Hair Raiser Page 10

  Her scalp prickled. “I always have a minute for my favorite computer guru. What’s up? Did you get anything on Dr. Taylor?”

  He chuckled. “Seems like you have a nose for rotten scents. The good doctor owns a major interest in a surgical outpatient center. With all the managed-care problems, its financial health is faltering. Why did you say you wanted this information?”

  Marla took a moment to reply. “Someone is dumping medical waste on a mangrove preserve adjacent to my cousin’s estate. It relates to Ocean Guard, and Dr. Taylor is on the board. I wonder how much money he’d save in bypassing payments to the waste disposal company. It bears checking into, wouldn’t you say?”

  Chapter Nine

  Promising to treat Lance to dinner, Marla hung up, her mind in a turmoil. So Dr. Taylor’s clinic was suffering from financial woes. Possibly, the HMOs had taken a bite out of his private practice as well. Would these give him a reason to pollute the mangrove preserve?

  Her theory would only be valid if the fees he paid to the waste disposal company were high enough. Of course it would shatter her idea that the heir to Popeye’s estate was contaminating the land to void Ocean Guard’s mandate, but different options were worth considering if she hoped to find the culprit. Next week, she’d take advantage of the opportunity to question Dr. Taylor in his office. Meanwhile, Cynthia waited for her attention.

  Her cousin was tapping a foot impatiently when Marla returned holding a bottle of coloring solution. “I thought you must be taking a break,” Cynthia snapped.

  “I got a call from a friend who’s handy with computers. I’d asked him to check into Dr. Taylor’s business practices.” Wrapping a plastic cape around Cynthia’s shoulders, she related what Lance had said. “I’m hoping to learn more when I see Russ next week.”

  Her cousin’s gaze darkened. “There’s been more medical waste washing inland. Bruce said he’d hire someone to clean it up. I asked him about the heir to Popeye’s estate. He advised me that the trustee, Morton Riley, would have more details. When I called his office, Mr. Riley’s secretary said he’s currently abroad on business. We’re trying to track him down.”

  “How about the attorney who drew up the trust?”

  “Bruce confirmed it was Ben’s firm. I left a message for his legal assistant, but the woman hasn’t called back. Apparently, she’s the one who found his body. I imagine she’s still upset.”

  “Is this news what you came to tell me?” Once her cousin was adequately draped, Marla pulled on a latex glove and began applying the solution. You’re going to love the results, cuz.

  “Partly.” Cynthia’s gaze skewed away from the mirror. “Annie is a problem.”

  Okay, Marla thought, now we’ll really get down to what’s bothering you. “You mean she’s still going out with Shark?”

  “Worse. I think she’s stealing money from me.”

  Marla couldn’t help her inadvertent gasp. “How so?”

  “Bruce and I have a special place where we keep extra cash. The bills don’t add up to what I counted at the beginning of the week. I think Shark is encouraging her to pilfer our funds.”

  “Have you confronted Annie?” Working the solution into Cynthia’s roots, she felt the knots of tension plaguing her cousin. She’d have to tell the shampoo assistant to give Cynthia a good scalp massage. It was amazing how relaxing that could feel, and the extra care always made her clients feel better.

  Cynthia shook her head, damp hair plastered to her scalp. “No, I have no proof. It breaks my heart that I can’t trust her anymore. That boy is a terrible influence, but she won’t listen to me. She says I dislike all her friends.”

  Marla set the timer for twenty minutes. “Teenagers don’t listen to their parents. Young people think they know everything, until they make a mistake. Unfortunately, that’s how many of them learn.” She glanced away, unwilling to meet her cousin’s sympathetic gaze. They both knew she spoke from her own tragic experience. “I wish I could help you.”

  “You’re a good listener, Marla.” Cynthia twisted in the chair. “To be honest, I didn’t take you seriously before we started working together on this fund-raiser, and I’m sorry for my snobbish attitude. When you get to my station in life, sometimes you forget to look beyond appearances. In your case, I was totally wrong. I hope you’ll consider yourself my friend.”

  Marla’s eyes misted. “Of course.”

  “It’s not easy when Annie screams that she hates me.”

