Died Blonde

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “I’d rather you accompany me back to the bingo hall. I have more questions to ask Rosemary Taylor.”

  “How about if I give you a call when I have a free night?”

  “That sounds like a plan. Meanwhile, I want to find out more about Atlas Boyd.”

  During a break in her routine on Tuesday, Marla ventured over to Hairstyle Heaven. Expecting to see Wilda at the front desk, she was surprised to find instead a strange young woman with a nose ring and tattoos covering her slim arms.

  “That’s ninety-eight dollars, please,” the insipid brunette told a client. “Marcy said your hair was sixty-five dollars, with another fourteen for the anti-frizz product.”

  “What?” the middle-aged woman exclaimed. “Sixty-five plus fourteen equals seventy-nine dollars. Are you naturally math deficient, or are you trying to cheat me?”

  “Let me see.” Scribbling the numbers on a scrap of paper, the receptionist kept adding and crossing out figures. “Oh, all right, whatever.”

  After the irate customer left, the clerk gave Marla a loopy grin. “Hi, I’m Bunny. May I help you?”

  Marla tore her gaze from the silver stud poking from the girl’s nose. “I’m Marla Shore, owner of Cut ‘N Dye Salon. Is Wilda here?”

  “She won’t be in today, miss. I’m the new temp she hired.”

  Spotting Claudia at her station, Marla waved. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with Claudia. She asked for my help when the previous owner passed away, and I’d like to know if everything is okay.”

  Sticking a piece of chewing gum in her mouth, the girl nodded. Marla marched away, grateful she’d found Luis to man her front desk. She passed Lisette’s station, smiling when she caught a snippet of dialogue.

  “I’ve been thinking of getting my hair permed,” a customer with stick-straight blond hair said. “But can I do highlights, too? And in what order?”

  “Oui, madame. You should do the perm first, then add color a week later or more. Be aware that the bleach in highlights may straighten your curl.”

  Lisette, blowing out the woman’s shoulder-length hair, nodded a greeting to Marla. “Merci beaucoup for your help, mademoiselle. Things are better now.”

  Not with that birdbrain up front. “May I suggest you girls collect your own money?” Marla said to Claudia over the drone of blow-dryers, blaring radio music, and chatter. Business didn’t seem to be hurting any. Rather than the notion displeasing her, she was glad the stylists were still able to earn a living despite their changed circumstances.

  Claudia, checking her customer’s hair-growth direction before doing a cut, glanced at her. “Madame Cleaver is pretty much letting us do our own thing, but Bunny is a joke.” She pulled a comb out of her Barbicide jar, then proceeded to partition sections of hair. “Mon dieu, I am not sure what will become of us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Carolyn Sutton is listed as our employer on our documents, but our situation has altered. I fear we will have to leave.”

  “Leave the salon, or leave the country?” Marla guessed.

  Claudia shot her a wary look. “I am not supposed to talk about it.”

  “On whose orders?”

  Claudia’s mouth compressed. Picking up a pair of shears, she waved them in the air. “You have been very helpful, and you have our gratitude, but we do not care to jeopardize our position.”

  “Does this involve Peter McGraw, the attorney? I understand he does immigration work, plus he did Carolyn’s will.”

  “Non, you do not understand.” Turning her attention to her customer, Claudia blatantly ignored Marla while she snipped the woman’s short gray hair.

  Marla sauntered over to Jeanine, who she spotted smoking a cigarette by the open back door. Of course, they wouldn’t be concerned about the air-conditioning bill now that Wilda was responsible for the overhead.

  “Hi,” she said to the hairdresser whose dramatic black hair contrasted sharply with her pale complexion. “I’m just checking on how things are going. Is everything okay with your visa status?”

  The girl’s brown eyes widened. “That is not for me to say, mademoiselle.”

  “Claudia seems concerned. She’s afraid you’ll be forced out. Is the attorney giving you trouble?” Marla wrinkled her nose as a choking ring of smoke permeated her nostrils. Stepping upwind, she resisted the urge to fan herself.

