This essential update brings you general bug fixes, notable performance improvements, and the exciting next chapter in the A Salon Story narrative.
Mysteries of the Dressrious Salon — Chapter 56
The team finally met Isabel on Tuesday afternoon in the sun-drenched tea room of the Franco mansion. Despite the elegant tea service and assortment of fruits and sweets laid out for them, Isabel arrived with a bottle of vodka. She looked remarkably young, certainly no more than thirty. Her wavy blonde hair framed a face of porcelain skin and piercing blue eyes, made all the more striking by the champagne silk robe she wore.
She sat on a plush sheepskin sofa, crossing her legs with practiced grace. Since no one else wanted a drink so early in the day, she kept the bottle for herself, nursing it throughout the conversation.
“Jimmy told me you’re looking for Connor’s enemies,” she began, her voice a low, melodic purr. “You think one of them—or all of them—planned the burglary, the blackmail, the shooting. To be honest, I never bothered with his business. I never questioned him. I have an economics degree, but I know my place in this house. I am a companion. I provide emotional support. I do not interfere.”
“An economics degree? That’s impressive,” Lady News said, trying to strike a friendly chord. The team already knew from the Gossip News report about the shooting that Isabel’s life had been a tragedy; she had lost everything when the Islandiya Empire invaded the Kyiv Duchy.
“It’s useless,” Isabel snapped, her eyes hardening. “I graduated from Kyiv University and planned to get my MBA. Then that pig-headed Vladimira invaded. I lost my home, my parents, lost everything. I became a refugee, then a strip dancer, then a singer. If you want my advice: never get an economics degree. It won’t get you a real job, and it certainly won’t solve your own economic problems.”
“Finance isn’t much better,” Spion agreed with a sympathetic smile. “Degrees are mostly just expensive paper these days.”
Suddenly, Isabel’s composure broke. “I feel like a plaything for the gods. Just when I thought I’d finally found happiness, when I was finally going to marry Connor, he’s shot.” She sobbed into her hands before looking upward, shouting at the ceiling, “Why? Why can I never have peace?”
“Isabel, please,” Lady News said gently. “Don’t give up hope.”
“It’s Victoria!” Isabel cried out, her grief turning instantly into rage. She began gesturing wildly. “If you want to know who’s behind this, look at her. She wanted to stop the marriage. By killing him now, her daughter inherits the entire empire, and I get nothing. That is her motivation!”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Report Man said, trying to de-escalate. “There may be a common enemy outside the family who wants to hurt everyone involved.”
Isabel grew quiet, considering this. “No. I don’t think anyone else would dare. Trust me, it’s her. Connor told me many times that Victoria is a control freak. She meddled in his business and claimed she was the one who actually built his empire. She was never satisfied with the divorce settlement.”
“Did Mr. Franco complain about her often?” Trevor asked.
“Since the moment I met him two years ago,” Isabel said with a subtle, sharp smile. “That woman tortured him. He told me the divorce was the only thing that finally gave him peace. That’s why I know my place. I know what he needs from a woman. I never interfere, even when he has his… little affairs. As long as he doesn’t bring them into this house and I am the one on his arm at every gala, I am content.”
“Wait,” Spion interrupted. “Mr. Franco was still seeing other women even while living with you?”
Isabel looked at Spion as if he were a naive child. “I take it he told you stories of his undying loyalty to me? Did you actually believe him? Perhaps you aren’t as professional as I thought.” She sighed, reached for the vodka, and took a long, straight pull from the bottle.
“Ma’am,” Report Man redirected, “do you know anything about the Tinderbox he always carried?”
“Jimmy mentioned you’d want to see it. Jimmy! Bring it in!”
The bodyguard entered and placed the dark wooden box on the table. Report Man picked it up, opening the lid as the others leaned in. Spion took several photos of the box.
“Have you ever seen it used?” Trevor asked.
“No. I asked Connor to show me how it worked once, I was curious about the antique. He refused, claiming the smoke alarms in the house were too sensitive. I knew it was an excuse, so I never asked again.” Isabel popped a pistachio cookie into her mouth. “You should try these. They were air-freighted from Istanbul this morning.”
Trevor took one, nodding at the taste. “Delicious. And ma’am, I’m sure Mr. Franco will wake up. You have a beautiful home and a life ahead of you. Everything will be okay.”
Isabel smiled, her eyes suddenly brightening with a strange intensity. “You’re very kind. Sometimes I look at what I have and feel gratitude. I lost the war, but I still have a sexy body and a sweet voice. That is my ‘comparative advantage.’ I should use it. Perhaps economics is useful after all.”
She leaned in toward Trevor, whispering, “Thank you. I think I’ve figured it out.” She then caught Jimmy’s eye and gave a subtle, sharp nod.
After finishing their investigation of the box, the team thanked her and left, heading back to the Dressrious Salon for dinner.
While waiting for their food, Report Man summarized the day’s findings. “First, the box we saw is a cheap counterfeit, made from composite wood and stained to look like walnut. Second, Franco was lying about his fidelity; he had multiple affairs. Third, Victoria and Fiona remain the primary suspects due to the inheritance.”
“Did any of you notice the inscription under the brass rose on the lid?” Spion asked. “It was faint, but it said Klemens, Brigsted. I did a quick search. Klemens was the name of an infamous witch family in the 17th century in Danland. I think this box was originally theirs.”
“So Franco is a descendant of witches?” Report Man mused, scribbling in his notebook. “If so, that Tinderbox might be a magic object just as we guessed before.”
A server arrived with their order—a spread of burgers, golden fries, and crispy shrimp, interrupting their conversation. They made quick work of the food, eager to clear the plates and continue the discussion.
“I don’t think Isabel is as innocent as she acts, either,” Lady News said, wiping her mouth after finished her burger. “She’s a survivor. She went from refugee to nightclub singer to a billionaire’s mansion. She has more than one string to her bow.”
“I also sense something between her and Jimmy,” Spion said, eating a fry.
“She knows her ‘comparative advantage,’ just like she said,” Trevor added. He stood up. “I need a drink. I’m going to try one of the new holiday cocktails. Anyone coming?”
“I’m too full,” Lady News declined.
“I’m going to hit the restroom. I’ll catch up with you guys at the bar,” Report Man said, pushing back his chair.
“I’ll head to the bar with you,” Spion said.
They found Little John behind the bar, vigorously shaking a cocktail for two young women sitting at the counter. Trevor turned to Daniel, the other bartender. “What’s the holiday special?”
“The Mighty Sol,” Daniel replied. “It’s a twist on a Negroni using high-end tequila, served with a little gingerbread man perched on the rim.”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll take one,” Trevor said.
“Make it two,” Spion added.
As they settled at the counter to wait for their drinks, they watched Little John finish muddying mint for a Mojito. He slid the glass toward the two girls and immediately began prepping the next one.
The girl in the red hoodie took the drink and pushed it toward her companion in the navy down jacket. “This one’s yours,” she said. The voice was unmistakably sharp and familiar.
Trevor and Spion turned in unison. It was the underage girl who had danced with Spion at the wedding after-party.
“Hey, Little Red,” Spion said with a grin. “Where’s your mom? You know you shouldn’t be drinking alcohol. Little John, these girls are underage. Don’t serve them.”