Died Blonde

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Her aunt’s wrinkled face crinkled into a smile. “Didn’t you eat lunch already? Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “No, thanks.” She sighed in exasperation. “Can I fix you something?”

  “I’m all right, dear. So tell me about your family.”

  “Ma isn’t feeling well. I’m going to stop over there from here.”

  “Your daughter isn’t well? What’s the matter with Rebecca?”

  “Aunt Polly, I’m not Charlene.” She didn’t look anything like her brother’s wife. “I think you need a new pair of glasses and a hearing aid.” Things were worse than she’d expected. How did Polly manage on her own? No wonder Ma wanted Marla to help her aunt.

  “I don’t have any Kool-Aid, dear. Would you like some orange juice?”

  Lord save me. Rising, Marla smoothed out her khakis. “May I use the bathroom?” This couldn’t get any worse.

  Wrong. Inside the lavatory she surveyed a cracked vinyl toilet seat, age-old stains in the bathtub, and blouses soaking in a sinkful of water. Aunt Polly probably didn’t spend a dime to do her laundry. Her gaze fell on the distorted lump that passed as soap. Impossible. Anita had set her an impossible task. Quickly using the facilities, she emerged and headed for the kitchen, afraid of what she might find there.

  Peeling wallpaper, a nearly empty refrigerator, and a lack of any modern conveniences confirmed her fears. Polly didn’t even possess a toaster. Next visit, she’d bring some groceries to stock her shelves. “You have to get help,” she told her aunt, striding into the living room. “I don’t see how you can live like this.”

  Struggling to her feet, Polly waggled a finger at her. “I know your mother sent you. Anita is always telling me what to do. She’d better mind her own business, and so should you.”

  “She’s worried about you, tanteh.”

  “I’m fine the way I am. Anita always puts me down. She criticizes what I wear and how I do things. Just because I try to be resourceful rather than wasteful, she’s on my back. Anita is too high-strung, I tell you. That’s why her blood pressure bothers her.” Polly’s voice climbed a notch in pitch. “Tell her to mind her own affairs and to stop sending you to do her dirty work. I know she’s behind it. She’s never liked me.”

  Realizing this tirade could continue, Marla retreated toward the door. “Time for me to go now. I’ll look in on you again, Aunt Polly. I really am concerned about you, and I’d like to help.” Yeah, right. Like I need this headache. No wonder Ma gets agitated.

  “She’s getting in trouble, your mother is.” Polly advanced toward her, a fanatical gleam in her eyes. “Running around with that man, Roger. Flaunting herself like a trollop. It’s disgusting. It’ll lead her to a bad end, you mark my words. People talk about her, and it isn’t nice.”

  “Who talks about her?” Marla snapped, feeling the need to defend her mother’s reputation even though she didn’t care for Roger, either.

  “They do—our mutual friends. It embarrasses me.”

  Marla couldn’t leave without at least fixing her aunt a snack and swiping her counters with a clean cloth. Diverting Polly’s attention, she busied herself in the kitchen while her aunt ate.

  An hour later found her at Anita’s house.

  “Polly is full of it,” Anita said, dipping her hands into a bowl of chopped-meat mixture to form a meatball. “She’s jealous of me. I have a lot more friends than she does, and she can’t stand it that I’m dating anyone.”

  “Regardless of your personal problems, Aunt Polly really does need someone to look after her. She doesn’t hear or see well, and she barely has any food in her refrigerator.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to convince her to hire a girl.” Dropping the meatball onto a plate rimmed with others, Anita speared her daughter with a dark look. “You have your work cut out for you, angel.”

  “I’m no angel, and I don’t have time. It’s not my problem.”

  “You’re her closest niece. She won’t listen to me.” Anita placed the emptied bowl in the sink before washing her hands. Crossing to the stove, she centered a heavy stockpot on the larger burner. One by one, she tossed in the contents of a jar of grape jelly, a bottle of chili sauce, and a fifteen-ounce can of tomato sauce. “Hand me those chopped onions, will you?”

