Died Blonde

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Marla finally got the chance to question Dennis Thomson on Monday. Entering her landlord’s office always made her uncomfortable. It reminded her of a prison cell, like the one in which she’d visited dear old Stan in the city clinker when he’d been wrongly accused of murdering his second wife. Maybe the harsh lighting reflecting off gray walls contributed, or else it was the lack of accoutrements besides the standard-issue desk, couple of chairs, and single metal trash can. Even the carpet, a mixed-color Berber, muted into dismal ash. Her mood sank along her body as she took a seat opposite the landlord.

  Thomson had grown pudgier over the years. His black hair, thinning over his crown, along with small deepset eyes and an almost nonexistent chin, gave him a weaselly look. It didn’t help that his thick lips were curled into a perpetual snarl.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Carolyn Sutton,” Marla said after handing him her rental payment. “Although we didn’t get along, I felt bad about her…passing. I’d like to do what I can to help the police. What do you know about Carolyn’s successor?” Crossing her ankles, she smoothed her knee-length skirt.

  Thomson’s amber eyes glowed. “It doesn’t strike me as being your concern.”

  “Detective Vail thinks maybe I was the intended victim instead of Carolyn. I don’t agree with him. Carolyn wasn’t a nice person, and she may have made enemies. When I worked for her, she treated her staff like dirt.” Her ears still rang with the criticisms Carolyn would say in front of customers, like Marla will never get that cut right, but she tries hard. What made Carolyn’s girls so loyal that they wanted to stay even after she was gone? “I don’t understand why her stylists choose to remain when things are in such turmoil.”

  Thomson shrugged. “It’s a job. They need the money, and customers depend on them.”

  “Claudia, one of the hairdressers, has repeatedly asked for my advice. Shouldn’t the new owner tell the girls what to do?” She couldn’t help her resentful tone. Thomson knew she disliked his decision to bring another beauty shop to the same location.

  “Indeed. I’m sure her staff appreciates your insights, but it wouldn’t be wise for you to spend time at Hairstyle Heaven.”

  Clearly she wasn’t going to get any information out of him about Wilda Cleaver. An idea surfaced, one that didn’t set well. If Carolyn had some kind of hold over those girls, perhaps she had one over their landlord as well.

  “Carolyn sponsored foreign students at the Sunrise Academy of Beauty and employed them in her salon after they graduated. Where do you suppose she got the funds? Her previous location wasn’t exactly a success.”

  “How would you know?” Sweat beaded Thomson’s upper lip.

  “I visited her there when she tried to take over my lease. Was Carolyn on time with her monthly rent payments?”

  “She met her obligations.” Rubbing his hands together, he avoided her penetrating stare. “If I were you, I’d keep my nose out of other people’s affairs. Otherwise, when your term comes up for renewal, you might find a few surprises.”

  Marla shot to her feet, but she bit back any retort that might aggravate him further. You’re the one who will be surprised when I determine why you act so nervous. Thomson hadn’t directly answered any of her questions, but she’d bet her bobka he knew more about Carolyn’s life than he let on. Better to acquire additional information before probing deeper.

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied before taking her leave.

  Realizing it was unavoidable, she stopped off next at Carolyn’s salon in spite of Thomson’s warning to stay clear. In another attempt to steal customers, her rival had opened on Mondays. That meant Carolyn’s staff had only one day off a week unless they staggered schedules. Spotting Claudia working on a blonde with highlights, she waved.

  The Frenchwoman’s expression brightened, and she signaled Marla to come over. No one manned the reception desk, Marla noticed.

  “I thought your new owner was coming in this week,” she said, sniffing the familiar scents of hair spray, permanent-solution fumes, and polish remover.

  “Wilda said the signs weren’t right for today,” Claudia said with a sneer. “I fear she will add to our problems. Have you come to assist us? Girls, this is Marla Shore from Cut ‘N Dye.”

  Busy with customers who required cutting, coloring, and conditioning, the stylists waved while Marla’s quick glance took in counters strewn with equipment and hairs littering the tile floor. Where was their shampoo assistant? In her salon, Joanne took care of sweeping chores along with other mundane tasks. Each hairdresser cleaned her own station. Apparently, no such standards existed here. She didn’t see how a fortune-teller would be able to run the place without experienced counsel. Clients had to receive a significant discount to remain loyal; Marla made a mental note to check their price list.

