Lethal Bayou Beauty (5 page)

Chapter Four

“Holy crap!” I clenched the wad of hair and looked at Gertie, alternating between scared and hacked that I was scared over something as stupid as hair. “What do I do?”

She handed me a brush. “Brush that top piece over it. See if it covers.”

I lifted the straightened piece that I’d flopped over her head and brushed it back, but no dice. “Her hair is too thin for it to cover.”

Gertie felt the stump of burned hair. “This is hard as a rock. It’s going to push that straight fine hair out like a tent.”

I reached into my pocket. “Is anyone looking?”

“No. What are you going to do?”

“Fix the tent issue.” I removed my pocketknife and lifted the straight hair again. Then I started shaving off the hard remnants of burned hair. When it was clear down to the scalp, I let the straight hair fall back down in place.

Gertie leaned over to scrutinize. “It doesn’t stick out anymore, but I can see her scalp through that piece.”

“Maybe a curly style?”

“It’s still too close to the scalp and too thin. The only way you’re covering that is with a hat.”

I scanned the room, looking for the girl’s mother, and finally spotted her in a corner with several other moms, pouring cough syrup into coffee. No threat there.

“Where’s Pansy?” I asked.

“Over there.” Gertie pointed to a group of girls on the other side of the room. “Why is she teaching them to walk like strippers?”

“At least they’ll have a job.” I didn’t have time to judge Pansy’s alternative profession choices. I was in full attack mode.

I grabbed a big barrette off the table and clipped it to a wad of Gertie’s victim’s hair, making sure I selected a piece from the bottom of the back—at least, I think it was the bottom of the back. Who the hell could tell?

Then I leaned over with my knife and cut the entire clump of hair off her head in one smooth move—like slitting someone’s throat. Gertie sucked in a breath and paled a bit.

“Glue gun,” I said.

She looked panicked for a minute, then reached for the glue gun on the table behind her and handed it to me. I ran a single strip of hot glue across the edge of the hair peeking out of the barrette, then stuck the whole mess to the bald spot. I had a couple of frightening seconds when I thought the hair was going to come back with my fingers, but I managed to peel them off with the hair firmly glued to her scalp.
 

I waited the ten seconds for the glue to dry, then flipped the good piece of hair back over and assessed my handiwork.

“It’s not bad,” Gertie said, clearly impressed. “The color is a perfect match. The only problem is that top piece is untangled and straight and the other never will be.”

“I’m going to can the straight hair idea. I’m going to make it big.”

“Are you sure…I thought we were going for the royal look.”

“I saw a ton of pictures on the Internet of this giant hairdo a royal was wearing. Don’t worry. I got this. What about her?” I pointed to Gertie’s victim. “Can you cover the damage?”

Gertie rolled her eyes. “It was an improvement.”

“Good, then get back to work before Pansy gets back. Maybe you can pull the whole wad back in a ponytail and hide it with bows?”

“That’s a great idea and shouldn’t take very long.”

“Good. My idea for this one will only take a couple of minutes, then I can get on makeup. Where the heck is Ida Belle?”

“You called?” Ida Belle’s voice sounded behind me.
 

I turned around to see Ida Belle still clutching the shirt collar of a now completely soaked girl. “You were supposed to clean her face,” I said, “not hose her down like she’s going upstate for ten years.”

“She wouldn’t stand still and I don’t have a lot of patience. That’s what happens when you ask a bunch of old maids to get involved with children. You get potluck.”

She had a point. Most of the Sinful Ladies Society had never been married, therefore, did not have kids. In fact, the more I thought about it all, the more I realized just how far Celia had carried her plan to make them look bad at the festival. She knew they weren’t qualified to host a child’s beauty pageant. Celia probably thought the only misstep in her calculations was not taking me into account, but then, if she knew the truth about me, she’d probably be celebrating from now until Christmas.

“Fine,” I said. “Then dry her and her hair and make it quick. Pansy has already done hair and makeup for all her girls.” I pointed to the other side of the room.

“Why is she teaching them to walk like strippers?” Ida Belle asked.

I sighed. Sometimes I swore she and Gertie shared a single train of thought. “Just get on the hair.”

I grabbed a wad of hair on my girl and combed it backward at the root, lifting it away from her scalp in a haphazard manner. Then grabbed the next and did it again. Gertie looked over and raised her eyebrows.

“Are you sure about that?” she asked.

“I saw it online. Trust me.”

She didn’t look convinced, but went back to wrestling her girl’s hair into a ponytail. I made quick work of my girl’s hair, which now blossomed out from her head in giant puffy waves. It needed color, but I didn’t have time to dye it, so I grabbed colored ribbons and attached it with barrettes so that a rainbow of colored ribbons wove around the tangled waves. It would have to do.

Her skin didn’t have the pasty white tone I’d seen in the photos, but black eyeliner would still show up on tanned skin. So I grabbed the pencil and went to work. Her eyebrows were already dark, but not big enough or dark enough. I drew a thicker box around them and started coloring. Then a dash of red for the checks, thick red for the lips, and dark gray for the eyes and I was done.

Ida Belle sat down the blow-dryer and frowned at her girl’s hair, which now resembled a black haystack. I swear the woman was creating more work. She reached for a brush and I cleared my throat.
 

“Ida Belle,” I interrupted her before she could do more damage. “I saw some party trays when we came in with pepperoni on them. Can you bring one over, please?”

“You want to eat? Now?” She looked over at Gertie, who shrugged.
 

“Just do it,” I said. I didn’t have time to explain my genius. Ida Belle would just have to see it along with everyone else. She whirled around and stalked across the room to grab a party tray, then stalked back, grumbling all the way, and shoved it at me, over the girls’ heads. I put the tray on the table, grabbed a stack of pepperoni and a stapler and went to work.

