I sat in the hairdresser’s chair with a towel wrapped around my head. Soon, my crow-black locks would be replaced with light brown strands and cut to shoulder length. My golden eyes would stand out less with lighter hair. Or maybe I’d just trim it? I liked the way my hair fell down to my waist. It was easier to do a side-braid, as well.

“You’re the only woman I know who changes her hairstyle every three weeks.” Lola, my hairdresser shook her head.

In the past two months, this was only my third time sitting in this chair. Heck, back home, it seemed that women changed their styles daily, so why was she making such a big deal out of this?

“That’s because you don’t know a lot of women.”

“Honey, I work in a hair salon. If there’s anything I know, it’s women.”

I chuckled. “A hair salon that’s also a barber shop and a café in a town of one hundred and seven isn’t really knowing all women. We could add a motel to that because one hole in that wall behind me, and you’d have direct access to the Bistro. Besides, you should be grateful. I’m giving you more business.”

“Thank you for the good business, but you need to tone it down a bit.” Lola leaned down to the chair and whispered, “People are being nosy and keep asking if it’s normal. I don’t think you’re the attention-seeking kind, so I thought I’d mention that. Every three weeks is a little excessive for this part of the country. Trust me, I would know.” She pointed to the new gray highlights that made her hair look like a striped prison uniform. Or maybe a skunk? Last week Lola went for the ombré, two toned black and red look. I wondered what she’d come up with on Monday.

“Oh, thanks for the warning.” I winked as if my obsession with looking different weren’t simply a plan to remain hidden – which it was.

Drawing attention to myself was the last thing I wanted, though, and I didn’t appreciate that my effort to remain in disguise was backfiring. That was only the first problem with living in a small town in the middle of nowhere. The second problem was that everybody knew everything; except they knew nothing when you asked them. So having a nice two-hour break in a hairdresser’s chair meant that Lola could fill me in on the latest gossip.

“I thought it’d be fun, you know.” I made my sad puppy face at Lola and looked up from underneath my lashes.

She pointed her finger at me, swirling it with attitude. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do there. I know fun, girl, and you’re not it. Well, maybe your hair is, but that’s all.”

At least she was too in love with my hair to ever be upset with me. During the past two months, I’d wondered what someone like Lola was doing in a town like Pace. She just didn’t fit in. Lola was so wrong she didn’t even know it. Fun used to be my middle name. When I lived in New York, I could have tattooed Fun on my forehead and owned it with pride. Except now that my life had taken an unexpected turn, the only highlights of my life were the ones I was contemplating getting in my hair next month.

“That’s mean,” I pouted. The innocent girl act was really growing on me. “I can be fun. I promise.”

“Said the girl who’s not fun.” She blew a breath into her bubble gum and it popped. Lola sucked the pink gum remains off her lips into her mouth and continued chewing.

“How can you tell I’m not fun? You’ve known me for, what? Two months?” Lola adjusted the decorative scarf around her neck, hiding the scar that ran down her chest. She always wore a scarf, no matter how hot it was.

“Two months, and you haven’t met anyone or gone out anywhere. That’s not fun.”

There was a good reason for that. I didn’t want to meet anyone. The more low-key I remained, the better. Have I mentioned that the town had one hundred and seven residents? It would be one hundred and eight in four months after Mrs. Windsor gave birth. If she didn’t have twins, that is. By the look of her swollen belly, triplets would be even a better guesstimate. Anyway, what I was trying to say was that the town of Pace didn’t offer many choices. Everyone was either related or had a beard. And I hated beards.

“I’ve met tons of people. The whole town, actually.”

That part was true. Because how difficult was it to meet and remember one hundred and seven names? My university class size was much larger than that.

Lola popped another bubble before saying, “Going to church every Sunday and being in the same room with them isn’t the same as knowing them.”

She was wrong in that department as well. Father John had introduced me to the parish when I first arrived here two months ago, and on a mission to find out every last detail about each family by rummaging through church records, I’d made an effort to chat with all church members after mass at the corner café (otherwise known as a table set up with a coffee pot, cups, cream, sugar, and cookies). I was on a mission and wouldn’t stop until I found what I was looking for.

What information was I looking for? Heck if I knew. My mother’s last words after our house burned down were Jack Pace, and since I’d already followed the lead of every Jack Pace in North America and found no correlation between any of them and my mother, my next stop was this little town of Pace. I had a feeling that I was looking for a man named Jack, but so far I had only found this: out of one hundred and seven people living here, not even one was named Jack.

On a scale of one to ten, I’d call the level of failure in my detective career an eleven. If this were a real job, I’d get fired. Fortunately, I was on a personal leave from my day job.

Two months down, ten more to find the truth about Jack, in Pace.

Failure was not an option, and my mother had always taught me to learn from yesterday, live for today, and hope for tomorrow.

I learned there was no Jack in this town of Pace. At least, not a live one.

I lived with no regrets. That’s how I’d managed to save my mother’s life two months ago, day one of my personal leave from a day job and day one of staying off the radar.

The day I pissed off one of the largest crime families in the country and ultimately placed my head on the chopping block, I moved my mother to a private facility in North Carolina, where she was recovering from her heart surgery. Under an alias, at least she was safe. I might have sealed my own fate that night, but I wouldn’t risk hers. If Aaron Cortez ever found me, I was as good as dead.

The job I now had at the church, in Pace, gave me infinite access to all the residents’ records: births, deaths, and everyone’s holy sacraments. Along with this job came the “voluntary” position to lead the youth ministry. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do. I guess on some level, my inquisitive nature was waiting until some kid mentioned a grandfather or a relative named Jack. I even had them draw out their family trees, but still, there was no Jack.

I sucked. My life sucked, especially now, during one of the hottest months in Arizona where no one seemed to be aware of the concept of air conditioning.

Thank God for Lola, who had that extra ounce of life in her. We could have had so much fun in New York – just the thought of all the clubs we’d party at made me homesick.

Pace was the town where I now lived, and I didn’t know exactly why. I could have given up and looked elsewhere, in some Pace Mountains or near Pace Lake, who knew? Yet something drew me here. Call it a detective’s gut feeling that Pace was exactly where I was supposed to be. Like I said, no regrets. Not even for those choices that had put a bull’s eye on my back.

“All right, so what do you suggest for fun?” I asked.

“Tonight, you and me at the Bistro.”

“The bar?” I pictured an old western type of a set up. I’d seen the place from the outside because it was also the outside of the motel lobby on the other side of this wall, but I had never actually gone in. Bar hopping wasn’t exactly the right scene for a parish secretary.

“Yes, the bar. Eight o’clock.”

“That’s almost bed time.”

Lola laughed, and I felt my cheeks heat.

Bed time. I chuckled. Maybe I really had changed.

“Wear something sexy.”

I sighed, wondering whether I’d gotten myself into an outing I was going to regret. The image of men in jeans and cowboy boots with plaid shirts flashed through my mind. Now, if they were going to lose their plaid shirts on the way to the Bistro, maybe the evening would be worth it.

Little did I know, I was about to meet the man who would change my life.