“Yes, that’s the one with Howard Cohn. He’s the treasurer for FOFL,” she told her relatives. “Yolanda didn’t recognize the other guy in the picture. We got to talking about Val, and I mentioned how she was an artist. You heard the rest.”
“Isn’t it odd that Ms. Weston would get a booth at the arts fair every year facing Yolanda’s boutique?” Cousin Cynthia inserted. She’d taken an interest in Marla’s crime solving ever since a saboteur had tried to derail Taste of the World one year. As that event was Ocean Guard’s annual fundraiser—Cynthia’s pet charity—she had sought Marla’s help. They’d made a good team in catching the miscreants involved.
“I’m not sure Val wanted to keep an eye on the dress designer. She exhibited her paintings next door at the art gallery. Maybe she was watching that place, instead. She wasn’t happy with them for some reason.”
Dalton shifted his position. “I find it interesting that Jason Faulks had his pictures for sale at the same establishment. This has to be more than a coincidence. You did good work, Marla.”
A warm glow spread through her at his praise. “Thanks. I hope you’ll share what you find out about them.” Doubtless he’d want to pay a visit to the art gallery himself.
“All right, people. Enough shop talk.” Anita rapped a spoon on her water glass. “Let’s hear what the children have been doing lately.”
The conversation drew on into the evening until everyone finally took their leave. Marla rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher while Brianna helped clear the table. Dalton dried the more fragile serving pieces. They finished dissecting their views of various family members until done. With a sigh of exhaustion, Marla removed her apron and hung it on a hook by the inner garage door.
Dalton embraced her for a long kiss. “Thank you for being a wonderful hostess, mother, and wife,” he murmured, nuzzling her ear.
Relishing his strong arms around her, she planted another kiss on his lips. “And thank you for being a wonderful husband. I love how our combined families can get together now.”
“Too bad my Arizona contingent can’t be here. Speaking of family history, I’d like to take a look at that journal. I haven’t had a chance to read it before now.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s only eight.”
“What, no football on TV tonight?”
“Oh yeah, let me see what shows are on.” His eager expression made her smile as he headed into the family room.
Shaking her head over the male predilection for the TV remote, she aimed for the bedroom and a well-deserved rest. Maybe she’d curl up with Warren’s journal herself. Things had been too hectic for her to concentrate on it lately, and soon New Year’s would be here.
She bit her lower lip as she changed into her nightwear. Normally, they made plans with Tally and Ken for New Year’s Eve, but her friend hadn’t said a word about it. Marla had invited the couple for the next day instead, but even then, Tally said they couldn’t come. It was possible they didn’t want to go out because of the baby, but wouldn’t Tally have said so? Her silence on the subject puzzled Marla.
Not wanting to get a babysitter for their child was an excuse she could understand. That’s probably it, she determined. Tally could at least have given her the courtesy of telling the truth, though. As a new mother, she shouldn’t feel ashamed of being tied down.
After removing her makeup and saying goodnight to Brianna, Marla curled up in bed with the copied journal in her lap. She smoothed a hand reverently over the top page. Here was a valuable piece of Val’s history. Too bad she didn’t have any children to inherit it.
Marla read about the three men’s explorations along the beach where they’d discovered the log cabin. They made camp there for the first night and were awakened early the next morning by a rap on the door. Two uniformed men questioned their presence and gave the order for their eviction.
Determined to track down the owner and get permission to remain, they headed into town. It appeared the city owned the property. Warren visited the proper department and obtained a conditional promise to use the cabin. But he had to obtain the approval of the troop scoutmaster for which it had been erected. Once this was done, the boys settled into their new lodgings.
Before nightfall, we had put our house in fair order. With the aid of a saw, hammer, and nails we’d had the foresight to obtain, Ralph and I utilized pieces of logs and lumber we found in the vicinity to construct frameworks for three cots. Across these we stretched the pieces of canvas we’d bought in town for that purpose. George had also been busy. He made an attractive kitchen nook in one corner and artfully decorated it with a cook stove, a miscellaneous assortment of pots and pans, and a good supply of canned goods.
