Inn Vain

  Inn Vain

  DUSKY COVE BOOKS

  © 2018 Dixie Davis

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  OTHER BOOKS BY DIXIE DAVIS

  Also Available in the Dusky Cove B&B Cozy Mystery Series

  1. Inn Over Her Head

  2. Inn Trouble

  3. Inn Vain

  4. Inn Dire Straits

  Coming Soon in the Series

  5. Inn Danger

  Be sure to join Dixie’s mailing list to be the first to know about her new releases! Also get fun bonuses including recipes from this book, a tourist’s guide to Dusky Cove, book recommendations and more!

  http://www.dixiedavisauthor.com/newsletter/

  For Rachel,

  My go-getter

  Inn Vain

  Cover

  Front Matter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Thank you for reading!

  More from Dixie Davis

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Lori Keyes stared at her round face in the mirror. Not for the first time in her forty-eight years, she willed herself to look different. Grown-up. Competent. Qualified. She was the mother of two grown men. She’d owned her own bed and breakfast for a year. Why did her face have to look like it belonged on a child?

  Of course, her mother always said she was lucky that her age would never show. But her mother didn’t have to try to run a business, and she didn’t have to look at her big round face every day in the mirror.

  Also, her mother had said plenty of less than kind things about her full cheeks. Maybe that was part of the reason why Lori hated them.

  Lori straightened her black cardigan. She was trying to look professional, like someone you could take seriously and give money to without worrying she’d lose your credit card before she thought to charge it.

  Even with her hair that was trending more toward silver than blonde these days, she only looked like a child trying to play at being a business owner.

  Could that change today? Lori tucked the hope away inside her heart. Yes, she’d gotten an appointment with the most sought-after stylist in the area code, but she didn’t expect any hairdresser to perform magic. He was a man, not a miracle worker, and there was only so much he could realistically do, given what she was starting with.

  Lori tried not to ruminate over the abysmal state of her looks as she drove out to the next city over from her riverfront home of Dusky Cove. Boiling Spring Lakes was their rival in a lot of ways, but picturesque views wasn’t one of them, pretty as their lakes might be. However, because it was twice the size of Dusky Cove, Lori ended up in Boiling Spring Lakes regularly.

  For example, it had a much better salon. Or at least a real “stylist.” Lori tried not to wring her hands at the last red light before her destination. She’d never met Jonah before, so she really didn’t know what to expect. And she didn’t know what she really wanted with her hair, just something . . . different.

  And if it could minimize how round her face looked, that would be a real bonus.

  Lori rolled past the salon. The front was all glass, the brushed nickel sign above the door spelling out X-pressions. It looked modern. Too modern for someone her age?

  She shook her head at herself. That was ridiculous. Women much older than her probably got their hair cut and colored and coifed here and came out looking fabulous. Twenty years younger and more put-together than a supermodel.

  Lori was just hoping for something that looked put-together, period.

  She pulled into the parking lot just past the salon and forced herself out of the car, down the sidewalk, into the salon.

  She was not too old or too frumpy to be here. Even if she felt as out of place as a skunk at a squirrel wedding.

  “Can I help you?” The woman at the check stand had delicate, doll-like features set off by pale skin, dramatic eyeliner and black hair streaked with purple.

  Not the kind of update Lori was looking for.

  “Um, yes, I have an appointment with Jonah?” Lori mentally kicked herself. She wasn’t asking her a question.

  “Just a minute.” She walked away, her heels clicking over the hardwood floor as she passed behind a rack displaying shampoos and styling products.

  When the purple-streaked receptionist returned, a man followed her in. Tall and trim, the copper tips of his dark brown hair stuck up in a fashionable . . . coif. Lori didn’t know what you’d call that hairdo. Although he was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, their quality and their cut made them look more runway than run-of-the-mill.

  He looked more trendy than Lori had felt in her entire life. Combined.

  “Lori?” he asked, holding out a hand.

  She broke into a grin and shook his offered hand. “Yes, that’s me.”

  He smiled, and Lori found herself calming down just a little bit. “Nice to meet you.”

  Jonah led her behind the wall of styling products and into the back of the salon. Above each station, a name was painted on the wall. They reached the chair below Jonah’s name and he gestured for her to take a seat. “What are you looking for today?” he asked.

  Lori sighed heavily, her hands in her lap. “I don’t know. I just . . . I’m tired of looking so . . . frumpy.” She turned to the mirror in front of them. Her floppy, shaggy, outgrown hair really looked more silver than blonde in this light. The layers that were supposed to flatter her face only seemed to pull it down. It just made her look . . . tired.

  Jonah scrutinized her reflection. “I take it you don’t like your hair.”

  “I hate it,” Lori confessed.

  “Okay,” Jonah said slowly. “How drastic of a change are you looking for?”

  Lori watched herself in the mirror for a long minute. “I don’t think I want to go much shorter.”

