Permed To Death [Bad Hair Day Mystery 1]

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Indeed he had left a voice message, but when she returned the call, no one answered. Frustrated, Marla fixed herself a prepackaged Caesar salad and microwaved chicken drumsticks for dinner. Afterward, she responded to messages from friends and called her mother before picking up a mystery novel and relaxing on the couch. She'd promised herself not to work on salon business since clearing her mind was more important.

  Reading a book was a luxury she usually denied herself. In her spare time, she scanned through fashion and hair magazines for the latest styles. Nicole devoured mysteries as though they were candy and often tried to enlist Marla in her hobby. She'd loaned Marla a medical thriller but there just hadn't been time to pick it up. Maybe reading it now would help her solve Bertha's murder, Marla thought hopefully snuggling into the cushions.

  Bleary-eyed the next morning from staying up too late reading a story she couldn't put down, Marla consumed three cups of coffee before deeming herself ready for work. No wonder she didn't normally absorb herself in a good book. A sleepless night and a throbbing head were the result. Better to stick to lighter fare, at least until she could decrease her work hours.

  Her morning passed with lightning quickness for which she was grateful. Eager to meet Wendy, she left without explaining her departure to anyone. Her next two customers had canceled, so she had several hours free before her four o'clock appointment arrived for a routine haircut.

  Marla knew where the hospital was located but not the physical therapy department. She asked directions at the front lobby and proceeded through a series of twisting corridors. Ignoring the antiseptic smell, she passed by a hematology lab and a respiratory unit. Hospitals are not my thing, she told herself, feeling a surge of pity for the patients being transported by wheelchair. If I worked here, I could never go home without taking a part of these people with me.

  The physical therapy department was a bustling center of activity. Patients with assorted degrees of mobility, some dressed in street clothes as outpatients, others in flapping hospital gowns, were exercising using various mechanical devices. Now there was a procedure she could happily endure, she thought, observing a stout woman getting her shoulders massaged.

  She connected with Wendy, who'd been watching for her, and they slipped inside an empty office. Marla was too anxious to get hold of the envelope to exchange pleasantries.

  "Do you have it?” she asked, giving Wendy the once-over. The young woman's pregnancy was barely showing, her peach smock taut over white trousers. She'd tied her hair neatly back with two barrettes, and looked harried, with a sheen of sweat on her pretty face. Marla felt guilty for interrupting her work schedule, but she rationalized that obtaining the envelope was of greater importance.

  Wendy strode to the desk and opened a drawer. Beneath a pile of papers nestled a manila envelope which she withdrew. “Here you go. The document with your name on it is inside along with that other item I'd mentioned."

  Marla gingerly took the folder and peeked inside. Hmm, the original Manila envelope with her name on it had been larger. The negatives hadn't taken much space, but the photos did. This one looked too small to hold everything. She didn't bother to glance at the other item, some sort of magazine.

  "I really appreciate this,” she said to Wendy, facing her. “You didn't, uh, mention finding it to anyone else?"

  "No, I didn't, not even when Detective Vail inspected the contents of Bertha's safety-deposit box."

  "Oh?"

  Wendy pointed at the envelope. “I didn't want him to see that ... trash Bertha kept hidden. I can't conceive of what she'd been doing with it unless Todd was somehow involved. You'll see what I mean."

  Marla's curiosity threatened to ignite. Clutching the envelope to her chest, she grinned weakly. “If that's all,” she said, letting her voice trail off and hoping Wendy got the hint.

  "For now. I've got to get back to work."

  "Me too. Thanks for your help, Wendy. If I can ever do anything for you, please give me a call.” Waving, she left.

  Inside her Toyota, she turned on the air-conditioning before opening the Manila envelope. Her eyes widened in shock as she drew out the contents. A magazine showed full color scenes of naked couples entwined in erotic positions. How did this get into Bertha's possession? Experiencing a sinking feeling, Marla squeezed her eyes shut momentarily to block out the vivid images. Thank God her pictures had never made it into this format. Gathering her fortitude, she tore open the smaller envelope with her name on it.

  A cry of disbelief escaped her lips.

