Death on the Diagonal - By Nero Blanc Page 0,26

roll and not inclined to play.

“And I’ve heard that the father’s present wife, Ryan, is the worst of the lot.”

Maxi laughed. “So Lady F. was telling me. ‘The Black Widow’ is what Fiona calls her stepmom. I just got the whole sordid story in a single sitting: how Ryan got her hooks into dear old Dad, while she was convalescing from a riding accident that Lady F. is convinced was staged. ‘Riding spill, my butt. No one even saw her fall,’ ” Maxine quoted. “And how self-same Dad blamed himself for Ryan’s misfortune, insisted on paying all medical bills and having her recuperate at his house, how much the kids hate her—despite the fact that Fiona suspects stepmom of coming on to Chip. Which little Chip has never denied. Yep, I got it all today. Of course, she wanted to refresh her highlights, so we had extra time to gab.”

“Well, nothing would surprise me,” Sara stated with a patrician lift to her head. “Nor would I be astonished if the Chip off the Collins block weren’t encouraging the woman . . . along with the string of ladies he’s been reported to keep company with.”

“You’re bad, Sara,” Maxine chortled.

“I’m merely reporting what my eyes and ears have seen and heard.”

“And they say hairdressers like to gossip.”

“Oh, I don’t engage in gossip, Maxine,” was Sara’s lofty response. “As an amateur student of human behavior, I relish the opportunity to examine character. I only tend to verbalize these thoughts to determine if others are in agreement with my assessments.”

Maxi raised both eyebrows as she studied her client. “You’re ready for the dryer, madam.”

“More to the point, you’re probably ready for a little P and Q.”

Brushed out, her white hair as fluffy and bright as a new cotton puff, Sara smiled into the mirror. “You make me look like a queen, Maxine.”

“Well, don’t let it go to your head, doll-baby.”

Sara chuckled and stood, but as she did, her right foot went out from under her, and she crumpled to the floor with a startled gasp of pain. “Oh, my knee . . . my knee just . . .” Involuntary tears sprang into her blue eyes. “Oh, how silly . . . oh!”

Sara tried to rise, but Maxine grasped her shoulders, holding her in place. “Don’t you move, now. You know what they say? When older people take a tumble, they’ve gotta sit for a bit and figure out what happened.”

Despite this injunction, Sara attempted to straighten her leg, then winced in agony and slumped back down.

“I’m gonna call for an ambulance,” Maxi said, finally relinquishing Sara’s shoulders.

“I refuse to be carried out of here on a stretcher!”

“That’s for the EMTs to decide.”

“It is not, Maxi! I’ll have nothing of it.”

“Sara, if you broke a bone—which seems real likely—you’ll leave this shop as the pros see fit. And not how your regal highness wants.”

“Will you call Belle for me, at least?”

“I will, but I promise she won’t agree to take you to the hospital in that little car of hers—or drive you home.”

CHAPTER

9

“Bad news,” the driver said as the other coconspirator slid into the passenger’s seat of the car. “He brought Polycrates in on it.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” was the trenchant reply. Before the person behind the wheel could continue with more gloomy news, a hand was raised. “Who do you want to be tonight? Bonnie or Clyde?” It was a game they’d played before.

The driver considered the choice for almost a full minute and then answered a quiet, “Bonnie.”

“Good, ’cause I’m feeling just like that hunky killer dude. I’m all revved up and rarin’ to go.” On the lap of the newly dubbed “Clyde” was a flat paper bag from Papyrus, an office superstore not far from their rendezvous.

“Bonnie” pushed the shift knob into first gear and pulled away from the curb. “Slide down in the seat. The less people see us together the better.”

“Oh, boy, you’re really getting into it. You mean like we’re strangers? Like we’ve never been spotted together?” Despite the words of protest, the request was honored. Clyde pulled a baseball cap down over a pair of deep-set eyes. “Better?”

“This isn’t a joking matter. We can’t afford to have anything traced back to us.”

“Look, you had to realize there was a chance he’d bring in a PI. That’s the way these things work. Be thankful it’s not the entire Newcastle Police Department.”

The response was a distracted, “But he’s not a public kind of guy. I figured