Permed To Death [Bad Hair Day Mystery 1]

by Nancy J. Cohen

  "You never confronted Zack about this?"

  "I was afraid of what he'd say. Now he's not here, so I can't ask him."

  Marla drummed her fingers on the plush sofa arm. “You said he went away on business?” For some reason, that bothered her. Where would he go, and who'd paid for the trip?

  Wendy nodded, resuming her pacing. “He seemed excited. I-I hope he'll be back by Sunday as promised. It's a quick trip, but he said it was important. I think he was meeting someone else in Franklin."

  "Where?"

  "North Carolina. I wasn't even aware he had clients there."

  Ken had gone away this weekend, Marla remembered, biting her lip thoughtfully. Do you suppose—nah, too coincidental.

  Loud barking sounded from the back of the house. “Your dogs want in,” she observed.

  "What should I do, Marla?"

  Sighing, Marla rose. Rolling her stiff shoulders, she yearned for a hot shower and a few hours of oblivion with a good mystery. Although didn't she have enough to solve on her own right now? Maybe she'd read the latest trade magazine instead.

  "I don't know what to say,” she replied, facing Wendy. The girl looked forlorn, but Marla couldn't think of any more comforting words. Zack's actions were puzzling but that didn't mean he was a murderer. “Wait and talk to

  Zack when he comes home. And call me ... I'd like to know your results if you're willing to share them."

  "Of course. You've been a big help just by listening. And if you learn anything new, will you call me?"

  "Sure,” she lied, thinking of the mound of data accumulating in her brain. Trouble is, I can't tie it all together.

  Wendy showed her to the door, and she drove home pondering their conversation: Zack and Ken, both out of town for the weekend. Zack left the house the night before Bertha's demise. Doesn ‘t prove anything, she concluded. Nope, too many loose ends still needed completion. A weary yawn convinced her to contemplate them on the morrow.

  Saturday dawned bright and warm with the promise of rain held in cotton-fluff clouds on the horizon. Marla didn't have time to think much less ponder the mystery of Bertha's death. Darlene didn't show up for work, and Nicole called in sick. The morning flew by in a flurry of activity.

  Just after Marla stuffed down a bagel and cream cheese for lunch, Lucille summoned her. “Vail's on the line. Here."

  "Oh, joy.” She grabbed the receiver. “Hello?"

  "Ms. Shore, I'd like you to come down to the station, please. I have a few questions to ask you."

  Marla cringed inwardly. His stern tone of voice lacked any hint of familiarity or warmth. “What's up? We're really busy today. Maybe I can meet you later."

  "Now, Marla. Shall I send a car for you?"

  Compressing her lips, she glanced at Lucille, who was trying her best to pretend disinterest. “That won't be necessary. I'm on my way.” Carefully replacing the receiver, she hung up. “Shit. What does he want?” She hoped he hadn't found the pictures. But why else would he need her at headquarters?

  "What's going on?” Lucille queried, a bland look on her powdered face.

  "Who knows? He wants to ask me more questions."

  "Why? Were you snooping again?"

  Gathering her purse, she shot Lucille a resentful glance. “Maybe, maybe not. What's it to you?"

  "Someone's got to see to your welfare."

  "Yeah, well, I can look after myself. Did you ever get hold of Darlene? I can't understand why we haven't heard from her."

  "She isn't answering her telephone."

  "Keep trying. I don't like her leaving us in the lurch like this. You'll have to reroute my clients to Miloki and Giorgio again. Sorry, guys,” she yelled on her way out the door.

  Vail met her personally in the lobby at the police station and herded her into the same office as before. A sterile room apparently used for questioning suspects, it held a single desk and several chairs. Motioning for Marla to be seated, the detective lowered himself into a creaky chair behind the desk.

  "So.” Glaring at her, he steepled his hands.

  Marla squirmed uncomfortably. “Why did you bring me here?"

  "Certain new evidence has come to light. Care to explain these?” Opening a drawer, he pulled out an oversize brown envelope and tossed it across the desk surface.