  The negatives were there, but where were the photographs? Desperate, she searched through the magazine pages in case the photos had fallen inside, but no luck. Could Bertha have stashed them separately for extra insurance against her blackmail scheme?

  Damnation. Now she still had to get those pictures. She only hoped they hadn't been placed in Bertha's safety-deposit box.

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  Chapter 14

  Taking a closer look at the magazine, Marla gnawed on her lower lip. The lurid poses blurred with her shame until she imagined herself in each of them. Thankfully, her supple young body had never been displayed in such a public fashion. It was bad enough copies of her pictures had been sold under the counter to perverts who wanted to view them in private. At least that's what the photographer told her was being done with them. Now she wondered how many had been circulating before Bertha got hold of the negatives and original prints. Her stomach churned as she mentally revisited her sordid past. You couldn't abolish regrets; you could only learn to live with them.

  Too distraught to return to work, she changed gears and drove around aimlessly while her mind wandered back to the day Bertha Kravitz had confronted her with the evidence of her shame.

  "I wanted to surprise my husband with an album of boudoir pictures,” Bertha had explained after calling

  Marla to her home ostensibly to get a haircut. Marla had come eagerly, hoping to acquire the wealthy client as a regular customer. She'd had no idea the old lady planned to drop a bombshell.

  "The photographer asked if I wanted normal poses or something more erotic.” Bertha had grinned, a toothy smile that showed off her capped teeth. It wasn't so much a smile as a predatory snarl, like a hungry tigress preparing to pounce on a helpless victim. “Imagine my surprise when the examples he showed me were pictures of you, Marla. I'd only been to your salon once, but you made quite a favorable impression. I can't tell you how shocked I was to discover your secret."

  Marla wished the floor would dissolve so she could sink through to a bottom level, which in south Florida probably meant the Biscayne Aquifer. Sweat dampened her palms as she faced Bertha in her office. “I only took that one job,” she croaked, her tongue so dry it scraped her palate like sandpaper. “I needed the money."

  Bertha didn't care about her explanations. In return for keeping silent, she'd demanded free hair appointments and other salon services in perpetuity. Forced to comply, Marla had tried to put the interview behind her. She'd survived worse things, and she could get past this, too, except for the days Bertha came in and gave her a disgustingly smug smile.

  Oh yes, she did have a motive for wanting Bertha out of the way. Gripping the steering wheel, Marla drove slowly through a winding residential complex in an unfamiliar neighborhood. She didn't want to be seen or recognized. Pulling alongside the curb by an empty lot, she idled the engine.

  Fifteen years ago, she'd been a naive young woman whose moment of neglect had let a beautiful child drown. Unintentional though it might have been, Marla had to pay the price. Modeling jobs had provided her with pocket cash before, so this time she accepted one that offered to pay a great deal more. Posing for lingerie ads wasn't shameful, after all. Store models did it all the time for catalogs and newspaper advertisements. So how could one stint hurt her reputation?

  Unfortunately, the photographer wasn't someone she'd worked with previously. Noticing the vulnerability in her eyes, he'd approache
d her with a better offer. Sweet young things like herself were highly in demand for more risque poses. If she were interested, the money rewards would be fabulous.

  Needing funds desperately to pay the lawyer defending her against Tammy's parents and not wanting to burden her own family, she'd agreed. Stupid girl, Marla railed now. Little had she realized what would be required from her until a muscular male model sauntered into the private back room at the photographer's studio. Only then had Marla become suspicious, but she still figured that a few photographs, even nude pictures, might not hurt if they were destined for sale to closet voyeurs. At least the photos hadn't been designed for a magazine like the one in her hand.

  Flipping through the pages, she looked for a date. It had been issued fairly recently. Could there be a connection between this photographer and the one Bertha had sought out for her boudoir pictures? As far as she'd known, the man who took Marla's photos had left town. Maybe he'd just changed his place of business, and Bertha had still been connected to him. And if so, perhaps she'd been blackmailing other former models like herself. That notion chilled her because then there might be a whole slew of people who'd wanted Bertha dead.

