Over the course of that same hour and a half, Bernice learned from me that my sister and I had found two dead bodies and been to a funeral on our vacation.

“Millicent Weatherby and Emily Peacock?”

“You knew them?”

“How big you think this town is, honey? I did Millicent’s hair. Emily came in with her sometimes.” Bernice set a timer and put it on the counter. “We got twenty minutes. Tell me what all happened.”

So I did, starting with the meeting at the Redneck Riviera and how good Millicent had looked.

“The Cindy Crawford look,” Bernice agreed.

“My sister said she looked like she was in love.”

Bernice picked the timer up, listened to it, and gave it a shake. “I think she was having a fling.”

“Who with?” I asked the question as casually as I could.

“Don’t know. She never said the name. He was involved in that development some way, though. Helping Millicent save the turtles. Crazy, if you ask me, when she had that handsome Fairchild at home.”

Jason Marley? Had he come in with money and sweet talk and put dreams right in Millicent’s hands?

“Emily didn’t like him, I know that.”

Not the way I heard it if it was Jason. “How do you know?”

“Things she said. One time Millicent was talking about this ‘friend’ of hers and how nice he was, and Emily said, ‘Just don’t turn your back on him, Millicent.’” Bernice set the timer again. “Gave me the creeps when I heard what happened.”

“You think he’s the one who killed them?”

“Bet my bottom dollar on it. I get these feelings. You know? I got a feeling about Millicent’s death. I even had a dream about it one night.” She lifted the edge of the plastic and checked my hair. “This beginning to feel warm?”

I nodded yes.

“Good. Tell me what else y’all saw.”

So I did, with Bernice nodding agreement.

“That’s all?” she asked as I finished describing the scene at Emerald Towers, how Emily had been looking out at the water. By this time Bernice was drying my hair and I had specific instructions not to look in the mirror yet.

“I guess so. Why?”

“I’ve already heard all that.” She clicked off the dryer. “Okay. You ready?”

I steeled myself for the results.

“Voila!” Bernice said, turning the chair so I could see myself in the mirror.

“My God!” I squealed. “How did you do it?” My hair was a mass of blond curls with enough gray to look perfectly natural.

“Practice,” Bernice said, obviously pleased with my reaction. “It’s amazing what women on vacation do to their hair. Sometimes I wonder if it means something. You know, psychologically.” She removed the plastic cape and brushed me off. “I hope you brought your checkbook. I don’t take credit cards.”