Permed To Death [Bad Hair Day Mystery 1]

by Nancy J. Cohen

  He didn't return alone. Backing him were two scroungy men who looked like bouncers. One had wiry hair and tattoos on both bulging biceps. The other one leering at her looked like he needed a good dentist. From the smell of him, a bath would have helped, also. Marla inadvertently took a step backward.

  "You looking for dirty pictures, missy? This ain't the right place,” growled the man with broken front teeth. “But if youse is interested, I'll take you somewhere else.” His hot gaze raked her body. “I know where you can get a fix."

  "No, thanks. I must have made a mistake.” Clenching her purse to her side, she made for the door.

  The two men were around the counter in an instant. Bad Teeth blocked her path. Spinning about, she faced Muscle Man square on. “I'm leaving now,” she said, her tone firm. “Please ask your friend to get out of my way."

  "Not so fast, sister.” Muscle Man's voice grated like chalk on a board. “We'd like to know who sent you."

  "I'm a reporter for the tabloids,” she repeated, hoping they wouldn't ask for identification. Her heart thumping wildly, she struggled to maintain her cool.

  "Come into the back with us. We'll show youse what you want,” coaxed Bad Teeth from behind.

  Marla edged sideways, hoping he'd follow so she could aim for the door from a different direction. “First tell me if those magazines are printed here."

  "You're not an undercover cop, are you?” sneered Muscle Man. He advanced until she was forced to stare into the bulging whites of his eyes. Sweat mingled with the smell of printer's ink. Resisting the urge to retreat, she lifted her chin.

  "No, I'm not. I guess I was wrong about finding a story here. You've got to let me leave."

  A harsh chuckle sounded from behind and then hands roughly cupped her buttocks. She jerked around, elbow swinging. Pain splintered her arm as she connected with Bad Teeth's cheekbone. Grunting in surprise, he lurched backward just as the front door crashed open.

  "Need some assistance?” drawled Detective Vail. His steely gaze challenged her assailants. Never had she been more glad to see the tall, athletic police officer.

  Sensing his authority, the two men backed off. “We was just having a little fun,” whined Bad Teeth, quick to disengage himself under the threat of retribution.

  Marla rushed toward Vail. “Let's get out of here,” she pleaded, tugging on his arm. Scowling down at her, he gave a quick nod. Evidently he was more concerned about her safety than pursuing these miscreants.

  "What the hell were you doing in there?” he snarled outside on the sidewalk.

  "I was asking questions. Thanks for the rescue,” Marla mumbled, too unnerved to explain further. As she directed him to her car down the street, she stiffened her spine to control her trembling. It wouldn't do to show Vail how scared she'd been. Okay, so it was pretty stupid to come here alone. Bad neighborhood, disreputable shop. Possible illegal activity if they were sending those magazines out via the mail. Dumb move, Marla. Her nose wrinkled; diesel fumes from a truck guzzled down the road.

  "Why were you here? Were you following me?” she snapped, grateful he'd shown up at the right time but wondering how he came to be there in the first place.

  He kept pace with her fast stride. Fury darkened his face, as turbulent as those storm clouds approaching on the horizon. His thick brows were so close together they reminded her of a cold front line marching south. Even the corners of his mouth curved downward, expressing disapproval. With his broad shoulders hunched forward, he appeared ready for a fight.

  "I didn't like the way you got rid of me,” he said in his gruff tone. “Thought I'd tail you to see where you were going in such a hurry."

  "What?” Whirling to face him, she tapped his arm. “Is that a measure of your trust? I'd hoped you believed in me.” Hurt mixed with anger in her tone. She couldn't help feeling betrayed. His actions merely served as evidence to the huge gap between them.

  A distant rumble of thunder reached her ears. Dust clogged her nostrils as a breeze blew in. The air smelled of impending rain. It was a fitting end to a bad experience.

  "You have the chutzpah to talk about trust?” he scoffed, his gaze glittering with disappointment. “Why don't you tell me why you were here. What questions were you asking in that place?"

