“And no one wants me to do their hair for some reason, so the salon idea I had is out,” she stated.

At that, I tried (and failed) not to look at her hair which made her four inches taller than she was, but she still had two ponytails sticking out the back and they were both tied with baby pink satin ribbons.

In other words, if big hair made you closer to God, Daisy’s hair was touching the Pearly Gates.

And that was the only way Daisy knew how to do hair. So if you weren’t up for the Southern Woman Style, you were screwed. And let’s just say that the vast majority of women in Denver fit in two groups. Those who mountain biked (and not with big hair). And those who drank cosmos (and they might have big hair, but not Daisy big).

Thus no one championed her salon idea.

“And sugar, I need to find a way to spend my days,” she kept going. “The Rock Chicks are petering out. There’s no hands to hold and no need for me to turn my home into a safe house. The other day I noticed my stun gun had a cobweb on it. After I had a word with my cleaning lady, it made me think. And what I think is, I can send an email and an invoice. So we’re teamin’ up.”

“Daisy, honestly, this isn’t a bad idea,” I told her, and her blue eyes lit up. “But I don’t have any clients yet.”

She waved her hand in front of her face, dropped it and leaned in.

“To get clients, you gotta have infrastructure,” she stated authoritatively. “So, that’s why I got Roxie on designin’ your website. And Ava’s mockin’ up a couple ideas for a logo for you. She’s gonna do our business cards and letterhead.”

Our?

“And I’m lookin’ for some office space. Marcus knows some people and I told him to put us in touch with the people he knows. In no time,” she snapped her long-nailed fingers, “we’ll get you set up.”

I decided to focus on the Rock Chicks finding ways to be involved and provide support that would not lead to their Hot Bunch boys losing their minds, and not scary words like “our,” and I smiled at Daisy.

“It’s cool the way you guys are all kicking in, chickie. But I have to have your solemn Rock Chick Vow that, if we do this, you answer phones and send invoices. You don’t get involved and you also help me make certain the other Rock Chicks don’t horn in in a way that’ll make things difficult for me.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Girl, do you honestly think Marcus is gonna let me get myself into a situation where my fat could be in the fryer?” she asked but didn’t let me answer. “No way. One thing, the RC’s findin’ trouble through no fault of their own. Another, lookin’ for it.”

That was a relief.

She moved into me and hooked her arm through mine, starting to guide me out of the W-X-Y-Z’s, stating, “I’m gonna be the best PI receptionist ever. I’m gonna have you so organized, shit’ll get done before you even know it’s happening. I’m gonna kick receptionist ass so good that Lee’s gonna wanna recruit me, because I even file and Shirleen don’t do that shit.”

Something tentatively good just got better. I’d chipped in to help file at Lee’s office once. It wasn’t a fun activity.

We made it to the center aisle when I heard Tex boom, “Ally!”

This was not his usual, “Ally, quit f**king around and help with coffee” Ally.

This was an Ally that made the skin at the back of my neck prickle.

I looked down at Daisy, she looked up at me and we hustled out of the books.

I had no idea what I would find, but someone standing there wearing a bomb vest was a possibility.

But it was Annette, Roxie’s best friend; a Rock Chick by association (thus not getting laid by a Hot Bunch guy; she was getting laid by a guy name Jason who was a vegetarian). She was also the owner of the head shop across the street. And last, she was standing amongst the tables and chairs at the front with five women who were gazing around, faces filled with wonder, lips parted.

As the nuts the Rock Chicks collected go, Annette occupied the upper echelon. Then again, she had a lot of company.

“Get her and those women outta here!” Tex boomed, and I looked in confusion at him then I looked back at Annette and saw that the women with her now had cameras to their faces and they were taking pictures of Tex.

What the f**k?

I moved toward Annette as she called encouragingly to Tex, “Sock it to us, big man! Give them the Rock Chick Experience!”

Again.

What the f**k?

I approached her from the back. “Annette?”

She turned to me, took in both Daisy and me, and cried, “Fuckin’ phat!” She motioned to us and looked at the women with her. “Sistahs, this is Ally Nightingale and Daisy Sloan.”

“Ally,” one of them breathed.

The rest of them took pictures, the flashes exploding in my face one after the other.

I had no choice but to look away and when I was able to focus, I saw Daisy had not missed a beat and was standing beside me striking a pose and giving them a face set in “smolder.”

Jeez.

I looked back at the women. “Stop taking pictures.”

Immediately, five cameras dropped.

My eyes went to Annette. “What gives?” I asked.

“Rock Chick Tour,” she answered.

“Oh my God, sugar, that is such a good idea!” Daisy squealed.

But I stared.

Then I repeated, “Rock Chick Tour?”

“Yeah,” Annette replied. “We start here at Fortnum’s for coffee. Then we go to Sissy and Dom’s house, where Ava and Luke got caught in a drive-by. Then we go to the alley where Jules kicked those drug dealers’ asses. Then we go to that bar where Jet got shot at the poker game. Then we go to the mansion where Stella’s apartment exploded. Then we go to Sadie’s art gallery because it’s all okay now, but it wasn’t okay when it was torched. Blah, blah, blah,” she rolled her hand in front of her and finished, “We eat lunch at Lincoln’s and end with cocktails at Smithie’s.”

I kept staring at her.

“You need to take them to Thornton to the haunted house thing where Billy caught up with Roxie,” Daisy advised. “The haunted house ain’t runnin’, but they still got all the buildings there.”

“Phat!” Annette shouted. “I’ll add that to our itinerary.”