  Marla, fingers trembling, retrieved the envelope. She didn't want to examine the contents. A sinking feeling told her what was inside. Peeking past the open flap, she felt her face lose color. “W-Where did you get this?” She saw no point in denial. The best thing would be to come clean. Pressing her shaking knees together, she tried to compose herself.

  "They were in Bertha Kravitz's safety-deposit box. You'll notice the envelope has your name on it.” His icy tone matched the hard expression in his eyes.

  Swallowing convulsively, Marla met his gaze. “I can explain."

  "I'm listening."

  At least he hadn't read her the Miranda rights. Did that mean he wasn't going to arrest her? Hoping she still had a chance to redeem herself, she repeated much the same story she'd told Tally. During the recital, she kept her head bent, voice low. It was embarrassing enough to confess her sins without seeing the disgust in his face. By the time she'd finished, she felt sick to her stomach. The gunmetal gray walls pressed upon her like a prison as she waited for his response.

  "Why, Marla? Wasn't there someone else who could help you? You must have been terribly desperate to pose for those kinds of pictures."

  She winced at the inflection in his voice. “I had no one. I couldn't tell my parents. It was something I had to do for myself. When I took the job, I—I didn't know it would involve that type of work.” Her throat closed, and she coughed to keep from choking.

  "Yet you cooperated with the photographer, didn't you? You did everything he wanted."

  "That doesn't make me a bad person. I was a naive nineteen-year-old! It was a single episode, that's all."

  "Bertha got hold of the pictures and was blackmailing you. Is that why you killed her, Marla?"

  Glancing at him, Marla couldn't read anything in his impassive expression. “I did not poison Mrs. Kravitz. I've been trying to find her killer. I want to bring the bad guy to justice just as much as you do. I'm not the person you want"

  "No? Then why did you ask Wendy for these pictures if not to cover your tracks?"

  Oh, so he knew about their conversation. “I—I figured you would construe my motives wrongly."

  "On the contrary, I understand completely. The victim must have threatened to expose you in her memoirs. You decided to stop her. You've been smeared before, and you wouldn't risk it again. The reputation you've built is too valuable to be ruined by an old lady's expose."

  Inwardly, she shrank from the pain of his accusations. His regard had meant more to her than she'd cared to admit. Losing his faith, not that she'd ever had it for a certainty, dealt her a tough blow. “I didn't even know about the memoirs until Wendy told me. If anyone, Todd was the most upset. He deals in stolen goods, or at least that's what Zack said. And I believe Todd still works as a model for the photographer. Maybe he wanted to stop his mother from exposing his dirty schemes."

  "Why did you visit that print shop?"

  Marla moistened her dry lips. “Wendy found a porno magazine among Bertha's things, and she chose to turn it over to me rather than you. I traced the printer's post office box to that address. The magazines are being distributed by mail. Todd acts as courier between the printer and the photographer. Whether it's a family interest or a secret subsidiary of Sunshine Publishing, I don't know. You'd have to ask Todd ... or Roy Collins."

  A strange gleam entered his eyes. “Funny you should mention Roy's name. Seems he didn't show up for work yesterday. Left the condo in the morning, and no one's seen him since."

  "So ask Darlene—” Her eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Darlene never came in this morning, either. Lucille has been unable to get in touch with her."

  "What
have you done, Marla? Darlene was getting too nosy so you bumped her off? Roy became suspicious and you got rid of him, too?"

  Her jaw dropped. “W—What are you saying? Are they ... have you found...” Horrified, she let her voice trail off.

  "I'm the one asking questions here.” Suddenly he changed tactics. “It would be best if you told me the truth,” he cajoled, giving her a smile that had all the friendliness of a neighborhood werewolf. “We could strike a deal."

  "Are you arresting me?"

  His eyes never leaving her face, he shifted his wide shoulders. “Not yet,” he said with obvious reluctance.

  "Good, then I'm leaving. You can contact my attorney.” Rising, she clutched her handbag. “If something happened to Darlene, you're wasting time with me. The real murderer might harm someone else. Or maybe Darlene and Roy are the guilty parties, and they've taken off. Have you considered that angle?” Anger seethed behind her next words. “I've made a few mistakes, but I'm not a killer. I'd think a man with your experience could discern that I'm being truthful. You've disappointed me, Dalton."

