Trimmed to Death

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “They keep to themselves pretty much,” Susan replied. “I’d rather not be invited inside their place anyway.”

  “I know what you mean. I’m wondering if you knew Francine Dodger, publisher of Eat Well Now magazine. She’s the person who was killed at the harvest festival.”

  Susan’s face sobered, and she crossed her legs. She wore jeans and a loose top and kept her figure trim at the gym. “I’ve met her, but we weren’t friends if that’s what you mean. She seemed a no-nonsense type. I got the impression people respected her and the magazine did well. Who’s taking over her position?”

  “I have no idea, but I plan to make a visit there one of these days to talk to the staff.” Could rivalries at the publication have played a role in Francine’s death? She’d have to ask Dalton how far he’d gotten in interviewing their personnel.

  Jess ran into the room and clutched her mother’s legs. “Mommy, Donny took my string bracelet. Make him give it back.”

  Jess’s two front teeth were missing. A cascade of acorn brown hair hung down her back. The kid would be a looker when she grew up. A pang of longing struck Marla. What would it be like to have a miniature version of herself running around? Jess bore a distinct resemblance to her mom.

  “Donny,” Susan yelled, “I’ve warned you not to take your sister’s things. Give it back right now, or you’ll lose your iPad privileges.”

  The boy stumbled into the room with a contrite look on his face. “Here, take it.” He thrust the bracelet at his sibling. “Next time, don’t steal my favorite comics.”

  The pair ran off, pushing at each other and grousing. Susan gave Marla an exasperated grin. “See what you have to look forward to if you and Dalton ever have children.”

  Marla allowed a morose expression to cross her face. “Believe me, I’d like to have that problem. After years of not wanting kids of my own, now I can’t wait. We’re trying, but nothing is happening.”

  “How long have you been working on it?”

  “It’s been over six months since I’ve gone off the pill. Our families would love it if Dalton and I had kids together.”

  “Be sure it’s what you want. Once you have a baby, your entire life changes.”

  “Dalton knows what it’s like. His daughter will be going to college soon. Maybe I should give up chasing crooks to focus on our family while she still lives with us. I could be overburdening myself with too many activities, and that’s inhibiting me from conceiving.”

  Susan wagged a finger at her. “Don’t stop what you are doing. You’re a crime-solver as well as a salon owner. Heck, if not for you, Alan Krabber’s killer might still be terrorizing the neighborhood. You’re good at sleuthing. And you help your husband with his cases. Have you ever thought that maybe it’s your true calling?”

  Marla’s skin prickled. She’d been told so by a psychic in Cassadaga.

  “My bat mitzvah portion was about pursuing justice. I do feel strongly about finding closure for families of crime victims. But it drains my energy for other things, like getting pregnant.”

  “Don’t be absurd. It’s not any of your activities causing a lack of conception. Go get tested. You’ll feel better when you receive solid results.”

  “You’re right. I’ll talk to Dalton about it, but not until he solves Francine’s murder. Don’t you work for a magazine besides writing a blog?”

  Susan nodded, petting her cat that had sidled up to her and rubbed her ankles. “I’m a consulting editor for Ladies Town Post. We cover social events in the tri-county area and include women’s interest articles. Fortunately, it’s a job I can do from home. I also write a blog called Count Your Blessings. My slant is a humorous view of our daily hassles. It amazes me how my readership has grown when I don’t make any effort to publicize the site.”

  Marla tilted her head. “Alyce Greene writes a food blog. She was a contestant at the bake-off. She’s very enthusiastic about the farm-to-table movement and sustainable farming techniques. Do you follow her posts?”

  “I’m a fan of hers. I love her chatty writing style, and she infuses her articles with humor. It’s such a contrast to Carlton Paige’s acerbic remarks. Have you seen his column? We don’t go to the restaurants he reviews. They’re too expensive and not family-friendly places.”

  “Guess I’ll have to start reading the Sunday newspaper. Dalton likes to do the crosswords.”

