Died Blonde

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “So what’s the relevance?”

  “Hazel said if I treat myself as fairly as I treat others, I’ll accept myself, and I can move on.” Examining her fingernails, Marla noticed where her polish needed repair.

  Tally eyed her. “She may have a point. Hazel also mentioned relationship changes, and it’s time you decided where you’re heading with Dalton.”

  “Maybe my purpose in life is to seek justice, and that’s why I help him with his cases.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve always felt guilty about Tammy’s death, and that’s been your driving force. Now it’s time to put the past behind you and go forward. Dalton needs you, and so does Brianna. You should listen to the psychic’s advice. Maybe the unsettled soul Hazel told you about isn’t Carolyn; it’s you.”

  “I’m more inclined to worry about one of my relatives falling ill during an upcoming trip.”

  “That still gives you some time to discover who’s sick.” Pacing the room, Tally glanced at her. “What would Wilda gain by urging you to find Carolyn’s killer?”

  “How should I know?” Marla tilted her head. “Tell me about your session. Who did you see?”

  A knock on the door startled them both. Marla opened it to see the desk clerk holding a sealed envelope.

  “This message was delivered for you.”

  “Thanks.” Waiting until the woman left, she tore it open. “I have information about Wilda Cleaver,” Marla read to Tally. “Meet me tonight at ten o’clock by the picnic table at Lake Colby Park. Come alone.” Marla stared at her friend. “We’re finally hitting pay dirt.”

  Tally’s alarmed blue eyes regarded hers. “It could be a trick. I’ll go with you.”

  “No, I’d better do this by myself. I have my cell phone. If I don’t call you by ten-fifteen, you can get help.”

  Following the directions in the note, Marla turned right from the main hotel entrance toward an intersection where she could either turn left onto Marion Street or go straight downhill toward the park, which was bound to be deserted this time of night. Having decided to walk the short distance, she brushed a mosquito off her neck as she trudged down the decline, watching her footing with the help of a flashlight from her glove compartment. At the bottom, a dirt road looped around the lake. Her light source pinpointed a lone picnic table under a shady canopy.

  Advancing a few hundred feet, Marla halted when a sticklike figure emerged from the shadows. Moonlight illuminated the features of the postal clerk she’d encountered earlier that day. His grinning expression didn’t indicate a threat, so Marla moved toward him cautiously.

  “I’m glad you decided to share some information,” she began, feeling a crawling sensation on her arm. Suppressing a shudder, she brushed away whatever insect had landed there to taste her flesh.

  “I couldn’t talk to you where anyone else could hear,” he said with a nervous tick on his thin face. “I’m not one of them, so their code of silence doesn’t affect me. I think you should know that Wilda Cleaver is a thief.”

  Marla’s heartbeat accelerated. “Really?”

  “She belonged to the spiritual camp once. When she lived here, Wilda set up a phony psychic hot line and duped thousands of victims, sending collection letters to those who didn’t pay for her services. The association expelled her. She was an embarrassment, a blemish on their reputation.”

  Wow, she’d stumbled upon a gold mine of disclosure. “Are you saying that Wilda does not have any true psychic power? Everything she says is false?”

  His eyes hinted at old wounds. “I’m not qualified to make that judgment, but I wouldn’t trust her, and I certainly wouldn’t give her any money. She claimed to have studied with a shaman in Brazil, but that’s garbage. Wilda is a butcher’s daughter from the Bronx.”

  Withdrawing a folded envelope from his pocket, he offered it to her. “Here, I made copies for you. You’ll find more information in there.”

  “I owe you, friend.”

  “Doug Rosenfeld. I just hope this has been helpful.”

  “More than you know. Thanks a bunch.” Stumbling up the road, Marla resisted the urge to tear open the envelope right away. Knowing Wilda was a fake eased concerns about her family, at least until she remembered Hazel’s pronouncements.

  “Maybe Wilda fleeced a lot of people and got kicked out of camp, but she still may be a viable medium,” Tally told her while they readied for bed in their room. “What’s in that envelope?”

  Dressed in her cotton nightshirt, Mark sat beside a round table covered with a lacy cloth and pulled out a pile of folded papers from the crinkled envelope. “They’re all about Wilda.”

