Hair Raiser Read online

  “What do you think, Mr. Shapiro? Shouldn’t we be concerned about the incidents with the chefs?” she asked him.

  Darren gave her a diffident smile. “Not necessarily. I’m more concerned about the discord in this room. We have a lot to accomplish in the next few weeks, and you’re all bickering like a bunch of women.”

  “Is that a gender bias I detect?” snapped Babs, looking annoyed. “I say let’s review programming so we can get on to publicity.”

  “You’re all just running scared.” Ben smirked, drumming his fingers on the table. “You’re afraid we won’t make the quota. That’s why everyone is so uptight. How many tickets have we sold?”

  “Fifty-four,” said Dr. Taylor, in charge of ticket sales. “But it’s only been a few weeks since Darren sent out the invitations. We need more ads in the entertainment sector.”

  Digby shifted in his seat “I’ll send out a new press release, unless Ben wants to take over publicity. He’s got media coverage again for his latest trial.”

  “Jealous, are you? How’s the campaign going?” said Ben, snickering. “I heard your rival is ahead in the polls.”

  “No thanks to you.” Digby clicked his pen on and off.

  “Stop it, you two.” Babs’s eyes flashed fire. “Cynthia, what about decorations?”

  “I’ve got a handle on it. We’re going with the cruise theme, and I have a fabulous raffle planned as well. Stefano, are the flower arrangements finalized?”

  “Of course. Are we getting reimbursed for our expenses? I’ve run up quite a phone bill already.” Stefano drilled each member with his somber gaze. Thick, winged eyebrows and slightly bulging eyes gave him a zombielike appearance, as though he were startled to be alive.

  “Why should you care? Your rich uncle left you enough,” chimed in Ben. “So, Marla, who ya gonna get to replace Pierre?”

  “We need two replacements. Robbie from the Cajun Cookpot is uncooperative, so I’ve decided to scratch him from the list. Does anyone have any suggestions?”

  “You might try Alex Sheffield from the Riverboat,” drawled Dr. Taylor, surveying her with a disinterested air. “He participated a while back. I don’t recall what made him drop out.” He drank a sip of water as though unconcerned.

  “Okay, that’s one chef. Who else?”

  “Hey, I just thought of someone.” Ben pulled an envelope from an inner pocket and scribbled on it. “Here’s how you spell the guy’s name.”

  The envelope exchanged hands until reaching Marla. She turned it over. On the back was scrawled Mustafa Ishmail from the Medina. “Greek?” she queried. “We already have a Greek chef for Taste of the World.”

  “It’s a Moroccan place. Go there sometime. You’ll like it.”

  “How about if everyone calls in a report to Cynthia by Friday?” suggested Babs. “She’ll determine when our next meeting should take place. Digby, don’t forget those press releases need to go out right away.”

  “Yeah, if you have any spare time from the campaign trail,” Ben sneered.

  “Look who’s talking. I can think of a few things that would get you in the news, and I don’t mean favorably.”

  Ben’s face flushed, and he shot to his feet. “I don’t need to hear this. You people do your job, and I’ll do mine.” He stalked from the room.

  Gratefully, Marla rose to leave. She’d never been to a meeting where people showed such animosity. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to attend any more planning sessions. From here on, she’d report to Cynthia directly, and her cousin could pass along anything of import to her fellow board members.

  Stuffing Ben’s envelope into her purse, she hastened after Cynthia, who’d already left the room. Just outside the door, her cousin gestured to her. “Marla, when can you come over my house? I need to talk to you, but this isn’t a good place.” Her gaze skittered toward the elevator, where the others congregated.

  “Care to stop off somewhere now for lunch?”

  “Sorry, I have an affair at the country club.” Cynthia patted her beehive hairdo.

  I must get that woman to change her hairstyle. “I can drop in one night this week after work,” she offered.

  “I need you to come over when it’s daylight.”

  “Well, then I can’t be there until Sunday,” she said, curiosity overwhelming her. “What’s the matter, Cynthia? It’s something else besides the fund-raiser, isn’t it?”

