Page 32 of Girl Anonymous

“They have been thanked.”

“If you’ll let me borrow a phone, I’ll call Saint Rees and he’ll send someone to pick me up—”

“Kristoff has been waiting for you to wake so he can cut your hair. Right now I’m afraid you look spooky.”

“And not in a good way?”

Dante laughed and indicated the beautician’s chair that had been set up nearby. By…someone? While she’d been snoring and drooling, had everyone in the building come in to view her?

She glanced at the man who stood beside Dante’s desk. He wore a dark suit, crisp white shirt, a loosened red tie, and scuffed shoes with thick soles. In San Francisco, it was a given he walked a lot, because the traffic constantly sucked. He didn’t merely watch her; he examined her, and his gaze was not friendly.

“After your haircut,” Dante said, “Jack wants to ask some questions about what happened yesterday.”

Jack. The cousin/police detective. “How many cousins do you have?”

“The Arundels breed successfully.” He paused to let her take that in; it seemed that everything he said had a subtext. “Can you talk to Jack without undue distress?”

Do I have a choice?“Yes, of course.”

“I’ll get him some lunch while he waits. Cops can always eat.” Dante glanced at Jack. “Food will soften his mood. He’s very fond of my mother, and not at all happy about the explosion.”

“Who is?” she asked softly.

“Someone.” Jack sounded like a dog at the end of his chain, growling and unfriendly.

“Right.” She gave a quick sigh. “Right.”

“Here’s Kristoff. He’s a genius with a razor.”

Maarja watched a white-coated female appear, pushing a wheeled stainless steel tray loaded with a stylist’s tools, and another thin tall man dressed all in black walking behind her. “Another cousin?”

“Snippy,” Dante observed. “And no, no relation.”

The assistant pushed the tray to the side of the chair.

Kristoff waved as if to bless the whole proceeding, then his vision fixed on Maarja and he froze in horrified disbelief. To Dante, he said, “This? You want me to fix this? I’m a hairdresser, not a miracle worker! It cannot be done. No stylist could work with this, this, this, inglorious cruelty that was delivered upon this head.”

“In all of San Francisco,” Dante said, “only one man can liberate my darling Maarja from the pitiable outcome of her headlong rush to rescue my mother.”

Kristoff patted Dante’s hand. “Dear Mrs. Arundel. Dear, dear Mrs. Arundel. In her memory, I will make a transformation…” His eyes narrowed and he paced toward Maarja. “A new look. Yes! A whole new fashion. A high forehead Renaissance look. What do you think?”

“I guess. Anything you can do…” Maarja trailed off when she realized he wasn’t speaking to her, or even looking at her. Not really. She was more of an object he would deify with his talent.

The white-coated assistant clasped her hands. “Yes! The young Queen Elizabeth the First. This one is blessed with that dark, dark red.”

This one?

“Perhaps, dare I say it, a tint on the ends?” the assistant suggested.

Kristoff gasped in horror. “Ingaborg, how dare you suggestsuch a thing? Look at the texture on this growth. Prepare the Kristoff masque and—” he plucked at the ends of Maarja’s hair “—add my secret ingredient. One tablespoon only! The line between hair health and hair death is a fine one.”

His assistant leaped into action, mixed and applied, set the timer, and in less than a minute the entire room filled with a stench that reminded Maarja of an angry skunk.

While Jack staggered out the door and Fedelma pressed a throw pillow to her face, Dante cackled. “The expression on your face, Maarja!”

“It hurts to be beautiful,” Kristoff said crisply.

“My mother says that.” Dante paused, then corrected himself. “Saidthat.”

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