Jumping to his feet, he paced the tiny space. “Do this, Wendy, come with me. Zack doesn't need you today, dear,” he mimicked. “She even offered us a mortgage if we'd buy a house in the same neighborhood. No way I'd live near the old lady. We were too close even where we settled. I financed the place on my own, thank you."
Was this proud man capable of murdering his wife's aunt to obtain her money? Doubts plagued her. Since he didn't deny his disagreements with Bertha, Marla leaned toward believing him innocent. But even if he weren't guilty of killing Bertha, what nefarious scheme had he and Ken cooked up together?
"How did Bertha's husband fit into your relationship?” she queried, curious to know more about Bertha's family.
"Walter was very generous,” Zack said, sinking back into his chair with the air of a man relieving himself of a burden. Maybe he'd kept these feelings bottled inside himself after Wendy's aunt was killed. It wasn't in good taste to malign the dead, plus he might alienate his wife by bad-mouthing her loved one.
"Walter never really knew Bertha's secret pleasures,” Zack continued, leveling her with an assessing glare as though daring her to refute him. “A rich banker, he gave her the funds to establish her publishing company. He didn't realize she had the ruthlessness to build it from the ground up. When Sunshine Publishing needed to expand, he brought in Roy Collins. It was his idea that they become partners. That was a big mistake. Bertha made Roy into much more than a partner."
Marla leaned forward. “What do you mean?"
Zack gave her a knowing smirk. “Bertha and Roy were a number. Bertha was forty years old when she started the company. Todd was just entering school full-time. She was restless by the time Roy entered the scene. With her husband occupied at the bank, she involved herself with the business and her new lover. Wendy knew about it because Bertha would share her feelings of admiration for Roy."
He noticed her disapproving glance. “Oh, she didn't come right out and say they were having an affair,” he reassured Marla, “but Wendy figured it out. You could see how they acted together. It's amazing Walter didn't notice, but he was the type who focused so totally on his job that he forgot birthdays and other social events."
"What was Roy's relation to Bertha at the time of her death?” Marla asked. “Were they still together?"
"Hell, no. Roy always did have a wandering eye for the ladies. That's why he never married. Bertha said she was going to include him in her memoirs, just like Todd. She never approved of Todd's disreputable lifestyle, you know. She wished he'd get married and give her grandchildren. But Todd likes women, too. He's got a different gal in his place each week. You'd think he'd be worried about catching AIDS."
Marla remembered the sleazy looks he'd given her in the nightclub. If she never encountered him again, she'd be happy. “If Bertha was no longer hooked up to Roy, who's his latest interest?” Wondering if Zack knew about Darlene, she held her breath for his answer.
"None of my business.” Raking her, his gaze darkened. “I think our appointment is finished. I've said enough."
"I'm just trying to help.” Standing, she spread her hands.
"You know what I think?” he replied, rising. “This interview was just a fishing expedition. You have no intention of following through on my recommendations."
"You gave good advice, Zack. I promise I'll consider your suggestions.” She paused, leveling him a direct gaze. “If you have anything to add to our discussion, you know where to find me."
"Good-bye, Marla. I'll tell Wendy we saw each other. She'll be pleased."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 12
Marla left Zack's office with more questions than answers. While driving to the restaurant where she was supposed to meet Anita for lunch, she reflected upon their exchange. Zack had claimed he and Wendy were home the night before Bertha died, but was he telling the truth? His motive seemed stronger than ever for gaining the inheritance. With a child on the way, a large debt owed to creditors, and a workplace that needed serious redecorating, he could use a hefty infusion of cash. Otherwise, what else was this big windfall he expected in the near future? And how was Ken involved?
She felt dismayed at the notion that Ken was keeping secrets from Tally. At least he wasn't involved with another woman. That had been Tally's main concern, although she didn't believe her friend would be too happy about his association with Zack, whatever it meant.
Roy Collins had had no scruples about shacking up with Bertha while she was still married. Even if Bertha had made the first move, his deceit indicated he lacked principles. Now he'd turned to Darlene, and Bertha's death left him in control of Sunshine Publishing. Did the drive for power motivate him, or was he fired by greed? Or perhaps he sought a more powerful position believing he'd be more appealing to women. Marla wondered how Bertha might have reacted if she'd found out about Darlene. Was the older woman finished with him, or would she have been furious at his betrayal?
