Permed to Death

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Nicole turned her attention to the woman walking in her direction with soggy hair. “I don’t know, Marla, but heed my warning. That girl is trouble.”

  Marla wiped any further musings from her mind. Tiffany, her next customer, finished her hair wash and was trotting over at a fast clip.

  “I’m in a hurry,” she gushed, sweeping into the chair Marla indicated. “Gotta run to a Roadkill Society meeting.”

  As Tiffany was barely five feet tall, her head was too low for Marla to work on comfortably. Marla raised the chair level before draping a cape around the young woman’s shoulders.

  “Do you know how many animals are killed needlessly each year?” Tiffany said, eyes flashing indignantly. “Hundreds! We can save them by educating drivers.”

  “How are we doing your hair today?” Marla interrupted, touching the damp strands.

  “I’d like the sides more angled.” Her sharp gaze darted over other customers. “People let their pets out without any restraint. That’s a big mistake,” she said in a biting tone. “The animal runs into the street and boom—dead meat. Think of the unborn litters that never have a chance. It’s a preventable tragedy!”

  I can think of worse things, like children drowning in backyard swimming pools. That’s where public education can save lives.

  Her fingers moving automatically, Marla’s mind wandered back to her conversation with Nicole. The stylist’s warning popped into her head like a raised flag. What if an outsider hadn’t poisoned the creamer? What if it were one of her staff members, like Darlene? So Carlos had left the back door unlocked. That could have been an honest mistake.

  Frowning, she reviewed events of the fatal morning. She could have sworn the creamer jar had been at least a quarter full the last time she’d used it, but on this occasion, there was only enough to flavor one cup of coffee. She didn’t have another in stock, either. Who could have used this knowledge against her? Who might have emptied the creamer jar so she had to use the last poisoned spoonful? Following this train of thought, she figured it had to be someone who’d known Bertha Kravitz was coming in that morning. Otherwise, Marla might have noticed the depleted creamer supply and bought another jar to keep in reserve. Anyone, including customers, had access to the storeroom, but not everyone knew her appointment schedule.

  As soon as her last appointment departed, she gathered her belongings. “I’m leaving,” she announced, inspecting her workstation with satisfaction. She’d tidied up and had no further obligations. “Lucille, you’ll lock up, won’t you? I’d appreciate it.”

  “Got a date?” the receptionist asked, smiling.

  “You might say that.” Tonight was her meeting with Todd, but she wasn’t about to let Lucille in on her plans. She wanted to gather her thoughts before the interview.

  Unfortunately, when she arrived home, chores took up most of her time. After gulping down a hasty dinner, she leashed Spooks for his evening walk and exited into the humid air.

  They were returning around the bend in view of her town house when she spotted a familiar male figure pacing her front sidewalk. Her heart sank as she regarded his set jaw and cool hazel eyes. Stan looked every inch the distinguished attorney with his pin-striped charcoal suit and polished dress shoes. Even his dark hair, slicked back from a wide forehead, reflected his harsh self-discipline in that not a single strand lifted in the slight evening breeze.

  A sickening weight settled in Marla’s stomach as she approached. Spooks yipped furiously, straining her wrist as he sought to charge at the intruder. She yanked on his leash, muttering an expletive under her breath.

  “Hi, Marla.” Stan stalked directly into her path. “I’ve been trying to contact you. We need to talk.”

  Marla stiffened. It didn’t matter that the blazing Florida sun left her feeling like a limp dishrag even though she’d changed into shorts and a T-shirt. Stan’s presence affected her like a splash of ice water.

  “There’s nothing we have to say to each other,” she said, restraining Spooks from jumping on his leg. Her glance noted the absence of a vehicle in her driveway. “Where’s your car?”

  “Kimberly dropped me off. She had to go to Eckerd’s and then she’ll be back.”

  “Oh, joy.” Unwilling to let him inside the town house, she paused beside a bed of colorful impatiens. Gazing directly into his hard, resolute eyes, she challenged him with her own determined stare. “So what do you want this time?” she sneered. As if I don’t know. Having given up on attacking her ex-spouse, Spooks settled for sniffing the grass near her feet.

