With a smile in his eyes, Asa excused himself to the bathroom. Probably to perform damage control.
Chin held high, I launched into my totally valid excuse. “I’m starting a haircare line for the shop.”
“That’s interesting.” Clay rubbed his jaw. “Very interesting.”
“Don’t make me hit you.” I narrowed my eyes on him. “I don’t want to break my hand.”
“Seriously.” He held his palms out, toward me. “I’m interested.”
“You’re serious?” Shocked to my toes, I forgot to be embarrassed. “You would entrust your hair to me?”
“The shampoo I use now is nothing special. I bet you could make a better version.”
“You want me to magic extra shine into every bottle, don’t you?”
“A spelled preservative would be nice too. Do you know how much a good wig costs these days?”
“Actually, no.” I flashed a sugary smile at him. “I haven’t bought a wig in a few decades.”
“Not this again.” He groaned with sincere regret. “I apologized then, and I’ll apologize now.”
Antennae twitching, Colby asked, “What happened?”
“I bought Clay a wig for his birthday. We had been working together for six months, and I had no idea he was such a huge snob. I picked a style I thought he would like, but it turned out to be synthetic, not real, and he looked at it like it was a giant rat I fished out of the NY sewers and suggested he wear like a hat.”
“I wore it every day for a month,” he reminded me. “I wore it until the hair fell out of the cap.”
That was one of the moments when I realized Clay wasn’t acting, or not just acting, when it came to me. He was more than the spy the director paired me up with to keep an eye on me. He truly was my friend.
“Not true.” I snickered at the memory. “I rescued you when you started to resemble Friar Tuck.”
“I still have nightmares,” he said in a haunted voice. “Life’s too short for a bad wig.”
Legs tapping on Clay’s shoulder, Colby tilted her head. “Who’s Friar Tuck?”
“Whippersnappers these days.” I flipped a hand at her. “They don’t know nothing about nothing.”
“We’ll rent Robin Hood for you.” Clay patted her head. “The 1973 cartoon edition.”
Antennae drooping at the ends, Colby scrunched up her face. “Are bad wigs less traumatic in cartoons?”
“Much,” Clay reassured her. “Plus, as much as you enjoy raiding, I think you’ll like Robin.”
“He goes on raids?” That got her antennae quivering. “Really?”
“Yep.”
Heavily editing the tale, he skipped over the part where Robin stole from the rich to give to the poor. Far as I knew, Colby never gifted her spoils of war. She would trade, but charity? She was more of a hoarder.
To spare him from losing his audience, I shifted gears.
“Shine, I can do.” I thought about the required materials. “Preservative might be cost prohibitive.”
“You’re thinking too small. Forget selling to the locals. You’ll make a killing online.”
“You sold me on the idea.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I’ll start researching it after this case.”
“Case?” Colby zipped back to land on my shoulder. “We have a new case?”