  “Really? So does David. We should go out together sometime without the kids.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea. Let’s check our calendars and get back to each other to set a date.” Marla stood, not wishing to outstay her welcome. “Look, if you hear anything in the rumor mill about any of these people, can you let me know?”

  “Of course.” Susan rose to accompany her to the door. “Listen, Marla, you need to keep doing what you do. Don’t doubt yourself. You’re being led down this path for a reason.”

  “So I should have faith. Is that what you’re saying?” Marla gave her a rueful glance. Susan and David went to temple on a regular basis, while Marla’s religious practices had lapsed. She made holiday dinners, but that was about it. Susan seemed more in touch with her spiritual side, whereas Marla continually questioned her purpose.

  Susan tapped her arm. “Our streets are safer due to your diligence. And you make us women look good in the process,” she added with a laugh. “Follow your instincts, and you’ll be true to yourself.”

  Susan’s words echoed in her mind as Marla trudged home. Follow your instincts. She hadn’t yet visited Francine’s magazine offices. And what about the newspaper where Carlton worked? Did he have any issues with his colleagues? His co-workers might know how he felt about Alyce and if he had any anger management problems.

  She put both of those items on her mental to-do list but couldn’t act on them for the next few days. Work kept her busy, and so did commitments to Brianna’s after-school activities.

  On Wednesday, she and Dalton finally had the chance to exchange news.

  “What puzzles me,” he said over the dinner table, before he had to take Brianna to a debate team meeting, “is that the trail runs cold on Raquel Hayes. She showed up on the cooking scene like a tornado, but I can’t get anything on her before she became a chef. She’s not in any of the databases. It’s like she didn’t exist beforehand.”

  “That’s odd. Where did she get her training?”

  “Johnson and Wales in Miami. They have her school records, but I can’t trace anything back before her prior jobs in the field.” His brow wrinkled as he stuck a forkful of chicken tenderloin into his mouth.

  “So what are you thinking?”

  He chewed and swallowed. “I’m not sure Raquel Hayes is her real name.”

  “Can’t you ask the woman for documentation?” Marla asked, passing him the mashed potatoes for a second helping.

  “I have, and she gave me some excuse. I’ll have to dig deeper, but it bothers me.”

  “Your hunches are usually accurate. What about the other suspects?” She glanced at the dogs. Lucky had settled onto his bed in the family room, while Spooks roamed at their feet hoping for a morsel. Brianna had downed a quick meal and was getting ready for her meeting.

  “They all seem to point the finger at somebody else.”

  “Tell me about it. Carlton Paige blames Alyce for his drop in readership. If the killer meant to get her instead of Francine, he’d be at the top of my list. Did Alyce tell you about her husband’s business? He owns a food truck enterprise. His starter loan came from Alyce’s brother, Steve, who is an investment advisor. Steve’s firm manages Tony Winters’ accounts. Does this mean he handles the guy’s personal investments, or their company’s business?”

  “He could manage both accounts,” Dalton suggested.

  “Steve hinted to his sister that something seemed off about Amalfi Consolidated, so he must have insider knowledge where they’re concerned. Carlton’s wife, Sally, knows something that would smudge Alyce’s reputation. Maybe it’s
not about Alyce as much as Steve. He could be cooking the books for Tony’s company, or perhaps he suspects somebody else at his firm of doing the same.” Marla rubbed her temples. Her forehead throbbed from so many complexities.

  Dalton’s mouth tightened in frustration. “These people are all connected. My focus at the moment is on the victim, not Alyce Greene. Ms. Dodger could have been researching an article for her magazine and hit pay dirt. I interviewed the staff at her publication. She’d been excited about an exposé she had been writing. We took her hard drive, but our techs haven’t found anything meaningful. Nor did she keep notes on this article, at least none that I could find.”

  “I’d like to stop by their offices to have a chat with her colleagues. I might learn something new.”

  He nodded, his warm gaze sweeping her. “It’s worth a try. What else have you come across?”

  She gave a weary sigh. “I can’t remember right now. Were you able to find out any more about the farm’s ownership?”

