors and shampoo bowls tucked away in a side nook.
    Stylettos’ inner sanctum doubled as a party room for company events, but it could be jarring to visitors. Lined up along a back counter were more than thirty disembodied wig heads with blond, brunette, black, and red wigs in varying textures, from straight to tightly curled. Under the circumstances, Lacey thought, the heads added a macabre touch and should have been removed. Like mute