Trimmed to Death

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “I prefer a hands-on approach, especially since you’re involved.” His gaze darkened, and his fingers crept south to demonstrate his interest.

  Marla’s feminine parts stirred in response. “I guess we’ll have to allow you to explore all the angles then.” And that discussion ended as his mouth zeroed in on hers.

  ****

  Monday morning, Marla called the gynecologist’s office. When she stated the purpose of her visit, the receptionist told her to come in and they’d fit her into their schedule.

  She sat in the office waiting room along with two other patients. In her mind, she reviewed her symptoms while trying to shut out the noise from a TV blaring in the corner. She didn’t care to listen to advice regarding different diseases. Why couldn’t the office staff put on the news instead? Maybe because it would raise people’s blood pressure, she thought with a cynical twist to her lips. She considered playing solitaire on her cell phone but couldn’t concentrate.

  When it was her turn to be called, she followed the nurse with trepidation. She disrobed as instructed and put on the flimsy paper top and bottom that always left her feeling half-naked.

  Dr. Gary Bernstein breezed into the treatment room a few minutes later.

  “Marla, how are you? You’re looking good.”

  So are you, she thought, regarding his lean, handsome face. “I’ve been busy with work and other things, which is why I haven’t been in sooner.”

  “What brings you here today?”

  “I think I’m pregnant. I’ve had weird symptoms that started several weeks ago. I tasted some olive oil at a local restaurant, and it didn’t sit well in my stomach. I haven’t felt right ever since then.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “I’m queasy a lot. Sometimes I go through the motions of throwing up but nothing comes out. And foods that I used to like now turn me off.”

  “And do you get this queasy feeling after every meal, or is it intermittent?”

  She waved a hand. “It comes and goes. Oh, I have been feeling very tired lately. And once or twice, I’ve had a dizzy spell.”

  “Have you missed any periods?”

  “Yes, I didn’t get it this month. That’s unusual for me. Normally, I’m pretty regular. At first, I thought I might have food poisoning or an allergy, but then I did one of those pregnancy test kits from the pharmacy. The results were positive.”

  “Any other problems, like diarrhea or abdominal pain? Fever or chills? Urinary changes?”

  “No.” She rubbed her belly. “It’s hard for me to believe I might be pregnant after all this time.”

  His warm brown eyes regarded her. “We’ll do some lab work to rule out other causes along with a more definitive pregnancy test.”

  He gave her a brief exam and then stood to toss his disposable gloves into the trash. “I think you’re right, judging from the changes to your body that I’m seeing, but let’s wait for confirmation before you celebrate.”

  “How long will I have to wait for the lab results?” Marla asked, sitting upright on the table.

  “It should only take a few days. I’ll call you after the reports come in. Meanwhile, I’d advise you to start taking a multivitamin and avoid alcohol.”

  ****

  Outside, Marla pulled down her long sleeves to cover the needle mark on her arm. She’d given both blood and urine samples at the doctor’s office. Should she call Dalton and tell him about her visit? No, she didn’t care to bother him at work. It could wait until later.

  She focused on his case instead and headed north toward the offices of Eat Well Now magazine. The sooner he resolved his work issues, the sooner they could focus on growing their family. He had a better chance if they functioned as a team.

  Lynette was surprised to see her again but politely guided her inside. “The receptionist said you have news for us?” the editorial director inquired.

  “Yes, I’m wondering if you still have Francine’s personal items.”

  “Sure, we’ve boxed up her stuff. We haven’t had any direction from the police on where to send the package. They’d taken some of her possessions but left the rest.”

  Marla and Lynette stood in the general area segregated into cubicles. Clacking keyboards competed with the low hum of voices as Marla glanced around. One girl met her eyes and hastily looked away. Did she have something to say? Marla would like the chance to talk to other staffers. How could she get Lynette out of her hair?

  “Francine’s estate goes to Alyce Greene’s husband,” she said, watching the other woman’s face.

