Body Wave

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “How about putting on a slacks set? It should have warmed up outside by now. I’d like to take you out for some fresh air.” Maybe she’d meet the other family members downstairs. One thing was certain: her investigation wouldn’t get anywhere if they were confined to quarters.

  “It’s freezing out,” Miriam said. “Agnes warned me I’d catch pneumonia if I went outside in this weather.”

  “Oh, come on, we’ll bundle you up. A change of scenery will be good for you.”

  “Who says? You can read to me until the news comes on TV.”

  “Listen, I’m in charge of you today, and we’re getting you out of bed.”

  After dressing Miriam in warm clothing despite her protests, Marla fingered her thin hair. “You could use a better cut, hon. Next time I come, we’ll spruce you up. I’d also suggest a hint of color. It’ll make you look ten years younger. Don’t you ever visit with friends?”

  Miriam gazed at her as though she were loony. “What friends? They’re all gone. I’m just waiting to join them.”

  “No, you’re not. You have spirit, Miriam. I’m surprised you’re stuck in this room so much of the time.”

  “I may have my hearing, but I don’t see so well. My bones ache, and it’s only going to get worse. Agnes says I have to preserve my strength.”

  “Nonsense. You shouldn’t stop living until you’re dead.”

  “Like Kimberly?” The old woman’s shoulders slumped.

  “I’m sorry, that was a thoughtless remark.” Remembering she’d seen a wheelchair in the hallway, Marla retrieved it. “Let’s go. You can tell me where Kim grew up. Was she raised in this house?”

  After easing herself into the chair with Marla’s help, Miriam slouched back. “No, Stella lived in Palm Beach while her husband was alive. After he died, she sold their house and moved back here. Kimberly was already grown. She had an apartment and worked in various jobs instead of going to college. She wanted the easy way out.”

  “Like a rich husband?” Marla wheeled the old lady into the hallway and toward an elevator at one end.

  Miriam grunted. “Kim was hoping to hold out until she was thirty, when she became eligible for a percentage of her trust fund. She found a way out, all right. It just wasn’t the one she’d expected.”

  “Wasn’t Kim happy with Stan? He must have provided the kind of life she wanted.”

  “You sound as though you know him.”

  Whoops. “Er, no, I just assumed he was a wealthy man.”

  They emerged on the first floor, and further explanation was delayed as a woman bustled forward to approach them. She was an attractive lady in her mid-fifties who wore her reddish-brown hair in a short, layered style. Her royal blue and black pants outfit complemented her matronly figure.

  “Stella, this is Marla Shore. She’s filling in for Agnes,” Miriam said.

  “Nice to meet you.” Stella’s cocoa gaze briefly assessed Marla. “I’m on my way to the club,” she said to her mother. “We’re adding the finishing touches to our centerpieces for today’s luncheon.”

  “Your girl isn’t in the ground for a week yet, and you’re on your way out the door. How can you be so heartless?”

  Stella’s eyes misted. “I sat shiva for three days. Kimberly would want me to continue my work.”

  “Work?” Miriam shrilled. “You’re a grown woman, and you still play at arts and crafts. If you want to do real work, go help Morris at the company.”

  “I’m not interested in being stuck inside an office all day,” Stella said, enunciating each word.

  “You don’t have the brains.”

  “And you don’t understand what I like to do. You never have, and you never will.”

  Marla shifted uncomfortably, feeling like an unseen observer to an old argument. Was this how staff members were regarded, as inanimate pieces of furniture?

  “Focusing on other things will take my mind off Kimberly,” Stella went on, standing ramrod stiff. “Until that man is behind bars again, there’s little else I can do.”

  “Do you believe Kim’s husband is guilty?” Marla blurted.

  Stella glared at her. “Have you been listening to our conversation?”

  No, I’m just a doorpost. “Miriam is getting agitated. I’m in charge of her health while I’m here.”

  “Then tend to your duties and keep out of our family affairs. Bye, Mother. I’ll be back in time for dinner.” Stella spun and marched toward the exit.