  Sticking her nose in the air, Marla swung the door open.

  "I'll be watching you,” he called.

  Marla wheeled around to face him. He stood by his desk, eyes glittering darkly.

  Her defiant gaze met his. “You do that, and in the meantime, maybe I can find the real criminal."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 19

  Her blood boiling, Marla marched out of the police station and headed for her car. Once inside, she turned on the air-conditioning and sat for a few moments to collect her cool. Damned cop. Who the hell did he think he was to accuse her? Didn't he recognize that she wasn't the only one with a motive?

  Gripping the steering wheel, she tore from the parking lot to head back to work. No, wait a minute. Speaking of motives, she remembered their interview with the santero in the Everglades. Senor Manuel had spoken of Carlos and the light-haired woman, quoting Carlos as saying she'd looked good for her age. She'd confided to Carlos: “I'm doing it for him."

  Partners in crime? Stan's stern image floated into her mind. She could be way out of line thinking he and Carolyn Sutton were involved. Even if they didn't conspire together for Bertha's murder, then certainly they sabotaged my lease. No way Carolyn could afford those steep payments on her own, she thought. Guilty, either way. Detouring east, Marla decided Saturday afternoon would be the perfect time to pay a visit to Carolyn's salon. She needed to discern the truth for herself.

  Fifteen minutes later, Marla approached the Hair ‘N Care salon on foot. The shop used to have a different name, she recalled with a snide curl of her lip. Carolyn's new title was an attempt to copy the success of Marla's Cut ‘N Dye.

  Where once the area had thrived as a busy city center, westward expansion had pushed it into a decline. Progress marched on, and in its wake came decay, Marla thought. Her cynical eye caught the evidence of deterioration in peeling paint and broken pavement. How Carolyn would love to move into my domain.

  A smug smile on her mouth, she pushed open the door and stepped inside the shop. A couple of customers glanced up, the only occupants besides the staff, most of whom appeared idle. One stylist Marla recognized was treating herself to a manicure. Others stood about chatting, Carolyn among them. When she spotted Marla, the woman's gaze sharpened. She had the eyes of an owl, large and round, and the skin of a woman ten years younger than her age of forty-three. Bleached strawberry blond hair and a slim miniskirted figure added to her youthful appearance.

  I should look that good in my later years, Marla observed, noting the woman's flat abdomen as she trotted over. Even Lucille kept herself in fit shape, and she was in her fifties. I'll have to ask what she does for exercise. Probably works out in her garden every day. Pruning bushes and yanking weeds could be vigorous work. Not that holding your arms up every day for eight hours cutting hair was any less active.

  Suppressing a twinge of envy, she told herself that keeping busy with a booming clientele was just as aerobic as following a fitness regime. She wondered if Carolyn had heard how much business had prospered after Bertha's murder. If she were involved, and her purpose was to ruin Marla's reputation, she'd failed miserably. Or maybe it had been Stan's intention to force Marla out of business, so she'd be more agreeable to selling her share of their jointly owned property. Gritting her teeth, she determined to learn the truth.

  "Well. I see things haven't improved much around here,” she said sweetly.

  Carolyn bared her teeth. “Come to get your hair done properly?” Her scornful glance raked Marla. “Looks like a complete makeover is in order."

  Speak for yourself. Your salon needs a serious overhaul. “No, dear, I just came for a little chat. Got a minute?"

  Glancing at her watch, Carolyn raised her pencil-thin eyebrows. “I'm between appointments, so I can spare a few minutes. Let's go in that corner.” She pointed to the coloring station, where a row of seats was unoccupied. Marla tramped over and levered herself into a cushioned chair.

  Crossing her legs, she addressed Carolyn. “Uh, I hear you're interested in changing locations. You wouldn't have approached my landlord with an attempt to outbid me, would you?” Cursing inwardly, she realized she should have phoned her lawyer first. Then she might have a better handle on what to say.

  "What do you mean?” Carolyn shot back.

  "Someone offered my landlord a better deal—a huge raise in rent plus a larger security deposit. I'm wondering if you're involved."