  “What? I figured she’d leave things to her distant aunt or to her boyfriend, if anyone. Or to one of her charitable causes.”

  “Actually, she’d named Alyce in her will, but with the blogger gone, it goes to her husband, Jon.”

  Lynette shook her head. “Wow, I didn’t see that one coming. Why her? I didn’t realize they were so well acquainted.”

  “They shared an unexpected connection,” Marla admitted.

  “Really? How so?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say just yet. Do you mind if I look through Francine’s stuff? I might find a clue that the police overlooked.”

  “I don’t see the harm in it,” Lynette said with a shrug. “Come this way.”

  Marla followed her to an alcove that held copy machines and storage shelves. Lynette plucked a large labeled carton off a shelf and dumped it on top of one of the machines.

  “Here you go. Unless you need me, I have a deadline to meet and have to get back to work. Nice seeing you again, Marla. Oh, we received your press release about the salon fundraiser. We’ve added it to our online site, and it’ll be going into this month’s print issue.”

  “Thanks so much. I really appreciate it. I’m excited about the event, and so is the history museum’s curator. We’re anticipating a good turnout.”

  Marla waited until Lynette left before opening the box. A lump rose in her throat as she rummaged through the contents. How sad that a woman’s life boiled down to these few items. A souvenir pen from the Library of Congress. A cute cell phone holder shaped like a shoe, and a pair of drugstore reading glasses in a case. A decorative desk clock, framed pictures of food from the walls in Francine’s office, and an empty vase. The mouse pad had a picture of high heels. Francine must have liked her shoes, Marla thought as she explored the contents.

  Her gaze stopped on an album. She yanked it out, hoping it contained photos that might be relevant. But as she thumbed through the pages, she noted articles about children dying in hot cars. How interesting. She hadn’t realized Francine cared about this cause. Had the woman also volunteered for the Safety First Alliance?

  Marla took part in the group’s educational activities that aimed at preventing these tragedies. They’d had a booth at the harvest festival and benefited from a portion of the bake-off ticket sales. Maybe that’s why Francine had researched the topic. Yet some of the pieces pasted in the album appeared to go back decades.

  Another staff member ambled by, and Marla shut the book. She’d ask permission to borrow it to show her husband. Maybe it meant something more important. The cops may have overlooked it, since there weren’t any personal photos included.

  The young woman reversed direction and poked her head inside the room. “Hi, I heard you found a place for us to send this stuff. I’m glad Francine left her things to someone. I hope they’ll respect her belongings.”

  “Me, too, Miss...?”

  “I’m Judi Leeston.” The twenty-something woman came closer and lowered her voice. “We miss Francine. She was super organized and always had a kind word for everyone. Her idea for us to expand our scope would have worked if we’d had the chance to implement it.”

  Marla put down the album and faced the staff member. “Do you think it would have turned things around? I was led to believe the magazine’s readership was in a decline.”

  Judi bobbed her head. “That’s true. If you come across the article Francine meant to
publish, can you tell us? Maybe her exposé would save our publication.”

  “And none of you has any idea what she’d been researching?”

  “No, she wouldn’t tell us. She probably wanted to verify her facts. Francine was a stickler for protocol and always insisted we confirm our sources.”

  “What’s your role here, hon?” The smell of coffee drifted Marla’s way. They must be near the staff’s break room.

  Judi fingered her floral patterned skirt. “I’m a photographer. The food pictures are my responsibility. We have to stage them so they look good.”

  “That must be fun. Is there a test kitchen for the recipes?” Marla hadn’t noticed one on this floor.

  “We outsource that part, but when they’re ready, I go over to take the photos. I’ll also cover special events for the magazine.”

  “Did you attend the harvest festival at Kinsdale Farms?”

  “No, Francine said she’d get some pictures since she had to be there.”

  “Do you have those photos?”

  “She never sent them.”

