"Police, fire, or medical?” asked the emergency dispatcher.
"All of them! Something smashed my window, and—"
Her smoke alarm blared, making her heart pound with fright. “Hurry,” she cried. “If someone broke in, he might still be in the house! And please, notify Detective Lieutenant Vail."
Chapter Sixteen
Marla fled from her bedroom through a glass door leading to the backyard. Spooks appeared at her heels, yapping furiously until she scooped him into her arms. She proceeded cautiously toward the street, hoping the dog's bark had scared off any potential assailants.
Vail's arrival brought order to chaos, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he took charge. She spoke to Goat and Moss on the sidewalk while officers inspected the scene. About thirty minutes later, she spied Vail striding toward her, carrying a pile of clothing and a pair of black loafers. Heat suffused her cheeks when she noticed the bra strap poking out from between her jeans and a pullover top. Get over it, she told herself. The man is a widower with a twelve-year-old daughter. He knows what it's like to live with women.
Grateful that he'd been so thoughtful, she gave a watery smile as he handed her the bundle.
"Get in the car,” he ordered, holding open the passenger door. “You can stay at my place for the rest of the night."
After he'd settled behind the wheel and turned on the ignition, he offered his findings. “Someone threw a Molotov cocktail through your kitchen window,” he explained in a calm, detached voice.
"W-what's that?” Marla croaked, glancing at his stern profile. The only trace of emotion she could see was a muscle twitching in his jaw.
"It's an explosive device: in this case, a chemical fire bottle. You're lucky the thing didn't work right, or the damage would've been severe. Fortunately, the fire barely got started before it went out. You had more smoke than flames."
"That's enough,” she said, her voice trembling. She cradled Spooks's small body in her arms, wondering how he'd get along with Vail's golden retriever. Goat had offered to keep her pet until she returned home, but Marla needed the comfort of Spooks's presence.
"Any idea who had it in for you?” Vail said. He turned onto West Broward Boulevard, heading east toward an older residential section where banyan trees shaded the roads like arms, protecting walkers from the blazing Florida sun.
Marla glanced at him warily. “I imagine I've ruffled a few feathers lately."
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Go on."
"Well, this morning I visited the Zelmans’ realty office. Their assistant, Judy, said she expected Eloise to return unharmed."
He nodded, as though this wasn't news. “And then? You had the whole day off. I don't imagine you spent it doing errands like a normal person."
She ignored his sarcastic tone. “I went to Vero Beach to visit, uh, an acquaintance of Hortense."
A smile quirked his lips. “You mean you met the real Hortense Crone."
She gave up the pretense. “How did you find out?"
"Simple. I ran a check on our Hortense's license tag. Her car is registered to Jillian Barlow at an address in Vero Beach."
"If you'd have told me, it would have saved me a trip!” Lack of trust is still an issue here, pal. “What the devil do you know about Eloise? You don't seem so concerned about her. I thought you wanted her for questioning about Sam's death."
"Umm,” he murmured, deftly avoiding a direct answer.
"She might be in danger. I hope you'll share the news if you learn she's safe."
"Are you planning to tell Arnie?” he countered.
"About what?” She gazed at him with perplexed eyes.
"Jill, a.k.a. Hortense.” They'd entered his neighborhood, and he slowed as they approached his driveway. The brick exterior of his ranch-style home was lit by security spotlights.
"I don't plan to tell anyone her true identity for now,” Marla answered. “Jill works at Stockhart Industries. She may be able to ferret out information not available to either of us. It's important that we don't jeopardize her position. As for Arnie, I think it's better for Jill to tell him herself. If she really cares about him, she'll reveal the truth in her own time. But I'm going to have a talk with her to see how she feels. I won't stand for Arnie getting hurt."
Pulling into the driveway, he cut the ignition. Spooks scampered from her arms to the backseat and peered out the window. “How about your little game? You and Arnie being engaged, I mean. Do you think he'll tell her the truth?"
