Robert B. Parker’s Fallout

Sixty-One

It hadn’t taken much detective work for Molly to find out where Ainsley Walsh got her nails done. California Nails and Spa wasn’t much of a spa, but it was where just about everybody went for nails in Paradise. Molly had been there herself the day before. She asked the college girl working on her, Fukiko, to see if she could find out when Ainsley Walsh’s next appointment was. It turned out to be today, an hour after school let out. Mani and pedi both.

It was five o’clock when Ainsley came out of the place, holding her hands out in front of her as if to admire Fukiko’s artistry. She was wearing flip-flops to protect her toenails.

There were few guilt-free girly pleasures that could beat nails.

They were at the opposite end of Main Street from More Chocolate. On the way over Molly had looked at her own rust-colored nails and noticed that one had tragically chipped.

“They look terrific,” Molly said when she fell in next to Ainsley on the sidewalk.

Ainsley jumped.

“You can’t sneak up on people like that,” she said.

Molly gave her a homecoming queen smile.

“Just did!” she said.

“What do you want, Mrs. Crane?”

“I was hoping we could have a chat. Just us girls.”

“Yeah... no.”

“I’m not your enemy,” Molly said. “We’re actually on the same side.”

“You’re on your own side.”

Ainsley kept walking, at an even brisker pace. Molly was starting to worry about the girl’s pedicure.

Molly picked up her own pace, got in front of her, turned, and stopped. Ainsley had no choice but to do the same thing. There were people walking the sidewalks on both sides of Main. The last thing Molly wanted was a scene, especially in the world of social media.

The whole world, Jesse liked to say, had become one extended photo op.

“Are you going to push me around like Jack’s uncle did with Scott?” Ainsley asked.

She hadn’t made a move to go around Molly, at least not yet. Her hair was to her shoulders. She was wearing Lululemon exercise tights that looked to have been applied with the same brush that Fukiko had just used. The makeup she must have put on before school had stood the test of time. She didn’t need it. Total knockout. Flawless complexion, body by God.

“Detective Simpson didn’t do anything with Scott Ford besides his job,” Molly said. “Which is what I’d very much like to do.”

Ainsley Walsh’s head suddenly swiveled around.

“I don’t want to be seen talking to you,” Ainsley said.

She started to turn and walk back toward the nail salon.

Molly gently placed a hand on her arm, hopeful that Ainsley wouldn’t start yelling about police brutality.

“Just give me a few minutes, Ainsley, that’s all, and I promise I will be permanently out of your really great hair.”

The girl seemed to relax then, if just slightly. Hair was as much a common language as nails. Molly had raised all those teenage girls. And had been one herself. You could never go wrong complimenting someone on hair, not one single time.

“I need to get it cut,” Ainsley said.

“Need to have it just right for graduation, right?”

“Totally.”

“Five minutes,” Molly said.

Ainsley looked around again.

“Where?”

“Where did you and Jack go when you wanted to talk?” Molly said.

Ainsley told her.

“Let’s go there,” Molly said.