We had done a fair day’s work and went to sleep on our comfortable cots for a well-earned rest. This night, however, was not meant to be an uneventful one.
Shortly after we extinguished our light, I heard the patter of little feet over the cement floor. Bags and papers that we had left there rustled as rodents searched for food. One of the disturbing pests got into a large tin can we were using for refuse and started a tap dance, or so it sounded. But we were tired and did not stay awake for long.
I awakened suddenly around midnight. When I heard something being dragged along the floor, I realized it must have been the noise of our trap being sprung that had interrupted my sleep. I stopped the snores emanating from George’s direction by jabbing my fingers into his ribs. He was very much disgruntled when I called his attention to the disturbance and asked his opinion regarding its source.
He told me to stop annoying him with nonsensical matters. If I wanted to investigate, I could take his searchlight. His suggestion met with my agreement.
So I climbed out of bed, gingerly placed my stockinged feet upon the cold cement, and illuminated the floor in front of me. Cautiously, I inched toward the disturbance. One glance at our prisoner, and I gave a yelp of surprise. It was a furry, white-striped animal. I immediately knew its presence called for an expeditious departure from the premises.
Marla’s lips curved in mirth. She could imagine their distress at finding a skunk in their company. If it were her, she’d make a hasty departure as well. Her eyelids were growing heavy but she read on.
I shot out of the cabin like a bullet out of a gun. George and Ralph nearly fell over me in their anxiety to escape the offensive odor beginning to pollute the air. Before we reached the car, our feet were full of painful burrs. We hated that skunk more than ever for having caused such discomfort. As we piled into the car, it became evident none of us would get much sleep that night.
However, it was not George’s nature to sit helplessly by and be denied his due rest. He meant to remedy the situation.
He found an old sack nearby. Gripping it, he approached the cabin with Ralph and me trailing him, but not too closely. We all held our noses as we drew near the scene of our hasty exit. Ordering one of us to dig a deep hole, Ralph grasped his nose tighter and dashed into the cabin. I scooted away, having appointed myself the official grave digger.
Because George had retained the searchlight, I stumbled over ridges of sand and into numerous depressions as I hurried through the moonlit night to finish my job before the undertaker approached with his nauseating burden. I literally made the sand fly after I reached a sufficient distance from our home. But then my shovel hit something solid. Curious, I dug around the edge. In the faint light from the moon, it appeared to be a wooden chest.
“Dalton, listen to this,” Marla said when he entered the room. And she related the gist of the passages she’d just read.
“Sweet. What happens next?” He unbuttoned his shirt, momentarily distracting her with his admirable physique.
She glanced down. “I want to read more, but I’m getting tired.”
“Just read enough to see what’s in that chest.” With those parting words, he disappeared into the bathroom.
Marla’s eyes grew round as she read on. “No way! They found treasure at the end of
the proverbial rainbow. The chest was filled with gold coins.”
Dalton reappeared, toothbrush poised in his mouth. “What?”
“They figured it must have been cargo from a wrecked Spanish ship, or perhaps one that pirates had plundered. Maybe this is where Warren got his wealth, instead of living off his wife’s fortune as everyone believed.” Had Val read this story and realized what her dad had discovered? Had the boys found more loot and left a map to their buried stash?
“You could be right. We should look into wrecks in this area.” Dalton headed into the bathroom to complete his bedtime rituals. When he returned to crawl under the comforter, he gave her his special smile. “Why don’t you put aside the journal for now? I have something else in mind to do.” His fingers tickled her arm.
She put the book on the nightstand and turned toward him. The rest of Warren’s tale could wait. Whatever had happened to him was over and done. The present had priority, and so did showing her husband how she felt about him.
Wednesday morning, Marla was midway through her initial rush of clients at work when she got a text message from Dalton to call him. As soon as she had a moment alone, she followed through. “Hey, what’s up?” She stood outside facing the parking lot and breathed in the crisp December air.