  Patting her shoulder, Marla smiled. “Maybe your daughter takes her anger out on you, but I doubt it’s how she truly feels. This is a difficult time during which she’s testing her limits. I’m sure you and Bruce will manage.”

  Suddenly Cynthia stiffened, her eyebrows arching. “Well, look who’s here. If it isn’t Digby Raines, our mayoral candidate. I wonder what he wants.”

  As soon as he spotted Marla, he broke into wide grin and crossed the distance between them. “Marla, darling. I see your cousin is getting her hair done. I was hoping you’d be free to give me a trim.”

  Marla accepted his handshake, figuring she was never going to finish work at this rate. At least she was having a profitable afternoon in terms of information gained. Glancing at her watch, she frowned. She still needed time to get ready for her date with Dalton and his daughter.

  “I can squeeze you in until Cynthia is ready for me again. Come on, let’s take a look.” She led him to Giorgio’s station. The male stylist was out of town for the weekend, so she could use his chair. She didn’t want to inconvenience Cynthia by asking her to move. “What can I do for you?”

  He winked at her through the mirror. “Now that’s a leading question. Which answer do you want, the politically correct one, or the one that’s really on my mind?” His leering face turned her stomach. Instead of showing him to the door as impulse drove her, she spun his chair so he was forced to meet her narrowed gaze. “I’ll do your hair, but that’s the only body part in which I’m interested. Get my drift?”

  He gave a low chuckle. “Sure, doll face.”

  “Do you want a similar style?” As her fingers riffled through his frosty white hair, she grimaced. His strands were as stiff as petrified straw. What did he use on them, shellac? Swirling off his forehead was a strong cowlick, slicked back so his darkened eyebrows highlighted his firm-jawed face. No doubt he was careful of the image he presented for the media. With his kindly expression, the man could easily pass for a benevolent philanthropist. His Wedgwood blue eyes crinkled when he smiled, but if you looked beyond, you could see the false gleam accompanying his wide-toothed smile.

  Her glance dropped to his manicured nails. Now she liked him even less. In her opinion, men should keep their nails clean and blunt-cut but leave polishing to females.

  “I know just what we’ll do. You’ll look absolutely fabulous when we’re finished. Go on and get shampooed, then return to my station.” Accompanying him to the shampoo bowl, she ordered the assistant to give him a good conditioning. His hair needed it after such a heavy application of holding spray.

  Cynthia’s timer went off just when Digby approached, his wet hair smelling of fresh herbs. She sent Cynthia to the shampoo area while she worked on the politician.

  “I’m still upset about Ben Kline,” Marla mentioned. Selecting a comb and pair of shears, she began shaping his hair.

  His shoulders sagged, and he cast his eyes downward. “Terrible, wasn’t it? Makes you wonder.”

  “About what?” Marla leaned forward to hear over the noise of Nicole’s blow-dryer at the next station.

  “Who killed him. Ben rubbed people the wrong way, but you don’t just clobber someone you dislike.”

  “Tell me about it. The murderer must have been harboring a lot of rage.”

  “Who knows what goes through people’s minds? I attended the funeral. It surprised me to see Stefano there.”

  “Where was the burial?” Most likely Ben’s remains went to a Jewish funeral home. Stefano’s place woul
dn’t qualify.

  “Levinson Memorial Gardens. There was quite a crowd. I can’t imagine why Stefano showed up. Maybe he committed the evil deed and came to watch the finale.”

  “That’s a nasty accusation.”

  “There was bad blood between them. I don’t suppose you knew Ben was suing Stefano?”

  “No, I didn’t.” She paused expectantly, scissors in hand.

  “Ben had initiated a class-action lawsuit on behalf of Stefano’s customers. You’ll have to ask Stefano about it if you want to know more.” He grinned broadly, showing a row of perfectly even teeth. “Maybe Stefano decided to get the shyster off his back.”

  “Not by murdering him, I hope,” Marla said dryly. Her glance caught Nicole’s in the mirror. The stylist’s mouth curved upward in a knowing grin. Doubtless Nicole had picked up on every word. Dear Lord, if any customers overheard, gossip would be flying around like static-laden hair. She finished the cut, then picked up a blow-dryer. “What do you know about Dr. Taylor’s relationship to Ben?” she asked, lowering her voice.

