“Good point. Let’s do it. I hate my hair, always have.” She stopped and looked at me through narrowed eyes. “You know what you’re doing, right? I mean, I’m not going to look like a freak, am I? No whacky, uneven layers, not that I have anything against that, it’s just not me.”
“Trust me.” The irony of my comment wasn’t lost on me.
I washed and conditioned her hair with the only shampoo in the house: Seth’s. When I asked why she used his shampoo, she said, “Because the smell reminds me of him.” Oh yeah, she has it bad for the guy. I tried not to laugh.
“Maggie, you need a moisturizing shampoo and a good conditioner.”
I cut off about six inches. It hit right between her shoulder blades. I texturized the top to help add volume to the flat mess.
“You do know that nutrition plays a large part in healthy hair, right? The top part of your hair’s in really good condition, it just needs a little product to give it a boost. You have fine hair, and fine hair needs help most times. The six inches I cut off were a damaged, dry mess. I’d guess you were a major junk food junky back in high school.”
“Oh,” Maggie said, suddenly very quiet.
“I mean, most teenagers have the same problem. Part of being young, right?” I forced a laugh.
“We didn’t have a lot of money while I was growing up. I guess that’s probably why it’s in such bad shape,” she said quietly. “Food was scarce. My mother had a drinking problem, and she spent a lot on alcohol.” Maggie swallowed hard several times as she explained. I could tell she still struggled with the memories, and I felt stupid for bringing it up.
Hearing all this begged the question: Why in the world would this tender-hearted girl marry a killer? It couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t. Killing someone’s one thing, but Daddy said my brothers were executed. Bill and Alan’s hands and feet were bound and they’d been shot in the back of the head. So far nothing Daddy’d told me rang true.
“Guess I’m a real party kill,” Maggie laughed weakly. “I’m fine, really. I don’t need your pity. I tend to bottle things up and I’ve been trying not to do that so much since . . . since my mother died. Some days I do well, some days, not so much.”
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried,” I said, texturing her hair a little more.
“You didn’t.” She picked up a strand of cut hair from her sleeve and waved it playfully at me. “So, am I going to have to wear a wig to my wedding? You finished the hair cutting part of school right?”
“Define finished,” I said, straight faced.
“Oh my gosh. I’m going to look like a punk rocker.” She planted her face in her palms.
“If you don’t hold still, yes, you will.” I turned on the blow dryer, shouting instructions to her on the proper technique to infuse life into limp hair, and adding some lifting foam.
When we finished, even I was amazed. Maybe I should’ve stayed in beauty school. A knock came at the bathroom door before I could show Maggie.
“Don’t come in,” she demanded.
“I won’t, but lunch is ready,” Seth informed us through the door.
“We’ll be right down,” she said, turning to me. “Do you still have time to try some updo’s after lunch?”
“Sounds like a plan. Do you want to see it so far? It’s just your everyday look, but it’s pretty good.” Didn’t mean to toot my own horn, but dang! What a difference.
“Sure,” she said, hesitantly. She turned and faced the mirror. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes flared.
“It looks awesome!” She echoed my thoughts. She jiggled her head a little and watched it bounce. “My hair has never bounced, ever. This looks wonderful.” Then she hugged me. A great big hug. It shocked me, catching me completely off guard.
“Sorry, I’m not usually a hugger,” she laughed, breaking her hold. “It’s just that I’ve had such a hate relationship with my hair. It’s never looked this good. It’s never looked half this good. Thank you so much.” She turned back to the mirror, her smile filling her face. “Let’s go test it on Seth.”
I followed her down the stairs, noting the look on Seth’s face as she entered the kitchen. I couldn’t decide who glowed more, him or her. While Seth ooh’ed and ahh’ed over her hair, I stood back and watched. His hands gently touched it as he commented on how silky it looked. His eyes sparkled.
Envy reared its ugly head yet again. It gnawed like a starving wolf in the pit of my stomach. Will I ever find someone to love me like that?