“I have bad news,” his somber voice said. “Nadia Welsh has been found dead.”
“No, I don’t believe it.” She walked over to a nearby bench and sank onto the seat.
“A car hit her while she was out for her morning jog. The driver didn’t stop. A pedestrian saw the accident and called for help.”
“That’s awful. Poor Nadia. What a terrible way to go.”
“She had a note in her pocket to call you and a message with a letter missing. Looks like P-I-blank-A-T-E-S. Does that make sense to you?”
Marla, still in shock, couldn’t think straight. It took a few minutes for her brain to register what else he’d said beyond Nadia being dead. “Could it mean Pilates? It sounds as though she worked out to keep fit. Maybe she took a class or belonged to a sports club.”
“I’ll need you to tell me everything you know about her and what she’d said to you.”
“Nadia claimed she and Val knew each other’s secrets. Do you think that’s why she was killed? The murderer figured she might know something about him?”
“This could have been a hit-and-run accident. There’s no evidence it was intentional.”
“I’m sorry. You’re saying she was mowed down in broad daylight, the driver didn’t stop, and it could have been an accidental oversight?”
“The person driving could have been texting. His moment of inattention could have caused a death. It’s happened. He got spooked and ran. The crime tech boys should be able to tell the make and model of the car, so that will help us track down the guilty party.”
“Meanwhile, you might want to see if Nadia took Pilates classes. Let me know what you learn.” She rang off, distressed by this horrible news. Moisture filled her eyes. How many more people would die before this case got solved?
Why Nadia, and not her? The bad guy knew she had the journal. Was he keeping hands off because she was a cop’s wife?
He’d hired Patty to do his nasty work before. Perhaps he didn’t care to get his own hands dirty. Actually, that wasn’t true. He might be the one who’d stabbed Jason at the gala. But that had been a crime of opportunity. Nonetheless, she should still watch her back.
Her thoughts wandered to Friends of Old Florida. That group was involved in this somehow.
Hey, wait a minute. Hadn’t Howard Cohn mentioned he researched shipwrecks for a hobby? She should talk to him about wrecks off the coast of Fort Lauderdale. And there was also the issue of his resemblance to the guy in the journal, not to mention Jason’s photo. It all tied together, even though she couldn’t make sense of it.
Kat Minnetti gave her another piece of the puzzle when she strolled into the salon later that afternoon. The detective wore a sleeveless navy dress, her layered black hair stylishly arranged. She pursed her lips upon spying Marla at her station.
“Have you got a minute?” Kat said after they’d exchanged pleasantries.
“Sure, what’s up?” Marla couldn’t warm to her, feeling Kat wasn’t totally open about herself. But Dalton trusted her, and so Marla did as well. Still, she’d rather his partner was more forthcoming. Remembering her intent to give Kat a gift certificate for the holidays, she set herself a mental reminder to mail it along with a greeting card.
She led the lady detective toward the rear where the storeroom was empty of personnel for the moment. Marla leaned against a counter while Kat paced back and forth.
“You were right about Nadia belonging to a health club. She was a member of KB Fitness over on Nob Hill Road.”
Marla was happy one hunch had been correct. “So did you talk to them?”
“I haven’t had a chance to go over there yet. Dalton wanted you to know.”
“Thanks for relaying the information. Good call on tracking down Patty, by the way. It’s too bad you couldn’t trace her contact, though.”
Kat’s mouth tightened. “At least we know how the liquid latex got into the victim’s face cream.”
“And Patty was responsible for changing Val’s appointment time. But you were wrong about Rosana’s immigration status.” Marla tried to keep the chastisement from her tone. “She’d married an American and had the proper documents. Dalton verified it. Rosana feels bad enough about what happened. I wouldn’t want her to quit because her credentials are in doubt. She’s had enough of a drop in her clientele list after this affair.”
