“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.”
Chapter 10
A cake? 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.”
“Okay, who do we know with connections to Bertha who’s a light-haired female?” Marla said as they trudged back to her car.
Tally brushed a hand through her wavy hair. Sweat glistened on her brow, and her face was flushed from the heat. She looked as hot as Marla felt. “You tell me,” Tally said.
“It’s not Wendy. She’s a brunette,” Marla replied, unlocking the driver’s side. “Someone from Roy Collins’s office, perhaps, like a secretary sent on an errand?”
“But why would Roy send a cake to Carlos? That makes no sense.”
“I could ask Zack when I see him tomorrow. I’m hoping he’ll be more talkative than Wendy once I steer the conversation toward Bertha Kravitz. He can probably tell me more about Roy.”
Tally cast a meaningful glance at Marla. “You’re overlooking another alternative. The woman could be someone you
know more intimately.”
Marla’s throat constricted. She’d been denying the other possibilities. “Darlene has blond hair, and she’s been nosy lately. But I don’t think she’s capable of murdering anyone. She has no motive against Bertha.” Unlike me. I wonder what you’d think if you knew the truth.
“Get real, Marla. You can’t trust anyone until this is solved.”
Starting the engine, Marla fell into a glum silence until after she’d steered onto the main road heading west. At least driving gave her a clear view of things. Bertha’s murder directed her down less obvious paths. Not trusting her staff was the worst. She’d prided herself on her ability to judge people accurately. Turnover at the salon was at an all-time low, thanks to her careful selection of personnel. But now her confidence had been undermined, and the only person she could truly rely on was herself.
“How about a woman wearing a wig?” she offered, still unwilling to believe a staff member would betray her.
Tally raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Sure, Marla. If Vail learns about this, he might believe it was you.”
How right you are. She said nothing more on the subject, lost in her own musings. They stopped for a bite to eat, but Tally was impatient to get home so they didn’t linger. Marla could tell her friend’s thoughts were deviating because she kept glancing at her watch. Tally was probably wondering if her errant husband had returned yet. She felt a swell of sympathy, wondering what to do to offer comfort.
Tally still had room in her mind for Marla’s troubles. “Keep me informed,” she said, wagging a finger at Marla. “I want to help you solve this mess. We’re here for each other, remember?”
“That goes for me, too.” As they approached Tally’s house, her friend’s shoulders tensed. Marla spotted Ken’s gold Acura sitting in the driveway. “You see, he’s home waiting for you,” she said reassuringly. “Maybe the two of you can do something together this afternoon.”
“If I have anything to say about it, we will. This has got to end, Marla.”
“What about that little surprise you’re planning?”
“It’s my last resort.”
“I can’t believe you’re not going to tell me what you have in mind,” Marla said, tapping her chest “You wound me deeply.”
Tally laughed. “You’re such a good friend, but this is one secret I won’t reveal. You’ll learn about it afterward.” Her expression sobered. “I’m hoping such tactics won’t be necessary, but I am prepared to carry them through. In the meantime, I’ll keep working on him. He’s never been this close-mouthed before.”
Thank goodness Tally’s spirits had rallied. It was better to confront one’s problems straight on. No pain, no gain. The truism applied to relationships as well as sports. Had Marla followed that advice with Stan, she’d have relieved herself of much suffering. But sometimes you learned things the hard way, and they were the lessons that really stuck.
“Maybe I can entice him to go to the Strip,” Tally commented, her hand on the door latch as Marla pulled alongside the curb. “We haven’t seen the new shopping plaza yet, and Ken is one of those rare men who enjoys browsing.” She waved her hand. “Call me tomorrow after your appointment with Zack, and we’ll exchange news.”
“Good luck,” Marla cried, as Tally swung from her seat
She could use some of that luck herself, Marla realized during the drive home. She seemed no closer to learning who Bertha Kravitz’s killer was than Detective Vail, although most likely he wasn’t telling her everything. Why should he? She was still a suspect. For some reason, Marla felt it was important to win him as an ally. Only when the case was solved could she preserve her reputation and move on. Only then could she absolve herself from the guilt she felt over Bertha’s demise. But there was still the matter of that damned envelope. Until she had it safely in her possession, Vail might use it to pound the nail into her coffin. For all she knew, he’d already seen it and was waiting to gather more evidence against her.
Frowning, she pulled into her driveway when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a package tilted against the front door. Her foot faltered on the accelerator but she continued into the garage. Today was Sunday. How could she have gotten a mail delivery?
Her curiosity mounting, she retrieved the package which was wrapped nondescriptly in brown paper. Odd, there’s no return address. Turning it over in her hands, she noticed the lack of a postmark as well.
A few moments later, she entered the town house. Spooks yipped wildly, wagging his tail and running circles around her. Smiling, she placed the bundle on the kitchen counter and bent to scratch his ear before letting him outside.
