Page 64 of High Velocity

There’s a discount store called Stytches Bent West that is supposed to carry some discount and consignment stuff Janey recommended. She says they sometimes have unique things, not that I’d know something unique if it slapped me in the face, but I’ll have a look.

Jackson’s mom, Alex, suggested the Blessed in the 406 boutique which is supposed to carry more mainstream jeans and tops.

But first I’m stopping in at the salon to see if I can get some more information on Tracy’s whereabouts.

“Can I help you?” the young girl behind the counter greets me.

“Hi, yes. I was wondering if Tracy is in today? I don’t have an appointment, but I had a house fire a couple of days ago and I can’t get the smell of smoke out of my hair. I’ve washed it three times already. I was hoping Tracy might have some suggestions?”

“Oh no. That place by Foxy’s Bar? My boyfriend is a firefighter and told me the folks staying there narrowly escaped. Was that you?”

Both the hairdresser and her client, sitting in the chair closest to the front desk, are gawking at me right now.

“I heard about that,” the woman with half her head in foils contributes, inserting herself into the conversation. “Heard it was a total loss. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

“Thank you,” I mutter, for lack of anything better to say.

“Smoke alarm woke you up?” the customer probes.

“Something like that,” I respond.

The smoke alarm didn’t wake us, but I’m not about to share that information. I’m still trying to figure out how it was possible for the alarm not to sound when I personally saw JD put a fresh battery in the day I moved into the trailer.

I told Ewing as much in Jonas’s office. He asked me who all had been in the trailer since I got there, which is how Ben Vallard’s name came up. Except, I had eyes on Vallard at all times while he was inside, I would’ve seen him tamper with the smoke alarm.

Ewing indicated the smoke detector would be checked out by the forensic lab, to see if it had been interfered with or whether it could’ve been a simple malfunction. It happens.

He’d also wanted to know about the trailer’s security. Other than the door locks, there hadn’t been much. I guess there hadn’t been any need with just JD living there. Plus, it’s not the kind of place that would’ve promised a profitable haul for a random burglar passing by. All of that to say, it is possible someone snuck in at some point and tinkered with the smoke alarm.

In any event, all that is speculation until we know for sure the detector was purposely disabled, and I’m not going to open up a public discussion on the subject.

“So, do you think Tracy could help?” I return the conversation to my original request.

“I’m sorry, Tracy is out of town, visiting family,” the receptionist shares.

“Really? That’s so odd, Tracy never mentioned anything about that.”

A statuesque redhead—I’d guess her to be mid-to-late forties—wearing a pair of orange platform Crocs comes walking up to the desk. I guess she was working at one of the chairs closer to the back, judging from a pair of scissors still in her hand.

“You were looking for Tracy?”

I turn to her with a smile. “Yes, she’s a friend, and I tried to call her but my calls keep going to voicemail, so I decided to try and catch her here. I have a bit of a hair emergency I was hoping she could help with, but I’m told she’s out of town? That seems so weird, I was in here not that long ago and met her for lunch after, and she never mentioned anything about going away. Odd.”

The redhead nods. “I remember seeing you. I’m Donna Farley. I’m Tracy’s boss, and also a friend. Why don’t you step into the back with me? Let’s see what we can do about your hair problem.”

I follow her to the back and through a set of beaded curtains to a private section of the salon, where she ushers me into an office, closing the door behind us.

“Have a seat.”

She slides behind the desk and I take the visitor’s chair in front. It seems odd she’d take me into an office to look at my hair, but I suspect that’s not the reason I’m here.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, playing up the role of concerned friend. “Did something happen to Tracy?”

“You’re new to town. Tracy mentioned you.”

It’s not an answer to my question, but it is telling nonetheless.

“She did? Yeah, I haven’t been here that long yet. I’m still getting my bearings, so it was nice to make a new friend. Is Tracy okay?”

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