“Yes,” Cole said, coming up behind me. “Definitely.”
“What?” I asked, spinning to face him.
“Maggie said you have a real gift with hair, and I said yes, definitely. You did a great job. You’re a woman of many talents. You can organize chaos, completely revamp a pathetic office, and now Maggie’s hair.” He lowered his head next to my ear, adding quietly, “You’re astounding.”
“Thanks,” and to flirt a little, I stretched up, kissing his cheek. Right on track, his ears turned red.
“You’re adorable, has anyone ever told you that?” I grinned as he straightened. I tenderly stroked his cheek before reaching up to run my hand through his hair, ruffling it up. Goose bumps raised on his bare arm. “You could use a trim, too. Maybe after lunch I could cut your hair.”
“No, ah, actually, I’m heading over to the hospital. I’ll have to eat quickly, as a matter of fact.” He smoothed down his hair and darted over to the table.
Lunch consisted of delicious roast beef sandwiches, the best I’d ever eaten, along with French cut green beans with almond slivers. The food was out of this world; in fact, hardly any one spoke as we inhaled the feast. Cole finished first, jumping to his feet before I’d eaten half my food.
“I have to go. Mags, your hair looks beautiful. Seth, you’ve out done yourself again. Lunch was a masterpiece,” Cole said, running a napkin over his mouth. “Lilah, I’ll see you Monday.”
I jumped up as he made a beeline for the door. “Wait, I’ll walk you to your car.” He didn’t stop. He actually increased his pace.
“Cole, are you afraid to be alone with me?” I teased, stepping onto the beautiful wraparound porch. I inhaled the scent of pink and yellow roses that interlaced through the trellis near the porch.
Cole stopped and turned to me. “No,” he smiled. “One of my associates is performing a heart transplant in half an hour. I’ve only observed it one other time.”
I glanced at the driveway. “You’re going to be late. Someone’s parked an old grandpa car right in the center of the driveway. I’m afraid you won’t be able to get out.” I pointed to a pristine white vehicle and added, “Are Seth’s grandparents here?” I looked around the yard but saw no one.
“That’s my car,” Cole said soberly.
I saw the hurt in Cole’s eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat. Two weeks’ worth of flirting flushed down the toilet in five seconds. I never wanted to take back something I’d said as much as I did in that moment.
“It’s a good car. There’s not a scratch on it,” he said as we approached it. “And the safety record’s second to none.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said, checking out the inside. “What year is it?”
He hesitated. “1999. But it only has 47,000 miles on it, so why trade it in, right?”
“47,000? Why so few?”
“I don’t drive it very much. Just to work and back is all. I guess I should take a trip,” he said quietly. “I’d better get going.”
“You need to control your tongue, Delilah,” I murmured as he drove away. The delicious lunch churned in my gut.
Chapter 11
Cole
“You’re still up?” I asked.
Seth came down the grand staircase he and Book had built, taking the steps two at a time, going straight to the fridge. He’d been studying pretty hard, which meant he was probably starved again. The kid could eat a lot, almost as much as Booker. He removed a large glass platter with leftove
rs from dinner. Roasted fish, potatoes of some kind—I forgot what he called them—and carrots sautéed in…I’ve no idea what, but it tasted good.
“Studying, I see.” I walked over and sat down on a barstool.
“Yeah. Got a big statistics report due on Friday. Man, it’s a killer. I’ll be glad when this class ends.” He laid a huge slab of fish and an even larger scoop of potatoes onto a plate. “You hungry? I can dish some up for you,” Seth offered after placing his plate in the microwave.
“No. I’m good, thanks.” I snagged a carrot before he covered the platter and stuck it back in the fridge. The microwave beeped. He took the plate out and set in on the counter across from me and took a bite of the fish.
“Can I ask you a question?” He nodded, his mouth too full to reply verbally. “Do you think I’m boring?” I said bluntly. No sense sugar coating it.
He swallowed hard. “Uh…well…why do you think that?” He avoided looking at me.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Cole, people are different. One man’s boring is another man’s exciting.” He shoveled in a mouthful of potatoes.