  Standing, Tally pulled a brush through her long hair. “What do they say?”

  Marla scanned the materials, mostly copies of news clippings. “She ran a two-dollars-and-fifty-cents-per-minute psychic hotline, with nearly four million people calling who were charged an average of fifty bucks. She tried to collect millions in overdue charges.”

  “How did she get away with this?”

  Marla choked back a cry of incredulity. “Wilda put on a phony accent, called herself Sequina the Seer, and claimed she’d been trained by Brazilian shamans. She also earned money from television advertising and a Web site.” Marla shuffled through the articles, filtering more details. “Consumer complaints started the investigation. Once the members of this community learned the extent of her activities, they kicked her out.

  “Hey, this is interesting. Wilda wasn’t acting alone.” She glanced up. “Be careful with that brush or you’ll damage your ends.”

  “Yes, madame hairdresser.” Tally set her brush down on the dresser. “Should we barricade the door?” she asked, her silk pajamas rustling as she pointed toward it. “Ghosts may pass through walls, but people use doors.”

  “I don’t believe it’s necessary. People who come here are looking for spiritual fulfillment, not thievery. These mediums probably help folks just by listening and providing a sympathetic ear, don’t you think? Anyone who’s lost a loved one wants reassurance they’ll meet again some day, so the psychics help with grief counseling.”

  “Not to mention healing. It’s really what you believe in that counts,” Tally said to Marla’s surprise.

  “In that regard, you can interpret the medium’s advice any way you want. They don’t give clear details because it might influence your actions.” She folded her legs Indian-style on the bed. “Back to Wilda’s origins. A Fort Lauderdale company hired her, pursued collections in her name, financed TV spots and an Internet site. The Federal Trade Commission entered the picture after several thousand consumer complaints. They accused the firm of making false promises of free psychic readings, deceptive billing practices, and abusive telemarketing techniques.”

  Tally’s gaze reflected puzzlement. “Did they sue Wilda, or just the company that used her as a front?”

  “The FTC just went after Titan Resources. They reached a settlement with the company, which canceled any outstanding bills and paid a fine. Meanwhile the state attorney general’s office filed suit against the firm plus Wilda. She ended up getting the case dismissed against her, claiming she was a victim as well. She wasn’t aware of all the activities the company propagated in her name.”

  “Bullshit. She probably knew everything that was going on.”

  “I’ll bet.” Marla mused over the pages. “I wonder who defended her. I can probably look up newspaper archives on my computer when we get home. This must have all happened before she moved South. From what Dalton told me, Wilda appears to run a respected business now.”

  By the time they returned home on Monday, Marla was so eager to share her news with Dalton that she stopped by the police station after dropping Tally off. At two o’clock, she’d expected to find him in his office, but the front-desk receptionist told her he was out. Dialing his cell phone number, she blurted her news as soon as he answered.

  “Whoa, hold on,” he said, “I can’t talk now. Will you be free for dinner l
ater?”

  “Yes, that works for me. Is everything okay with Brianna? Shall I pick up something to eat?”

  “We’re all right. Why don’t we come to your house? I’m sure you have enough to do. Chicken or Chinese food?”

  His thoughtfulness made warmth coil through her. “How about a stir-fry from the Chicken Kitchen?”

  “You got it. I’m glad you’re back safely. We’ll discuss what you’ve dug up when I see you.”

  After Marla retrieved Spooks from the kennel, she drove home, unpacked, then called her mother. Briefly, she recounted her experience with the psychic, leaving out the parts about her brother and any upcoming family ailments. “Do you really think Daddy was communicating with me?”

  “I’d like to think so.”

  “So where does that leave me in Carolyn’s case? If Wilda is pulling my leg, I don’t have to be involved.”

  Anita clicked her tongue. “Your father advised you to follow the path to justice. Perhaps there was a portion of truth in what Wilda said.”

  Exasperated, Marla raised a hand. “I give up. I might as well chase this thing through to the end.”

  “How did Tally make out? Are her problems with Ken smoothed over?”

