Permed to Death Page 11

  This would be a good opportunity to question him about what he’d learned regarding Bertha’s murder. Maybe she could disarm him enough so he’d talk readily. Naturally, it crossed her mind that he’d come in for the same purpose, and she resolved to reveal as little as possible.

  Marla didn’t count on the feelings engendered by sifting her fingers through his wet strands of hair. His silver highlights were more pronounced when she had him under the microscope, so to speak. Pleased to note the thickness of his layers, she didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until she glanced in the mirror. Pursing her lips, she withdrew her hand as though touched by fire. Handling his hair seemed too intimate a gesture, as though the distance between them had suddenly closed. She wasn’t comfortable with that notion and showed her agitation by dropping the first comb she picked up. Snatching another, she jumped nervously when his eyes snapped open and met hers straight on through the mirror.

  “You have a gentle touch,” he said softly.

  His voice lacked its usual arrogance, and she found the change to be disconcerting. Parting his hair, she proceeded to use the shears in quick, automatic movements.

  “I was meaning to ask—have you been able to reach Carlos? From what I gather, he hasn’t returned to the cleaning crew.”

  “His boat isn’t in its berth, and we’ve been unable to track him,” Vail responded, his tone grim. “I spoke to some of his friends at Seaside Marina. He’d bragged about a sum of easy money he had coming, so they assume he got it and took off.”

  “Interesting,” Marla murmured, thinking he might have accepted a bribe to leave the back door unlocked so the killer could enter her salon and poison the creamer. Or maybe he’d been paid to do the deed himself. She said as much to Vail.

  “We have a set of prints from the doorknob that may belong to him. Until we can check them out, this is all supposition. They don’t match anyone who works in the salon.”

  “And if the prints belong to Carlos?”

  He shrugged. “The killer may have worn gloves, or perhaps Carlos added the poison. Or maybe someone wants us to believe those options.” His casual tone belied the clever look in his eyes. He’s trying to bait me, Marla figured. Sorry, pal. I won’t bite.

  At the next station, she noticed Nicole had stopped talking to her customer. Their eyes met, a knowing smile curving the stylist’s mouth. Marla wondered what amused Nicole the most, her clumsy attempt to interrogate the detective, or his smooth delivery that provoked her defensive response. Glancing at her other employees, she noted

  Lucille staring at them in blatant curiosity. Darlene pretended an air of disinterest but she’d sidled halfway across the room to straighten magazines in the reception area, clearly within listening distance. The others were enclosed in their own private domains.

  “Don’t you feel it’s significant that Carlos has vanished?” she said, annoyed that Vail continued to suspect her. “He wouldn’t disappear if leaving the door unlocked was an honest mistake. Have you been checking into the movements of Bertha’s relatives for that night? Todd was with a woman he met at Scudders, but how about Wendy and Zack?”

  “Why don’t you tell me,” Vail said wryly. “You seem so well informed about this case.”

  In the middle of spritzing his hair with water, she paused. “That’s only because I know I didn’t kill Mrs. Kravitz. I’m trying to expose the real murderer. You, on the other hand, are blinded by your suspicions of me.”

  “Is that right? I’m glad you’re such a mind reader.” A sardonic grin curved his mouth. “What am I thinking about you now?”

  “Who knows,” she murmured, spraying more water on his head than necessary. He blinked his eyes, thick lashes glistening with moisture. Marla wanted to get this over with as fast as possible. Compressing her lips, she finished the cut, applied mousse, and blow-dried his hair into an attractive style that curved at his brow.

  “Thanks,” he said, rising from the chair after she’d removed his cape. “Anything else you figure I should know?”

  Like I’d tell you when you ‘re not leveling with me, pal? “Not really.”

  He gave a jaunty nod as though undaunted by her refusal. “Be seeing you around, then.”

  It wasn’t until he’d paid his bill and gone that Marla realized she’d been outwitted again.

  Detective Vail had neatly deflected her question about alibis for Wendy and Zack.