"Oh God, this is such a mess. Arnie was meshuga to spread that news."
"Damn right.” His eyes glittered as he faced her. “Worrying about you is giving me gray hairs. Things could have been a lot worse tonight at your place."
Why were graying heads such a popular subject lately? Her eyes fastened on his thick head of peppery hair, and all unpleasantries fled from her mind. The soft strands invited touching, and she remembered how silky they'd felt when she gave him a cut. A hitch caught in her throat. Her gaze, traveled downward, noted his polo shirt tucked into a pair of snug jeans. Warmth stole into her veins as his nearness penetrated her fogged brain. It was hard to swallow when she lifted her eyes and saw the way he looked at her.
When he leaned over to kiss her, she draped her arms around his solid shoulders, eager to release the fears of the night. She thought of nothing else but the press of his lips on hers until Spooks's jealous nudging broke them apart.
"Let's go inside,” Vail said huskily, “or I'll start something I won't be able to finish."
Marla nodded gratefully, too caught up in the rapture of the moment to respond verbally. Cuddling Spooks, she opened her door while the detective retrieved her pile of clothing from the rear seat. At least she'd have an outfit to wear to work in the morning if Vail couldn't drop her off at home first. She'd need to call a window repairman and assess the smoke damage, which hopefully would be minimal. Plus, she'd have to get her car.
Trailing the detective to his front door, Marla wondered how they would explain her presence to his daughter. Wild barking sounded from inside. If the girl were sleeping, surely the noise would awaken her. She hoped the dogs got along, so they could all get some rest.
She'd needn't have worried about Brianna. The girl took their explanation in stride, giving Marla a curious look when Vail said she had been in danger.
"Where's she going to sleep?” was Brianna's only concern, glancing back and forth between the two of them with narrowed eyes. She appeared younger than her age, with disheveled long hair, and dancing bears on her flannel pajamas.
Vail's face colored as though he hadn't considered the matter. “We have a guest room, so she'll stay there. It has a sleep sofa,” he told her in an apologetic tone.
"That's fine,” she reassured him, putting Spooks down. The poodle yipped loudly in a barking contest with the golden retriever, and they raced around the living room chasing each other. While Brianna was distracted, Marla grabbed her bundle of clothes from Vail's arms.
"Brianna, do you have any makeup I can use in the morning? I'll need to get ready for work if your father is too rushed to take me home first.” Shifting the garments, she hoped her underwear wasn't visible.
"Yeah, it's in my bathroom.” The girl gave Marla a considering glance, as if just now realizing she was dressed in a robe. It didn't help that Vail was staring at her legs. “You know, Lucky barks if anyone moves around in the night,” Brianna warned.
Marla felt her face flush. “I see. Will Spooks be all right? I'd like to go to bed, but he can sleep with me if you want him out of Lucky's way."
Vail cleared his throat. “Let the dogs get used to each other. They'll calm down eventually. You need to rest. It's been a harrowing night, and you'll be safe here.” To emphasize his point, he reset the alarm, which he'd deactivated on their entrance. “I'll get you some linens for the bed."
"No, Daddy, let me,” Brianna insisted—more to keep them apart than to be helpful, Marla decided.
Lying awake in bed, worries raced through her beleaguered faculties. How would she find time in the morning to take Spooks home, call a window repair service, and shower and dress for work? Tonight's incident highlighted her own jeopardy. Hereafter, she'd be extra cautious. Someone held a violent grudge against her, and more than one person came to mind straightaway.
* * * *
Marla arrived at work nine o'clock on Tuesday to find Cookie Calcone pacing in front of Cut ‘N Dye Salon with a stack of fliers in hand. “Oh, joy,” Marla muttered, feeling her troubles compound like a cumulus cloud in the summer. Just what she needed after her tsuris last night: more aggravation. Already her plans for the day had gone awry. She'd planned to get here earlier, but after Vail dropped her off at home, time zipped by while she called a repairman, took Spooks for a short walk, and dressed for work. Now Cookie's presence heralded continued unpleasantness.
