Shear Murder

by Cohen, Nancy J.

  “Is Dalton picking you up after we finish here?” Jill asked Marla.

  “He's meeting me inside the park.” Marla's fiancé, a homicide detective, often kept irregular hours.

  “Why don't you come with us?” Jill suggested. “It's silly for you to drive by yourself.”

  “Who's taking Josh and Lisa? Their nanny?” Arnie had hired the woman after his wife died seven years ago. Marla assumed the children were under her supervision today.

  “Graciella is coming, but Arnie is driving them all.”

  “I'll go with you then, if Nicole doesn't mind closing up shop.”

  Nicole waved her hairbrush. “You go, girlfriend. I'm cool here.”

  Nonetheless, it took Marla another half hour to get ready. She made sure Babs's color came out okay, went over details for the following week with her handsome Latino receptionist, and picked up her bag filled with tools of the trade.

  Always be prepared for a hair emergency, especially in South Florida.

  Outside, the humidity brought sweat to her brow as she walked to the parking lot. A cold front was supposed to arrive early next week, offering the break in the weather they needed. Today, scattered clouds hung overhead but it didn't look like rain. For Jill's sake, she hoped the blue skies held.

  She transferred her gown and accessories to Torrie's BMW trunk before climbing into the back seat. Then she spared a moment to call Dalton and inform him she was driving with friends to the wedding venue.

  “Good idea,” Dalton said. “I'll see you there later.”

  She warmed to the sound of his deep, sexy voice. “What time do you think you'll get off work?”

  “Not before five. Don't worry, I'll make it.”

  “Did you talk to Brie?”

  “Your mother took her to the mall at Sawgrass. They're having a great time. She'll be fine without us for one night.”

  What would I do without Ma to occupy the teen? I want to enjoy my time alone with Dalton. Is that selfish of me?

  “Don't forget to load our overnight bags,” she told him. “It'll be late when we get to the hotel.”

  “Not too late, I hope,” Dalton said in a husky tone.

  Marla glanced out the window while Torrie fought the traffic heading east. “Have you checked on the dogs?”

  “Your mom can handle them. I told her what time they usually go out.” He cleared his throat. “By the way, my mother wants to review the seating charts for our wedding. She thinks our cousins from Arizona might be coming. We'll have to add three more seats but that leaves an odd person at one table.”

  Great, another headache. They'd been bombarded with suggestions from her mother and Dalton's parents, who were wintering in Florida while they searched for a condo to buy. “I gotta go. We're turning onto I-95. Bye.”

  Jill, sitting in the passenger seat, twisted around to address Marla. “Is everything okay with Dalton? He's going to arrive on time, isn't he?”

  “Yes, he'll be there.” Dalton may not have been selected to be one of Arnie's ushers, but the bridal couple counted on his presence. Plus this was Dalton's first Jewish wedding, and Marla wanted him to observe the traditions. Their own ceremony would be an interfaith marriage, but she hoped to retain some of the customs from her religion. They still had an overwhelming number of details to work out. She pressed a hand to her throbbing temple.

  The sisters resumed their bickering.

  “I don't want to pay a lawyer to draw up a new lease when our current tenant hasn't officially terminated,” Torrie said, gripping the steering wheel.

  Jill gave her a reproving look. “Kevin says we need backup, otherwise we might end up without any tenant.”

  “Yeah, but he won't be paying the attorney fees.”

  “He's promised to find us a new lessee without charging a commission. Or is that lessor? I don't understand the lingo.”

  “Listen, Marla,” Jill said. “Torrie and I own property that's been leased to an auto lube center. Our father passed it on to us, and we never had to do anything except collect the checks every month. Then one day, I got an e-mail from a stranger who informed me the building had been vacated.”

  “Where is this property located?” Marla suppressed a yawn.

  “In Miami, out west in the Kendall area. It used to be cow pastures and farms out there before the population exploded.”

  “Weren't you aware something was wrong when the rent checks stopped coming?”

  “But they didn't,” Jill replied. “Our lease is with the main company. We're still getting paid, but for how long, who knows? We hope to get a new tenant lined up before the company terminates their lease.”

