Death on the Diagonal - By Nero Blanc Page 0,25

to roost. But you know me . . . if she doesn’t cause any trouble or make too many demands, or sulk or pout or whine about not looking simply divine at age forty-five, then she can get an appointment. If not, she’s outta here. All I do is hair, no face-lifts, no cosmetic dentistry, no laser treatments, no peels, no waxes.” Maxine tossed her own hair—this week a soft, strawberry blond—in a customary display of streetwise toughness. “I mean, I’m thirty-seven, and I’m a big girl. How divine am I gonna look once I reach the dreaded age of forty? Not very, is my guess. Even Bruno and Claude would have their hands full.”

“For one thing, you’re not big, Maxine; you’re tall. And for another: forty or, for that matter, forty-five or even fifty is a mere child when compared to—”

“I know . . . I know . . . eighty-whatever.” Maxi gave a hearty laugh that matched her ample frame. “So, surprise me, Sar . . . what’ll it be this week?”

Sara winked at the hairdresser’s reflected image in the mirror. “The usual. Shampoo and set.”

“You’re no fun, you know that? When I get to be an old broad like you, I’m gonna cut loose. I’ll be playing with hair colors they haven’t even invented yet.”

“Hmmmph,” Sara sniffed again, but the teasing exchange was interrupted by Fiona Collins’s return.

“Silly me . . . I forgot my purse.” She bumped into the reclining chair where Maxine’s assistant was now preparing to shampoo Sara. “Woopsie-daisy . . .”

Sara closed her eyes and leaned her stately head back into the sink. The activity made a strong statement, as if the likes of Fiona Collins—sober or tipsy—didn’t exist.

“Hey, I know you . . .” Fiona mumbled. “You’re Tommy’s mom . . . or were, I guess I should say, since he’s no longer with us . . . Ooh, sorry . . . Foot-in-mouth disease, that’s me.”

Sara stiffened, but made no reply. Nor did she open her eyes.

“He was a fun guy, Tommy, a real party animal. I miss him a lot.”

“So do I.” Sara’s voice was so firm and monotone that both Maxi and her assistant grew instantly silent. Not Fiona, however.

“I’ll just bet you do. Everyone does. I’m not a mom, so I wouldn’t know about maternal stuff, but Tommy was one hell of a good-time Harry . . . or Charlie or whatever . . .” As she spoke, Fiona hunted for her missing purse. “Damn! It’s not here. Maybe I left it in the restaurant. I paid you, didn’t I, Maxine?”

“In cash. You had a one-hundred-dollar bill in your pocket. A couple of them, in fact.”

“Really?”

“You put the change in the same pocket.”

Fiona checked her jacket. “Damn! So I did . . . I forgot this money was here. I’ll check the restaurant and see if I left my stuff there. Well, toodles, Tommy’s mom. Good to meetcha . . . again.”

“His name was Thompson, not Tommy,” was Sara’s taut response, but Fiona was already gone.

Seated at Maxine’s workstation with her white hair now dripping onto her shoulders, Sara’s expression remained grim. “That awful woman,” she announced between clenched teeth. “The whole lot of them. They’re simply cowboys with money. The worst sort of people.”

“If I had their kind of dough, you could call me a cow, and I wouldn’t care,” Maxi said to lighten the mood. But Sara was not to be appeased.

“Three husbands and counting, the first being that trainer the father apparently dotes on, and has rehired despite his hellacious past . . . and the third being that ne’er-do-well dilettante, Whitney Applegate, whom I’ve heard is still lurking in the shadows, despite the fact that his wife has rekindled her romance with spouse number one. Who, I might add, left Collins’s employ under a severe cloud last time . . . gambling debts . . . suspicions of filching his mate’s pin money. I imagine Fiona’s heading for a very messy divorce. Well, good for her. Thank goodness she never corralled my son, that’s all I can say.”

“It’s probably not called ‘pin money,’ Sar,” Maxi observed, as she affixed a Velcro roller to the thinning hair and pink scalp. “Especially, if you’re a Collins and your current hubby—and future ex—is Mr. Whitney Applegate, the fourth, of Palm Beach, et cetera. Pin money in their case probably means diamond brooches.”

“The Collinses are a most unstable family.”

“As it were,” Maxine rejoined, but Sara was on a