  Jeanine didn’t seem to notice her avoidance tactic. “Monsieur McGraw is on our side. It is the landlord who troubles us. He had a special relationship with our boss lady, you see? Without her here, he may decide to close the place.”

  “Dennis Thomson had something going with Carolyn?”

  “He came to see her a lot lately. You can tell when a man and woman have secrets, non?”

  Marla blinked. The landlord was a married man. Could he and Carolyn have been fooling around? Was that why she could afford the rent, because he made a special allowance in her case? Maybe Carolyn hadn’t needed to subsidize her payments through a benefactor, although that wouldn’t account for those foreign students at the academy. Unless someone else had brought them in for other purposes.

  “Jeanine,” yelled Bunny from inside. “There is a person named Zelda Reiss asking for you on the phone. Can you take it? I’ve put her on hold.”

  A scowl lit Jeanine’s face. “If that woman doesn’t leave me alone, I will sue her myself.” Scurrying inside, she threw her next comments over her shoulder at Marla who followed. “This customer rejoiced that poor Carolyn was gone.”

  “Oh my. Why was that?”

  “She tried to default on her bill. Carolyn filed a charge in small claims court against her. Wait here.”

  Jeanine picked up the receiver. “I am sorry, madame, but just because Carolyn is absent does not mean your debt is erased. You still owe me for services rendered, and I doubt your appeal will overturn the judge’s verdict. If we do not receive your check as ordered, I will call her myself to report your noncompliance.”

  Slamming down the phone, Jeanine turned to Marla to explain, but a delivery from Ace Beauty Company distracted her attention.

  “Maybe I can smooth things over,” Marla offered, using the diversion to coax Bunny into giving her the customer’s contact information.

  That accomplished, she reversed direction, intending to leave the shop, and collided into the solid chest of a large man whose slicked-back black hair sparked recognition. Omigod, it’s Grease Man from the hardware store, she realized, swinging back to note his European tailored suit and stern expression.

  “Monsieur Boyd,” Claudia called, putting down her implements and rushing over.

  “You’re Atlas Boyd?” Marla gazed at him in astonishment.

  His dark eyes scoured her. “And you are?”

  “Marla Shore from Cut ‘N Dye salon.”

  “Mais oui, Carolyn’s competitor. Why are you here?”

  Marla guessed he was French—from across the Atlantic, not Canada. “The girls asked for my help.”

  Claudia, her face twisted with alarm, said quickly, “We just needed some guidance until Madame Cleaver took over. Everything is under control now, monsieur. Please come with me. All our records are in order as you requested.”

  “He’s an investor in foreign properties,” Bunny told Marla as the pair strolled away. She waggled her eyebrows meaningfully. Having tweezed them into oblivion, they were drawn on her face like a caricature. “A good man to know, if you get my drift. Like, I hear he’s loaded.”

  “Really?” Marla’s answering grin quickly shut down. What authority did Boyd possess that he could demand to see the accounting records? Had he provided Carolyn with the funds she needed to set up operation in Palm Haven?

  “Excuse me,” she said, hurrying after him. “I’m sure you know there’s an investigation under way into Carolyn’s untimely demise. Have you spoken to Detective Vail?”

  He turned slowly to face her. “I fail to see how that is any concern of yours.” From the set
lines by his mouth, the man looked as though he’d never smiled in his life.

  “Even though Carolyn was not my friend, I was upset by her death,” Marla said. “I’d like to see her case resolved.”

  “So would I.”

  When he said nothing else, continuing to scrutinize her as a manicurist might examine a hangnail, she blurted, “Her stylists came to me for assistance.”

  Claudia’s eyes rounded. “Only because you were nearby and we felt lost without our patron. Now that Monsieur Boyd is—”

  “I will be with you in a moment, Claudia,” Boyd snapped.

  Getting the hint, the stylist retreated to her station.

  “Are you a hairdresser?” Marla asked him, unable to comprehend his connection.

  “Moi?” His startled reaction was almost comical.

  “Why else would the girls want your help?”

  His expression clouded. “They know I have their best interests at heart.”

  “Why is that? How come they’re willing to show you the books? Aside from your friendship with Carolyn, just what is your interest in this salon, Mr. Boyd?”

