Relief bubbled to the surface. “Way to go, Lance! You've earned yourself a date."
Male laughter cascaded through the phone line. “I'll pick you up at seven-thirty. We'll make the eight o'clock movie. See ya."
"So what did he say?” Tally asked, hands folded in her lap.
Marla glanced at her friend, seated in the passenger side of her Toyota. Tally appeared cool and comfortable in a red-linen shorts set, wavy blond hair brushed off her face. With her stature alone, she'd stand out in a crowd, but that glaring bright red drew eyes like a flag. Marla touched her cotton blouse tucked into a pair of faded jeans—more appropriate attire when she didn't care to call attention to herself.
"Lance said Sunshine Publishing should have higher profits for the income recorded. He's trying to trace where the funds are distributed. If there is a deficit, Collins might be responsible because he oversees the allocations. It appears Lucille was telling the truth about that tax-evasion problem. It was unjustified and dropped from any further investigation. This other lead might prove to be more useful."
"I hope so. What else is new since I talked to you Thursday night?"
Wrinkling her brow, Marla thought hard. She'd called Tally after getting home from her appointment with Todd and told her about the run-in with Dalton Vail. What happened after that?
"Oh, yes.” Her face brightened. “On Friday, I visited Wendy at Bertha Kravitz's house. I needed to—"
Stopping abruptly, she bit her tongue. I almost told her about the envelope. “Er, I wanted to see how Wendy was doing and find out more about her husband. She changes the subject anytime I mention him. It's obvious she keeps trying to shift suspicion onto Todd."
Tally smoothed back a lock of hair. “What did she say about him this time?"
Marla shrugged. “Todd got upset when Bertha announced she planned to write her memoirs. I think Wendy was more interested in asking if I'd talked to Vail about him."
"That's all?” She sounded disappointed, as though she'd been expecting more.
Keeping her eyes on traffic, Marla considered what else she'd learned from her interview with Wendy. “Wendy didn't say where she and Zack were the night before Bertha's murder. Nor did Detective Vail when he came in for a haircut yesterday. I wonder what he knows that I don't. Oh, Vail said there's a set of prints from our back doorknob that he hasn't identified. He thinks they may belong to Carlos."
"Is that why we're going to the boatyard?"
Marla nodded. “Carlos is still missing, and his boat is gone. Vail was kind enough to mention he'd spoken to the guy's neighbors, who said Carlos had been expecting some money. They figure he got it and took off for parts unknown."
"Money from where?"
"You mean from whom. That's what I hope to learn. Anyway, I made an appointment with Zack for tomorrow morning. Maybe he'll reveal if he and Wendy were home that night. Todd had an alibi, and I don't know about Roy Collins."
Tally gave her a sly look. “What was it like, doing Vail's hair?"
For a moment, she didn't respond, her attention diverted by erratic traffic. Damned slow drivers. Zooming through an intersection, she got in front of a lady cruising at twenty miles per hour in a zone with a speed limit posted at forty. The woman was so short you could barely see her head above the steering wheel. The punk in the pickup truck changing lanes every couple of cars wasn't much better. She steered clear of that one, too.
''It felt weird,” she admitted to Tally, shifting her mind back to their conversation. With a shameful shiver of pleasure, she recalled the silky feel of Vail's wet strands of hair sifting through her fingers. “Intimate, almost. It made me uncomfortable."
"Why? Because he suspects you of murdering your client, or because you like him ... as a man?"
"Tally, quit it. The guy is off-limits."
"Yeah, for now. What happens when he solves the case?"
"Then I'll never hear from him again. His interest in me is purely professional.” Don't be so sun. He's another one of those fellows looking for a mother for his child. What gives? Do I come across as a maternal type, or what? Maybe it's my conservative clothes, she thought, sparing a glance at her New Balance sneakers and then peeking at Tally's stylish sandals.
I'd better pay a visit to Tally's boutique and update my wardrobe before I get a bunch more widowers knocking on my door. The notion wasn't terribly flattering. Didn't anyone admire her intelligence and wit? Mentally, she ran down the short list of men she dated. Ralph called often, but he had more carnal interests in mind. As a friend, he was supportive and fun. Lance made her laugh, but he was married to his computer. And Arnie was a man with kids seeking female guidance. No one rated as a serious prospect, not that she was looking.