  “Good starting point. Do you like having layers?”

  “Not these layers,” she said instantly.

  Jonah laughed, and Lori couldn’t help but like him even more. “Got it. No problem with layers in general, though?”

  “I guess not.”

  Jonah ran his fingers through her hair, combing it in front of her shoulder. “Do you want to keep the silver, cover it, something in between?”

  Lori frowned at her reflection. She didn’t hate the silver completely, but more than that, she wasn’t ready to commit to coming in every three to four weeks to have her roots dyed. “Maybe something in between?”

  Jonah nodded, studying her reflection again. “All right, so we might do some layers, and — do you trust me?”

  Lori met his green eyes in the reflection of the mirror. She’d just barely met this man. A quick glance reminded her of the almost tailored look of his T-shirt and jeans and his perfectly tousled hair. He obviously knew a lot more about hair and fashion than Lori could ever hope to lear
n, and he seemed to really be listening to her preferences.

  And, honestly, it wasn’t like he could make her look much worse.

  “I think I do,” Lori said slowly.

  Jonah beamed at her in the mirror. “Fantastic.”

  He pulled out his cape — not the standard, boring black number that seemed to age her ten years, but a bright jumble of flowers. “This okay?” he asked.

  Lori allowed a smile. “Looks fun.”

  “Perfect.” He swept the cape around her, placing the little strip of paper around her neck for the second layer of protection. Then he swiveled the chair away from the mirror. “Do you like surprises?”

  “Yes,” she said right away, but then she remembered who she was talking to and what he was about to do. “But not too big of a surprise.”

  Jonah laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to secretly give you a pixie cut.”

  “You’d better not,” Lori murmured.

  His fingers ran through her hair again. Lori just sat and waited.

  “Just trying to find the right color,” he murmured. “Hm.” He mused a moment longer, then Lori’s hair hit her shoulders again.

  “Okay, I’ve got it. I think you’re going to love this.”

  Lori drew a deep breath. What if she didn’t?

  Then she’d grow her hair out again. It wasn’t life or death, Lori tried to remind herself.

  The entire time Jonah worked, Lori felt like she was still holding that one breath. As he painted dye onto her hair and wrapped pieces in foil, she tried to remind herself that this recommendation had come from Kim Yates, who owned the café down the street from Lori’s bed and breakfast. Kim’s hair always looked good. And Heidi Carleton, vice president of the town Business Owners Association, went to Jonah, too, and her hair looked pretty much perfect. He wasn’t the one twisting it into a French knot each day, though.

  On the other hand, maybe Heidi wore her hair that way because it looked terrible down.

  Lori looked terrible with her hair up. She absolutely had to have something to at least try to balance out her cheeks.

  She tried not to work herself into a frenzy, waiting for the dye to set. While Jonah rinsed it out, Lori focused on affirmations to keep herself grounded and not running away with worry. Jonah knew what he was doing. He had a very specific idea after listening to what she wanted and didn’t want. He was an expert at this — at making women look and feel good. That was how he made a living. If his customers didn’t feel good about how they looked, he’d be out of a job.

  Jonah made a valiant effort to keep her mind occupied as well, talking about her sons and the inn in enough detail that Jonah remembered the boys’ names, and was picking out a room for a friend coming into town.

  Still, worry gnawed at her stomach the entire time Jonah dyed and dried. She’d had no idea how long it took to apply and wait for and rinse professional hair dye. Then the cutting — and she still wasn’t allowed to see. And the styling was not just blow drying but curling and spraying and at least three different products. Lori didn’t have any hair products. She didn’t know how to use anything, really, other than trying her best to imitate every stylist she’d been to before.

  “After you’ve seen it,” Jonah said, “I’ll go over how to style it, don’t worry.”

  Had she accidentally said something, or was he a mind reader, too? “Thank you,” she managed.

  “Of course.”

  Lori tried to tell herself this was further evidence that Jonah just wanted her to be happy. But she could barely hold still because of the nerves. She focused on the pale hardwoods, and not the clumps of her hair there. Did she have any left? She tried to sneak a look, but Jonah carefully angled the chair so she couldn’t see the mirror.

  What was the worst-case scenario? A year of headscarves?

  Was a forty-eight-year-old allowed to wear headscarves in 2011?

  Lori was hardly surprised to see that nearly two hours had passed when she glanced at the wall clock. It felt more like two days in her heart.

  Finally, Jonah took a step back and critically admired his work. Lori managed not to bite her lip looking back up at him.

  He met her eyes and a smile flashed to his face. Finally, he nodded. “Ready?”

  “Very.” But as soon as the word was out of her mouth, her mind screamed that no, she wasn’t ready to see whatever he’d been working on for nearly two hours.

  What if she hated it?

  What if she looked terrible?

  What if it was unfixable?

  Her heart crawled up her throat with every unanswered question.

