Died Blonde

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Marla edged sideways, aiming for the door. “Did you really live in New Jersey like you said?”

  “Nope. I wasn’t a building developer, either.” He grinned, a hollow effect with his frigid eyes. “I worked at a slaughterhouse in the Midwest before moving to the Bronx. My brother had a butcher shop in the Jewish section. When I went to work for him, I took on the name Levy. Figured it would make me less conspicuous.”

  He held up his hands. “You should see how I used to break the necks of chickens.”

  Her heart raced when Carolyn’s prostrate form came to mind, her head bent at a peculiar angle.

  She glanced out the window. Swollen clouds scurried across the blackening sky like runaway locomotives. Even the edge of a hurricane delivered torrential downpours. If she succeeded in getting away from Sam, she might get stuck here once the rain began. Her gaze swung back to the only other occupant of the room. Drawing her arms behind her body, she opened the Swiss Army knife. It wasn’t much, but any weapon was better than none.

  “Are you going to make that call or not?” Sam demanded, his tone lacking any inflection.

  “Why?” Marla asked, curiosity compelling her. “Why did you kill those girls?”

  “Because they hurt people,” he said. “They don’t care how much damage they inflict. They’re mean and cruel, leaving us guys out in the cold, not realizing how the scars they leave can last forever. They deserve punishment.”

  He must have been rejected by a young woman and he’d never recovered. Marla could remember times she’d been callous to men who’d courted her, but it was only because she’d had a lot to learn about relationships. It wasn’t intentional, just a sign of immaturity.

  “I haven’t done anything to you,” she reminded him.

  “You’re just the same as all the rest, dangling that detective by his nose while you have a good time. I’ll make you pay for your meanness.”

  “Let my mother go,” Marla pleaded. “Where did you put her?” She slid a notch toward the doorway, hands still behind her.

  A gust of wind shook the house. “I’ll take you to Anita.” Baring his teeth, he reached for her.

  “I’ll find her myself, you bastard.”

  When he lunged at her, Marla slashed him with the knife. He jerked back, yowling with pain. It gave her the moment she needed to charge for the door. Which way to go? He’d said Anita was all right for now, but she wouldn’t be once the storm hit. That indicated Ma must be outside.

  Bits of shell formed a lumpy surface underfoot as Marla trotted around the structure’s exterior, calling for her mother. Leaving without her was not an option. Presuming Sam to be wounded, she paused to listen for a response. A chameleon altered its brown color to green as it slid from branch to grass, then back to brown again as it scooted up a tree. She stared at a squirrel poised on a branch. Slowly, it turned to face the south, as if the creature knew something she didn’t.

  Bird calls altered their range. Instead of individual warbling sounds, Marla discerned a single cry, birds in unison wailing with a sharp, edgy sound. Then suddenly it ended, and silence fell. The yellow sky darkened into copper. And then the wind gusts strengthened.

  Pine trees swayed; oak leaves rustled. The second gust blew stronger, producing an eerie whistling through the branches. The third one brought rain, cascading in sheets, driven by the wind.

  Splattering onto her head and shoulders, the downpour quickly soaked her. The day had grown so dark as to imitate night. She heard, rather than saw, Sam crashing down the front steps. Now what? He must have hidden Anita in the woods or by the lake. Either way, Ma would be at risk exposed to the elements. Droplets cascaded down her face as she trod carefully along the path in her canvas shoes. At least the noise of the pelting rainfall drowned out her progress.

  The lack of a response from her mother worried her. Rather than search for her blindly, she changed tactics. Sam would head directly for Anita, knowing that was Marla’s goal. Doubling back, she crouched beside a pile of lumber watching his wiry frame trudge past. Unfortunately, she hadn’t hurt him nearly bad enough. He cradled his elbow, so she’d probably only nicked his arm. Too bad. Marla had learned to defend herself to the fullest extent possible.

  She veered toward the lake, her shoes crunching over dead pine needles and skirting fallen palm fronds. Her ears picked up nothing but the roar of the wind. Swaying against the pull of the storm, she dodged just in time to avoid being hit by a flying coconut. She felt chilled, but it wasn’t due to the drop in temperature. Her thumping heart told her she raced against time, needing to beat the forces of nature as well as a murderer—with nothing in her hands except a penknife. That wouldn’t do much damage unless she caught him by surprise, and he’d be expecting her.

