I have a killer to focus on.
6
Rowan stared at her reflection in the salon mirror. No one looked good with their hair in foils.
No one.
Her younger sister Ivy deftly painted color on more strands and folded another foil, chatting with her identical twin, Iris, who swept the floor around the adjacent chair.
Rowan sighed. That evening she’d stopped by her sisters’ salon, Dye Hard, for a quick discussion about an upcoming birthday party and had been cajoled into the chair. Ivy had started it. She’d wrinkled her nose as she eyed Rowan’s wavy, long hair. “Your dirty blonde is looking flat and more dirty than usual. Let’s punch it up.”
“It’s fine,” Rowan had replied, inching backward toward the entrance, knowing what was next.
“Nope,” said Iris, taking Ivy’s side as usual. “Get in the chair. It won’t take long.”
Iris and Ivy’s definition of long was much different from Rowan’s.
Her twin sisters were like puppies. They surrounded and ganged up with sweetness and big brown eyes. Rowan knew not to be fooled. The two women were powerhouses of getting what they wanted while making people believe it had been their idea in the first place.
They were dangerous.
Rowan eyed the multiple bowls of color on the tray. As far as she could tell, Ivy was determined to add a half dozen shades to her hair. Rowan sat meekly, struggling to keep still. She hated the long process, but her sisters were wizards with color, and her hair always looked amazing when they finished.
The hair salon had originally been their mother’s. It had started with the benign name of Main Street Salon, which it had kept for several decades before the twins had taken over eight years ago. As they did with every project, the twins entirely threw themselves into updating the salon and giving it a classy edge. The interior was stylish, with clean lines, huge mirrors, and elegant chairs in the waiting area. The decor was black and white except for the pop of rich green from the long plant wall. A row of heavy, intricate chandeliers hung from the high ceilings. Rowan knew they had cost more than the entire rest of the remodel.
A large photo of Bruce Willis with his arms around the seventeen-year-old starstruck twins was propped up on a delicate table in the waiting area. He’d been in town shooting a movie, and the encounter had influenced the salon’s name.
The twins sparkled in their environment. Three years younger than Rowan, the girls were identical in their energy and drive but not in their individual styles. Single mom Ivy leaned toward the stylish elegance of the forties and fifties, her hair always elaborately coiffed and her lipstick bright red. Iris always dressed with a theme. One day she would look as if she’d been on a street corner in Haight-Ashbury in the sixties, and the next day she would be full goth or eighties Day-Glo, but always with impeccable hair and makeup. Photo ready. She managed the salon’s Instagram account. The photos of the stylish twins were always more popular among their several hundred thousand followers than their clients’ hair photos.
“I’m so sorry about Ken,” Ivy murmured as she folded a foil that had been blocking Rowan’s vision. “I know how close you were to him.”
“Thanks.” A raw pain blossomed, but it wasn’t as overpowering as it had been earlier that day. Rowan suddenly realized that her sister was doing her hair because this was how the twins gave comfort. They thrived on providing services that made people feel good. “And thank you for doing my color,” Rowan added. “I appreciate it.”
Ivy beamed. “I love working on your hair.”
The salon door opened, and Rowan’s mother came in, holding West’s hand. Ivy’s eyes lit up at the sight of her seven-year-old son. She took a step back, and Iris smoothly moved in to take over Rowan’s foils. Each of the twins always knew what the other needed. They often seamlessly switched between clients.
“We can postpone tomorrow’s birthday party,” said Iris as she dipped a brush in the color. Her outfit today was styled after Wednesday Addams, complete with braids. “You’ve got enough going on.”
“No. It’ll be a good distraction for me,” stated Rowan. She wouldn’t put off her missing brother’s party. The family had been celebrating Malcolm’s birthday without him for decades. Rowan wouldn’t have it canceled out of pity for her.
Iris frowned. “You’re not going to . . .” She let her sentence trail off.
“I am,” Rowan said firmly.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea right now? Ivy and I aren’t so sure. Maybe go another day.” Iris set her hand on Rowan’s shoulder and met her gaze in the mirror. Concern filled her sister’s eyes.