Read Online Tressed to Kill by Lila Dare - Free Book Online Page A

bloodsuckers.
Richardson’s large hand slapped at my arm. I gasped and jerked away from his grasp, almost falling. My twenty-twenty hindsight told me I should have insisted on meeting at the hotel when I saw how isolated this place was. I half turned to run.
“Mosquito,” he said, holding up his palm to show a spot of blood. His thin smile told me he had read my thoughts and was enjoying my fear. I rubbed at the welt on my arm.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“You are in way over your head, Miss Terhune,” he said, smoothing the sleeve of his jacket. “Go back to your shampooing and hair-cutting. Oh, yes, I made a few calls after we talked,” he said, correctly interpreting my expression. “Take a look at the information in there.” He tapped at the envelope, and I had to keep myself from jumping back. “And then convince your Save Our Downtown friends to get on board. Or maybe I’ll remember seeing you walk the DuBois woman to her car. Or your mother . . . aren’t the cops already talking to her?”
With a final flash of his big teeth, he headed toward the SUV. I stayed put, shivering despite the heat, until the Escalade was out of sight. Then I hurried toward my car, slapping at mosquitoes as I jogged. Once inside with the doors closed, I sat for a moment, catching my breath and scratching at the bites on my arms and face. That went well, I told my wide-eyed reflection in the rearview mirror. The flushed face looking back at me didn’t agree. I’m sure I saw the glint of red eyes at water level in the bog as I turned on my headlights, reversed, and sped toward the welcoming lights of St. Elizabeth.
    [Friday]
     
    I’M NO FONDER OF TOTAL HONESTY IN SELF-ANALYSIS than the next person, but the episode with Richardson forced me to admit I was stupid and cowardly. Stupid for meeting Richardson in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t believe I confronted him without proof of any kind, with no more than the suspicion raised by overhearing his confrontation with Constance. But I so wanted to find Constance’s murderer quickly, to clear Mom’s name. And cowardly because I had no intention of telling my mom or the ladies at Violetta’s about the encounter. As it turns out, the next morning was so busy—we had a bride and her bridesmaids in for mani-pedis and updos—that I barely had time to draw breath. Mom was securing curls atop the maid of honor’s head, and the bride and two bridesmaids were giggling in the Nail Nook when the door swung open.
Special Agent Dillon stood on the threshold. Conversation stopped for a moment as all the women stared. One of the bridesmaids whispered “hottie” as conversation resumed. Apparently unaware of the interest his masculine presence excited, Special Agent Dillon looked around and stepped toward the counter. His glance might seem casual, but I was sure he could describe everyone in the room, list the magazines in the waiting area, and had probably noticed the dead fronds on one of the ferns and the chip in the shampoo sink’s enamel. Or maybe I’m paranoid. I said neutrally, “May I help you?”
“I need a hair cut,” he said. His navy eyes studied me, and I wondered if he were really here looking for probable cause for a search warrant. Although I didn’t know what he could possibly find that would relate to Constance’s murder.
“Do you have an appointment?” I asked, pretending to thumb through our scheduling book.
“Do I need one?”
“Of course not, Agent Dillon,” Mom intervened before I could tell him to try Chez Pierre. She gave me a “mind your manners” look and actually smiled at him. “Grace has an opening right now. I’d do you myself, but I’ve got to finish up with the girls in Lacey’s wedding party.” She turned to smile at Lacey, who waved the hand Stella wasn’t working on.
“Congratulations,” Special Agent Dillon said with a genuine smile.
I rolled my eyes, but the smile made it hard to catch my breath. It cut creases into his lean cheeks and showed a deep cleft—I’m sure he hated