Permed To Death [Bad Hair Day Mystery 1] Page 7

  "You may have a point,” Marla conceded.

  "If you think one of them paid Carlos to unlock the back door at your salon, then find out where everyone was that night. Also, who else besides Wendy knew Mrs. Kravitz had an early hair appointment?"

  "Good questions."

  "So they are, although I don't know why I'm helping you. In my opinion, you should leave this stuff to Detective Vail.” Tally's face broke into a smile. “You can be very stubborn when you set your mind to do something, and I know you won't leave well enough alone. Just be careful, and stop blaming yourself for what happened."

  Marla opened her mouth for a retort but the waiter returned with their orders. Gosh, that slice of brownie pie is big enough for two! And look at that mound of whipped cream dribbled with fudge. She'd never be able to finish it.

  "You've got to help me!” she pleaded, shoving the plate forward. “Here, have some. This is too much!"

  Tally laughed, dipping her spoon into the treat. “This isn't my week for desserts, but you've forced me. Umm, it's so-o-o good!"

  Small talk occupied the time until the bill came. As they walked to the exit, Tally turned to her.

  "Call me tomorrow after your meeting with Todd. I want to know you got home safely."

  "All right, if you promise to keep me informed about you and Ken. I really don't think he could be involved with someone else, Tally. He's always been so devoted to you."

  "Not these days.” She hugged Marla, and they went their separate ways in the parking lot.

  A heavy stillness, dominated by the rich smell of rotting vegetation, hung in the night air. In the distance, a flash of lightning ripped the skies, illuminating clouds sodden with moisture. Storms heralded the approach of summer hurricanes, even though the official season didn't start until June.

  Driving home before the rain came, she pondered her conversation with Tally. How drastically her life had changed since last week. Obstacles blocked her path where before there were none, but at least she didn't have to face them alone. Friends like Arnie and Tally were ready to pitch in, as was Lance. Tonight wouldn't be too soon to call him.

  The neighborhood was quiet as she pulled into her garage. She got her mail and turned to go inside when her eye caught on a return address. Galloway and Myers, Attorneys-At-Law. Oh, no.

  Her stomach constricted as she tore open the envelope in her brightly lit kitchen. Quickly she scanned the letter embossed with the firm's name as though the paper itself could intimidate the recipient. Roy Collins, on behalf of Sunshine Publishing, intended to sue for the amount of $250,000 owing to the loss of publisher and president, Bertha Kravitz, who died on the premises of Cut ‘N Dye Beauty Salon because of the negligence of said owner, Marla Shore.

  Damnation! Marla slammed the paper down on the counter and paced the kitchen, her blood boiling. How dare the man accuse her of neglect! Who knew Bertha would consume poison in the brief time she was gone? She'd only wanted to get some clean towels from the storeroom. She hadn't been the one who'd added cyanide to the powdered creamer. Someone else who'd known Bertha had a hair appointment that morning had done it ... maybe even another customer. She hadn't considered that idea before because a relative or close business associate was a more likely suspect.

  Her eyes narrowed, and she skidded to a halt. Maybe it was Roy Collins. This lawsuit could be his attempt at a cover-up. Wendy might get her aunt's fortune, but who gained control of the company? Did Bertha's partnership with Roy include right of survivorship?

  Dashing to a phone, she picked up the receiver and dialed Lance's number.

  "Hi, pal,” she said when his deep voice answered. “You busy? I've got to talk to you."

  "Sure, come on over,” he crooned. “I've been wanting to show you some cool new web sites."

  Right, pal. Like I don't know what you mean. “Let me buy you a drink at Tulario's instead,” she replied, her stomach heaving at the thought of ingesting anything else. In her current mood, she'd be able to tolerate the lounge in the Italian restaurant. Small tables allowed for quiet conversation, and lighting was dim.

  After Lance agreed to meet her, she raced into the bathroom, sparing a few minutes to freshen up. This was proving to be a very long day. As she powdered her nose, she glanced critically at the dark circles under her eyes and the pallor of her complexion. If she didn't take better care of herself, she'd get sick, and then who would prove her innocence?