  “The property tax record shows the Kinsdales making payments, and yet the deed is registered to another man. Some sales records were lost back in the 1960s, although I believe the Kinsdales arrived a decade earlier.”

  “If they did buy the property, could the record have gotten lost then? It doesn’t make sense otherwise. They should have a copy of the new deed.”

  “We’re still looking into it.”

  Marla got up to take their empty dishes to the sink. “I need to have another chat with the history museum curator. According to Alyce, Becky lied when she said she’d meant to donate her prize money toward purchasing a new collection. The city’s budget cuts have hurt the museum. They have to pay back their last construction loan, or they could default on it. If Becky filed a business plan that claimed otherwise, she was lying.”

  Dalton stood and stretched. “How does Alyce know about this?”

  “Her brother’s investment firm supplied the loan.”

  “I need to interview him. But that’s enough on the case for now. We’ll look at things again in the morning when we have a fresh viewpoint.”

  ****

  The next day, Marla finally had time to consult Becky Forest at the historical museum. She sat in the woman’s office, ostensibly to discuss their mutual fundraiser. Crossing her legs, she swung her foot back and forth while debating how to start. Becky looked frazzled, her hair clipped off her face. The cream top she wore complemented her caramel skin, but the knitted brown skirt made her appear frumpy. It was like she’d gotten up on the wrong side of the bed.

  “Janet Winters has volunteered to help publicize our event,” Marla began. “She’s a whiz at social events, so she’ll know who to contact for publicity. My staff is excited. We’ll put a poster in our window and can hand out flyers to our customers. Our receptionist is collecting emails to start a newsletter.”

  “Don’t forget the library. You can put notices there, too,” Becky said, her face easing into a smile and erasing her lines of concern.

  “I saw Tristan Marsh the other day. Dalton and I ate at his restaurant, and I asked him about donating desserts. He said he’d have to get permission, but I haven’t heard back from him. I could stop by there again to push for an answer.”

  Becky picked up a ballpoint pen and clicked it on and off. “Did you like his place? It’s too high class for me. I don’t care for their menu.”

  “I agree, although we did like our fish entrée. Tristan gave us a tour of the kitchen after we’d finished our meals. He said the executive chef was hired by Mr. Romano, the owner, after the previous man was fired. Their restaurant buys supplies from Amalfi Consolidated.”

  Becky tilted her head, a look of puzzlement in her eyes. “Isn’t that the company run by Janet’s husband?”

  “Yes, and she isn’t fond of Tony’s Italian relatives who are planning a trip here. I wonder what’s going on with them.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Doubtless your husband has interviewed Mr. Winters.”

  “Tristan gave me a taste of their extra virgin olive oil at the restaurant.” Marla rubbed her stomach with a grimace. “I haven’t felt quite right ever since and am wondering if it was rancid.”

  “Unless you’re an expert on those things, you might not be able to tell the difference. Who knows what’s in most of those bottles at the supermarket? Do you read the labels to see if they’re outdated?”

  “Not always. Anyway, what else have you done for the fundraiser?”

  Becky’s dark eyes lit with enthusiasm. “I’ll be promoting the event in our museum newsletter. And I plan to ask the city for support as well. After all, they subsidize the museum.”

  At last, here’s the opening I need. “Just how invested is the town in this place?” Marla asked. “I mean, don’t our taxes go toward supporting the museum? Is there a mortgage on the building?”

  “The mortgage is fully paid off.”

  “Maybe so, but I understand the construction loan for the new wing has a balance due.”

  Becky put her pen down. “Where did you hear that? From your detective husband? If you must know, I didn’t want the prize money for the collection I’d mentioned, although I’d love to purchase it for our exhibits. However, we won’t be open much longer if we can’t pay off that loan. The city’s contribution doesn’t cover it. Their budget cuts have threatened our solvency.”

  “Along with your job, I would imagine,” Marla added with a cynical twist to her lips.