  “They had a falling out a while ago over some financial deal,” Digby commented. “Russ isn’t a happy guy, but I don’t think it’s because of that loss.”

  Switching on the blow-dryer, Marla lifted his damp strands. “What do you mean?”

  Digby unfolded his arms from under the cape. “He’s got another problem that he’ll never be able to solve.”

  “The doctor seems so self-assured. What could bother him that much?”

  “You’d have to ask him.”

  Moving her body, she aimed the blow-dryer at another section of his hair. “It seems as though you know an awful lot about these people.” And he didn’t want to fill her in, either.

  He shrugged. “I make it my business to know what the voters’ interests are. By the way, I’ve tried to get in touch with Babs to run the new press release by her before I send it out. Have you heard from her lately?”

  “She’s out of town.”

  “Again? Don’t tell me, she went to Tampa.”

  Marla’s jaw tightened. Why did she get the feeling he knew something she didn’t? “I believe so.”

  Digby’s gaze roamed her length. “If you believe that, I can sell you a piece of real estate in the Everglades.”

  “Why don’t you just level with me, Mr. Raines?” At least his hair was short, so it dried fast. She turned off the dryer and began styling his hair with a comb and brush.

  His gaze fixed on her breasts. “This level is just fine, thanks. But if you want to get deeper, honey, that can be arranged.” As she changed position, he reached around and pinched her behind.

  “Watch it, mister.” She twisted a strand of hair until he winced.

  He wasn’t put off by her warning gesture. “Come on, we all know hairdressers like to accommodate their customers. How about if I buy you a drink after work?”

  Seething rage blurred her vision. “I don’t think so. Detective Vail and I have an engagement this evening for which I’m going to be late if I don’t leave soon. Not that I’d ever consider going out with the likes of you. Aren’t you married?”

  “My wife is very understanding.”

  “Poor woman.” Picking up a can of holding spray, she aimed the nozzle at his eyes. Her fingers twitched. Tempting though it might be to damage the bastard, she couldn’t actually hurt him. After spraying his cowlick and the crown of his head, she untied his cape. “I’ll write your ticket,” she said, scribbling figures on a bill of sale. She handed it to him to take to the receptionist, not even caring if he gave her a tip.

  He returned while she was cleaning off his chair. “Here, doll face, maybe you’ll reconsider and give me a call.”

  Marla stared at the twenty-dollar bill in his hand. “Thanks, but I don’t accept bribes. Give it to your wife instead. She deserves it more than I do for putting up with you.”

  His expression darkened. “Be careful, my dear. My tolerance goes only so far.”

  She faced him squarely. “And then?” What do you do, pal, murder people?

  “You don’t want to find out.” Whipping around, he stalked out of the salon.

  “What was that all about?” said Cynthia’s voice from behind.

  Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Marla whirled to face her cousin. “I believe Digby just propositioned me.”

  “Oh, so what else is new?” Her tone indicating that was a common occurrence, Cynthia dropped into the chair at Marla’s station.

  Marla worked quickly, creating a layered, more natural look for Cynthia’s hair. By the time she was done, the lighter coloring and softer style lifted years from her cousin’s appearance. “How do you like it?” she asked, hoping for a positive response.

  Cynthia studied herself in the mirror. “It’s different. I guess it’s okay.”

  Marla mashed her teeth together. “That’s all?”

  “I like it, really. I had the other hairdo for so long that I’ll have to get used to a new style. I’d love for you to do Annie’s hair, but I doubt she’d be willing to come here.”

  “I could always do her at your house. I’m flexible.” An inner glow of satisfaction warmed her. If Cynthia wanted her to do Annie, that meant she was pleased. “In fact, I’ll stick a pair of shears in my purse right now so I don’t forget. If she’s home tomorrow, give me a call, and I’ll come over.” Before it slipped her mind, Marla added the scissors to her handbag, stashed inside a drawer.

  “Thanks, Marla.” Standing, Cynthia hesitated. “I hope you’ll forgive me for looking down on your profession. You’re very talented.”

