Deadly Dye and a Soy Chai: a Danger Cove Hair Salon Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 5) Read Online Free
Author: Traci Andrighetti, Elizabeth Ashby
amused.
Bertha showed no sign of having heard the comment, and I was grateful. Her nickname around town was Bulldog, both because of her dogged personality and her barrel-chested body type. And the last thing I needed at the salon was an elderly throwdown.
"In that case, Bertha," Gia began, returning in record time with a cordial glass full of the red liqueur, "you'll want Mad Makeup. It's my personal line that I designed to celebrate the glamour of New Jersey."
Yeah, because the Garden State has long been known as the center of haute couture , I thought as I clipped Prudence's bangs.
"Oh, that sounds exotic," Bertha cooed. "Just like my date. Maybe you know him?" She looked behind her to see whether Margaret was paying attention. "Santiago Beltrán?"
At the mention of his name, Margaret straightened in her chair.
"Never heard of him," Gia said as she opened her eye shadow case. "But he sounds like a real Latin Lover."
Bertha's thin, wrinkled lips spread into a lizard-like smile. "That's because he's Cuban."
"Well in that case, I think we should go with a strong look." Gia tapped her index finger on her cheek. "Something militaristic."
While Gia elaborated on her plans for Bertha, I had to bite my lip to focus on Prudence's hair. If you asked me, Mad Makeup should have been named Commando Cosmetics. The colors included raging reds, bellicose blues, and glaring greens—there wasn't a pastel in the palette. The line also had alarming accessories, like camouflage eye makeup stickers and temporary lip tattoos. It was hardly a style appropriate for a quaint cove town.
Bertha took a gulp of her fragolino . "That sounds perfect. Santiago's very macho, just like his famous countryman, Ricardo Montalbán."
Margaret snorted, causing her turkey neck to wobble. "Ricardo Montalbán is Mexican. If anyone, Santiago is like Ricky Ricardo."
"You mean, Desi Arnaz," Bertha corrected.
"No, I mean Ricky Ricardo, because you're going to drive poor Santiago crazy, just like Lucy did Ricky." Margaret smirked. "After one date with you, he'll run screaming 'Babalú.'"
Bertha's face grew dark, thanks only in part to Gia's handiwork. "You're just jealous. Tell us, Margaret. Exactly how many dates have you had in the thirty-odd years you've lived in Danger Cove?"
"Just one," she replied, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "But it was enough to last me a lifetime."
"Hogwash," Bertha spat. "Who was it with?"
Margaret met Bertha's eyes in the mirror. "Vincent Conti."
I gasped and narrowly missed lopping off one side of Prudence's bangs. My Uncle Vinnie was fifty-five when he died, which made him almost thirty years younger than Margaret Appleby. Surely what they'd shared had just been a…a friendly lunch?
"I don't believe that for a minute," Bertha scoffed. "What would a handsome stud like that want with an old crone like you?"
"To have his way with me, apparently." Margaret drained the last of her soy chai, as though the steamy memory left her parched. "Talk about a Latin Lover. Vincent was my Marcello Mastroianni. He even had a tattoo on that tight little tush of his that said 'La Dolce Vita.'"
Everyone in the room was struck speechless, and I had to lean on my station to steady myself. Looks like they'd shared a lot more than lunch.
"It's a shame he's gone," Margaret continued in the stunned silence. "I don't suppose you have any more uncles, dear?"
I stared at her open-mouthed. Was Margaret some kind of man-eater?
"No, just her aunt Carla, my stepmom," Gia intervened. "Unless you count her dad, Domenic."
"W-we're p-pretty small by Italian family standards," I stammered as I searched for some way to bring the sexual conversation away from my father. "Um, what about you, Prudence? Are you from a big family?"
"I'm the only child of two only children," she replied. "So, it was pretty lonely growing up."
Margaret frowned. "The important thing is that you had two parents who loved you, dear."
Prudence nodded. "So true."
Relieved that
Bertha showed no sign of having heard the comment, and I was grateful. Her nickname around town was Bulldog, both because of her dogged personality and her barrel-chested body type. And the last thing I needed at the salon was an elderly throwdown.
"In that case, Bertha," Gia began, returning in record time with a cordial glass full of the red liqueur, "you'll want Mad Makeup. It's my personal line that I designed to celebrate the glamour of New Jersey."
Yeah, because the Garden State has long been known as the center of haute couture , I thought as I clipped Prudence's bangs.
"Oh, that sounds exotic," Bertha cooed. "Just like my date. Maybe you know him?" She looked behind her to see whether Margaret was paying attention. "Santiago Beltrán?"
At the mention of his name, Margaret straightened in her chair.
"Never heard of him," Gia said as she opened her eye shadow case. "But he sounds like a real Latin Lover."
Bertha's thin, wrinkled lips spread into a lizard-like smile. "That's because he's Cuban."
"Well in that case, I think we should go with a strong look." Gia tapped her index finger on her cheek. "Something militaristic."
While Gia elaborated on her plans for Bertha, I had to bite my lip to focus on Prudence's hair. If you asked me, Mad Makeup should have been named Commando Cosmetics. The colors included raging reds, bellicose blues, and glaring greens—there wasn't a pastel in the palette. The line also had alarming accessories, like camouflage eye makeup stickers and temporary lip tattoos. It was hardly a style appropriate for a quaint cove town.
Bertha took a gulp of her fragolino . "That sounds perfect. Santiago's very macho, just like his famous countryman, Ricardo Montalbán."
Margaret snorted, causing her turkey neck to wobble. "Ricardo Montalbán is Mexican. If anyone, Santiago is like Ricky Ricardo."
"You mean, Desi Arnaz," Bertha corrected.
"No, I mean Ricky Ricardo, because you're going to drive poor Santiago crazy, just like Lucy did Ricky." Margaret smirked. "After one date with you, he'll run screaming 'Babalú.'"
Bertha's face grew dark, thanks only in part to Gia's handiwork. "You're just jealous. Tell us, Margaret. Exactly how many dates have you had in the thirty-odd years you've lived in Danger Cove?"
"Just one," she replied, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "But it was enough to last me a lifetime."
"Hogwash," Bertha spat. "Who was it with?"
Margaret met Bertha's eyes in the mirror. "Vincent Conti."
I gasped and narrowly missed lopping off one side of Prudence's bangs. My Uncle Vinnie was fifty-five when he died, which made him almost thirty years younger than Margaret Appleby. Surely what they'd shared had just been a…a friendly lunch?
"I don't believe that for a minute," Bertha scoffed. "What would a handsome stud like that want with an old crone like you?"
"To have his way with me, apparently." Margaret drained the last of her soy chai, as though the steamy memory left her parched. "Talk about a Latin Lover. Vincent was my Marcello Mastroianni. He even had a tattoo on that tight little tush of his that said 'La Dolce Vita.'"
Everyone in the room was struck speechless, and I had to lean on my station to steady myself. Looks like they'd shared a lot more than lunch.
"It's a shame he's gone," Margaret continued in the stunned silence. "I don't suppose you have any more uncles, dear?"
I stared at her open-mouthed. Was Margaret some kind of man-eater?
"No, just her aunt Carla, my stepmom," Gia intervened. "Unless you count her dad, Domenic."
"W-we're p-pretty small by Italian family standards," I stammered as I searched for some way to bring the sexual conversation away from my father. "Um, what about you, Prudence? Are you from a big family?"
"I'm the only child of two only children," she replied. "So, it was pretty lonely growing up."
Margaret frowned. "The important thing is that you had two parents who loved you, dear."
Prudence nodded. "So true."
Relieved that
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