  Marla complied silently, watching Anita stir the onions into the bubbling sauce over a medium-high temperature. Once the ingredients were blended, Anita added a sprinkle of garlic powder and tossed in the meatballs, stirring the entire mixture until the meat was well coated. Turning the heat dial to low, she covered the pot.

  “I gather your blood pressure was all right,” Marla commented, wondering if her mother’s headache was a ruse to get out of their barbecue.

  “I took a couple of Tylenol, and they helped.”

  “Uh huh.” Tired of interfering in other people’s lives, Marla decided to let Sam approach Anita on his own.

  “How is the case regarding Carolyn Sutton proceeding?” Ma queried, untying her apron.

  “Dalton was called for another murder this morning. Some young girl was found dead. I don’t know how he can deal with things like that without thinking about Brianna.”

  “It must be tough on him. Just don’t let it bring you down.”

  “He says I help erase the ugliness from his life,” she said wistfully. “The man needs me, Ma.”

  “Being a policeman’s wife won’t be easy…if you decide to go that route.” Anita gave her a questioning glance.

  “We’ll see.” Averting her gaze, Marla helped herself to a cinnamon twist pastry in a box on the counter. “Regarding Carolyn, I want to follow up on another lead. Her chiropractor told me she’d been involved in a court case with a former partner. Peg Krueger works at a Haircuttery across town. They’re open on Mondays; I thought I’d catch her tomorrow.”

  “Don’t neglect your customers while you’re chasing down suspects.”

  “I won’t. You can do something to help. Can you ask your friends if anyone knows Dr. Hennings? Rosemary Taylor, Carolyn’s bingo partner, said Carolyn learned something about the chiropractor that gave her an edge against him. Maybe one of your acquaintances has seen the doctor for treatments.”

  “You should ask around at Polly’s complex. Those people have probably visited every doctor in town.”

  You’re right. Sitting in the doctor’s office is the main form of entertainment when you get to that age. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, please see what you can find out.”

  Marla’s spirits lifted as she left Anita’s house to complete a list of errands before returning home. Relieved to enter the sanctuary of her town house by four o’clock, she unloaded a trunkful of groceries before letting Spooks outside to the fenced backyard.

  After putting away the perishables, she retrieved her Saturday mail and was shuffling through the envelopes when the phone rang.

  “Thanks for taking Brianna shopping,” said Vail’s gruff tone. “She’s really come to rely on you.”

  “Are you still at work?” Holding the receiver, Marla sank down onto the desk chair in her study.

  “Yeah.”

  “I left Brie some spaghetti pie. She’ll be able to heat a slice for dinner if you’re late. I said I’d stop by tomorrow after work to see how her first day of school went.”

  “That’s thoughtful of you.”

  His unusual silence made her wonder at the purpose of his call. “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

  “That girl they brought in, you know, my new case? A shank of her hair is missing. It isn’t much, and I might not have noticed it ordinarily, except you’ve got me looking at things like that now. Her layers don’t match.”

  Marla’s blood chilled. “You mean it’s similar to Carolyn’s uneven haircut?”

  “Right.”

  She swallowed, unable to ask how the girl died. “Maybe if you solve one case, it will relate to the other.” That wasn’t a comforting thought. They could have a serial killer
running around town, although the age difference between Carolyn and a teenager discounted that possibility.

  She heard the click of her call-waiting system. “I’m getting another signal,” she told him. Sensing he needed comfort, she added, “Want to wait, or talk to me later?”

  “I’ll catch you another time. See ya.” He rang off.

  “Hello?” she said, after hitting the FLASH button.

  “Marla? This is Linda Hall, Carolyn Sutton’s sister. I have something urgent to tell you.”

  Chapter Ten

  The sun blazed its descent at seven o’clock on Sunday evening when Marla met Linda Hall at an outdoor Starbucks on Atlantic Avenue in Delray Beach. Comfortably attired in a linen slacks set, Marla sipped her coffee while regarding the harried housewife across the table. Usually vibrant with shoppers, the busy district quieted by the end of the day except for restaurant-goers. Other tables were jammed with shorts-clad residents exchanging gossip.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, making Marla aware she hadn’t listened to the weather report recently. The latest tropical depression had spun into a named storm, but she hadn’t been following its course. Too many stormy waters closer to home drew her attention.