  Stuffing the attorneys’ letter into her purse, she slammed out of the house, hoping the noise wouldn't rouse Moss next door. She wasn't in a tolerant mood, so she was grateful when Lance's friendly smile put her at ease. A small circular table with a votive candle divided them where they sat in the restaurant lounge. Marla took a slow sip of her Diet Coke, leisurely studying her companion. Lance's doughy complexion indicated he spent little time outdoors in the tropical sun. Owlish eyes the color of acorns seemed suited to a man who gazed at a computer screen all day as a systems analyst. His broad nose stood out like a beacon, proclaiming his distinctiveness, but it was his bushy mass of mud brown hair that made her chuckle. Running a comb through the dirty strands must be the last thing on his mind, but then so was ironing his rumpled plaid shirt.

  She filled him in on events, then pulled out the letter from Roy Collins's attorney. “Here, read this.” She thrust it forward, and he took it avariciously, eager for any intellectual challenge.

  "Wow, what a bummer. How do you want me to help?"

  She leaned forward, grimacing as the smell of cigarette smoke drifted into her nostrils. “Find out everything you can about Sunshine Publishing. Look into that tax-evasion deal and see if it's valid. I can use whatever you learn about Roy Collins."

  He handed her back the letter. “I'll search my databases. Why don't you come over and watch me pick on this dude?"

  "No, thanks. You'll work better without distractions. What kind of information will you be able to get?” she asked, curious. Her knowledge of the Net didn't extend much beyond basic search functions and E-mail.

  He smiled enigmatically. “Court records, tax reports, bank accounts, you name it. I'll get something for you. This guy sounds like a real skunk."

  She pushed away her empty glass. “What if I'm wrong? Maybe we won't find anything to discredit him, and I'll be stuck. I just wish I knew a good lawyer other than Stan."

  "You don't want to call him yet, and hold off on notifying your insurance company, too. Wait and see what I come up with first"

  She looked into his sympathetic brown eyes and felt a rush of warmth. “You know, if you help me get out of this, I just may come over and see your blasted web sites."

  In a better mood, she went home. After tossing her purse onto the kitchen counter, she trotted into her office to check for messages on the answering machine. Sure enough, the light was flashing. Five calls. One of these days she'd get caller ID so she could tell right away who'd phoned. Hoping she hadn't missed an important call, she pushed the play button.

  "Hi, Marla. Just checking to see if everything is okay,” said Anita's familiar voice. Marla bit her lip. She'd forgotten to call her mother earlier to tell her what a good dinner she'd had there on Sunday. Well, that could wait until tomorrow.

  She ran through the other calls which were brief messages from concerned friends. Nicole, Ralph, and—

  Her heart stopped. Oh, no. Why did his grating voice have to disturb her peace?

  Stan had called twice. Damn him. Now she knew he'd be on her back, taking advantage of her vulnerability. If only she didn't feel such a surge of anger in his presence, she could confront him with impunity.

  Giving in to her fatigue, she took a shower after Spooks had his evening run into the backyard. She had just slipped into her nightshirt, the new one from Victoria's Secret she'd splurged on last week, when the phone rang.

  "Hello.” She picked her damp towel off the carpet and tossed it into the bathroom.

  "Marla Shore?” said a muffled voice.

  "
Yep, that's me.” A frown creased her forehead. She didn't recognize the voice, nor was she sure of the caller's gender.

  "I have a suggestion for you,” rasped the person on the other end of the line. “Mind your own business, unless you want your next cup of coffee to be your last"

  Click. The dial tone buzzed, but Marla stood riveted with the receiver to her ear.

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  Chapter 6

  Trace the coll. Quick, before it's too late. Cursing herself for not having caller ID, she replaced the receiver in its cradle and searched her mind for the correct code. What did you dial when you wanted to retrace the last call? Damn, she couldn't remember.

  Rummaging through a pile of papers on her desk, she gave a cry of triumph when she spotted the information sheet she'd saved from the phone company. There it was—Call Return. Dial *69 to automatically trace the last number that called you. A one-time charge of seventy-five cents meant you didn't need to subscribe to the service to use it Pressing the numeral 1 would even return the call for you.

