Trimmed to Death

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “Rory told me about his family and how they loved the farm. I didn’t get the sense he was unhappy there.”

  “He may be resigned to his fate. Sherry said he wasn’t cut out to be a farmer. I suggested they consider opening a bed-and-breakfast place in the future, perhaps when the kids are grown. He wouldn’t need any special training, and Sherry could handle the business details.”

  Dalton gave her an admiring glance. “That’s a great idea.”

  “She seemed agreeable to the possibility. As for a threat against the farm, the mortgage is paid off. Could Zach have taken out a loan against the equity?”

  “I can check on it. I asked Rory about a deed to the property. He hasn’t seen it. He’ll ask his family members before confronting Zach for more information.”

  “Sherry wishes he’d leave the farm. She said working there can be dangerous, as in job hazards. She’d mentioned some incident but then changed the subject.”

  A brooding look came over Dalton’s face. “It’s annoying how nobody seems to have any definitive answers. Maybe you’ll learn something new when you talk to Janet. Her husband might be generous in donating his company’s money to your cause, but he kept glancing away when we spoke. He also scratched his head a lot. That man is hiding something.”

  “His wife might be more forthcoming. I’ll text you if I learn anything important.”

  By the time he dropped her off at home, it was already ten o’clock. Marla would need a half hour to drive downtown in traffic and locate Janet’s waterfront residence. With her first client scheduled for one o’clock, she’d be cutting it close if she hoped to stop for lunch. She should grab take-out at Arnie’s deli on the way back. Then she could fill him in on their interview with Rory.

  Before leaving again, Marla phoned Janet to make sure she’d be home and amenable to a visit. Janet had sounded wary until Marla gave an excuse. She could use Janet’s help regarding the salon fundraiser. Pleased to be included, Janet had said Marla should stop by.

  Soon she was on her way east toward downtown Fort Lauderdale. Janet’s address was located off Las Olas Boulevard in the Seven Isles neighborhood.

  She found the proper bridge and crossed the canal, admiring a row of gleaming yachts lined up by the waterway. Fort Lauderdale was called the Venice of America for a reason. These people lived a lifestyle she could only imagine but didn’t envy. She liked being a business owner and feeling useful. Her job allowed her to help other women by making them feel better about themselves, and she wouldn’t give that up for any amount of money.

  Janet and Tony Winters lived in a McMansion, as other residents termed the spectacular homes that tour boat guides pointed out to guests. Marla pulled into a circular driveway, turned off the ignition, and emerged to gaze at the house’s façade.

  The Mediterranean style appealed to her sense of aesthetics along with the structure’s terra-cotta exterior and rolled tile roof. Sand-colored columns rose to a second-story balcony, while hurricane impact windows stared back at her.

  She strode to the entry, enjoying the tropical landscaping, which included pygmy date palms, colorful crotons, and flowering hibiscus shrubs. Maybe she wouldn’t mind living in a place like this after all. You’d need a bevy of staff members to maintain it, though. At least the owners saved on boat dockage fees.

  “Hello,” she told the uniformed maid who opened the door. “I’m Marla Vail here to see Janet. I called ahead of time, so she’s expecting me.” Marla attempted to peer past the woman into the marbled foyer but her line of vision was blocked.

  “Come inside, please, and follow me.”

  Marla stepped into the air-cooled interior and shut the door. The housekeeper led her into an enormous living room with contemporary furnishings and expensive art works. A mouth-watering aroma of bacon and French toast wafted her way, presumably from a kitchen somewhere in the rear. Marla should wait in the living room, the maid said, before vanishing up a curved staircase.

  A few minutes later, Janet bustled down the stairs along with her housekeeper. After giving the woman an order and watching her scurry off toward another part of the house, Janet turned to Marla. She was dressed in a royal blue sheath dress, a diamond pendant shining from her neck. Matching earrings dangled from her ears. Marla’s gaze swept to her blond hair knotted in a chignon.

