Permed to Death

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Needing funds desperately to pay the lawyer defending her against Tammy’s parents and not wanting to burden her own family, she’d agreed. Stupid girl, Marla railed now. Little had she realized what would be required from her until a muscular male model sauntered into the private back room at the photographer’s studio. Only then had Marla become suspicious, but she still figured that a few photographs, even nude pictures, might not hurt if they were destined for sale to closet voyeurs. At least the photos hadn’t been designed for a magazine like the one in her hand.

  Flipping through the pages, she looked for a date. It had been issued fairly recently. Could there be a connection between this photographer and the one Bertha had sought out for her boudoir pictures? As far as she’d known, the man who took Marla’s photos had left town. Maybe he’d just changed his place of business, and Bertha had still been connected to him. And if so, perhaps she’d been blackmailing other former models like herself. That notion chilled her because then there might be a whole slew of people who’d wanted Bertha dead.

  Perhaps she could coax the printer into revealing the photographer’s whereabouts. Even if it had nothing to do with her own sordid pictures, the lead was worth investigating. She noted a post office box address for Fort Lauderdale.

  Shifting into drive, Marla shot forward and headed onto a main road.

  An hour later, she had her answer. After standing in line at the main post office, she got the name and address of the person renting the box by claiming she was answering an ad in a promotional brochure. This led to another downtown location. Gritting her teeth, Marla debated whether she should return to work or risk being late by following the trail. It wasn’t worth it to make her customers angry, she finally decided-She could always return after working hours.

  Her afternoon appointments passed quickly, but she’d nearly forgotten her dinner date with Ralph. She met him at the Italian Bistro in Davie. Marla was still dressed in her work clothes, a floral-patterned skirt and a cranberry short-sleeved sweater. In contrast, Ralph had spiffed himself for the occasion. Dressing up for him meant putting on a clean T-shirt that displayed his muscular physique and a pair of snug jeans. His spiky black hair looked as though he’d stuck his finger in an electrical outlet. Marla resisted the urge to advise him against using so much gel as she greeted him outside the restaurant.

  They were seated at an alcove by the window. After giving her order, she dropped her gaze to his grease-stained hands. He might be less refined than some of her other friends, but Ralph was sincere, and that’s what appealed to her the most in a man. She’d met him when her car needed some work, and she had realized he was one of the few honest mechanics in the area. That they were physically attracted to each other became evident right from the start He’s the brawn and Lance is the brains, Marla thought, suppressing a smile. So what if she divided her attentions? Ralph, at least, had his feet firmly planted on the ground instead of in cyberspace.

  “Wanna go for a ride?” Marla asked after she’d paid her half of the tab. “There’s a place downtown I need to check out. A printer’s shop.”

  Ralph gave her a crooked grin. “Sure, babe. Is there a parking space?” The way he emphasized parking told Marla what he had in mind. No problem. She knew how to fend him off.

  The locale was across from the railroad tracks near Old Dixie Highway. A small, nameless store was wedged between a row of warehouses and a bicycle-repair shop. The number on the facade corresponded with the address she’d been given at the post office. Hovering near the closed front door was a fellow with a blond ponytail, a bandanna around his head, and a torn T-shirt proclaiming Life’s A Beach.

  When he gave Marla the once-over, she sidled closer to Ralph. Flexing his muscles, her companion glared at the stranger. Brawn can come in handy, Marla thought gratefully.

  “The place is closed. I’ll come back another time,” she told Ralph, swallowing her disappointment. “Let’s go.” With darkness descending, she didn’t care to linger in that part of town.

  Ralph took her elbow and guided her to his battered Chevy. She’d already observed that he spent his time fixing other people’s cars but didn’t bother with his own. Somehow the trait tickled her fancy. Unlike many other men, Ralph didn’t derive a sense of power from his set of wheels. His value system emphasized more important goals such as going to night school. She admired his ambition to earn a college degree and wished him well.