  “They can do that?”

  “There's an early termination clause,” Torrie piped in. “And we want more money if we get a new tenant. We're not getting enough according to what the property is worth now.”

  “The land has escalated in value even with the volatility in real estate,” Jill said. “What bothers me is, how did this guy get my e-mail address? His name is Pete Schneider, and he's a real estate agent. Or so he says.”

  “I looked up his firm, and it's legit,” Torrie countered.

  Marla leaned her arm across the seat back. “So this guy tried to get your listing?”

  “We hadn't even been notified by the oil lube company that they were pulling out.” Torrie's pitch rose a notch. “If it weren't for Schneider, we'd never have known the lube center closed down. I drove by there the other day. The building is boarded up and signs are posted to warn away trespassers.”

  “I'm confused. Didn't you just say you had a lease through the main office?”

  “Yes, and I've queried them, but they haven't responded. Meanwhile, Jill called our cousin Kevin for advice. He's a big wheel in commercial real estate. Kevin said he'd find us a new tenant without charging a commission, but Schneider claimed he could get us a higher rental income. I think we should see what he can offer.”

  “We'd have to pay him a hefty commission.” Jill glared at Torrie. “Kevin is willing to help us for free.”

  “What is this land-swap thing he mentioned?” Torrie shot back. “Sounds like a way for him to get our piece of land.”

  Turning in her seat, Jill tilted her head. “Kevin's already done some checking on the site,” she told Marla, “and apparently it's not zoned for drive-ins. He'd only mentioned swapping as a means to get an equally valued location with better variances.”

  “I don't like it.” Torrie rolled her shoulder. “Now that the property is worth so much more, everyone is out to get it.”

  “You're too paranoid. We have to trust someone, and my vote is for Kevin.” Jill wagged her fingers at Marla. “I asked Uncle Eddy to advise us on termination procedures with our current tenant. He's drawing up a partnership agreement for us and suggested this might be a good time to sell.”

  “I won't sell. I need the income,” Torrie persisted.

  “Then we need Kevin to find us another tenant so we won't be left high and dry,” her sister said. “Give him a chance—”

  “I still intend to communicate with Pete Schneider. He may come up with a better deal. It can't hurt to sound him out.”

  “We can't talk to him if we're giving Kevin the listing.” Jill spread her hands in exasperation.

  “Look, you worry about the wedding. I'll work on this.”

  Sensing her friend was getting upset, Marla changed the subject. “Tell me about Orchid Isle. Our rehearsal last night went too quickly for me to scout around. It looks like a beautiful park.” She'd gotten a brief impression of lush tropical grounds, winding paths, and brightly colored flowers.

  Torrie glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “I'm friends with Leanne Oakwood, Falcon's wife. Falcon devised the idea of a local attraction for nature enthusiasts as well as orchid fans. He hopes to finance research into advanced horticultural techniques. It's like a combo between the American Orchid Society place in Delray Beach, and Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden.”
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  “I can't believe the grand opening is today,” Marla told Jill. “Your wedding should be one of the highlights, especially when—”

  “That's how I got my magazine to provide coverage,” Torrie interrupted, which appeared to be a habit of hers.

  Marla didn't care for people who had to be the center of attention, but she cut Torrie some slack because of the wedding.

  “I don't get it. Do you mean Boca Style is covering Jill and Arnie's event, or the park's opening ceremonies?” she asked the matron of honor.

  “The angle is ‘Where to Get Wed and Go to Bed: Romantic Locales in South Florida for Marriages and Wedding Nights.’ Our magazine photographer, Griff Beasley, and society reporter, Hally Leeds, will be present.”

  “So you're responsible for Jill being able to book the place?”

  “That's right.” Torrie lifted her chin. “She doesn't give me any credit, even when I try to do the right thing. You don't know how much effort I've put into her wedding gift. It's—”

  Her cell phone rang, and she grimaced. “That's probably Scott wanting to know where we are.”

  “So answer it,” Jill snapped.