  His fists clenched. “I do not believe you have any right to question me, mademoiselle. Come in here again and I will bring charges for obstruction of business.”

  “I doubt such a thing exists. Anyway, I thought Wilda Cleaver inherited this salon. Does she know you are here ordering her girls around?”

  He stepped closer until they were face-to-face. She could smell his aftershave; it had a scent similar to expensive French perfume. “If I were you, I would be more concerned about those dear to me.”

  Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”

  He waved a well-groomed hand. A large diamond solitaire flashed on his pinky finger. “Consider this a friendly warning. I’ve heard from a reliable source that a person close to you may require medical attention, perhaps even yourself. Carolyn displeased someone enough to get herself killed. Be careful, or your employees may be the next ones mourning their boss lady.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Too stunned by Atlas Boyd’s words to respond, Marla stalked out of Hairstyle Heaven while muttering under her breath. The audacity of the man! He’d made a veiled threat against her, and it implied he’d been in communication with Wilda. How else would he know about the psychic’s prediction?

  She told Nicole about it while trimming her next customer’s hair. “The man obviously has some hold over those girls. I’ll have to tell Dalton about our conversation, but I don’t want to bother him now. He’s busy with a new case.”

  Nicole smiled knowingly. “He relies on your insights.”

  “I’d like to contact that customer Carolyn met in small claims court to see what she knows. A return visit to Mr. Thomson is also on order. Jeanine said he’d been seeing a lot of Carolyn lately. That could be how she was able to afford the rent.”

  Nicole’s eyes widened. “You mean…”

  “Exactly.” Releasing another section of her customer’s hair, Marla cut the ends at an angle.

  “Have you listened to the weather report lately?” the customer piped in. The auburn-haired society matron had a charity luncheon the following day. “They say that storm is headed in our direction, and it’s predicted to pick up speed as well as reach hurricane force by tonight.”

  “It’s still too early to forecast landfall,” Marla replied. “A high pressure ridge may yet turn it out to sea. Anyway, they say it may only get to be a Category One.”

  “Bottled water is already disappearing from the shelves. You’d better stock up on supplies before we have a storm watch.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “You should be,” Nicole interrupted. “We don’t want to have any more power outages.”

  Marla gave her a shrewd glance. “Notice how the lights haven’t gone out since Carolyn died?”

  “Uh huh. Have you reviewed our hurricane plan with Jennifer and Luis? They may not know where you keep the batteries and such. Just in case.”

  “I should do that,” Marla said, lifting another shank of hair and snipping with practiced skill. Like many Floridians, she had lived through many storms, but most of them caused little damage. She’d been too far north to be affected by Hurricane Andrew, the first really major storm to hit southeast Florida since she’d moved there. Getting too complacent was the greater danger. What would Aunt Polly do? Did programs exist for the frail elderly? She’d have to ask Anita.

  Meanwhile, she made an appointment with Carolyn’s former client, Zelda Reiss, who agreed to see her after work. They met at the Borders cafe on West Sunrise Boulevard near Sawgrass Mills Mall.

  Nursing a mug of coffee, Marla regarded the woman seated across from her at the small table. Zelda’s shoulder-length mahogany hair, with a healthy sheen that showed careful grooming, hung straight to her back. The ends were neatly trimmed, unlike her thick eyebrows. In need of shaping, they perched over entrancing eyes with brown irises blending into gray. The dichotomy in color seemed reflected in her clothing style. While she wore a wrinkled blue shorts set, her selection of jewelry showed particular attention. Marla especially liked the gold tiger with emerald eyes sparkling on a pendant around her neck.

  “I appreciate your meeting with me,” Marla began. “I’m from the other salon in the same shopping center as Carolyn Sutton’s establishment. The girls in there have asked for my help regarding management details, and I couldn’t help overhear something about a problem you were having with Jeanine. I thought I might be able to help.”

  Zelda sipped her hot chocolate, then speared Marla with a glance. “I suppose Jeanine told you I didn’t pay her for the extensions and hair weave that cost several hundred dollars. I was going to a party and wanted to do something different. She worked on me for hours but neglected the finishing touches.”

