Permed To Death [Bad Hair Day Mystery 1]

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Their coffees came, and she took her time adding cream and sugar. Vail drank his brew black, which she might have expected. It seemed strange to be sitting in a restaurant with a police detective who considered her the prime suspect in a murder case. Vail appeared remarkably at ease, as though he had asked her out for social reasons, but she knew that wasn't likely. Hoping to persuade him of her innocence, she continued.

  "Todd said Zack Greenfield might have had a motive for killing Bertha.” She repeated what he'd said about Zack's financial status.

  "Did Todd mention the names of these creditors?” Vail asked, his heavy brows drawn together.

  Shaking her head, she gave a negative response. She neglected to inform him about Lance's efforts, figuring Vail's department was already looking into the backgrounds of Bertha's relations. Would he share his information with her?

  "What have you learned about the Greenfields?” she queried.

  He took a sip of hot coffee. “Not much more than you at this point. Zack works for a large investment firm. He steered his investors down the wrong path and is now paying the price.” Leaning forward, he captured her eyes with his piercing gaze. “What puzzles me is what game you're playing."

  The intensity of his glare made her breath come short. “What do you mean?"

  "Sounds to me like you're snooping in places you don't belong. Why?"

  She clenched her jaw. “I want to expose Bertha's murderer as much as you do. She expired in my salon. That makes me partially responsible, but I didn't put the poison in her drink. I intend to find out who did."

  Vail didn't respond immediately, as though weighing the truthfulness of her remark. “You should leave this investigation to professionals,” he finally commented, his expression hooded.

  "I'm not going to do anything foolish, and I'll tell you what I learn.” Did he believe her, or did he already know about the envelope? Briefly she considered admitting its existence and what it signified, but she decided it would not be in her best interest at this time. Better to learn all she could about Bertha's connections first so he'd have other paths to follow. Maybe she'd made a mistake in the past that Bertha cashed in on, but that didn't make her a murderess. And if Bertha was blackmailing her, who else might she have victimized as well? When she went to meet Wendy on Friday, she'd search for other evidence along with her envelope.

  "I got a threatening phone call last night,” she blurted, hoping to engage his sympathy.

  His hand tightened around his coffee mug. “What do you mean?"

  Shrugging, she said, “I couldn't tell if it was a man or woman. Whoever it was advised me to mind my own business or I would be the next poisoning victim."

  A scowl warped his features. “Why didn't you report this right away? Damn stubborn woman. You could be putting yourself in danger."

  Bless my bones, is he really concerned for my safety? Maybe he had been tailing Todd tonight, and not her. How reassuring. “I attended Bertha's funeral,” she said. “Her business partner, Roy Collins, threatened to bring a lawsuit against me. That's where I met Todd and the Green-fields. When I visited Wendy, she hinted that Todd and his mother didn't get along."

  "You visited Wendy? When was this?"

  She gave him a brief smile. “I paid her a shivah call the day after the funeral. I gathered she doesn't like Todd because she tried to raise my doubts about his motives. She said he manages to earn a living, but he doesn't have a regular job. Maybe Bertha found out he's doing something illegal and he decided to dispose of her."

  "That's a pretty drastic way to silence your mother."

  "Todd wouldn't tell me what he does in the way of money-making activities.” A shudder racked her spine. He'd made her distinctly uneasy during their conversation. By alluding to events she should be aware of but couldn't remember, he'd just raised more questions in her mind.

  "We're not sure, either, but it bears checking into along with everything else.” Folding his hands on the table, he fastened his eyes on her face. “You said Bertha Kravitz gave you a loan to pay for beauty school. Your parents wouldn't help you out?"

  He's raising the heat, she thought, contemplating her response. She'd needed money, all right, but cosmetology school wasn't the only reason. And Bertha wasn't the source for either need.

  "My mother didn't approve of my career switch. I'd gone to college for two years as an education major, and she'd set her heart on my becoming a teacher. When I changed my mind, she got angry and told me I was on my own."