  Cynthia chewed her lower lip. “Uh-huh.”

  “So tell me.”

  “Not now. Come for afternoon tea on Sunday, around two o’clock. Good luck with the chefs in the meantime.”

  Frustrated by her conversation with Cynthia, Marla decided to stop off at her mother’s house. Possibly Ma knew what was going on with her cousin. A lot of restaurants were closed Mondays anyway, so she might as well forget about finding any new participants for the fund-raiser until later in the week.

  The delicious aroma of roasting meat mingled with smells of cinnamon and nutmeg as Marla approached her mother’s single-story residence in a quiet neighborhood. After ringing the bell, she waited patiently. The door swung open to reveal Anita’s smiling face.

  “Marla! You’re just in time for lunch. Do you want some of this brisket and noodle kugel I’m making for tonight? The Steinbergs and Rosenthals are coming for dinner.”

  Marla stepped inside the brightly lit kitchen, glad her mother was having friends for dinner. Since her husband’s death several years ago, Ma had made a busy social life for herself. She still got together with other married couples but had made new friends among the widows in her development

  “No, thanks. I’ll have a sandwich, though.” She observed her mother’s white-haired figure bustling about the kitchen. Nothing made a Jewish mother happier than to feed her children. Marla always accepted something, whether or not she was hungry, because she knew it pleased her mother to watch her eat.

  “I met Cynthia this morning,” she said, dropping into a kitchen chair beside a small, round table. “She seemed upset.” Her gaze lifted to the ceiling, where an ominous dark blob showed above one of the plastic ceiling panels displaying cove lighting. Probably a dead palmetto bug. Maybe it was related to the roach in Robbie’s place.

  “Oh, really? I haven’t spoken to her lately, but I know she’s been having problems with Annie.”

  “I guess that could be what’s bothering her, but why would she want to talk to me about it? She wants me to come over to her house on Sunday.”

  “Where did you see her today?”

  “We went to a board meeting for Ocean Guard. Taste of the World has lost a few chefs.”

  “I’m sure things will turn out fine with the two of you working on it. Is tuna okay?” Anita rummaged in her refrigerator for a loaf of bread. In South Florida, you kept perishables at cooler temperatures unless you liked to eat mold. “Did Cynthia say what time she wants us for Thanksgiving? Last year was too late at five o’clock. Your brother likes to get home early to put the kids to bed.”

  “She didn’t mention Thanksgiving, but I’ll ask her about it when I see her again.”

  Her mother whipped up the sandwich and placed it on the table along with a can of cola. “Here, is this enough for you to eat? I can give you something else to go with it.”

  “This is fine, thanks.” Ma must have had her nails done recently, Marla noted, glimpsing her polished red fingertips.

  “Cynthia might know some rich bachelors she could introduce to you,” Anita said in a casual tone.

  “I’m not interested.” Marla popped the lid on the soda can.

  “Don’t tell me you’re still seeing that detective.”

  “What if I am? That’s my business.” She chomped into her sandwich, scooping up a dribble of mayonnaise with her finger.

  “He’s the wrong type of man for you. Listen to me, Marla, that guy will bring you nothing but tsuris.” Anita sank into the opposite seat, jabbing her finger in the air for emphasis. “Cops make lousy husbands. They’re
never home, or they end up dead. Why get involved with someone like him when Cynthia can fix you up with a nice Jewish lawyer or doctor?”

  Marla nearly choked on a morsel of food. “Stan was a rich Jewish lawyer, remember? Talk about a wrong match. He was domineering, possessive, and egotistical. Now the bastard won’t leave me alone. He keeps bugging me to sell that piece of rental property we own together. I told you how he tried to get the landlord to cancel my lease on the salon. Our divorce was the best thing that happened to me.”

  She gulped down a large swallow of cola. “Besides, Dalton and I are just friends. He’s got a daughter, so I don’t want to get more serious about him even though he’s interested.”

  Anita rolled her eyes. “When are you going to get over your hang-up about children? Tammy’s death happened nearly fifteen years ago. You can’t blame yourself for that incident your entire life.”