  A thump from behind made her scream, but her startled cry was obliterated by a shriek, of wind. Rain slashed sideways, blinding her. Then she saw the fallen tree limb that had caused the noise. Trees bent wildly in the howling wind, its pressure pounding her ears. Twigs, leaves, moss, and birds’ nests flew about in the turbulence. Something hit the side of the house, and a window shattered. Still the wind strengthened.

  Marla could no longer distinguish the lake. A mass of water swirled and churned in front of her, diminishing visibility to zero. By following the path, she came to a dock extending over the water. Sam stood at its edge, waiting for her, an evil grin distorting his gaunt face.

  Hair lashing at her eyes, Marla scanned the scene before her frantically for her mother. “Ma! Where are you?” Good God, he hadn’t drowned her, had he?

  Sam pointed downward toward the sloshing lake, its level rising with each surge brought on by the gale. With shuffling steps, Marla edged closer. Peering over the side, she spotted a rowboat tossing on the erratic current. No one was inside. Feeling the blood drain from her face, she lifted her eyes to meet Sam’s cold glare.

  “My mother?” she croaked.

  “Tied to a post.” He ignored the rivulets that dripped down his weathered skin. “The water is already up to her chest, but that’s not the only danger. Do what I tell you, and I’ll let her go.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Come closer. Take off your clothes.”

  She could still run, reach her car. But by the time she summoned help, it would be too late for her mother.

  Her gaze darted to the deck; the splintery wood offered no handholds. Nor were there any fallen branches that she could use to defend herself.

  The boat. If it had oars…

  With a running leap, she flung herself past Sam and over the edge of the dock. Landing in the water, she quickly surfaced and grasped the edge of the rocking boat. Adrenaline gave her the boost she needed to drag herself into the water-laden vessel. Steadying herself with one hand, she pocketed the tiny knife she’d been holding in a death grip and released the oar from its restraints.

  She spied her mother’s bound form wriggling against a post under the dock just as a heavy thud threatened to submerge the boat. Gripping the oar, Marla whirled around. Sam’s clutching hands reached for her. Ducking, she swung the oar, aiming low for his stomach. But he crouched at the same time, and the oar connected with his forehead. With a muttered cry, he fell backward into the water.

  Her arms shaking, Marla threw down the oar and turned toward Anita, whose wide eyes stared at her above a swath of tape covering her mouth. Marla leaned over, balancing herself while she gently tore off the gag. It wasn’t easy to stay upright when the vessel surged with each swell.

  While Anita worked her lips to regain feeling, Marla slipped into the water. Taller than the older woman, she half-swam, half-bounced off the sludgy bottom to get close enough. Using her pocketknife, she sawed at the cords binding Anita’s wrists behind the post. Semi-submerged, she spit out the murky liquid as it entered her mouth in strengthening spurts. Something brushed her leg, and she gritted her teeth. I can have an attack of nerves later. Now is not the time to think of the snakes and alligators that live here. />
  “Marla, I didn’t want you to come,” Anita said, her voice raspy. Her slender body trembled violently. “Who knew? About Sam, I mean.”

  “I wanted to tell you to stay home today, but I couldn’t reach you. He must have picked you up early.”

  Anita spoke from between chattering teeth. “He insisted on bringing me here. I should have guessed there was something wrong with him. He looked at every young girl we passed.”

  Marla shivered. “It’s my fault. I set you up together.”

  “So? I fell for his act. Don’t blame yourself.” Her face drawn, she drew in a shaky breath.

  “Hang on, Ma. I’m almost done.”

  “Lookout!”

  Sam lunged at her from the water. “You bitch…” A blast of wind-driven rain stole the rest of his words.

  Marla gasped, instinctively grabbing the oar floating nearby. The torrential onslaught blurred her vision as she struck out wildly and impacted something with a thwack.

  His eyes rolling up, Sam toppled into the writhing waters. Without wasting time, Marla untied the last of her mother’s bindings.

