Shear Murder

by Cohen, Nancy J.

  “Torrie did that for Jill?” She wouldn't have expected such kindness, but perhaps Torrie's bitterness stemmed from Jill's ingratitude and not from any latent childhood rivalries.

  “Yes, and she never let Jill forget it. Scott resented his wife's involvement, and that didn't help Torrie's relationship with Jill either.”

  Alexis examined herself in the mirror after Marla put her shears down. “That's really cute. My own stylist never suggested lifting the layers like this.”

  “She probably figured you were happy if you didn't say anything. If you want to change your style, it helps to say so. Hairdressers are not mind readers.”

  Alexis gave her braying laugh again, making Marla cringe inwardly. She picked up her blow dryer, plugging it into a wall outlet.

  “So that's it? Jill married the wrong man, made a mistake in running off with the guy's daughter, and never did another bad deed?”

  “As far as I know.” Alexis shifted her position. “She should have told Arnie from the start.”

  “Absolutely. It isn't good to begin a marriage based on deceit.”

  She thought of her own past mistakes and how Dalton had been so understanding when he'd learned the truth. She'd been ashamed to tell him, having guarded her secrets for years, like Jill. It seemed only yesterday that little Tammy had drowned while under her care as a babysitter. If she could put that tragedy and her subsequent foibles behind her, so could Jill.

  “Whatever happened to the little girl?” she asked Alexis. “She must have been traumatized by the situation.”

  Alexis shrugged her wide shoulders. “Who knows? Jill didn't need that kind of baggage. She was still very young. Thank heavens she's found a good man now, if she can hold onto him.”

  “Jill loves his children. Maybe she always regretted leaving her first husband's daughter behind.”

  “That was Torrie's condition. A clean break, or no money. Jill kept to the bargain.”

  Marla switched on the dryer, drowning out any further conversation until they were downstairs, seated in the living room where the maid had deposited a tray of refreshments.

  “If you don't think Jill killed Torrie, who did?” Marla asked, after Alexis poured them both cups of brewed green tea.

  “She confessed for a reason. You tell me.”

  Balancing her teacup in her lap, Marla bent her head. “Maybe she knows whodunit and wants to take the heat off them.”

  “Then it would have to be someone close to her. Who would she risk going to prison for? No one in our family, I assure you.”

  “Guess it's time I had a word with Jill myself.”

  Chewing on a scone, Marla redirected the conversation to idle chatter. She submitted to a tour of Eddy's wine cellar as promised then took her leave.

  Armed with her new knowledge, she knocked on Arnie's front door at three o'clock.

  A drapery at one of the front windows was pushed aside and let drop back into place. Moments later, Jill opened the door.

  Her blond hair had been hastily twisted and clipped to her head, her makeup barely applied. Dark circles under her eyes and a pale complexion indicated a restless state of mind.

  “Marla. How nice to see you,” she said in a flat tone. “What brings you into the neighborhood?”

  “Can I come in? I had a few minutes free and wanted to see how you're doing. And I didn't get to talk to Josh and Lisa last time I was here. Are they in school?” She held her breath, hoping she and Jill would be alone.

  “Yes, their nanny should be in the carpool lane as we speak.” Jill led her inside to the family room, where she plopped down on the sofa and slumped back on the cushions. Marla sat in an upholstered chair facing her.

  “So tell me, Marla, why are you really here?”

  “Why do you think? I'm worried about you. Tell me what brought you to the brink.” She waved a hand as Jill's eyes widened. “Oh, I don't mean about killing your sister. Why did you confess when you're innocent?”

  Jill hung her head. “What do you know? I might have had my reasons for wanting Torrie dead.”

  “Because she knew you'd married an older man and abducted his child when he threatened to harm you? All your relatives seem to know about it, so why didn't you tell Arnie? Did you believe he'd think less of you if he knew the truth?”

  “I made a mistake, and I tried to put it behind me.” Jill wrung her hands. “I should have told him I'd been divorced.”

