Permed to Death

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Vail patted her thigh. “We know he was in Naples up until dinner the night before the murder from tracing his charge accounts. But he used express checkout, meaning he could have left anytime in the night. When the maid knocked on his door in the morning, he was already gone.”

  Marla sucked in a breath. “So he could have been at the salon! He may have met Darlene there.”

  “Poison is still not the usual MO for a man.”

  “Well, if you don’t think Roy did it, Darlene still might have been acting under his instructions. He inherits Bertha’s business interests. Lucille led me to believe he’s skimming funds from the company, and she thinks Bertha found out. Her memoirs might have exposed him. Faced with possible legal action, he may have taken matters into his own hands.”

  “What else did Lucille tell you?”

  “She confirmed that Bertha and Roy were having an affair.”

  “Did that seem to bother her?”

  “No, why should it? She left the company eight years ago.” Something niggled at her consciousness, but Marla pushed it away.

  ‘ ‘There’s also Zack and Wendy,’’ Vail commented casually.

  Marla sat up straight. “Wendy was fond of her aunt. She wouldn’t have harmed Bertha.”

  “Zack’s resources are depleted. He owes people money, and his wife is pregnant. He’s got a motive.”

  “I’m telling you, Wendy isn’t involved in this case. Zack is expecting an investment to come through.”

  “Yeah, his wife’s inheritance.”

  Realizing he was baiting her, she fell silent for the rest of the ride. Other possibilities entered her mind, unpleasant ideas she didn’t want to consider but forced herself to confront.

  Ken was involved in Zack’s money-making scheme. His recent behavior indicated something was wrong, but he wouldn’t confide in Tally. Or was one of them lying? Tally’s blond mane of hair came to mind, but Marla quickly discarded the notion. The sailor would have recognized Tally if she’d been the one to visit Carlos at the dock. And what about the santero’s remark that Carlos said the woman looked good for her age? Tally, Darlene, and even Wendy kept themselves youthfully in style.

  Wishing she’d get home, Marla shifted her position. Who else looked good for her years and had light hair?

  A lump rose in her throat. Carolyn Sutton. But her competitor wouldn’t stoop this low to put her out of business. If anything, business had swelled after the murder. People were curious to visit the place and gossip about Bertha Kravitz. That didn’t explain the rival bid to her landlord unless Stan truly belonged in the equation. Regardless of whether or not they’d been scheming behind her back, Marla determined to pay Carolyn a long-overdue visit.

  “Want to stop for lunch?” Vail asked unexpectedly.

  Marla glanced at her watch. It was nearly one o’clock. They’d made good time. In no hurry to return to the salon, she agreed. “Sure, what did you have in mind?”

  “I know of a Cuban place not far from here.”

  “That sounds great.”

  Over a meal of sauteed chicken breast with fried plantains, black beans, and rice, Marla attempted to gauge his impression of her. He still wasn’t sharing all he knew about the case, but that could just be his natural caution rather than a conviction on his part that she was guilty.

  “You puzzle me,” he admitted after bolting down a swallow of beer.

  “How so?” Marla sipped her iced coffee, appreciating the restaurant’s soft decor. White tablecloths and fresh flowers combined with muted lighting gave the place an intimate atmosphere. She felt strange being there with a police detective.

  “Not too many other women would get involved in a murder case like you’ve done. You’ve gotten some pretty useful information.”

  ‘ ‘Bertha died in my salon. That makes it my responsibility to find her murderer.”

  Reaching across the table, he took her hand. “You’re wrong. It’s my job to solve this case. You’re putting yourself at risk by snooping.”

  Marla withdrew her hand. “You don’t understand. If I find her killer, that absolves me.” Folding her hands, she redirected her gaze to the tiled floor. “I should have detected something unusual in her creamer. It’ll always be my fault that I fixed her that cup of coffee. It wasn’t my intention to harm her.” Her pleading glance rose to meet his bewildered expression.

  “Why do you insist on accepting blame?”

  A small smile played about her lips. “You mean you’re not accusing me of doing the deed?”

  “If you didn’t, why do you persist in feeling guilty?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “This isn’t the first time,” she murmured. She hadn’t meant to say it. The words just slipped from her mouth. Clenching her hands together, she blurted out her disgraceful history. If he’d been digging into her past, he knew about most of it already anyway. Except for the photos, and she wouldn’t mention those. In a faltering voice, she told him about Tammy.

  “No wonder,” he said, a hint of admiration in his tone.

  “What does that mean?” She’d just bared her soul, describing her grief and guilt-ridden agony, and his response was an oblique remark. Her hackles rose in self-defense.

  “I can tell you’re a strong person from the way you handle yourself under fire. Now I know why. You were scorched by the flames of hell, and you came out unseamed.”

  Her eyes reflected her anguish. “No, not unscathed. The wounds may not be visible, but they’re still here.”

  Leaning forward, he captured her gaze.’ ‘They’ll always be with you, but you’ve learned how to go on. By your work with the coalition, you help others. That’s really the best way to deal with pain.”

  “You’ve experienced bad times yourself. How do you manage?”

  He lounged back, his face hooded. “We’re not talking about me.”

