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

by Body Wave

His words were prophetic, because Tuesday morning at work, who should walk into the salon but her mother and Roger himself. Accompanying them was a sandy-haired fellow with the most startling blue eyes.

  "Marla!" Anita walked right up to her while she was teasing a client's hair. "You remember Roger? I want you to meet his son, Barry. He's an optometrist."

  Marla, holding a comb in one hand, waved. "Nice to see you." Customers chattered in the background, competing with the whir of a blow-dryer and popular tunes from the radio.

  Barry grinned, showing a row of even white teeth. "Congratulations on your thirty-fifth birthday. My father has been raving about you ever since your party. When he said you're a hairdresser, I coaxed him to introduce us." He touched his head of thick, curly hair. "Any advice? Humid weather makes it go in every direction."

  Marla stepped toward him and fingered a few strands. "I'd recommend Vavoom by Matrix. It's a straightener without harsh lye like some earlier products. Like a perm, it needs to be applied, set, and neutralized. It'll leave your hair in much better condition than it is now." She smiled gently so he wouldn't take offense. "The process removes frizz and relaxes curl, but it won't turn your hair stick-straight. It'll make your hair easier to manage. If you'd like to make an appointment, please tell our receptionist."

  "Hey, Marla," yelled Giorgio's customer from across the room. "My hair gets frizzy an hour after I walk out of here. What should I do? Would that work on me?"

  Giorgio waved his curling iron. "You should have told me earlier, Elaine! Next time you come in, I'll use Str-8 by Rusk. It's a lotion that penetrates the cuticle of your hair, but it needs heat to react. I have to apply it to your wet hair before blow-drying. You don't need the straightener treatment. That's only for someone with really curly hair."

  Finished styling her client's hair, Marla gave her a final spray of Rusk Shining. "See you next week, Alma," she said, removing the woman's cape.

  "Are you free to join us for a cup of coffee?" Anita asked, her expression hopeful. She glowed with good health, aided by a tan that contrasted sharply with her layered white hair. Or maybe her inner glow came from being admired by a man again.

  "Yes, doll, take a break," urged Roger, looming beside her mother. His bulbous nose gave him a quizzical expression.

  Marla shook her head. "Sorry, my schedule is full today, and I have a prospective stylist waiting to be interviewed. We'll get together soon, I promise. I'd like to have you over for dinner when things calm down."

  Roger clapped her on the shoulder. "Maybe you and my boy can work something out before then, eh?" He winked.

  Marla raised an eyebrow. "I take it you're a rich Jewish professional who is straight, single, and unattached?" she said bluntly to Barry.

  He gave her a smile totally without guile. "I don't know about the rich part, but I make a comfortable living. I'm constantly harangued by matchmaking mavens. They don't understand that I just haven't met the right person yet. It's not as though I haven't been looking."

  "I don't want to raise false hopes. Did my mother tell you I'm dating a police detective?"

  Anita jabbed a manicured finger in the air. "Oh, she's not serious about him. If she were, she'd..." Anita broke off, staring at Marla's left hand. Oh, yes. The amethyst ring Vail had given her.

  Marla's cheeks colored. "We interviewed a suspect in his latest case yesterday. We, uh, went undercover and pretended we were engaged."

  The look of shock on Anita's face was comical. "You did what?"

  "I said we _pretended,_ Ma. Dalton gave me this ring to make it seem real. He said I could keep it as a Valentine's Day gift."

  Barry's blue eyes clouded with disappointment. "Oh, I guess you're taken then."

  "Not really. I mean, we're seeing each other but we're not, you know, committed. Yet." She noticed her next client walking in the door. "Sorry, but I'm terribly busy. Barry, why don't you make an appointment, and we'll talk more then."

  The rest of the day passed by in a blur. It was only when she was getting ready to leave that Marla got a call from Leah.

  "I need to talk to you, Marla. I feel bad about something I said last time you were here," Leah explained on the telephone.