  “But not about the kidnapping charge? Now I understand what Torrie meant when she said she hoped your vows meant more this time around, but it wasn't your fault that your first marriage failed. You did what you had to in order to protect that man's child.”

  “She was such a sweet girl, Marla.” Jill's tone was so low that Marla had to lean forward to hear her. “I knew when I saw him smashing the chair in the dining room that we'd be next. I had a bag packed just in case. When he went into the kitchen to get another bottle, I grabbed Becky and ran.”

  “Becky?”

  “Rebecca. That was his daughter's name.” Her voice caught on a sob. “I missed her so when I had to give her up, but they wouldn't let me keep her. Torrie told me I had to let Becky go if I wanted her help. She regretted that decision to the end of her days.”

  I sat up straight. “What do you mean?”

  Jill bent her head, stringy clumps of hair falling forward. “Torrie and Scott never had children, you know. They wanted to, but it didn't work out for them. She started volunteering in foster care, and when she saw what went on, she was sorry she had sent Becky away from someone who loved her.”

  “Didn't you resent her interference in your life?”

  “How could I? If not for Torrie and Scott, I'd have been convicted of kidnapping a minor. They helped me get rid of that rotten egg of a husband. The price had been steep, but I'd been willing to pay it.”

  “So you're saying Torrie regretted that decision?”

  “For a long time she held my actions against me. She had coughed up a lot of money on my behalf, and I'll admit I was less than grateful. We grew apart. Scott had never been fond of me, and any time we met, they never let me forget what I owed them.”

  Marla struggled to understand. “But when you both inherited that property, you and Torrie had to communicate with each other.”

  “Right. She saw how I'd changed and wanted to make amends, so she came up with the perfect idea for a wedding gift.”

  “Which was what?”

  “Returning my stepdaughter to me.”

  Click. More pieces fell into place.

  “Rachel,” Marla murmured.

  “Yes, Rachel is the name she uses now. Torrie told me how she'd found Becky through the foster care system and brought her to town as her intern. Becky hadn't wanted to see me, until Torrie explained that it was her fault we'd been separated and that I hadn't abandoned her.”

  “But she seemed loyal to Torrie when I met her at the magazine office.”

  “She came to realize Torrie only had my best interests at heart. She's at a similar age to me when it all happened, so it's easier for her to understand now.”

  “Were you aware Rachel, or Becky, disguised herself and got hired as a waitress at your wedding?”

  Jill's eyes misted. “She wanted to get a glimpse of me without actually having to face me yet.”

  “I'm guessing Torrie found her out and yelled at her because someone heard them arguing.” Her jaw dropped. “That's why you confessed? You think Rachel murdered your sister?”

  “I know she did.” Jill's lower lip wobbled. “We finally met each other in person. Oh, Marla, it was so good to see Becky again. Or rather, Rachel, since that's the name she prefers these days. Dear Lord, I couldn't believe how she'd grown. But then she told me how Torrie screamed at her at the wedding and said she should never have come, that it would ruin things between us. Rachel got angry and blamed Torrie for everything that had happened. Somehow she got hold of the knife Torrie was carrying.”

  �
��Wait a minute. What knife?”

  Jill's face scrunched. “Our wedding cake knife. Don't ask me how Torrie got it. Anyway, they struggled, and the knife ended up in my sister's chest. Rachel told me how she panicked, afraid she'd killed Torrie. She ran away to get help but decided it would look too incriminating. So she kept going.”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “You see why I had to turn myself in? If Detective Brody learned our story, he'd figure Rachel took the job as Torrie's intern to exact revenge on her. And when Hally learned her true identity, Rachel killed her, too.”

  “She sent you flowers after Torrie's funeral.”

  “Rachel wanted me to know she was out there.”

  “This is important information, Jill. You should tell the detective these things and let him uncover the truth. Maybe Torrie wasn't dead when Rachel left her.”

  “I can't take that chance. I'm just now discovering my stepdaughter again. I don't want her taken from me.”

