One of Us Is Dead(15)

“She started it.” Olivia pointed at me.

“Screw you, Olivia!”

“Enough, or I’m revoking both of your memberships,” Jenny crossed her arms over her chest.

I immediately closed my mouth.

Olivia stamped her foot. “Can you fix my nail or what?”

“Keisha can fix it quickly,” Jenny said.

Keisha nodded and walked Olivia over to a nail station.

“I’d hope so. It was I that made you, Jenny. Let us not forget that,” Olivia said over her shoulder. Her eyes shot daggers.

Jenny stopped, turned toward Olivia, and walked right up to her. Olivia took a step back. She was afraid, probably of losing her coveted membership. I hoped Jenny would kick her out right then and there. Olivia may have helped make Jenny’s salon what it was, but it was Jenny’s salon. It was her talent and her personality that kept it going strong. People loved Jenny. She was a breath of fresh air in a town full of greed, lies, and ugliness.

“Actually, you can see Mary at the front to make an appointment. We’re all booked up today.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Olivia huffed.

“Well, you’re not me.” Jenny turned away and refocused her attention on Crystal’s hair.

“And thank God for that!” Olivia turned on her heel and stormed out of the salon.

I appreciated Jenny standing up for me, but challenging Olivia would be a mistake. She was like the Grim Reaper of Buckhead. When your time was up, she would get you, one way or another.





9

Jenny


present

Detective Frank Sanford leans back in his chair and taps his pen on the table. Each tap is a second apart, and it’s rather annoying. It’s ten taps before he stops abruptly.

“And that was your first time meeting Crystal?”

I take a sip of stale coffee from a Styrofoam cup. “Yes.”

“That fight at the salon was the beginning of the end for this group of women?”

“I think there was no going back after that.” I fiddle with the elastic ponytail holder on my wrist, the one that promises to leave no indentation in the hair. Lie. We all leave some imprint of ourselves behind, even plastic ponytail holders.

“You were mad at Olivia?”

“If I were truly mad at Olivia, I would have terminated her membership right then and there. I knew Olivia was having issues of her own, so I let it slide,” I say, returning my gaze to the detective.

“There was a lot of tension within that group of women. Would you agree with that?” He raises his chin.

“I think tension is putting it lightly.” I lean forward, placing my elbows on the table.

“How would you put it?”

“Well, one of them ended up dead.” I crinkle up my face.

“And who do you think did it?” He leans forward, matching my posture.

“The way these women treated each other, I think it could have been any one of them.”

His forehead rises, creating a row of deep parallel ridges. “Any one of them? It seemed some of them were getting along.”

“Are any of us ever truly getting along, Detective Sanford?”

“Aren’t we?” He raises an eyebrow, cocking his head slightly to the left as though he were offended.

“Surface level, yes, of course. But I don’t know what’s going on in your head and you don’t know what’s going on in mine.”

“So, you’re saying that some of these women were pretending to get along?”

“I think these women were pretending to be a lot of things.”

Detective Frank Sanford pauses for a moment before jotting down a few more notes. “Did you know about the affair?” he asks.

I let out a laugh. “Which one?”





10

Karen


After closing on a multimillion-dollar home, I decided to go for a run through town. Exercise was the only healthy way to rid myself of that rush that came with achieving something exceptional. Most people would turn to indulgence in alcohol, food, an expensive gift, but I liked to run it off. It kept me going, in motion. It made sure I didn’t stagnante.

Buckhead is what you’d expect out of a wealthy town. The streets were lined with expensive boutiques and designer stores. There were splashes of greenery everywhere—trees, bushes, flower beds. You can tell when you’re in a wealthy city . . . look for the green. It’s expensive to maintain when everything around it is concrete. People were quick to move to the side as I ran the sidewalk on Peach Street. This was the South, after all—still a place of chivalry and good manners, if only on the surface. I was on mile four when I spotted Olivia up ahead. She swayed her hips and walked with purpose. Her face was pinched together, so even from a block away, I could tell she was mad. I knew she wouldn’t move aside, and I almost crossed the street to avoid her. When she spotted me, I watched her face soften, but she had a new look . . . determination. I didn’t want to deal with her. I was still upset about what she had done to Shannon. Unseating her was cruel. We hadn’t told Shannon yet. I wanted to, but not before the gala. She needed to focus on that. We had all agreed we would tell her at the meeting following the gala. So far, Olivia and the rest of the committee had kept their word.