Sparing a moment from her chores, she dashed next door to compliment him. Emma, his wife of forty-some years, opened the door. Dressed in a housecoat which outlined her thin body, she looked frail. Marla felt a twinge of concern. Emma’s complexion seemed awfully pale.
“I was looking for Moss to tell him how much I liked his latest limerick,” she said, smiling.
“He went to the drugstore, but I’ll be sure to let him know you approve. He’s just crazy about writing these things. He guards his papers as though they were the crown jewels.”
“It’s wonderful that he has such a fun hobby.”
Emma’s rheumy eyes filled with pride. “I’ve been urging him to join a local poet’s society, but he’s too embarrassed to show his work to other writers yet. I think it would be helpful to him.”
“Undoubtedly.” Marla peered at her more closely. “Are you not feeling well, Emma? You look a tad off color.”
Emma swiped a hand across her brow. “I might be coming down with the flu. Moss went to get some Tylenol.”
“Oh, dear.” She glanced toward their open garage door. “He forgot to put out the trash, but the truck hasn’t come yet. Let me do that for you.” Hastening over before Emma could protest, she hauled the heavy bag to the curb. “Is there anything else I can help with? Make you a cup of tea, perhaps?”
Her neighbor flashed a weak smile. “You’re so kind, but I’ll be fine. If you don’t mind, I’m going inside to rest.”
“Shall I stay with you until Moss returns?” She knew how distraught Moss would be if Emma got into trouble in his absence.
“That isn’t necessary. Run along, child. You’ve got enough problems on your mind.”
So Moss had told his wife about Marla’s difficulties. She supposed most of the neighborhood knew about the murder at her salon by now, either from word of mouth or by hearing it on the news. Notoriety had never been her goal.
Hoping Emma would be all right, she trudged back to her town house and let Spooks inside. He danced in front of her, an entreating look on his pedigreed face.
“Okay, pooch, here’s a treat.” She threw him a rawhide bone from a package in the pantry. After changing into shorts and a cotton blouse, she returned phone calls and did some chores. Finally, she headed into her office and turned on the computer. Using the search function, she entered poison as a key word. Over twelve thousand finds resulted. Scrolling down the list of links, she passed by Poison Prevention, Poison Ivy, and Poison Arrow Frogs, and clicked on Poison On-line Entrance, thinking it might be some sort of index. This led her to the site for Poison Songs, a Billboard Live Show, and Sound Waves from a Bret Michaels solo CD.
“This isn’t about poisons,” she muttered, backtracking until she found a Poison home page. This, too, was a site referring to the music group. She backed up again, bypassing the comic book Poison Elves. Achieving no progress there, she switched to Yahoo.
“Ah, ha!” she exclaimed, her gaze falling upon Health: Medicine: Toxicology. At last, a forensic link! More links took her to other sites about toxicologists, government laboratories, forensic expert witnesses, but nothing on poisons per se. Frustrated, she raised her hands and gave up. A visit to the bookstore might prove an easier method to gain information, but that would have to wait.
Actually, why not just call Vail and ask him if he’d gotten a report on the candy? Then she could question him at length about the poison used to kill Bertha. Dialing his number, she was pleased when his gruff voice answered.
Bravely, she forged ahead. “Hi, it’s Marla. Have you gotten any feedback about the marzipan? I’m anxious for the results.”
“I imagine you would be,” he replied dryly. “Nothing is back yet. It takes a few days.”
“Find out anything relevant about Carlos?”
A pause. “We’re checking into a few things.”
“Such as?”
He chuckled. “You’re damned persistent, aren’t you?”
“A lot is at stake.” Something soft and moist tickled her ankle. Glancing down, she smiled at Spooks, who was laving her with his tongue. Idly, she scratched his head.
“You haven’t gotten any more threats, have you?”
“No, thank goodness.” She hesitated then told him about her interview with Zack. “Where was Roy that night? Did you question him?”
“Roy Collins went to the west coast on business. He’d booked a room at the Ritz-Carlton in Naples on the Gulf. I called the hotel. He checked out the next morning.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “His budget must be generous. So he remained conveniently out of town.”