  Marla wavered. She could just mention the magazine Wendy had found, but that might lead to the photographer and her own sordid past. Vail already knew about Tammy; maybe he'd understand why she'd been so desperate for money. Or maybe he'd consider Bertha's blackmailing her to be enough of a motive for Marla to murder the old lady. His menacing stance made her decision easy. He wasn't in a tolerant mood. Better to deflect his attention.

  "Sorry, but I'm afraid that anything I say to you may be used against me."

  "Ah ha, so you are hiding something. I figured as much.” An exultant look crossed his face.

  Fearful she'd say more than was wise, Marla resumed her walk to the car. Vail's long-legged gait quickly overtook hers. Taking her arm, he jerked her to a halt.

  "I want to help, Marla. Honestly. You're putting yourself in danger, and I'd like to know why."

  His earnest expression almost convinced her, but she knew cops sometimes took sympathetic tacks. It wouldn't work on her, much as she wished he could be an ally.

  "No, thanks, this is a private matter.” Loosening his grip, she fled to her Toyota and unlocked the door with shaking fingers.

  "I'll be watching you,” he warned without making an attempt to delay her.

  Marla glanced at him standing by the curb. Peppery dark hair swept his forehead. Eyes glimmered with unfathomable lights. His body tensed, fists clenched by his side with restrained anger. He made a formidable opponent. She'd rather have him for a friend.

  Feeling saddened, she crawled into her car. Until this case was solved, she couldn't call anyone friend.

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  Chapter 17

  Realizing Vail might still be following her, Marla headed for work. She doubted the police detective would hang around the parking lot until she finished for the day. After their latest encounter, she wasn't eager for a rematch.

  "Hey, Marla!” Giorgio called, as she entered the salon. He was busy sweeping the floor to remove discarded hair cuttings. His handsome Italian features split into a broad grin as he regarded her. “What are you doing here? I thought you were out sick today."

  Marla tucked her purse into an empty drawer at her hair station. “I had to go somewhere. Where's Lucille? The reception desk shouldn't be left untended."

  "I'm keeping watch.” He thumbed toward the rear. “Lucille's in the back arguing with Darlene. You should tell them to keep their voices down. We can hear them in the salon."

  Picking up her clean coffee mug where she'd left it on the counter, she marched toward the storeroom. If those two had a case together, they should pursue it on their off time. A murmur of voices reached her ears as she approached. At first, she couldn't discern any words, but when she got nearer, their conversation became clear. Hesitating outside the partially ajar door, Marla focused on listening to the women.

  "You're just taking advantage of him for his money,” Lucille's voice hissed. “I can't believe Roy doesn't see it, but then again, he's always been easy prey to women like you."

  "Roy cares for me,” Darlene retorted. “You're just jealous because he never gave you a second glance."

  "That's not the reason! You've blinded him to the truth."

  "Face the facts, Lucille. He doesn't want you."

  "Bitch!"

  Lucille stormed from the room. The receptionist didn't even notice Marla's presence as she breezed past. Using the opportunity, Marla bounded into the storeroom to corner Darlene.

  "What was that all about?” she demanded. Darlene had a stricken look on her face which was quickly replaced by an innocuous smile, but Marla was no longer fooled by her performance. Wise to her act, Marla wouldn't underestimate the girl's craftiness hereafter.

  Toss
ing back a wave of blond hair, Darlene gazed at her defiantly. “Lucille found out about me and Roy. She said you know, too. So what?” She thrust her chin forward. “Like we weren't announcing it to the world."

  Marla gave her a chastising glare. “You kept your liaison a secret. Why, Darlene? Were you afraid Bertha would find out? Or is that why you were working here, to spy on her?"

  "That's none of your business.” Doggedly, Marla pressed on. “My guess is that Bertha discovered your little arrangement and was furious. You and Roy decided to get rid of her before she could make trouble."

  "I don't know what you're talking about"

  A dangerous gleam entered Darlene's eyes. Unabashed, Marla continued her interrogation. “When did Roy return from Naples? Was he here the night before Bertha died? Or did he actually get in that morning?"

  "Don't ask so many questions or you'll be sorry."

  "Did you send me a box of marzipans?"

  Startlement crossed the girl's face. “Huh?"