  “If I’d been a better babysitter, Tammy wouldn’t have drowned in that pool. I can’t be responsible for a child again, least of all my own. I couldn’t stand the pain if anything bad happened. So you don’t need to worry about me and Dalton.”

  Oh no? Then why is it every time you see him, your heart races like you’ve run a marathon?

  She bit into her sandwich, chomping heartily. Lately, he’d been too busy to pop in on her unexpectedly. She found herself missing his gruff voice and keen-eyed gaze and wondered when she’d see him next. Barring his need for a haircut, only another murder might bring him in again.

  Be careful what you wish for, she warned herself.

  Chapter Three

  Marla was in the middle of doing a coloring when Detective Vail strode through the front door of her salon as though he owned the place. From the set of his wide shoulders and the steely glint in his gray eyes, Marla could tell he meant business. She swallowed at the determined expression on his face. His bushy eyebrows, a salt-and-pepper shade to match his hair, were drawn together in a scowl as he marched forward, jaw resolute as he regarded her.

  His presence had an immediate effect on her heart rate. He looked as impressive in that suit as any commander in uniform, she thought, unable to temper her reaction. Hoping he couldn’t detect her loss of equilibrium, she willed an expression of surprised interest on her face.

  “Hi, Dalton, what’s up?” she said, smiling brightly. Waiting for his response, she applied the coloring solution to her client’s graying hair, brushing it onto the roots. Her fingers moved automatically, which was a blessing considering how her mind discarded all sense of reason when Dalton was around.

  “We need to talk.” He ignored the heads turned in their direction. After the episode with Bertha Kravitz, most of her staff recognized him on sight and so did many of her patrons.

  “Uh, I’m a little busy right now.” She glanced nervously at Nicole, who was doing a haircut at the next station. Nicole’s cocoa eyes blinked back a reassuring message.

  “It’s important.” His mouth tightened. “I’ll wait until you’re done.”

  Lord save me, now what? She put the brush in the bowl, removed her gloves and set the timer. “You can relax for a while,” she told her client. “When your timer goes off, Giorgio will send you for a shampoo. If I’m not available, he’ll do the blowout. Is that all right?” she called to the darkly handsome Italian busy sweeping the floor. They were short an assistant and had to share chores.

  “Okay by me.” Giorgio grinned, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin.

  “Is he single?” asked her client, an attractive widow.

  “Not in the way you hope. The guy’s adorable, but he’s gay.”

  “Too bad; he’s a charmer. So tell me, Marla, what should I do about shampoos at home to keep this color from fading?”

  “Use a shampoo formulated for color-treated hair. They’re gentler and less drying than other shampoos. If you use a blow-dryer, pick a lower setting. Too much heat will speed up the loss of color. Same goes for water when you do a hair wash. And stay out of the sun; that’s the worst.”

  Aware that Dalton was waiting for her, she gestured to him.

  “Let’s go to Bagel Busters. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” They could talk out of earshot of her staff there, as long as she kept Arnie at bay. The manly owner persisted in asking her out even though she’d told him their friendship meant more to her. Ma would approve of him, a little voice whispered in her head. But it was Lieutenant Dalton Vail who steamed her blood, not nice-guy-next-door Arnie.

  “Have you spoken to your cousin Cynthia since yesterday?” Vail said when they were seated at a table in the deli two doors down the shopping strip from her salon.

  Alarm frissoned up her spine. “Why? Has something happened to her?” The grim look on his face spelled bad news. “Oh no, it’s her daughter Annie, isn’t it?”

  “They’re both fine. I understand you were with your cousin at a board meeting for Ocean Guard.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” She didn’t see where this was leading.

  “Ben Kline was found dead last night.”

  Marla’s jaw dropped. “Dead? How is that possible? I just saw him the other day.”

  Arnie Hartman chose that moment to interrupt. “Hey, Marla.” His dark, gleaming eyes soaked in her companion, and he gave a grudging nod. Vail had questioned him following Bertha’s death at her salon. “What can I get for you?”

  “Ruth already took our order, thanks,” Marla informed him.

