Disenchanted by A.R. Miller

up to the image, minus the big boobs. That’s something I’ll never achieve.
    Swallowing my fear, I take a step and then another until I’m standing in front of the open door between the break room and cutting floor. Another threshold crossed and I’m in the main salon. Even with the afternoon sun, it’s still dim and shadowy. I’m feeling a little stupid for not flipping on the lights. Any other day it would have been the first thing I’d do.
    Nothing looks out of place. One of my vanity drawers is ajar, but that could have been my bad. I highly doubt a thief would be interested in combs and brushes.
    I head for the front door and give it a push. Sure enough the door is open. Letting it glide closed, my feet and brain argue, while something cold and ugly twirls in my stomach.
    “Did you find anything?” calls Dara, clinging to the shadows of the break room.
    Fanning a hand at the fire in my cheeks, hoping the tunnel vision will dissipate. “Yeah, the door is open, they used a key as far as I can tell.”
    That explains how they got past the wards guarding the salon. I flip the deadbolt and head to the desk.
    No sign of tampering with the register. The appointment book is another story. Flipping through it, I find pages missing. What in Hel’s Realm? If this was one of those dorky made–for–TV movies it would be my competition trying to steal clients, but that’s just beyond stupid.
    “Check the storeroom while you’re back there, Dara.”
    “Done, someone has attempted to pry the new lock.”
    Grabbing the book, I head back. “Obviously it wasn’t quick cash they were after. Whoever it was didn’t bother with the register. The fact that someone tampered with the lock confirms my suspicions that someone stole that bag of hair.”
    I hand her the appointment book. “Along with the missing pages in this.”
     
    ***
     
    Having decided to keep the break – in to ourselves, it ’ s business as usual. I don’t want to think about any of my employees being capable of something like this, but I have to face facts. Our intruder used a key, there are only six in existence and two of them are mine.
    I know I didn’t do it and there is no way Dara could have made it outside, or across the salon in broad daylight to open the door. She’s one of those vamps who can’t tolerate sunlight, unlike my pretty stalker. That leaves three.
    Nyssa, my bubbly little shampoo girl slash manicurist, Rey—who, if history is correct—is quite the trickster, both of whom have been with me at least six years. Then there’s my multi–personalitied receptionist, Jenny. Who at the present appears to be completely clueless about the missing pages, along with the rest of us. If it’s an act, it’s a good one on all three counts.
    Observations are set aside in the deluge of patrons. Busy doesn’t begin to touch on a description of tonight. The place is packed. Maybe it has something to do with that article in the paper. I’m ecstatic because it means the salon is doing well. On the other hand, it keeps me from watching for clues.
    The rap on the door of the facial room sets me off. When the door is closed, it stays closed. No disturbances short of a fire, or natural disaster allowed. I ignore it, continuing with the treatment, a firm believer that the client in your chair deserves your full attention. Besides, one small slip in manipulating the dead skin cells and the couple of zits she came in with could end up a case of full–blown acne.
    I’m about ready to blow when Jenny pokes her head inside. “Sorry, Keely, I tried to tell them.”
    The magic in my fingertips fizzles and I shake my hands, wincing in pain, when she’s shoved aside. Talk about it not being my night. Nancy, face slathered in green goo, sits up, giving a little shriek as two men in black push their way into the room.
    Yep, just like the movie and neither of them look as good as J in those suits and glasses. One, all brawn and no brain—obviously a