  Dalton hadn’t mentioned finding a camera. Had Francine used her cell phone to take pictures? If so, she might have dropped it in the fields when assaulted. But then Dalton’s team should have found it among the plants.

  “Did Francine use an old-fashioned camera or her cell phone to take photos?” Marla asked the magazine photographer.

  “I’d loaned her my Canon PowerShot. It’s small enough to fit in a purse but has a good telephoto lens. Your husband is the detective on the case, yes? I’d like my camera back once he’s done with it. That device cost me a pretty penny.”

  “I’ll tell him, but he hasn’t mentioned finding a camera. Could Francine have emailed the photos to herself first? Did your camera have wifi?”

  “Yes, but she’d need to send them through her cell phone unless she was in a hot spot.”

  Had Dalton found any photos among Francine’s recent emails? Surely he would have mentioned them if taken at the farm.

  “Are you familiar with this album?” Marla asked the other woman. “I’d hoped it might contain photos, but all I see are articles about children dying in hot cars. Could this be the article Francine was planning?”

  Judi wrinkled her nose. “It has nothing to do with food, so I doubt it. Maybe that was a personal concern of hers.”

  “Do you think I could get permission to show this to my husband? It might be relevant in some way.”

  “I can ask Lynette for you. One moment.” She bustled away, returning a few minutes later with a smile on her face. “Lynette said you can take the whole box if you want. She’d appreciate it if you could deliver it to the next of kin.”

  “Sure, I can take it. Did Francine ever mention Alyce Greene, the food blogger?”

  “Are you kidding? She was a big fan of Alyce’s site.”

  “How did they get along? I presume they met at industry functions.”

  “I wouldn’t know, but Francine liked the depth of Alyce’s articles. Maybe that’s where she got the idea to expand our focus.”

  “Has Lynette spoken to her superiors about Francine’s plans? Maybe they’d grant permission for her to broaden the scope of the magazine.”

  “The owners said they’d consider it if we had a lead piece. I can’t believe Francine didn’t keep notes somewhere in the office.”

  “Who actually owns the publication?”

  Judi grimaced, her displeasure evident. “It’s an investment firm called Viadome. We’re merely one of their numerous holdings. I don’t think it would faze them to close our doors.”

  “Viadome? Never heard of it.”

  “If you like, I can get you the name of our contact there.” She pulled her cell phone from a pocket and texted a message. “Lynette says it’s a man named Steve Madison.”

  Marla’s heart skipped a beat. “No way. That man is Alyce Greene’s brother.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Marla shoved the box along with the album into the backseat of her Camry and then started the engine. What could it mean that Steve Madison’s firm owned Francine’s publication? Had she meant for her exposé to lead directly to the company that controlled her magazine? If so, perhaps she’d discovered something about them that had gotten her killed.

  Maybe Francine had learned Amalfi Consolidated was selling fraudulently labeled extra virgin olive oil. Dalton’s team should get the product tested. No doubt the people involved in a fraud scheme of this magnitude would know how to hide their ill-gotten gains. Then again, the income would be legitimate, wouldn’t it? It was the source product that was the problem.

  She pulled onto Glades Road and turned west toward the turnpike. More likely, the scam originated in Italy with Tony Winters’ relatives. They would be the ones producing the mislabeled product. Sales would merely reflect normal earnings. The Italian authorities would have to be notified if Dalton suspected fraud at that end.

  If this was true, then Steve’s firm might not have anything to hide unless the import company didn’t report all their revenue. Drat, she felt like they were going around in circles without discovering anything of substance.

  Dalton had already interviewed Steve twice. He’d even suggested Marla pay him a visit. However, she’d use the excuse of needing an investor for her salon café rather than seeking an investment advisor for her personal needs. She already knew his company invested in small businesses like Jon Greene’s food truck operation.

  She pulled over to notify her husband about her plans before diverting her route.

  “Watch your back,” he cautioned on the phone. “There’s a viper under one of these rocks.”