Her skin felt sticky from the humidity. Better to get comfortable before opening that package, she thought, heading into the lavatory. After freshening up, she allowed herself to approach the mysterious box.
Her examination yielded little information. Shiny sealing tape secured the edges. A white mailing label listed her typed name and address. Otherwise, there was no indication of the sender’s identity.
How peculiar. Throwing caution aside, she withdrew a pair of scissors from a kitchen drawer and sliced through the tape. Nothing momentous happened—like an unexpected explosion—as her fingers separated the edges of the wrapping. Slowly, she released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. When the last vestiges of package wrapping fell away, her eyes widened.
Marzipans. My favorite!
Thrusting the brown paper aside, she slid the box open. The fruit-shaped candies looked like the typical confections she bought for herself at Christmastime. But which friend knew how much she loved these treats?
A slip of paper fell onto the counter when she lifted the box. She snatched it up, hastily scanning the typewritten message: From your Secret Admirer. That’s all. No signature or any other indication of who’d sent her a gift.
Detective Vail? She’d mentioned marzipan to him the first day they’d met, but she hadn’t told him her own preference for the sweet. Nor would Tally send her a gift in this manner. It could be someone from the salon, she realized. Her staff knew she turned into a marzipan freak during the holiday season.
Selecting a rosy apple shape, she sniffed its almond fragrance. Her mouth salivated with anticipation.
Arnie, of course. The dear man had sent her this gift to cheer her. It couldn’t be any of the other guys she dated. Lance brought her electronic gizmos that usually ended up in a drawer. Ralph gave corny gifts but rarely food, and basically, he just remembered her birthday. Nah, it had to be Arnie.
Her lips poised to take a bite, but then she paused. Now that she thought about it, Arnie wasn’t so subtle. He presented his gifts personally, like that bottle of Beau-jolais he’d given her after the wine festival. He’d insisted they share it at an outdoor concert over the weekend. But if not him, then who else?
The faint aroma of almonds prodded a memory from her mind. No, she thought. It wasn’t possible.
Her blood chilled as she replaced the firm candy in its box. Grabbing her purse, she rummaged inside until her fingers touched the business card belonging to Detective Vail. Within reaching distance of the telephone, she dialed his beeper number with a trembling hand. Probably she was being totally paranoid, but better safe than sorry.
A thumping noise at the door made her scurry forward to let Spooks inside. She stepped back as he dashed into the kitchen. Standing by her side, he shook his body, flinging moisture onto her clothes. The odors of fresh air and rich humus clung to him.
“Good move, Spooks,” she said, brushing off her blouse. The phone rang, and she grabbed the receiver off its hook.
“Hello?” She hardly recognized the breathless voice as her own.
“Vail here.”
Her stiffened spine relaxed; his gruff voice was oddly comforting. “It’s Marla Shore. This may be foolish, but I found a package at my front door. I
-I’m not sure who sent it.”
“Have you opened it yet?”
She could imagine his wolf’s eyes narrowing in thought. “Yes, it’s a box of candy. My favorite kind, actually. Marzipan.”
A leaden silence followed. “I’ll be right over.”
Marla used the intervening time to change clothes. By the time Vail arrived, she was neatly attired in a navy pantsuit with a red shell and dark pumps. Her hair freshly brushed, she’d applied a dab of powder to her tanned complexion. At least she hadn’t lost her coloring, she thought, a fresh attack of nerves assaulting her. What if those treats were really poisoned? Her gaze swept to die countertop. No way would she taste one to find out. One thing she knew for a certainty: Vail hadn’t sent them.
Her fears diminished when he arrived. Hearing his sedan pull into the driveway, she dashed to the foyer. Her hand fumbled with the doorknob in her haste. A moment later, she stood in the open doorway, watching him stride toward her.
Dressed in a plaid shirt tucked into a pair of form-fitting jeans, he looked more like a lumberjack than a clever detective. Her defenses wavered as she surveyed his thick hair, craggy features, and wide shoulders. He looked damn good, and she had a hard time remembering to maintain her cool.
Clearing her throat, she extended a greeting. “Hello, Dalton.” She used his first name purposefully, more to put herself at ease than him. His piercing gaze affected her more profoundly than she liked to admit. “I’m glad you could come. I wasn’t sure if you were working today or not.”
His mouth quirked in an easy smile. “It gave me a reason to leave the office. I’m supposed to be off today, but I was getting caught up on paperwork. I can’t say I’m sorry you interrupted. Sometimes I get too carried away.”
So he’s a workaholic. What does he do in his spare time? “Please come inside,” she said, her tone formal. She didn’t mean for them to get too personal.
“Where’s the package?” he demanded, stalking past her.
Permed to Death Page 12
