Died Blonde

by Nancy J. Cohen

  More pressing concerns drew Marla’s consideration on Sunday, when she had to prepare for the barbecue at Vail’s. Eager to get on with the day’s activities, she took her morning walk with Spooks outside her town house. The poodle tugged her along, stopping in front of Moss’s place. Their elderly neighbor stood in his driveway inspecting for damage from an earlier downpour. A few black olive tree branches lay on the sodden ground.

  His face brightened at their approach. “Hey, mate, I’d been hoping to see you. Wanna read my latest poem?”

  “Sure, Moss.” She smiled at him fondly. Spooks chewed on the grass while she waited for the retired carpenter to run inside his house and retrieve his work of art. Taking the paper he offered, she read the words aloud:

  A storm came to a town named Arthur,

  Causing fright from floods and detours.

  Stay inside, said the advisories,

  Beware capricious winds and high seas,

  Ride it out with a stout while you’re indoors.

  “I sure hope it doesn’t come to this!” Marla replied, laughing. “How is your poetry class?”

  “Doing well, thanks.” Moss shuffled his feet. “I submitted a few poems to a magazine.”

  “That’s great. You may have a new career ahead of you.” After inquiring about his reclusive wife, Marla moved on.

  Spooks had gotten his feet wet on the dewy grass, and she didn’t want him to track dirt into Vail’s house. She brought him inside to dry off. By the time she’d showered and changed, the poodle was ready for a quick brushing that restored his fluffy coat.

  * * *

  “Doesn’t he look cute,” Brianna said, letting Marla and Spooks into their house when they arrived at one o’clock. Her face freshly scrubbed, the teen had a towel wrapped around her wet hair. Inside, Marla released the dog’s leash, and he quickly bounded after Lucky, Vail’s golden retriever.

  “Want me to do your hair?” Marla offered, putting down her purse on a foyer table. “You can help me unload my car first. I thought I’d make my barley casserole for a side dish.”

  “Welcome, sweetcakes,” Vail said, approaching from the kitchen. “I thought you were coming earlier.” He’d tied an apron over his gunmetal gray shirt and black trousers. The colors brought out the silvery flecks in his eyes. His craggy face split into a grin as he surveyed her shorts outfit.

  She warmed at his appreciative look. “I stopped at Macy’s. They had a sale, so I bought you a present for when you entertain on the patio.”

  Vail cast his vote of approval for the French linen tablecloth and napkins, their vibrant colors contributing to a festive atmosphere along with citrus candles and blue-handled tableware. She grit her teeth when he brought out his late wife’s treasured plates. One of these days, they’d have to have a serious discussion about household possessions.

  “Everything Pam owned was either depressing antiques or tchotchkes with flowers,” Marla complained to Anita when they found a moment alone, soon after her mother’s arrival. “I can’t stand it, especially those fruit pictures in the kitchen. You know what I think about still-life prints? If you’re still looking at them after a few minutes, you need to get a life.”

  Ignoring Anita’s chuckle, Marla gave full vent to her resentment. “It’s not that I don’t respect the value of these things to Dalton, but I can’t live with them. They belong to another woman’s world.”

  Anita tilted her head. “You’ll have to tell him how you feel, but only if you decide a permanent move is in order.”

  “We’re talking about it.” She didn’t have time to say more because the doorbell rang, and Sam arrived.

  Anita gave a cry of surprised pleasure, and Marla greeted him happily. Smiling shyly, Sam handed her a bottle of cabernet. “I-I appreciate the invitation,” he said. “It’s not often that I get out to socialize.”

  “Come on, now,” Marla’s mother crooned, “I find that hard to believe. Surely a handsome gent like yourself can find plenty of ladies willing to show you the town.”

  Sam grinned. “Maybe so, but not all of them display your zest for life.”

  Taking the cue, Anita wrapped her arm in his and drew him toward the kitchen. Marla didn’t hear her response because they disappeared outside to the patio, while she remained in the kitchen to check on her casserole. She’d doubled the recipe for the barley, wild rice, and mushroom dish. It would go well with their steaks and asparagus. Checking the timer on the microwave, she saw it had about five more minutes to go.