  Chapter 9

  Marla arrived home just as the phone was ringing. Cursing, she dropped her purse on the kitchen counter and grabbed the receiver. Too late. Remembering the code for call return, she touched the keypad, then pressed number 1. To her pleased surprise, Lance’s voice replied.

  “Hi, it’s Marla. You were trying to reach me?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I used call return. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got news. Wanna meet for dinner?”

  “Sorry, I ate earlier.”

  “A movie, then.”

  Get on with it, Lance. Her hand tightened on the receiver. “Please tell me you’ve found something on Sunshine Publishing.”

  “Sure, but it’s nothing earth-shattering. My report can wait Come on, taking a break will make you feel better. I can tell from your voice that you’re wired. I promise I won’t hound you to see my web sites.”

  “No, tell me now.” Annoyance rippled through her. Didn’t he realize how desperate she was for information?

  “If I spill the beans, will you still go out with me?”

  “Blackmail, eh?” Marla’s bones melted with fatigue, but she conceded his offer was tempting. Since Bertha died, she hadn’t experienced a moment of enjoyment except for the show attended with Tally. Mental fatigue could dull your senses and impede logic. If she wanted to think clearly, she needed to allow time for recreation.

  “All right,” she accepted reluctantly. “Now talk.”

  He cleared his throat. “Sunshine Publishing’s financial records don’t jibe. I’m finding inconsistencies. I need to delve deeper but thought I’d let you know you might be on the right track regarding Collins.”

  Relief bubbled to the surface. “Way to go, Lance! You’ve earned yourself a date.”

  Male laughter cascaded through the phone line. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty. We’ll make the eight o’clock movie. See ya.”

  “So what did he say?” Tally asked, hands folded in her lap.

  Marla glanced at her friend, seated in the passenger side of her Toyota. Tally appeared cool and comfortable in a red-linen shorts set, wavy blond hair brushed off her face. With her stature alone, she’d stand out in a crowd, but that glaring bright red drew eyes like a flag. Marla touched her cotton blouse tucked into a pair of faded jeans—more appropriate attire when she didn’t care to call attention to herself.

  “Lance said Sunshine Publishing should have higher profits for the income recorded. He’s trying to trace where the funds are distributed. If there is a deficit, Collins might be responsible because he oversees the allocations. It appears Lucille was telling the truth about that tax-evasion problem. It was unjustified and dropped from any further investigation. This other lead might prove to be more useful.”

  “I hope so. What else is new since I talked to you Thursday night?”

  Wrinkling her brow, Marla thought hard. She’d called Tally after getting home from her appointment with Todd and told her about the run-in with Dalton Vail. What happened after that?

  “Oh, yes.” Her face brightened. “On Friday, I visited Wendy at Bertha Kravitz’s house. I needed to—”

  Stopping abruptly, she bit her tongue. I almost told her about the envelope. “Er, I wanted to see how Wendy was doing and find out more about her husband. She changes the subject anytime I mention him. It’s obvious she keeps trying to shift suspicion onto Todd.”

  Tally smoothed back a loc
k of hair. “What did she say about him this time?”

  Marla shrugged. “Todd got upset when Bertha announced she planned to write her memoirs. I think Wendy was more interested in asking if I’d talked to Vail about him.”

  “That’s all?” She sounded disappointed, as though she’d been expecting more.

  Keeping her eyes on traffic, Marla considered what else she’d learned from her interview with Wendy. “Wendy didn’t say where she and Zack were the night before Bertha’s murder. Nor did Detective Vail when he came in for a haircut yesterday. I wonder what he knows that I don’t. Oh, Vail said there’s a set of prints from our back doorknob that he hasn’t identified. He thinks they may belong to Carlos.”

  “Is that why we’re going to the boatyard?”

  Marla nodded. “Carlos is still missing, and his boat is gone. Vail was kind enough to mention he’d spoken to the guy’s neighbors, who said Carlos had been expecting some money. They figure he got it and took off for parts unknown.”

  “Money from where?”