  “I was hoping you’d decided to sell our rental property. It would be a good move considering your circumstances. A good move,” he added in his irritating manner of repeating phrases for emphasis.

  Ignoring an itch on her ankle, Marla quirked an eyebrow. “Oh? What do you mean?”

  He glowered at her, which was difficult considering the sun was shining directly on his face. Marla had purposely taken advantage of the shadier position. “You must be losing business because of that woman’s murder. Selling our building will land us lots of capital. Lots, Marla. We can both use it.”

  “What: do you know about the murder?” she demanded. For an instant, the absurd notion swept her mind that he’d committed the crime in order to force her into selling. Apparently he was unaware that business had swelled as a result.

  “I heard on the news that the woman was poisoned. Aren’t people afraid to come to the salon now?”

  She smirked. “Quite the opposite. Business has never been better. Disappointed?”

  His scowl grew fierce. She stood firm, refusing to back away like she’d done during their marriage. He’d never been physically violent, but his verbal abuse had been more than enough. You can handle it. He can’t hurt you now. Memories flooded her: belittling remarks he’d thrown at her, scornful comments made in front of his friends. Humiliation had been her constant companion. Thank God she’d come to her senses, but the bastard still tried to push her under whenever the opportunity arose.

  “That woman died in your salon,” he told her, peering down his arrogant nose. “Her relatives have a good case if they decide to sue. You should be covering your tail.”

  “How? By hiring you?” Restless to move on, Spooks pulled on the leash. She restrained him with a sharp command.

  “You need me, Marla. Don’t think you can handle this alone. You’ve always needed me, even though you won’t admit it.” His sweeping gesture encompassed her street. “Look at this place. It’s a comedown from what we had together. A comedown. And you, still single, unable to establish a stable relationship—”

  “Go to hell,” she snarled, unable to help herself. Gripping Spook’s leash with tight knuckles, she strode toward her front door.

  A strong grip clamped on her shoulder, bringing her to a sudden halt. Stan spun her around, towering over her by a good six inches.

  “Don’t touch me!” she yelled, jerking free.

  His eyes narrowed to slits. “Listen to me! I intend to sell that property. You will cooperate. I’ll have my assistant run the papers over for you to sign.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Stan. I’m not your doormat anymore. I will not sell my share of the property, understand?”

  “You’d better do as I say.” His fists clenched at his sides.

  “Or what? You’ll sue me?” She laughed aloud. “Get lost, pal. I’m outta here.”

  “You’ll be sorry!” he hollered, as she rushed inside her house.

  “I’ve got enough problems,” she muttered, slamming the dead bolt in place. Stooping, she released Spooks from his leash. “Not you, precious. You’re my comfort” Lifting his small body, she hugged him close to her chest. His soft form warmed her heart as he licked her chin. Ironic, wasn’t it, that her dog cared more about her than her former husband? But Stan had never cared about anyone except himself. />
  Depressed, she threw off her shoes and plopped down on the living-room sofa, still cuddling Spooks. He snuggled close, bringing her a fleeting sense of security as she scratched behind his ears. It disappeared rapidly when she recalled Stan’s parting words. Great, more trouble. Just what she needed.

  How could she have fallen in love with a man like him? Undoubtedly, it was the Cinderella story revisited. Lowly hairstylist wooed by rich, powerful lawyer. Never mind that she was emotionally vulnerable after Tammy’s accident. How could she resist when her mother had erupted in raptures at the prospect of a marriage between Marla and a nice Jewish man? Stan’s parents had been just as thrilled by the match. With so many intermarriages occurring these days, they were excited he hadn’t chosen a shikseh, and they showered Marla with attention.

