She didn’t reply, and I knew I was getting it from Daisy when she kept up her charge right behind the espresso counter, grabbed my hand and dragged me out toward the bookshelves.
Down the aisle we went and she turned right at the W-X-Y-Z section.
She stopped us in the middle of the row, turned and tipped her head back to me.
“I’m workin’ with you,” she announced.
Fuck!
“Daisy—” I began.
She lifted a hand palm out, pearl-painted, lethally-long fingernails pointed to the ceiling, and I could see the tips were brushed with hot pink on the diagonal and every one had a little heart of rhinestones affixed to it.
I didn’t usually allow people to shut me up, especially giving me The Hand. And Daisy was not carrying a purse and her tracksuit didn’t afford any opportunities to hide anything, but even without a stun gun handy, Daisy found ways to get her way and I wasn’t in the mood for a catfight in the W-X-Y-Z section.
So I shut up.
She dropped her hand.
“After you left, Indy told us on the hush-hush you’re puttin’ out a shingle,” she declared and I took a calming breath.
I hadn’t even told Ren. Or my family.
But Indy had told the Rock Chicks.
I was seeing that I needed to be far more thorough in my instructions in the future as Daisy kept talking.
“She explained we gotta keep our traps zipped. And sugar, you know we will.”
I knew no such thing.
She kept going.
“She also said we gotta keep our noses out of your business. We all agreed.”
I wasn’t certain I believed her, especially since she just told me she was going to work with me. As for the rest of them, that remained to be seen.
“But I’m workin’ with you,” she repeated.
“Daisy, I can’t—”
Her hand went back up and she immediately started talking.
“Not with you, with you, like, in the field. I’m gonna be Shirleen to your Lee.”
I stared.
Then I felt that feeling I felt earlier start to move through me and again it was far from bad.
This was because Daisy’s idea was far from bad.
“You know,” she continued, “I tried the society gig and the charity gig. Both of those did not work for me.”
I did know that. I also knew that neither of those worked in a big way. The one and only charity function Daisy gave ended up in a standoff complete with firearms. The crème de la crème of Denver society wasn’t hankering for another such escapade, even if it was for a good cause.
“And no one wants me to do their hair for some reason, so the salon idea I had is out,” she stated.
At that, I tried (and failed) not to look at her hair which made her four inches taller than she was, but she still had two ponytails sticking out the back and they were both tied with baby pink satin ribbons.