“Okay, I’m boring.” I walked back over and slumped onto the couch. “Lilah said I was boring, too.”
“Ouch.” Seth walked over with his plate and sat in the overstuffed chair next to the couch. “Why did she say that?”
“She never said those words exactly, but she calls me Opie all the time, and she thinks my car’s an old man’s car.”
“The girl likes you. I doubt she thinks you’re boring, Cole. The real question is do you think you’re boring?” he asked diplomatically.
“I love my job. I enjoy coming up with new ways to improve people’s life. I love the challenge of improving techniques for surgeries and …Oh, yeah. I’m boring.” I sat back in defeat.
Seth laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with those things, but maybe you could branch out a little, get a hobby or something.”
“Hobby? I’m the most uncoordinated man I know. What hobby requires no coordination?” I looked at him pointedly.
“It may take some time, but I’m sure we can come up with something,” he assured me. “You’re good at running. How about tennis—No! Not tennis.” He rubbed his rib, clearly recalling the time I elbowed him during a double’s tennis match once. I bruised several of his ribs that day. He sat silently for a few moments, which only added to my dejection.
“Marathons. You like to run. How about running marathons?” He smiled brightly.
“No. I’ve seen too many people and their injuries in the ER after a marathon. Not interested.”
“You and your obsession with statistics.” He shook his head. “Fly fishing? No. Never mind.” He cringed, no doubt dreaming up some horrific way I’d injury myself or someone else with a fish hook gone wild. “You didn’t do too badly the time Booker took us all fishing.”
Too badly being the optimal words in that sentence. I closed my eyes. Hopeless. “I’m doomed to be boring.”
“What are you two doing up?” Neither of us heard Booker enter. The man was truly cat-like in so many ways. He went straight to the fridge and grabbed the milk, drinking from the container. “Your security system isn’t activated, by the way.”
“I’m still up so I haven’t set it yet. And don’t let Mags see you do that,” Seth warned.
Booker looked like a man destined for the homeless shelter. His jeans were at least two sizes too big and sported a large hole above his calf. He also wore a filthy t-shirt covered by a flannel shirt that was threadbare and misshapen. His face and hands were covered in thick grime of some sort, and his hair, which needed a trim anyway, looked as if he hadn’t seen a comb in weeks, maybe months.
“Hey, Book. How’s the assignment going?” Seth asked, setting his now empty plate in the sink and grabbing the milk from Booker. He wiped off the spout, and then took a swig himself, but not before checking to make sure Maggie was still upstairs.
“Not too bad. Got a lead on a guy who’s—”
“What’s that smell?” Seth clamped a hand tight over his mouth and nose, as did I.
“You like it?” Booker lifted the lapel of his shirt to his nose and sniffed. I coughed a little. “Found it in a dumpster behind Wegman’s grocery store. Completes my ensemble rather nicely, wouldn’t you say?” He strutted around like a runway model, sucking in his cheeks for effect.
“Yeah, well, the guy who died in it last week called and wants it back.” Seth grabbed a can of Febreze from under the kitchen sick and sprayed the air, adding a little to Booker. It didn’t help much, and he immediately backed away again.
“Stop. If I smell all pretty, no one will trust me.” He tugged his shirt around him protectively, tearing a hole under the arm. He twisted it around to inspect the tear. “Hey, this looks even better now.”
“What were you saying about leads?” Seth asked from across the room. As Booker stepped forward, Seth’s hand shot up in front of him, sending a clear message that Booker was to stay put.
“I thought your cases involved drugs,” I, too, asked from across the room.
“Rumor has it some scumbags are testing out a new form of crack, and the homeless crowd’s their latest guinea pigs. They think they’re getting a free sample of some new form of herbal cigarette. Needless to say, they’re not.”
“That’s sick,” I cringed.