  “Speaking of rocks, have you gotten any prints off that missile thrown at our doorstep or the message attached to it?”

  “Yes, we did. I’ve sent them out for analysis.”

  “Good, let me know if you get a match.” This could be the break in the case we’ve needed, but don’t get excited over it yet. Wait until the results have proven fruitful. “I went to the magazine office and met their food photographer,” she said. “Judi Leeston loaned Francine a digital camera to take photos at the festival. Did you find one in Francine’s purse or in the fields at Kinsdale Farms?”

  “We have the victim’s cell phone, but no, I didn’t realize Francine had brought another camera to the event. The photos on her phone didn’t show anything significant.”

  “If she dropped the camera, one of the farm hands might have turned it in to their lost-and-found. Check at the marketplace.” She gave a description of the model.

  “Thanks, I will.”

  “Oh, here’s another thought. Hundreds of people were present that day. Did you look online to see if anybody posted photos or video footage?”

  “You are super sharp today. I’ll put my boys to work on it.”

  “Also, I took an album from Francine’s box of belongings, which they gave me to deliver to her next of kin. It has old newspaper articles about hot car deaths of children. It’s interesting that Francine shared this concern of mine.”

  “It couldn’t have been the topic she’d been investigating. Her article would have had to include a food angle.”

  “I know. Anyway, I’ll show it to you later.” The news about her doctor visit bubbled on her tongue, but she suppressed it. She’d tell him another time, when he wasn’t distracted by the case. “Love you,” she said before ringing off and setting her mind to the next task.

  Viadome had its own building in downtown Fort Lauderdale. Nestled between two bank towers at the west end of Las Olas Boulevard, the place shared a parking garage with its neighbors. Marla found a space and paid for a couple of hours at the meter machine.

  She’d be wasting her effort if Steve wasn’t in, but then maybe she could do some shopping. She didn’t get downtown very often since the mall in Palm Haven had most of what she needed.

  Fortunately, the receptionist nodded at Marla’s request to see Steve Madison without havin
g an appointment. She accepted her rushed explanation about being in the area and claiming a friendship with his sister.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Marla told Steve, taking a seat across from his desk. He had an expansive corner office with wide window views. Marla, not thrilled about being on the eighteenth floor, studied the man instead of the scene below.

  “Thanks. I can’t believe it’s been two weeks already. I’m still expecting Alyce to phone me and sound excited about her next article.” He scraped stiff fingers through his dark brown hair. His matching eyes regarded her from behind wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Alyce suggested I see you about my proposed business plan. We’d both entered the bake-off contest, and neither of us won. She told me how she meant to pay off her husband’s loan so he could expand his food truck operation.”

  “That’s true,” Steve admitted, his pained expression plucking at her heartstrings.

  “So your company provided Jon with the money to start his food truck business? Or was it a personal loan?”

  “I didn’t have the funds myself. That’s what our company does. We not only provide brokerage services, but we invest in small businesses that have the potential to grow.” He studied the card Marla had handed him. “You own a salon and day spa?”

  “Right, and I’ve been thinking of adding a café to our spa premises so clients don’t have to go off-site for lunch. We have a lounge that could be converted. But I don’t have the capital necessary for renovations, plus we’d have to hire a chef.”

  “Or a caterer could prepare the meals offsite for you instead. You’re thinking in terms of grab-and-go items, yes? The main outlay would be for permits and remodeling.”

  Marla could see he had a grasp of the situation. “Actually, there’s a deli next-door. I could ask them to supply the food,” Marla said as though she hadn’t thought of it before.

  “There you go. Do you have blueprints for your planned counter space?”

  “Yes, I do. I can email them to you along with my business proposal.”

  “That would be helpful. It’s obvious you’re already successful. I don’t think you’ll have any obstacles, Ms. Vail.” He frowned suddenly, his face flushing. “Why does that name sound familiar?”