I never could have imagined that a simple manicure could end up with a police interrogation

😨😨I never could have imagined that a simple manicure could end up with a police interrogation. But that was before my client stopped breathing in my chair.

I’m a manicurist at a good salon. Everything runs as usual in our salon: coffee with foam, gossip about celebrities, and most importantly, regular clients who are convinced that a good manicure can solve all of life’s problems.

That day everything was going normally, until a new client arrived — a distinguished man in his fifties.

After twenty minutes, he suddenly dropped his phone, laid his head on the table, and… stopped breathing.
— Oh my God, is he dead?! — screamed the receptionist.
— No, he’s just asleep — I whispered, though I was already pale.

The police arrived ten minutes later. It turned out he was a well-known real estate agent. The day before, he had received threats, and now he had been poisoned with something in his coffee.

Everything turned against me: he only drank my coffee, and I was the last person to see him alive.

😱😲The police insisted: everything was too obvious. But I wasn’t about to become “the main suspect with a nail file.” My friend Emma, a hairdresser in the next room, and I began our own investigation. And what we discovered shocked us to the core…

Fortsättning i första kommentaren… 👇👇

A week before his death, my client, the real estate agent, had sold an apartment to the widow of a famous businessman. The deal went quietly, but soon all the money disappeared from the widow’s account.

She was convinced that he had cheated her and transferred the funds to his own account.

And the widow, guess what, was our client. And on the very day of his death, she came to us… for a pedicure.

Emma and I followed her, hiding behind bushes in front of her house (yes, it sounds strange, but Emma said, “all real detectives do it”).

That evening, a courier delivered a package to the widow, and shortly after, we found an empty vial of a powerful sleeping drug in the trash.

Later, the police determined that the widow had poisoned the coffee I had served him. I was declared innocent, and the salon reopened with a new motto:

“Beauty requires sacrifices. But please, not literally!”

Now, whenever someone asks for coffee, I always smile:
“I only pour it in front of you, darling. No sugar, no poison — but with love.”