  “Not exactly.” Marla squirmed on her study chair. “Tally’s reading with a psychic told her that troubled waters are ahead. She’ll have to make some important decisions to go after what she really wants.”

  “Seems like we all have decisions to make regarding relationships. I have a date with Sam this weekend.”

  “You’re kidding. He asked you out?”

  “He finally got up the nerve. I kind of like the guy. He’s a lot quieter than Roger, but he has a sort of boyish charm.”

  Marla wouldn’t describe Sam Levy that way, but perhaps he showed a different side to her mother. “Well, let me know where you’re going so I can keep tabs on you.”

  Anita laughed. “Don’t you have our roles reversed?”

  “That happens when you get older.”

  “Have you checked on Aunt Polly since you’ve been back?”

  “No, I’ll visit her soon. She’s letting her bills slide, and I want to get my name on her checking account so I can help pay them.”

  “See if you can convince her to get some decent clothes. With Dalton and his daughter coming for Rosh Hashanah, I’d hate to be shamed by my own sister.”

  “I’ll try, but she’s stubborn. How are Michael’s kids? Are they doing okay?”

  “You call him, bubula. He’s your brother.”

  Marla agreed and signed off. Delaying the obligatory call until later, she phoned the chiropractor’s office to schedule an appointment. Then she finally took a break to refresh herself, stuff down some chopped liver on Ritz crackers, and consult the computer for background information on Wilda Cleaver.

  By the time Dalton came with Brianna at six-thirty, she had more information on the Fort Lauderdale company that had hired Wilda to play the part of Sequina the Seer. Hopping back and forth with excitement, she greeted them at the door and ushered them into the kitchen. Vail gave her a quick kiss before depositing a large paper bag on the counter. Brianna bent over to pet Spooks, leaping at her ankles.

  “Did you know Wilda Cleaver lived in Cassadaga, where she got involved in a telemarketing scheme?” Marla began.

  Vail’s hot gaze passed over her while his mouth curved in a lazy grin. “She ripped off thousands of customers with a phony psychic hot line, calling herself Sequina the Seer and charging two-fifty a minute.”

  “You rat. Why didn’t you tell me about her background?” Marla clamped a hand on her hip.

  “I didn’t want to influence your impressions. Besides, she seems to have come clean. Her clients rave about her in a manner that suggests she has some real talent.”

  Marla pointed to the copied articles scattered on the table. “A man who works in the post office gave me those. Wilda isn’t welcome at the spiritual camp.” She helped him unpack their meals, her mouth watering at the aroma of garlic and onions.

  “I’d hoped you would find out something new,” Vail admitted.

  “Titan Resources was the company that collected unpaid bills from Wilda’s unsuspecting customers. They sponsored Sequina the Seer’s television commercials and Web site.” Marla laid out silverware, then put a two-liter bottle of ginger ale on the table along with glasses filled with ice. “The word Titan reminded me of something I’d seen in Peter McGraw’s office. I forgot about it until now. On his desk was an envelope with lapetus written across it. The lawyer saw me looking at the note and snatched it away. Guess what lapetus means?”

  With a bemused look, Dalton played along. “What?”

  “lapetus was one of the titans in Greek mythology and the father of Atlas. Don’t you see? This could mean there’s a connection between Peter McGraw and the European, Atlas Boyd.”

  Too buoyed to eat, Marla watched Vail dig into his chicken and vegetables. Brianna ignored them both, chatting on her dad’s cell phone while she picked at her food.

  “An attorney from Peter McGraw’s firm defended Wilda against the state,” Vail remarked, chewing with gusto. “McGraw owned a stake in Titan Resources. Assuming he’s the link to Atlas Boyd, how did Carolyn get involved?”

  “Through Wilda, dork-face,” Brianna chipped in. The girl must be adept at multitasking, Marla reflected, if she could listen to two conversations at once. “Let’s work this out,” she said. “When Wilda lived in Cassadaga, she was approached by Peter McGraw, who offered her the chance to make much more money than she could bring in as a genuine medium. The postal clerk told me she grew up in the Bronx. As a butcher’s daughter, Wilda may have craved a more affluent lifestyle. She might even have regarded McGraw’s opportunity as ordained by the spirits.”

