Hair Brained (The Bad Hair Day Mysteries Book 14)

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “Carjacking is a threat when you leave your kid alone, too,” Rissa remarked. “That’s another reason not to disappear with a child inside your vehicle.”

  “What happens to the parents?” Marla asked. “I can’t imagine living with that amount of pain.” Yes, she could. She’d been through a similar experience. It stayed with you forever.

  Edie opened her mouth, the words pouring from her like a water faucet. It appeared they’d pushed her hot button. “Under Florida law, it’s illegal to leave a child under six years old unsupervised for more than fifteen minutes, or unattended at all inside a vehicle. But the laws vary from state to state.”

  “Don’t think these are deadbeat parents, either.” Deanne tucked a strand of long hair behind her ear. “I read about a case where the father went to work and forgot to take his sixteen-month-old daughter, who was in the car, to day care. He was a public defender, and the mother was an assistant state attorney. So it can happen to anyone.”

  Marla’s stomach churned. She could well imagine the horror those parents faced.

  “We also educate people about helpful technology,” Edie added. “For example, you can put a sensor on the baby’s seat buckle that will send an alarm to your remote if you move a certain distance away. Not a lot of parents know these options exist.”

  “Okay, you’ve convinced me,” Marla said. “It’s a worthy cause. Sign me up.”

  “You’ll be glad. We do more than warn parents about heatstroke. Like, power windows are a hazard to young children. Or parents will move their car in the driveway, not realizing their child is playing there. Kids themselves might set the car in motion. They should be taught never to play in or near a vehicle.”

  “Don’t forget your pets,” Bridget inserted. “I can’t imagine leaving my Fluffy alone inside a hot car, but people think nothing of locking their dog in there while they go grocery shopping. Even cracking a window open isn’t going to help during the summer.”

  Marla got short of breath thinking about it. “So what else does your tea circle do besides talk about important issues in the news?”

  Bridget tittered. “We gossip about each other, what else?”

  “Or we complain about our husbands,” Deanne said in a wry tone.

  “Four of our group members didn’t show up today, and at least two of them said they were coming.” Bridget glanced among them. “You’d think people would be more reliable.”

  “Kitty had a last-minute job,” Rissa told her.

  “Oh, yeah? Why her, and not me?”

  “Her particular skills were requested, from what I understand.”

  “That isn’t fair. I could use the money.”

  “Now don’t get petty, Bridget. There’s enough work for everyone.”

  Marla cut in. “Do you two work for the same company?”

  “In a way. It’s a home-run business,” Rissa said. “You might be interested in joining us if you’re looking for some adventure.”

  “I’d love to hear more,” Marla replied, sensing this was an appropriate response. “I need to get out of the house and stretch my wings. That’s why I came today.”

  “Oh, really? How far are you willing to go, darling?”

  “That depends on what I’d stand to gain.”

  Rissa studied her fingernails painted with a swirl design. “How much did Tally tell you about us?” She spoke in a casual tone, but Marla noticed the tightening around her mouth.

  “Very little, actually. Tally said the group was fun, and you met in different places. She’d joined to make new friends.” Marla hoped the lie didn’t show on her face.

  “Poor thing was getting bored staying home alone all day with her baby.”

  Before Marla could reply, the waiter arrived with a three-tiered serving plate that held crust-less sandwiches and blueberry scones. A platter of pastries and individual yogurt parfaits with fruit completed the meal. Glad she’d eaten a light breakfast, Marla helped herself. Deanne ate sparingly, choosing the fruit and sandwiches and avoiding the sweets.

  “Do all of you live in Boca?” Marla asked, during a quiet interval when they were busy eating and sipping tea.

  “Yes, at least the three of us do. We’re on the east side of town,” Rissa said, as though that was the better location.

  “We have a villa on the water.” Bridget paused with a teacup halfway to her lips. “You’ll have to come see it sometime. We’ve been featured in various high-end architectural journals.”

