Marla tucked her purse into an empty drawer at her hair station. “I had to go somewhere. Where’s Lucille? The reception desk shouldn’t be left untended.”
“I’m keeping watch.” He thumbed toward the rear. “Lucille’s in the back arguing with Darlene. You should tell them to keep their voices down. We can hear them in the salon.”
Picking up her clean coffee mug where she’d left it on the counter, she marched toward the storeroom. If those two had a case together, they should pursue it on their off time. A murmur of voices reached her ears as she approached. At first, she couldn’t discern any words, but when she got nearer, their conversation became clear. Hesitating outside the partially ajar door, Marla focused on listening to the women.
“You’re just taking advantage of him for his money,” Lucille’s voice hissed. “I can’t believe Roy doesn’t see it, but then again, he’s always been easy prey to women like you.”
“Roy cares for me,” Darlene retorted. “You’re just jealous because he never gave you a second glance.”
“That’s not the reason! You’ve blinded him to the truth.”
“Face the facts, Lucille. He doesn’t want you.”
“Bitch!”
Lucille stormed from the room. The receptionist didn’t even notice Marla’s presence as she breezed past. Using the opportunity, Marla bounded into the storeroom to corner Darlene.
“What was that all about?” she demanded. Darlene had a stricken look on her face which was quickly replaced by an innocuous smile, but Marla was no longer fooled by her performance. Wise to her act, Marla wouldn’t underestimate the girl’s craftiness hereafter.
Tossing back a wave of blond hair, Darlene gazed at her defiantly. “Lucille found out about me and Roy. She said you know, too. So what?” She thrust her chin forward. “Like we weren’t announcing it to the world.”
Marla gave her a chastising glare. “You kept your liaison a secret. Why, Darlene? Were you afraid Bertha would find out? Or is that why you were working here, to spy on her?”
“That’s none of your business.” Doggedly, Marla pressed on. “My guess is that Bertha discovered your little arrangement and was furious. You and Roy decided to get rid of her before she could make trouble.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about”
A dangerous gleam entered Darlene’s eyes. Unabashed, Marla continued her interrogation. “When did Roy return from Naples? Was he here the night before Bertha died? Or did he actually get in that morning?”
“Don’t ask so many questions or you’ll be sorry.”
“Did you send me a box of marzipans?”
Startlement crossed the girl’s face. “Huh?”
“Never mind.” Darlene’s reaction indicated she wasn’t privy to that incident. That didn’t preclude Roy’s involvement, however. Blocking the doorway so Darlene couldn’t exit, Marla changed tactics to coax more information from her. “Why does Lucille get so riled over Roy? Did they have a thing once?”
Darlene smirked. “Not from Roy’s viewpoint Like she was always the one running after him. Just because he opened her eyes about Harvey doesn’t mean he desired her.”
Taking a chance that Darlene would talk about another staff member rather than herself, Marla poured herself a cup of coffee from the new machine in the storeroom and added cream and sugar.
“So tell me, who’s Harvey?” she asked in a casually friendly tone. Bringing the mug to her lips, she took a careful sip of the steaming brew.
Darlene hooked her thumbs into her jeans pockets and leaned against a counter. “Lucille was dating Harvey Moore when she joined Sunshine Publishing. Like the man was using her but she couldn’t see it Being divorced, he had kids from his previous marriage and didn’t want any kind of commitment Lucille agreed to his terms. Stupid woman, she let him use her money for his own gain.”
“So how did their relationship involve Roy?”
“Roy recognized what was going on and told her. I’m not sure what happened, but Harvey was a health nut One day he made himself a pitcher of sun-brewed tea, except he used the wrong kind of leaves and poisoned himself. Lucille hoped she would gain Roy’s attention then, but he’d already turned to Bertha.”
“Sounds like Roy doesn’t want commitments, either.”
“That’s not your concern, Marla.”
“If he’s involved in Bertha’s murder, it is. You’re not withholding vital information from the police, are you? Because you could be considered an accessory to the crime.”
“Get lost.” Eyes blazing, Darlene stalked past heading into the salon.
