Hair Brained

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Marla’s spine stiffened. “Are you offering me a bribe?”

  He waved a hand in an imperious gesture. “Certainly not. I’m merely suggesting you deserve compensation for your time. It would be a wise decision. Think of the trouble you’d be saving your friend when she’s dealing with the recovery process along with a personal loss.”

  “What are we supposed to do with her stock if we close the shop but don’t have anywhere to go?” Marla could envision all the problems ahead.

  “Sell it to another store owner? Put it in storage? Although if it’s seasonal items, that wouldn’t be smart. You’ll figure it out. Do we have a deal?” He grinned, his eyes gleaming with avarice.

  “I’ll think about it. You’ve made your point. I’d like time to examine the options.”

  He rose and moved toward the door. “Don’t take too long. I’ll need a positive decision by the end of the month.”

  Marla left, unhappy that nothing was resolved. She really needed Tally to wake up. But even if her friend had a miraculous recovery, would she be capable of moving her place of business that quickly? Had she already researched other locations?

  Marla had meant to revisit the boutique anyway to search their computer. Now it became imperative that she speak to the manager again. She couldn’t solve Tally’s dilemma, but maybe she’d get fresh insight into the alternatives.

  Fortunately, Stacy was present when Marla walked in the door to the dress shop. Spying the auburn-haired manager sorting silk scarves on a display counter, Marla felt an odd jolt of recognition. She’d been assuming Rissa was the redhead in the tea circle who’d met the vagrant outside, but what if it was another woman? She should obtain a photo of Rissa to show around.

  No, this line of thought was absurd. Stacy wasn’t free to leave work on a weekday. And Rissa did appear to be the ringleader of the group.

  “Hey, Marla, what’s up?” Stacy’s eyes crinkled in an expression of concern. “Oh, dear. Is Tally okay? You’re not here with bad news, are you?” She let go of the scarves and wrung her hands together. A tape measure hung around her neck. She wore a short sweater dress with leggings, silver bangle bracelets, and matching hoop earrings.

  “Tally is doing better. She’s in an intermediate unit now. Her reflexes are good, and she appears to be more responsive. We’re hoping she’ll open her eyes soon.”

  Stacy gave a visible sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. And Luke is all right?”

  “Yes, thanks for asking. By the way, I spoke to the landlord. Mr. Weaver says Tally has until the end of this month to make a decision on relocating, or he’ll initiate early termination proceedings. Does she keep a computer in the back office? I’d like to look over the contract terms. Or did Tally bring in a laptop from home each day?”

  “We have a computer in the back. Come this way.”

  Marla followed her to the rear office. Soft jazz music played in the background, while a pleasing citrus scent permeated the air. She paused at the inner sanctum, observing the order forms scattered across a broad workspace. A printer sat on a separate table, while an older model desktop unit rested under the desk.

  “I haven’t bothered to turn it on.” The manager indicated the blank monitor screen. “But now that you’re here, perhaps you can help me pay for some of our outstanding accounts. I should have thought to ask during your last visit.”

  “Do you have Tally’s passwords?”

  Stacy pointed to the file cabinet. “She keeps a copy in there. It’s always locked.”

  That’s the second place a thief would look, after the cash register. “Where’s the key?” Marla asked in a dry tone.

  “In the desk.” Stacy’s face flushed. “Not very secure, is it? But we have an alarm system. Tally probably figured things were safe. A robber would go after the cash, not the computer codes.”

  While Stacy hunted for the list, Marla turned on the unit and flexed her fingers. A few minutes later, she had the codes in her hand and had gained access to the desktop screen.

  Financial spreadsheets, invoices, and copies of bank statements indicated things were balanced, so the shop wasn’t short any money. An employee who’d been embezzling had been at the back of Marla’s mind, but now she discarded that possibility.

  She found records of Tally’s business bank accounts and noted the numbers on a spare sheet of paper. These hadn’t shown up at the bank when she’d used her power of attorney. Tally must keep them separate from her personal accounts.