  "Who, me? Where would I get the money?"

  "You're clever enough to have devised a plan. For a while there, I'd wondered how desperate you'd become. If someone was hoping to ruin my business by killing off Bertha Kravitz, that idea backfired. We've never done better."

  Carolyn's eyes narrowed. “That's wonderful, luv, but I hope you're not thinking I had anything to do with that woman's death. I wouldn't be so stupid. There's easier methods."

  "Oh, really? Whose idea was it to approach my landlord with better terms—yours or Stan's?"

  Carolyn smirked. “Stan came to me. Brilliant idea, wasn't it? Flush you out over finances."

  Elation charged through Marla. “I knew it. You won't succeed, either one of you. I'll bet the change in terms isn't legal according to my contract. My attorney is checking into the details. If I'm right, you can tell Stan to bug off."

  "Tell him yourself."

  "Maybe Stan is in this deeper than you think. He could have wanted to make Bertha sick to chase clients away, without being aware the poisons were fatal. The cops are close to catching the killer. If you know something you're not telling them, you'd be considered an accessory."

  Chuckling, Carolyn regarded her with amusement. “Your desperation shows, darling. Maybe you did it to drum up business. After all, you're already responsible for letting a small child die. What's another victim to you?"

  Resisting the urge to smash her rival's face, Marla jumped up.’ ‘If I find you've been collaborating with Stan about my lease, I'm going to sue you both. Since your cash flow is already hurting, I wouldn't risk losing more if I were you."

  Carolyn rose, an ugly look on her face. “Don't threaten me, Marla."

  "Why, what else can you do to me that you haven't already tried?” Wrong question, stupid. “Never mind answering. I've already learned what I needed to know,” she chortled.

  Carolyn stood frozen, watching her with a malevolent expression. Hastening away, Marla didn't look back even once.

  Reaching the pavement outside, she drew in a deep breath, as though to cleanse her lungs of stale air. Well. So Stan had conspired with Carolyn regarding her lease. At least that matter was clarified.

  First on her agenda upon returning to work was phoning her lawyer. “Ah, Marla. I'd just instructed my secretary to put you on my list for today,” he announced jovially. “You were right. Your landlord is overstepping the terms of the lease. I've got a call in to his attorney, and we'll
iron things out."

  "You mean we can get him for breach of contract if he cancels me out?"

  "Yes, ma'am. According to what you both signed, he can't raise you more than ten percent a year. And that extra security assessment is way over the limit I don't think we'll have any problems getting you renewed as long as you agree to a slight rise in rent"

  "Thank you! I've no problem with that” She hung up, triumphant Screw Stan and his nasty ploy. He'd underestimated her again, the dolt

  Lucille followed her into the storeroom where she'd made her call.’ ‘What did Detective Vail want?” the receptionist demanded after Marla replaced the receiver.

  Marla turned to her. “Oh, he thinks I killed Bertha,” she replied wearily. “I warned him he's chasing down the wrong alley, but he didn't listen. I'm going to have to take care of this problem myself."

  Crossing her arms, Lucille scowled. “Meaning?"

  "Roy and Darlene might be involved. Have you gotten in touch with Darlene yet?"

  "Nope."

  "I hope nothing's happened to her."

  A puzzled frown crossed Lucille's face. “Why would you think that? And how do you feel they're involved? You're not thinking they killed Bertha, are you?"

  Marla shrugged. “I don't know—something Vail said or didn't say bothers me. I need to talk to Roy."

  "I called his office. He's not in. I thought he might be able to help me locate Darlene."

  What if Roy had done something to Darlene? Marla thought with a frisson of alarm. If they'd plotted together and she became a threat, he could have decided to get rid of her just the same as Bertha. But where would he go if he wanted to hole up for a while?

  "Who's my next scheduled appointment?” she asked, changing the subject. Walking into the salon, she heard Lucille's footsteps trailing her.

  "You've got two more cuts to do,” Lucille answered, rattling off the client's names. “Miloki was going to do them for you."

  "I can take over. Is she finished for the day?"

  "I think so."

  The phone rang. “It's for you,” Lucille said, handing over the receiver.