  Her trembling fingers punched in the code and she heard a voice announcing a phone number along with the date and time of the last call. She scribbled down the info then pushed the number 1 on her touchpad. The phone rang, but no one answered. Right, what else did she expect? Most likely, the number reached a pay phone. But just in case information was available, she'd ask Lance to check on it for her. Maybe she'd even tell Detective Vail that she had been threatened. But would he believe her? He might conclude she was trying to put him off her trail. Better to go through Lance, who was more sympathetic, Marla decided.

  As she got ready for bed, anger filled her veins. It wasn't enough that a woman had been murdered in her salon and police suspicion should fall upon her. Now she was being personally threatened. It only tightened her resolve to bring the killer to justice. Her sense of responsibility for Bertha's demise might have given her reason to get involved in the first place, but now things had taken a new turn. No one messed with her without paying the price.

  "So did you notify Lance?” Nicole asked at work early the next. day. Marla, having a break between customers, joined the tall young stylist in the storeroom for a cup of coffee and a private schmooze.

  "Yep. He didn't appreciate my waking him up either. Said he'd contact me later once he traced the call.” She pulled at her long skirt, feeling fidgety. That nasty message had put her on edge more than she'd realized.

  "You're sure you can't identify the voice?” Nicole's brown eyes penetrated hers.

  Marla shook her head. “I couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman."

  "I don't like this, Marla. You could be in danger. Aren't you going to tell Detective Vail?"

  "No, I won't say anything unless I have some solid information to give him."

  "What about Stan? Maybe you should give him a call. He might be able to offer some good advice."

  "like what? Who to hire as a criminal defense attorney? No, thanks, I'll never give him the satisfaction!” She shifted her feet. “I'll bet he's planning to force me into selling our property. He must have heard the news about Bertha Kravitz by now. If he knew about that letter from Roy Collins, he'd be breathing down my neck trying to coerce me into signing papers."

  "Much as you hate the idea, Marla, you might have to call him if your insurance company won't handle this lawsuit. Stan is tough as nails, and you'll need someone like him against Roy Collins from the sound of it."

  "Hey, whattya guys talking about?” interrupted Darlene, sauntering into the storeroom. “Like I heard Roy's name mentioned."

  "Since when do you have such sharp ears?” Marla snapped.

  Tension frayed her nerves because she couldn't face a confrontation with Stan just now. Hopefully, Lance would give her the scoop on Sunshine Publishing and any shady deals on Roy's part so she'd have something substantial to use for a counterattack. She didn't need Stan, not yet.

  Darlene lifted her chin. “I'm just curious about what's going on, that's all."

  "Well, Collins is trying to sue me for neglect regarding Bertha's death,” Marla explained, feeling chagrined at herself for being unduly harsh.

  "Oh, yeah?” A look of sympathy came over Darlene's face. “That's a real bummer. So what are you gonna do about it?"

  Marla bit her lower lip, hesitating. She didn't want to reveal Lance's involvement.

  Nicole put a hand on Marla's shoulder. “She has a friend who can help her."

  "Is that so? Someone I know?” Darlene persisted.

  "I may have to call Stan,” Marla said hastily.

  Darlene thrust out her bosom which spilled from her low-cut tank top. “Huh! What's he gonna do? Bring a countersuit?"

  "Why do you care?” Marla retorted.

  Darlene gave a vaporous smile. “Just want to make sure you're doing okay. Someone's got to keep an eye on you, see? For your own welfare."

  "How kind,” Marla murmured, puzzled by her last remark.

  "Ladies, here come your next appointments,” Lucille's voice yelled from the outer realm.

  Striding into the salon, Marla greeted her customer and directed her to the shampoo bowl. Nicole did the same, while Darlene went to fix her nails at a vacant manicure station.

  "I don't think you should reveal so much to Darlene,” hissed Nicole. Her ebony hair swung at her back in a low ponytail as she straightened a row of shears. “Something is strange about her. She takes too much interest in that Roy Collins."

  "I agree.” She risked a glance in Darlene's direction. The miniskirted girl was filing a nail, an insipid look on her pretty face. It seemed inconceivable that she'd possess an ounce of cunning. “I can't put my finger on it, though. Why would she want to get involved?"