  Settling onto the cracked leather seat, she heaved a sigh. Although her nerves screamed with frustration, she’d have to be patient about contacting the printer. Tomorrow, she could try to run down here during business hours.

  “What’s the problem, babe? Why did you want to come here anyway? It’s not the sort of joint you normally visit.” Ralph patted her arm.

  “It’s related to Bertha’s murder. She’s the woman who expired in my salon,” she explained at his puzzled look.

  “Aren’t the police working the case?”

  “I’m trying to learn things from a different viewpoint.”

  “You’re prying, you mean,” he said perceptibly. “That could land you in a heap of trouble.”

  “I’m already in trouble. The detective suspects I did the dirty deed.” She noticed they weren’t driving back to the restaurant where she’d left her car. “Where are we going?”

  “You’re too uptight. I figured we’d take a walk along the river and then have coffee on Las Olas. You game?” His dark eyes sparkled mischievously, and Marla understood. He felt she needed comforting, which he was all too happy to provide. Of course, the offer of coffee was a temptation she couldn’t deny.

  “Sure, I’d like that.”

  He parked on a side street near Las Olas Boulevard and they skirted the dinner crowds to head toward the

  New River. Strolling along the waterfront, Marla averted her gaze from the rippling current It reminded her of things she’d rather not think about right then.

  Without being consciously aware of her purpose, she leaned closer to Ralph. He’d been walking beside her, holding her hand and keeping silent as though realizing she needed space to calm herself. When she felt his solid chest wall, her composure broke and she turned into him, seeking his strength. Responding, Ralph tightened his arms around her.

  Despising herself for her weakness, Marla gave in to the need for protection, burying her head against his shirt and closing her eyes. Her past mistakes kept returning to haunt her. Would she never be free of this anguish?

  To her distressed surprise, Dalton Vail’s angular features floated into mental view, and an imagined whiff of his spiced scent invaded her mind. Where’d he spring from? A guilty conscience?

  Marla disentangled herself, her breathing rapid. “S-sorry, I... I guess things are just taking their toll.”

  Ralph smiled gently. “That’s all right Let’s go for coffee. Caffeine always gives you a boost.”

  It gave her a boost okay, but not the kind she wanted. She spent a restless night, tossing in her bed and dreaming about the gruff police detective. Whether a good dream or a nightmare remained to be decided. I should tell him about the photographs, she thought, but she was hesitant to sully his impression of her. Not to mention revealing she had a motive for doing away with Bertha Kravitz. The fear of being arrested held her tongue more than anything. Even if Vail believed her story, he might be forced to act against her.

  “You look like something your dog might drag inside,” she grumbled to herself in the morning while peering into the bathroom mirror. Dark circles marred her complexion and even a heavy concealer couldn’t erase them. After fluffing powder on her face, she applied a light touch of blush before doing her eyes with a putty-colored shadow.

  Spooks stood by, watching her with baleful eyes. They’d already gone for their morning walk, but he still craved attention. Marla stooped to scratch behind his ears. “You behave while I’m gone. No dig
ging on the sofa today, you hear?”

  Having her own business preserved her sanity. When she’d been married to Stan, she used to spend hours in the kitchen concocting tropical delights in order to please him. Nothing she did seemed to earn his appreciation. Now she worked for herself. She didn’t have to answer to anyone for her time and got her rewards from her customers. She’d earned her reputation and intended to keep it from being demolished.

  She’d just gathered her purse and was about to leave for the salon when the phone rang.

  “Marla? Dalton Vail here. I have a new lead regarding Carlos. Want to take a ride with me this morning?”

  “Where to?” she rasped, warmth flooding her at the sound of his deep voice.

  “You’ll see. Can you get out of your appointments today? I’m not sure when we’ll return.”

  Mentally, she reviewed her schedule. “I can ask Miloki and Nicole to take over for me. We have a light load today. Where do you want to meet?” Part of her wondered why he wanted her along. Was it to keep her in sight because she was a suspect? Or did he genuinely desire her company? Probably die former, she told herself cynically.

