“Tall. Muscular. Quite good looking. Workboots and chambray shirt. I thought he might have worked on some construction project in the area.”
The slimy creature described his own possible accomplice, Jake Lloyd. “And you told the police?”
“No. I didn’t even think about it until you asked that brilliant question. You’re so intuitive, my dear.” His hand curled once again around her elbow, and he turned, drawing her back behind the counter. “You’re completely correct, I have to watch out for my girls.” His gaze traveled fondly about the noisy room. “And you can be sure I will.”
Jeez, who would he watch out for now? Ariel? Max remembered the way he’d touched the stylist, the way she’d allowed him to touch her.
“But right now,” Miles said, his mouth stretching in a phony grin, “I need you to straighten out some of the double bookings. I can’t for the life of me think who made all these mistakes.”
That was it, finito, end of conversation, but Max had learned something. Miles Lamont wasn’t interested in finding Tiffany’s killer. He was interested in diverting attention away from himself and had invented a bogus stalker, a ruse that pointed directly at Tiffany’s ex-husband. Just like Columbo’s suspects always did.
Goodness, she was getting good at this stuff.
Then Max remembered Nadine Johnson.
Good, but not good enough to prevent another death.
Are you sure she’s dead? Cameron. Trust him to show himself when she couldn’t fight back. You can’t see me.
He had a lot to answer for after setting her up with that DVD last night.
You found out what happened to Tiffany, didn’t you? You remembered the full vision. That’s what you wanted all along.
That’s what he wanted. She’d wanted Tiffany out of her head. What really pissed her off was that Cameron had been a Deputy DA, and he knew removing that disk from Bud Traynor’s house would make it totally inadmissible in a court of law.
Of course I knew it. But no one would ever think of searching his house. Face it, Max, stealing it was the only way.
They’d never have discovered what was on it otherwise. Or that Bud owned a copy of his stylist’s snuff film. She always hated to admit when Cameron was right.
Gotcha, he whispered. He fell silent, though his peppermint scent lingered.
She leaned over the appointment book, perusing Miles’s scribbled notes. Someone had screwed up the bookings. She couldn’t remember doing all that damage, and damn, she had a lot of phone calls and juggling ahead of her to straighten it out. Funny that no one had mentioned how well Nadine had handled the receptionist’s job.
She shifted, something crunching beneath her shoe. Paper. Wads of paper had fallen out of the trashcan beneath the counter. She leaned down. The damn thing overflowed. Jules hadn’t emptied it last night when he’d cleaned. That wasn’t like him, at least not in the few days she’d worked at the salon.
She pulled the trash bag out, twisted the plastic until it was tight enough to tie into a knot, then carried it down the back hallway to the outside dumpster.
Max stopped three feet from the metal container. Her heart raced at juggernaut speed. The dumpster glowed. Even when she closed her eyes, it formed a piercing blue outline against her lids. The heat from it seared her lashes, glued them to the flesh beneath her eyes, and scorched the tender skin of her cheeks and lips.
No, no, no. She wouldn’t look. But she knew suddenly why Cameron had made himself known. He knew she’d need him.
“You have to open it, my darling.”
No way.
“You don’t have a choice. I’ll stay with you. I promise.”
Moisture squeezed from between her lashes. “Why do you need me?” she whispered, her mouth parched, her lips dry and cracked. “Why can’t you do it yourself?”
“It’s your power, not mine. You see the glow, not me.”
She clutched the plastic trash bag to her chest. “I can’t.”
“You’ve seen worse in your dreams. Witnessed murders there. Witnessed murder on your TV screen. This is no different.”
“No different,” she gasped. It was getting harder to breathe. She gulped air. “No different?” Her panic was rising, choking her. “Videos and visions aren’t reality, Cameron.” They faded with time despite the fact that she told herself she’d never forget what she’d seen. “I won’t do it. I won’t touch that dumpster.”