  “How are you getting on?” Marla asked, genuinely perplexed. If these stylists rented their booths, they paid a fixed monthly sum to the owner and maintained their own stores. Alternately, when a proprietor wanted more control, she employed a commission system wherein operators kept sixty percent and gave forty percent to the owner. These shared profits often led to better teamwork and a broader sense of cooperation. It was how Marla ran her salon. In return for the percentage fee, she paid for overhead expenses, stocked the shelves, and scheduled advanced training seminars.

  “Detective Vail took things from the front desk,” Claudia said. “Wilda promised to set things straight when she gets here, but I am afraid she may consult her crystals instead of the appointment book. We are scared, mademoiselle. If we lose this job, we shall have to go home.”

  A tall, model-thin brunette sidled up to her. “Je suis Lisette. I am sorry if Carolyn made us do mean things to you. It was not our wish to cause harm. We had to obey, or she would have dismissed us. You will forgive, non?”

  Marla lifted her chin. “I fired that manicurist she suckered me into hiring after catching the woman pilfering our supplies. Not only did Joy talk against me to customers, but one day she put depilatory into our shampoo bottles. Carolyn must have paid her well to sabotage me. How about the rest of you? Did you get a bonus to order that truckload of toilet paper in my name? Or to cancel that delivery from Sebastian that I really needed?”

  The girls exchanged glances. “We’ll do anything you ask if you’ll help us,” Lisette pleaded. “Right, Claudia?”

  The Mona Lisa look-alike nodded curtly, giving Marla the impression that the younger hairdresser looked to her for guidance. Had Claudia hoped to gain management of the salon for herself? Possibly, if Carolyn had relied on her. Surely she wouldn’t expect to inherit ownership, though. Why the devil was she so desperate to keep her current job? Marla surveyed the other stylists. Were they here on work visas, meaning they’d be shipped back to France when their documents or employment expired?

  She’d have to ask Vail these questions. He might be more familiar with immigration regulations, plus he’d be looking into the background of Carolyn’s staff along with anyone else who had been close to her.

  The detective had wanted Marla to talk to Carolyn’s sister, but she’d been negligent in fulfilling his request. Avoidance behavior was something she was becoming adept at, especially in regard to any actions involving Carolyn. Now would be a good time to contact Linda Hall. Then she’d have an excuse to call Dalton with news.

  “I’ll come in tomorrow when Wilda Cleaver is here,” Marla promised the French stylists. “Maybe we can work out some sort of agreement.” As in a noncompetition clause in exchange for my expert advice. Too many salons existed already in nearby shopping centers, as ubiquitous as Chinese restaurants, pizza kitchens, and bagel dens. What she’d really aim for would be to persuade the new owner of Hairstyle Heaven to change locations.

  Marla wished she could convince Dalton Vail to do the same. While she spent weekends at his house, she still felt uncomfortable surrounded by his dead wife’s belongings. He hadn’t removed a single knickknack since Pam died thre
e years ago. It drove a wedge between them, one that she’d chipped at but barely budged. If she ever made her move permanent, a new house might be their only solution.

  In the meantime, she divided her time between his ranch-style home and her one-story town house. As she drove into her driveway, she noticed her neighbor, Goat, walking his dog. The black poodle yipped and tugged on its leash, yanking its scraggly-haired owner in Marla’s direction. Hearing her own dog, Spooks, bark in response when she emerged from her Camry, Marla unlocked the kitchen door and grabbed his leash from its hook. Her male white poodle bolted out the door to meet his lady love, Rita. The two poodles sniffed each other while Marla addressed Goat.

  “Aren’t you at work today?” she said, glancing at his parked van. Goat, whose real name was Kyle Stanislaw, ran a mobile animal-grooming business. His thin straw-colored hair, sparse beard, and menagerie of pets had given him his nickname. Today he defied the August heat in a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and a new addition: an Indiana Jones style hat. Probably the summer substitute of his usual fur cap.