  "I can stop by on my way home," Marla said. She wasn't in a hurry except to let Spooks out; Vail had resumed taking Brianna to dance class. Her evening agenda consisted of bookkeeping tasks. "I'll be there in about twenty minutes."

  Nicole had promised to lock up, having the last appointment for the day. Marla halted by her station, interrupting the stylist in the middle of a haircut.

  "I heard some disturbing news from Stan. He said Carolyn Sutton is moving her salon to this shopping strip. I'll call Mr. Thomson tomorrow to see if it's true. There's nothing in our lease that can prevent it, unfortunately. What bothers me is that Carolyn may be siphoning off my clients."

  Nicole's eyes widened, and she paused with a pair of shears in her hand. "Is that where you think your recent no-shows are going?"

  "Think about it." Marla gave a mirthless smirk. "Carolyn and I have been rivals ever since we once worked together. She's always resented my success. Moving her salon from Palm Haven proved to be a big setback, and she's been itching to return. All she has to do is offer free services and a lot of clients will switch to her place. If she's planning to move back here, it's one way she can hurt me."

  "Knowing her, she'll find more. That's awful, Marla."

  "Don't worry, honey," piped in Nicole's client, who'd been listening. "Customers who are loyal to you won't be going anywhere. And when this other hairdresser stops offering complementary sessions, she'll lose clients, too, who will come back to your salon."

  "I hope you're right." Marla addressed Nicole. "I liked that stylist I interviewed earlier. She has an upbeat personality, dresses conservatively, and seems enthusiastic. I may call her back by the end of the week."

  "That's great. Someone called about the shampoo assistant job. I told her to come in tomorrow." Nicole resumed cutting the blond woman's hair.

  "Thanks. I'm on my way to visit Leah. She has something to tell me." Marla had filled Nicole in on recent events earlier that morning.

  "Marla, if you find Kim's killer and the deal goes through with Stan, where are you going to come up with the funds to buy his half of the property? Or do you have that covered already?"

  Marla shifted her handbag to her other shoulder. "I'll worry about that when it happens. My car lease is up for renewal next month, too."

  "If you need help...."

  "Thanks, but I'll manage somehow."

  Her thoughts turned to Leah on the drive to Coral Springs which took a half-hour due to rush-hour traffic. Last time she'd visited the woman, Leah had seemed weary beyond words. Marla wondered what happened in the interval for Leah to call her.

  The tantalizing aroma of roast beef reached her nose when she approached the ranch-style house. Leah opened the door before she even rang the bell. The woman looked better than the last time they'd met. Her auburn hair fluffed in soft layers around her oval face. She'd applied a light foundation of makeup and wore a knit sweater over a pair of tight jeans.

  "Stan came to see us," Leah said when they were seated in the living room. Her children were engaged in the family room watching television, so they had a quiet interlude. Leah hadn't wasted time offering Marla a drink, and she was just as glad. She wanted to hear what Leah had to say.

  "I told Stan you wanted him to visit the kids," Marla replied. She leaned back in an armchair with worn upholstery. Toys littered a carpet that had seen better days.

  "He's worried the police detective is going to pin Kim's murder on him. He said you and Detective Vail are dating each other, and he's afraid you'll be swayed by his opinion." Leah wrung her hands together. "If Stan goes to jail, what will happen to my child support?"

  _So that's why you called me._ "I can't be sure what evidence the detective has against Stan, but he's a fair man. He'll look into other possible suspects. That's his job."<
br />
  "I suppose he knows Kimberly was pregnant?"

  "How did you find out? You didn't mention her pregnancy when I was here last."

  Leah's charcoal eyes studied a splatter of blue finger paint on the wall. "Kimberly told me before she died." Her voice was so low, Marla had to lean forward to hear. "She came here hoping, I don't know, that I could give her money."

  "Go on." She remembered Christine, Kim's classmate, had mentioned the possibility of Kim making a deal with Leah. Christine must have known Kim was pregnant.