  “Hello? Yes, dear, I'm with Jill now. We're at least a half hour away.” A pause. “Why is Kevin telling you that? It's not your problem. Tell him to take a hike.” She pushed the end button and stuffed the phone back into her purse.

  “What did he say?” Jill pulled a compact from her handbag and checked her complexion.

  “Kevin advises us to remain tenants-in-common on the deed.”

  “Why?”

  “Who knows? It irks me that Kevin would talk to Scott about a matter concerning you and me. My husband should stick to fixing clocks in that dusty old shop of his. He doesn't have a good head for business. I'm the one who manages our finances.” Glancing in the side mirror, she changed lanes.

  “You brag about that all the time,” Jill said, “but you haven't done any estate planning. When are you going to fulfill your promise? You told me you'd—”

  “Who are you to talk about promises, darling? You didn't exactly hold true to yours in the past.”

  “Maybe not, but knowing why I acted as I did, you shouldn't blame me. And yet, that's all you've done through the years.”

  Torrie gave a heavy sigh. “I know, and that'll change soon. Until then, let's hope your vows mean more this time around.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  * * *

  Marla sped down a winding brick path at Orchid Isle. Or rather, she walked as fast as she could in her dyed heels and bridesmaid gown.

  Why did Torrie say Jill's vows should mean more this time around? Those words didn't make any sense.

  This was Jill's first marriage. Surely Torrie must have been referring to something else? Maybe Jill had made a promise to Torrie that she hadn't kept. That could account for their strained relationship, especially since Torrie hadn't struck Marla as the forgiving sort. Then again, Jill had been known to lie in the past. She'd pretended to be an old classmate of Arnie's when they first met.

  Reaching an intersection, Marla examined the signposts. Even though she had been here last night, she couldn't remember which way to go. She aimed to find the Bride's Cottage, where Jill was getting dressed.

  Lugging her bag full of supplies, she swiped at her forehead, beaded with sweat. Her lavender gown swished about her ankles as she swatted an insect, cursing the humidity. She'd left behind the other bridal attendants, still primping in a private room across from the banquet hall. They had the benefit of air-conditioning, while she sweltered in the afternoon heat.

  An evergreen scent pervaded the moist air, likely from the pine needles used as mulch. Colorful orchids mingled among the tropical foliage along with red crotons, pink pentas, and Chinese fringe flowers. Dense growth peppered the area, broken by a trickling stream. Alongside the path, green liriope acted as ground cover while moss-draped live oaks and laurel fig trees provided shade. Ferns, palms, and bromeliads competed for space. The wedding would take place in the gazebo by the Rose Garden. Should she go left or right? She couldn't remember if the wedding site was by the Floral Clock or the House Museum. Listening to birds twittering in the branches, she discerned voices coming closer.

  “Chill out, babe. The ceremony hasn't started yet. And anyway, I'm not the danged wedding photographer. My job is to cover the event in conjunction with the park's debut, remember?”

  “So why are you in such a hurry?” a sharp female voice replied. “It can't be because you want to see the matron of honor, is it? Her husband is here somewhere. You wouldn't want him to see you having an intimate tête-à-tête.”

  “Get off my case, Hally. Focus on what you do best: observing other people and criticizing them.”

  The couple rounded a corner and fell silent when they spotted Marla. Her quick glance detected the man's scowl and the woman's taut expression. Hally, a tall redhead, wore a black dress with a deep V-neckline, an empire waist, and a skirt that fell to just below her knees. Floral appliqués at the bust and hem gave the dress a modest flare. Paired with dark heels, a shimmering metallic belt, and crystal jewelry, the ensemble fit in with the fashions displayed by Jill's well-dressed guests.

  Hally's companion, on the other hand, seemed ill at ease in a tuxedo, although he'd differentiated it from the standard with a gold vest and tie. His tousled dirty-blond hair and naughty blue eyes, along with a trim beard and mustache, gave him a roguish look more befitting Robin Hood. The bulky camera in his hands revealed his trade.

  “Excuse me,” Marla addressed them, “are you familiar with this place? I'm lost, and I have to find the bridal cottage.”