  Feeling out of place, Marla smoothed her floral-patterned skirt, glad she’d worn a work outfit rather than casual attire.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Marla. Did you have fun at the bake-off?” Janet’s face reddened. “I mean, before you, um ...” Her voice trailed off.

  “Yes, it was a blast,” Marla hastened to reassure her. “You did a fabulous job organizing the whole thing. Before we discuss my salon fundraiser, I’d hoped to talk to you about the farm. I have a few questions to ask.”

  “Aren’t you married to that police detective? He’s already interviewed us.”

  “I’d like to get your perspective on things. It will help me process Francine’s death.”

  “All right; let’s go into the parlor in back. It’s more comfortable. I’ve asked Tabitha to bring us a tray of pastries and some glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

  “That would be lovely, thanks.” Marla followed Janet to a sunny room decorated in yellows and greens with potted plants. French glass doors led outside to a terraced patio with an outdoor kitchen. A huge yacht sat by the dock, its white hull reflecting the sunlight.

  “I have a lunch date at noon, so we can’t take too long,” Janet said, after they’d both taken seats. A Pekinese dog ambled into the room. It circled Marla’s feet and sniffed her ankles. “Sherlock, stop that. Oh, I’m so sorry. He’ll calm down after a few minutes. Or would you rather I lock him away?”

  “No problem. He probably sniffs my two dogs. We have a golden retriever and a miniature poodle. I believe you and I go to the same vet.”

  Janet’s face cracked a smile. “I still go to the animal hospital there even though we live east now. I love Dr. Nelson. She’s so sweet and always patient about explaining things.”

  Marla let the dog smell her hand and then petted his neck. She liked his name. Was Janet fond of mystery novels?

  “I’m a volunteer for the Safety First Alliance,” Marla said. “They appreciated the generous donation from the bake-off contest.”

  Janet nodded. “I prefer to tie social events to a charitable fundraiser, and preventing hot car deaths is an important issue in Florida. Why not raise money to help people while we’re having fun?”

  “Our group gave out a lot of brochures at the festival, so thank you for your support.”

  “Oh, I love organizing these events. Otherwise, I’d be bored out of my mind.” Janet chuckled but then her face sobered. “Most of my friends don’t know about my origins. They believe I came from wealth like my husband. But I grew up accustomed to being useful and carrying my weight.”

  “It was generous of your husband’s firm to offer the prize money. Was that your idea?”

  “I might have suggested it to him. I’m sorry you didn’t win, Marla. Your coconut fudge pie was fantastic.”

  “Thanks, it’s one of my mother’s recipes. Speaking of family, I understand Amalfi Consolidated supplies its gourmet imports to the farm’s marketplace. Are you the liaison between your husband’s company and the farm?”

  “No, that’s Tony’s doing. He sold my brothers on the idea after we were married.”

  “They must be proud of you. The festival brings a lot of publicity to the farm as well as the sponsors. Has Zach said anything to you about the place being in trouble? Rory overheard a conversation involving his father that caused him to worry. He’s afraid of losing his livelihood.”

  “Is he? Rory never wanted to work there in the first place. It’s a shame he gave up on his dream to operate a hotel. I told him to go to hospitality school and make a career of it, but he won’t disappoint my brother again. As for the farm having problems, I haven’t heard abo
ut it. Zach keeps things tight, though.”

  “Meaning what?”

  Janet tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He doesn’t always share his concerns. I’ve gotten the impression the farm is doing well. That’s not what’s on my mind these days.”

  “Oh no?” Marla leaned forward in her eagerness to hear what came next.

  Just then the maid interrupted, bringing in a tray of pastries and juice. Marla helped herself, her stomach growling despite her preoccupation with their conversation.

  Fortunately, Janet resumed talking after the housekeeper left. She might be lonely, Marla surmised, if she couldn’t speak frankly to her friends about her extended family.

  “Someday I might want to open an event planning business,” Janet confessed after taking a few hearty gulps of orange juice. “In case something ever happens and I need to fend for myself, it would be a good venture for me.”