  My bad. I should have thought of this earlier. Now she’d have to make a stop there to speak to a bank officer again before she could pay bills for the shop.

  Her glance roamed to a framed photo of Luke and Ken on the desk, a miniature clock made in England, and a Brighton pen set. A separate cherry wood box held another collection of pens, including a couple Marla had given Tally as gifts. Moisture seeped into her eyes. Her friend should be here. It wasn’t right for Tally to be absent.

  She blinked, chasing away her swell of emotion and focusing on the computer. A search through the files revealed a pdf copy of the lease. An early termination clause existed as Mr. Weaver had said. All either party had to do was give thirty days written notice.

  Marla didn’t see any way around it. Tally wouldn’t have a choice. Even if the buyer agreed to rent her a space, the rates were likely to be higher and construction would take years. Resistance was futile.

  She should copy these files before telling Dalton about the computer. He might want to confiscate it as evidence. While Stacy waited on a customer up front, Marla retrieved the thumb drive she kept in her purse with her own backup files. Would there be room for these?

  She initiated a copy sequence, minimized the window, and opened the Internet browser. The code for Tally’s email was on the printed list from the locked file drawer. Marla would take the paper with her, as it wasn’t safe to leave here. Didn’t Tally realize Stacy knew where she kept the codes? Or did she trust her manager more than her husband?

  Unfortunately, the list didn’t include the password for the iPad. She’d have to let Dalton’s team work on that device.

  Huh, what was in this folder labeled Iris among the saved emails? Wasn’t that the name of the employee Tally had fired? Marla opened it and found a series of complaints from Iris alleging Tally’s unfair treatment of her. Iris claimed she hadn’t been lying to customers about having a sick relative, and they’d been generous to offer support. Tally had no right to dismiss her because she spoke honestly to clients.

  My sister Edie told me how you contacted her, Iris wrote in one recent missive. You should have seen I was telling the truth. Edie needs help to pay her medical bills and to care for our ailing mother. Now things will be worse for her, thanks to you.

  And later: I can’t believe you and Edie are friends now. I used to work with you. How can you stab me in the back like this? I was simply trying to help my sister. Don’t think that you can take my place as her friend. I’ll see that you pay for your betrayal.

  Oh, my. The former employee had threatened Tally. Had she carried out her intentions?

  Wait, Tally was now friends with the sister? Edie Herman was a member of the tea ladies circle. Maybe that was how Tally had gotten involved. She’d contacted Edie to verify Iris’s story, and Edie recruited her for the group.

  Was this their mode of operation? Did Edie truly have an illness and an elderly mother, or did they sucker lonely women into joining them and donating money?

  Tally wouldn’t fall for such a scheme, would she? Or maybe she’d found Edie’s tale of woe to be true and had joined her group out of guilt.

  Further research on the tea ladies climbed a notch on Marla’s priority list. So did interviewing Iris to see if she’d carried out her threats.

  Marla returned her attention to Tally’s inbox. Going through all that email would take hours. Nothing else popped out at her, so she went to the browser history.

  Halfway through the dropdown list, she stopped. Tally
had done a search on someone named Liam Kelton. She followed the links. The man was director of the insurance fraud division in the state’s Department of Financial Services.

  Hadn’t Dalton mentioned his name earlier?

  Perhaps Kelton filled the role of higher-up in the ongoing fraud investigation. Why else would Tally be researching him? Was this when she’d learned Ken worked for their department as an informant? Marla scanned a couple of articles profiling the guy. He appeared to be aiming for the Chief Financial Officer seat when the current occupant won the governorship.

  After the files finished copying, she removed her thumb drive and shut everything down. Now that she had Tally’s codes, she could access her email from home.

  A pile of unopened envelopes sat on a counter where the manager must have placed them. Marla hadn’t noticed any payments due among Tally’s emails, but some of the invoices might arrive via regular mail. She scooped up the batch and reentered the shop proper.

  “I’ll take this stack home with me,” she told Stacy, who’d just finished ringing up a sale at the cash register. “I haven’t found any unpaid bills yet, but I might have missed something.”

