5. Sabrina #2
“If I help your little revolution, I want something in return.”
Silently, we assessed one another for a moment.
Eventually, she said, “I want help clearing my brother’s name.” Her tone was even. No pleading, no begging. She’d only stated what she needed. This woman was a force, and by the look of her, she was in her early twenties.
My mind spun. This wasn’t the first time I’d been asked to complete a task like this, and while I couldn’t perform miracles, I respected the courage it took to ask.
“I can’t promise anything,” I told her.
She nodded once, accepting, even if she didn’t love the answer.
“But I am very good at discovering details others have missed.”
Her shoulders lifted a fraction. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
“If any information has been buried or overlooked, I’ll find it. It may not change things, but it’s worth trying.”
Given what I’d seen in my career, details could too easily go uncovered or even ignored. And if I could do it, I’d give Caleb a fighting chance.
She reached out, rings adorning every finger and vines inked around her wrist. “You’ve got yourself an information broker.”
Once we’d shaken hands, she pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. “I assume you want a list of citizens and where they stand regarding the recall?”
“Yes.”
“As well as who’s likely to lose the most from the loss of the festival?”
I dipped my chin. “Of course.”
Without looking up, she said, “Okay, come with me,” and headed for the door.
She led me across the street, down one small block, and past a few shops until we came to a large, bright salon on the corner.
As she pushed the door open, we were met with loud music and a tall, slim man with a gray mohawk holding clippers. “Beau,” Nina said, tilting her head my way. “Is Delia here?”
He turned and shouted, “Del.” He was a good two decades older than me, with sleeves of tattoos, a wallet chain, and an air of anarchy about him. An aging punk if I’d ever seen one.
The salon looked like a punk-rock living room, with mismatched chairs and couches set up in the waiting area, band posters on the walls, plants everywhere, and a massive crystal chandelier.
I was still studying the place, noting how busy it was, with several people waiting up front and others getting shampooed and blow-dried, when a stunning woman with thick red hair and a strong Mother Earth vibe entered and threw her arms around Nina.
“Hello, my love,” she said. She was small, her presence comforting. “I’ve been baking cookies for this afternoon’s clients. Oatmeal chocolate chip.”
“Delia, Beau, this is Sabrina Monroe.”
Matching knowing looks crossed their faces. Huh. It looked as though my reputation preceded me.
“Sabrina, this is Delia and Beau Ratcliff,” Nina said. “My second parents and the only people with more on-the-ground access to Maplewood gossip than I have.”
Beau sized me up, his light wrinkles deepening with scrutiny. “You’re the one who threatened the mayor?”
“Yes,” I replied, standing straighter.
“These two cut the hair of pretty much every person in town. From the Maple Street Mafia to the farmers to the line workers at the maple syrup plant.”
Stepping forward, I shook Beau’s hand. When I turned to Delia, she pulled me into a hug.
“If you’re a friend of Nina’s, then you are welcome here. What do you need?” Releasing me, she fingered my hair. “A trim? A balayage, maybe?”
“Sure.”
“Is Laurie your mother?”
“Yes,” I replied easily. I may have just met this woman, but already I was at ease with her. She could probably extract state secrets from the most battle-hardened agent.
“Love her. She’s always ordering the new Ruby Dixon books for me through the interlibrary system.” She clasped her hands to her heart. “I love alien romance.”
“We’re going to save the town,” Nina deadpanned, ignoring the book talk. “Fix the festival mess, get things back on track. So keep your ears to the ground and keep me updated.”
The middle-aged couple broke into bright smiles, as if this was the most reasonable request in the world.
“Rock on, Nina. We’re proud of you.”
As we were walking out, Nina said, “They’re my best friend’s parents.
Ramona works as a celebrity makeup artist in New York.
Delia and Beau practically raised me alongside her, and I owe them everything.
They paid for me to go to cosmetology school and gave me the money I needed to get the salon going. ”
“That’s incredibly generous.”
She lifted a shoulder. “That’s Maplewood. This is a good place, with good people. I just hope you know that.”
Stopping, I inhaled deeply. She halted as well, turning to me. Most people did not deserve my trust or my honesty. I’d met more than my fair share of shitty people, and I’d spent so much time around them that I wasn’t sure I even knew how to talk to the decent ones anymore.
Gently, I squeezed her arm, hoping she could sense my sincerity. “I wouldn’t be here begging for your help if I didn’t know that. I owe this town a lot. And I’m trying to help.”
With a succinct nod, she pulled out her phone and demanded I give her my number.
“I’m holding you to that,” she said as I typed it in.