She pulled to a stop at a sprawling house with a mixed stone-and-stucco exterior. No barrel-tile roof here. The sipping roof consisted of traditional white tiles, coated with mildew. A yellow fire hydrant, paint rusted from well water, sat on the swale. Her gaze swept the sabal palms, red hibiscus bushes, and spiky ground-cover plants that complemented the freshly cut lawn. The estate appeared to be well maintained, although it could use a roof cleaning and a coat of sealant on the driveway.
Her Toyota was the only vehicle parked in the circular driveway. Marla assumed that meant the stream of visitors had let up for the moment Her heartbeat accelerated; it would be a lucky break if Wendy was alone.
Warm, humid air scented with a spiced fragrance filled her nostrils as she stepped from her car. Her white blouse stuck to her back, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. Sweat came with the territory in south Florida. After smoothing down her skirt, she reached inside the car and grabbed the box of cookies she’d picked up at a local bakery. Hopefully this visit would yield results.
Undaunted by ferocious barking coming from the house, she locked the car door and strode forward with an eager step.
“Marla! How kind of you to come,” said Wendy, greeting her with a friendly smile. For someone in mourning, she didn’t exhibit any signs of grief. Marla’s glance raked over her casual attire. Make that casually expensive, she amended. Wendy wore a navy-silk shorts outfit which went well with her petite figure. Low-heeled pumps were dressy enough for company but comfortable for the feet Marla liked the way she’d fixed her hair, a short wavy style that framed her face.
As she stepped inside, two golden retrievers bounded at her like attention-starved children. They must have smelled Spooks because they slobbered all over her. Grinning at their antics, she thrust die bakery box at Wendy. “Here, I brought this for you.” She bent to scratch one of the dogs behind the ears.
“Thanks!” Wendy said. “Lolly and Dancer, sit!” Whining, the dogs obeyed while Marla surveyed the living room. A vision of blue overwhelmed her senses. The Berber carpet, draperies, and even the knickknacks in a curio cabinet featured pastel blue.
Wendy led her through a spacious kitchen—with a blue-porcelain sink—toward a family room facing a screened-in pool at the rear of the house. She took a seat on an ivory-leather sofa and waited while Wendy fixed her an iced tea. The dogs trailed after their mistress like two silent shadows.
Wendy returned with her drink, then plopped into a chair opposite Marla. “You’re probably surprised that I’m not wearing black,” she said. “I don’t believe in that custom.”
What do you believe in, pal? Your aunt’s money? “Bertha was very fond of you,” she remarked. It was truthful enough; the old lady used to brag about her niece.
A wistful expression captured Wendy’s face. “She always wished she’d had a daughter. I’m very grateful to her. Aunty Bertha helped me out a lot, at least until I married Zack. She was ecstatic when I told her I was pregnant. Now she won’t be here when the baby is born.”
Marla’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t look... I mean, you’re so slim.” Her cheeks wanned with embarrassment
Wendy chuckled. “I’m only three months along.” One of the golden-haired dogs nudged her hand and she petted the soft fur on top of its head. “Zack is worried about the time off I’ll have to take from work.”
“Oh. For some reason, I thought you stayed home.” A foolish grin curved her mouth. “What kind of work do you do?”
“I’m a physical therapist. Don’t get me wrong. Zack wants me to stay home to care for the baby, but we need the income. Especially when—” She bit her lip, stopping.
“Go on.”
“It’s nothing.”
Marla considered what to say next She could try to draw Wendy out, or she could address the urgent matter that had brought her there. Her own needs took precedence, she finally decided.
“Forgive me for changing the subject, but your aunt had an item of mine she planned to return: a manila envelope addressed with my name. If you come across it when you sort through her things, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call. It’s urgent that I retrieve this as soon as possible.”
Wendy gave her a curious glance. “I’m planning to go to her place on Friday, after the shivah period is over.
Maybe you’d like to meet me there so you can look for yourself.”
