Nancy J. Cohen - Bad Hair Day 04 - Body Wave

by Body Wave

  "Really?"

  He lowered his voice. "Doesn't bother me that he isn't Jewish. Your mom, though, she's still fishing for someone else to catch your eye. Heed my warning. Now where the devil are my cream puffs? This waiter doesn't deserve a big tip."

  Marla didn't care for the way her mother hustled over at his summons. "The pastry chef is bringing the rest of the desserts," she told him. "This party was my idea," she explained to Marla. "Did you suspect anything?"

  "Not a clue! Thanks, I love you." She hugged Anita and then stepped back, hailed by her other friends.

  The older couple left shortly thereafter, ostensibly to avoid driving home late at night. Marla noticed her mother's glow and prayed that was the only reason they'd gone so early. Or maybe it was because Roger had consumed too many sweets. His skin had looked rather pale.

  "I can't understand what Ma sees in him," she confided to her brother.

  "He has a lot of energy," Michael suggested, grinning.

  "He's a _fresser._ Did you see how many slices of cake he stuffed down? I'll make a date with Ma and ask her about him."

  "She seems happy, Marla. In my book, that's what counts."

  * * * *

  "I can't believe how everyone fooled me," she said to Vail during the drive home. Weariness settled into her bones as she sank back into the seat cushion.

  "You've been preoccupied," he said in a teasing tone.

  She considered her recent schedule. "I guess so. I don't have any free time coming up, either. I want to see Stan about those albums, talk to his neighbors, meet Kim's classmates, and I still have to take care of Miriam!"

  "What happened during your interview on Sunday?"

  "I never told you, did I?" She gave him an accusing glance. "You didn't return my phone calls."

  "I didn't dare speak to you before tonight, or I might have given away the surprise."

  Marla described her adventures as a nurse's aide. "I'll try to find out who this Uncle Jerry person is, although I have to be careful what I say when I'm at Miriam's place. If I reveal my intimate knowledge of Stan's affairs, I'll blow my cover." She patted her purse. "You can reach me on my cell phone if you need me. That was a really thoughtful gift."

  He pulled up to the curb in front of her townhouse and shut off the ignition. Street lamps lent a soft glow to the night, but they didn't compare to the gleam in his eyes when he turned the full power of his gaze on her.

  "I know how you can express your gratitude."

  "I can't imagine what you mean." She smiled coyly. "Come inside, I have a Valentine's Day gift for you. Watch out for Spooks." After the poodle greeted them, she offered Vail a cup of coffee.

  "I had enough at the restaurant. Let's sit on the couch."

  Uh-oh. Dangerous place, a couch. She retrieved the wrapped box she'd forgotten to bring earlier and handed it to him. Her heart hammering, she sank down on the sofa. It delighted her to see the pleased reaction on his face as he examined the package.

  "What is it?"

  "You'll see."

  He tore it open like a child, making her wonder when was the last time he'd received a genuine gift, other than from Brianna. "It's a beautiful pen." He turned the silver instrument around to examine it.

  "You take notes so often. I thought you could use this."

  "It's great." He placed it on the cocktail table before turning to her. "I'll thank you first." Putting his arms around her, he drew her close.

  Pressed against his solid length, she felt her limbs liquefy. His spice cologne sent her pulse thrumming.

  His thumb stroked her cheek. "Your skin is so soft, just like your heart. Being with you takes me away from all the ugliness I face every day."

  "Oh, Dalton." She saw the need in his eyes, and yearning overwhelmed her. Reaching up, she pulled his head down and kissed him.

  "I've waited a long time for this," he murmured against her ear when they came up for air.

  "Well, don't stop now!"

  His hands slid down her body as he drew her in for a deeper kiss. "I won't be able to leave if we go any further."

  "Mmm," she murmured. "I don't want you to go."

  He sucked in a ragged breath. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  With a groan, he slipped the dress straps off her shoulders. His mouth found her bared flesh, and Marla's senses reeled. She was just about to suggest they move to more comfortable accommodations when a cell phone rang.

  "Is that mine?" she asked, springing backward.

  "No, it's this one." He pulled it off his belt. "Vail here." A pause, during which time he picked his tie off the sofa. "Brie, is that you? Anything wrong?" He glanced guiltily at Marla. "No, the party is over. I'm at Marla's. Yes, I'm coming right home. You should be in bed already. No, I'm not doing anything I'll regret, and wash out your mouth for thinking that way. Don't wait up for me."

  He disconnected, a sheepish grin on his face. "Gotta go. Next time, I'll make sure she sleeps over her friend's house."

  Disappointment washed over her, followed by relief as she saw him to the door and waved good-night. _Another reason why not to get involved with a man who has children,_ she thought while locking up. Too many interruptions!

  Interruptions were something she couldn't afford right now. Three weeks remained before Stan's deadline. She needed to devote herself to finding Kim's killer before an innocent man went to prison for a crime he didn't commit.