  “Quick, we have to get to shore.” As she pushed her mother toward the tangle of mangroves edging the lake, an ominous thrashing sounded from behind. Aware that blood attracted predators, Marla scrambled toward higher ground.

  She didn’t want to think about what was happening back there. She didn’t want to think at all. Not about nearly losing her mother, about almost becoming a victim herself, or the stash of photographs inside Sam’s house.

  They still had to get out of there before flooding obscured the road. Ducking a log that hurtled through the air, she crawled onto the sandy bank. Her mother collapsed beside her among gnarled roots. Rain pummeled them, and wind roared in their water-soaked ears.

  “It’s okay,” Marla said, grasping Anita’s cold fingertips. “We just have to reach my car.”

  Summoning reserves of energy, she forced herself to her feet. Not much farther to go.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rosh Hashanah dinner brought out the best and brightest of Marla’s relatives. Vail had already met cousins Cynthia and Bruce at a Taste of the World charity function last December, but she’d never introduced him to her brother Michael and his wife Charlene, cousins Julia and Alan, or any of their kids. More cousins came out of the woodwork to celebrate the Jewish New Year, making a total of thirty around the rectangular table in a private room at Weston Hills Country Club.

  Dalton, looking impressively handsome in a tailored navy suit, sat quietly observing the happy chatter during most of their meal. Through the chicken soup with matzo balls, the gefilte fish—which he turned down politely—and the roast brisket with potato latkes and vegetables, he’d muttered brief asides to Marla on his right. Brianna flanked her on the other side, while Anita sandwiched Vail on his left.

  Vail idled his time by stroking Marla’s thigh under the table. It had the disconcerting effect of making her yearn for time alone with him.

  “So, Marla,” said Julia in her usual disdainful tone. “I understand you solved another murder case. It appears your salon doesn’t keep you busy enough. Or your boyfriend.” She snickered.

  Vail stiffened, but Marla placed a calming hand on his arm. “I’m happiest when I’m multitasking,” she crooned. “And what occupies you these days?” Married to Alan, an accountant, Julia hadn’t worked a day since she’d married.

  “I see my personal trainer three days a week. It’s totally exhausting.” Her hand fluttered limply in the air. “I barely have time for my art history class.”

  Have you tried makeup lessons? Marla asked silently, noting Julia’s lipstick blurred at the edges. “I get my exercise chasing killers who prey on innocent victims.”

  “I don’t know why you keep risking yourself,” said Cynthia, giving her a knowing glance, “but you’re awfully good at sleuthing. Maybe Dalton should deputize you.”

  “Cool idea,” Brianna inserted, her dark eyes dancing playfully. The teen wore her hair in her usual ponytail, making her look younger than her thirteen years.

  “Over my dead body,” Vail muttered.

  Titters of nervous laughter floated through the room. Everyone seemed on edge with strangers in their midst, especially a police officer. Most of Marla’s relatives were white-collar professionals; the idea of toting a gun was as far removed from their lives as a platinum tint from an ebony rinse. They’d never understand the raw sensuality that Dalton exuded or how it affected her. Quiet authority radiated from his broad shoulders, confident posture, and arrogant grin. While his commanding presence made others uncomfortable, it stirred Marla in female regions that didn’t need to be named.

  Vail still seemed put out by her recent adventure. She’d finally gotten through to him from Sam’s telephone, and he’d arrived with a couple of squad cars. Marla and her mother had made it home before the hurricane hit full force, although it had ended up targeting the Keys so that Fort Lauderdale only got brushed by its outer edge. That had been enough to cause wind damage, flooding, and downed power lines. Now, a week later, most of the debris had been cleared up—except for Dalton’s anger, which still simmered beneath the surface when he spoke of her close call with Sam.

  Marla hadn’t even mentioned Sam’s demand for her to call Brianna. She’d merely pointed out that Sam had flirted with her mother to get closer to Marla, hoping to learn what she or the detective had discovered about him. Eventually, the results on Sam’s fingerprints had returned with a positive match. It linked him to the killings up North.

