BM03 - Crazy Little Thing Called Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

call her. We locked the office and walked down the stairs to Meg’s car. My ex-boyfriend once removed, James Fisk, was coming out of the coffee shop as we were getting into the Subaru. He was another guy who’d dumped me when my life got too complicated for him. I ducked my head and tried to hide. I wasn’t fast enough. James raised his hand in greeting and came to stand next to my window. I rolled my eyes at Meg and lowered the window.
    “Hi Jim.”
    “MacGowan. Meg.” He nodded his head in Meg’s direction. “Bree, I’ve got tickets to the NASCAR at Loudon next weekend. Want to go?”
    “Are you offering me the tickets?” I was being perverse. He wasn’t offering me the tickets; he was asking me on a date. But I couldn’t help busting his chops.
    “Uh. No. I’m asking you if you’d like to go to the races with me.” He spoke slowly and I could tell it was an effort for him not to roll his eyes.
    “No. Thank you. I’m not available to go to the races with. Gotta go.”
    “When are you going to stop punishing me for that mistake?”
    I rolled up the window and Meg backed out of the parking spot, leaving Jim standing there with a scowl on his face.
    “You know,” I said, “he still has my house key.”
    “You never lock your door anyway.”
    “Yeah. But that’s not the point. Him having my key is the point.” The thought of keys rang bells in my head. Excitement buzzed through my body. “Wait. Do you mind if I bail on lunch?”
    “Does this have to do with the murder?”
    “Yeah. Drop me at your house. There’s something I want to ask Claire.”
     
    ***
     
    Claire is nothing if not flexible. She’d set up shop in Meg’s kitchen and was sitting in a straight back chair eating a sandwich and talking on the phone. She rang off when she saw me.
    “My cleaning service,” she said, cutting her eyes to the phone. “She wanted to know when she could get back in the salon.”
    “What did you tell her?”
    “I have no clue. I don’t even know when I’m getting back in the salon.”
    “Bad for business, huh?”
    “No! The phone’s been ringing nonstop. I don’t know how word got out so quickly.”
    “Are you kidding? The phone tree has probably been buzzing since we found that guy. Half the people in this town have a police scanner.” I leaned on the kitchen counter across from Claire.
    “Do you want me to cut your hair? I scheduled myself some time for errands but I don’t feel like going out.” She pushed the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth and got up to wash her hands in the sink.
    “Sure. If you don’t mind answering some questions while you’re cutting.” I moved to the straight back chair. “What are you doing for clients that want their hair washed?” I asked.
    “I have them lean over the sink. Meg’s got one of those sprayers that slide out of the faucet. Do you want me to wash your hair?”
    “Nah. I was just curious. I washed it this morning.”
    Claire picked up a spray bottle and started misting me down.
    “What’s on your mind?” she asked. She was pulling a comb through my damp hair. It’s not that easy; I’ve got wavy, snarly hair that I don’t comb often enough.
    “To be blunt, I was wondering how many people have keys to your salon. The door wasn’t forced, right?”
    “I don’t think so. It’s pretty easy to wiggle the inner door open, but the outer door was locked.”
    “Who all has keys? Who could get in without anyone noticing?”
    “Ronnie—that’s Veronica Hart, my cleaning lady, she cleans like nobody’s business, but she’s developmentally disabled. Maybe autistic. She didn’t kill the guy. Jim has a key. He still asks about you, you know. Gets his hair cut every four weeks and asks about you every time. Lori, the stylist who used to rent space from me, she still has a key.” Claire stopped snipping for a moment. “That’s it. I can’t think of anyone else who might have a key. There might be someone from before I was here,