  * * *

  *Chapter Eight*

  Thursday morning Marla was swamped at work. She barely had time to gulp down breakfast, let alone get anything extra done. A break came when her two o'clock appointment canceled. _Yes!_ she almost shouted aloud. No one else had been scheduled during the two-hour block, so she was free until four.

  She phoned Stan at his office. He agreed to meet her at his house but only for an hour. That was fine with her; she'd spend the rest of the time checking out his neighbors. Next Marla dialed the number for the School of Arts and Design. Claiming she'd been referred by her recently departed friend Kimberly Kaufman to their interior design program, she made an appointment for the next morning. How convenient that her first customer wasn't scheduled until eleven.

  Not wanting to get stuck on the phone, she called a few numbers she'd jotted down earlier. She'd promised Vail to help plan his daughter's thirteenth birthday and had been negligent of her duty. Last night reminded her of the obligation.

  "What do you mean, it's sixty-five dollars per person for a three-course chicken dinner?" she cried to a caterer on the other end of the line. "That's absurd. What? I don't care if that's what they pay at bar mitzvahs. This doesn't have to be so fancy." She slammed down the receiver. Better to find a restaurant with a private room. The catering places charged too much. She'd never imagined planning a teen party could be so demanding.

  Eager to move ahead with her investigation, she snatched up her purse and was heading for the salon exit when she noticed a hearse pull up in front. _Oh God, what's that doing here?_

  Ignoring the NO PARKING sign, the vehicle's driver shut off the engine and emerged. It was a woman dressed in a leather corset contraption and skin-tight black leather pants that fit into heeled boots. She wore a shawl, her only concession to the cool February weather. Heavy mascara fringed tawny eyes.

  "I'm here about the ad," the woman stated, barely moving her raisin-painted lips.

  Marla hesitated. "What ad?"

  "For a colorist."

  "Oh." _If your clothes are an example, you need to use a color chart yourself, pal._ "I'm Marla Shore, the owner. Can you give me an idea of your experience?"

  The woman rattled off impressive credentials and showed her license. "I came by yesterday but you were having some sort of celebration. Loved the rags. I could tell you were my kind of people."

  "My staff were celebrating my birthday. They wore their old Halloween costumes as a joke."

  "Radical. So when can I start working here? I have to give my current place notice that
I'm leaving."

  "We're still interviewing prospective staff. If you leave your contact info, I'll get back to you."

  The woman leaned closer, giving Marla a whiff of alcoholic breath. "You'd like what I do on the side, darlin'. Maybe you'd want to try it."

  "What's that?"

  "I'm a dominatrix. Lots of men get turned on when I whip them. You wanna come for a session? I'll bet you'd be good at it."

  _Bless my bones, what a winner._ "No, thanks. I'm on my way out. I'll call you if I have further questions." Why did she get all the weirdos? Is this what graduated from beauty school these days?

  She was late when she reached Stan's house. It was only the second time she'd been there, having come once before to retrieve the ceramic soup tureen given them as a wedding gift by one of her aunts. With seven bedrooms, four baths, a vaulted ceiling living room, fully equipped kitchen, and wood-decked pool area, the house seemed overwhelmingly huge to Marla. It hadn't been good enough for Kimberly, who'd wanted a location on the Intracoastal.

  Facing Stan inside the marble-tiled foyer, she regarded her ex-spouse with wary eyes. He looked dapper in a three-piece wool suit, his black hair slicked off a wide forehead. Instead of his usual supercilious grin, however, his face wore a sad smile. _Don't let him get to you,_ she warned herself.

  "Thanks for meeting me here," she said. "I'd like to see those albums you mentioned."

  "They're in the family room. Follow me." On the way, he checked his watch. "I can't stay long. I have a three-thirty appointment."

  "That's fine. Detective Vail showed me the photograph you found in Kim's bedroom." Marla trailed him down a hallway to a family room brightly decorated in southwestern motif. Sofas upholstered in chili and turquoise accents, a handwoven wool rug with a Pueblo scene, Native American framed art, and mauve sandpainted vase lamps highlighted the room. _It's certainly different than the classic mahogany furniture you favored when we were married._ Marrying Kimberly must have cost him plenty.

  Stan sank heavily onto a couch. "I think that picture fell from one of these albums," he said, pointing to several books scattered on a pine table.

  "Which one was Kim most interested in?" She thumbed through an album showing Kim as a baby. The edges were brown, and many of the photos had become dislodged from the sticky backing.

  "Try the red book," Stan suggested. "Stella wants to redo them, something about acid- and lignin-free paper. I won't let her have them until the investigation is complete. Florence keeps nagging me."

  "Maybe there is something here that Kim's family doesn't want you to see." Putting the first book down, she picked up the red one. It weighed heavily on her thighs as she opened the volume. Inside, younger versions of Morris, Stella, and Florence smiled from photographs capturing their carefree swimming pool days. Miriam posed proudly beside her husband Harris in a tropical setting beside a lake.