  "Never mind.” Darlene's reaction indicated she wasn't privy to that incident. That didn't preclude Roy's involvement, however. Blocking the doorway so Darlene couldn't exit, Marla changed tactics to coax more information from her. “Why does Lucille get so riled over Roy? Did they have a thing once?"

  Darlene smirked. “Not from Roy's viewpoint Like she was always the one running after him. Just because he opened her eyes about Harvey doesn't mean he desired her."

  Taking a chance that Darlene would talk about another staff member rather than herself, Marla poured herself a cup of coffee from the new machine in the storeroom and added cream and sugar.

  "So tell me, who's Harvey?” she asked in a casually friendly tone. Bringing the mug to her lips, she took a careful sip of the steaming brew.

  Darlene hooked her thumbs into her jeans pockets and leaned against a counter. “Lucille was dating Harvey Moore when she joined Sunshine Publishing. Like the man was using her but she couldn't see it Being divorced, he had kids from his previous marriage and didn't want any kind of commitment Lucille agreed to his terms. Stupid woman, she let him use her money for his own gain."

  "So how did their relationship involve Roy?"

  "Roy recognized what was going on and told her. I'm not sure what happened, but Harvey was a health nut One day he made himself a pitcher of sun-brewed tea, except he used the wrong kind of leaves and poisoned himself. Lucille hoped she would gain Roy's attention then, but he'd already turned to Bertha."

  "Sounds like Roy doesn't want commitments, either."

  "That's not your concern, Marla."

  "If he's involved in Bertha's murder, it is. You're not withholding vital information from the police, are you? Because you could be considered an accessory to the crime."

  "Get lost.” Eyes blazing, Darlene stalked past heading into the salon.

  Reeling from their conversation, Marla sagged against the counter. Bless my bones, but Darlene is touchy about Roy. Was one of them guilty, or both together? Or worse, neither one? Because then she'd have to look elsewhere for Bertha's killer.

  Maybe Lucille could provide more information. Striding outside, she made a beeline for the receptionist's desk. Lucille sat staring at the computer with a distant expression. Lips pursed, she appeared to be miles away in thought

  "Nice plant,” she commented, noting the new addition to the front counter. Deep purple blossoms and hairy green leaves sprouted from rich soil in a hand-decorated ceramic pot.

  "Thanks,” Lucille said, rousing herself. “African violets are my favorite indoor plants. Lately, I've been having fun with lemongrass, though. I managed to grow a patch in my garden. You'll have to try the tea I made with ginger.” She smiled gaily, crinkles transforming her lined skin. “It's good for hot flashes. Makes you sweat more."

  "Terrific.” Marla leaned forward. “Have you ever heard Darlene mention an interest in gardening?"

  "Hah! That girl wouldn't know basil from a bay leaf! Roy used to care more about those things. Sometimes we'd go to the Rare Fruit and Vegetable Council meetings together. He'd bring home batches of herbs."

  "Oh, really? I didn't know he liked to grow plants."

  "He likes to cook. He just uses the edible parts."

  "He doesn't grow the more exotic varieties?"

  Lucille's eyes narrowed. “What are you implying, honey?"

  She shrugged. “It's not important.” Pointing at the calendar, she added, “Who's next on my schedule? I can finish out the day.” Feeling something was out of place, she scanned the salon. “Say, where's Nicole?” God, her brain cells must be deteriorating. She hadn’ t even noticed that her friend was absent. Items scattered across her station indicated Nicole had been there earlier, but where was she now?

  Lucille patted her coiffed hairdo. “She had a break, so she ran over to Arnie's place. It's been a busy morning, and no one's had a chance for lunch. She's getting sandwiches for us now that things have slackened off."

  "You should have asked Arnie to deliver.” Marla's face flushed guiltily. It was her fault for dumping her appointments on them, but she'd figured today would be slow. They must have had a slew of walk-ins.

  "My apologies, guys,” she said to Miloki and Giorgio, who were listening in. Miloki, busy with a customer, smiled amiably. Giorgio, straightening his combs, waved one at her in response.

  "Marla, any news on Bertha Kravitz's murder investigation?” called Miloki's customer. It was Raney Weston, a gossip maven who liked her hair teased into a cotton-candy puff of bleached gold.

