Maybe he was magic. Maybe he was supernatural. Reyes was the son of Satan. Maybe Nathan Yost was the son of Pancake, a three-legged pigmy goat Jimmy Hochhalter used to worship in the sixth grade. Pancake was a lesser known and often misunderstood deity. Most likely because he stank to high heaven. Jimmy didn’t smell too hot either, which didn’t help the goat’s rep.

I stopped off at Della’s Beauty Salon and stepped inside to the sound of an electronic bell. Either that or the ringing in my ears was back. Della was a friend of Teresa’s and one of the last people to see her the night she disappeared.

A woman with spiky hair and fantastic nails asked if she could help me.

“Absolutely, is Della in?”

“She’s in the back, honey. You have an appointment?” She glanced up at my hair and made a sympathetic face.

I ran a hand over my ponytail, suddenly self-conscious. “No, I’m a private investigator. I was wondering if I could ask her a few questions.”

She stammered in surprise. “Of-of course. Go on back,” she said, pointing a zebra-striped nail toward the back room.

“Thanks.” After another glance at her hair—I could do spikes—I stepped to the back and into a room lined with cabinets on one wall and shampoo sinks on another. A portly woman with a messy bob stood leaning over a sink, washing a client’s hair. I’d always loved the distinct smell of hair salons. The way the chemicals mingled with the scents of shampoos and perfume and the pounds of hair spray applied each day to clientele. I breathed it in, then walked forward.

“Are you Della?” I asked.

She turned a half smile on me. I could feel the weight of depression on her chest as she said, “I sure am. Did you bring the perm solution?”

“No, sorry,” I said, patting my pockets. “Must have left it at home. I’m a private investigator.” I pulled out my PI license to make it look official. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Teresa.”

My statement surprised her and she nearly drowned the woman beneath the spray. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, turning off the water. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Romero. Are you okay?”

The woman sputtered and turned bright eyes on her. “What?”

“Are you okay?” she asked, really loudly.

“I can’t hear you. You got water in my ears, mi’ja.”

Della turned a patient smile on me. “She can’t hear me anyway. I’ve told the police everything I know.”

“I’ll get your statement from them as soon as I can. I was just wondering if you noticed any unusual behavior. Did Teresa seem preoccupied lately? Worried about anything?”

She shrugged as she towel-dried Mrs. Romero’s hair. The elderly woman had been swallowed by a massive turquoise cape, and only her shoes peeked out from underneath it. “We don’t go out that much anymore. Not like we used to. But she did seem a bit off that night,” Della said, helping Mrs. Romero to her feet, “nostalgic. Said if anything should happen to her, she would love us always.”

Sounded like Teresa knew her husband was up to something. “Did she give you any specifics?”

“No.” She shook her head. “She wouldn’t elaborate, but she seemed sad. I was surprised she’d called us. It had been so long, and then for her to be so depressed.” Her eyes glistened with sadness. “If we hadn’t gone out, none of this would have happened.”

“Why do you say that?” I followed her as she led Mrs. Romero to a salon chair.

“Because she never made it back to the house.”

That surprised me. “How do you know?”

“Nathan told me. He said the security system had never been disarmed. If she’d come in the front door, there would have been a record.”

“You mean, every time someone goes in and out, it’s recorded?” I took out my memo pad and made a note to check on that.

“From what I understand, yes, if the security system is armed.”

“What?” Mrs. Romero yelled.

“Do you want the usual?” Della yelled back.

The woman nodded and closed her eyes, apparently her naptime.

I dragged as much information out of Della as I could before heading out. She agreed with everyone else. Nathan was a saint. A pillar of the community. And oddly enough, as much as she cared for Teresa, she seemed to think Teresa was the reason their marriage was in trouble. Obviously, the doctor could do no wrong, so it had to be Teresa’s fault.

With my list whittling down to almost nothing, I decided to hit the doctor’s office just before closing, when everyone was tired and wanted nothing more than to go home. People in that position talked less and got to the point faster. Because the doctor always left early to do his rounds at the hospital, I figured he’d already be gone when I walked into his offices. He was apparently an otolaryngologist. I couldn’t begin to guess what that meant.

The receptionist was just packing up and had to hurry out to pick up her daughter from daycare. Luckily, one of the doctor’s assistants, an audiologist by the name of Jillian, was still in, finishing up some paperwork.

“So, have you worked for Dr. Yost long?” I asked her. Jillian was a big-boned girl with curly blond hair and one-too-many chins to be considered traditionally pretty. But her features were pleasant, her eyes warm. I could see her working with kids. The waiting room had toys and games scattered throughout.

We sat in the receptionist’s area on padded chairs that rolled. It took every ounce of strength I had not to take advantage of that.

“I’ve been with Dr. Yost for twelve years,” she said, her eyes filling with sadness. “He’s such a good person. I just can’t believe this is happening to him.”

Wow. Fooling friends and family, I could see, but fooling someone you worked with day in and day out for twelve years? Who was this guy? “Did he seem different lately? Upset about anything? Or possibly mention someone following him or calling and hanging up?”

At this point, I was trying to figure out how premeditated the doctor’s actions were, if he’d set up an alibi beforehand. Had he been planning to harm his wife or was it a spur-of-the-moment thing?

“No, not until that morning.”

“Can you describe what happened?”

“Well, I don’t know really,” she said, shaking her head. “He just called my house Saturday morning, frantic, said he couldn’t get in to do his rounds at the hospital that day and to see if Dr. Finely could cover for him.”