  “What do they want to drink?” Vail asked, putting the finishing touches on the salad.

  Marla admired his tall form as he cut grape tomatoes in half before adding them to the wooden bowl. Stan had never liked to cook, regarding the kitchen as a woman’s domain. Nor had her ex-spouse helped with domestic chores the way Vail did. The detective almost seemed to find such tasks a release from the ugliness he viewed every day in his job.

  “I didn’t: ask,” she replied. “Maybe I should bring out the lemonade.”

  “Go ahead. I’m going to start the steaks.”

  Carrying a pitcher frosty with condensation, Marla headed out to the patio. Without screening or a pool, it still would have been a pleasant backyard oasis if his orange trees hadn’t been destroyed. As she placed the lemonade on the outdoor counter, the germ of an idea sprang to mind. Maybe she could tempt him to move if she found an area where citrus trees still stood.

  Anita appeared to be having an amiable conversation with Sam when she approached. “What can I get you to drink?” Marla offered. “We have wine, beer, or lemonade.”

  “I’ll take the lemonade, thanks.” Anita took blood pressure medication that she didn’t like to mix with alcoholic beverages. Sam requested a beer. “Sam was just telling me about his business up North. Did you know he was in the garment industry? He lived in Brooklyn not far from where cousin Yakov moved.”

  “I thought you had retired from the building business,” Marla said, certain that’s what he’d told her.

  His face flushed. “I switched when there was a downswing and joined my brother, who was a builder.”

  “And you built houses in New Jersey?” He’d given her the impression that he’d resided in the Garden State with his late wife.

  “That’s right.”

  “What was the name of your development company?”

  “Oh, er, Brickman and Associates,” he said, staring at the ground. Marla followed his glance. Vail had replaced the original Chattahoochee surface with bricks. His orange trees would have provided shade, but now the flooring reflected the afternoon heat.

  “I wonder if you put up any homes in Montclair. I love those mansions on Upper Mountain Avenue. We used to visit an uncle who lived in Caldwell, so we crossed through there on our way.” Marla watched for his reaction. From the way he shifted his gaze, she sensed his discomfort. Maybe he hadn’t done as well in his business as he liked people to believe.

  “I-I’m not familiar with that area. We worked in a different section of the state,” he said. “But that’s water under the bridge now. I made myself a bundle so I could retire to Florida.”

  “It’s too bad your wife couldn’t come with you,” Anita said sympathetically. “I understand how she’d want to stay up North to be near your son. And then she got sick. Such a shame.”

  Son? Sam hadn’t said anything to Marla about having children. Before she could question him, he’d taken Anita’s hand. “What made you move to Florida?” he asked her mother in a gentle tone.

  “Like everyone else, we couldn’t stand the cold winters anymore. Besides, I have a lot of relatives down here.”

  “I’m sure they were glad to have you join them. Such a radiant flower would only wither in the snow.”

  Give me a break, Marla thought. She turned away, wondering where Sam’s shyness had gone. He didn’t seem to need any help getting into her mother’s good graces. In the kitchen, she got him a beer from the refrigerator. Pausing by the stove, sh
e put the bottle down to stir the cooked mushrooms into her casserole. Dalton, having put the meat on the grill, returned to dish out their salads.

  Marla considered telling him about the note she’d received at home earlier in the week, but she had decided to keep quiet about it. No sense in alarming him. He’d only warn her off the case, and she wanted to continue her interviews. So she bit back her confession and told him instead about her conversation with Sam. His alert expression piqued her interest, but then Brianna waltzed into the kitchen, interrupting them.

  “When are we going to eat? I’m hungry.”

  “Did you finish your homework?” Vail demanded.

  Her ponytail swishing, the teen tugged on her tube top. “Not quite. Kathy and I were talking about what we’re going to wear tomorrow.”

  “If you spent as much time on your schoolwork as you do on the telephone, you’d get straight As,” Vail said, looking to Marla for support.

  She grinned in response. “Get used to it. The telephone will probably be attached to her ear until she graduates high school.”