Tally had fallen into a glum silence, staring out the window. Instinctively, Marla knew she was thinking about her own problems with the male gender.
"Look, Tally, I called the golf club and they said Ken was out on the greens. He wasn't lying to you."
"Oh no?” Tally heaved a deep sigh. “Maybe he asked them to cover for him. He didn't invite me to come along this morning."
"Did you mention you wanted to join him?"
"Not exactly.” Tally's blue eyes darkened with anxiety. “He just announced he was going to play golf. Didn't even care what I had planned for the day. Maybe he's meeting his girlfriend there."
Marla scoffed.’ ‘I doubt it You'd hear gossip, and so far nothing has surfaced to make you believe he's screwing around. Talk to him! There's got to be something else going on that's bothering him."
"How astute,” she mumbled. “Well, I'm not waiting around for the lout to confess. I'm taking matters into my own hands to force the issue."
"What do you mean? Shit!” A brown Honda cut in front of them, causing her to hit the brakes. Thrust forward, she felt the seat belt dig into her lap.
"Crazy driver,” Tally hollered, clutching the armrests. “Why don't you look where you're going next time?"
Marla slowed the car to achieve a short following distance. “I swear, some of these people shouldn't be allowed on the road."
"No kidding.” Glancing out the side window to make sure no one else was about to cut them off, Tally asked, “Where are we going anyway? I've never heard of a boatyard in this direction."
Heading east, they passed Tropical Acres, a landmark restaurant on Griffin Road.
"The place is called Seaside Marina. The directions aren't so great.” Marla handed Tally a piece of paper scribbled with her hopefully legible scrawl. “When I talked to Vail, he mentioned the name of the marina where Carlos kept his boat. I called up and got these instructions. From what I understand, we need to cross Federal Highway. Somewhere east of here, Griffin Road turns into Taylor."
"What makes you think you can learn more than Vail by questioning Carlos's friends?"
She spotted her chance to change lanes. “Use your turn signal, pal,” she yelled at the Honda driver as she veered into the left lane. “I'm hoping people will be more talkative since we're women. Less threatening, you know. Nor are we cops, so they might be inclined to confide in us."
Ahead she caught sight of flashing red lights. Train tracks. She pressed on the brake pedal, halting for a freight train. Coming up was the intersection to Federal Highway. Facing them were two lanes for left turns only. The right lane headed toward a narrow road that appeared to curve northeast.
"Now what?” she asked Tally, pointing ahead.
"The directions say to cross Federal Highway and go straight."
"Okay, here goes.” She took the road lined on either side by thick tropical foliage. Nothing indicated a boatyard ahead. Could she have made a wrong turn?
After they'd passed a Value Rent A Car lot on the right, Tally pointed excitedly. “Look at that sign. We're about to enter Port Everglades."
Frowning, Marla muttered, “Maybe the marina is part of the port. It doesn't make sense. Wait, there's the three-way stop sign, so we must be on the correct route. W
e make a right turn, don't we?"
Tally nodded, her face animated. “There's the truck-storage place. We've got to be close."
Cruising by, Marla read a sign for Caribbean American Shipping. “Hey, is that it—Broward Marine?” she cried, noting the wide entrance past a gatehouse ahead. The man she'd queried had mentioned passing through a gate.
"No, you're supposed to follow the curve in the road,” Tally instructed her, frowning as she examined the written directions.
Marla continued along the narrow road, squinting at the sign announcing associated marine electronics. Nope, that wasn't it either. “Wait, look up ahead!” She spotted seaside marina emblazoned in white against a blue backboard, and her heartbeat quickened excitedly.
"We're here!” The gate turned out to be an opening in a metal fence. She followed the paved road to its end fronting the dockmaster's office, beyond which boats bobbed in the water at numerous slips. With a surge of excitement, she pulled the car into a parking space next to a rusting white Jeep Wagoneer. Damned if her Toyota wouldn't need a car wash after this adventure, she thought, switching off the ignition.
