By Laura Bradley
Make an appointment for intrigue at Reyn Marten Sawyer'shair salon Outrageous, flirtatious, and as colourful as a magenta mohawk, Reyn tracks twisted crimes, untangles tight knots, and not, ever leaves free ends. somebody truly intended enterprise after they unique San Antonio's hair salon king, Ricardo, who was once fatally stabbed with a extraordinary weapon: a pointy plastic hair choose. Reyn had loaned Ricardo the device -- and now she's not just mourning her buddy and mentor's homicide: she's additionally a suspect. And within the eyes of horny detective Jackson Scythe, she's one attractive stylist who should still drop her insistent sleuthing like a sizzling curler. yet Reyn's wound a bit too tight to stick out of the thick of items, together with teasing and taming the stubbornly unmarried Scythe whereas taking brief cuts to seize a killer -- and uncovering the earlier of a lifeless guy, whose secrets and techniques will make Reyn's hair curl....
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Additional info for The Brush-Off: A Hair-raising Mystery
Example text
I heard a peculiar sucking sound and wondered if Ricardo were drunk. He certainly didn’t sound like his usual sober, arrogant self. Although I’d never seen him have an alcoholic drink, much less overindulge, I didn’t know him all that well anymore, and I certainly didn’t know what he did with his “valued and loyal” customers, one of whom he’d been meeting last night, tonight, whatever day and time it was. I squinted at the clock again. “It’s late. ” His voice had dropped to a near whisper. “I just want you to remember what I said today.
But the drill didn’t go away. No telling how many times the damned phone rang before I realized it was the phone. As soon as I did, I reached for the handset on the nightstand and collapsed back onto the bed in pain. Someone had taken the drill to my back. The phone kept ringing. What kind of person dreams about electric drills? Carpenters? Building contractors? Hard-up women? Hard-up women dreaming about carpenters? Setting my teeth on my lower lip to offer pain a momentary distraction from my back, I sat up, again reached for the receiver, collared it, and fell back onto the mattress.
I cleared my throat. Suddenly, Ricardo’s eyes hardened, and he bored a serious look through each of us in turn. “That revelation was careless of me. ” He was right about that. The legend of Ricardo was that he came from a moneyed, aristocratic family from Mexico City and had been the lover of every Mexican president’s wife before he left to seek his fortune in our humble town north of the border. I knew the truth (except the paramedic thing), that he’d grown up in the poorest neighborhood in South San Antonio.