He had a druggie intruder to interrogate and two murders to solve. Though I longed to see him and explain all over again why I had gone to the mall despite his warning, one look in my bathroom mirror—horrors—convinced me it was just as well he hadn’t come by. In the morning, I had an appointment with the surgeon and expected him to remove the stitches. High time. It wasn’t close enough to Halloween to walk around looking like a fright mask. Something needed to be done about that, and I flipped through my cell menu until I found a certain number. The next day, feeling ten pounds lighter without the stitches in my scalp, I made a beeline for the Day of Beauty Spa and put myself in the hands of a gal named Patty. “The works,” I said. “Mani, pedi, facial, massage, shampoo—two shampoos—haircut and let’s go all out—makeup too.” I brought an apricot sundress and high-heeled sandals along in a garment bag.