  Marla never understood what Stan saw in her until later when things began to unravel. Then she realized he got his kicks out of power plays. He didn’t want her to work, to go out with friends, much less to think for herself. The man lived to dominate her. Joining the coalition to help prevent child drownings had given her a purpose. It also gave her the boost of confidence she’d needed to counter Stan’s negative influence on her self-esteem. Without Tally’s support, she might not have made it through the divorce. Tally came up with the suggestion that Marla use her divorce settlement to buy a salon. It would give her a sense of self-worth which she sorely lacked. Establishing the business had been her salvation. Now Marla reveled in her freedom. No longer did she have to live up to someone else’s standards. The prospect of not having children didn’t deter her from remaining single. Too much pain could come from that direction, and she preferred for things to stay stable. Oh yes, things were rolling along just as smooth as fudge.

  That is, until Bertha Kravitz died in her salon and Roy Collins menaced her and Stan compounded her anxiety with his nasty remarks. What else could go wrong? Don’t forget Detective Vail and the envelope! If he discovered its contents, she might end up in jail. Her blood chilled as grim images came to mind: being forced to undergo a body search; finding herself locked in a cell with hardened criminals; days passing with boredom as her only companion. Lord save her.

  If only Todd Kravitz would shed some light on his mother’s murder, she’d have a new lead to follow. Rising, she plodded into the bedroom to get ready for their meeting. Her assignation took on a higher priority when Lance phoned with his report. As she’d suspected, the threatening call had been made from a pay phone. No scoop there. Praying that her encounter with Todd would be more fruitful, she quickly showered and dressed. At eight-thirty, she grabbed her purse, said good-bye to Spooks, and fled her town house.

  Scudders was nestled across the street from the beach between a swimwear shop and a tacky souvenir place selling orange-blossom perfume, T-shirts with crass Floridian emblems, and plastic alligators. You could tell it was a singles hangout by the rock music blaring from the open doorway and the cluster of young groupies wearing jewelry on unusual body parts, like that guy with the nose ring and an earring on his lip.

  Marla pushed her way inside, wrinkling her nose at the assault of smoke and beer fumes. Through the dim haze, she squinted, attempting to locate Todd Kravitz. Gyrating bodies on a center dance floor made it difficult to see into the dark corners beyond. Scanning the crowded bar to the left, she didn’t catch sight of him.

  Someone touched her arm, startling her. She glanced at the young man with yellow teeth who hovered nearby and suppressed a moue of disappointment. Darn, was Todd even going to show up? Maybe she should walk around to the rear and see if he was situated behind the dance floor. Belatedly, she realized the man was saying something to her, but the din made it hard to hear.

  “Excuse me?” she said.

  “You wanna dance, luv?” Yellow Teeth leaned closer, sending her a waft of foul breath. His bulging eyes trailed down her sleeveless navy knit dress, making her wish she hadn’t chosen an outfit with such a short skirt and snug fit.

  She took a step backward. “I’m waiting for someone, thanks.”

  “So what? I’ll keep you busy in the meantime.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the dance floor just as the four-piece band started playing a slow number.

  Annoyed, Marla wrestled out of his grasp. “Bug off, pal.”

  The man’s pockmarked features reddened with fury. “Hey, nobody talks to Hawkeye like that.”

  Craning her neck, Marla spotted Todd at a table in the back. Figures he’d pick the darkest corner.

  “Sorry, my date is here,” she said, feeling a rush of relief. Leaving Hawkeye glowering after her, she headed toward Todd. Seated at a burl wood table, he was clutching a beer bottle and staring at a flickering votive candle. Without waiting for an invitation, she slid onto the cushioned rattan seat opposite him.

  “Didn’t you see me come in?” she asked.

  “Nope.” His bleary blue eyes regarded her with disinterest.

  “I thought you’d be waiting up front.” No wonder you’re hiding in the corner, pal. You look like you just crawled out of bed. Her scornful glance absorbed his unkempt appearance. His colored black hair, lighter roots showing, hung like strands on a wet mop framing a face that badly needed a shave. Rumpled clothes bearing old coffee stains indicated he was overdue to visit a laundromat. And the way he slouched in his chair told her this wasn’t his first drink for the night, nor would it be his last.