  "So you met Bertha, and she agreed to give you a loan?"

  "Right.” After finishing her coffee, she patted her lips dry with a napkin. “Look, you aren't supposed to question me. I've offered you information, and I expect you to accept it in the spirit in which it's given."

  "Touche.” His face broke into a wry grin. “This isn't really what I intended when I asked you out for a drink. I just have trouble shutting off my inquisitive mind."

  A loud commotion at the next table diverted her attention. A bunch of tank-topped males were clamoring for more beer. Glancing around, she noted the place had gotten crowded and raucous with laughter. Smells of charbroiled meats mingled with browned onions. Although it was well past ten, people were still ordering full meals.

  Reverting her gaze to the man seated across from her, Marla smiled. “And just what did you intend, Detective Vail?"

  He gave her a quizzical glance.’ ‘Please, call me Dalton. I'm not sure what I wanted ... Marla. I don't know whether to arrest you or date you. You're a woman of many layers, and I feel compelled to peel them away, see what makes you tick.” He paused. “I haven't felt this way since my wife died two years ago."

  Oh, joy. Should she be pleased by his interest, or was it another ploy to throw her off guard? She wasn't particularly thrilled by his desire to analyze her. It made her feel like a subject for his personality studies. Or maybe she was being too paranoid. Twisting her napkin, she wondered why he'd even admit to harboring a personal agenda unless he meant it. And if he was sincere, how did she feel about him?

  "I'm sorry about your wife,” she murmured.

  "Yes, well, we're managing.” At her inquiring look, he added: “I have a twelve-year-old daughter."

  "It must be tough for her."

  "Brianna doesn't say much, but I know she hurts.” A pained expression crossed his face before he hid it behind a mask of impassivity. “She's coming to an age where she needs a woman to guide her."

  Oh no, not him, too. Just like Arnie, he wants a mother for his child. “You might as well know I'm not the motherly type.” Afraid he'd probe into her background, she held up a hand. “Look, this is getting too heavy for me. I'd rather not get involved while Bertha's murder is unsolved."

  "And if that weren't an issue?"

  She glanced away. “Let's deal with it when the time comes."

  He compressed his mouth, and she got the feeling he wasn't used to being rebuffed. She hoped it wouldn't influence his opinion of her regarding the murder case.

  "If you get any more of those anonymous calls, beep me,” he said on their way out of the restaurant. After rummaging in his wallet, he handed her a business card.

  She stuck it in her purse and stopped when he halted by the front entrance. He touched her elbow, his smoky eyes peering down into hers.

  "I hope you're going to leave the rest of this investigation to me."

  "Maybe I would if I trusted you, but I still think you suspect me. I need to preserve my reputation."

  He glared at her in blatant disapproval. “You're absolutely right. You are my number one suspect. Being alone with the deceased, you had the perfect opportunity to do away with her without any witnesses. I'm still working on the motive, and you'd better hope I don't come across one. In the meantime, I've got a good excuse to keep my eye on you."

  "Just make sure you give the others the same consideration,” she said, her tone sarcastic. Their encounter had told her nothing new except to watch her back from
all directions.

  He escorted her to the parking lot, each of them lost in private contemplation. As she started the engine, she determined to act carefully over the next few days. The visit to Bertha's house became more imperative than any other avenue of pursuit. She had to get that envelope before Vail discovered it. Otherwise, she'd have a lot of uncomfortable explaining to do, and if she thought the murder case might impair her reputation, the contents of that envelope would do worse. While she was there, she'd sound Wendy out about the other principals in the case. The girl had to know more than she was letting on.

  A sweet scent perfumed the air as Marla left work on Friday afternoon. She'd hurried through her morning appointments, her tension growing with each passing hour. She felt uncertain of Wendy's reception and anxious to recover the envelope whose contents could condemn her. Partially cloudy, the weather reflected her sense of dread as she drove east on Las Olas Boulevard.

  "Is that you, Marla?” Wendy called. Her voice came from inside Bertha Kravitz's house. Marla had just pressed the front doorbell and stood outside waiting impatiently.