  “That would be great, thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without your help.” Stacy pursed her lips. “Did you find a copy of the lease in Tally’s files?”

  “Yes, and there is an early termination clause as the landlord said. Would Tally want to stay here if she’s the last holdout? The other tenants would be resentful, and the sale is likely to take place regardless. So where could she move that isn’t too far from your customer base?”

  “Maybe it’s better if we close down,” Stacy said in a disconsolate voice. “Tally has her child to raise when she recovers. She might decide to stay home with Luke.”

  “She’ll have various options to consider when the time comes. Meanwhile, perhaps you can come up with a plan to dispose of this stock if necessary.”

  On the way out, Marla realized she was prepared to take charge as though this place were her own. If Tally didn’t wake up soon, the landlord’s ultimatum would have to be met. Possibly, Tally had already begun searching for a new site. But Marla hadn’t found anything in this regard on the computer or in Tally’s notes. Nor had Tally mentioned this business matter to Marla. How many more secrets had she kept?

  Marla glanced at her watch. It wasn’t time to get Luke yet. She could still make it to the chocolate factory, the final site on her list where the tea circle ladies had met.

  Twenty minutes later, she arrived at the place. It was located on a road lined with plant nurseries and a fruit farm offering u-pick strawberries. Marla parked in front of an A-frame building. With its fanciful trim, it reminded her of a cross between a gingerbread house and a Swiss chalet. Monday afternoons must be a slow period, judging from the few vehicles in the lot. Good, she’d have the shopkeeper’s attention.

  Inside, the smell of chocolate wafted into her nose. Display cases offered an array of artistic candies that tempted her taste buds. She wandered over to the counter, her mouth watering at the aroma in the air. Each individual piece of chocolate was like a miniature work of art. Labels described the fillings. On a back wall, wrappers from chocolate bars around the world attested to the sweet’s popularity.

  “Can I help you?” said the sales clerk with a warm smile. She wore her dark hair in a ponytail and a white lab coat over her street clothes.

  “I see you have a café.” Marla pointed to a collection of round tables and chairs at the opposite end. “A friend of mine visited here a few weeks ago along with some other ladies. I have questions to ask about them.”

  “Teri is our tour leader. She’d be the person you want. She’s about to take the next group out, however. Would you care to buy a ticket?”

  “Sure, why not?” Like, do I have a choice?

  Ten dollars later, Marla stood in an anteroom with several other guests. Plaques on the walls described how chocolate was discovered. Early South American natives would harvest cacao beans and grind them with water and spices to create a beverage. Spanish conquerors brought the plants home to Spain, where the drink became a treat enjoyed by royalty. From there, it made its way to France. At some point, somebody added sugar to the mix. Cacao eventually entered the United States, where Hershey noticed it. The rest, as they say, is history.

  “You don’t want to eat mass-produced chocolate,” said a perky blonde wearing a white lab coat and a name tag identifying her as Teri the chocolatier. “We’ll show you how American craft chocolate is made. Small batch chocolate-making gives us control over the flavor, quality, and ingredients. You’ll find our chocolate isn’t tainted by unhealthy additives or products like corn syrup. We start by using the best ingredients. The cocoa beans must be perfect. Not only do the origins and genetics matter, but also how the beans are fermented and dried. We get our beans from fair-trade growers in Ecuador.”

  Teri explained the refinement process while pointing out various pieces of equipment in her artisan factory. “Here’s where we temper the chocolate before pouring it into molds. Then we tap the molds like this to get the bubbles out. We also do custom designs by hand. Come, let’s give you some samples.”

  In another room, guests helped themselves to chocolate bits in various dishes. The tastes ranged from bitter to sweet. Finally, they exited through a door to the café.

  “I’ll be happy to answer questions while you sip a cup of hot chocolate or try some of our specialty desserts,” Teri said, her tone energetic even though she must have given this same speech hundreds of times. “We do parties here if you want to reserve the café. We’ll even teach a chocolate-making class for an additional fee.”

