I must confess. There are some people I am incredibly loyal to. My tax accountant, who keeps me out of jail, my gardener, who knows that he should never cut those flowers that look like weeds (they’re the only ones I’ve been able to grow in my garden), and most especially, my hairdresser.
I’ve had the same hairdresser for more than twenty years. She knows what color my hair should be (so that I look young and svelte), what length my hair should be, what styles look good on me, and she knows how to tell me how stupid some of my stylistic wishes are without making me feel as stupid as I am.
And fortunately, she’s not a murderer.
But in The Harried Hairdresser, she is a murderer. The problem is, she’s only a part of the puzzle that Mark MacFarland must solve.