  "Yes, it's me.” Shifting her feet, she glanced at her rust-colored jumpsuit. The outfit was too constricting in this heat. Her throat tightening, she swiped a hand around the inner circle of her collar.

  "Hi, come on in,” Wendy said, swinging the door open.

  She looked comfortable in a peach shorts set, her polished toenails sticking out from a pair of white sandals. From the dust on her knees, Marla surmised she'd been hard at work.

  "How are you getting along?” Marla asked, stepping inside.

  Gesturing for Marla to follow her into the adjacent living room, Wendy gave a sad smile. “I'm doing okay. It hurts to go through Aunty Bertha's things, though."

  They seated themselves opposite each other, Marla claiming a gold-silk-upholstered loveseat. She spared a brief glance around the area, not surprised to see much hadn't changed since her last visit. With no pets or kids in the house, Bertha could afford to maintain a stiffly formal atmosphere.

  Twisting her hands in her lap, she considered how to approach the matter of the envelope. Delicately, she advised herself.

  "This must be a difficult time for your family,” she commented, deciding to play the sympathetic listener.

  Wendy glanced at the beige carpet. “I feel the loss more than Zack, and I can't speak for Todd except that he's not even interested enough to help me here."

  "You're Bertha's personal representative?"

  "That's right.” Wendy gave her a curious look as though wondering why Marla was so concerned about her private affairs.

  "I remember you said Bertha resented your husband,” Marla persisted in a kindly tone, “but surely he can offer you his support. You shouldn't have to do this work all by yourself."

  Wendy shrugged, her relaxed demeanor telling Marla she wasn't eager to return to her task. “You know Aunty

  Bertha tried to tell us what to do. The only way she could exert control over Zack was to offer us money. If nothing else, that could sway him, but he always resented her interference."

  "Did Zack know Bertha was getting her hair done that morning?"

  "I-I may have mentioned it. We were both supposed to attend the luncheon with her."

  "Were you and Zack home all that night before?"

  Wendy shot to her feet. “I've answered enough questions for the police. What else was it you came here for, Marla?"

  She released a long breath. “A manila envelope addressed to me. Have you located it?"

  Wendy's dark eyes probed hers. “I've just begun to search through her study. That police detective took her appointment book, financial records, and the key to her safe, among other things. Do you want to look on her desk?"

  "Sure.” Marla sprang up, trying not to appear too eager as she followed Wendy into the old woman's home office. Inside, she approached a massive oak desk. Electronic gadgets were noticeably absent except for a Smith-Corona typewriter and a portable phone unit, the only concessions to technology. A couple of Mont Blanc pens sat in a marble holder on the desk top beside pencils with erasers in a matching container. The impression was one of quiet elegance. Three clocks ticked away in various corners, indicating that Mrs. Kravitz either believed in punctuality or collected timepieces as a hobby.

  A pile of papers lay scattered about various surfaces, including the desk. She shuffled through them, her panic growing as she searched for the envelope and couldn't find it.

  Was she too late? Had Detective Vail already recovered it? But then he would have said something when she'd met him the other day. Unless he was toying with her, trying to entrap her with her own contradictions.

  Sweat broke out on her brow. She pushed a stack of papers aside to search again. Her fingers fell upon a sharp object, forcing an exclamation from her lips. Peering at it, she frowned. A screw-back earring? If she recalled correctly, both Bertha and Wendy had pierced ears.

  Glancing to see if Wendy was still busy rummaging through a collection of unpaid bills, she turned it over in her hand. The pearl-and-marcasite setting was attractive albeit old-fashioned.

  "Wendy, did this belong to your aunt?” she called, holding up the item.

  Wendy squinted. “I've never seen that piece of jewelry before. Aunty Bertha wore gold mostly and never screw-backs."

  "Nobody else has been in here for the past few days, right? Except for you and the cops?"