  “When will you get me my own cell phone?” Brianna whined. “Everyone else has one.”

  “Like who?” Marla retorted, recognizing the manipulative tactic as one she’d employed.

  “Come on, Marla. Daddy got you a cell phone for your birthday so he could reach you easily.”

  “You don’t go out on your own,” Vail said, wagging his finger at her. “Enough on this subject. Here, take these salads outside. Did you say hello to Mrs. Shorstein and Mr. Levy?”

  Brie jutted her lower lip. “Marla’s mother said I could call her Anita.” A wicked gleam entered her eyes. “Or maybe I should ask if she can be my Bubba. Is that the right Jewish word?”

  Marla, taking a sip of wine from the glass she’d poured herself, choked. “Isn’t it a little early for that? And what about your other grandparents? Don’t you ever visit them?”

  “My folks live in Maine,” Vail said quietly. “They have a more homogeneous population there than we do in South Florida. I’m afraid their attitude can be rather provincial. Pam’s parents come from Michigan. We haven’t seen them since the funeral.”

  “They wanted me to come live with them,” Brianna confessed. “Nana felt Daddy’s job…well, she thought I’d be better off being raised in a more stable environment.”

  “Nonsense. Your father loves you, and that’s all that matters.” Obviously, there was considerable tension in the relationship with both families. Thank goodness they lived elsewhere. As another thought surfaced, she gulped her merlot. She’d been so concerned about her own family’s reaction to a mixed marriage that she hadn’t considered Vail’s side. How would his relatives feel about a Jewish bride? For that matter, what denomination of Christian was he? They’d avoided discussing religion because it hadn’t inhibited their relationship. But as they took the next step together, it would play a bigger role.

  “Can I help?” Anita said, breaking their tableau. “What an adorable kitchen,” she gushed, entering. “Dalton, dearest, you haven’t given me the grand tour. Why, what quaint wallpaper. I haven’t seen this style since the sixties. Is your house really that old?”

  Blood rushed to Marla’s face. Couldn’t Ma be more subtle? “How about if we eat first, and then Dalton can show you around?” she suggested.

  “It’s okay,” Vail contradicted, giving her a pointed stare. “You can show Anita and Sam the house while Brie and I set out the food.”

  Handing her mother the glass of lemonade, Marla nodded. “I’ll just bring Sam his beer, and then—”

  “No, let me.” Vail’s sharp words brought her pause.

  “All right,” she agreed slowly. He had something up his sleeve, but she couldn’t imagine what it might be. Retrieving Sam, she began her tour in the living room. By the time they’d done the bedrooms and family room, Vail had laid out the meal.

  While they ate, conversation centered on the weather and the vagaries of Florida living. When they needed drink refills, Marla stood, reaching for Sam’s empty bottle and Anita’s glass.

  “Leave them,” Vail ordered, standing so abruptly that he nearly knocked his chair back. “I’ll get new ones.” He returned shortly with a new beer bottle and glass of frothy lemonade. After placing them on the table, he topped off Marla’s wine. “How are the steaks?”

  “Just right,” Sam said appreciatively while chewing. The old guy seem to be having a jolly good time, judging from the way he was chowing down his food. Maybe he’d just missed home cooking.

  Refusing their offer to help clear the table after they’d demolished a key lime pie, Vail directed Brianna to show Anita and Sam his efforts to grow tomatoes on the side of the house. As soon as they disappeared from sight, he charged into the kitchen. Marla had already begun stacking their dishes, but she stopped to stare wide-eyed as he returned with gloved hands to stick the empty beer bottles into separate plastic bags.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed, following him back into the kitchen, where he hid the bags under the sink.

  He tossed his disposable latex gloves into the trash. “Marla, have you ever thought that Sam had access to a key for the meter room? That he was on the premises the day Carolyn died? And that some of the things he says are contradictory?”

  “I don’t believe it.” Tilting her head, she glared at him. “You’ve collected those bottles to check his fingerprints. Is that why you let me invite him? You suspect he may be the murderer?” She’d never heard of anything so insane. Maybe Sam lied a bit about his background, but he was probably just trying to impress her mother.