  “She's not the only suspect. Other people have motives.” Marla's mind raced. Rachel had means, motive, and opportunity, making for a strong case against her. “Did you hear anything about the medical examiner's report?” Jill shook her head. “Then you don't know what really killed your sister.”

  “Who else do you suspect?” Jill's eyes filled with hope.

  “Aside from your uncle and cousin who are trying to convince you to sell your property? Torrie wasn't happy with Scott's business decisions and hinted at leaving him. She was having an affair with another man. Jealousy could be Scott's motive. Or greed, since he's inherited Torrie's share of your land.” Except he didn't leave the ballroom in the midst of festivities. Jill did, as had Alexis. But Jill would have had blood on her gown if she'd stabbed Torrie.

  “Scott is too meek.” Jill's lips compressed. “That man wouldn't hurt a fly.”

  “Sometimes people can appear calm and hide a volcano inside. Think of all those workplace shootings.”

  “If Torrie was seeing another man, Scott wouldn't do anything about it. He's not the type. Who was it, do you know?”

  “Griff Beasley, the photographer from Boca Style Magazine. Thing is, Hally considered him her territory.” As quickly as possible, Marla ran down her list of suspects. “So you see, Rachel isn't the only person with a motive for murder.”

  “No, but she was there at the right time holding the weapon.” Jill squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, Marla, prove she isn't guilty. I'll be forever grateful.”

  I'm trying to prove you're not guilty, Marla thought.

  “One item I meant to look into was the seating charts. Do you still have them? I'd like to see whose table was next to the one with the cake.”

  “Sure.” Jill rose and scurried from the room. She returned a few minutes later carrying a folder. “Here, take it, but I'd like them back later for my records.”

  “Thanks, this will help.” Leveraging to her feet, she accepted the packet.

  “So what now?” Jill tucked a loose strand of hair behind an ear.

  “Now I track down the cake knife. Philip Canfield implied he put it on the table, but then how would Torrie have gotten it? The wedding photos are the key. Either I have to get a look at your proofs, or I have to get into the office at Boca Style Magazine. They may still have Griff's digital photos on file. Besides, Griff is hiding something. He worked with both Torrie and Hally, and now they're dead. Rachel works in the same office. We don't want her to be the next victim.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  * * *

  Marla stopped by the wedding photographer's place first, hoping for a glimpse of Jill's proofs. Luck followed her into a private alcove with a computer where the receptionist brought up the digital files.

  “Here's what we have so far, but the polished proofs won't be ready for another couple of weeks at least,” the woman said in a friendly tone. She wore a smart belted black dress with a V neckline and chunky jewelry. “When did you say your date was?”

  “In June.” The lie rolled off Marla's tongue.

  “We have various packages available. Stop by the front desk before you go and I'll give you the information. Were you interested in video as well?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Our guys do a great job. I don't have the one available from the Hartman affair, but we have other sample videos to watch if you're interested.”

  Marla gestured. “Not right now, thanks. These are fine.”

  She turned to the monitor after the lady strode away and flicked through dozens of pictures. After fifteen minutes or so, she finally spotted the wedding cake. It was a beautiful three-tiered confection with buttercream icing, decorated with candied violets and Philip Canfield's orchids. Unfortunately, she couldn't find a single shot of the entire table. Either they were close-ups of the cake itself or views of Jill and Arnie at the head table cutting the cake together and feeding each other.

  Gritting her teeth in frustration, she collected her purse, breezed through the lobby, where she collected the promised information, then left.

  Sweat beaded her brow outside, where the temperature had risen into the low eighties. She wasn't perspiring from the heat, though. It was the lack of evidence exonerating Jill and Rachel that gnawed at her. She must be missing something important. And what of Detective Brody? Did he suspect Jill hadn't been telling the truth? The news reports all said an arrest had been made, but the police were still following leads in the case. That must mean he wasn't convinced by her story.

  Marla shoved aside her theories for now. She and Dalton had a social event to attend that evening. Meanwhile, some repairs in her salon needed supervision and so did a supply delivery at her day spa. Neither were open to the public today, but work crews were there waiting for her approvals. Heaving a heavy sigh as she slipped into her Camry, she wished there weren't so many burdens on her shoulders.