  "As far as I know. I did accidentally leave a door unlocked the last time I was here, but the police were watching the place then.” She held a hand to her stomach and grimaced.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Yeah, just feeling a little sick. It happens unexpectedly, not always in the morning like you'd expect. Zack says I should get over it soon."

  "Maybe you need to rest for a while. You can't work yourself too hard when you're pregnant."

  "I'm just glad I was able to get this week off from work, although I wish the circumstances had been different.” A trace of sadness infected her words.

  Feeling a surge of sympathy, Marla patted her arm. “Bertha will live on in your loving memories."

  "She'd planned to write her memoirs, you know. She told us at Passover. Todd wasn't very happy, but he usually argued with her about everything."

  Absently, Marla pocketed the earring. “Yes, I remember Bertha mentioned that she'd started her autobiography."

  "Well, I don't know why it would make Todd so upset. He was practically shouting. Did you ever, uh, talk to him?"

  You mean, did I tell Vail about your suspicions regarding Todd? “Yes, I did.” She watched Wendy carefully. “Todd said Zack's business investments haven't been doing well. He needs the money your inheritance will bring."

  A muscle twitched on the side of Wendy's jaw. “Todd is trying to deflect your interest in him,” she said smoothly. “It's obvious he has something to hide."

  Speaking of things to hide. “By the way, I can't find my envelope. Do you think Bertha put it in her safe?"

  "If so, you'll have to wait until the police examine the contents. In the meantime, I'll let you know if I find it elsewhere in the house.” She moved toward the front door. Not wishing to appear too desperate, Marla followed.

  "I wish I could do more to help you get through this,” Marla blurted, feeling sorry for the girl who had a heavy task to bear alone.

  "Thanks. It just helps to talk, and you've been a good listener.” Wendy hesitated, mixed emotions reflected on her face. “I-I'd like to count on you as a friend."

  "Of course. Please ... call me anytime."

  "I will. Likewise, if you learn anything new."

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  Chapter 8

  Marla got into her car, pondering Wendy's last words. She was glad the girl considered her a friend, but wondered why Wendy wouldn't turn to her husband for support. Then again, why did Wendy always change the subject when Marla mentioned Zack? She'd never gotten an answer to her questi
on about where they'd spent the night before the murder. Did that mean they hadn't been home? Surely Detective Vail had gotten their alibis. Maybe she could coax him to share information, but she needed something to offer in return.

  It was time she paid a visit to Zack Greenfield, she decided, checking her watch. Damn, ten minutes until her next appointment arrived! She hated to keep customers waiting and pressed harder on the accelerator when her car veered onto Las Olas Boulevard. Even if she exceeded the speed limit, it would take her fifteen minutes just to get to her salon. Her heart pumping faster with nervous energy, she kept an eye out for police cars in the rearview mirror.

  Zack would have to be a target for another time. This weekend? He'd probably spend it with Wendy, and she wanted to get him alone. How about Monday? Okay, go for it. She'd make an appointment for next week, pretending she needed help planning her financial future. During the rest of the drive, she constructed how she'd present her ruse and mentally devised a list of questions to be covered.

  Starving since she'd eaten so little for lunch, she breezed into Bagel Busters when she had a break around four and ordered a corn beef sandwich on rye with a cream soda. Not much caffeine there, but enough of a boost to last her until bedtime. She had nothing special planned for tonight, not being in the mood to go out even though Ralph had asked twice.

  "Hey, Arnie, got a free minute?” she called, waving.

  Signaling to an assistant to take over his post, he approached her table. “Shalom, pretty lady. What's up?” Plopping himself into a chair, he leaned back with casual ease.

  Her glance flickered to his hair, not slicked-back as usual but parted to the side. With his cocky grin, it gave him an attractively rakish look. “New hairstyle? I like it, pal."

  "I aim to please. Any word on the murder investigation? We haven't had a chance to talk this week. Either I'm tied up when you come in for bagels, or you've been sending Lucille. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” He slapped a hand on his broad chest, covered by another T-shirt from his brand-name collection. “I was deeply wounded by your callous insensitivity."