  The butler swung the door wide for her. He’d stood by like a statue during their dialogue.

  “Idiots, all of them,” Miriam muttered.

  Marla wheeled the older woman toward the front door. She nodded at the butler as they breezed past. Stella was already outside heading to the garage, while a shiny red Mercedes was just turning into the circular driveway.

  “Here comes Florence.” Miriam waved at the new arrival.

  “Would you like to walk over?” Marla assisted the old lady up from the chair and supported her as they staggered toward the elegantly dressed blonde who emerged from the car. Stella, midway to the garage, did an about-face and headed toward them.

  “Well? Did Stanley give you the albums?” Stella asked her older sister.

  Seeing them side-by-side, Marla noted Florence was a couple of inches taller and more slender than her sibling. Florence wore an expensive ivory silk ensemble with pearl jewelry and matching heels.

  “No, he insisted on keeping them. I told you he wouldn’t be agreeable.” Florence turned a wary glance on Marla. “Who is this?”

  Miriam, leaning heavily on Marla’s arm, introduced them. “Marla is covering for Agnes on her time off.”

  “Mother, you shouldn’t be outside. It’s too cold for you.”

  “I felt she needed some fresh air,” Marla cut in. “Maybe a trip to the mall would appeal to her. It would be less windy.”

  Both women looked horrified at the idea, making Marla wonder if either of them ever took their mother anywhere.

  “How are we going to get those albums from Stan?” Stella asked her sister. “I’d hoped to start working on them tomorrow.”

  “Give it up, pie-face. Stan won’t give us the time of day now that Kimberly is gone.”

  Miriam swayed. Marla threw an arm around her waist, but not before Stella shrieked, “She’s falling.”

  “I’ve got her,” Marla said reassuringly, guiding Miriam to the wheelchair. Perhaps it was a mistake to push the old lady too soon. Her leg muscles must be weak from inactivity. Either that, or this conversation was disturbing her.

  “I think Mrs. Pearl is upset by the recent tragedy,” Marla said, hoping to gain information. “Losing a granddaughter is heartbreaking.”

  “Yeah? Mother wasn’t so broken up when she screamed at Kimberly to leave the house and never to return,” Stella snapped.

  Florence sniffed. “That’s because your daughter was so greedy. She couldn’t wait for her share of Daddy’s fortune. Not even Mother’s allowance could satisfy her expensive tastes.”

  “She wanted a change from that neighborhood with all the goyim. You can’t blame her for wanting to move.”

  “Not at the expense of her marriage.”

  Marla tried to fathom the dynamics of their conversation. Florence seemed to be attacking Kimberly’s values while Stella was defending them. Why was the elderly aunt coming down so hard on the dead girl? Did it have anything to do with Florence having been in love with Kim’s father?

  She wheeled Miriam away to a discrete distance, on a slight rise where the driveway curved toward a tree-lined avenue leading to the obscured entrance beyond the woods. It was far enough that she wouldn’t appear to be eavesdropping yet could still hear their faint voices.

  “Morons,” Miriam muttered. “The poor thing is gone. Why won’t they let her rest in peace?”

  Marla didn’t respond, too intent on listening. Her hands placed lightly on the wheelchair handlebars, she inclined her head.

  “I don�
��t know how I’m going to get those albums if Stanley won’t cooperate,” Stella said, wringing her hands. “I should have gone myself. Maybe he’d have listened to me.”

  “You tried at the funeral, and he ignored you,” her sister sneered. “Can you blame him, when you came right out and accused him of murdering his wife?”

  “He knew what Kim was planning. You, of all people, should understand how it would cause him to react the way he did.”

  “By killing her?” Florence said in an incredulous tone.

  “Who else could have done it? You?”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “You always resented my daughter. I know how jealous you were that she wasn’t your child.”

  “Stop screaming. I hate it when you get hysterical.”

  “Did you do it?”

  “Hell, no.” Florence shook her elegant head. “If you want to know, Kimberly was messing in things she didn’t understand. She should have minded her own business.” Leaning forward, she spoke in such a low tone that Marla couldn’t catch what she was saying.