  Scratching her forearm, itchy from the hot, sticky air, she focused on the papers Linda withdrew from her purse.

  “While I was sifting through Carolyn’s personal stuff, I came across these,” Linda said, pushing the pages across the table. They looked as crinkled as their new owner. Her heavyset figure didn’t tolerate the heat well. Sweating beneath her foundation, Linda appeared pale, her blond hair limp. She’d extended her lip liner too wide, the result reminding Marla of the Joker.

  “This looks like jewelry,” Marla said, indicating some scanned photos on the sheets she held. Brooches, rings, bracelets. Where were these from?

  “That’s not what I found in Carolyn’s safety deposit box. If they’re part of her collectibles, they could be worth a lot of money. Those are pieces of Victorian mourning jewelry.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I looked it up in the library. In the days of Queen Victoria, people wore accessories created from the hair of deceased loved ones. It served as a keepsake of the dead and as a reminder that death could strike at any time. If you look at the listings, Carolyn had some antique jewelry worth a small fortune.”

  Marla shuffled through the papers. “Wow, this is something else,” she said, noting a couple of cameos worth over two thousand dollars. “Where did you find these documents?”

  “In a folder labeled income tax.” Linda slurped a Coke, keeping her eyes on Marla. “Read the history part; it’s fascinating.”

  Marla summarized aloud. “Queen Victoria, who was widowed at forty-two, wore mourning dress for the next forty years of her life. After the aristocracy followed suit, this practice extended to other classes as an expression of dignity and social status. Magazines outlined the length of different mourning periods. Initially, women didn’t wear jewelry, but in later stages, it became quite fashionable.”

  “They cut off part of the dead person’s hair to make jewelry from it,” Linda said with a grimace. “I think it’s pretty morbid, although I suppose it’s no different than pasting a lock of your loved one’s hair in an album.”

  “Victorians created their own hair jewelry using instructional pamphlets featuring patterns, or they hired professional hair workers,” Marla read on. “This presented a problem because often these workers didn’t use the deceased person’s hair. Sometimes they sold items made from purchased bulk hair.” She glanced up. “In other words, they practiced fraud. How would you know who the hair belonged to if someone else created the jewelry?”

  Linda suppressed a belch. “Some people still like to wear lockets containing hair or photographs. Did you see where it says the mourning jewelry could include precious stones like diamonds? The Victorians also liked to engrave their gold fittings.”

  “Often a wearer added more hair to the piece when additional relatives passed away,” Marla continued, then stopped and said, “Yuk, I don’t think I’d want to wear something that reminded me about death. It’s supposed to warn the wearer to lead a good life because death was just around the corner. That’s gruesome, don’t you think?”

  “Look at how much some of that stuff is worth.” Linda’s hazel eyes narrowed. “I wonder what happened to my sister’s collection. Obviously, someone stole it, but who?”

  “I can’t believe these prices,” Marla proclaimed. “Here’s a hair ring with seed pearls that represent tears for six hundred and ninety-five dollars. This hair brooch with three different colors of hair weaved into a crisscross design goes for five hundred and fifty. Carolyn wouldn’t have had to possess that many of these things for them to add up to a fortune.”

  “Look at the items on the next page. Those are regular antiques. Carolyn didn’t collect only mourning jewelry. If I recall, there’s a gold and tortoiseshell barrette worth twelve hundred dollars, and a garnet necklace for more. I can’t understand how she could afford to buy these things, unless they were gifts. Carolyn didn’t talk much about her love life, but she did date.”

  “If you’re right, then her boyfriend might have retrieved his property after her death. Who had a key to her place?”

  Linda snorted. “Her homeowners association, that friend she met at bingo, her spiritual guru, and God knows who else.”

  “Rosemary Taylor, the bingo player, said you envied your sister’s lifestyle and wished you had her independence.” Marla exaggerated a bit, hoping to provoke Linda into fuller disclosure.

