Her expression sobering, Marla disagreed. “I wasn't smart enough to figure out Lucille was the killer."
"You're too trusting, that's your problem. You didn't want to concede that a member of your staff might be responsible. I have to admit, I'd found evidence on both of you. Lucille's tape and her handwritten poison list were in Bertha Kravitz's safety-deposit box. So were your compromising photographs. I wasn't sure which one of you did it since you both had motive and opportunity."
Remorse colored his voice, and he glanced away. Realizing what he must be feeling, Marla forgave him his lack of faith. He wouldn't be a good detective if he didn't consider all the angles.
"Well, I believe in the people I hire,” she said. “I guess I failed to get beyond that sense of loyalty to suspect Lucille. From my past experiences, I prefer to believe that basic goodness resides within everyone."
"Maybe it does, but that attitude can get you killed."
They regarded each other in silence. Marla thought about their different worldviews, hers involving trust and his being suspicious of everyone. Maybe she was being naive, but she'd rather see things through rose-tinted glasses than view everyone as a potential criminal. How could he raise a daughter with an outlook so grim?
Gazing deeply into his eyes, she read a hint of vulnerability that touched her heart. It must be difficult for him to be a single parent. As a stylist, she was used to listening to people's problems. It gave her joy when she made customers feel better, not only by helping them look good but also by offering compassion. What could she give to this man to help him?
It crossed her mind that he might be seriously interested in her. The notion both pleased and frightened her. Since Stan, she'd avoided intimacy with other men. Her self-reliance had been too hard to come by to lose it in another relationship. Her other prospects were not serious considerations. Arnie was sweet, but he had too many kids. Ralph and she were more than friends, but she didn't envision their relationship going further. Lance was cute but devoted to his computer. Dalton isn't even Jewish, not that it matters. Bless my bones, I'd just be agreeing to get to know him better. Maybe it was time to plunge into the currents of change and see where they carried her.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Vail cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you'd like to go out to dinner tonight since you can't cook until your hands recover."
A silly grin split her face. “Sure, that sounds great. I'm ready to have some fun, aren't you?"
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Author's note
This story was inspired by my visit to a hair salon to get a perm. While waiting for the twenty-minute timer to go off, I peered around at all the ladies flipping through magazines and thought, “What we need is a gripping novel to read while we're killing time.” Killing was the key word, and soon my imagination soared into a romp wherein Marla Shore was created and her client got permed—to death. Hence Permed to Death was born. If you enjoyed this story, please look for the next two books in the series, Hair Raiser and Murder by Manicure.
Please write to me at: PO Box 17756, Plantation, FL 33318, and enclose a #10 SASE for a personal reply. Or contact me via E-mail: [email protected].
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Table of Contents
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Author's note
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Permed To Death [Bad Hair Day Mystery 1] Page 24