“His girlfriend didn’t. She stayed in Fort Lauderdale.”
“I should talk to Darlene.”
“No, you shouldn’t. Look, Marla, you could screw up my investigation. I appreciate your input so far, but let me do my job. Stay out of this.”
“You still consider me a suspect?”
“Until I expose the perp, I do. Everyone involved with Bertha Kravitz is a suspect.” His voice lowered. “But I don’t really want to believe you’re guilty.”
She swallowed hard. “I’m trying to understand all this so I can help. Those toxins that were in Bertha’s drink ... cyanide and monkshood. How do you obtain them? I’m wondering who would have such knowledge.”
“So am I.”
“I’ve been open about sharing news with you.”
An exasperated growl met her ears. “Marla, cut it out. In my official capacity, I’m not able to be more specific.”
Okay, she got it. Unofficially, he’d relate relevant data when possible. “I see. Well, happy hunting.” Ringing off, she rubbed Spooks’s belly while considering her next move.
Questioning Darlene was definitely a priority regardless of what Vail said. She’d approach the girl tomorrow. What else could she accomplish today? Frowning, she considered who might provide her with the information she sought. Wasn’t Tally’s brother-in-law some kind of chemist?
“You’re in luck,” Tally said when Marla phoned her. “Give Phil a quick call. He’ll be able to help you. Let me know what you learn, okay?”
“Right. Talk to you later.”
Fortunately, Phil was like most men when asked to share his expertise, especially when Marla offered the rationale she was assisting Detective Vail. Flattered by her attention, Phil was more than eager to cooperate.
“Hydrocyanic acid acts rapidly and occurs naturally in various seeds and pits, such as peaches, apricots, and plums,” he informed her in a didactic tone. “Cyanide also has industrial uses, so there are different ways to obtain it. Monkshood is less common. It’s a plant often mistaken for wild garlic. The entire plant is poisonous. Ingested as a drug, monkshood has a rapid effect. Death can occur from ten minutes to a few hours.” “How would you get the plant into a powdered form?” “Hold on a minute while I check my references.” Marla patted Spooks during the interval, wondering who’d have access to exotic plants besides a landscape worker. Maybe monkshood grew wild and a knowledgeable person could cultivate it.
“The roots can be dug up and dried in the sun,” Phil explained. “You have to protect your nose and mouth or the fumes from the roots can cause dizziness because they contain aconine. Drying them out takes three or four days.”
“Do you pound the roots into a powder?” “I suppose. Here’s another method. Take a handful of leaves and steep them in hot water. After letting the brew cool, pour the water into a small pot. Add five ounces of alcohol to the herbs. Blend the ingredients together and let sit for a few hours. Decant the alcohol solution into the leftover water and discard the leaves. Cover the pot and simmer on low heat until a dry powder results. Scrape out the residue and you have your poison.”
Marla didn’t respond immediately. Who would go to such trouble, or even know what to do? “Why a mixture of two toxins?” she asked, confoun
ded by the options. “Wouldn’t cyanide have worked by itself?”
“Sure. My guess is the monkshood was insurance, or vice versa. If one didn’t have any effect, the other would kill the victim.”
His matter-of-fact tone chilled her bones. Someone so diabolically clever had planned Bertha’s demise. Hadn’t she read that women preferred poison as a lethal method of choice? It was a clean way to dispose of an unwanted victim. No violence; no blood. But not all men were bent on bludgeoning or stabbing, either.
Darlene certainly had the opportunity. Working in the salon, she could have added poison to Bertha’s creamer many times over when no one was looking. The open back door could have been a red herring, or maybe Roy had come in that night to assist her. But he’d been in Naples, right? Or at least he’d checked out from his hotel on the west coast early the next morning. Unless he’d used express checkout, in which case he could have left anytime during the night. His alibi required further examination, she decided. Another factor against Darlene was knowing Marla’s schedule. The stylist knew Bertha was coming in early the next day, and that Marla and her customer would be alone. Had Darlene planned to make her a scapegoat?