Inside the office, a bearded man sat at a desk, his bare feet propped up on a metal garbage can. He wore a T-shirt advertising Budweiser, King of Beers. On a counter behind him rested a modern communication system with blinking red lights. Foodstuffs and bottled drinks were for sale on rows of shelves opposite. News blared from a radio in a back room, the noise adding to the din of a parrot squawking in a cage by the window.
At their entrance, the man dropped the newspaper in his hand and swung his legs down. His gaze scanned them with obvious interest. “Yo, ladies, what can Ah do for y'all?” he drawled in a classic Southern accent
Ignoring Tally's broad grin, Marla stepped forward. “We're looking for the slip where Carlos kept his boat,” she said. “I'd like to talk to his neighbors. He's a friend of mine, and I'm concerned about his absence."
The dockmaster squinted. “You don't look like no friend of his, miss, if you'll forgive me for sayin’ so."
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh no? We, er, met at the bowling alley. I don't know a whole lot about him except he said he lived here on his boat named...” She purposefully let her voice trail off.
"Angelica.” He nodded. “Nice sloop, a one-masted vessel, kept it real clean. You'd see him paintin’ and sandin’ every weekend. You could tell the man was proud of his boat Must have had strange work hours ‘cause he'd leave every evenin’ and come back after the sun was up. Don't know where he went. Just took off more than a week ago and no word since. The cops been here lookin’ for him."
"Does he have a radio onboard?"
"Just an old handheld VHS. Y'all need to call Channel 9 to get past the bridges, you know. The tenders might have records of when he passed through."
And Vail has probably checked them out.
"Which slip did you say was his?"
"Ah didn't, lady, but check out Number 33.” He stood, wafting stale cigarette fumes in her direction. “In case Carlos shows up, who should Ah say was callin’ on him?"
"Marla Shore.” She whipped out her business card. “Do me a favor and phone me if he pulls into dock, or you hear anything more about him."
"For a pretty lady such as yourself, Ah'll do that. Your tall friend got any requests?” he asked hopefully, eyeing Tally.
"Not me!” Tally said, chuckling. “I just came along for the company."
"Right, then.” He winked. “Happy huntin', ladies."
Outside, the sun beat down, promising a sweltering day. Sweat prickled the back of Marla's neck as she and Tally strode out to the dock. Seagulls screeched overhead, and a frigate bird soared high over the sparkling blue water. A fresh sea breeze ruffled her skin and tossed strands of hair into her eyes.
"How do we find Number 33?” Tally asked, shading her face with a rigid hand as though saluting.
"We'll just walk around until we see it."
Marla, donning a pair of dark tinted sunglasses with ultraviolet protection, marched ahead to where several rows of boats faced them like silent sentinels. No, not so silent. Various creaks and groans met her ears, sounds of masts moving and rigging slapping and American flags whipping in the wind. Water trickled from through-holes and waves splashed against fiberglass hulls. Not being the seafaring type, she'd had little experience with boats, but she appreciated the serene atmosphere even though glancing at the rippling water made her uneasy. It reminded her of—No, I won't think about Tammy now.
The harsh whine of a power tool erupted, colliding with the pleasant sounds of nature. It brought home the reason they were here—mainly, because nature had been interrupted when Bertha Kravitz's life ended prematurely. Focusing her thoughts on their objectives, Marla advanced.
"Watch your step,” she warned Tally, her sneakers padding on the damp wooden boards underfoot. They passed by a man stowing a coil of rope on a power boat and another guy rolling out some sort of blue-plastic sheeting.
"Here's the thirties,” Tally cried, veering down an aisle to the left. “Gosh, this is fun. We don't get to the water very often, even though Ken loves the beach, because we've always got somewhere else to go.” Her shoulders slumped. “At least we used to go places together before he decided he hates me."
Marla gave her a sympathetic glance. “He doesn't hate you, Tally. I'm sure he's got a reasonable explanation for his behavior. Look, do you want me to talk to him?"
"Certainly not!” Tally looked horrified. “I've got my own plans for setting him straight."
"Which are?"
