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

having it called a dimple—in his chin. Even his eyes lightened, transitioning from a somber navy to the marine blue of a sunlit sea, like a mood ring. His effect on me took me by surprise, and I said more coldly than I intended, “This way. I’ll get a smock.”
He handed me his navy blazer and I hung it in the closet where we kept the smocks. I helped him into the violet garment, privately awarding him points for not balking at the color. Settling into the chair by the sink, he tipped his head back. I wished Rachel were here and not sitting in a history class or chem lab so I wouldn’t have to wash his hair. Conscious of my mother’s eyes flicking my way, I adjusted the water temperature and squirted shampoo into my hand. Feeling strangely tentative, I began to work it into his scalp. His hair was bristly under my fingers, his skull hard. He closed his eyes as I massaged his temples, and I felt him relax infinitesimally. I got the feeling he didn’t relax often and I took it as a challenge. The pads of my fingers dug into his scalp, and I worked them in small circles from the crown of his head to his nape. The bracing scent of eucalyptus and honeydew floated up from the lather. Dillon’s head weighed heavy in my hands as he finally let the taut muscles in his neck relax. Suddenly aware of a strange sense of intimacy that made me as uncomfortable as a hamster at a cat show—did he feel it, too?—I began to rinse his hair, deliberately keeping the water on the cool side. Giving his hair a perfunctory toweling, I led him to my station and adjusted the chair down as he sat.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked. Not that he had a lot of options with less than an inch of growth.
“The truth?” he suggested, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
“Well, if you let it grow another six months or so, we could do a Brad Pitt sort of fringe—”
His brows drew together, and his eyes were a dark navy again. “Just a trim, Miss Terhune.”
“Oh, call me Grace,” I said, impatient with the formality. “And I’ll call you Marsh, okay?” I knew I was picking a fight because the intimacy of shampooing his hair had unsettled me, but I couldn’t help myself. I snipped at the hair just over his right ear.
“Miss. Terhune.” He emphasized each word. “I got a call from Del Richardson this morning.”
I hesitated a moment, trying to still my trembling fingers, before saying, “Really? Did he confess to stabbing Constance?” I pressed Dillon’s head down so he couldn’t read my face as I trimmed the hair at his nape.
“Not hardly. He said he remembered seeing a woman walking with the victim in the parking lot. The description he gave sounded a lot like your mother.”
“That . . . that lying swine!” I gritted between my teeth. Anger rose in me with such force I accidentally nipped Dillon’s ear with the scissors.
“Ow!”
I inspected his ear, rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger. “It’s not even bleeding . . . don’t be a baby.”
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” he muttered. His hand fumbled with the smock’s Velcro closure at his neck.
“You can’t leave with your hair like that,” I said, visions of the salon’s reputation taking a nose-dive if he told anyone where he got his cut. I put my hands on his shoulders to hold him in place, then jerked them away as the heat of him warmed my palms. “The cut’s on the house,” I said.
He gave me a considering look, then leaned back in the chair. “At least put the scissors away,” he said.
I decided to tell him the truth—I had nothing to lose and maybe something to gain if he believed me instead of Richardson. “Look, I’m sorry . . .” And as I shaved his neckline, I told him about meeting the Morestuf VP the night before. Not wanting anyone to overhear, I leaned in close to tell the story, my voice barely above a whisper. The warm scent of him, a mix of soap and clean sweat and a spicy aftershave tickled my nose, but I ignored it. Mostly.
When I finished, he was silent for a long moment. He