  “You mean from whom. That’s what I hope to learn. Anyway, I made an appointment with Zack for tomorrow morning. Maybe he’ll reveal if he and Wendy were home that night. Todd had an alibi, and I don’t know about Roy Collins.”

  Tally gave her a sly look. “What was it like, doing Vail’s hair?”

  For a moment, she didn’t respond, her attention diverted by erratic traffic. Damned slow drivers. Zooming through an intersection, she got in front of a lady cruising at twenty miles per hour in a zone with a speed limit posted at forty. The woman was so short you could barely see her head above the steering wheel. The punk in the pickup truck changing lanes every couple of cars wasn’t much better. She steered clear of that one, too.

  ‘ ‘It felt weird,” she admitted to Tally, shifting her mind back to their conversation. With a shameful shiver of pleasure, she recalled the silky feel of Vail’s wet strands of hair sifting through her fingers. “Intimate, almost. It made me uncomfortable.”

  “Why? Because he suspects you of murdering your client, or because you like him ... as a man?”

  “Tally, quit it. The guy is off-limits.”

  “Yeah, for now. What happens when he solves the case?”

  “Then I’ll never hear from him again. His interest in me is purely professional.” Don’t be so sun. He’s another one of those fellows looking for a mother for his child. What gives? Do I come across as a maternal type, or what? Maybe it’s my conservative clothes, she thought, sparing a glance at her New Balance sneakers and then peeking at Tally’s stylish sandals.

  I’d better pay a visit to Tally’s boutique and update my wardrobe before I get a bunch more widowers knocking on my door. The notion wasn’t terribly flattering. Didn’t anyone admire her intelligence and wit? Mentally, she ran down the short list of men she dated. Ralph called often, but he had more carnal interests in mind. As a friend, he was supportive and fun. Lance made her laugh, but he was married to his computer. And Arnie was a man with kids seeking female guidance. No one rated as a serious prospect, not that she was looking.

  Tally had fallen into a glum silence, staring out the window. Instinctively, Marla knew she was thinking about her own problems with the male gender.

  “Look, Tally, I called the golf club and they said Ken was out on the greens. He wasn’t lying to you.”

  “Oh no?” Tally heaved a deep sigh. “Maybe he asked them to cover for him. He didn’t invite me to come along this morning.”

  “Did you mention you wanted to join him?”

  “Not exactly.” Tally’s blue eyes darkened with anxiety. “He just announced he was going to play golf. Didn’t even care what I had planned for the day. Maybe he’s meeting his girlfriend there.”

  Marla scoffed.’ ‘I doubt it You’d hear gossip, and so far nothing has surfaced to make you believe he’s screwing around. Talk to him! There’s got to be something else going on that’s bothering him.”

  “How astute,” she mumbled. “Well, I’m not waiting around for the lout to confess. I’m taking matters into my own hands to force the issue.”

  “What do you mean? Shit!” A brown Honda cut in front of them, causing her to hit the brakes. Thrust forward, she felt the seat belt dig into her lap.

  “Crazy driver,” Tally hollered, clutching the armrests. “Why don’t you look where you’re going next time?”

  Marla slowed the car to achieve a short following distance. “I swear, some of these people shouldn’t be allowed on the road.”

  “No kidding.” Glancing out the side window to make sure no one else was about to cut them off, Tally asked, “Where are we going anyway? I’ve never heard of a boatyard in this direction.”

  Heading east, they passed Tropical Acres, a landmark restaurant on Griffin Road.

  “The place is called Seaside Marina. The directions aren’t so great.” Marla handed Tally a piece of paper scribbled with her hopefully legible scrawl. “When I talked to Vail, he mentioned the name of the marina where Carlos kept his boat. I called up and got these instructions. From what I understand, we need to cross Federal Highway. Somewhere east of here, Griffin Road turns into Taylor.”

  “What makes you think you can learn more than Vail by questioning Carlos’s friends?”

  She spotted her chance to change lanes. “Use your turn signal, pal,” she yelled at the Honda driver as she veered into the left lane. “I’m hoping people will be more talkative since we’re women. Less threatening, you know. Nor are we cops, so they might be inclined to confide in us.”