  Jonah stepped behind her chair. “Close your eyes.”

  Lori obeyed, fighting down the nerves now attacking her lungs. She could wait ten more seconds. It was okay. The chair swiveled around and through some miracle, Lori managed to wait until Jonah said, “Okay, you can look.”

  Lori’s eyes flew open. A stranger stared back at her in the mirror.

  A beautiful stranger.

  Instead of flopping onto her forehead, her bangs now swept back into her hair. Gorgeous caramel and blonde lowlights wove throughout her hair. She still had layers, but instead of dragging her down, now her layers were bouncy and bright, piecey and curly.

  She never, ever would have thought she could carry off something like this. In fact, if she’d seen a picture of this hairstyle beforehand, she would have rejected it outright. It was too fashionable, too hip, too young and way too cool for her to pull off.

  But suddenly instead of a round, tired, sad face staring back at her, Lori found herself smiling at the mirror. Her whole face seemed to shine with an inner light, like this was the person she was supposed to be all those years, and now she could finally just be herself instead of trying to look how she thought someone her age or in her profession ought to look.

  Even though her hair wasn’t noticeably shorter, it felt like he’d taken twenty pounds — and twenty years — off her.

  “What do you think?” Jonah asked. She tore her gaze away from her own reflection and up to his in the mirror. He raised his eyebrows, waiting — no, hoping — for an answer.

  He was afraid she didn’t like it.

  “Jonah,” she managed, shaking her head.

  His face fell.

  “I love it,” she rushed to finish. “I’ve never felt so beautiful.”

  He immediately beamed back at her. “You are beautiful, and it’s high time you felt it.”

  Lori looked at her reflection again. This woman could be an innkeeper. This woman could be anything. “Thank you, Jonah.”

  “You’re more than welcome.”

  And Lori would be more than happy to add a generous tip on top of her bill, even though that bill was already higher than she’d ever paid for a haircut.

  This was worth it.

  After a styling lesson, Jonah rang her up at the counter. Before he handed her the receipt to sign, he studied her again, still wearing a broad grin.

  “Pleased with your work?” Lori teased.

  “Are you?”

  She beamed back at him. “Very.”

  “I’m glad.” He handed her the receipt along with his business card. Lori tucked the card in her purse, then added the generous tip she’d planned.

  “Can you do me a favor?” Jonah asked as she signed the receipt.

  She was not used to having someone she was paying ask her for a favor. “What’s that?”

  “Never, ever wear black again.”

  Lori couldn’t help a tiny double take. “What?”

  “It’s just weighing you down. You need to be free.”

  She took that in during a long pause. What would she wear to look professional if she couldn’t wear black?

  “Next door, there’s a little clothing boutique,” Jonah continued.

  Lori nodded; she’d seen the place on her way in.

  “Go over there and find something fun to wear.”

  She cocked her head. “Okay,” sh
e said slowly.

  “Tell them I sent you and they’ll treat you right.”

  Lori laughed and handed the receipt back. “All right.”

  True to her word, Lori headed next door to the clothing boutique. Even the name was fun: the Pink Butterfly.

  The bell on the door jingled when Lori walked in, and a sales clerk walked up to her. She couldn’t even be eighteen. “Hi there! How can I help you?”

  “Jonah sent me in to find something fun?” Lori’s voice quirked up at the end of her sentence, turning it into a question.

  The clerk broke into a smile. Jonah seemed to have that effect on people. “Okay, sugar, sit tight for just a minute and I’ll be right back. Let me just get your sizes.”

  Lori cringed inwardly at having to admit her size to this tiny toothpick teenager, but the girl didn’t flinch and hurried off to complete her makeover. Lori browsed while the clerk poked around for whatever Jonah might consider fun. The display in the front of the store featured clothing that would only look good on a teenager. Maybe Jonah knew hair and fashion, but she was probably twice his age. Didn’t he know a teenager and a forty-eight-year-old should never share wardrobes?

  Finally, the clerk came back with a handful of hangers. “Okay, so I’m thinking this top would be great on you.” She held up the first hanger: a cream-colored knit shirt with a small gold print all over.

  “Are those hummingbirds?”

  The clerk nodded, moving on to the next item. “I thought it could go really nicely with this.” She offered a chocolate brown denim jacket. “Or this.” She showed Lori a lightweight robin’s egg blue cardigan with a fashionable draped front.

  Lori fought the urge to bite her lip. “I don’t know. Are you sure I wouldn’t look . . . silly?” She didn’t say the rest of what she was thinking: that she’d look like she was trying to be a teenager.

  The clerk looked at the clothing, then back at Lori. “Nope. But there’s only one way to be sure. Can I get you a dressing room?”

  Lori allowed the clerk to lead her back to a dressing room and accepted the clothes she’d picked out. She tugged on the knit shirt with hummingbirds, the blue cardigan and a pair of navy slacks. The sizes were right at least.