  Dalton helped relieve the pressure later, when they were both dressing for the dinner party benefiting the Child Drowning Prevention Coalition, Marla's pet charity.

  Smelling like soap and his favorite spice aftershave, he kneaded her tight muscles and trailed his fingers down her bare arms. Privacy enclosed them in his bedroom, while Brianna did her homework in another part of the house. Marla stood in her underwear, her hair damp from the shower. She murmured with pleasure as he attacked the knots in her neck.

  “Mmm, that feels so good.”

  “So do you.” He turned her around and kissed her. “Do we have time?”

  “Not now. I've got to do my hair. Sorry.” With genuine regret, she withdrew from his embrace and padded into the bathroom. She looked forward to this annual event and the fashion show that accompanied it. It helped them raise thousands of dollars to put into educating the public about child drowning prevention measures.

  Several hours later, she put down her dinner fork and signaled to Dalton. “Look, do you see who's taking photos? It's Griff Beasley!”

  Dalton's head whipped around. “So it is. You can't miss his tall figure.”

  Marla got up to greet him. “Hi Griff.” She tapped the blond man on the shoulder. “It's nice to see you again.”

  His cobalt eyes widened, then narrowed in displeasure. “Marla. What a surprise.”

  “Likewise. I'm glad to see you're covering this event. We could use the publicity. By the way, when is the article coming out on Orchid Isle?”

  “Our magazine is bimonthly. Look for it in the bookstore.” He grabbed a passing couple, the woman wearing a billowy taffeta creation. “Excuse me, can I get your photo, please?” He snapped a few shots then copied down their names.

  “It must be difficult for you, working without Hally or Torrie's input. Who's covering the write-up tonight?”

  He jabbed his thumb toward a statuesque brunette. “Jessica has been assigned the fashion beat. Why don't you ask her about the show?”

  “No, thanks. I feel like you and I still need to talk.” She stared him down.

  A flush darkened his face.
“Look, babe, whatever you think this is all about, it isn't.”

  He strode off. Marla thought about following him to ask further questions but a woman she knew accosted her.

  “Marla,” exclaimed the fashion boutique owner. It was Yolanda's line of clothing that was being shown tonight. “I should have brought in your people to do the models' hair. Those stylists backstage are too slow.” Black hair in a tight bun, she pressed her wide red lips together.

  “We'd be honored to be included next time.”

  “Have you met my husband?” She pointed to a man who swaggered over, his Asian features cold as iced plum wine. After introducing them, Yolanda inclined her head. “We're opening two new franchises,” she stated proudly. “I must get you involved in my shows, yes?”

  Marla lifted her chin. “That would be great. I've been wanting to do more photography work, too, so please keep me in mind for any photo shoots at your stores.”

  “Speaking of photographers, I saw you talking to that Beasley fellow. He's a sly one, although he has a sharp eye with the camera.”

  Marla's heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

  Yolanda chuckled, a sound deep from her throat, while her husband gave a grunt and wandered off. Taciturn guy. With his stocky build, he reminded her of a thug in a James Bond film.

  “Beasley knows how to butter his bread. A man like him can always find use for his skills.”

  Marla hadn't a clue how to decipher the woman's words, but Dalton came to sweep her away to the dance floor and she had to drop the matter. It wasn't until she was on her computer the next morning, checking e-mail and browsing the Web before heading into work, when she got an inkling of what Yolanda had meant.

  She'd put Grant Bosworth's name in her search engine, and it popped up with a series of photos. The pictures accompanied an article on Home & Style Magazine's Web site. Marla scrolled down, noting Yolanda and her husband's proud grins in one of the digital shots.

  A shock of recognition jolted her.

  No way.

  That was Griff's secret? That he and Grant Bosworth were one and the same? Now Yolanda's words made sense, and so did the reason why he'd want his colleagues to keep quiet. But had he murdered them? It didn't seem a strong enough motive, but there was only one way to find out.