Reeling from their conversation, Marla sagged against the counter. Bless my bones, but Darlene is touchy about Roy. Was one of them guilty, or both together? Or worse, neither one? Because then she’d have to look elsewhere for Bertha’s killer.
Maybe Lucille could provide more information. Striding outside, she made a beeline for the receptionist’s desk. Lucille sat staring at the computer with a distant expression. Lips pursed, she appeared to be miles away in thought
“Nice plant,” she commented, noting the new addition to the front counter. Deep purple blossoms and hairy green leaves sprouted from rich soil in a hand-decorated ceramic pot.
“Thanks,” Lucille said, rousing herself. “African violets are my favorite indoor plants. Lately, I’ve been having fun with lemongrass, though. I managed to grow a patch in my garden. You’ll have to try the tea I made with ginger.” She smiled gaily, crinkles transforming her lined skin. “It’s good for hot flashes. Makes you sweat more.”
“Terrific.” Marla leaned forward. “Have you ever heard Darlene mention an interest in gardening?”
“Hah! That girl wouldn’t know basil from a bay leaf! Roy used to care more about those things. Sometimes we’d go to the Rare Fruit and Vegetable Council meetings together. He’d bring home batches of herbs.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t know he liked to grow plants.”
“He likes to cook. He just uses the edible parts.”
“He doesn’t grow the more exotic varieties?”
Lucille’s eyes narrowed. “What are you implying, honey?”
She shrugged. “It’s not important.” Pointing at the calendar, she added, “Who’s next on my schedule? I can finish out the day.” Feeling something was out of place, she scanned the salon. “Say, where’s Nicole?” God, her brain cells must be deteriorating. She hadn’ t even noticed that her friend was absent. Items scattered across her station indicated Nicole had been there earlier, but where was she now?
Lucille patted her coiffed hairdo. “She had a break, so she ran over to Arnie’s place. It’s been a busy morning, and no one’s had a chance for lunch. She’s getting sandwiches for us now that things have slackened off.”
“You should have asked Arnie to deliver.” Marla’s face flushed guiltily. It was her fault for dumping her appointments on them, but she’d figured today would be slow. They must have had a slew of walk-ins.
“My apologies, guys,” she said to Miloki and Giorgio, who were listening in. Miloki, busy with a customer, smiled amiably. Giorgio, straightening his combs, waved one at her in response.
“Marla, any news on Bertha Kravitz’s murder investigation?” called Miloki’s customer. It was Raney Weston, a gossip maven who liked her hair teased into a cotton-candy puff of bleached gold.
“The police are still working on it.”
“I heard someone else turned up dead.”
All eyes turned in Marla’s direction. “Yeah, Carlos the janitor. They found his body aboard his boat.”
“What happened to him?” the woman persisted, blatant eagerness in her expression.
“Poisoned.”
Lucille gasped. “How did you find out?”
Marla refocused her attention on the receptionist “Detective Vail told me. W
e went to interview someone who’d known Carlos. That’s why I wasn’t here this morning.”
“B-but why did Vail ask you to go? I thought you were a suspect.”
“Gee, thanks, Lucille.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Forget it. So, who’s coming in next?” she asked, pointedly directing her gaze at the appointment calendar.
Lucille smoothed her skirt. “Martha Rogan for her usual cut. After that, you’ve one more appointment, so you should be out of here by six.”
“Great,” she announced brightly. Inwardly, she frowned. It was great that she was busy, but not so wonderful in that she wouldn’t have time to visit the photographer before business hours closed. That meant another delay in her investigation and one more day that Vail might find the original photos. Don’t forget the new post office box number, either. That involved another trip to the post office to find out if it was registered to a business other than the printer. Oh, joy. Lots of leads to follow and no time.
“How’s my schedule look for tomorrow?” she asked Lucille, drumming her fingers on the counter.
“Booked solid. Looks like a busy Friday.”
Normally, she’d be ecstatic. But now every minute was crucial. She had the feeling things would become more urgent hour by hour.