  "The police are still working on it."

  "I heard someone else turned up dead."

  All eyes turned in Marla's direction. “Yeah, Carlos the janitor. They found his body aboard his boat."

  "What happened to him?” the woman persisted, blatant eagerness in her expression.

  "Poisoned."

  Lucille gasped. “How did you find out?"

  Marla refocused her attention on the receptionist “Detective Vail told me. We went to interview someone who'd known Carlos. That's why I wasn't here this morning."

  "B-but why did Vail ask you to go? I thought you were a suspect."

  "Gee, thanks, Lucille."

  "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

  "Forget it. So, who's coming in next?” she asked, pointedly directing her gaze at the appointment calendar.

  Lucille smoothed her skirt. “Martha Rogan for her usual cut. After that, you've one more appointment, so you should be out of here by six."

  "Great,” she announced brightly. Inwardly, she frowned. It was great that she was busy, but not so wonderful in that she wouldn't have time to visit the photographer before business hours closed. That meant another delay in her investigation and one more day that Vail might find the original photos. Don't forget the new post office box number, either. That involved another trip to the post office to find out if it was registered to a business other than the printer. Oh, joy. Lots of leads to follow and no time.

  "How's my schedule look for tomorrow?” she asked Lucille, drumming her fingers on the counter.

  "Booked solid. Looks like a busy Friday."

  Normally, she'd be ecstatic. But now every minute was crucial. She had the feeling things would become more urgent hour by hour.

  Despite the time crunch, she stopped at Publix on the way home to buy groceries. She'd intended to make chicken soup for Emma, who was still feeling ill. Concerned about her neighbor's condition, she called Moss as soon as she put her purchases away.

  "Hello, mate,” his gravelly voice answered. “Nice of you to check on Emma. We're still waiting to hear from the doctor regarding test results. He said her blood count may be low."

  "Well, I'm making her some chicken soup. If it's okay with you, I'll bring a container over later."

  "You're an angel! We'll be here. Hey, maybe you'll take a look at my latest poetic effort."

  "Sure, Moss.” He could use some good cheer, after all.

  After hanging up, she busied
herself in the kitchen making cheese tortellinis for dinner. While waiting for a pot of water to come to a boil, she rinsed off the four chicken-breast halves she'd bought and put them in a soup pot. Covering the poultry with cold water, she set the stove burner on high. Next she peeled an onion, a couple of carrots, and cleaned off a handful of fresh dill.

  Using a prepackaged salad, she poured out a single portion into a bowl and sprinkled on a tablespoon of raspberry vinegar. Low calorie and healthful, it was her favorite dressing. Then she made a few quick phone calls to her mother and Tally to catch up on their news, and to customers who'd left messages. No way she'd have time to do Marcia's hair at home before the Save the Manatee benefit luncheon on Sunday. Sorry, pal.

  Sizzling noises popped and sputtered. Both pots had reached the boiling point Working quickly, Marla tossed the tortellinis into the smaller pot. Setting her Mickey Mouse kitchen timer for seven minutes, she grabbed a serving spoon. The dirty scum rising to the water's surface in the soup pot needed to be skimmed. That done, she threw in the onion with an X cut through its flat end, the carrots, and the dill, and added a pinch of kosher salt Sealing the top with a lid, she turned down the burner to low. She'd eat her supper while the soup simmered for an hour. The fragrant smell of dill mingled in the air with the stinging aroma of cut onion.

  Marla thought about herbs as she poured tomato sauce onto the drained cooked pasta and added a sprinkle of dried basil leaves. So Roy dabbled in raising herbs, did he? Or at least he used them for cooking purposes. How familiar was he with the more lethal properties of plants?

  The question repeated itself in her mind on Friday morning after she'd gone to the post office and inquired about the new box number. Interesting what company name was on the card: Sunshine Publishing. Bertha

  Kravitz was listed as the contact person. So Bertha supported the publication of those dirty magazines, Marla thought. Was Roy a partner to this subsidiary venture, too? She supposed the only way to find out for sure was to ask him herself. At least she had protection from his proposed lawsuit now that Lance had found evidence against him. Her computer expert friend had called last night, his words tumbling over themselves in his excitement