It couldn't be. It just...could not be. And yet...

Every single word spoken mattered. And Kimber Prescott had spoken a few words when they'd first met. The girl who'd been stabbed in the neck like ten times, she'd said. That statement hadn't even registered. Why would it? But...something had been niggling away in the back of her mind since...the morning of Etty Montrose's death. The reporters who'd been there, swarming her and Cole as they'd left. One of them had shouted at her... Was she stabbed, too? How many times? They wouldn't give us any details when Hallie Whitmore was killed.

If the reporters hadn't been told how many times Hallie Whitmore had been stabbed, then the general public wouldn't have that detail. Yet Kimber Prescott had that detail. The girl who'd been stabbed in the neck like ten times... Hallie Whitmore had seven countable stab wounds. Kimber's statement was too close to merely be a lucky guess.

With her heart pounding against the wall of her chest, Tessa cleared her throat and looked back to Tiffany, who was watching her with narrowed eyes. "Wh-what can you tell me about Kimber Prescott?" she croaked out.

The woman's brows drew together. "Kimber? I-I...what do you need to know?"

"Anything you can tell me," she said, stuffing the paper into her bag and getting back to her notebook...and trying to hold her hands steady enough to write.

"Well...I mean, she's one of our nail techs and she also helps out with blow outs and styling if we're behind. She's a hard worker, our clients seem to like her. She's a bit...flighty and talkative, but--"

"Sometimes, she too talkative!" Anna put in.

"Why do you say that?" she asked, struggling to get her thoughts in order.

Anna pulled a face. "Kimber was one of the ones who was going on and on when poor Ellen was in here. The girl would just not stop yapping about Miss Whitmore's murder, talking about how bloody it must have been, her being stabbed all those times. I fussed at her for saying things like that, but it was like she had verbal diarrhea. She was doing Etty's nails while she was yapping, too, and Etty was Miss Whitmore's friend. It was gross!"

And while Kimber had been going on and on...Etty Montrose had been there...listening.

Somehow, Etty must have known... She jolted as a thought struck her. Nathan Rutherford! Etty had gotten her uncle to represent Nathan Rutherford! There was every chance that Etty could have overhead a conversation, picked up on the details of the case. And of course she would pick up on those details. She was trying to help keep Nathan unfuck his life.

So, were that the case, and Kimber had let slip something Etty knew no one else was privy to—like how many times Hallie Whitmore had been stabbed—perhaps she'd written the note on a napkin, passing it to Kimber, possibly to watch the girl's reaction.

Kimber...  But, why on earth...

"Do any of you remember anything that Etty might have said that day? Did she mention her plans after the benefit dinner?" she asked, glancing around at all the faces that were now staring at her.  "Anyone? Did Etty mention that she had plans after the benefit dinner?" she repeated, raising her voice so that it carried through the space.

From her right, one of the nail techs raised a hand and she moved in that direction. The young woman, Emily, also had a pin fixed to her tunic. A pin just like Mark's and Anna's, only hers was in the shape of a bottle of nail polish.

Stopping in front of the table, where a woman was having acrylics put on, she locked eyes with the girl. "Did you hear Etty say what she would be doing after the benefit dinner that night?"

Emily shook her head. "No. It wasn't Miss Montrose. But, all of her friends came in here throughout the day and some of them...Miss Morris, Miss Anand, and Miss Baird...they were talking about going to Cherry. That's a nightclub. I'm pretty sure they said they were all going that night because Miss Montrose wanted to go. She'd been talking about it for a while, they'd said."

"Was Kimber Prescott here when all the girls were talking about the nightclub?"

"Yes. She works right there beside me," Emily stated, pointing to the empty station next to her own. "She was doing Miss Anand's nails when they were all talking about it."

On stiff legs, Tessa moved to the station across the way, giving it a quick survey. The table, to her, seemed like organized chaos. It was scattered with things...a lamp, equipment, containers filled with all sorts of implements...brushes and tools...things she couldn't even put a name to. Had there been anything of use, she couldn't have picked it out if her life depended on it.

Stepping back over to Emily's station, she opened her mouth to speak, but her gaze was drawn to the white towel spread out there...and the stainless steel implements lying in a neat row. She had no idea what they were or what they were used for, but she instantly picked out one tool that had her heartbeat speeding up a fraction more.

