Part 31 (1/2)
I really had to stop overreacting if I expected to continue my career as a part-time semi-professional PI.
At my Corolla, I inspected the dent on my left rear fender. It was rather unsightly, but on the plus side, it matched the dent on my right rear fender.
Eagerly, I grabbed Prozac's Kitty Katz Kollar from the back seat and hurried back to my apartment to show it to her.
”Look what Mommy bought you,” I said, waving it under her nose.
A disdainful sniff from Her Majesty.
I don't do rhinestones. And you're not my mommy.
I tried to fasten it around her neck, but all I got for my troubles was a nasty scratch on my wrist.
When last I saw it, she was batting it around like a dead mouse.
Benjamin's was an upscale hair salon in the heart of Brentwood, the kind of place that catered to privileged housewives killing time between Botox shots.
The good news is that I found a parking spot right outside their front door.
The bad news is that Benjamin's receptionist saw me getting out of my freshly dented Corolla.
She blinked in surprise as I walked into the tony salon.
”Hi there,” she said, a dewy-eyed twentysomething waiting for her big movie break. ”You sure you're not looking for a Supercuts?”
Okay, what she really said was, ”How may I help you?” but I could read between the lines.
”I'm here to see Ca.s.sie.”
”Do you have an appointment?”
”No, but-”
”Sorry,” she said, gliding a perfectly manicured fingernail down her schedule sheet. ”She's booked all day.”
”I just need to talk to her for a few minutes. It's very important.”
”How about next Tuesday at ten? Shall I put you down you for a Complete Day of Beauty? If anyone could use one, it's you.”
Okay, so she didn't say that last part. But trust me, she was thinking it.
”I can't wait till Tuesday. I need to talk to Ca.s.sie now.”
And without waiting for permission, I barged into the salon, where I spotted Ca.s.sie with a customer.
How odd to see the purple-haired pixie here in the land of Botoxed blondes. But there she was, snipping away at the locks of a brittle forty-something who looked like she was on her way to a DAR meeting.
”Jaine,” Ca.s.sie cried, catching sight of me. ”What are you doing here?”
The starlet/receptionist, who'd been hot on my heels, now piped up: ”I told her you were busy, but she wouldn't listen.”
”Ca.s.sie, we need to talk.”
”I can't now, Jaine. I'm with a customer.”
”It's about your mom,” I whispered. ”And Joy Amoroso.”
A flush crept up her chalk-white cheeks.
”What's going on?”
I turned to see a tall, skinny guy in a ponytail and designer cowboy gear. From the big bra.s.s ”B” on his belt buckle, I a.s.sumed he was Benjamin.
”Hey,” he said, looking me over. ”Are you one of the Don't models the agency is sending over for my Beauty Do's & Don'ts ad?”
”No,” I snapped with more than a hint of frost in my voice, ”I am not one of your Beauty Don'ts.”
Ca.s.sie quickly jumped in.
”Jaine's a friend of mine. She just stopped by to pick up something she left in my car.”
”Too bad,” Benjamin said, walking away. ”She'd be a great Don't.”
The minute he was gone, Ca.s.sie turned to me and hissed, ”Wait till I'm through with my client. I'll talk to you then.”
So I spent the next twenty minutes in the reception area, getting dirty looks from the starlet/receptionist and leafing through beauty magazines. I particularly enjoyed a hard-hitting piece of journalism ent.i.tled ”Ten Ways to Get Your Man Excited in Bed.”
(The correct answer: Hide the remote.) Finally Ca.s.sie was finished with the DAR lady and hustled me through the salon and out a back door into a narrow alley.
”Make it quick, Jaine. I've only got a few minutes before my next client shows up.”
I wasted no time getting to the point.
”I know your mother was one of Joy's former clients. I saw her picture on Joy's database.”
”What of it?” she asked, with a defiant tilt of her chin.
”I'm guessing Joy treated her pretty shabbily, just like she treated most of her other clients.”
”Shabbily?” She broke out in a bitter laugh. ”Joy killed my mother, just as sure as if she'd stuck a knife in her heart.”
Slumping down on the salon's back door step, she let out a deep sigh.
”You saw how beautiful my mom was. She wasn't in the movies, but she wanted to be. She tried her hardest, but nothing panned out. Then she got pregnant with me, by some guy she met in one of her acting cla.s.ses. He broke up with her before I was born and moved to New York. I've never even seen him. Not in person, that is. Although I once caught him in the middle of the night on a Hair Club for Men infomercial.
”Anyhow, Mom worked her f.a.n.n.y off trying to earn enough money for the two of us. One day she saw Joy's ad in the paper. She took every dime she'd saved up and handed it over to Joy, hoping to wind up with some guy who'd take care of both of us. Needless to say, as soon as Joy cashed Mom's check, she wanted nothing more to do with her. She set her up with one or two dates and then hung her out to dry. And when Mom stopped by the office to complain, Joy reamed into her. She told her she was a loser, that her looks were going fast, and that she'd be lucky if she didn't wind up a bag lady.