  Nicole turned her attention to the woman walking in her direction with soggy hair. “I don't know, Marla, but heed my warning. That girl is trouble."

  Marla wiped any further musings from her mind. Tiffany, her next customer, finished her hair wash and was trotting over at a fast clip.

  "I'm in a hurry,” she gushed, sweeping into the chair Marla indicated. “Gotta run to a Roadkill Society meeting."

  As Tiffany was barely five feet tall, her head was too low for Marla to work on comfortably. Marla raised the chair level before draping a cape around the young woman's shoulders.

  "Do you know how many animals are killed needlessly each year?” Tiffany said, eyes flashing indignantly. “Hundreds! We can save them by educating drivers."

  "How are we doing your hair today?” Marla interrupted, touching the damp strands.

  "I'd like the sides more angled.” Her sharp gaze darted over other customers. “People let their pets out without any restraint. That's a big mistake,” she said in a biting tone. “The animal runs into the street and boom—dead meat. Think of the unborn litters that never have a chance. It's a preventable tragedy!"

  I can think of worse things, like children drowning in backyard swimming pools. That's where public education can save lives.

  Her fingers moving automatically, Marla's mind wandered back to her conversation with Nicole. The stylist's warning popped into her head like a raised flag. What if an outsider hadn't poisoned the creamer? What if it were one of her staff members, like Darlene? So Carlos had left the back door unlocked. That could have been an honest mistake.

  Frowning, she reviewed events of the fatal morning. She could have sworn the creamer jar had been at least a quarter full the last time she'd used it, but on this occasion, there was only enough to flavor one cup of coffee. She didn't have another in stock, either. Who could have used this knowledge against her? Who might have emptied the creamer jar so she had to use the last poisoned spoonful? Following this train of thought, she figured it had to be someone who'd known Bertha Kravitz was coming in that morning. Otherwise, Marla might have noticed the depleted creamer supply and bought another jar to keep in reserve. Anyone, including customers, had access to the storeroom, but not everyone knew her appo
intment schedule.

  As soon as her last appointment departed, she gathered her belongings. “I'm leaving,” she announced, inspecting her workstation with satisfaction. She'd tidied up and had no further obligations. “Lucille, you'll lock up, won't you? I'd appreciate it."

  "Got a date?” the receptionist asked, smiling.

  "You might say that.” Tonight was her meeting with Todd, but she wasn't about to let Lucille in on her plans. She wanted to gather her thoughts before the interview.

  Unfortunately, when she arrived home, chores took up most of her time. After gulping down a hasty dinner, she leashed Spooks for his evening walk and exited into the humid air.

  They were returning around the bend in view of her town house when she spotted a familiar male figure pacing her front sidewalk. Her heart sank as she regarded his set jaw and cool hazel eyes. Stan looked every inch the distinguished attorney with his pin-striped charcoal suit and polished dress shoes. Even his dark hair, slicked back from a wide forehead, reflected his harsh self-discipline in that not a single strand lifted in the slight evening breeze.

  A sickening weight settled in Marla's stomach as she approached. Spooks yipped furiously, straining her wrist as he sought to charge at the intruder. She yanked on his leash, muttering an expletive under her breath.

  "Hi, Marla.” Stan stalked directly into her path. “I've been trying to contact you. We need to talk."

  Marla stiffened. It didn't matter that the blazing Florida sun left her feeling like a limp dishrag even though she'd changed into shorts and a T-shirt. Stan's presence affected her like a splash of ice water.

  "There's nothing we have to say to each other,” she said, restraining Spooks from jumping on his leg. Her glance noted the absence of a vehicle in her driveway. “Where's your car?"

  "Kimberly dropped me off. She had to go to Eckerd's and then she'll be back."

  "Oh, joy.” Unwilling to let him inside the town house, she paused beside a bed of colorful impatiens. Gazing directly into his hard, resolute eyes, she challenged him with her own determined stare. “So what do you want this time?” she sneered. As if I don't know. Having given up on attacking her ex-spouse, Spooks settled for sniffing the grass near her feet.