"Marla, when are you going to comply with SETA standards?” Cookie demanded, blocking her path. “You're still displaying the same products in your windows."
"I don't have time for this, pal. Move out of my way."
"I won't share any information about Jolene until you stop selling those brands,” Cookie announced.
"Does that mean you've discovered something significant?"
"Maybe.” Smirking, the shorter woman tossed back a length of strawberry blond hair. “I'll give you one tip. Jolene paid Wallace Ritiker under the table when he pushed through the zoning change for Stockhart Industries. She wasn't too happy with him lately because he'd voted against a measure that was important to her, and she had been counting on his support. I suspect Jolene was angry enough to threaten him."
"In what manner?"
"She might expose his other indiscretions. Jolene wasn't the only person from whom he'd accepted favors."
"Do you think he murdered her?” Marla couldn't conceive how Wally could slip sedatives into Jolene's bottle of capsules in the ladies’ locker room, unless he had an associate in crime.
Cookie's moss green eyes cooled. “That depends."
"Go on."
"Sorry, you haven't met your end of the deal.” Cookie jerked a thumb at the hair salon.
Marla gritted her teeth. “This involves a murder investigation. If you're withholding information, it could be construed as obstruction of justice."
"Says who, your boyfriend the detective? You seem to be seeing a lot of him lately. Aren't you engaged to the guy from Bagel Busters?"
"That depends,” Marla mimicked, adding under her breath, "Se zol dir grihmen in boych." It wasn't nice to tell someone she should get a stomach cramp, but Cookie was a nudnick who had gotten on her nerves one time too many.
Grimacing with annoyance, she stalked into the salon. It wouldn't be long before the receptionist arrived, and then she wouldn't have the place to herself. Striding toward the storeroom, she considered Cookie's demands. Undoubtedly, laboratory tests performed on animals were cruel and unnecessary in cases where substitute trials were possible. But if she really liked a hair care product because of the results on her clients, would she stop using it because of manufacturing practices? Was she willing to waste time to scrutinize the ingredients lists and disclaimers on all chemical supplies?
Certainly, SETA supported a worthy cause, as long as its members didn't get fanatical. Marla might have considered complying just for the ethics and because she didn't care to see helpless animals hurt, but not because of Cookie. Blackmail didn't sit well on her shoulders. She'd been through it before. Mrs. Kravitz's knowledge of her shameful past had burdened her life in the past, and she wouldn't succumb to another type of coercion now that she was freed from the old lady's threats. Never again! She'd use whatever products she damn well pleased, and if she happened to order supplies hereafter from companies who didn't perform animal tests, that was her choice.
"Hi, Marla,” called the receptionist as she entered the salon a few minutes later. “Your schedule is at your station. I put it there yesterday before I left."
"Thanks. I started the coffee brewing. Would you mind going for bagels?” I'm not ready to see Arnie yet, she thought as she put aside the stack of folded towels in her arms. Her nerves were on edge, thanks to Cookie's pacing outside the picture window. Would the police arrest the woman if she called them? Marla wasn't aware of the statutes regarding civil disobedience, if Cookie's actions could be construed that way. Better not to make a fuss, she decided. Loyal customers would walk right past the woman without glancing at her twice.
When her first client arrived, she didn't have time to think about Cookie or what she might have learned. Her day was booked solid, and Nicole had to take on the overflow.
"What formula should I use on Gail's highlights?” Nicole asked Marla.
She paused, shears in hand. “I used the gel lightener before, but it came out too light. Why don't you try Nexus eleven-N, and alternate every three or four packets with a darker color at the six-N level. It'll still be blond, but not as light as the gel."
Concentrating on her own client, she created a part at the occipital and separated a one-inch horizontal section of auburn hair at the nape. Holding it straight up, she flipped the strands over her fingers and cut an inch off the ends directly across. It took fifteen minutes to finish the shag.