  They wouldn’t be impressed by her house, Marla thought. Her mentality wasn’t suited to a Boca Babe’s lifestyle. She couldn’t imagine what Tally got from this group. An escape, perhaps? But from what? She had a wonderful son and owned a popular boutique.

  This last gave her pause. Could Tally have been scouting for a new store location? Was she actually considering her landlord’s imperative to move?

  “Where do you plan to meet next?” she asked. “It’s two weeks from today, yes?”

  Rissa gestured to her. “Give me your email, and I’ll let you know.”

  Marla reached for her purse to hand out her business cards before realizing that wouldn’t be wise. She related her email address and phone number out loud while the others typed the info into their cell phones. She got their data in exchange.

  What had Tally been thinking? Marla wondered for the umpteenth time during the drive south. Was this merely a playful escape for her friend, or was there a point to it? Had Tally even told the group members that she owned a dress shop? Having a real job seemed an anathema to them. And why did Marla sense that something else was going on here? Did Tally discover what it was, or had she been part of it?

  Marla had the women’s phone numbers. If she had any spare time, she could always make individual dates to sound them out on her terms.

  But for now, other items filtered into her mind. She planned to stop off to see Tally in the hospital, and then she’d go to the salon for the rest of the work day. Tonight was her late shift.

  At the ICU, Tally’s condition hadn’t changed much, or at least it didn’t seem so to Marla. Her friend lay as still as before, her blond hair spread against the white bed linens. The overt bruising had faded, so that was good. And she seemed to have less tubes and devices attached. The best news was that Tally was breathing on her own.

  Marla spoke to the nurse, who said Tally’s vitals had stabilized and the brain swelling had subsided.

  “When will she wake up?” Marla asked in a strangled tone, standing outside the cubicle.

  “She’s moving around more now. We’re optimistic about her chances. The doctor has ordered physical therapy to keep her joints mobile.”

  “I’m glad she won’t need a tracheotomy,” Marla managed with a wan smile. “If her brain swelling is down and she’s off the meds, why is her coma persisting?”

  The nurse patted her shoulder. “Your friend’s body is still healing. These things take time. She could wake up tomorrow or weeks from now. It might be sudden or a gradual regaining of her senses. There’s no way to tell.”

  “Thanks, I’m grateful for everything you do for her.” After the nurse left, Marla scraped a chair over to Tally’s bedside and took a seat. She discussed the tea circle group and her visit to Tally’s shop, where people were concerned about her.

  Marla’s throat clogged with unshed tears, and she broke off after reaffirming that Luke was loved and safe.

  Taking action to learn more details about the accident was one way she could occupy her mind. So Friday night, she and Dalton questioned Mrs. Phelps again before heading to the bar where they hoped to encounter Ryan Browning from Ken’s insurance office.

  The babysitter arrived with an air of confidence. She breezed inside their house, the scent of cleaning fluid accompanying her. Her golden blond hair, arranged in a soft layered cut, looked freshly touched up. She wore a slash of pink lipstick on her smallish mouth. It blended well with her rose pants set that looked like cruise wear for the older generat
ion.

  Lucky and Spooks accosted the woman in the front hallway. Dalton controlled the dogs with a sharp command. The poodle barked his greeting, while Lucky pranced back and forth and salivated. If they behaved, they knew a treat would be forthcoming.

  “Sorry about the dogs. If they bother you, we can lock them up.” Marla led the way into the kitchen. Brianna had gone to sleep over a friend’s house to work on a school project.

  “No bother. I love animals. Any cats?”

  “Not here. We’re dog people. We’ve just taken the dogs out, so they should be okay until we get home.”

  “Where’s Luke? I’ve missed the little boy.” The sitter plopped her purse down on a granite countertop. Her sharp blue eyes scanned the area like a squirrel searching for nuts.

  “He’s been bathed and put to bed. Thankfully, he’s sleeping through the night now.” Marla gave her a tour of the house. At the temporary nursery, she halted. Luke’s baby smell emanated from the room.