  After blowing on her steaming beverage, Marla drank carefully. She’d already burned her tongue once. “Why did you leave if Jeanine wasn’t done?”

  “You don’t understand.” Zelda grimaced. “I worked there, but I wasn’t an employee.”

  “You’re a hairdresser?”

  “That’s right. I rented my chair, but I left because Carolyn gave me no respect. She acted as though I owed her my life and said bad things about me to my customers. When I decided to move on, she claimed I deserted her. Like she came in one day, and my stuff was gone. What obligation did I have to her?”

  “Did you tell her you were unhappy? I can imagine why she’d be upset if you left suddenly without giving her any inclination of how you felt.” One of Marla’s manicurists had departed abruptly, and she couldn’t help feeling a sense of betrayal. It just wasn’t professional to run away from an unpleasant situation without trying to resolve things first. Then again, she’d been miserably unhappy working for Carolyn herself, and nothing she’d done had changed the situation. Perhaps Zelda had run up against the same wall.

  “I meant to work at my sister’s place,” Zelda continued, staring at ink marks scarring the table surface. “When my sister relocated, I asked Carolyn if I could come back and do some clients there. This was before she returned to Palm Haven, you understand. Carolyn wrongly assumed I planned to stay.”

  “So what led to your disagreement with Jeanine?”

  “I asked for extensions for an upcoming holiday party. Jeanine said she’d do it, and it would cost six hundred fifty dollars. But Carolyn said they’d only charge me ninety dollars for the cost of the hair if I would advertise the salon. You know, go around and let people admire my hair and hand out her business cards.”

  “But you said Jeanine never finished the job.”

  Zelda nodded vigorously. “She did my extensions almost to the crown but left out the cover layer. I needed more hair on the top of my head.”

  “And how long did this take?”

  “Several hours. Carolyn accused me of not keeping to my part of the bargain. I said I’d act as her model, but she expected me to continue working in th
e salon, and that was never my intention. So she charged me for the labor. I stopped payment on my credit card, and Carolyn filed suit to get the money she said I owed her.”

  “What did the judge say?”

  “She awarded four hundred fifty dollars to Carolyn as fair cost of the services rendered. It’s not fair; my hairdo wasn’t finished. She has no right to that money.”

  “Doesn’t Jeanine get it now? She’s the one who did your hair. Or does she work on a commission basis?”

  “I don’t know what Carolyn’s arrangement was with those other girls.” Zelda leaned forward, elbow on the table. “If you ask me, something strange is going on there. I can’t believe Carolyn left her salon to that voodoo lady. She was very superstitious, you know. Followed the woman’s instructions to a tee. My attorney agreed there was something peculiar about Carolyn’s financial affairs.”

  “Oh?”

  “At first, I wondered if that guru had loaned Carolyn money to open the new salon, but when my lawyer checked into things, he learned Carolyn had some unexplained sources of income.”

  “Like a silent partner other than Wilda?”

  “Not quite. Carolyn was the sole proprietor. I think she used the money to supplement her payments, you know, for rent and overhead expenses.”

  “She subsidized students at the Sunrise beauty academy.”

  Zelda jabbed a finger in the air. “Then she employed them when they graduated. I never understood why, but maybe it was her obligation in return for the funding.”

  “Hmm, you may have a point. Did you ever encounter Atlas Boyd? He speaks with an accent and seems to lord it over those French girls. I met him at Hairstyle Heaven this morning.”

  “I’d seen him once or twice, but not as frequently as Dennis Thomson, the landlord.”

  “I heard he came by her place often. Were Mr. Thomson and Carolyn having an affair?” Marla asked bluntly.

  Zelda shrugged, returning her attention to the cup of hot chocolate. “If they were, it didn’t affect me any. All I wanted was my hair done that day, and I got scalped. Four hundred fifty dollars, and Jeanine didn’t even complete the job. Carolyn was a real bitch to work for, but then I don’t have to tell you that, do I? She hated your guts, and I joined her blacklist when I left. If you’re smart, you’ll stay out of her affairs. Someone wanted her dead. Maybe it was another customer unhappy about her hair like me!”