  “Ugamaka, ugamaka, chugga, chugga, ush,” he chanted, tapping his bare feet against the sidewalk. “Took some time off, to build my loft, and then I met Jenny, who tossed a penny at Walt Disney World, where we cut and curled.”

  “Oh, you met your sister in Orlando?” Marla deciphered his lyrics. Jenny lived in Mount Dora, a quaint town with an annual antique fair.

  “You got it.” He stumbled when Rita, chasing Spooks, twisted her leash around his ankles.

  Marla jerked her pooch to a halt. “Spooks, behave.” Their dogs joined forces to touch noses. “He may be fixed, but he still has his mojo,” she remarked.

  “So does Rita.” Goat grinned. “How are things with your boyfriend?” Tightening his grip on the leash, he danced a jig. “Your lights go out, the house is bare, weekends go by with nary a scare.”

  “I’m spending time with him and Brianna. Dalton still has some issues to settle before we, uh, take the next step.”

  “Has he?”

  “What?”

  “You know, popped the question.”

  “No, thank goodness. I’m not ready for that yet. He wants me to help him investigate another case.”

  “Awesome, dudette. You’re good at the crime thing.”

  “Not this time. Carolyn Sutton and I didn’t get along. She probably made other enemies. It doesn’t surprise me that someone bumped her off.” Marla watched while Spooks did his business on an elderly neighbor’s lawn. “I’d better go inside and make a phone call. I promised Dalton I’d call Carolyn’s sister to see what I can learn.”

  Goat gave her the thumbs-up sign. “I’m with you, man. If you need help, you know where to find me.”

  Marla appreciated his sincerity and support. “I know. Have a good day. I’ll talk to you later. Come on, Spooks, move.”

  Having delegated the role of matchmaker to herself for Anita and Sam, Marla now considered whom she could find for Goat. Poor guy, all he dreamed about was acquiring a piece of land up North to raise his animals, but he’d taken too many wrong turns. Maybe if he found the right person to focus his attention on, he’d stay on the proper path. His sister had explained his weird mannerisms as being due to shyness. What he needed was a woman who loved pets and could tolerate his shenanigans.

  That wasn’t her concern yet, though: interviewing Carolyn’s sister came first. A promise made was a promise kept. Marla entered her house, released Spooks, washed her hands, then picked up the telephone.

  Chapter Four

  “My name is Marla Shore,” she said when a woman answered on the other end of the line. “Is this Linda Hall?”

  “Speaking.”

  “I am…was…er, a friend of your sister’s.” Marla wondered how much Carolyn had confided about their rivalry.

  “Aren’t you the lady from the other salon?” Hall’s sharp response answered her question.

  “Yes, I’m with Cut ‘N Dye. I was terribly sorry about your sister’s untimely death.”

  “I told that detective about you.”

  Sinking onto a kitchen chair, Marla gripped the receiver. “Look, I don’t know what Carolyn said about me, but I meant her no harm.” She was the one who played nasty tricks on me, Marla wanted to add but held her tongue.

  “What do you want?”

  She squirmed at the awkwardness of their conversation. “I feel bad about what happened, and I’d like to help. Is there some way we can get together for a chat? I gather you live north of Palm Haven. I could go to your home, or we can meet somewhere, and I’ll buy you a drink.” Biting her lower lip to stop babbling, Marla waited.

  A long silence met her request. “All right. The kids are at their friend’s house, so I can spare an hour. I’m in Delray Beach. Take 1-95 to Atlantic Avenue. Get off at Exit Fifty-Two, and go east six traffic lights to Pineapple Grove Way. Make a left, and look for Murder on the Beach Mystery Bookstore. A few doors down is the Seagrape Cafe. I’ll meet you there at five.”

  “Okay. I have brown hair and eyes, and I’ll be wearing a peach slacks set. See you soon.”

  Her preparations took less than ten minutes. She stuffed a large notebook into her white leather purse, changed into the peach outfit with matching sandals, refreshed her makeup, and refilled Spooks’s water dish.

  “Bye, precious.” Scratching the poodle behind his ears, she smiled. “Guard the house while I’m gone.” She set the alarm, locked the door between the kitchen and garage, and swung into her car. Putting her cell phone into its charger, she switched on the ignition.