  Her jumbled nerves must have been evident because he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, shaineh maidel?”

  Her heart warmed at the endearment. “Somebody I know has been murdered. That is why you’re on the case, isn’t it?” she queried Vail.

  “Marla’s not in trouble again, is she?” Arnie demanded, his tone fiercely protective.

  Vail smiled although the warmth didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not this time. I need some information. Now if you’ll excuse us...” He let his voice trail off purposefully.

  “Sure. Marla, if you need anything, just holler.” Arnie’s mustache quivered as he gave her an encouraging grin.

  “Thanks, but I can handle it.” Her attention reverted to the somber-eyed detective. “So how did it happen?”

  “Bludgeoned to death in his office. It was on the news this morning. I’m surprised you didn’t hear anything.”

  “I was running late, and I didn’t turn on the TV.” The attorney’s image surfaced in her mind: his wiry black hair, cunning eyes, and sneering mouth. She’d only just met the guy. “What an awful way to die,” she commented.

  Vail’s mouth curved down. “Is there any good way?”

  “No, but having your life ended by someone else is horrible. Can’t say that I’m surprised. Ben seemed to get a rise out of aggravating everyone, but that’s no reason for murder.” Their beverages arrived, and Marla paused to take a sip of aromatic coffee. The hot brew tasted strong, so she added a spoonful of sugar and some cream. With the amount of caffeine that I ingest every day, I could be a catalyst for rocket fuel.

  “Would you care to elaborate?”

  She could sense his impatience by the way he gripped his mug. “The members of the board were tossing barbs back and forth like a bunch of bratty schoolchildren. Cynthia has her work cut out for her coordinating this bunch.”

  “You’re in charge of the chefs, aren’t you?”

  “Tell me about it. You know how I got roped into the job?” She put her mug down and turned her palms upward. Thankfully, her injuries hadn’t left any scars. “I figured I’d go nuts while my hands were healing. Helping Cynthia seemed a good idea at the time. I like what Ocean Guard stands for and want to support their goals. But if I had met those shysters before, I wouldn’t have been so eager to volunteer. Now the chefs are turning out to be more trouble than they’re worth.”

  “Explain.”

  That’s what I like about you, pal. You’re a man of few words. She related the problems she’d been having with t
he chefs. “What do you think Pierre meant about a warning and Ocean Guard being cursed?”

  His intense, penetrating gaze skewered her like shish kebab. “I’m not sure. Tell me more about the board members.”

  “I hope you don’t suspect someone from Ocean Guard murdered Ben?” she scoffed. “He must have had loads of enemies. His practice included criminal defense, and he’s been in the news more often than our local politicians.”

  “We’re considering all angles.”

  “Family?” She examined his ruggedly contoured face, hoping for a telltale reaction, but his features remained as impassive as stone.

  “Ben’s wife divorced him, moved to California six years ago, and remarried.”

  “Business associates? Former clients? Current cases?”

  A small smile played about his lips. Her gaze inadvertently dropped to his chiseled mouth, and her thoughts strayed in a more imaginative direction. Bless my bones, if he isn’t damned attractive when he’s in a stern mood.

  “As I said, I’m looking into different possibilities.”

  “So I guess you want my impressions of yesterday’s meeting.”

  Vail nodded, withdrawing a notebook.

  Well, maybe if she shared info with him, he’d be more forthcoming. “Babs Winrow, a client of mine, is chairperson. She kept trying to get everyone back on track. Digby Raines is running for mayor. Word has it he’s got much higher ambitions. He has aspirations where women are concerned, too, if you know what I mean. Dr. Taylor has a superiority complex. Darren Shapiro is a quiet sort, the respectable banker type you’d expect. Stefano Barletti has scary eyes. They bulge out in his grim face, making him look like a walking corpse. But then, he is an undertaker.”

  “What else?” He scribbled while she repeated the gist of their conversation. When her story finished, he plowed stiff fingers through his hair. He needs a cut soon, she observed, the prospect giving her a vicarious thrill. She liked feeling the soft texture of his wavy hair.