  Ahead she caught sight of flashing red lights. Train tracks. She pressed on the brake pedal, halting for a freight train. Coming up was the intersection to Federal Highway. Facing them were two lanes for left turns only. The right lane headed toward a narrow road that appeared to curve northeast.

  “Now what?” she asked Tally, pointing ahead.

  “The directions say to cross Federal Highway and go straight.”

  “Okay, here goes.” She took the road lined on either side by thick tropical foliage. Nothing indicated a boatyard ahead. Could she have made a wrong turn?

  After they’d passed a Value Rent A Car lot on the right, Tally pointed excitedly. “Look at that sign. We’re about to enter Port Everglades.”

  Frowning, Marla muttered, “Maybe the marina is part of the port. It doesn’t make sense. Wait, there’s the three-way stop sign, so we must be on the correct route. We make a right turn, don’t we?”

  Tally nodded, her face animated. “There’s the truck-storage place. We’ve got to be close.”

  Cruising by, Marla read a sign for Caribbean American Shipping. “Hey, is that it—Broward Marine?” she cried, noting the wide entrance past a gatehouse ahead. The man she’d queried had mentioned passing through a gate.

  “No, you’re supposed to follow the curve in the road,” Tally instructed her, frowning as she examined the written directions.

  Marla continued along the narrow road, squinting at the sign announcing associated marine electronics. Nope, that wasn’t it either. “Wait, look up ahead!” She spotted seaside marina emblazoned in white against a blue backboard, and her heartbeat quickened excitedly.

  “We’re here!” The gate turned out to be an opening in a metal fence. She followed the paved road to its end fronting the dockmaster’s office, beyond which boats bobbed in the water at numerous slips. With a surge of excitement, she pulled the car into a parking space next to a rusting white Jeep Wagoneer. Damned if her Toyota wouldn’t need a car wash after this adventure, she thought, switching off the ignition.

  Inside the office, a bearded man sat at a desk, his bare feet propped up on a metal garbage can. He wore a T-shirt advertising Budweiser, King of Beers. On a counter behind him rested a modern communication system with blinking red lights. Foodstuffs and bottled drinks were for sale on rows of shelves opposite.
News blared from a radio in a back room, the noise adding to the din of a parrot squawking in a cage by the window.

  At their entrance, the man dropped the newspaper in his hand and swung his legs down. His gaze scanned them with obvious interest. “Yo, ladies, what can Ah do for y’all?” he drawled in a classic Southern accent

  Ignoring Tally’s broad grin, Marla stepped forward. “We’re looking for the slip where Carlos kept his boat,” she said. “I’d like to talk to his neighbors. He’s a friend of mine, and I’m concerned about his absence.”

  The dockmaster squinted. “You don’t look like no friend of his, miss, if you’ll forgive me for sayin’ so.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Oh no? We, er, met at the bowling alley. I don’t know a whole lot about him except he said he lived here on his boat named...” She purposefully let her voice trail off.

  “Angelica.” He nodded. “Nice sloop, a one-masted vessel, kept it real clean. You’d see him paintin’ and sandin’ every weekend. You could tell the man was proud of his boat Must have had strange work hours ‘cause he’d leave every evenin’ and come back after the sun was up. Don’t know where he went. Just took off more than a week ago and no word since. The cops been here lookin’ for him.”

  “Does he have a radio onboard?”

  “Just an old handheld VHS. Y’all need to call Channel 9 to get past the bridges, you know. The tenders might have records of when he passed through.”

  And Vail has probably checked them out.

  “Which slip did you say was his?”

  “Ah didn’t, lady, but check out Number 33.” He stood, wafting stale cigarette fumes in her direction. “In case Carlos shows up, who should Ah say was callin’ on him?”

  “Marla Shore.” She whipped out her business card. “Do me a favor and phone me if he pulls into dock, or you hear anything more about him.”

  “For a pretty lady such as yourself, Ah’ll do that. Your tall friend got any requests?” he asked hopefully, eyeing Tally.