And with that, she took off.
Hix turned to his computer, thinking, if Greta wasn’t going to be showing up at work in less than two hours, he’d have gone to deal with Peters himself.
A banner day for the sheriff. That meaning there was something to do.
However she needed a heads up. And it should come from him.
But the last time they’d dealt with Peters, they’d had to wedge open his door and throw a glass of water in his face to wake his ass up. He might not have time to deal with Peters and get to Greta in time to warn her before she faced her day at the salon.
What should not be was him showing at her front door unexpectedly, invading her space after he’d exited it the way he had.
It wasn’t better he’d be showing at her work, but he figured it was better than invading her home, even to stand on her porch.
So work it was.
And until then and after that chore was done, he just had to hope he was right.
That this would pass.
And do it without any more of Hope’s casualties piling up.
At five to ten, Hix pushed through the door at Lou’s House of Beauty, and seeing as he’d been there before to drop off or pick up Corinne and Mamie when they had their appointments (albeit infrequently since Hope normally went with them), he didn’t have to take in the décor.
It was, like pretty much everything in Glossop, suspended in time. The women there could be wearing those dresses with shoulder pads and having their hair rolled in the way they did during World War II, or they could be how they were right then. The woman in Lou’s chair getting a hot-pink lock of fake hair what looked like Velcroed to her roots.
“Uh . . . well . . .” He looked to Lou when she started stammering and saw her wide eyes cut to the back of the salon even if her face remained pointed to him. “Um, hey, Hix.”
“Lou,” he greeted, skimmed a glance through the woman in her chair who he didn’t know and looked back to Lou. “She in the back?”
He knew he didn’t have to say who “she” was.
If any crime ever happened in that county, he’d have Lou on his confidential informant list.
That’s the way it was everywhere.
From rumor to speculation to hard facts, if they were to be had, the first place they were had was at the local beauty parlor.
“Yeah,” Lou answered.
“Thanks,” Hix muttered, and without invitation, moved that way.
He did it wondering if Greta had been in that salon any of the times he’d been there for Corinne and Mamie and he just hadn’t noticed her.
Then he pushed through the door to the back, saw her standing at some shelves filled with bottles, boxes and tubes, and she turned to him, the visual of her right there, a few feet away, live and in person smacked him in the face, and he knew there was no chance in hell he hadn’t noticed her.
He loved his wife. When they were together, his mind had not once taken him to another place, not even to wonder how it would be with another woman.
But he was still a guy.
And Greta was tall and she was built. She had a few pounds on Hope, but they’d settled in all the right places.
On Saturday night, she’d been wearing a tight black dress that hit her knees. It had one shoulder bare, material swooping over the other, and it was covered in sequins with dangling spangly bits that moved when she did.
Now she was wearing a pair of faded jeans that had a wide cut at the hem and a cream, slouchy, collarless shirt that almost looked like a man’s, except for the silky material it was made from and the fact the long tails were cinched loosely at her waist in a knot. The shirt’s arms were rolled up near to her elbows and its buttons undone at the chest to the point cleavage was a given.
And Greta had fucking great cleavage.
There was a mess of thin gold necklaces coming down her chest to flirt with the opening in her shirt, long thin hoops that tangled in her hair and brushed her shoulders, and peeking under the hems of her jeans he could see a pair of spike-heeled, tan suede sandals that, across the foot, had a load of thin straps.
Her toes were painted a wine color.
As were her nails.
It was far from good she not only looked great in a tight black dress, she looked seriously great in just a pair of jeans and a shirt.
But it was her hair, face and eyes that had him standing silent, staring at her.
Eyes a light blue that was almost gray. They were big, wide set, making her seem open, approachable, friendly. And she had a lot of hair that had a lot of big curls, feathering and waving away from her face, a mix of honey and sunshine in the tendrils.
And he remembered she’d had a great smile, big teeth that were so white, if the healthy whites of her big eyes and mass of her big hair didn’t accompany them, they might seem unreal.
But when she smiled and really gave it to you, her pretty, rosy lips spread wide, exposing two rows of the most perfect teeth he’d ever seen, that smile could blind you.
Though, she wasn’t smiling then.
She looked frozen in time.
“Greta—” he started just as the door clicked shut behind him.
At the sound of his voice, she jerked out of it and took two wide steps, right into his space.
Tipping her head back, she whispered heatedly, “What are you doing here?”
“Something’s happened and I need to share.”
Her head tipped angrily and her mass of hair went with it.
It lasted less than a second.
And it was a spectacular show.
“Yeah, like your ex calling Lou and telling her to erase all her and your daughters’ appointments from her books forevermore and to be ready because her posse are going to be calling in and doing the same?” she asked tersely.
He looked to her shoulder and whispered, “Shit.”
“Lou’s not friends with your wife, she’s friends with me,” she went on. “She’ll hold strong. But I reckon, your ex follows through with what she isn’t hiding is her plan, only so much Lou can take. What with the fact that Bill sometimes forgets that marriage is a partnership and his part of the partnership includes letting his family share in his paychecks instead of them going right to the Outpost to pay his tab every month.”
Fantastic.
“I’ll have a word with Bill,” he told her.
Or another one.
“Don’t have a word with Bill, Sheriff, have a word with your wife.”
“She isn’t my wife, Greta.”
“Not sure she’s been fully notified of the status change.”
“She has, and if she hadn’t, we had words this morning.”
Her brows drew together as she slid an inch back. “Words that might drive her to make a few calls to her posse so all of them could check off their to-do list canceling those pesky hair appointments?”
“Words like that, yeah,” he ground out.
She stepped a step away and looked to the floor at her side, murmuring, “Damn.”
“Greta.”
She looked to him and he had to take pains to ignore the fact that one look from those eyes in that face made his entire focus center on the itch in his hands urging him to touch her.
And the feel of his crotch.