“Sure, what time?”
“Let’s say one o’clock.” Wendy petted one of the dogs, the other eyeing her jealously while prowling the room. “Todd didn’t get along with Aunty Bertha, you know,” she blurted.
“Oh? How’s that?”
Wendy lifted her eyes, meeting Marla’s assessing gaze. “She didn’t approve of his lifestyle, because he doesn’t have a regular job. He’s sort of a drifter if you know what I mean. Aunty Bertha didn’t give him a cent, but he has enough money to pay the living expenses for that ratty apartment he keeps. I’ve always wondered where he gets the funds. Maybe Aunty Bertha found out and—” She sucked in a breath, her face coloring.
“Found out what?”
“You know, that he’s doing jobs that are less than ethical... or legal.”
“So?” Marla gaped at her, shocked by what Wendy had left unsaid. “You think he might have killed his own mother to silence her?”
“I’m not saying that!”
Then what are you saying? She gritted her teeth in frustration. “Have the police been to see you yet?”
Wendy nodded, a glum expression overtaking her. “Detective Vail was here. He said he’d spoken to you. I didn’t say anything against Todd, but you might want to mention the possibilities to him.”
Now she got it. Wendy didn’t want to implicate Todd herself. She wanted Marla to do the dirty work for her. Her estimation of Mrs. Kravitz’s niece fell a notch.
“At the funeral, your husband Zack seemed annoyed with your aunt.”
Wendy rose abruptly. “Zack respected Aunty Bertha,” she snapped. “They didn’t always see things eye to eye but that doesn’t mean anything.”
“What line of work is he in?”
“He’s a financial advisor.” Wendy paced the room, hands clasped behind her back. Bored, the dogs settled by a large potted palm to lazily watch the proceedings.
“You said Zack was upset because you’ll have to take maternity leave. Does that mean his business isn’t as prosperous as you’d like?” Marla persisted, hoping to learn more about their situation.
Wendy shot her a worried glance. “He’s doing fine,” she retorted, but her voice wavered.
“Is it true that Bertha’s will favors you as her heir?”
“Really, Marla, is that any concern of yours? I mentioned Todd to you because I felt you would understand. Now please don’t think me rude, but it’s been a tiring day. We can talk more on Friday.” Her eyes flashing indignantly, she gestured toward the front door.
Marla understood she was being dismissed. Rising, she said good-bye, promising herself to interview Zack at a later date. Wendy had raised some interesting issues, but she wasn’t telling the whole story.
Heading for her car, she contemplated what was bothering her the most. Wendy hadn’t admitted they needed money, but she’d gotten that impression. The upkeep for their house must require a lot of income, not to mention a baby on the way. If Zack’s business wasn’t doing well, and Wendy was the heiress to Mrs. Kravitz’s estate—how far would her husband go to secure their future?
Chapter 4
Marla, are you able to fit Pat Williams in today?” asked Lucille, holding the telephone receiver to her ear.
Marla glanced toward the receptionist’s desk, a hairbrush poised in her hand. “I’m booked solid, so I won’t have time. My two o’clock is due to arrive soon, and I’ve already squeezed in Ginger Blackstone. I won’t finish until after six. Maybe someone else is
free to take her.”
“I can do the lady at four,” Giorgio piped in. Her only male stylist, his dark handsome face and svelte voice were a boon to business. Women flocked to him like conditioner to hair. Unfortunately for them, he was gay.
“Thanks, pal!” she called, waving in acknowledgment. Ever since they’d come to work that morning, appointments and walk-ins cluttered the schedule. Lucille had been right in guessing that the busybodies in town would congregate at the murder scene. Considering the benefits, it didn’t bother her as much as she’d thought it might. The increase in business refilled her coffers. So if her business hadn’t suffered, why worry?
Because Detective Vail suspects you of having poisoned Bertha’s coffee. And if you didn’t do it, who did?