After expressing her gratitude to Phil and getting his pledge of confidentiality, she hung up and took Spooks out for a walk. She needed the fresh air to clear her brain. As she strolled along, her taut nerves unwound and her muscles relaxed. Moisture suspended in the humidity filled her lungs, and an earthy scent pervaded her nostrils. Slate gray clouds scudded overhead as though in a race, charging forth with fury. Lost in her thoughts, she barely noticed the impending weather or the clatter of fleeing birds.
Returning through the garage-door entrance, she unfastened Spooks’s leash in the kitchen and grimaced when he shook his body. Dirt particles splattered in a circle.
“You like getting me messed, don’t you?” she muttered, while he gazed at her with a smug expression. After washing her hands, she checked the answering machine in the study. Three calls registered. Pressing the play button, she retrieved two hangups and one call from her landlord demanding her response to his terms for the new lease.
“Damn, this is the last thing I need. I’ll bet he isn’t allowed to raise my rent much. If only I had a good lawyer.” No way she’d call Stan. Maybe Lance knows someone, she thought, after wracking her brain for ideas. He’d bought a condo recently. He might have used an attorney.
Lance was happy to give her his lawyer’s name. “I’m still checking on that Collins character. The deeper I get into public records, the more things don’t jibe. I’ve got some friends who owe me favors. Hopefully they’ll get something solid for you.”
“I’ll be forever grateful.” She’d interview Roy now except for his lawsuit threat. Otherwise, he’d probably add harassment to her offenses.
Lance’s voice deepened. “How grateful, luv?”
“I promised I’d come to view your favorite web sites, didn’t I?”
“Oh, yeah. So are you busy tonight?”
“Get me a handle on Roy, and I’ll free my schedule.”
He laughed. “Check your e-mail. I sent you a couple of jokes.”
“Thanks, pal.” She replaced the receiver, a smile tilting her lips. Leave it to her friends to cheer her when things were rough. And speaking of friends, she needed to call Tally back.
A loud crack of thunder rattled the windowpanes. Glancing outside, she was startled to note the churning clouds presenting an ominous edge on the horizon.
The phone clamored along with the next peal of thunder. She sprang to answer it, her nerves agitated by the darkening gloom. In her haste, her fingers brushed a small item on the desk. Oh, yes, it was the earring she’d found at Bertha’s house. She’d taken the pearl-and-marcasite piece from her pocket and forgotten about it.
“Hello,” she mouthed.
A sharp intake of breath came from the other end.
“Hello,” she repeated, the hairs rising on her nape. She put the earring in a drawer, her attention diverted. “Is anyone there?” Lightning streaked across the sky, forcing trees and pitched roofs into sharp relief. Through the receiver clamped to her ear, she heard a muttered expletive. Then there ensued a click followed by the dial tone.
Frozen in place, Marla stared out the window. A fierce wind had blown up, whipping branches against the house along with a driving rain. Splattering sounds pelted the roof. Another blast of thunder brought Spooks yelping at her feet. Replacing the receiver in its cradle, she bent to scoop him into her arms. His small quivering body gave her comfort, but it wasn’t the storm that made her fearful.
Someone hadn’t been too pleased she was home, safe and dry. Someone who didn’t wish her well.
Chapter 13
Marla sniffed the freshly brewed coffee as soon as she stepped inside the salon. Apparently, Lucille had beat her to work that morning. The receptionist sat at her desk peering at the computer screen, a frown of concentration between her eyes. Upon Marla’s entrance, she glanced up with a startled look.
“Marla! I didn’t expect you ... s-so early.” “It’s nine-thirty,” Marla answered, stashing her purse in a drawer. Actually, she was later than normal. Being the owner, she tried to arrive by nine to prepare for the day and sometimes to grab a bite to eat at Arnie’s place. But some of her staff, including Lucille, had keys in case they needed to come in for an early customer.