  Becky’s mouth thinned as she regarded Marla from across her desk. “This museum serves an important purpose in the community. I’d hate to see it close its doors. If that happens, I could probably make it on my own with the royalties from my cookbooks and with teaching gigs. But I need Raquel’s continued support to publicize my books and raise my profile. Being on her TV show provides me with credible references. I get offers to speak at places afterward that I wouldn’t receive otherwise. And I always put in a plug for the museum on those occasions. It draws in visitors who leave donations.”

  “So you admit that you lied on your business proposal to the bake-off committee?”

  Becky hung her head. “I would buy the collector’s entire repertoire if we could afford it. Call it wishful thinking. But the loan has to be paid off first. I meant well, Marla.”

  “Did Francine know? I mean, would the article she’d intended to write for her magazine be about the museum?”

  “I doubt it. Francine had never set foot inside of here.”

  “How about Alyce? Did she ever interview you for her food blog? She’d be a good source of publicity for your cookbooks, I’d think.”

  “She’s not into history. However, she is into gossip. That woman should stop sticking her nose into everyone’s business,” Becky said with a touch of venom.

  “Oh? What’s she been doing?”

  “That little do-gooder has been spreading rumors about Raquel. Alyce isn’t all honey and sweets like she’d let you believe. She can have a nasty streak.”

  Marla pretended innocence. “What does she have against the TV chef?”

  “You know how Alyce tracks people’s food sources in the industry? She asked the producer for a list of supplies Raquel requisitioned for her show. Would you believe that busybody said Raquel uses prepared mixes for the samples she gives her audience?”

  “So what? She makes her recipes from scratch for the live demo on her show.”

  “Exactly, but consumers expect her to be blemish-free. No one is that pure. Who cares if Raquel takes a few shortcuts off-camera? She was hopping mad when she heard about Alyce’s request. Raquel and the producer have a thing, and she didn’t like it when he questioned her.”

  “Raquel told you all this?” Marla scratched her arm where a small red welt appeared. She must have let in a mosquito at her entrance.

  “We’re friends outside of the studio. Friends support each other, Marla. They don’t look for ways to tear each other down.”

  “Did you know Raquel befo
re she got her gig? Dalton has been having a hard time tracing her background prior to culinary school.”

  Becky’s gaze shuttered. “We don’t talk about the past when we’re together. By the way, I hear Alyce had a row with Sally Paige at the gym the other day. One of my friends told me about it. She couldn’t hear what they were saying. Did you ever speak to Carlton like I’d suggested?”

  Marla knew very well that Becky meant to distract her. “Yes, and he hinted that Sally knew something unsavory about Alyce.” Or Alyce’s brother, but Marla didn’t say that aloud. “You’re sure you didn’t notice anyone missing between the time when our contest members dispersed at the harvest festival and when the awards were announced?”

  “Nope, I was busy talking to people.” Becky’s eyes widened. “Hey, I just had a brilliant idea. Instead of relying on Tristan for desserts, why don’t you approach Teri from the artisan chocolate factory? She might like to participate in our fundraiser. Her treats would be a big hit, and she’d benefit from the publicity. You could always tell Tristan someone else had volunteered in his place.”

  Marla’s mood lifted. “That’s a wonderful suggestion. I’ll ask Tally to come with me when I go to see Teri. She’s a big chocolate fan.” And it would give the two of them a chance to catch up. She couldn’t wait to share the latest news with her best friend.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tally squealed on the phone when Marla mentioned a trip to the chocolate factory. “I’d love to go. I’ve been doing paperwork all morning, and it’s so tedious. Do you have time for me to show you the location I’ve picked out for my new shop?”

  Marla glanced at her watch with a frown. “It’s eleven, and I have to be at work by one. I doubt we’ll have time to do both. I can approach Teri about the fundraiser another time. I’d rather see your new place.”

  After Tally’s accident, Marla had told herself their friendship would come first, no matter the imperatives with her job or her crime-solving exploits. If she’d been a better listener, she might have learned her friend’s secrets before they had harmed people she loved.