  An odd reluctance to leave him grabbed her. Could she trust this woman?

  Tally had employed her, so she must have checked the lady’s references. But how did Tally hear about her? Marla asked the sitter this question after handing her a list of emergency phone numbers back in the kitchen.

  The older woman’s mouth eased into a smile. “Our housing community has a newsletter. She read my name in the section where neighbors give referrals to service people.”

  “So you’d been babysitting for a while?”

  “That’s right. When my husband passed, I needed to occupy myself. Our kids were grown and out of the house but still single. I’m hoping to have grandchildren someday, but in the meantime, helping young mothers in the neighborhood gives me a purpose.”

  “How long had you been living there?”

  “We moved into the area four years ago. The house was a downsize for us since we didn’t need a big place anymore. Neither of us cared for condo living, so we bought a three-bedroom home.”

  Mrs. Phelps opened her purse on the counter and stuck the list of phone numbers inside. She withdrew a bottle of hand sanitizer and squirted liquid on her palms. Rubbing her hands together, she regarded Marla with a patient air, as though she were used to this line of questioning.

  “Do you have any cleaning spray? I’ll do some light housekeeping while I’m here, if you don’t mind. I like to keep busy. It helps me stay awake.”

  “You’ll find our supplies in the laundry room.” Marla indicated the closed door off the kitchen dining alcove. “We keep a container of dog treats in there, too, if you should need them.” The dogs had quieted, resting in their favorite spots in the adjacent family room.

  “What time should I expect you home?”

  Marla glanced at Dalton, who’d been tapping his foot impatiently near the garage entrance. “We won’t be out late. Shall we say by eleven?”

  They’d looked up the lounge online. The beachside bar had live music starting at eight on Fridays. If Ryan planned to hang out there, it was either to unwind directly after work or to maybe pick up women once the place got rocking.

  “How is Tally doing? Is she conscious yet?” Mrs. Phelps peered at her, the lines deepening between her brows.

  “No, but the doctors say she’s improving. I’m praying for her recovery. Luke needs his mother.”

  “I still can’t believe this happened. I’m sorry I couldn’t make the husband’s funeral. I’d taken another job, and the couple had gone out of town. I was sleeping over to take care of their kids.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Ken’s brother preferred to have a private service.”

  Dalton walked over and draped an arm across Marla’s shoulder, as though sensing her grief. “We’ve met his work colleagues. None of them called him that night, or so they said. Did Tally mention any other information when she told you about that phone call?”

  Mrs. Phelps shook her head. “Didn’t the cops try to trace the caller?”

  “Yes, but that proved to be a dead end.”

  “Too bad. I can’t conceive of who else might have drawn him out on a holiday like that, can you?” Mrs. Phelps squirted her hands with sanitizer again, as though forgetting she’d already done it. She rubbed her palms together with an absent air.

  “We know where he was headed,” Dalton added, observing her with keen eyes. “Ken drove his car down a dark street bordering a canal. At the far end was a warehouse.”

  “Oh, my. That’s a strange place to go on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Tell me about it,” Marla murmured. Where was Dalton going with this? Was he provoking the sitter to see if she knew about the dead agent at Ken’s alleged destination?

  Dalton’s cell phone rang. Startled, she glanced at him. Who would call them on a Friday evening? Oh, no. He didn’t have a new homicide case, did he?

  “It’s Sergeant Mallory,” Dalton said upon viewing the screen.

  A sigh of relief whooshed past her lips. Thank goodness her husband wasn’t being called to a fresh murder scene.

  Or was he?

  Chapter Nine

  “Hello, Sergeant Mallory. What’s up?” Dalton gripped the cell phone by his ear. His eyebrows raised as he listened. “That’s good to know. Thanks for sharing this information with me. I’ll be in touch.”