  “Why not? If you ask me, you need to talk to someone.”

  “Well, I didn’t ask you.”

  “Fine, suit yourself. But you’ll never get close to another person with that attitude. Maybe that’s the point. You’re afraid of experiencing another loss.”

  “Aren’t you?” he retorted. “You act like you’re trying to prove something by finding Bertha’s killer. And whenever I try to get more personal, you shy away. I’ve learned more about you today than from our previous talks.”

  “That’s swell. Pat yourself on the back.”

  A bitter silence fell between them as they left the restaurant. Marla resented his remarks and how he was able to get under her skin so easily. Just as well she’d never see him again after this case was solved.

  Neither one spoke during the drive back to her town house. Finally, Vail broke the ice. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said back there.” Pulling into her driveway, he shifted into park and shut off the engine.

  “No problem.” Surreptitiously, she glanced at the time. Three o’clock. She could still make it to the printer’s shop before business hours ended and have time left over to check on things at the salon. “I’ve got to go.”

  “But I’d like to talk about this.”

  “Not now.”

  “You don’t have to go back to the salon. Isn’t another hairdresser covering for you?”

  “I’ve got things to do.” Opening the door, she shoved herself out. “Thanks for the lunch. It’s been a great day.”

  “You’re welcome.” The words bit out of his mouth. Eyes narrowing, he didn’t say another word.

  Feeling a twinge of guilt, she pushed it aside. Too many chasms lay between them to be bridged so readily. Bertha’s murder was the biggest hurdle. Better to leave things between them on a business level.

  After greeting Spooks, who leapt for joy at her arrival, she freshened up before heading out again. Three stops were on her agenda. First was the print shop, then her salo
n to make sure things were in order. Then if she still had time, she’d direct her attention to Carolyn Sutton.

  Luck followed her to the store. When she pushed on the door, it swung open. She’d even been able to find a parking meter down the quiet street. Inside, a balding middle-aged man sat behind a counter reading the newspaper. At her entrance, he stood up, stuffing the paper into a drawer.

  Marla caught a glimpse of machinery in a back workroom. Male voices raised in argument told her they weren’t alone. Nervously, she wet her lips. From the magazines displayed on the walls, this appeared to be a legitimate business.

  “Excuse me, I’m looking for the proprietor,” she said, approaching the fellow behind the counter.

  “That’s me. Kurt Jarvis, ma’am.” He regarded her with a wary expression.

  “I’m, uh, doing an article on local entrepreneurs. You were recommended as someone who represents an unusual occupation.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “My readers like to get the real juice, you know what I mean?”

  “Who do you work for—one of the tabloids?”

  “Of course.”

  He probably doesn ‘t get too many classy women in this part of town, she realized. Figures he’d add her to his sleaze list thinking she could only work for a sensational news service. Then again, if he sold dirty magazines, his walk-ins could be well-heeled. Perverted tastes knew no social boundaries, or so she’d been led to believe. Maybe he sold the tilings through mail order, she thought suddenly, spotting a stack of brown-wrapped items at the far end.

  “I notice you have these glossy publications.” She waved at the displays on the walls. “But a friend gave me a sample of something else, which I was hoping to buy.”

  She smiled, noting the twitch in his double chin. It matched his belly when he moved. A half-filled box of doughnuts rested on the counter, a telltale smidgen of powdered sugar stuck to his mouth.

  “Really? Who’s your friend?”

  “That’s not important. I have a sample in my purse.” Lifting out the magazine, she showed him.

  His glance flickered toward the front door. “Put it away, ma’am. I don’t carry that stuff here.”

  “Oh no?” She opened the first page and indicated the post office box address. “I asked at the post office where this originated, and they gave me this address. Since it’s registered as a business PO Box, they can give out that information.” She made her remark sound like a veiled threat.

  “Just a minute, please.” A sheen of sweat had broken out on Jarvis’s face. Giving her a nervous glance, he turned away and scurried into the back workroom, where she heard him confer with his colleagues.

  Marla used the time to saunter around the room. She noticed that the pile of brown-wrapped items bore a different post office box address than the one on the magazine and made a mental note of the box number. A colorful calendar on the wall drew her attention. Did they produce those, too? But when she took a closer look, her eyes widened. Another business was listed. Apparently this was a promotional gift from—guess who?—a photographer. Sure she had struck gold, Marla scribbled down his name on a pad of paper before the printer returned.

  He didn’t return alone. Backing him were two scroungy men who looked like bouncers. One had wiry hair and tattoos on both bulging biceps. The other one leering at her looked like he needed a good dentist. From the smell of him, a bath would have helped, also. Marla inadvertently took a step backward.

  “You looking for dirty pictures, missy? This ain’t the right place,” growled the man with broken front teeth. “But if youse is interested, I’ll take you somewhere else.” His hot gaze raked her body. “I know where you can get a fix.”

  “No, thanks. I must have made a mistake.” Clenching her purse to her side, she made for the door.

  The two men were around the counter in an instant. Bad Teeth blocked her path. Spinning about, she faced Muscle Man square on. “I’m leaving now,” she said, her tone firm. “Please ask your friend to get out of my way.”