  ‘ ‘You didn’t bring anyone else, did you?” he muttered.

  “No, I came alone.”

  His gaze shifted to her bosom, half-exposed by her low-cut bodice, and a spark of interest ignited his eyes. Clearly he wasn’t interested in the mother-of-pearl choker that matched her earrings. A lazy smile curved his mouth, sending a jolt of recognition through her.

  “I always thought you were a classy dame,” he said. “You and me ... we’d be a hot number.”

  “I don’t think so!” She shuddered at the images that came to mind. “What do you mean, ‘you always thought’? Did we meet somewhere other than at your mother’s funeral?”

  He leered at her, making her skin crawl. “You really haven’t got a clue, do you? Yo, get the lady a drink,” he yelled to a passing waitress.

  Marla ordered a bushwacker, in the mood for the coffee flavored beverage with its generous blend of liqueurs and cream. At least she’d get something good from this evening, if only a drink. She was wondering how to proceed when a warm hand touched her thigh. Shocked, she jerked away.

  Todd scraped his chair closer. “You want me to talk, you’d better be nice, babe.”

  His hand snaked back under the table, stroking her inner thigh with a determined persistence. An unpleasant feeling invaded her senses, making her want to scream. Why did his touch seem so familiar and yet so distasteful? Had they dated before, so long ago she couldn’t remember? Narrowing her eyes, she studied him, wondering how he had looked before he’d dyed his hair and lost years to a decadent lifestyle.

  Her drink came and she took a long swallow to quell her uneasiness. “What did you want to tell me about your mother?” she snapped, hoping to get this over with as soon as possible. “You said you knew who wanted her dead.”

  He withdrew his hand, a scowl written across his face. “Zack Greenfield has a lot to gain.”

  Somehow she wasn’t surprised by his revelation. “Why is that, because Wendy will inherit Bertha’s money? How do you feel about not being her heir?”

  “The old lady cut me out of her will a long time ago.”

  “You sound resentful.”

  “She never appreciated my talents, although you could say we were cut from the same mold. My mother was a real bitch.” He grinned at her, a sly look in his eyes. “You’d known her for a long time, babe. I’m sure you’d agree.”

  Marla stared at him. Dear heaven, does he know about the envelope”? Quickly, she changed the subject.

/>   “Tell me about Zack.”

  Putting his hands behind his head, he lounged back in his chair. “Unlike me, Zack desperately needs the money.”

  She chewed her lip in frustration. Would she have to pry every bit of information from his mouth? Which tidbit should she pursue, his remark about himself or Zack’s plight?

  ‘ ‘Wendy said Zack was upset about her taking maternity leave. I gather they need her income to make ends meet Or at least they did until she became an heiress.”

  “You got it” Todd glanced around and lowered his voice. “Greenfield’s investments soured last year when the stock market took a dive. He had to borrow money to pay off his clients who were demanding their funds. His creditors ain’t too nice if you know what I mean. Zack owes his old gambling buddies, and you don’t mess with them.”

  “So you’re saying he’s in debt”

  “Right on. His job is in jeopardy, plus he needs to repay those hoods he owes. My mother’s estate will give him what he needs to pull himself through.”

  “Do you think Wendy knows?”

  “Not the whole deal. I think she’s spooked, though. She knows how much Zack hated the old lady. Mokie— that’s what I called my mother—dictated their lives and was always putting Zack down. He resented her interference.”

  “You said she cut you out of her will. What was the nature of your disagreement?”

  He grinned. “She didn’t like how I earn a living.”

  “And how is that?”

  A lecherous look came over his face as he regarded her. “You should know, babe.”

  His pointed glance made her feel sordid. “Where were you the night before your mother drank the poisoned coffee?”

  “I was right here at Scudders until I went home with a hot babe named Teena. Ask the bartender: Rocko will vouch for me.” He leaned forward, his breath fanning her face. “I suppose I could ask you the same thing.”

  She bristled at his tone. “I didn’t kill her.”

  “No? How come that detective was so interested in your relationship to my mother?”