  He hung up, regarding Marla with a baleful glare. “Can we have a word?” They stood aside, and he lowered his voice. “A lab report came in. Paint from another vehicle was embedded on the driver’s door of Ken’s Acura. The lab techs identified it as belonging to a Lexus GS model. It has a platinum-colored exterior and is a match for the tire tracks. That car is worth at least fifty thousand dollars.”

  Marla’s heart thudded with excitement. “Never mind the price tag. This confirms the witness’s story that another car was involved. What’s being done to locate it?”

  “Mallory has contacted the local repair shops. It’s likely the Lexus has sustained paint damage, too.”

  “Has he notified the Department of Financial Services where that woman worked? Maybe they can help with a state-wide search.”

  “What woman?” Mrs. Phelps cut in.

  Marla gave her a sharp glance. Had the sitter meandered close on purpose?

  Dalton responded, his tone wry but his gaze eagle-sharp. “We found a woman’s body in a warehouse at the end of the street where the accident took place. Ken might have been on his way there when he was waylaid.”

  Mrs. Phelps clapped a hand to her cheek. “Good Lord. A body, you say?”

  “The victim worked for the insurance fraud division. She’d been shot execution-style. We suspect she may have been investigating Ken’s agency.”

  Mrs. Phelps sank into a kitchen chair. “What does this mean? He wasn’t meeting someone from work like he’d said?”

  “A colleague from his office might still be involved. Maybe they ran a scam together, and Ken’s partner double-crossed him. Anyway, it’s Detective Mallory’s case, not mine. Marla, we should be going.”

  “Okay, I’m ready.” She collected her purse while doubts assailed her. Was it safe to leave Luke with this woman? Tally had trusted her, but should Dalton have done a more thorough background check? Then again, you couldn’t investigate every babysitter from your neighborhood. That would be a bit paranoid.

  Marla frowned as another idea hit her. “Say, did you babysit for Tally back in October when she went out of town? I saw in her calendar entries that she’d visited Sunny Grove. Dalton and I were on our honeymoon then, and Tally must have forgotten to mention this trip to me.”

  Mrs. Phelps’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “Sorry, I don’t remember her leaving for any length of time. I must have been otherwise engaged, or else her husband watched the baby. How do you know she and Ken didn’t take Luke with them for a short getaway?”

  Her suggestion confounded Marla. “I didn’t think of that option. You could be right. It’s too bad Ken’s cell phone got damaged in the accident, or we could have cross-checked
his calendar.”

  “Mallory has contacted Ken’s service provider and requested his cell phone records,” Dalton said in a helpful tone.

  “That’s a logical move on his part, but will he share the results with you?” Marla tapped her chin in thought. “Ken may have backed up his data manually to his home computer in addition to the Cloud. I do that on a regular basis for my iPhone as an extra precaution. Sergeant Mallory has only confiscated Ken’s work unit to date.”

  “Yes, but he may want their personal machine now that there’s evidence someone caused the accident.”

  “How do we know this person didn’t merely bump Ken’s car as a warning? The other guy couldn’t have known he would veer off the road and end up with his side of the Acura submerged in a canal.”

  Mrs. Phelps shooed them toward the garage door. “Look, would you two mind continuing this conversation elsewhere? Your voices will wake the baby.”

  They complied and soon headed east toward Fort Lauderdale Beach. Dalton focused on the road ahead, crowded with weekend revelers. Traffic proceeded in a slow but steady stream.

  “We should link our security system to a baby monitor,” he suggested. “It would allow us to view Luke on our cell phones.”

  “Great idea. I’ll see if the video cam in Tally’s house is portable. I should look for a high chair while I’m there. Luke will be getting steadier at sitting up soon, and he’ll need to start on solid food.”

  “We could be introducing solids to him already. Do you have a baby blender?”

  “A what?”

  “It’s a kitchen appliance that allows you to grind food. You know, liquefy the stuff.”

  Oh, yeah. Just what I want to do when I come home from work—grind up some cooked carrots and peas to make baby mush. I don’t even like those veggies.