Picking used end papers off a set of perm rods, she wondered if someone on her staff were guilty. Everyone had disliked Bertha Kravitz, but to her knowledge, no one had reason to kill her. That left one other alternative: The murderer had entered through the unlocked back door.
If Carlos were found, he’d be able to put that matter to rest. Possibly one of Bertha’s relations or a business associate had paid him to leave the door unsecured. If that were true, then the guilty party must have known about Bertha’s hair appointment. Or, the killer was merely creating an opportunity to poison the creamer without knowing when Bertha would come into the salon next.
Discarding the papers in her hand, Marla shook her head. The first option presented a more likely scenario. Otherwise, Bertha’s time of death would be left to chance. Either way, the perp had to have been aware Marla kept ajar of powdered creamer reserved for the old woman. Since Bertha had bragged about her preferential treatment, that could be anyone.
Detective Vail’s job was to figure that out, Marla told herself, but she was afraid he’d overlook an important fact by focusing his suspicions on her. It wouldn’t hurt if she checked out a few things herself. If she learned anything significant, she’d tell him. Arnie’s warning rang in her ears, but she ignored it. The need to preserve her reputation foremost in her mind, she determined to do whatever was necessary to help uncover the murderer.
And speaking of Arnie, maybe he’d heard some relevant gossip. She’d stop in at the deli when she had a chance to schmooze and pick his brains. In the meantime, she had a few questions to ask Lucille.
Approaching the receptionist, she smiled evenly. “I’d like to talk to you in private. Let’s go into the storeroom so we won’t be overheard.”
“Sure, honey.” Wearing a puzzled frown, Lucille rose from her chair, smoothing down her pleated shirtwaist dress.
Marla headed toward the rear. Inside the back room, she scanned the shelves stocked with bottled solutions. A new supply order was supposed to arrive that day. Her nose detected a familiar chemical scent, which she sniffed appreciatively. In her mind that pungent odor represented the salon, and she missed it on days off. Irrelevant, she told herself. Get to the business at hand.
Her stomach rumbled, delaying her objective. Moving forward, she rummaged in the small refrigerator for the container of cappuccino yogurt she’d brought in earlier.
Lucille, standing just inside the doorway, folded her arms across her chest. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
Marla tore off the top and dug into her snack, using a plastic spoon. A mound of yogurt slid down her throat, cool and slick. “I heard that Sunshine Publishing was involved in a tax-evasion case,” she said between mouthfuls. “Do you remember anything about it from when you were working there?”
Lucille’s expression clouded. “A rival was trying to discredit us. The case was dropped after the records were examined.”
“When did this happen?”
“Oh, I’d say a good ten years ago.”
“You quit working for them just before you came here, isn’t that right? Why did you leave?” Lucille had given personal reasons as her explanation, and Marla hadn’t delved deeper because she’d needed a receptionist In view of Bertha’s death, she felt compelled to ask now for more details.
Lucille stiffened her spine. “Roy was acting in a manner detrimental to the company. When I told Bertha, she didn’t believe me. I was asked to leave.”
So she hadn’t left the company willingly. “What were you speaking to Roy about at the funeral?”
“I just asked him how things were on the job. He wasn’t in a talkative mood, at least not to me.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you so interested? I wasn’t asking for my old position back, if that’s what is worrying you.”
“No, that’s not it. I’ve been trying to figure out who’d benefit from Bertha Kravitz’s death.”
“Her niece will get most of her money. I’d guess the business goes to Roy.”
“What about Todd? What does he get now that she’s gone?”
Lucille raised an eyebrow. “He’s a wily one. There’s more than meets the eye where he’s concerned.”
Darlene rushed into the room, forestalling any further questions Marla might have asked.
‘ ‘God, I’m so thirsty I could croak!” the girl exclaimed. Grabbing a soda can from the refrigerator, she popped the lid. After gulping down a few hasty swallows, she surveyed the others. “Hey, did I tell you about my hot date this weekend? Like I met Jules at the beach, and we went to one of the clubs on the Strip. Does that guy know how to move!”