  “Not so fast, sister.” Muscle Man’s voice grated like chalk on a board. “We’d like to know who sent you.”

  “I’m a reporter for the tabloids,” she repeated, hoping they wouldn’t ask for identification. Her heart thumping wildly, she struggled to maintain her cool.

  “Come into the back with us. We’ll show youse what you want,” coaxed Bad Teeth from behind.

  Marla edged sideways, hoping he’d follow so she could aim for the door from a different direction. “First tell me if those magazines are printed here.”

  “You’re not an undercover cop, are you?” sneered Muscle Man. He advanced until she was forced to stare into the bulging whites of his eyes. Sweat mingled with the smell of printer’s ink. Resisting the urge to retreat, she lifted her chin.

  “No, I’m not. I guess I was wrong about finding a story here. You’ve got to let me leave.”

  A harsh chuckle sounded from behind and then hands roughly cupped her buttocks. She jerked around, elbow swinging. Pain splintered her arm as she connected with Bad Teeth’s cheekbone. Grunting in surprise, he lurched backward just as the front door crashed open.

  “Need some assistance?” drawled Detective Vail. His steely gaze challenged her assailants. Never had she been more glad to see the tall, athletic police officer.

  Sensing his authority, the two men backed off. “We was just having a little fun,” whined Bad Teeth, quick to disengage himself under the threat of retribution.

  Marla rushed toward Vail. “Let’s get out of here,” she pleaded, tugging on his arm. Scowling down at her, he gave a quick nod. Evidently he was more concerned about her safety than pursuing these miscreants.

  “What the hell were you doing in there?” he snarled outside on the sidewalk.

  “I was asking questions. Thanks for the rescue,” Marla mumbled, too unnerved to explain further. As she directed him to her car down the street, she stiffened her spine to control her trembling. It wouldn’t do to show Vail how scared she’d been. Okay, so it was pretty stupid to come here alone. Bad neighborhood, disreputable shop. Possible illegal activity if they were sending those magazines out via the mail. Dumb move, Marla. Her nose wrinkled; diesel fumes from a truck guzzled down the road.

  “Why were you here? Were you following me?” she snapped, grateful he’d shown up at the right time but wondering how he came to be there in the first place.

  He kept pace with her fast stride. Fury darkened his face, as turbulent as those storm clouds approaching on the horizon. His thick brows were so close together they reminded her of a cold front line marching south. Even the corners of his mouth curved downward, expressing disapproval. With his broad shoulders hunched forward, he appeared ready for a fight.

  “I didn’t like the way you got rid of me,” he said in his gruff tone. “Thought I’d tail you to see where you were going in such a hurry.”

  “What?” Whirling to face him, she tapped his arm. “Is that a measure of your trust? I’d hoped you believed in me.” Hurt mixed with anger in her tone. She couldn’t help feeling betrayed. His actions merely served as evidence to the huge gap between them.

  A distant rumble of thunder reached her ears. Dust clogged her nostrils as a breeze blew in. The air smelled of impending rain. It was a fitting end to a bad experience.

  “You have the chutzpah to talk about trust?” he scoffed, his gaze glittering with disappointment. “Why don’t you tell me why you were here. What questions were you asking in that place?”

  Marla wavered. She could just mention the magazine Wendy had found, but that might lead to the photographer and her own sordid past. Vail already knew about Tammy; maybe he’d understand why she’d been so desperate for money. Or maybe he’d consider Bertha’s blackmailing her to be enough of a motive for Marla to murder the old lady. His menacing stance made her decision easy. He w
asn’t in a tolerant mood. Better to deflect his attention.

  “Sorry, but I’m afraid that anything I say to you may be used against me.”

  “Ah ha, so you are hiding something. I figured as much.” An exultant look crossed his face.

  Fearful she’d say more than was wise, Marla resumed her walk to the car. Vail’s long-legged gait quickly overtook hers. Taking her arm, he jerked her to a halt.

  “I want to help, Marla. Honestly. You’re putting yourself in danger, and I’d like to know why.”

  His earnest expression almost convinced her, but she knew cops sometimes took sympathetic tacks. It wouldn’t work on her, much as she wished he could be an ally.

  “No, thanks, this is a private matter.” Loosening his grip, she fled to her Toyota and unlocked the door with shaking fingers.

  “I’ll be watching you,” he warned without making an attempt to delay her.

  Marla glanced at him standing by the curb. Peppery dark hair swept his forehead. Eyes glimmered with unfathomable lights. His body tensed, fists clenched by his side with restrained anger. He made a formidable opponent. She’d rather have him for a friend.

  Feeling saddened, she crawled into her car. Until this case was solved, she couldn’t call anyone friend.

  Chapter 17

  Realizing Vail might still be following her, Marla headed for work. She doubted the police detective would hang around the parking lot until she finished for the day. After their latest encounter, she wasn’t eager for a rematch.

  “Hey, Marla!” Giorgio called, as she entered the salon. He was busy sweeping the floor to remove discarded hair cuttings. His handsome Italian features split into a broad grin as he regarded her. “What are you doing here? I thought you were out sick today.”