“We’re getting close, though. I can feel it.” No doubt Booker was right. He had a sixth sense with this kind of thing. He certainly had the drive. I wished he’d pull back some; it was starting to mess with his head. He continually put himself in dangerous situations. His luck couldn’t hold out forever, not to mention what it was doing to his emotional state.
“Miss having you out there, kid. How’s school going?” Booker took an apple from a bowl Maggie set on the counter after dinner earlier. Booker actually wiped the apple clean on his disgusting shirt. I cringed as he took a huge bite.
“I miss being out there,” Seth admitted. He’d gone to part time status when he went back to school. “And I’ll be glad when school’s done. I forgot about all the hoop jumping colleges put you through. Next semester, I have to take a class called ‘Workings of the Female Mind’.”
Booker laughed. “Good luck on that one. I don’t know a man yet who’s got that figured out.”
Poor Seth, disgruntled, nodded.
Booker stepped back and tossed his apple core gracefully though the air and directly in the garbage can.
“Nuttin’ but net,” he beamed before looking over at me. “So, Doc, no bandages today? I believe that makes three days in a row. Seems like living here definitely agrees with you.” He flashed me his signature playful grin.
I ignored his question, not wanting to admit I did have one on my arm near my shoulder. Thankfully my scrub top covered it.
“How are you doing?” I looked at him pointedly, wondering if he’d be truthful or joke it off.
The grin fell slightly from his face as he answered. “Good and bad days, though more good than bad lately. I did learn that Dreser left the country. Seems he’s pretty sick and the doctors in the U.S. can’t help him much. Rumor has it he’s going to some shifty little clinic somewhere in Switzerland. Maybe they’ll give him something lethal,” he joked…I think.
“What about his daughter?” Seth braved himself and drew closer. He, too, worried about Dreser seeking revenge.
“She’s never been involved with the business, at least not as far as we know. I don’t think she’s a problem.”
Holding his breath, Seth hurried over to a window and flung it open. The heat had to be better than Booker’s smell.
“What about searching passport records for her name? Maybe she fled the country,” Seth suggested.
“Dreser’s don’t carry legally obtained passports. It’d be a waste of time and resources to search. I’ll send out some feelers, see what we come up with. Frankly, I’ve not spent too much time on her. She’s a non-
issue for me.” I suspected Booker was lying, probably hoping to keep Seth calm. Not having all the info on these two bothered him a great deal. In fact, I pointed out that the Dreser girl had never been involved in criminal activity to calm him down after he’d had a panic attack one unforgettable night.
“Booker! What’s wrong?” Booker came staggering into my office at three in the morning. His face glowed white, damp with sweat despite the negative two degree temperature outside. His eyes were ringed in dark circles, and his blanched lips were clamped tight.
“I think I’m having a heart attack. I can’t breathe. I’m all sweaty; my heart’s pounding.” He collapsed onto the corner of my desk, not bothering to clear a spot, sending a file sideways and spilling onto the floor.
“Why didn’t you go directly to the ER instead of my office?” I grabbed his wrist to check his pulse. It was indeed racing. “Are you having pain in your arms, specifically the left?” He shook his head. “Do you feel pain or pressure on your chest or upper back?” Again, a no. “What were you doing when this started?” I asked after listening to his heart with a stethoscope.
“Seth and I were following a suspected drug dealer, trying to find out where he lived. He must have realized we were there because suddenly gun fire broke out. I thought they shot Seth. He dropped out of sight. I couldn’t go looking for him until backup arrived.”
“Was he shot?” I asked in alarm.
“No, he’d gone around to the front of the building in case the gun ran. After we finished up the paperwork, I dropped him off at his house. That’s when the pain started. I got home and barely made it into the bathroom before I started throwing up. My head and heart are still pounding.” He mopped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.
Panic attack. I was pretty sure. He’d been stressing about Maggie’s safety for a few months, and it seemed to be escalating. “Book, where’s Maggie?”
“Home. I didn’t want to wake her, but don’t worry, I triple checked my security system. She’s safe.”
“You thought you were having a heart attack, so you drove yourself to the hospital?” Surely he could see the absurdity in that.