K Is for Killer

sour, but hooking's better, in my opinion. A guy might not have the bucks to get his hair blown dry, but he's always got twenty for a BJ."
    I mouthed the term BJ silently. It took me half a second to figure that one out. "What are you going to do when you get too old to bonk?"
    "I'm taking classes at city college in financial management. Money's the only other subject that really interests me."
    "I'm sure you 11 go far."
    "You gotta start somewhere. What about you? What will you do when you're too old to bonk?"
    "I don't bonk now. I'm pure as the driven snow."
    "Well, no wonder you get cranky. What a drag," she said.
    I laughed.
    For a while we were silent as she concentrated on her work. "What's the question? You said you had something you wanted to ask."
    "Maybe I better check my cash supply first."
    She pulled my hair. "Now don't be like that. I bet you're the kind who kids around to keep other people at a distance, right?"
    "I don't think I should respond to that."
    She smiled. "See? I can surprise you. I'm a lot brighter than you think. So ask."
    "Ah, yes. Did Lorna mention pulling twenty grand out of a hank account before she was supposed to go out of town?"
    "Why would she do that? She always traveled with a guy. She never spent her own money when she went someplace."
    "What guy?"
    "Anyone who asked," she said, still clipping away.
    "You know where she was headed?"
    "She didn't talk about that stuff."
    "What about a diary or an appointment book?"
    Danielle touched her temple with the tip of her scissors. "She kept it all up here. She said otherwise her clients didn't feel safe. Cops raid your place? They got a search warrant, you're dead, and so's everybody else. Quit wiggling."
    "Sorry. Where'd the money go? It looks like she closed out the whole account."
    "Well, she didn't give it to me. I wish she had. I'd have opened an account of my own just like that." She snapped the scissors near my ear, and seven hairs fell to earth. "I meant to do that," she added. She set the scissors on the counter and plugged in the hair dryer, picking up locks of hair on the bristles of the hairbrush. It's incredibly restful to have someone fooling with your hair like that.
    I raised my voice slightly to compete with the noise. "Could she have paid off a debt or posted bail for someone?"
    "Twenty G's in bail would be a hell of a crime."
    "Did she owe anybody?"
    "Lorna didn't have debts. Even credit cards she paid off before finance charges went on," she said. "I bet the money was stolen."
    "Yeah, that occurred to me, too."
    "Must have been after she was dead," she added. "Otherwise Lorna would have fought tooth and nail." She turned the dryer off and set it aside, stepping back to scrutinize her handiwork. She took a moment to fluff and rearrange individual strands and then nodded, apparently satisfied.
    The doorbell rang, Mr. Pizza Man on the doorstep. I handed Danielle twenty bucks and let her conclude the deal while I ducked into the downstairs bathroom and checked myself in the mirror. The difference was remarkable. All the choppiness was gone. All the blunt, stick-out parts that seemed to go every which way were now tamed and subdued. The hair feathered away from my face in perfect layers. It even fell into place again if I shook my head. I caught sight of Danielle reflected in the mirror behind me.
    "You like it?" she asked.
    "It looks great."
    "Told you I was good," she said, laughing.
    We ate from the box, splitting a large cheeseless veggie pizza, which was tasty without causing all my arteries to seize up. At one point she said, "This is fun, isn't it? Like girlfriends."
    "You miss Lorna?"
    "Yeah, I do. She was a kick. After work, her and me would pal around downtown, find a coffee shop, have breakfast. I remember once we bought a quart of orange juice and a bottle of champagne. We sat out in the grass at my place and drank mimosas until dawn."
    "I'm sorry I never got to meet her. She sounds nice."
    At eight we folded the box and stuck it in the trash. Danielle put her jacket on while I got mine. Once outside, she asked me to drop her off at her place. I took a left on Cabana, following her directions as she routed me down a narrow alleyway not that far from Neptune's Palace. Her "hovel," as she referred to it, was a tiny board-and-batten structure at the rear of someone else's yard. The little house had probably been a toolshed at one time. She got out of the car and leaned back in the window. "You want to come in and