Ida Belle’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. For the first time since I’d known her, she was speechless. I smiled. All that worry they’d had over me and a beauty pageant and I was so good I’d scared the words right out of her.
 

“Oh my God! Stop! What are you doing?” Pansy’s frantic, shrill voice sounded behind me.

“I’m making her costume,” I said. “Flank steak would be better, but the pepperoni was all I had available.”

I looked over at Pansy, whose expression was a mixture of shock and horror. “You’re stapling food to her shirt.” She put her hand over her mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”

The dramatics lasted only a split second, then she shifted from fainting delicacy to flushed and angry. “Are you trying to make a fool of me?”

The entire room went dead silent and turned to look at us. I frowned. I’d expected jealousy and a bit of anger as I’d upstaged her, but I hadn’t expected rage. And no doubt about it, Pansy was ready to blow.
 

“I’m sure you do a fine job of making a fool of yourself,” I answered. “I’m just following your instructions. You said it was a royal theme.”

Ida Belle and Gertie left their posts at the back of the heads and walked around to see the object of Pansy’s rage. Gertie yelped and started fanning herself with a paper plate. Ida Belle covered her mouth with her hand. I couldn’t tell if she was horrified, like Pansy, or trying not to laugh, but knowing Ida Belle, I was guessing the latter.

“No one in the royal family,” Pansy stammered, bits of spittle flying out at me, “would ever look that way. Not even in private.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I argued, refusing to give up my ground. “The woman I’m imitating is all over the Internet. Google ‘Lady’ and she’s the first thousand images that pop up.”

Gertie emitted a strangled cry and bent over, clutching her stomach. Ida Belle lowered her hand just a bit, and I could see her lower lip trembling.

“Not…,” Ida Belle began, “um…not Lady Gaga?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. I’ve never heard of that family name, but then, I don’t exactly run with titled Europeans.”

“I’m going to pass out,” Gertie said and slumped over in a chair, dropping her head between her knees. I could see her shoulders shaking.

I didn’t think it possible, but Pansy’s face flushed a deeper shade of red. “You…you philistine! I will not work with someone as stupid as you.”

I froze, hoping the forced immobility would prevent me from taking her out right where she stood. That one simple word—
stupid
—thrust me right back to my childhood. I could still hear my father’s voice echoing through my head.

 
If you were a boy, you wouldn’t be so stupid.
 

That was it for me. I’d already taken more than my share of crap over this and it stopped right here.
 

I leaned over and looked her straight in the eyes. “Call me stupid one more time and you’ll be talking with no teeth from here on.”

Something in my expression must have gotten to her because she took a step back from me as her mother, Celia, ran up to stand beside her.
 

“Are you threatening me?” Pansy asked.

“I don’t make threats. I make plans.”

Apparently, having Celia next to her propped up Pansy’s backbone because she lifted her hand and attempted to slap me. Her attempt ended when I grabbed her wrist only centimeters from my face, then twisted it backward until she screamed and doubled over. Celia grabbed my arm, trying to wrestle it off her daughter, but she was no match for my death grip.

“If you ever even think of touching me again,” I said, “I’ll kill you. In fact, maybe I’ll just do it now and save the world the hassle of dealing with you.”

I felt something cold, hard, and round press into the small of my back, and Ida Belle leaned over to whisper, “Don’t do it.”

I was ninety-nine percent sure she was holding me up with a curling iron, but with Ida Belle, there would always be that one percent doubt. I could easily disarm her, but that would draw even more unwanted attention as well as highlight skills I didn’t want the rest of Sinful to know I possessed.
 

I released Pansy and spun around in time to see Ida Belle tossing the curling iron back on the table. She gave me an apologetic look and grabbed her purse.
 

“I take it we’re done here?” Ida Belle asked.

“Oh, you’re done here,” Celia said, smugly. “You’re all done permanently. When Herbert hears about this, he’ll remove the SLS from the festival permanently. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Promise?”

“Thank God!”

Ida Belle and Gertie sounded off at once and I had to grin. “Let’s go find something worthwhile to do,” I said.

Ida Belle gave Celia and Pansy a big grin. “Already a step ahead of you,” she said as she strolled off. Gertie and I hurried after her, none of us saying a word until we climbed into Gertie’s ancient Cadillac. Then Gertie and Ida Belle burst into laughter so hard they were crying.

“Is someone going to let me in on the joke?” I asked, two seconds away from walking home.

Ida Belle let out a gasp and formed some semblance of control. “You really thought Lady Gaga was royalty?”

“I’m guessing she’s not?”

Gertie started on round forty-six of laughter as Ida Belle wiped her eyes with her hands and shook her head. “She’s a pop star—a huge pop star—with a reputation for outlandish looks. Has a good voice, too.”

Gertie nodded. “‘Bad Romance’ is my jam,” she managed to gasp out.

“I have no idea what that means,” I said. “So let me get this straight—this Gaga took it upon herself to take on a title even though she’s not royalty. And I suppose her look wouldn’t be on Pansy’s approved list of people to mimic?”

“Probably last on her list ever.”

I threw my hands up. “Well, how the hell was I supposed to know people were assigning themselves titles? I was in the Middle East. I don’t know what a bunch of Europeans are up to.”

Gertie started giggling again, then covered her mouth with her hands when Ida Belle shot her a dirty look.

“Actually,” Ida Belle said, “Gaga is American.” She tilted her head and stared at me for a couple of seconds. “You really don’t know anything about this. I thought for a while you were pulling our leg, but you’re not. Don’t you own a television…listen to the radio?”

“No and no. The agency has a television in the break room. Thirty minutes is all you need to know what’s going on everywhere.”