She'd have to talk to Lance to see how his inquiries were proceeding. If he gave her a solid rock to stand on, she'd approach Roy. Or maybe Darlene would be a better road to follow. They both might have had reasons to get the old lady out of the way.
"So what are your conclusions?” Anita asked, facing her across the table at Brasserie Max in the Fashion Mall. Marla was digging into angel hair pasta with sun-dried tomatoes and minced garlic while Anita enjoyed tomato basil soup and Caesar salad. Her mother looked perky in a bright daffodil-and-black outfit, her red nail polish vibrant as she waved her hands to animate her speech.
Marla swallowed a gulp of iced tea. “I don't know. I wish Dalton ... Detective Vail would get back to me about those marzipans. I'd like to find out if they were legitimate. If not, maybe he was able to get some prints off the box."
Anita put down her fork. “You're not doing anything dangerous by talking to these people, are you? Because if you're being threatened, stop being a yenta. You'd be better off minding your own business."
"This is my business.” Warmth gripped her heart. From the look of anxiety in Anita's eyes, Marla realized her mother was worried about her, but she felt compelled to learn the truth. She couldn't explain the guilt she experienced over Bertha's demise without reviving painful events. Nor could she explain her fear that Vail would find the envelope and expose her disgraceful past.
"I'm not a schnook, Ma,” she said. “I can watch my back. I called Detective Vail when I got those candies, didn't I?"
Anita nodded sagely. “So when am I going to meet this paragon of authority?"
Shoveling a forkful of pasta into her mouth, Marla regarded her obliquely. “Who said anything about meeting you?"
"Come on, I can tell he attracts you. You sort of roll your shoulders in a suggestive manner when you mention him."
"I do not!"
"Is he Jewish?"
"No, he isn't. Anyway, he has no interest in me except as a murder suspect."
Anita looked her in the eye. “You'd be smarter to choose Arnie. He's a nice Jewish man who makes a good living. You could do worse. Besides, he's handsome as the devil, wouldn't you say?"
"If you like him so much, you ask him out.” She drew in an exasperated breath. “Ma, I didn't come here to discuss my love life."
Anita raised a penciled eyebrow. “You'd rather talk about killers? Charming topic. Your brother was asking about you. He's back from his trip. It would be nice if you called him to say hello."
"He could call me, too.” A flush of shame crawled up her neck. She should have phoned him last week but had been too caught up in her own problems. “I'll get in touch with him tonight,” she promised, feeling an upsurge of resentment at the way Bertha's death had taken over her life. Whoever had poisoned the old lady had done Marla a grave disservice. More than ever, she vowed to bring the perpetrator to justice.
Errands occupied the greater part of the afternoon, but she made time to stop off at the library. Unfortunately, they had a dearth of books on poisons, so s
he gave up and went home. Maybe the Internet had a forensic site she could explore.
After letting Spooks out and refreshing his water dish, she headed across the foyer toward her bedroom. A folded white paper by the front door caught her attention. Staring at it, she felt her throat tighten. Now what? Someone had slipped a message under her door. Was it the same person who'd sent her the box of candy?
Swallowing with a dry tongue, she picked up the note by its corners, by now aware she should keep her fingers off the evidence. Carefully unfolding the paper, she quickly scanned the scrawled handwriting. “Thank God,” she burst out in a tremulous voice; it was from Moss.
Marla, here's my latest effort. See what you think.
Beyond my front door an anthill stood
I covered it with a pesticide hood
The creatures scurried about
Having lost their clout
Now nothing remains of their brood
Marla laughed until she doubled over and the tears ran down her face. What a sweet old man. She sincerely hoped he published his poems someday so he could bring good cheer to others like he did to her.
Sparing a moment from her chores, she dashed next door to compliment him. Emma, his wife of forty-some years, opened the door. Dressed in a housecoat which outlined her thin body, she looked frail. Marla felt a twinge of concern. Emma's complexion seemed awfully pale.