  Perhaps she could coax the printer into revealing the photographer's whereabouts. Even if it had nothing to do with her own sordid pictures, the lead was worth investigating. She noted a post office box address for Fort Lauderdale.

  Shifting into drive, Marla shot forward and headed onto a main road.

  An hour later, she had her answer. After standing in line at the main post office, she got the name and address of the person renting the box by claiming she was answering an ad in a promotional brochure. This led to another downtown location. Gritting her teeth, Marla debated whether she should return to work or risk being late by following the trail. It wasn't worth it to make her customers angry, she finally decided-She could always return after working hours.

  Her afternoon appointments passed quickly, but she'd nearly forgotten her dinner date with Ralph. She met him at the Italian Bistro in Davie. Marla was still dressed in her work clothes, a floral-patterned skirt and a cranberry short-sleeved sweater. In contrast, Ralph had spiffed himself for the occasion. Dressing up for him meant putting on a clean T-shirt that displayed his muscular physique and a pair of snug jeans. His spiky black hair looked as though he'd stuck his finger in an electrical outlet. Marla resisted the urge to advise him against using so much gel as she greeted him outside the restaurant.

  They were seated at an alcove by the window. After giving her order, she dropped her gaze to his grease-stained hands. He might be less refined than some of her other friends, but Ralph was sincere, and that's what appealed to her the most in a man. She'd met him when her car needed some work, and she had realized he was one of the few honest mechanics in the area. That they were physically attracted to each other became evident right from the start He's the brawn and Lance is the brains, Marla thought, suppressing a smile. So what if she divided her attentions? Ralph, at least, had his feet firmly planted on the ground instead of in cyberspace.

  "Wanna go for a ride?” Marla asked after she'd paid her half of the tab. “There's a place downtown I need to check out. A printer's shop."

  Ralph gave her a crooked grin. “Sure, babe. Is there a parking space?” The way he emphasized parking told Marla what he had in mind. No problem. She knew how to fend him off.

  The locale was across from the railroad tracks near Old Dixie Highway. A small, nameless store was wedged between a row of warehouses and a bicycle-repair shop. The number on the facade corresponded with the address she'd been given at the post office. Hovering near the closed front door was a fellow with a blond ponytail, a bandanna around his head, and a torn T-shirt proclaiming Life's A Beach.

  When he gave Marla the once-over, she sidled closer to Ralph. Flexing his muscles, her companion glared at the stranger. Brawn can come in handy, Marla thought gratefully.

  "The place is closed. I'll come back another time,” she told Ralph, swallowing her disappointment. “Let's go.” With darkness descending, she didn't care to linger in that part of town.

  Ralph took her elbow and guided her to his battered Chevy. She'd already observed that he spent his time fixing other people's cars but didn't bother with his own. Somehow the trait tickled her fancy. Unlike many other men, Ralph didn't derive a sense of power from his set of wheels. His value system emphasized more important goals such as going to night school. She admired his ambition to earn a college degree and wished him well.

  Settling onto the cracked leather seat, she heaved a sigh. Although her nerves screamed with frustration, she'd have to be patient about contacting the printer. Tomorrow, she could try to run down here during business hours.

  "What's the problem, babe? Why did you want to come here anyway? It's not the sort of joint you normally visit.” Ralph patted her arm.

  "It's related to Bertha's murder. She's the woman who expired in my salon,” she explained at his puzzled look.

  "Aren't the police working the case?"

  "I'm trying to learn things from a different viewpoint."

  "You're prying, you mean,” he said perceptibly. “That could land you in a heap of trouble."

  "I'm already in trouble. The detective suspects I did the dirty deed.” She noticed they weren't driving back to the restaurant where she'd left her car. “Where are we going?"

  "You're too uptight. I figured we'd take a walk along the river and then have coffee on Las Olas. You game?” His dark eyes sparkled mischievously, and Marla understood. He felt she needed comforting, which he was all too happy to provide. Of course, the offer of coffee was a temptation she couldn't deny.

  "Sure, I'd like that."

  He parked on a side street near Las Olas Boulevard and they skirted the dinner crowds to head toward the

  New River. Strolling along the waterfront, Marla averted her gaze from the rippling current It reminded her of things she'd rather not think about right then.