Her next client was a young woman who wore her hair in long layers and wanted a new look. Marla studied her round features and assessed her chestnut color as a natural Level three.
"I'd like to do a cut that offers more movement and swing,” she said, lifting a strand of hair. “I'd also lighten it two levels using color placement based on your cut, instead of highlights."
"That's lovely,” her customer said after Marla shortened the length to just above the shoulders and used a shattering technique to break up the hair against her face.
"It's much more flattering,” Marla agreed, pleased at how the new style brought out the girl's cheekbones.
The next customer wasn't so happy. It was an elderly woman with thick pearl gray hair. Her complaint was a yellowing on the longer portion of the crown and around the hairline.
"Do you take any medications?” Marla asked the woman.
"No, dear."
"Are you a smoker? Nicotine can stain gray hair."
"I should say not!"
"Then your problem may be due to sun damage.” Marla lifted a section of dry hair. “White hair lacks melanin, which normally protects you from damage. Without that protection, exposure to sunlight destroys the keratin protein and causes other changes in your hair that result in yellowing. I'd advise you to use hair care products with sunscreen, and wear a hat when outdoors. I'll try a violet-based shampoo. It might get rid of the yellow for now, but you need to avoid direct sunlight."
Time blurred as Marla finished with one client after another. She didn't even realize it was time for lunch until Nicole asked if she wanted to order anything from Bagel Busters.
Arnie brought their order in person, marching straight toward Marla's chair, where she was completing a blow-dry. Ignoring the knowing smirks of her staff, he dropped the container of food on her counter.
"Marla, we need to talk. Hortense called and said she could get away for lunch. I feel funny meeting her when you and I are supposed to—"
"What now?” Marla blurted, spying Vail strolling in through the front entrance. Hastily she sprayed her client's hair, then removed the cape. “Here's your bill, Babs. Have a good trip."
Babs Winrow, a steady customer, winked as she rose from the chair. “I may not leave so fast. The sparks between you and the good detective are always so entertaining.” She flicked her gaze between Arnie and Marla. “Of course, he may not agree."
Bless my bones; even Babs knows about our fake engagement.
"Hi, Dalton,” Marla said. “What brings you into the shop? Have you learned anything new about last night?"
The tall lieutenant bore down on them, holding a brown paper sack. His peppery hair appear
ed ruffled as though he'd run his fingers through it instead of a comb. He appeared more imposing in his navy sport coat than a football player in full regalia.
"Hartman, what are you doing here?” queried the detective.
Arnie's mustache quivered as he grinned. “I'm visiting my fiancée. It's difficult to keep away from her when she's just a few doors down."
Vail gazed at him with an implacable expression, then handed Marla the bag. “Here's your robe. You forgot to take it when I drove you home from my house this morning.” He delivered his remarks in a deadpan voice, but Marla noticed his gray eyes held a twinkle. “Your nightshirt is there, too."
Too stunned by Vail's audacity to respond, Marla vaguely heard the jingle of chimes from the front door as a customer entered. Arnie's glance darted toward the entrance, and his face reddened.
"Excuse me?” he said loudly, stepping closer to Vail. “Did I hear you say my fiancée's nightclothes are in that bag you just delivered?"
The detective towered over him by several inches. His gaze focused on the mirror for several intent seconds while Arnie's eyebrows furrowed worriedly. “You did,” Vail announced in a stentorian tone. “An incident went down at Marla's place last evening. She spent the night at my house."
"What kind of incident?” Arnie snarled.
Work came to a halt in the salon as everyone's attention focused on the two men. Marla groaned inwardly. Why did Arnie have to choose now to pick their argument?
"Someone tossed a Molotov cocktail through her window,” Vail explained patiently. “Fortunately, the damage was minimal, but I wouldn't let her stay home alone."
"You should have called me!” Arnie exclaimed to her.
Marla spread her hands helplessly. “I dialed nine-one-one."
"And he showed up? What's he do, monitor your phone lines?"
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