  "Kim knew my kids were Stan's beneficiaries unless he had children with her." Leah's voice cracked, and she swallowed. "The witch boasted that her baby wasn't his, but she wouldn't tell him so unless I paid her off. I laughed in her face. Me! Couldn't she see how I struggled to make ends meet? I realize this is a heartless thing to say, but her death was highly convenient because it left my children in the clear in terms of Stan's will."

  "You realize that gives you a motive? Where were you the morning of her murder?"

  "Getting my kids ready for school, then I left for work. Besides, Patti James saw me at the bus stop. I'm more afraid for Stan." Leah stopped, as though wrestling with emotion. Fear, mingled with confusion, crossed her face. "What if he did it, Marla? He would have been furious if Kim told him the child wasn't his. He'd already figured out she planned to leave him. You know how Stan likes to control things."

  "Stan doesn't get physically violent," Marla responded, upset by Leah's lack of faith. "He gets angry and is quick to put you down, but his display of temper is mostly verbal."

  "Who else do you think could have murdered her? She said the father wanted their child."

  "Really?" That seemed unlikely, if it was Jeremiah Dooley. The minister would want to hush up his affair so as not to expose himself to his constituents.

  "Kimberly said Gary was mostly worried about money. That's why she came to me."

  "Huh?"

  "She'd found a source to help her get away from Stan, but she needed more until her trust fund kicked in."

  Marla waved a finger in the air. "Wait a minute. Can we backtrack here? What was that about Gary?"

  Leah blinked. "Last time you were here, I told you about Gary Waterford. He was the guy Kim dated before meeting Stan."

  "Yes, I've talked to him."

  "It's pretty obvious, isn't it? Gary is the one who got Kim pregnant."

  * * *

  *Chapter Sixteen*

  Marla barely noticed her surroundings during the drive home. Heading south on Pine Island Road, she let her mind dive into autopilot while she mulled over Leah's parting words.

  So Gary was the father of Kim's baby! That put a new spin on things. If Jeremiah wasn't giving Kim money because of her pregnancy, could he still have been the source of her tuition payments? It didn't seem likely they were having an affair, as Kim's neighbor had suggested. According to Leah, Kim was shacking up with Gary, her former boyfriend. That went along with what Kim's classmates had said. Certainly Kim's source of funds couldn't be Gary, who lacked enough money to put his shop in order. Why, then, had Jeremiah visited Kim, and which one of them had made the initial contact? And if the minister was paying her off, what hold did she have on him?

  Vail had promised to look into Jeremiah's business practices, and she was content to let him handle that angle. They needed more answers, and fast. Her deadline was rapidly approaching. Less than two weeks to go, or Stan would revoke his agreement. Not that she'd arranged for financing to afford the lump-sum payment he required. That was another item on her list of things to do, including Brianna's birthday party.

  The phone was ringing when Marla entered her house. Throwing her purse on the counter, she rushed to lift the kitchen phone. "Hello?"

  "Is this Marla Shore?" rasped a familiar female voice.

  "Yes, who is this?"

  "It's Kathleen. You remember me, luv?" she said in a hushed tone.

  Recognition dawned. "The Pearls' housekeeper." Alarm frissoned up her spine. "Is something wrong? Has Miriam...?" Words gagged in her throat.

  "I know who you are."

  "Oh." This wasn't about the old lady then.

  "There are things you should know. I can't speak here. You'll have to meet me." Her staccato sentences held a note of fear.

  "I'll see you tomorrow night at the Pearls' house, won't I? I hope you won't tell them who I am until we have a chance to talk. I really do care about Miriam's welfare, you know."

  "I won't be there. They've given me the evening off. Besides, it's too dangerous. He warned me to keep quiet, but I felt you should know."

  Marla gripped the receiver tighter. "Know what? Who told you to keep quiet?"