  “What housewife wouldn’t trade a day of drudgery for more freedom?” Linda straightened her shoulders. “That doesn’t mean I’d discard my family. Sure, I get tired of the same old routine, and I admired Carolyn for running her own business, not that she did so well. But I wouldn’t want her life.”

  Marla eyed the encroaching cloud bank. They’d have to move inside if it rained. Swatting at a mosquito, she continued. “Who’s watching the children tonight?”

  “Richard is home.”

  “What did you say he does?”

  “Actually, he’s out of work right now. He got laid off last month. I’m thinking of looking for a job until he can find something worthwhile.”

  “You must’ve been really annoyed that Carolyn didn’t leave her salon to you.”

  “I wasn’t surprised. She always felt my life was perfect. I’m lucky she left me anything at all.”

  Pushing away her empty coffee cup, Marla folded her hands on the table. “I gather the jewelry wasn’t insured.”

  “Too bad, isn’t it? We could have used the money.” Giving a yawn, Linda stretched, then rose to her feet. “I’m hoping you can find out who took these things, Miss Shore. You seem to be good at getting people to talk. Cops make me nervous, so I’d rather chat with you.” She hesitated. “Don’t think I’m only interested in getting my due. I want to see my sister’s killer brought to justice.”

  “I appreciate your calling me. I’ll let you know if anything significant turns up in the investigation.”

  “Thanks, kiddo. Hey, maybe the two of us can do a night on the town sometime. Richard doesn’t mind when I slip out with the gals. He said it prevents me from turning into a New Age junkie like my sister.”

  “Er, sure, when I have some free time,” Marla lied.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll keep those.” Snatching the papers, Linda stuffed the lists into her generous handbag as she got up to leave. “It’s my only proof of what I have coming to me.”

  As Linda hastened along the sidewalk, Marla shuffled her chair back when she realized they hadn’t paid the bill.

  “Why, you schnorrer,” she grumbled at Linda’s retreating backside while reaching for her purse. “I suppose you consider this your payment for information.” But then, she reasoned, if operatives on television paid informants, why shouldn’t she? At least they hadn’t met in that fancy seafood restaurant
on the corner. They could easily have run up a high tab for dinner in there, and if Linda’s husband truly had lost his job, they must be hurting for cash.

  An inheritance would come in mighty handy right about now. Linda may not have acquired Carolyn’s business, but according to those papers, she could get a substantial amount by selling her sister’s Victorian jewelry. Maybe Vail had connections with antique dealers in the region. He could ask Linda for a copy of the lists and scour the shops for recent sales, a tedious job Marla would readily turn over to him.

  “What’s up?” Vail asked in a weary tone when she called him at the station later. It was nine-thirty, early by her standards, but late for him to still be at work. A twinge of guilt hit her for selfishly wanting to stay home instead of keeping Brianna company. Although she didn’t like the idea of the teen staying alone, making other arrangements wasn’t her responsibility. Yet. You have to deal with those guilt trips, Marla. Too many people impinge on your good nature. Put the energy into yourself first, or you won’t have any left to give.

  “I drove to Delray Beach to talk to Linda Hall,” she told Vail. “She’d been looking through Carolyn’s papers and discovered a list of collectible items. It appears Carolyn acquired Victorian mourning jewelry and other accessories from that period. Appraisals show they could be worth a small fortune.”

  “You say Hall has a list?” His voice sharpened.

  “That’s right. An article explained how people in the Victorian era wore jewelry containing clippings from a deceased person’s hair. It reminded them of their loved one. Rings, brooches, hairpins, and lockets were fashioned out of gold, often with diamonds, pearls, or garnets included. Sometimes the hair would be woven into designs.”

  “Mourning jewelry…hair clippings…dead people. Hmm.”

  “Oh no. You’re thinking about…”

  “Often a killer takes a souvenir from his victim. Maybe that’s why Carolyn was missing a clump of hair.”

  Sitting in her study, Marla didn’t answer, grabbing a pen while chills rippled down her spine.

  “I’m not saying anything conclusive,” Vail added. “Now that there’s concrete proof this collection exists, though, I’d like to locate it.”