"I was looking for Moss to tell him how much I liked his latest limerick,” she said, smiling.
"He went to the drugstore, but I'll be sure to let him know you approve. He's just crazy about writing these things. He guards his papers as though they were the crown jewels."
"It's wonderful that he has such a fun hobby."
Emma's rheumy eyes filled with pride. “I've been urging him to join a local poet's society, but he's too embarrassed to show his work to other writers yet. I think it would be helpful to him."
"Undoubtedly.” Marla peered at her more closely. “Are you not feeling well, Emma? You look a tad off color."
Emma swiped a hand across her brow. “I might be coming down with the flu. Moss went to get some Tylenol."
"Oh, dear.” She glanced toward their open garage door. “He forgot to put out the trash, but the truck hasn't come yet. Let me do that for you.” Hastening over before Emma could protest, she hauled the heavy bag to the curb. “Is there anything else I can help with? Make you a cup of tea, perhaps?"
Her neighbor flashed a weak smile. “You're so kind, but I'll be fine. If you don't mind, I'm going inside to rest."
"Shall I stay with you until Moss returns?” She knew how distraught Moss would be if Emma got into trouble in his absence.
"That isn't necessary. Run along, child. You've got enough problems on your mind."
So Moss had told his wife about Marla's difficulties. She supposed most of the neighborhood knew about the murder at her salon by now, either from word of mouth or by hearing it on the news. Notoriety had never been her goal.
Hoping Emma would be all right, she trudged back to her town house and let Spooks inside. He danced in front of her, an entreating look on his pedigreed face.
"Okay, pooch, here's a treat.” She threw him a rawhide bone from a package in the pantry. After changing into shorts and a cotton blouse, she returned phone calls and did some chores. Finally, she headed into her office and turned on the computer. Using the search function, she entered poison as a key word. Over twelve thousand finds resulted. Scrolling down the list of links, she passed by Poison Prevention, Poison Ivy, and Poison Arrow Frogs, and clicked on Poison On-line Entrance, thinking it might be some sort of index. This led her to the site for Poison Songs, a Billboard Live Show, and Sound Waves from a Bret Michaels solo CD.
"This isn't about poisons,” she muttered, backtracking until she found a Poison home page. This, too, was a site referring to the music group. She backed up again, bypassing the comic book Poison Elves. Achieving no progress there, she switched to Yahoo.
"Ah, ha!” she exclaimed, her gaze falling upon Health: Medicine: Toxicology. At last, a forensic link! More links took her to other sites about toxicologists, government laboratories, forensic expert witnesses, but nothing on poisons per se. Frustrated, she raised her hands and gave up. A visit to the bookstore might prove an easier method to gain information, but that would have to wait.
Actually, why not just call Vail and ask him if he'd gotten a report on the candy? Then she could question him at length about the poison used to kill Bertha. Dialing his number, she was pleased when his gruff voice answered.
Bravely, she forged ahead. “Hi, it's Marla. Have you gotten any feedback about the marzipan? I'm anxious for the results."
"I imagine you would be,” he replied dryly. “Nothing is back yet. It takes a few days."
"Find out anything relevant about Carlos?"
A pause. “We're checking into a few things."
"Such as?"
He chuckled. “You're damned persistent, aren't you?"
"A lot is at stake.” Something soft and moist tickled her ankle. Glancing down, she smiled at Spooks, who was laving her with his tongue. Idly, she scratched his head.
"You haven't gotten any more threats, have you?"
"No, thank goodness.” She hesitated then told him about her interview with Zack. “Where was Roy that night? Did you question him?"
"Roy Collins went to the west coast on business. He'd booked a room at the Ritz-Carlton in Naples on the Gulf. I called the hotel. He checked out the next morning."
Her eyebrows lifted. “His budget must be generous. So he remained conveniently out of town."
"His girlfriend didn't. She stayed in Fort Lauderdale."
"I should talk to Darlene."
"No, you shouldn't. Look, Marla, you could screw up my investigation. I appreciate your input so far, but let me do my job. Stay out of this."
"You still consider me a suspect?"
