“Oh, I’m fine. I could do this in my sleep,” she said.
I white-knuckled the arms of the chair and forced myself to trust the process. This was her job, after all. She wasn’t about to shave an accidental bald spot into the back of my head.
Right?
“Alright then, who’s the obvious choice?” I asked.
“My old boss,” she said with a wince. “We didn’t…well we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”
I furrowed my brows at her vague explanation, but I decided not to push it. “And you really think he has it out for you?” As someone who had worked remotely for years and had never had more than a cordial relationship with a manager, I found the idea hard to fathom.
She nodded, looking sheepish. “Well, ‘have it out for’ is such a strong phrase. Let’s just say we didn’t have the greatest of relationships.”
“I think it’s Clinton for sure,” the other stylist said. He was now sitting in the chair next to the one I was in, spinning toward us. “I’m Jackson, by the way.”
“Reid,” I said, with a small wave. “And why do you think it’s your old boss?” I asked.
Hazel frowned, picking up her scissors and pulling my hair up. “It’s silly?—”
“He thinks you owe him money,” Jackson said.
“Why would you owe your old boss money?”
Hazel huffed. “It’s not like I stole from him, or something. Jackson is making it seem more dramatic than it was. He had unfair pricing tactics, and I organized a protest with some of the other stylists.”
“It was a full-on strike. Went viral and everything,” Jackson said.
I gave Hazel a look in the mirror.
“Well, that’s certainly a good place to start,” I said.
She averted her eyes. “And he stopped by the salon about a month ago, demanding I take down a few negative reviews I left.”
“What?” I sat up straight. “Hazel, that’s serious.”
“He’s harmless…I mean, I thought he was harmless.”
“Showing up at your place of work is threatening,” I said.
She chewed her lip. “Heiskind of a dick.”
“Like I said, suspect number one,” Jackson said as if he was now in on this with the two of us. “What’s the plan?”
I cringed when Hazel brought the clippers near my ear. Forcing my shoulders to relax, I let out a breath. “To start, I’d try to cyberstalk him and?—”
“I know where he works,” Hazel interrupted. “It’s still the same salon.”
Unease flickered in my chest. “But we can’t just go there.”
“A stakeout!” Jackson exclaimed.
“That’s where investigations end, not start,” I said.
“But if there’s any evidence it’s him, we could be done so quickly,” Hazel pointed out.
“Or get caught so quickly,” I argued, already regretting stepping into this salon today. What the hell had I gotten myself into? At this point, my inability to say no—or let people down—was seriously starting to annoy me.
“Ithasto be him. He definitely hates my guts. I can’t think of anyone else.” She chewed on her lip.