  Without being consciously aware of her purpose, she leaned closer to Ralph. He'd been walking beside her, holding her hand and keeping silent as though realizing she needed space to calm herself. When she felt his solid chest wall, her composure broke and she turned into him, seeking his strength. Responding, Ralph tightened his arms around her.

  Despising herself for her weakness, Marla gave in to the need for protection, burying her head against his shirt and closing her eyes. Her past mistakes kept returning to haunt her. Would she never be free of this anguish?

  To her distressed surprise, Dalton Vail's angular features floated into mental view, and an imagined whiff of his spiced scent invaded her mind. Where'd he spring from? A guilty conscience?

  Marla disentangled herself, her breathing rapid. “S-sorry, I ... I guess things are just taking their toll."

  Ralph smiled gently. “That's all right Let's go for coffee. Caffeine always gives you a boost."

  It gave her a boost okay, but not the kind she wanted. She spent a restless night, tossing in her bed and dreaming about the gruff police detective. Whether a good dream or a nightmare remained to be decided. I should tell him about the photographs, she thought, but she was hesitant to sully his impression of her. Not to mention revealing she had a motive for doing away with Bertha Kravitz. The fear of being arrested held her tongue more than anything. Even if Vail believed her story, he might be forced to act against her.

  "You look like something your dog might drag inside,” she grumbled to herself in the morning while peering into the bathroom mirror. Dark circles marred her complexion and even a heavy concealer couldn't erase them. After fluffing powder on her face, she applied a light touch of blush before doing her eyes with a putty-colored shadow.

  Spooks stood by, watching her with baleful eyes. They'd already gone for their morning walk, but he still craved attention. Marla stooped to scratch behind his ears. “You behave while I'm gone. No digging on the sofa today, you hear?"

  Having her own busine
ss preserved her sanity. When she'd been married to Stan, she used to spend hours in the kitchen concocting tropical delights in order to please him. Nothing she did seemed to earn his appreciation. Now she worked for herself. She didn't have to answer to anyone for her time and got her rewards from her customers. She'd earned her reputation and intended to keep it from being demolished.

  She'd just gathered her purse and was about to leave for the salon when the phone rang.

  "Marla? Dalton Vail here. I have a new lead regarding Carlos. Want to take a ride with me this morning?"

  "Where to?” she rasped, warmth flooding her at the sound of his deep voice.

  "You'll see. Can you get out of your appointments today? I'm not sure when we'll return."

  Mentally, she reviewed her schedule. “I can ask Miloki and Nicole to take over for me. We have a light load today. Where do you want to meet?” Part of her wondered why he wanted her along. Was it to keep her in sight because she was a suspect? Or did he genuinely desire her company? Probably die former, she told herself cynically.

  "I'll pick you up in fifteen minutes."

  "Wait a minute, what do I wear? I mean, do I need to dress up or anything?” Her glance swept over her belted bronze jumpsuit No way her clunky work shoes could be appropriate.

  A low, masculine chuckle erupted through the line, sending a delicious thrill along her internal circuitry. “Just be comfortable,” he advised.

  Yeah, right. Be comfortable when she was about to spend the day with the sexiest detective this side of the Mississippi. As soon as he hung up, she dialed the salon. Drat, no one answered. But then, it was just after nine. Even Lucille usually didn't come in this early. Marla left a message on the machine notifying her staff she'd been called away and wouldn't be in. They'd have to juggle their schedules to accommodate her appointments.

  That task done, she dashed into her bedroom to sprite herself with Obsession. Spooks, excited by her bustle of activity, charged into the room. He zipped around madly, barking as he darted in and out. Marla didn't have time to coddle him. Checking that her hair was properly styled, she threw on a pair of gold-button earrings. Ouch, that right ear pinched. Her lobes were small and couldn't support big dangling earrings like the ones she'd worn yesterday. Tally looked better in that kind. Thinking of her friend reminded Marla she needed to visit her shop. Tally had put away an outfit for her to try on, and she'd never gone over. It wasn't fair to hold it that long. Just chalk up another omission to Bertha's death!