  “Is your husband’s company doing okay?” Marla asked, surprised by her admission.

  Janet cast a glance toward the entry and lowered her voice. “Yes, but his relatives are coming over from Italy. It doesn’t bode well if they feel the need to inspect things in person. They speak in Italian and make me uncomfortable.”

  “How are they involved?”

  “They manufacture the products that Tony imports. He’s in charge of sales in the States. We’ve never visited his overseas relations. Tony brushes them off, saying they don’t like Americans and disapprove of his marriage to an outsider, but I don’t think that’s really the reason. It’s too coincidental that they’re coming after Tony told them about Francine’s magazine exposé. And now she’s dead.”

  Marla gaped at her. “Surely, you don’t believe there’s a connection?”

  “Mind you, please don’t repeat this to anyone. Tony is also upset with Tristan Marsh, the pastry chef. I wish I knew what was going on, but I’m afraid to find out.”

  “Maybe you’re worrying about problems that don’t exist.”

  “Who’s worried about what?” Tony’s harsh voice demanded as he strode into the room.

  Janet cringed visibly at his stern tone. “You remember Marla Vail from the harvest festival, don’t you, dearest? She wanted to thank us for sponsoring the bake-off event.”

  “That’s right,” Marla said in a sugary tone. “Janet has such a gift for planning social events that I need her talents for my salon. We’re planning a bad hair day clinic as a fundraiser for the history museum,” she told them, explaining her idea.

  Janet clapped her hands. “It sounds wonderful. I’d love to be included. Tony, you could ask Tristan to donate some of his desserts. You cross paths on occasion.” She turned to Marla. “His restaurant buys vegetables from our farm. They like to advertise how their dishes contain ingredients from sustainable food sources.”

  “That would be amazing if his restaurant would get involved in our charity event. They’d benefit from the publicity as well.”

  Tony frowned, deepening the crow’s feet by his eyes. “Likely you’d need to get permission from the owner, and Mr. Romano isn’t too pleased with Chef Marsh these days. The pastry chef should mind his own business if he wants to keep his job.”

  Janet rose and snagged his arm. “But you’ll ask him about Marla’s event, won’t you, dear?” she asked in a coy tone.

  He patted her hand. “I’ll do it for you, lovey.”

  “Actually, I can ask him myself,” Marla said. “Dalton and I have a dinner reservation at The Royal Palate for Saturday. It’ll be our first time dining there. Has Carlton Paige ever written a review on their place?”

  Tony stared down his hooked nose at her. “He gives them five stars. It’s Alyce Greene who disses them in her blog. She makes unfounded claims that have no basis in truth.”

  “Oh, really? What sort of claims?”

  “Read her posts, and you’ll see for yourself. Half of what she says is a bunch of lies. If she doesn’t watch her big mouth, she could very well end up like Francine Dodger.”

  Chapter Eight

  Marla rose, put her empty dessert plate on a table, and gathered her purse. Tony’s words of warning disturbed her, but she didn’t want to rouse him further. She’d rather follow up directly with Alyce and see what the food blogger had to say about his accusation.

  “Thanks for the hospitality,” she told the couple. “I have to head to work. Janet, let me know when we can get together for a planning session regarding our event.”

  The other woman’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “How about if you email me your media list so I can add it to my own? I’ll help with publicity and community outreach. Think about how you want to notify your individual customers. Flyers in your salon? A direct mail-out? Or do you send email newsletters?”

  Marla gave her a startled glance. “Who’d want to read a newsletter from a salon?”

  “You’d be surprised. The place where I go sends me one every month. It includes sales specials, seasonal features, hair care tips, and even healthful recipes.”

  “I’ll mention it to our receptionist. Robyn is a former marketing executive. She’ll love the idea.”

  “Also consider if you’d like to have other vendors at your affair. Like, how about face-painting to occupy children while their mothers get free consultations? And if Tristan supplies desserts, what will you offer to drink?”