A secretive smirk lit Tally's face. “I'm not telling even you. Not that I don't trust you,” she hastened to add, noting Marla's expression, “but all the arrangements aren't finished yet. I'll just reveal that it coincides with our tenth anniversary next month."
Ah, some sort of surprise, Marla surmised. She hoped Tally wouldn't be disappointed by Ken's reaction.
A male mating whistle caught her ears. Glancing around, she spied a blond-haired fellow peering at them from a ketch. Unlike some of the other slips with expensive power boats, this section held modest sailing vessels. Waving to the guy, she kept on walking until they reached slip Number 33.
"Yep, it's vacant,” Tally confirmed, facing the empty berth.
"Let's find someone we can ask about Carlos,” Marla suggested.
"How about that guy hosing down his deck?"
Marla followed the direction of her gaze to a man on a single-masted sailing boat. He wore a T-shirt with a palm-tree design, a pair of tattered jeans, and reflective sunglasses on a face as tough as elephant hide and as brown as toast. His upper arm bore a tattoo that she couldn't quite decipher.
Cupping her hands to her mouth, Marla yelled: “Excuse me, can we have a word with you?"
The man's head snapped up, and he switched off his hose. “You talking to me?"
She strode forward until positioned beside a rail at the bow of his sloop. “We're friends of Carlos and wondering what happened to him.” Gesturing at the empty slip, she frowned. “He's been gone over a week, and no one has heard from him."
Scratching his head, the man gave her and Tally an appraising stare. “You gals don't look like no friends of his that I can remember."
Tally broke in. “Actually, Carlos worked part-time for Marla. She doesn't take kindly to employees who fail to show up for work without offering an explanation."
"So what is it you want to know? The cops already been here. Carlos in some kind of trouble?"
"They just want to ask him some questions. We want to make sure he's safe,” Marla said. “When was the last time you saw him?"
The man rambled toward her. “A week ago Wednesday. I thought something funny was going on. His boat needed a lot of repairs, and he said he'd be getting some money soon to fix it up. lived on that tub of his for eight years now."
"Where is he from?"
"New York. Has a sister there. Had no one in Florida but an aunt who
died last year, but he couldn't stand the cold weather up north. Bought his boat at a steal and worked on it himself. But these things can get right costly to maintain."
Marla wondered if Vail had checked with the sister to see if Carlos was there. She supposed he'd have said something if the janitor were located.
"I'm not sure I understand,” Tally put in sweetly beside her. “You're saying he came into some money and maybe took off to a drydock to make his repairs?"
The man laughed, a wheezing rumble. “He didn't go to no drydock, sugar."
"So where is he?” Marla snapped, impatient for answers.
"Well now, that's the thing. This lady came by on that Wednesday morning and gave him something. Wasn't no envelope looking like it held a wad of money."
Both Marla and Tally leaned forward eagerly.
"Yes?” Marla asked breathlessly, barely conscious of the sun's blazing heat on her back. She'd gladly wait in a desert if she could learn what happened to Carlos.
"Damned if I can figure it out She must have been a friend of his, but I can't recall no light-haired dame like her visiting him before."
"Light-haired,” Marla repeated. “Old, young, body stature?"
The man shrugged. “Slim-figured woman. I couldn't get a glimpse of her face, but I did spot what she handed over. Beats the hell out of me why she'd give Carlos a home-baked cake."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 10
Mcake? Marla felt like the parrot in the dockmaster's office. “How could you be so sure that's what she gave him?"
The man's face crinkled into a smile. “Well now, I saw Carlos take the plastic container and open it. Wasn't no store-bought dessert with that lumpy pink frosting. Carlos grinned, licked his chops, and closed the round holder."
Marla grimaced. “You don't suppose the woman hid the payoff inside a cake?"
Tally frowned at Marla as though she were losing her marbles. “That's a bit far-fetched."
''This whole thing is far-fetched.” She turned her attention to the sailor. “Is there anything else you can tell us?"
"Nope.” He lifted his hose. “Watch out, or you'll get wet. I gotta finish my work. Good luck to y'all."
Permed To Death [Bad Hair Day Mystery 1] Page 11