  “Why take her? He could’ve established someone else in that role.” Vail regarded her from under his heavy brows.

  “You have to admit Wilda has a certain flamboyant style. Moreover, there may be a statement of truth in what she tells people.” Falling silent, Marla lifted a forkful of buttery brown rice to her mouth.

  “Oh? I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

  “In Cassadaga I consulted a psychic who told me a lot about myself. I’m not sure how to interpret her reading, or if her advice is valid, but she seemed to share Wilda’s premonition about one of my family members. Anyway, I have a theory.”

  “Go on.”

  Marla glanced between father and daughter. It brightened her kitchen to have them both present. “My guess is McGraw hooked Wilda, who later became friends with Carolyn. Maybe Wilda mentioned to him that Carolyn was looking for investors.”

  “Enter Atlas Boyd, a financier with money to spend in this country. Carolyn begins sponsoring French students at the beauty academy, who are later employed in her salon. I’ve suspected that much,” Vail let on, “but I don’t see what’s in it for Boyd.”

  “Couldn’t you get any more information on him?”

  “I’m waiting to hear back from the guys in Immigration. Seeing as how Peter McGraw’s practice includes that aspect, I smell a skunk. Seems to me they may all be wrapped up in some scheme together.”

  “I can ask Claudia. Jeanine told me Carolyn was about to fire her. I meant to get back to her last week, but things piled up on me. I’d also like to see if her absences coincide with our landlord’s business trips.”

  “Sorry if I messed up your schedule,” Brianna mumbled.

  Marla touched her arm. “Oh no, honey, I wasn’t complaining about you. You know you’re more important to me than any of this stuff.” That was true, she realized in surprise. Her glance caught Vail’s, and she felt her insides turn to mush. Nothing else mattered when a child’s well-being was threatened. “I’ll talk to Claudia tomorrow. Maybe she can tell me if Carolyn’s friend Rosemary ever showed up in the salon. Rosemary captured the killer’s attention somehow. For all her rambling, I think the bingo player knew what was going down.”

/>   Chapter Eighteen

  Marla slipped into Hairstyle Heaven on Wednesday afternoon, having found little spare time the day before between work, taking Spooks for a grooming, and stocking up on groceries under the threat of another tropical storm. Squalls erupted with frequency during September, but thankfully none of them had yet hit home with hurricane force.

  “Yo, Marla,” said Bunny, chewing on a piece of gum. The vapid receptionist, rifling through a Salon News magazine, gave her a cursory glance.

  Marla’s gaze flickered beyond the front desk to the stations lined up like tanks on parade. Claudia waved from where she was doing foils on a yuppie patron. Jeanine, shaving a man’s nape, offered an acknowledging nod. Other operators hovered around their occupied chairs, applying coloring agents, moussing and spraying, and curling with hot irons. An unwanted image burgeoned in her mind: Wilda signing over the place to her. She’d expand her business to offer spa services and turn this into a center for massages, facials, and more. Affluent clients were always asking Marla where they could get a good herbal wrap. Think of the possibilities for broadening her horizons.

  Think of the rent. Extra electric bills. Staffing problems. Added bookkeeping. Yikes. She’d stick to styling and sleuthing.

  Leaning across the counter, Marla lowered her voice to speak to Bunny. “I need your help,” she said. “Do you have a record of Claudia’s schedule? I’d like to get a sense of her days off. In case she decides to move on, you know, I may offer her a job. But I don’t want to step on Wilda’s toes, so please don’t say anything yet.”

  Bunny gave her a conspiratorial wink, especially when Marla slid her a twenty-dollar bill in her closed palm. “It’ll take me a few minutes. How far back do you want to go?”

  “The past couple of months will work. I’ll say hello to the girls in the meantime.”

  Inquiring about their well-being, Marla determined that things were running smoothly, and that Wilda had even begun taking care of inventory. A wave of disappointment washed over her. She had truly hoped Wilda might move the location for the establishment. Fear struck her that Wilda still might sell it to Atlas Boyd, but when she mentioned that possibility to Claudia, the stylist negated that idea.