  “My sister almost ended up dead,” Aunt Polly remarked in her frail voice. “That’s what she gets for gallivanting around with different men. It isn’t seemly at her age.”

  “You’re just jealous,” Anita said crossly.

  “Tell us again how this all started,” Cynthia said, fascination mixed with longing in her gaze. Marla had always thought Cynthia had everything: a rich husband, a magnificent mansion, and two children. She’d learned looks could be deceiving. Together, she and Cynthia had defeated another murderer, one bent on destroying Ocean Guard, Cynthia’s favorite charity, and the adventure had sparked new life in her cousin. Cynthia looked now as if she yearned for another such experience.

  “Wilda Cleaver, the dead woman’s spiritual adviser, told me Carolyn sent me a message from beyond the grave. She couldn’t rest until I uncovered her killer.”

  Marla’s gaze met each one of her relatives’ prying eyes. She hadn’t told them Wilda’s other prediction, that someone close to her was ill. Was it Polly, who looked thinner each time Marla saw her? Anita, whose high blood pressure needed medication for control? One of her cousins, or her brother’s children? Or none of them?

  “Wilda turned out to have a blemished past,” Dalton said quietly, playing with his wineglass. Clearly, he felt less comfortable conducting social conversations than discussing crime. “She’d been sucked into a scam orchestrated by a Fort Lauderdale attorney, Peter McGraw. Using a company called Titan Resources as a front, they bamboozled gullible victims out of millions of dollars. It involved her soothsayer talents.”

  “Tell them about Atlas Boyd,” Marla said.

  “Boyd is a foreign investor who owns a chain of French salons. He wanted to expand his business into this country, so he contacted McGraw, whose practice includes immigration law.”

  “Wait a minute,” Anita said, breaking off a piece of challah bread. “How did Carolyn get connected to this lawyer?”

  “Through Wilda. She’d stayed in touch with McGraw after their scheme broke up. When he mentioned needing a contact with access to salons, Wilda told him about her new client. Carolyn had consulted her for a reading and became a regular customer. McGraw acted as a link between Carolyn and Boyd.”

  “Atlas Boyd wanted to establish franchises in this country,” Marla explained. “He sent in his girls as students to the beauty academy and paid their tuition. In return for subsidizing Carolyn’s move to Palm Haven a
nd a monthly stipend, she promised to employ them after their graduation.”

  “Boyd hoped to add certain standards of quality to his franchises by importing French staff,” Vail added. “The man had grandiose plans, but he went about them the wrong way. McGraw obtained visas intended for senior executives from multinational firms. Obviously, hairstylists and colorists don’t qualify.”

  “What will happen now?” Cynthia asked.

  “Atlas Boyd and Peter McGraw will be charged with immigration fraud in federal court. Boyd faces fines, while McGraw could go to prison.”

  “Atlas Boyd made Wilda an offer for Carolyn’s salon,” Brianna prompted. “Marla, aren’t you going to share your news?”

  She beamed with pride. “Wilda doesn’t want anything else to do with Hairstyle Heaven. Claudia, Jeanine, and the rest are returning to France. Not only did their visa applications claim they were taking positions that didn’t exist, but they also falsified their expected salary. They made substantially less. None of them chose to remain, given the chance to reapply.”

  “And?” Brianna said, poking her arm.

  “And so Wilda offered me the salon.”

  “What?” Vail half-rose from his seat. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  She studied his face, searching for his reaction. “I’m not sure what I’ll do yet. I’ve been thinking of adding spa services to my salon menu, and this might give me the opportunity. But I don’t know if I can afford to maintain two establishments, let alone find the additional staffing. Plus I’m concerned about the extra time I’d need for bookkeeping and so forth. I’ve been hoping to cut back my hours, not add to them.”

  His expression gentled, and he gave her a quick kiss in full view of her gaping relatives. “It’s your decision, sweetcakes. You know I’ll support whatever you choose.”

  Her bones melted. “What did I do to deserve you?” Letting her gaze sweep her wealthy, idle cousins, she added, “It’s tough to find a man who respects a woman’s success,” her acerbic tone indicating what she thought of their leisurely lifestyle. She looked back at Vail fondly.