"What's that?" she asked, reaching for the thing.

"That's a cuticle pusher," Emily answered, confused.

Picking up the bit of stainless steel—which was shocking heavy for its size—she knew she'd found the weapon that had been used to murder both Hallie and Etty. The cuticle pusher, which was several inches long—quite long enough to be gripped in someone's hand—had a small tip that was straight edged, almost exact to the tip of a flat head screwdriver. And running a finger across the tip, she found that it was finely honed, making it more than sharp enough to cut through human flesh.

With a trembling hand, she laid the tool back onto the towel. "Does anyone else use that station besides Kimber Prescott?"

"No. We all have our own stations," responded Emily. "We rent them, just like the hair stylists and makeup artists."

Again, she found herself struggling to keep her thoughts in line...to catch hold of the questions she needed answered. She had no idea if Kimber had kept the tool, if she had more than one, if she'd cleaned it or simply tossed it...and she didn't have the time to stand around and bag everything at Kimber's station.

She turned back toward Tiffany, who was watching her with wide eyes and a pinched expression. "Is that the only place that Kimber Prescott works? Does she have her own hair station, too?"

Tiffany gave her head a shake. "No. She-she just uses whichever hair station is available if she has to pitch in."

"We have lockers, though!" Anna offered.

Tessa stiffened, dropping her notebook and pen into her bag. "Someone show me."

It was Tiffany who obeyed, getting to her feet and coming out from behind the desk. "The lockers are the in break room," she said as she started toward the back of the salon. "They aren't secure, though. Really, they're just a place to keep your purse if you don't want to leave it in the floor by your station."

Nearing the makeup stations along the back wall, Tessa glanced at the two women working there, taking in their names tags and the enamel pins in the shape of lipsticks.  Everyone was wearing those pins...

"Do all the employees wear the little pins? The scissors and lipsticks?" she asked as they veered through an open doorway to the left.

"Yes, ma'am. Its our new manager's idea," Tiffany said. "She think the pins will let clients know who does what in the salon. Hairdressers get scissors, nail techs get nail polish bottles, assistants and administrative staff get palm trees. Its silly, if you ask me. The hairdresser will be the one cutting your hair, so I don't see the point."

"Can I see your pin?" she asked as she was led through a room filled with floor to ceiling shelves stocked with supplies.

"Sure." Tiffany reached inside the neck of her tunic, quickly removing the pin and putting it back together before dropping it into Tessa's outstretched hand.

And lying there in her palm was an enamel pin with a small round back...just like the round back a tie tack might have.

"I hate that thing," Tiffany went on as she led the way out of the supply room and down a short hallway. "It pokes holes in my shirt and the back won't stay on, so I'm always down on my hands and knees, looking for it."

Surely, if Hallie's killer had worn a similar pin and the back had fallen off, there wouldn't have been the time nor the inclination to hang around and search for it.

At the end of the hall was another open doorway, which led into a large, brightly lit room scattered with a couple of dining tables, a sofa and some chairs, a couple of vending machines, a wall filled with half sized lockers, all painted in varying colors. There was a glass door across the space, through which she could see a patio area with concrete tables and benches.

"All the lockers are labeled with our names," Tiffany said, sweeping her hand toward them. "Like I said, they're not secure. But, nobody here would steal anything."

Walking up to the lockers, she searched the labels that were stuck on the doors, finding Kimber's name on an upper locker...and Peyton's name on the locker beneath. The first thing she did, without hesitation, was pull open Peyton's locker...but it was completely empty inside.

She didn't know what she'd been expecting, or dreading, but she had to check...

Moving on to Kimber's locker, she lifted the handle and opened the small pink door, finding the locker empty of belongings, but decorated with paper flowers, strings of colorful beads...and collages of pictures. The three walls and the door of the locker were plastered with pictures...mostly of Kimber with various people...in various settings...in various outfits.

It was all a jumble...a mish-mash of smiling faces that meant nothing...except for a cluster of pictures in the upper right corner, at the back of the locker. As soon as her gaze landed on those pictures...

There was a very similar photograph sitting in Peyton's bedroom. 