  Traffic wasn’t too bad, considering it was close to rush hour. She veered north on 1-95, dodging the usual assault of trucks and sport utility vehicles. Once she’d cleared the Fort Lauderdale corridor, she allowed her mind to drift into automatic gear. Time to plan the interview. Don’t let Linda know how you really felt about Carolyn, or you’ll turn her off. She would assess Linda’s relationship with her sister first. Consider what Linda had to gain, if anything, from Carolyn’s death. Regard everyone as a suspect. That was Vail’s oft-repeated advice. She hoped to question Linda concerning her whereabouts the day Carolyn died. Presumably, Dalton had already interrogated the woman, but Marla would use a softer approach, especially when the funeral was just yesterday.

  She found the restaurant without any trouble and parked her car around the corner. A few minutes early for the rendezvous, she stopped in the Murder on the Beach bookstore where the proprietor, Joanne Sinchuk, recommended a couple of medical thrillers for Nicole. The stylist enjoyed mysteries and was always imploring Marla to read them, but who had time? She preferred the real-life thing to armchair detecting anyway.

  At the cafe, Marla was surprised to find a full-service restaurant instead of the coffee shop she’d expected. Already bustling with shoppers and businesspeople who had gotten off work earlier, the crowded bar had few empty seats. Nor would it lend itself to a quiet chat, she realized with dismay. Someone waved, and she spotted a woman on a barstool saving an empty seat beside her. When Marla met her gaze, she signaled more vigorously.

  “I’m Linda Hall,” said a heavyset blond whose lined face put her in the late forties. “You must be Marla.”

  They shook hands while Marla did a quick inspection. Linda’s heavily mascaraed eyes made her complexion pale in comparison. Pink glossy lipstick and plum blush might have worked on a younger person, but on her they gave the impression of someone clinging to youth who was past her prime. Nor did the thick hair straight to her shoulders have any appeal. You’d look better with a shorter cut angled to your face and more subtle makeup. If Linda worked with her attributes, not against them, she’d be much more attractive, Marla concluded.

  Smiling sweetly, she took the proffered chair and ordered herself a bushwhacker along with another white zinfandel for her companion. “I’m grateful you took the time to see me,” she began, nibbling on a honey-roasted peanut from a dish set in front of them. “I guess Carolyn told you about my
salon.”

  “She said you wanted to run her out of business.” Linda’s hazel eyes narrowed. “Carolyn gave you your first job, then you stabbed her in the back by walking out with half her staff. You set yourself up in direct competition, forcing her out of town.”

  “I left only because Carolyn didn’t give me any respect. She had problems getting along with the other stylists, and that’s why they came with me. As for her relocating, I suspect that was due to her business decisions rather than any influence I might have had.”

  “She said you visited her new place and accused her of conspiring with your landlord.”

  “Someone was trying to take over my lease, and I knew Carolyn wanted to return to Palm Haven. My ex-husband, an attorney, confessed he’d set her up with the money to offer my landlord. Fortunately for me, their plan fell through.”

  “Didn’t you bear a grudge against her? Maybe enough to permanently get rid of a rival?”

  Marla stiffened. “I didn’t kill her. I was grateful she’d hired me when I graduated beauty school, and then I just wanted to succeed on my own. She’s the one who started playing nasty pranks on me to steal customers.”

  “That sounds like my sister.”

  “How well did you get along with her?”

  Linda gripped her glass, a large diamond ring flashing on her left hand above a slim gold wedding band. No bracelets, and an inexpensive watch. Here was a lady who didn’t burden herself with jewels, unless she was storing them for more important events. Diamond tennis bracelets were so common among South Florida mavens that you could pave the streets with them.

  “Carolyn was incredibly jealous of me,” Linda said. “In her mind, it wasn’t fair that I’d met Richard and married him before I hit thirty. We have two beautiful children, a nice house, and a comfortable life. I quit my job two weeks before Kevin was born and haven’t worked since.”

  “Go on.” Marla’s nostrils picked up the scent of ale mingled with barbecued beef. It made her mouth water. She took a sip of her coffee-flavored beverage, enjoying the kick from the liquor.