  Voices merged in the background. "I have to go," Kathleen muttered. "I'll be at the Shlock Mart on Thursday. Miriam likes the papayas from the produce section, and she sends me there once a month. It's part of my ordinary routine to go."

  "You mean the flea market on East Sunrise Boulevard?"

  "Aye, luv. Meet me by the circus at eleven-thirty. It'll be crowded, so hopefully no one will spot us."

  "I'd rather meet you tonight. I could leave now."

  "No, no! He'd see me! Wait until Thursday." _Click._

  Marla hung up, more confused than ever. What did Kathleen have to tell her that was so urgent, and who'd warned her? She'd used the male pronoun. Did she mean Morris?

  Marla went about her evening duties half-heartedly. After shoveling down a quick turkey burger with french fries, doing the dishes, and leafing through her mail, she leashed Spooks for a walk. A leisurely stroll might help clear her mind.

  Marla's eyes feasted on the colorful displays of flowers along the path, still visible despite the darkening sky: peach and tangerine impatiens, purple Hong Kong orchids, crimson penta, and burning-hot pink bougainvillea. Orange blossom perfume permeated the air. Balmy with ocean breezes, it was a night made for intrigue.

  On her way back to the house, she ran into Goat outside. Her scrawny neighbor glanced up from where he was examining an anthill. He wore a sheepskin vest over a Hawaiian shirt with a beaver cap on his head. "Hey, Marla, what's doin'?"

  "Working on another case." She allowed Spooks to sniff his ankles.

  Goat scratched the poodle behind its ears, then he straightened. "Ugamaka, ugamaka, chugga, chugga, ush," he chanted, undulating his body. _"Vroom_ went the car, shinier than a jar, doesn't belong around _hyar."_

  The pet groomer liked to talk in riddles. "What are you saying?" Marla asked.

  A shriek emanated from inside his apartment, and he cringed. "Uh-oh, I think Junior may have met Mrs. Almo's parakeet. I forgot to close the cage, man."

  Junior was his pet snake, which he'd alluded to in previous conversations. Marla had never been brave enough to set foot inside his place. "Wait, before you go. What car did you see?"

  "An expensive sets of wheels." He scratched his sparse beard. "Foreign model."

  "Half our neighbors have foreign cars. What's so unusual about that?" West Broward County qualified as a showroom for expensive automobiles. It would have to be something unusual indeed to catch Goat's attention. "Wait a minute, you don't mean a Porsche, do you?"

  He stared at her blankly. "I dunno. Gotta go feed Junior, although I think she's already had her meal."

  "Great, see you later." Leaving him to his pet snake, Marla turned away. Had the unknown driver been Jeremiah Dooley? He could have returned home yesterday, after she and Vail left Tarpon Springs. But why would he be interested in casing her territory? She didn't have time to think about it, because as she neared her townhouse, a Mercedes pulled into the drive.

  _Oh joy. Just what I need. Why couldn't Dalton drop over instead of Stan?_ Vail had promised to call her, but she hadn't heard from him since he had taken her home last night.

  Stan accosted her on the sidewalk. Her heart lurched when she took in his haggard appearance. It wasn't like him to unbutton his dress shirt, discard his jacket, and loosen his tie. His
hair, normally greased off his forehead, hung in wet strands as though he'd just ridden down a waterfall. A moment's trepidation shook her, and she had half a mind to call after Goat. But Stan's hazel eyes glowed with excitement, not menace, as he grasped her arm.

  "Wait till you hear what I found out!" he said in an urgent tone. Before he took another step, Spooks attached himself to Stan's leg. Cursing, Stan kicked and stamped, but the dog maintained his grip.

  "Spooks, get off," Marla ordered. "What is it? Do you know who killed Kimberly?"

  "Not yet, but this is important. Aren't you going to invite me inside?"

  His earnestness overrode her caution. "All right. Come in, and I'll put Spooks in the backyard so he won't bother you."