"Until I expose the perp, I do. Everyone involved with Bertha Kravitz is a suspect.” His voice lowered. “But I don't really want to believe you're guilty."
She swallowed hard. “I'm trying to understand all this so I can help. Those toxins that were in Bertha's drink ... cyanide and monkshood. How do you obtain them? I'm wondering who would have such knowledge."
"So am I."
"I've been open about sharing news with you."
An exasperated growl met her ears. “Marla, cut it out. In my official capacity, I'm not able to be more specific."
Okay, she got it. Unofficially, he'd relate relevant data when possible. “I see. Well, happy hunting.” Ringing off, she rubbed Spooks's belly while considering her next move.
Questioning Darlene was definitely a priority regardless of what Vail said. She'd approach the girl tomorrow. What else could she accomplish today? Frowning, she considered who might provide her with the information she sought. Wasn't Tally's brother-in-law some kind of chemist?
"You're in luck,” Tally said when Marla phoned her. “Give Phil a quick call. He'll be able to help you. Let me know what you learn, okay?"
"Right. Talk to you later."
Fortunately, Phil was like most men when asked to share his expertise, especially when Marla offered the rationale she was assisting Detective Vail. Flattered by her attention, Phil was more than eager to cooperate.
"Hydrocyanic acid acts rapidly and occurs naturally in various seeds and pits, such as peaches, apricots, and plums,” he informed her in a didactic tone. “Cyanide also has industrial uses, so there are different ways to obtain it. Monkshood is less common. It's a plant often mistaken for wild garlic. The entire plant is poisonous. Ingested as a drug, monkshood has a rapid effect. Death can occur from ten minutes to a few hours.” “How would you get the plant into a powdered form?” “Hold on a minute while I check my references.” Marla patted Spooks during the interval, wondering who'd have access to exotic plants besides a landscape worker. Maybe monkshood grew wild and a knowledgeable person could cultivate it.<
br />
"The roots can be dug up and dried in the sun,” Phil explained. “You have to protect your nose and mouth or the fumes from the roots can cause dizziness because they contain aconine. Drying them out takes three or four days."
"Do you pound the roots into a powder?” “I suppose. Here's another method. Take a handful of leaves and steep them in hot water. After letting the brew cool, pour the water into a small pot. Add five ounces of alcohol to the herbs. Blend the ingredients together and let sit for a few hours. Decant the alcohol solution into the leftover water and discard the leaves. Cover the pot and simmer on low heat until a dry powder results. Scrape out the residue and you have your poison."
Marla didn't respond immediately. Who would go to such trouble, or even know what to do? “Why a mixture of two toxins?” she asked, confounded by the options. “Wouldn't cyanide have worked by itself?"
"Sure. My guess is the monkshood was insurance, or vice versa. If one didn't have any effect, the other would kill the victim."
His matter-of-fact tone chilled her bones. Someone so diabolically clever had planned Bertha's demise. Hadn't she read that women preferred poison as a lethal method of choice? It was a clean way to dispose of an unwanted victim. No violence; no blood. But not all men were bent on bludgeoning or stabbing, either.
Darlene certainly had the opportunity. Working in the salon, she could have added poison to Bertha's creamer many times over when no one was looking. The open back door could have been a red herring, or maybe Roy had come in that night to assist her. But he'd been in Naples, right? Or at least he'd checked out from his hotel on the west coast early the next morning. Unless he'd used express checkout, in which case he could have left anytime during the night. His alibi required further examination, she decided. Another factor against Darlene was knowing Marla's schedule. The stylist knew Bertha was coming in early the next day, and that Marla and her customer would be alone. Had Darlene planned to make her a scapegoat?
After expressing her gratitude to Phil and getting his pledge of confidentiality, she hung up and took Spooks out for a walk. She needed the fresh air to clear her brain. As she strolled along, her taut nerves unwound and her muscles relaxed. Moisture suspended in the humidity filled her lungs, and an earthy scent pervaded her nostrils. Slate gray clouds scudded overhead as though in a race, charging forth with fury. Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed the impending weather or the clatter of fleeing birds.
Permed To Death [Bad Hair Day Mystery 1] Page 14