Page 23 of High Velocity

Eight

Stephanie

Cuts ’n Curls looks like pretty much any other hair salon.

A young girl smiles at me from behind a reception desk when I walk in, and directs me to a sitting area with three chairs, one of which is already occupied by a slightly older woman with a tired perm. She looks vaguely familiar in the way some people just do, and I can feel her scrutinizing me as I sit down.

“You’re new.”

I glance over at her and she looks back with a raised eyebrow, making it obvious she’s waiting for an answer.

“This is my first time at the salon, yes.”

I’m just guessing that’s what she’s referring to, since she didn’t specify what I’m supposed to be new to.

“Clearly, but I meant new in town,” she clarifies.

I wonder how she would keep track; Libby isn’t that big, but the population is still roughly three thousand, which is a lot of people to memorize. One more or less can’t be that obvious.

“I guess I am.”

I could’ve brushed her off or told her I’m just visiting, but this is easier. Besides, it makes more sense if I’m supposed to be looking for a place to rent, which is what I told Mitchel Laine’s girlfriend.

“I knew it,” the woman smiles triumphantly. “I’m Betty. You came through my lane at Rosauers the other day. I’d never seen you there before. You were talking to that vet lady.”

I try to recall the cashier who rang me through and suddenly the woman’s face falls into place. The recognition is immediately followed by a rush of anxiety. It’s not like me to forget faces, I don’t miss details like that. In my line of work that could be dangerous.

“I remember you,” I manage to tell her while struggling to control my breathing, which is threatening to run away on me.

“Stephanie, you’re here for a trim?”

I swing my head around to find Tracy standing in the reception area, a puzzled expression on her face when she recognizes me.

“Oh. You’re the one who was looking for a place to rent. You knocked on my door yesterday.”

I hope I don’t look like a deranged lunatic when I conjure up a surprised look.

“She’s new in town,” Betty pipes up helpfully.

I’m actually grateful, since I don’t know if I’d be able to get a word out right now, my throat feels like it’s closing up.

Tracy barely spares her a glance and motions for me to come. I force myself to follow her to the back of the salon where she points at one of the three washing stations.

“Sorry about her,” Tracy mumbles as she guides my head back over the basin. “She’s a tad nosy. If you want to know anything about anybody in town, she’s a better resource than our local newspaper.”

She turns on the faucet and starts to wet my hair with nice, warm water. I focus on the soothing motions of her fingers running through my hair, while she gives me the lowdown on Betty, who apparently turned into a busybody after her husband died way too young.

When she starts working shampoo into my hair with a firm scalp massage, I almost groan in pleasure, and by the time she wraps my head in a towel and encourages me to sit up, all tension has left my body. Any signs of anxiety are gone.

“Sorry again for disturbing you yesterday,” I apologize, taking a seat at her station.

She waves it off. “Not a problem. Did you find the right trailer?”

“I did, and you were right, it looked like a dump so I turned right around without even getting out of the vehicle.”

“Wise choice. Did you end up finding a place?”

“I did. In Libby, actually. Just a bit south of town. Also a trailer, but a nice one with a great view.”

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