  “I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

  “Wait a minute, what do I wear? I mean, do I need to dress up or anything?” Her glance swept over her belted bronze jumpsuit No way her clunky work shoes could be appropriate.

  A low, masculine chuckle erupted through the line, sending a delicious thrill along her internal circuitry. “Just be comfortable,” he advised.

  Yeah, right. Be comfortable when she was about to spend the day with the sexiest detective this side of the Mississippi. As soon as he hung up, she dialed the salon. Drat, no one answered. But then, it was just after nine. Even Lucille usually didn’t come in this early. Marla left a message on the machine notifying her staff she’d been called away and wouldn’t be in. They’d have to juggle their schedules to accommodate her appointments.

  That task done, she dashed into her bedroom to sprite herself with Obsession. Spooks, excited by her bustle of activity, charged into the room. He zipped around madly, barking as he darted in and out. Marla didn’t have time to coddle him. Checking that her hair was properly styled, she threw on a pair of gold-button earrings. Ouch, that right ear pinched. Her lobes were small and couldn’t support big dangling earrings like the ones she’d worn yesterday. Tally looked better in that kind. Thinking of her friend reminded Marla she needed to visit her shop. Tally had put away an outfit for her to try on, and she’d never gone over. It wasn’t fair to hold it that long. Just chalk up another omission to Bertha’s death!

  Slipping into a pair of low-heeled pumps, she finished primping in time for her ears to pick up the sound of a honking horn. Swinging her purse strap over one shoulder, she scrambled to the front hallway.

  Marla couldn’t get used to seeing Dalton in casual clothes. When he got out to open the car door for her, she caught a glimpse of his broad chest encased in a hunter green knit shirt. Forcing her gaze away from his massive shoulders, she let her eyes trail downward past his trim waistband to a pair of black trousers. Very preppy, she decided approvingly, and nondescript for a man who preferred to blend in with the crowd.

  They made small talk until Marla noticed they were heading west into Everglades territory. On either side of the road, sawgrass extended as far as her eyes could see. A snowy white egret soared over the soggy plain, its long neck a graceful arch.

  “What’s our destination?” she queried, ready to get down to business. He seemed reluctant to steer the conversation toward personal matters, and that suited her just fine.

  “We’re going to see a santero priest,” Vail admitted with a sheepish grin. “I contacted Carlos’s sister, who lives in Elizabeth, New Jersey. She didn’t have anything relevant to add to the case but said her brother used to visit this man. He lives in Hialeah, but they’d meet out in the Everglades to go fishing together. I’m hoping he can shed some light on Carlos’s activities.”

  “What’s a santero priest?”

  “Someone who interprets the rituals of santeria, a religion that mixes African and Catholic beliefs. It’s been popular among Cuban immigrants. Chants, drum ceremonies, charms, and animal sacrifices are part of the practice.”

  “Sounds like voodoo.”

  “Some people equate santeria to satanism, but most folks go to a santero to cure an illness or ask for good-luck charms.”

  “Oh, sort of like a medicine man?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So you think Carlos may have talked to this priest about his plans?”

  “Right, I’m counting on it.”

  Summoning her resolve, Marla asked the question burning in her mind. “What caused Carlos’s death?”

  Vail glanced her way, his face impassive. “Poisoned.”

  Marla gasped. “What?”

  “The cake was contaminated. Whoever gave him his payoff also gave him a plateful of death.”

  “W-which, uh, poison was used?” Was it the same thing that killed Bertha?

  “According to our forensic expert, the derivative came from a climbing pea plant commonly found in Florida,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone as though they were discussing vegetable gardens. “Prayer beans, Seminole beads, Indian licorice—those are just some of the names it goes by. When the beans are crushed, the seeds provide abric acid, a highly toxic substance. Symptoms can take up to several days to occur.”