“Well, she’s not to blame. Patty’s confession proved that much.”
But you were hasty in jumping to conclusions, Marla wanted to add but didn’t. “So is that all you came to tell me? That Nadia belonged to a health club?”
“The crime scene techs are still working the scene. I went to her house. According to neighbors, she lived alone. Were you aware of her personal situation?”
“Not really. She was a friend of Val’s. I’m not her stylist, so I didn’t know much about her.”
Kat stopped and pierced her with a stare. “Didn’t you wonder why Val left instructions for the housekeeper to send Nadia the journal instead of the trustee to her estate?”
“Did you finally track him down?”
“Your husband must have forgotten to tell you. The trustee is Howard Cohn, treasurer for Friends of Old Florida.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Marla couldn’t fathom this news. So Howard Cohn was Val’s trustee. He was the man she’d regarded as an uncle but had come to distrust for some reason. And Howard was a banker. His establishment was likely where she had her accounts.
Marla mused over this development after Kat departed and while she worked on her afternoon customers. She considered the resemblance between Howard and one of Warren’s friends in the journal. What if the older fellow was Howard’s dad?
They could find out easily enough if his name was George or Ralph. She texted Dalton to ask him. Her pulse accelerated. They could be on to something. If Howard’s father was involved with Warren, their discovery in the past might have led to Val’s death in the present. Was it the cache of gold? But why would anyone kill Val over that issue today? The buried treasure would have been divided among the three guys long ago, unless they’d left a stash for pickup later.
Then again, if Val and Howard’s fathers had been friends, this could explain how Val chose Howard to be her trustee. She’d regarded him as an uncle. Now that statement made sense. So why had she begun to disapprove of him? Could it relate to this journal that Val had found among Warren’s possessions?
She sniffed burning hair and hastily moved the curling iron she was using on a client’s head. Pay attention, Marla. You already have a job. Let Dalton do the investigating.
But if Howard was involved, that didn’t explain Henutt’s photo that Jason had sent, or Jason’s connection to
Val through the art gallery. The roles of the FOFL board members still had to be determined as well as the developer’s interest in getting Val off his back. And what about Lora Larue’s relationship to the hotel manager?
This last one was easy to check on. She’d seen Biggs Kahuna give Lora a room key and had assumed he’d merely saved her time checking in. But had she been a registered guest?
Thursday morning, Marla paid a visit to the resort while she had the morning free. She didn’t have to be into work until one. Slipping the reception clerk at the front desk a twenty-dollar bill, she smiled sweetly at him. His name, according to his I.D. tag, was Hugh.
“Can you tell me if a certain guest was registered here on Saturday, December fifteenth? We met at the ball for Friends of Old Florida. I don’t need her contact info or anything, but I’d like to know if she stayed here overnight.”
The clerk gave a furtive glance at his colleagues before bending over his computer keys. “Let me take a look. What’s her name?”
“Lora Larue.” She spelled it out.
“I’m sorry. I don’t see anyone with that name listed here for that date.”
“Could she have registered under another name perhaps?”
“I would have no idea, miss. I don’t see anyone by the name of Lora with a different spelling, either.”
Marla lowered her voice and leaned inward. “I saw Mr. Kahuna hand her a room key. I’d assumed he was saving her the trouble of checking in at the front desk.”
The man’s face reddened. “Oh. Well, that’s a different story. She wouldn’t have checked in, ma’am. I really can’t say anything more.”
She stared at him for a long, hard moment. “I get it. Thanks for your help, Hugh. This has been illuminating.”
Stepping outside, she squinted in the bright morning sunshine. So Lora Larue and Biggs Kahuna had some hankypanky going on. Had Val detected their relationship and threatened to expose them?
Someone, and she couldn’t remember who, had mentioned that Lora might be more concerned about her trips being curtailed. Did Lora have the same arrangement for accommodations at the other hotels where she stayed? She could save money that way. Or not, since the organization that sent her as field liaison probably paid for her trips.
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