Or ...
Had Tiffany locked the front door before Jake arrived? Maybe not. But why lock the back and not the front? Because forcing Jake to knock before entering was a form of control. And leaving the front door open was an exhilarating risk.
In the end, the eyeball could have belonged to anyone. A Cut Above was rife with male clientele.
Max jumped as Ariel snapped the cash drawer closed.
“I wouldn’t call Tiffany a paragon of anything. But at least she didn’t treat Jules like crap.”
The tone begged for a question. “And how did she treat you?”
Ariel’s features remained neutral, though the effort to keep them so was revealed in the slight tightening of her lips. “Tiffany considered other women to be lower life forms. Unless, of course, she wanted something from you.”
Max wondered what Tiffany had wanted from Ariel.
“Ariel, honey—”
The girl started as Miles Lamont laid his hands on her shoulders and spoke into her ear.
For a heavy man, Miles was light on his feet. Of course, he also wore rubber-soled loafers, probably just for this purpose. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Yeah, right.
“What did you want, Miles?” Ariel’s shoulders loosened beneath his fingers as he gently massaged her. Her head lolled back, slightly, but not enough to be noticed by anyone who wasn’t paying close attention.
Which Max was. The man seemed to have some sort of hypnotic power. If he tried to touch her like that, he’d get a sharp elbow in his ribs.
He reached around Ariel to flip a page of the appointment book, and as he did so, his arm brushed the side of her breast. Ariel didn’t move. “You don’t have anyone for thirty minutes. Could you pack up dear Tiffany’s things? Keeping everything out seems so morbid.” His breath ruffled Ariel’s curls. Her nipples peaked against the thin cotton of her shirt.
Max started to sweat. It felt like double-dating at the drive-in movies and the couple in the front seat were going down on each other. Jeez, these two acted like lovers, with Pippa Louise in the office.
Miles Lamont could very well have been Tiffany’s watcher, both in the laundry room and at the Round Up.
But what did it say about Ariel?
Max’s psychic wires were more tangled than ever.
“I’ll do it, Miles,” she piped up, her voice cracking on the first word.
“Maxdarling.” He said it as if it were her full name. “Your hair is marvelous. I knew that style would look perfect on you. Amazing.” He was amazingly full of himself. He stood back to admire his handiwork, then clasped his hands together. “Yes, yes, perfect. And thank you so much for offering. You and Ariel can pack Tiffany’s things together,” he added as though he’d given them both a great prize.
Which it was. Despite the fact that she might actually have to wade through Tiffany’s things, Max had just gained a few more uninterrupted minutes to quiz Ariel.
“You’ll need something to pack Tiffany’s masks in.” Miles put a plump finger to his lips. Max quaked at the thought of having to touch the empty-eyed monstrosities, but no one seemed to notice. “I know,” Miles went on, “there’s some boxes and tissue paper in the hall closet. Max, get them, would you?” He flapped a hand.
Max did as she was bid, rounding the end of the counter. That’s when she caught Miles’s hand beneath Ariel’s plaid, pleated skirt. Shielded from the other girls’ stations by a myriad of makeup and jewelry filling the display cases, Miles’s arm moved back and forth under the red skirt. The shit was copping a feel.
The man was insane. Or he liked to live dangerously. Or he knew Pippa didn’t care.
But what really set Max’s blood pounding in her ears was that Ariel didn’t stop him.
Tiffany had wanted power over men. She’d preened beneath Lamont’s attention. But Ariel? She was either a victim of sexual harassment or ... or as bad as Tiffany herself.
The idea was sickening.
Max ran for the boxes and tissue paper. When she came back, Miles had moved from behind the counter to inspect Curly’s newest creation atop the head of a middle-aged, plastic-surgeoned faux redhead.
And Ariel was no longer in a talkative mood. In fact, she barely spoke at all. Almost as if Miles had indeed put her in a trance.
Meanwhile, Max’s fingers buzzed with Tiffany’s essence. She packed a mask in tissue, careful to use the paper as insulation against touching the ceramic.
Cameron hummed nearby. You’re pathetically obvious, Max. Not to mention missing out on a marvelous opportunity.
Buzz off.
“What are you guys doing?” Done with his chores for the moment, Jules had abandoned his mop and lumbered over to Tiffany’s station.