Lucille pursed her lips. “Did you drive your new car? He must have thought you were rich to have a Chevy Corvette. I can’t help wondering where you got the money to finance it.”
“You’re just jealous,” Darlene sneered. “Maybe next time you’ll come along and meet someone, too.”
“No, thanks!”
Darlene gestured at Marla. “I think she’s still carrying a torch for that guy who turned his back on her years ago. Like she needs to get out on the social scene once in a while.”
“It’s not safe to pick up men on the street,” Lucille countered.
“Oh, yeah?” Darlene gave her a scorching look. “Marla has a good time with the guys she meets. Like loosen up, and you’ll be happier.” Peeking into the salon, she grimaced. “Elsie is ready for her rinse.”
“All Darlene cares about is men.” Lucille sniffed when the girl had left to tend her customer. “She should be more concerned about her unhealthful habits. If you ask me, those diet sodas are addictive.” She smiled at Marla, her lined face creasing beside her eyes. “By the by, I made a new herbal tea with hibiscus blossoms from my yard. Want to try some? I’ll bring it in tomorrow.”
“No, thanks. Speaking of addictions, mine is to caffeine. I need another cup of coffee.” After tossing her empty yogurt container into the trash, Marla rinsed out a mug and helped herself from the spare coffeemaker she’d bought for the staff.
“When is the new shampoo chair due in?” Lucille queried. “It’s a good thing you got rid of that one before today.”
“Tell me about it. The new chair is being delivered on Friday. I can’t wait.”
“Good. We wouldn’t want—”
“Marla, your two o’clock is here,” Giorgio shouted from the salon, interrupting Lucille’s reply.
“Thanks!” Marla called. “Never a moment’s rest, is there?” she said to Lucille. “Let’s get back to work.”
Scurrying out, she spied her customer waiting by the reception desk. “How are you, Jess? Go ahead and get shampooed. I’ll wait for you here.”
While the woman was gone, Marla sipped the steaming brew in her mug. Snatches of conversation reached her ears. Gossip centered on Bertha Kravitz, but she’d expected no less.
“The news didn’t surprise me in the least,” snapped Doris Howard, sitting at Nicole’s station beside Marla. “We used to be quite close, you know, but I never liked her. Bertha had a grating personality.”
The woman getting a trim beside her replied, “We were
active in the garden club together. Bertha raised a lot of money for the conservatory plus she was a major contributor. But I couldn’t stand to be on the same committee with her. What a viper!”
Doris lowered her voice so Marla had to strain to hear. “I know what you mean. She tried to get me to go on a cruise with her. She wouldn’t take no for an answer and made it seem like I was wrong for refusing.”
The other woman gave a vigorous nod. “She pushed herself on me, too. Anything you said to her, she made a sarcastic remark in return. Do you know she wouldn’t park in an underground garage? I picked her up to go to the mall, and even if it was raining, we’d have to park outside because she was afraid of getting stuck in those narrow spaces.”
“Everyone thought she was such a saint, but we know better, don’t we?” smirked Doris. “If you ask me, she got what she deserved. Probably stepped on someone’s toes.”
Nicole slipped Marla a sidelong glance as she gelled Doris’s hair. “What’s your theory about who wanted her out of the picture?” the stylist asked.
Doris narrowed her eyes. “Maybe one of the people who worked for her at that publishing company. She had a reputation for ruthlessness.”
Marla’s client returned, making her abandon the listening post. Too bad. It was just getting juicy.
Jess’s raven hair glistened with moisture. “You look tired,” she said, giving Marla a keen glance.
“It’s been a long day.” Without elaborating, Marla flung a black plastic cape over Jess’s shoulders after she took a seat. “What are we going to do with your hair?” Scrunching and lifting several strands, she noted some remaining body from an earlier perm. “How about if I angle it around your face?”
Permed to Death Page 5