  “Yo, I think it's thataway,” the guy said, pointing to the left. “Near the herb garden, if I remember correctly.”

  “Thanks.” Marla fell into step beside them. “Are you here for the wedding?”

  “Sorry, I'm Griff Beasley and this is Hally Leeds.” The guy tilted his head. “We're from Boca Style Magazine.”

  “Oh, isn't that where Torrie works? I met her this morning,” Marla explained at their questioning looks. “I'm a friend of her sister Jill's, the bride. My name is Marla Shore, and I own a hair salon in Palm Haven called the Cut 'N Dye.” She dug into her beaded handbag for a business card.

  Hally took it and examined her card with interest. “Thanks. I like my current hairdresser, but you never know.” She patted her sleek, straight hair, flipped up at the ends. “So tell me, what do you think of Orchid Isle so far?”

  “I haven't had the chance to look around, but it's really beautiful. Are you covering the grand opening for this entire weekend?”

  “Yes, we'll be here again tomorrow when the mayor shows up. We don't normally do run-of-the-mill weddings. This ceremony is newsworthy because it's the first one in the park.”

  “Well, I'll bet Torrie will be glad to see you.”

  Hally snorted. “Don't count on it.”

  Griff sidled up and took Marla's elbow as they approached an arch covered by winding vines with purple flowers. “Go through the arbor and hang a right at the citrus grove. Follow the brick path and you'll come to the bride's house. Be careful to watch your footing. We wouldn't want you to trip and soil your lovely gown. Maybe I should accompany you?”

  She shook him off. “That's okay. Thanks for the help.”

  “Griff, get your paws off her and hoist your camera. Isn't that Falcon Oakwood over by the master curator's office?” Hally pointed to a small white house with a slanted shingle roof.

  “No shit? That's the big man? What's he doing talking to Torrie?” Griff squinted at the middle-aged fellow wearing eyeglasses and a formal black tuxedo.

  Falcon looked as imposing as his reputation, Marla thought, observing his tall stature, wide shoulders, and graying temples. She'd figured the developer of Orchid Isle would wear an air of authority like a second skin, but it didn't seem to be working with Torrie. His hunched posture and frown indicated his displeasure with whatever she was saying
.

  “I hope Torrie isn't trying to edge in on my column.” Hally pulled a notebook from her bag.

  “I doubt it, babe. Maybe they're talking about Leanne. Torrie is friends with Oakwood's wife,” Griff explained to Marla. “That's how she got her sister's wedding booked into the place.”

  “So where is the wife?” Hally said.

  “Who knows? Let's see if Torrie will introduce us. Oakwood should be delighted to give an interview. Hey, Marla, catch ya later, okay? Save me a dance at the reception.”

  “She's engaged, you dolt,” Marla heard Hally mutter as they hurried off. “Didn't you see the ring on her finger?”

  “That hasn't stopped me before.”

  Marla turned away, wondering what Torrie was doing schmoozing with the park's owner instead of helping her sister get ready. Never mind. You're here for the wedding, not to snoop into anyone else's affairs. She hustled through the arch, veered to the right, and located the bridal cottage, another white building shaded by a Southern live oak.

  “Jill, how's it going?” she called out, pushing open the door. A couple of other bridesmaids had made it inside, presumably via a different path than the one Marla had taken. They fussed over the bride, arranging her gown as she stood chewing on a fingernail in the center of the room.

  “Marla, thank God. Where is everyone else? We're due to start in twenty minutes.”

  “They're on the way. Stop biting your nails. You'll ruin your manicure.” Spotting a water cooler, Marla grabbed a fast drink and filled a cup for her friend.

  “Thanks.” Jill took it with a shaking hand. “Did you see Lisa and Josh outside? Their nanny phoned to say she'd arrived. They should be with Arnie.”

  “I didn't go by the groom's house.” Marla's cell phone rang and she answered. “Hello, Dalton. Glad you made it. What? You're getting seated? Okay.” She held her hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to Jill. “He says the guests have filled most of the chairs, and the rabbi is there.”