  A shiver wormed up her spine. “So Carlos wouldn’t have felt the effects right away. That latent period would have worked to the killer’s advantage. Give Carlos the cake as a parting gift. That night, he leaves the salon door unlocked. He’s gone in the morning and dead a few days later. Good-bye witness.” She swallowed a lump in her throat at the heartlessness of it all. How easy to dispatch someone who was considered expendable.

  “Seems like we have a bad guy who knows his plants.”

  “Or bad woman,” Marla added, thinking of a certain light-haired female working in her salon. She didn’t believe Darlene knew much about botany, but then, how well did she know the girl?

  “So who’s this santero we’re going to see? And why did you bring me along?”

  Again he spared her a glance, but this time his brows were furrowed. “I have some other news to share. We also got the lab report back on the candy.”

  “Don’t tell me ... I missed eating some perfectly safe marzipans.” She spoke lightly but a tremulous voice betrayed her anxiety.

  ‘ ‘Actually, they contained cyanide—the same form that was found in Mrs. Kravitz’s powdered creamer.”

  Marla’s face lost its color. “Oh, joy. Just what I needed to hear. What’s next?” Thinking about her close call, she felt a surge of anger stir her blood. No one has the right to threaten me! Bad enough Bertha had been murdered in her salon. It was almost as though someone had a grudge against Marla to set the scene where it hurt her the most.

  Pressing her lips together, she guarded her silence as they sped toward an area of higher ground thick with pines and cypress trees. A charred section lay to her right, blackened stumps reaching from the muck like frozen hands. Wildlife thrived in the river of grass which was dotted by hammocks, but although she strained her eyes, she couldn’t spot a single alligator by the banks.

  Carolyn and Stan came to mind, both predators in their own ways. Carolyn must be the one who’d offered to pay Mr. Thomson a large sum to take over Marla’s lease. If Stan were subsidizing her effort to force Marla out, he must be figuring Marla would sell their jointly owned property to stay afloat. But would they go so far as to murder her customer?

  Glancing at Vail’s set jaw and distant expression, she refrained from confiding her thoughts. She could be totally wrong, leaving herself open to a defamation-of-character lawsuit if word got out. No, better to keep her mouth shut until she learned more.

 
; Staring out the window, she let her mind wander. Freed from restraint, a certain thread surfaced among her memories, and then her mental record kept playing the same tune.

  Carolyn was a bleached strawberry blond. In her high-school days, she used to work in a Publix bakery.

  She could have been the woman who baked the cake.

  Chapter 15

  Vail turned his car off the main road about an hour west of Miami. They sped past a souvenir shack selling seashell trinkets. A sausage tree shaded the gravel lane, its oblong shaped fruit hanging down from vine like branches. Sabal palms dotted the landscape, higher ground in the endless wetlands. Peace descended upon Marla as she sank against the seat cushion and allowed her cares to drift away. Here among the tall grasses with an expanse of azure sky stretching in a 360-degree panorama, it was easy to lose your sense of reality in a communion with nature. Living in a semitropical climate, she should take advantage of her surroundings more often.

  Yeah, right. Like I have so much extra time.

  Several miles ahead, they came upon a sign advertising an Indian village and airboat rides. Straightening her spine, she gave Vail an inquisitive glance.

  He responded with a quick grin. “We’re almost there. I hope you don’t mind loud noises.”

  Marla gave him a teasing smile. “That depends. If it’s a strange animal growling, that might alarm me.”

  “I thought you were a dog lover.”

  “Oh, I am. But some animals can be more ferocious.” She thought of Stan, nearly frothing at the mouth when he got angry. “What about you? Do you have any pets?”

  He nodded, his eyes the color of flint. “I bought Brianna a golden retriever when her mother died. I thought having a pet might help ... but it didn’t, not really. She still has a hard time handling her feelings. She loves the dog, though.”

  Marla resisted the urge to touch him. “And you?” she added softly.