Straightening, she gazed approvingly at Lucille’s groomed appearance and attractive hairstyle. The older woman’s golden highlights glinted in the bright overhead glare. She’d need a touch-up to her coloring in a few weeks, Marla realized as her trained eye observed the gray roots. She’d drop a hint to Giorgio later. Usually he did Lucille’s hair, utilizing a reddish gold tint to complement her skin.
“Why did you come in so early today? You must have been here for a while.” Marla nodded at the coffeepot and neatly stacked magazines on a low table.
“I thought I’d update our customer profiles,” Lucille said in a flat tone. “It’s been a while, and I know you have too much on your mind to bother.” Her expression softened. “I hope you didn’t take work home with you this weekend. You really looked done in last week. Did you have a chance to relax?”
Marla grinned as she reflected upon her busy two days off. “Not really. I had some interesting events happen.”
“Oh? Like what?” Lucille gulped down a sip of coffee from a mug resting by the mouse pad, activating Marla’s salivary glands. She’d love to indulge herself in a third cup.
“Nothing worth reporting.” Standing by the refreshment table, Marla poured herself a drink. Bringing the mug to her nose, she inhaled deeply to sniff for any unusual odors. Stop being so paranoid! she chastised herself as her nostrils hovered over the steaming brew. Satisfied it was worth the risk to get another shot of caffeine, she allowed herself a long drink. Someday she’d be sorry she consumed so much coffee, but she hoped that wouldn’t be soon.
Putting the mug down at her hair station, she counted supplies. “How’s my schedule look for today?” she queried Lucille. Tuesdays usually brought a steady workload, while Wednesdays were the slowest day of the week.
“You’re pretty heavily booked.” Lucille shut down whatever program she’d been revising.
“Nice blouse,” Marla remarked, nodding at her beige-silk top. Reconsidering her decision not to talk about the past few days, she realized Lucille might have the answers to some of her questions. Sauntering over to the reception desk, she leaned casually against the counter. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, go ahead.” Lucille’s pale blue eyes regarded her warily.
“I heard a rumor that Bertha’s partnership with Roy Collins involved more than just business. What do you know about them?”
“Who’ve you been talking to?” Lucille demanded, pursing her lips.
“I consulted Zack Greenfield for
some financial advice yesterday, and we got to discussing mutual acquaintances.”
A play of emotions crossed the receptionist’s face. “Roy always was a womanizer. Instead of appreciating how willing /was to listen to his problems, he chose to consort with Bertha. I knew why, of course. He hoped to dazzle her so she wouldn’t find out about his—” Lucille bit her lip, her face reddening.
“His what?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Marla leaned forward, her probing gaze making Lucille glance away. “Was he fixing the books, Lucille? Is that what you discovered, and when you tried to tell Bertha, she didn’t believe you?”
The receptionist clenched her hands together, her knuckles white. “I can’t talk about Roy.”
“Why not?” Marla persisted. “Has he threatened you?”
“Ha! As though he’d dare!”
Marla still couldn’t figure Lucille’s relationship to Roy. To provoke her into further revelations, she offered a tidbit of information. “Did you know he’s seeing Darlene?”
Lucille stared at her, openmouthed. “What did you say?”
“She’s been lying to us about all those guys she picks up on the beach. She and Roy live together.”
Lucille’s face suffused with a purplish hue. “He wouldn’t... no, that can’t be true.”
“Remember when Detective Vail accused Darlene of giving us the wrong address? She scribbled something down and handed it to him. The paper had her current residence, which I’ll bet you won’t find in your computer files.”
“So what does that prove?”
“Vail checked it out and told me she’s shacked up with Roy.”
Lucille shot to her feet, eyes blazing. “If what you’re saying is true, it’s her fault. That hussy! No wonder he didn’t seek ... his true friends when he lost interest in Bertha. She stole him away.”
Marla stepped back. She’d never seen Lucille so emotional. “Was Bertha aware that he was seeing Darlene, do you think?”
“No, she would have said something when she came here to get her hair done. As far as I knew, he still gave Bertha the impression they were together. It wouldn’t have been smart for someone in his position to turn his back on her. But she was aware he was losing interest, and it made her vengeful. She cursed him and called him a cheating liar.”
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