  Damn, she needed to be closer. Frustrated, Marla took a few steps forward. Suddenly, she heard a shriek. Whipping around, she let a cry erupt from her lips at the sight that greeted her.

  Miriam’s wheelchair coasted down the hill at an increasingly perilous speed.

  Oh no, I forgot to apply the brakes. Taking off at a run, she charged after the errant wheelchair.

  “Help!” Miriam called.

  “Oh, my God!” screeched the sisters in unison.

  “I’m coming,” Marla shouted, flying down the driveway.

  The wheelchair hit a bump and came to a crashing halt on the grass about two feet from a tree. Miriam slid to the ground in a crumpled heap.

  “Dear Lord, are you all right?” Moisture sprang into Marla’s eyes as she crouched to help the old lady to her feet.

  “Wait, she might have broken something.” Florence brushed forward to assist her mother.

  “Oh dear! Oh dear!” howled Stella. “Should we call an ambulance?”

  The front door opened, and Raoul peered out. “Heavens, madam.” The butler rushed over to assist them.

  “I don’t think she’s damaged anything.” Marla grasped Miriam by the arm. The old lady glared at her but appeared to be moving all parts.

  “How can you tell?” Stella snapped. “What kind of nurse are you? You’re not even in uniform.”

  Florence gave her sister a quelling glance. “Don’t just stand there; give us a hand.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Marla intoned as she settled the matriarch onto the padded seat while Raoul steadied the chair. “Are you hurt? Any hip pain?” She knew elderly women had a propensity for breaking their hips due to osteoporosis. Hopefully, Miriam didn’t have any minute fractures on her wrists, either. “How did you break your fall?” she asked.

  “I landed on my butt, dearie.”

  Marla felt the old woman’s probing gaze on her face, and she hung her head. “I suppose you won’t want me to return on Thursday.”

  “What’s that? Find my glasses, will you?”

  Marla retrieved them on the ground, cleaned them off on her jacket, and handed them over. She was aware that both sisters and the butler stared at her with malevolence. Miriam’s gaze focused sharply.

  “I said, you probably don’t want me to come back,” Marla repeated, her face heating. Her heart finally slowed its racing tempo as she faced the consequences of her negligence.

  “You’re right, missy,” Stella said. “I’ve never seen someone so incompetent. First you force my mother out into the cold morning air, and then you walk away from her without wedging her wheelchair. I don’t know where Morris found you, but you can go back there. We’ll find someone else to cover for Agnes’s days off.”

  Florence compressed her lips in agreement. As though in silent compliance, the butler took charge of the wheelchair and steered Miriam toward the house.

  A strange noise bubbled from the old woman’s throat, and Marla’s breath caught. Was the old lady choking? Had she been damaged in a manner no one had noticed, like a rib puncturing her lungs? The matriarch waved an imperious arm, signaling Raoul to turn her around. When Marla faced her, she widened her eyes in disbelief. Miriam’s face wore a broad grin.

  “Come on, dearie, don’t listen to them,” Miriam said, cackling with glee. “I haven’t had this much excitement in ages. Nor have my daughters paid me so much attention. I can tell being with you is going to be as good as taking a tonic.” She giggled. “Hee, hee. Maybe I’ll call one of my cronies after all. I’ve got to share this with someone.”

  Inside the house, Marla took charge. She stopped for a moment to brush debris off Miriam’s pants and to straighten her sweater. Then she wheeled the old lady into a sunny parlor as directed, ignoring the feeling that hostile eyes followed her every movement.

  Chapter Six

  “I can’t believe I was such a klutz,” Marla said to Nicole at work on Tuesday morning. “Miriam has more spirit than I expected. I thought for sure she’d fire me.”

  “From what you’ve said, it sounds as though her relatives weren’t too pleased.” Nicole regarded her kindly as they shared a stolen moment together in the storeroom to scarf down some chocolate almond croissants Marla had brought.