  Flipping through the pages, Marla stopped when she came to a blank space fitting the dimensions of the photo Vail had shown her. "Look," she cried triumphantly.

  "What is it?"

  "This must be where that picture fell from. Who's this woman next to Harris? It's not Miriam." She reversed the book so Stan could see. The photo showed Harris with his arm around a slender, flame-haired girl. A later grouping showed the woman, having aged, smiling sadly at the camera next to a young boy who bore a strong resemblance to the man Kim called Uncle Jerry. It appeared as though there might have been someone else on the other side of her, but the picture had been cropped.

  Stan shrugged. His gesture moved her glance to his shoulders, where she noticed flecks of dandruff. "I don't know who the redhead is, although she does look somewhat familiar."

  "Wasn't Kim working on her genealogy?"

  "You're right. She bought one of those computer programs to research her family tree."

  "Can you access the program? Or maybe she left notes."

  "I'll check into it when I have time."

  "Will you please stop rapping your fingers on that table? The sound is annoying."

  He threw her an irritated look. "You're here to help me, not to criticize."

  "I can't concentrate when you insist on making noises."

  "You never used to be this way when we were married. Never." His brows drew together in a disapproving scowl.

  "I was afraid to open my mouth for fear you'd put me down."

  "You needed my guidance, just as you need it now. Let me offer you a tidbit of information. I heard Carolyn Sutton is planning to open a salon in the same shopping strip at the other end from yours."

  Tossing the albums on the table, Marla leapt up. "You're lying! Carolyn can't afford to open a business in Palm Haven. The last time I visited her salon, it was Deadsville. Who'd buy that place in such a seedy neighborhood? And, if she's been hurting for business, how can she afford to change locations?"

  "Maybe she has financial support," Stan said with a wink.

  "You wouldn't! I knew you were behind her attempt to undermine my lease before, but this is going too far."

  "I didn't say it was me, did I? As usual, you're jumping to nasty conclusions." He rose slowly. "If you need legal advice, I'm available."

  "Over my dead body."

  "That could be arranged," he said slyly.

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  "Well, your cop friend believes I killed Kimberly. What's another wife out of the way?"

  "Ha! You'd have nothing to gain."

  He advanced toward her. "Oh no? What about our jointly owned property? We still have right of survivorship."

  "That isn't funny, Stan. By the way, where are those signed papers you were supposed to give me?"

  "They're on my desk in the study." He halted directly in front of her, looming like a menacing cloud.

  Marla had an insane impulse to back away. What if he truly had killed his wife? Perhaps all this had been a ruse to get her alone. "Vail knows I'm here," she blurted.

  He lifted a hand toward her, and she flinched. But he cupped her chin, raising her face so she peered into his stormy eyes. "I'm disappointed in you, babe. You've lost faith in me. Lost faith. I wasn't really threatening you. I just wanted to see how you'd react. Your lack of trust distresses me. Have you forgotten how much I've helped you in the past?"

  "The past is over. I don't need your help now."

  He dropped his hand. "But I need yours. It isn't easy for me, you know. Asking for help."

  _Especially from me._ "I want those papers, Stan."

  "I'll get them." He trudged off, his gait unlike the man's usual purposeful stride.

  Marla followed, feeling emptiness echo through the house. She halted abruptly when Stan stopped in the kitchen. "I should have offered you a drink. I didn't think ... Kimberly always took care of guests."

  "I don't want anything, thanks." She shifted her feet impatiently, eager to move on.

  "What will I do, Marla?" He whirled around, lines of consternation creasing his face.

  "You'll survive, one day at a time. Just like I did, after Tammy's death."

  "I've never realized how devastating it is to lose someone you love." His voice cracked. "I'm not sure how to go on. She's everywhere I look in this house. I can still smell her scent in the bathroom, feel her lying next to me in our bed. I wake up in the morning expecting to find her in the kitchen, making my breakfast. This house is too big without her."

  Marla's throat tightened. "We'll focus on finding her killer. That should give you enough reason to get up every day."

  "I suppose."

  Before she stopped to think, Marla kissed him on the cheek. "I promised to help you, and I will. I always keep my word."

  Stan's pain-filled gaze met hers. "I loved Kimberly, but I never stopped caring about you, Marla. We were a good team. A good team. You're the one who threw me aside like a sack of dirt after all I'd done for you."

  How easy it had been to lean on him in times of trouble. He'd paid the bills, fielded her phone calls, ke
pt all the ugliness and aggravation of life away from her. _Just like Vail wants to do,_ Marla's inner voice cried. Was she doomed to repeat her mistakes by being attracted to strong, controlling men?

  She shook her head. "Lust is all we had between us. You never really respected me. Instead of boosting my self-esteem, you kept putting me down. You liked my being dependent on you."

  "Not anymore. I wouldn't have asked for your help proving my innocence if I didn't believe you capable."