  Vail closed the distance between them, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Look, I know you like the guy, but it isn’t safe to fix your mother up with strangers. You don’t know that much about Sam. I went along with the invitation so I could sound him out.”

  A wave of guilt struck her. “I suppose you’re going to say I should have minded my own business, as usual. Ma is happy with Roger, and I shouldn’t have let my own dislike of him interfere. Okay, I’ll warn Ma off where Sam is concerned, but he’s probably just a lonely widower looking for companionship.”

  She kissed the stern detective on the lips. “You wouldn’t know someone else like that, would you?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “As long as you’re checking things for prints, add this to your collection.” Marla handed him the plastic bagged envelope from her purse.

  Vail’s eyebrows crowded together as he scanned the contents of the note inside. Replacing the paper carefully in the envelope and returning it to the plastic bag, he dropped it under the sink along with the beer bottles. “When did you get this?” he said in a tight voice, facing her.

  Marla swallowed. “Earlier this week. I forgot about it until now.” His look of disbelief prompted her to confess. “All right, so I didn’t mention it before because I knew you’d get upset.” Relating the details, she added, “I’ll ask my neighbors if they’ve noticed anyone snooping around.”

  “It’s too late now. Your inquiries are making someone nervous. I think you’d be wise to curb your interest in this case and leave it to me.” His expression softened. “I know I asked for your help, but not if it puts you in danger. You don’t owe anything to Carolyn Sutton.”

  “According to Wilda, Carolyn wants me to solve her murder. When I do, Carolyn will tell me which one of my relatives needs to see a doctor.”

  “Who has to see a doctor?” Anita said, entering the kitchen.

  Marla whirled on her. “I don’t know. What about you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Just a bit tired these days.” Her keen gaze shifted from Marla to Vail. “Marla, would you be a dear and get the sweater from my car? Here’s the key.”

  Suspicious of her mother’s sudden request, Marla complied nonetheless. Outdoors, she glanced apprehensively at palm fronds swaying in a stiff breeze. The smell of impending rain tinged the air. Just what they needed, more storms. Puddles still remain
ed from the last cloudburst, meaning the ground was saturated. Even if the approaching hurricane veered out to sea, downpours would fringe its tail, increasing flood conditions.

  A white rocket shot past, followed by a golden arrow barking up its own storm. Oh no. She’d left the front door open, and the dogs had escaped. “Spooks!” she yelled, sticking Ma’s keys into her pocket. Running in sandals on a rain-slick street wouldn’t normally be her choice, but she had no alternative as she charged after the moving targets. “Lucky, come here!”

  Spooks took the lead, dashing from a fire hydrant to a stop sign and on to a mahogany tree, where he peed against the trunk. Lucky, tail wagging fiercely, bounded up to sniff the poodle’s derriere.

  Marla, segueing into stealth mode, advanced steadily. “Spooks, come,” she called in a singsong tone to coax him. “I’ll let you visit Rita when we get home,” she promised.

  Spooks lifted his aristocratic snout in her direction. He recognized the name of her neighbor Goat’s black poodle. With a disdainful shake, he dismissed the allure of that promise and charged off across the street to wind in and out of people’s yards. She thought: she had him cornered when he stopped to poop, but Lucky veered in the opposite direction, directly into the path of an oncoming car.

  Marla shrieked.

  The driver slammed on the brakes, tires squealing.

  Lucky scooted past with a few inches to spare.

  Her heart racing, Marla turned back to find Spooks missing. The near accident with Vail’s dog had left her knees weak and her body trembling. Why didn’t the man come out to see what was taking her so long? Twirling around, she spotted Spooks by the side of Vail’s house, nibbling on his prize tomatoes.

  “Naughty dog,” she scolded, rushing forward with her arms outstretched. Swooping him into her embrace, she grimaced as his wet feet spread dirt and leaves on her clothes. His face, sodden with crushed tomato pulp, glared at hers with puppy-eyed resentment. Holding his squirming, muddy body, she headed for the house. One down, one to go.