  “I didn’t win any friends, but at least I was able to learn some new facts in the case.” She gulped a sip of hot coffee. “Miriam didn’t get along with her granddaughter. The sisters don’t get along with each other, and Stella wants some family albums that are in Stanley’s possession. Florence said something about Kim messing in things she didn’t understand.”

  “Meaning?” Nicole licked a crumb off her mouth, a simple gesture as refined as the rest of her. Wearing a long-skirted jumper dress, she carried her tall, lithe figure with feline grace.

  “I don’t have a clue,” Marla replied, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “Kim planned to leave Stan, but I don’t think that’s what Florence meant.”

  Nicole’s eyes rounded. “Why would she leave him if he was her sugar daddy?”

  “Gary Waterford said Stan didn’t treat Kim right. He implied Stan might have reacted violently if he’d known her plans.”

  “Did Stan mention this to you?”

  “Of course not. It might give him a motive, although I’ve never known Stan to act physically in anger. He has a temper, but he lets loose his tongue, not his hand.”

  “Huh. What does Dalton think?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him. I tried to reach him yesterday but got his voice mail. I left a message, and he hasn’t called back.” She heard the forlorn note in her voice but couldn’t help it. Either Dalton was busy, or he wasn’t interested in hearing her news.

  Nicole tossed out their empty paper plates. “What’s your next move?”

  Marla scanned the shelves for the tube of Framesi color she required for her next customer. Spotting the right shade, she brought it to the sink. She squeezed the coloring agent into a bowl, added developer, and mixed the solution with a stiff brush.

  “I tracked down Lacey Mills, who was Kim’s friend. Gary gave me her name, but I’m not supposed to mention that we’ve met. I’m buying her drinks after work at Bokamper’s. The restaurant bar shouldn’t be crowded on a Tuesday.”

  “I’ll bet Dalton is waiting until he sees you in person to compare notes. In the meantime, good luck with Lacey.”

  ****

  When six-thirty rolled around, Marla found herself hanging inside the restaurant and watching for Kim’s friend.

  “Are you Marla Shore?” asked a twenty-something blonde who wore her hair in an attractive layered cut. She flaunted her generous assets in a cashmere sweater and jeans that fit so snugly, they looked about to burst. “I’m Lacey.”

  Marla shook her hand, then indicated a pair of empty stools at the bar. They gave their drink orders before she got down to business. “I used to be married to Stanley Kaufman,” she said. “I understa
nd you were a friend of his late wife, Kim.”

  The girl’s tawny eyes narrowed. “Yes, that’s correct. I didn’t notice you at her funeral.”

  “I’d only met her a few times. We weren’t... on the friendliest of terms.”

  “So I gathered, from whenever she spoke about you.”

  An awkward silence passed, during which time the bartender supplied their drinks. Marla had ordered a Bushwacker, her favorite alcoholic beverage. The cool mixed drink slid down her throat while she fumbled for a new opening.

  “Stan asked me to help him,” she admitted finally.

  “Why?”

  “I owe him one for old time’s sake. He thinks I can find Kim’s killer. I’ve helped the police solve cases before.”

  Lacey arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a hairdresser?”

  Marla nodded. “I know a lot of people around town, and they talk to me. Like you’re doing now. Can you tell me about Kim’s relationship to Stan?”

  Lacey’s bosom jiggled while she adjusted her seat. Several male patrons glanced their way with interest. “Kim planned to leave him.”

  “I know that, because Ga—” Marla swallowed. She’d been about to say Gary’s name. “Gathered as much from what her aunt said,” she continued lamely. Oh gosh, she probably shouldn’t have mentioned Florence, either. Lacey would wonder where they’d met. “Was Stan aware of her plans?”

  “Heck, no, unless she told him. I don’t think she’d be so dumb.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “Stan didn’t understand her, but it was partially her fault. Kimberly didn’t realize what he was really like until it was too late.”

  “At least she had you to confide in. You were a good friend to stick by her.”

  Lacey clenched her beer glass. “I knew where she was coming from and where she wanted to go. Stan tried to control her spending. That was a bad move to make.”

  Marla grabbed a few peanuts from a dish on the counter. “How so?” she said, munching.