D is for Deception: A Langley & Porter Mystery

3 An In

As I watched the crimson liquid running down the drain in front of me, I remembered a time when I had first heard about this strange invention. I had been sitting on the loveseat in the Langley's drawing room, listening to Elena's latest gossip as we sewed.

"And you know she dyes her hair," she was telling me in reference to some society woman she greatly disliked.

"Die?" I asked, unsure if I had heard her correctly.

"Dye," she repeated. "Yes, it's this strange new product which allows you to change the color of your hair."

I hissed. Ouch.

"Sorry," the woman behind me spoke as she turned my head to the side to rinse out the excess dye. I caught sight of her in the mirror in front of me. Her hands, stained red, worked diligently through my hair, making sure every strand had been properly colored. Her lips pursed as she told me, not for the first time, "You should've had this done professionally."

I turned to face her, taking the offered towel and scrunching at the sides of my hair as I replied, "I'm sure you did fine."

She chewed her lip, watching me for a moment before she said, "You know, normally, I wouldn't do this. As a tenant, you're every sort of red flag I would look out for. But if my brother says he trusts you-"

"You're a good woman, Marie," I interrupted her, tossing the towel to the side as I headed for the door. "But you should trust your instincts."

I stepped out of the washroom into the small studio apartment beyond. Harold was sitting at the small dining table in the kitchen. He looked up as we entered.

"It's not much," Marie told me, following me out into the room. "But Harold said you wouldn't be needing much."

I knelt and ran my fingers over the rough wool of the comforter.

"Harold's right," I told her. "This will do nicely."

"It's three up front and one every week after."

I nodded, crossing the room to my bag on the table in front of Harold. I dug around for the requested rent and handed it to my new landlady. She took it, pocketing it within her apron and looking from me to her brother as I busied myself with tying my mostly dried brand new red hair into a knot atop my head.

"Thank you, Marie, Harold," I said then, nodding to them each in turn before collecting my bag and heading for the door. As I emerged onto the street, I found Harold following close behind.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"This time? To a gentlemen's clothier," I told him but then turned to face him, placing a hand on his arm in gentle reminder. "But in the future, you shouldn't know that."

"Oh, right," he answered. I turned on my heel and headed off down the street. This time, he did not follow but called out after me. "The red hair! It looks nice!"

I shook my head as I rounded the corner, out of view of Harold and on my way to my destination. The shop in question was not terribly far from my new apartment which had been precisely my design in renting it. Located on the very border between the wealthy district and the merchant's, Keene's Clothiers was so large that it took up nearly an entire city block. I hesitated at the end of the street, watching the bookshop across from it, waiting for Johnathan Birmingham to find himself so busy with a customer that there would be no chance of him recognizing me on my way to the clothiers. Jonathan was cruel but smart. Convinced as I was that my new red hair and daring new makeup would fool casual acquaintances into believing my new identity, I wasn't convinced that my ex-fiance wouldn't see right through it.