K Is for Killer

much, the way I eat," I said. "Speaking of which, you want dinner? I don't cook, but I can have a pizza delivered. I have to go out in a bit, but you're welcome to join me."
    "I wouldn't mind some pizza," she said. "If you just do the veggies, without all the sausage and pepperoni, it's not even bad for you. Try that place around the corner. I bonk the owner sometimes. He gives me a big discount because I chew his bone."
    "I'll mention that when I call the order in," I said.
    "Here, I'll do it. Where's the phone?"
    I pointed to the phone on the table beside the answering machine. We both noticed the blinking light.
    "You got a message," she said. She reached down automatically and pressed the replay button before I had a chance to protest. It seemed as rude for her to listen as to open my mail. A mechanical computer voice announced that I had one message. Beep.
    "Oh, hi, Kinsey. This is Roger. I just wanted to touch base and see how things were going. Anyway, you don't have to call back, but if you have any more questions, you can reach me at home. Bye. Oh, I guess I better give you the number." He recited his home phone and then hung up with a click.
    "Lorna's boss," she said. "You know him?"
    "Sure. Do you?"
    She wrinkled her nose. "I met him once." She picked up the phone and punched in a number she seemed to know by heart. She turned and looked at me while the phone rang on the other end. "I'm going to have 'em leave the cheese off. It cuts the fat," she murmured.
    I left her to the negotiations while I made us each a cup of tea. The night I'd met her, she'd seemed wary, or maybe that was just her working persona. Tonight she seemed relaxed, nearly buoyant. Her mood was probably drug-induced, but there was actually something charming about her ingenuousness. She had a natural goodwill that animated every gesture. I heard her conducting business with the kind of poise that must come from "bonking" guys from every walk of life. She put a hand over the mouthpiece. "What's the address here? I forgot."
    I gave her the number, which she recited into the telephone. I could have taken her to Rosie's with me, but I didn't trust Rosie to be polite. With William gone, I was worried she might revert to her former misanthropy.
    Danielle hung up the phone and took off her jacket, which she folded neatly and put on one end of the sofa. She came over to the counter, clutching her oversize shoulder bag. Somehow she seemed as graceful as a colt, all arms and long legs and bony shoulders.
    I passed her a mug of tea. "I have a question for you."
    "Hold on. Let me say something first. I hope this is not too personal. I wouldn't want you to take offense."
    "I really hate sentences that start that way," I said.
    "Me too, but this is for your own good."
    "Go ahead. You're going to say it anyway."
    She hesitated, and the face she made conveyed exaggerated reluctance. "Promise you won't get mad?"
    "Just say it. I can't stand the suspense. I have bad breath."
    "That haircut of yours is really gross."
    "Oh, thanks."
    "You don't have to get sarcastic. I can help. Honestly. I was working on my license as a cosmetologist when I first connected up with Lester..."
    "Mr. Dickhead," I supplied.
    "Yeah, him. Anyway, I'm a great cutter. I did Lorna's hair all the time. Give me a pair of scissors and I can turn you into a vision. I'm not fooling."
    "All I have is nail scissors. Maybe after dinner."
    "Come on. We got fifteen minutes until the pizza gets here. And look at this." She opened up her shoulder bag and let me peek. "Ta-da." Inside she had a brush, a little hair dryer, and a pair of shears. She placed the hair dryer on the counter and clacked the scissors like a pair of castanets.
    "You came over here with that stuff?"
    "I keep it with me all the time. Sometimes at the Palace I do haircuts in the ladies' room."
    I ended up sitting on a kitchen stool with a hand towel pinned around my neck, my hair wet from a dousing at the kitchen sink. Danielle was chatting happily while she trimmed and clipped. Snippets of hair began to tumble around me. "Now don't get scared. I know it looks like a lot, but it's just because the whole thing's uneven. You got great hair, nice and thick, with just the tiniest touch of curl. Well, I wouldn't call it curl so much as body, which is even better."
    "So why didn't you get your license?"
    "I lost interest. Plus, the money's not that hot. My father always said it'd be a great fallback position if the economy went