Verna’s space was on the end of a row of eight stylists. “Laura said to take good care of you,” she said as Cassie dropped into the chair and yanked the band out of her hair before shaking it loose.
Tall and thin, with an asymmetrical hairstyle in multiple shades of brown and blond, a nose ring, and a tattoo climbing up one arm, Verna eyed Cassie’s hair. “Just a trim?” Obviously she thought a lot more work was in order. Her eyes met Cassie’s in the mirror and she physically started. “Wait a second, you’re Allie Kramer’s sister, aren’t you? How could I not put two and two together? You really look like your mom.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Hey, I’m sorry . . . really sorry about your sister, I mean.” She shook her head and reached for a comb. “I don’t suppose anyone has any idea . . . ?” She left the sentence unfinished as if she were unsure how much she could ask.
“No,” Cassie said, not wanting to go into it with a virtual stranger. Besides, she was on edge, well, more on edge than usual, especially with Trent in her house. The thought of him hanging out in her apartment without her bothered her and she mentally kicked herself again for handing over her key so readily.
“Bummer.” Verna was already touching Cassie’s hair, pulling it away from her head, testing it as an assistant came by with the offer of drinks, everything from herbal tea to regular coffee and cucumber water.
Cassie declined. She’d just come here for information, but it seemed her idea had been foolish.
“You know, I think some red streaks would be cool,” Verna was saying. “Nothing too noticeable. Maybe a deep burgundy or an auburn with a kick would brighten this up. Be nice on you. Kind of contempo.”
“Just a trim.” Her hair wasn’t the issue.
“Okay,” Verna agreed with a smile as she met Cassie’s gaze in the mirror again. “You’re the boss.”
This was turning out to be a big waste of time. Verna knew nothing. Of course. In the end, Cassie ended up with slightly shorter hair and a lot less cash in her wallet, but she hadn’t found out anything about her sister.
Once again, a dead end, she thought as she found her way out of the building and slid a pair of sunglasses onto her nose. What had she really thought she’d accomplish? She didn’t know the first thing about locating a missing person. She should just leave Allie’s disappearance to the police. Let the professionals handle it.
And who are they considering their number one suspect in her disappearance? You.
As she reached her Honda, a BMW tore into the lot, wheeled into one of the few open spaces, and in a chirp of tires stopped short. The driver’s door flew out and Laura Merrick, blond hair streaming behind her, oversize sunglasses covering her eyes, practically leaped from the car. “Oh, God, Cassie! I thought I might still catch you,” she said breathlessly. “I mean I was hoping. Did you hear?”
“Hear what?” Cassie asked, instantly panicked. Allie! Oh no. It’s Allie. Something awful has happened!
“About Holly Dennison.”
“Holly? No . . . I just saw her.”
A pause. “When?”
“The other night.”
“Not last night?”
Cassie shook her head. “What?”
Laura took in a breath, then said, “She’s dead.”
“Dead?” Cassie said, her insides going cold. Holly? Bubbly, full-of-life, Moscow-Mule-pushing Holly? “No.”
“It’s true. I just heard,” Laura said, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Then you must’ve heard wrong.” But the expression on Laura’s face said it was true. Cassie went from denial to despair. Could it be? She felt the blood draining from her face and the warm sun beating against the back of her neck.
“Her body was found this morning. Outside a bar in . . . in, oh, God, I can’t remember, no . . . somewhere in Venice, I think. It . . . it doesn’t matter.” Laura ran her hands through her hair. “I need a cigarette.” She looked pointedly at Cassie.
“I don’t have any.”
“Really?”
“Never smoked.”
“Figures. Well, come on, Verna or maybe Alana might.” She saw that a couple of potential customers had stopped to listen to their excited conversation, and she grabbed Cassie by the arm. “No reason to make a scene.” Quickly, she propelled Cassie back through the shop, stopped at Verna’s station where, after a quick exchange, she was handed a French cigarette, then she hurried them both through a supply area and break room with a coffeepot and mini fridge to a small outdoor space facing an alley.