  When Cynthia started fumbling in her purse, Marla waved a hand. “Don’t bother with a tip. I’m glad you stopped by. If Bruce learns anything, you’ll let me know?”

  Smiling, Cynthia touched her arm. “Of course. I’ll be in touch soon, if not tomorrow.”

  After she left, Marla rushed to clean her space. It was getting late, meaning she’d have to hurry to be ready by the time Dalton picked her up. She made one quick stop in the storeroom to sweep stray supplies off the counter, shelve them and rinse out the sink.

  As an afterthought, she opened the drawer where she’d put Ben’s envelope. Now that she’d been to the Medina, she didn’t need his note anymore. Halfway to tossing it into the trash, Marla changed her mind. It might be necessary to confirm arrangements with Mustafa at a later date, and she’d forgotten to ask for his business card. She’d better keep this just in case. After tucking the item back in the drawer, she rushed out.

  “Sorry to leave you in the lurch,” she said to Nicole. “Will you lock up after everyone is finished?”

  The dark-haired beauty grinned. “Only if you promise to let me know how your date went.”

  Marla rolled her eyes. “I doubt it’ll be that exciting since Dalton’s daughter will be along, but I’ll get back to you.”

  She’d have to scramble to get ready in time. Fifteen minutes in the shower, fifteen more to get dressed and put on her makeup. “Sorry, Spooks. You’ve got to be quick.” She let him out into the fenced backyard, then glanced around her kitchen with a wary eye. Ever since the break-in, she felt nervous coming home. It annoyed her that she couldn’t regard her house as a safe haven like before. The end of a workday always meant relaxing in her own domain, and now that peace had been shattered. She should do what Dalton suggested and connect the alarm system, but it was another phone call on her long list and would have to wait its turn. Better to identify the person responsible for harassing her.

  After Spooks completed his business, she opened the door for him to scoot inside. Then she was off and running to get ready.

  She’d just finished applying her lipstick when the doorbell rang. Lord save me, the guy is early. All right, she thought while fastening her pearl earrings, so it’s six-twenty. She’d have appreciated an extra ten minutes of preening. Shutting Spooks in her study so he wouldn’t dash outside when she opened the front door, she went to greet her date.r />
  Her smile faded when she viewed the tall man who stood on the doorstep. “You!” she cried. “What do you want?”

  “Hello, Marla,” said her ex-spouse Stan. His face wore its usual supercilious grin as he peered at her, hazel eyes raking her attire. She wore a burgundy-rayon dress with a scoop neckline that showed off a single strand of pearls. “I see you still have that necklace I bought for you in St. Thomas. Going somewhere special?”

  “It’s none of your business.” She didn’t need this now. Anxiously, she scanned the street, hoping Stan would leave before her date arrived. She noticed Stan hadn’t come alone. Wife number three, alias Kimberly, sat in his Mercedes studying her fingernails. The blond bimbo had a vacuous expression on her oval face.

  Stan’s shoulders hunched in his characteristic stubborn manner. “I remembered the lease on your Toyota is up next month. Are you going to trade it in for another vehicle or pay the balance? Because if you want to own the car for a change, I have a proposition for you.”

  She rolled her eyes heavenward. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

  “You agree to sell your portion of our jointly held property, and I’ll pay for the rest of the car. It’s in your best interest, you know. One less payment to make each month, and you can use the break.”

  “Don’t tell me what I can use. And I’m managing just fine, thank you. No matter what you say, you won’t convince me to give up my share of the rental income.”

  She turned to slam the door in his face, but he wedged his foot in the way and pushed his bulk inside. She heard Spooks bark furiously and was sorry she hadn’t let the dog loose. Spooks liked to tear at Stan’s leg, a sport she’d love to encourage right now.

  “I know how you struggle to make ends meet,” he sneered. “You’re just too ashamed to admit it. You had a good thing when we were married. A good thing.”

  “Maybe you thought so, but I got tired of being bullied. Does Kimberly let you push her around, too?”

  His condescending glance set her blood to boiling. “Unlike your unworthy soul, Kim accepts my guidance.”