 The pictures in the locker also showed Peyton and Kimber, daisies in their hair, flowing dresses to match...but these pictures were different in that the man that had been torn from Peyton's photograph...the man who'd had the tribal tattoo sprayed onto his arm...was in full view and was full on French-kissing Kimber Prescott.

That man was Nathan Rutherford.

For a few seconds, she couldn't allow herself to actually believe her own eyes. Yet, there it was. As clear as day. Peyton, Kimber, and Nathan Rutherford...

Nathan, who was the one holding the camera for the selfies, shirtless, hair wind tossed, mouth devouring Kimber's...a small gold initial necklace, clearly visible, around his neck that read... PNK.

PNK...

Not Peyton and Kimber. But, rather Peyton, Nathan, Kimber...

Leva had said that Nathan liked to slum it once in a while...

Staring at that photograph...she felt her stomach turn over inside her. "Tiffany..." she croaked out, looking back to the girl standing by. "Did anyone in the salon know who was a suspect in Hallie Whitmore's murder?"

Tiffany gave a shrug, looking baffled. "Well, sure. It was all over the news. It was that guy...Nathan something. Its was all the girls could talk about for weeks because it was such a shame. He's really good looking."

It was then that her heart dropped right out of her chest...even as her mind scrambled to make sense of it all. Only she couldn't.

Maybe Peyton simply hadn't mentioned her association with Nathan Rutherford because there had no been no reason to. She remembered...Peyton had said the picture had been taken at a concert a few months back...that the guy had been as faithful as an old hound dog... And who on earth would want to admit that they had anything to do with a man who was accused of murdering his girlfriend? Certainly, Peyton, of all people, wouldn't want to talk about that. She'd probably just want to pretend she'd never met the man. Of course, there was every reason for Kimber Prescott to keep her mouth closed when it came to her association with Nathan Rutherford.

Still...

Peyton couldn't have...been responsible for what happened to Etty Montrose. She'd been lying in bed with her sister at the exact moment Etty had been killed. But...dear god, something just didn't sit right. It just...didn't.

Peyton and Kimber seemed attached at the hip. There was absolutely no way in hell that Peyton wouldn't have known if her best friend had murdered two people. That just wasn't the way it worked. So, either Kimber Prescott actually had nothing to do with either death and everything she'd just discovered was some sort of phenomenal coincidence...or Peyton knew what Kimber had done... 

For a moment, she froze, staring at the picture of the three smiling people wearing matching necklaces, trying to put everything together, trying to put all the things racing through her mind into their proper place. But, she couldn't. There were pieces missing. One major piece being why Kimber Prescott would kill Hallie Whitmore in the first place. Surely, it couldn't be as basic as Nathan Rutherford dumping her...for Hallie Whitmore, who he'd then gotten engaged to.

How ridiculous...how idiotic and meaningless...would it be to kill a woman over Nathan Rutherford? It was beyond all reason.

Yet, Hallie Whitmore was dead...  And she'd considered that Etty Montrose might have killed Hallie for that same basic, idiotic reason. 

Hallie Whitmore...who'd stopped along a deserted stretch of highway and had gotten out of her car...something no woman would have done unless she'd seen someone she knew there.  Or someone she knew had caught up to her and managed to get her to stop.

It was feasible.  It was...  And if...if...Kimber had been the one to murder Hallie...and if...if Peyton had known about it...or about Etty Montrose...

She'd deal with Peyton later.  Somehow.  But, first thing's first.

Swallowing past her dry throat, she looked at Tiffany, who was standing by, watching her with a modicum of fear swirling through her large eyes. "Tiffany...please, that bad day you had because Etty Montrose was screaming at you?"

"Yes?" Tiffany replied in a near whisper, taking a step backward, as if she was trying to avoid what might be coming next.

"You...you said that Hallie Whitmore left about fifteen til six and as she left, one of your nail techs suddenly clocked out and left, too?" she reminded.

"Yes," the woman repeated, taking another step backward.

"Kimber Prescott...was she working that day?" she questioned.

Tiffany nodded. "She was."

"And she left as Hallie Whitmore left? You'd be able to swear to that?" she urged.

Confusion replaced the fear the girl was displaying. "Well...no. No, Kimber didn't leave. She stayed late that day to help catch everybody up. It was one of our other nail techs that left. Peyton Kendrick."