  “We’ll have our usual coffeepot. I could enlist Arnie from the deli next-door. He’d be happy to contribute some snacks as well.”

  “You mentioned this will be a benefit for the historical museum. Do you want me to coordinate with the curator?” Janet asked, while Tony appeared bored by their conversation.

  “Sure, that would be one item off my list. But we still have to set a date.”

  “True. Contact me once you have more definitive plans, and I’ll get to work on it.”

  Marla said her farewells and left, eager to share these ideas with Robyn at the salon. Outside in the fresh air, she felt as though a cloud had lifted from her shoulders. Was it because Tony made her uneasy with his brooding attitude? Or because she’d needed a new focus after the disaster at the farm? The contacts she’d made there would prove useful for this project. And if she involved the day spa, Tally might want to do a trunk show in their lounge.

  Her thoughts jumbled once she was in her car and heading west toward Palm Haven. No time left to stop at the deli and see Arnie. She’d have to pay him a visit another day.

  Saturday night could be fruitful if she and Dalton got the chance to talk to Tristan Marsh. She’d ask him about participating in the fundraiser. Plus, she remembered another excuse for a chat with the chef. Cousin Cynthia held Taste of the World every year at her Fort Lauderdale seaside estate. She was always looking for chefs to participate, and Tristan would fit the bill perfectly.

  Back at the salon, she related Janet’s advice to their receptionist.

  “I love it,” Robyn said, when Marla proposed offering a newsletter. “I’ll design an opt-in form for our clients to add their email addresses. In the meantime, I can contact Becky to set a target date for the fundraiser event. Then I’ll get in touch with Janet to coordinate our efforts in terms of publicity.”

  Marla happily agreed to leave the arrangements in Robyn’s capable hands. Work occupied her for the rest of the day and through the weekend, until dinner with Dalton on Saturday evening.

  They found The Royal Palate without much trouble. The restaurant was located in a former residence on a side street near Las Olas Boulevard. They secured a quiet table by a wall in one room where Dalton could sit facing the entrance.

  She noted the location of the exits like he’d trained her to do, then met his gaze across the white-clothed table. It held a glass-enclosed candle and a vase with a fresh peach rose.

  “Nice place,” he remarked, giving her a lopsided grin. He looked dapper in a dark brown sport coat with a beige dress shirt open at the collar. His eyes glinted in the soft lighting from recessed lights ov
erhead. “Have I told you how lovely you look tonight?”

  “Thank you,” she answered with a demure smile. His compliment made her heartbeat quicken. She smoothed her teal dress. Other patrons had spiffed up for the occasion as well.

  A waiter dressed all in black bustled over to take their drink order. Dalton consulted the wine list before ordering for both of them. Then he picked up the menu to peruse the selections. A frown creased his forehead.

  “I don’t see anything here that I like. You didn’t tell me the menu was this eclectic.”

  Marla took a look. Crawfish cocktail, conch fritters, gator bites, deviled crabs. Those didn’t appeal to her, either. “How about the guacamole?” she asked in a less than enthusiastic tone. It wouldn’t be her appetizer of choice.

  “The dip comes with pita bread. And what’s this pawpaw martini?” Dalton asked.

  “Some kind of fruit drink, maybe? We could always get a salad to start.”

  “That seems like the best bet. I wouldn’t want the sun-ray salad. That’s got oranges and onions and cream cheese balls. Ugh.”

  “I’m not fond of kumquats either,” Marla added. “Jellied lime salad with papaya? Fish rounds in avocado shells? Spiced tongue? Or tossed greens with conch bites?”

  While they were deciding, the waiter brought over a basket with crispy seeded flatbreads. Another guy delivered their drinks and filled their water glasses.

  “We could just ask to see Tristan,” Marla suggested.

  “No, we’re here. We have to eat. I think I’ll skip straight to the entrée. The grouper Creole is probably our safest choice.”

  Marla agreed. She wouldn’t want the crawfish enchilada, the sweetbreads supreme, or the kidney stew. Did people really like these things?