  At the café, the scent of chocolate mixed with hints of vanilla and cinnamon. Marla peered at the selections inside a glass case, wavering between the chocolate lava cake and the chocolate bombe filled with mousse. It had been a while since lunch, but she resisted temptation for the sake of her waistline and settled for an iced mocha drink instead.

  “Teri, I’m wondering if you remember my friend who came in here a while back.” Marla drew their tour guide off to one side and accessed Tally’s photo on her cell phone. “Tally would have come in with several other ladies.”

  Teri examined the picture. “Sure, I remember her. She was a striking woman, tall with a lively presence. Her group made a reservation for seven people but only six showed up.”

  “Did Tally seem happy among them?”

  “They all had a good time. Why do you ask?”

  “She’s been in an accident, and I’m trying to fill in the blanks of her movements in the past few weeks. Did you overhear anything that might seem unusual?”

  “Huh. I didn’t like how the thin lady with straight black hair kept saying chocolate was bad for you.”

  The chocolatier must mean Deanne, the health advocate among the group. “I thought dark chocolate was supposed to have health benefits,” Marla replied.

  Teri gave a fervent nod. “Cocoa contains flavonoids that are powerful antioxidants. These prevent cellular damage due to free radicals and help to lower your risk for heart disease. Flavonoids also improve blood flow to your brain and cause your body to release endorphins. Dark chocolate has a higher content than milk chocolate. You’ll want to avoid cocoa powder that has undergone Dutch processing. It’s been treated with alkali agents that reduce the flavonoid value.”

  “How about caffeine? Like, if I eat too much chocolate, won’t it make my heart race?”

  “Cocoa contains some caffeine, but it also has theobromine. Both of these compounds can increase your heart rate. Again, dark chocolate has a higher concentration than milk chocolate. And these chemicals are usually not present in white chocolate.”

  Marla thought of her pets back home. She’d heard cautionary tales about canines and sweets. “Why is chocolate so dangerous to dogs?”

  “They metabolize theobromine more slowly. Dogs can get theobromine poisoning from even a small amount of milk
chocolate. Dark chocolate is even more toxic to them. It can lead to seizures and death. The same risk is reported for cats, but they’re less likely to eat anything sweet.”

  “When my friends were here, did they try your desserts?” Marla pointed to the other tour guests sitting at various tables and indulging in treats.

  Teri chuckled. “Yes, they made an afternoon of it and seemed to enjoy their visit. Well, two of them did appear to be arguing.”

  “Which two? Can you describe them?”

  “One had a round face and was on the chubby side. The other one was taller with highlighted brown hair and a tattoo on her shoulder. She wore a tube top and a short skirt. Her necklaces must have weighted down her neck.”

  The second woman didn’t sound familiar, but the chubby lady could be Edie. “What else did you notice?”

  “Your tall blonde and I got into a discussion on recipes. She’s a chocolate fan, did you know? One of her favorite recipes was handed down by her mother. It’s for a chocolate zucchini cake.”

  “I’ll bet that’s good, and at least it’s a trifle healthy.”

  “Tally has a recipe for an English trifle, too. She’s lucky to have inherited her mother’s collection. They both shared a sweet tooth.”

  “Tally and I have often exchanged recipes, but I’m not into desserts so much. She likes vintage cookbooks, but I prefer regional ones from places I visit. They make good souvenirs.”

  “Sometimes you can discover hidden treasures in those old recipe books. Dollar bills, pressed flowers, handwritten notes. Tally admitted she’d found a love letter inside one of her mother’s cookbooks. It was addressed to her mom and predated her marriage.”

  “Oh?” This was news. Tally hadn’t mentioned anything to Marla about it, but that seemed to be the norm for their relationship lately. “Did she say any more on the subject?”

  “Yes, it led her to an unexpected, and unnerving, discovery.”

  “Like what?”

  “Sorry, you’ll have to ask your friend for more details. Now, please excuse me. I need to tend to another guest who’s been waiting.”