Despite the time crunch, she stopped at Publix on the way home to buy groceries. She’d intended to make chicken soup for Emma, who was still feeling ill. Concerned about her neighbor’s condition, she called Moss as soon as she put her purchases away.
“Hello, mate,” his gravelly voice answered. “Nice of you to check on Emma. We’re still waiting to hear from the doctor regarding test results. He said her blood count may be low.”
“Well, I’m making her some chicken soup. If it’s okay with you, I’ll bring a container over later.”
“You’re an angel! We’ll be here. Hey, maybe you’ll take a look at my latest poetic effort.”
“Sure, Moss.” He could use some good cheer, after all.
After hanging up, she busied herself in the kitchen making cheese tortellinis for dinner. While waiting for a pot of water to come to a boil, she rinsed off the four chicken-breast halves she’d bought and put them in a soup pot. Covering the poultry with cold water, she set the stove burner on high. Next she peeled an onion, a couple of carrots, and cleaned off a handful of fresh dill.
Using a prepackaged salad, she poured out a single portion into a bowl and sprinkled on a tablespoon of raspberry vinegar. Low calorie and healthful, it was her favorite dressing. Then she made a few quick phone calls to her mother and Tally to catch up on their news, and to customers who’d left messages. No way she’d have time to do Marcia’s hair at home before the Save the Manatee benefit luncheon on Sunday. Sorry, pal.
Sizzling noises popped and sputtered. Both pots had reached the boiling point Working quickly, Marla tossed the tortellinis into the smaller pot. Setting her Mickey Mouse kitchen timer for seven minutes, she grabbed a serving spoon. The dirty scum rising to the water’s surface in the soup pot needed to be skimmed. That done, she threw in the onion with an X cut through its flat end, the carrots, and the dill, and added a pinch of kosher salt Sealing the top with a lid, she turned down the burner to low. She’d eat her supper while the soup simmered for an hour. The fragrant smell of dill mingled in the air with the stinging aroma of cut onion.
Marla thought about herbs as she poured tomato sauce onto the drained cooked pasta and added a sprinkle of dried basil leaves. So Roy dabbled in raising herbs, did he? Or at least he used them for cooking purposes. How familiar was he with the more lethal properties of plants?
The question repeated itself in her mind on Friday morning after she’d gone to the post office and inquired about the new box number. Interesting what company name was on the card: Sunshine Publishing. Bertha
Kravitz was listed as the contact person. So Bertha supported the publication of those dirty magazines, Marla thought. Was Roy a partner to this subsidiary venture, too? She supposed the only way to find out for sure was to ask him herself. At least she had protection from his proposed lawsuit now that Lance had found evidence against him. Her computer expert friend had called last night, his words tumbling over themselves in his excitement
“We’ve got him! That crook has been embezzling money from the company for years.” He’d rattled off his sources of information, and Marla crowed with triumph.
This morning Roy wasn’t her target, however. She’d get to him later. First she’d interview the photographer, since he might provide more fuel for the fire.
Approaching the photographer’s studio took more courage than she’d known she possessed. Not until late that afternoon when she had a cancellation did she run out of the salon on what she told everyone was an urgent errand. Later she’d agreed to meet Tally in her boutique to try on clothes, after which they’d go to dinner. Ken was out of town, presumably on business, and Tally needed mood lifting. So did Marla, and buying new outfits always made her feel better.
She’d need a major mood lift after this visit, she thought, pushing open the door to the photographer’s studio. Her knees quaked and her stomach heaved. Not since her shameful episode had she set foot in a place like this. Huge framed photos decorated the walls: wedding couples, family portraits, graduation pictures, children with a look of purity in their eyes. Marla glanced away, her gaze seeking the receptionist’s desk. No one was about, but when she dinged a bell, a strawberry blond woman wearing glasses emerged from the back office.
“Hi there, how may I help you?” she croaked in a raspy voice. Her chin disappeared into her neck, Marla noticed, making her seem weak-minded by virtue of appearance alone. Or maybe it was the jerky motions she used to accompany her words with gestures. This wasn’t someone she’d choose to tend the front desk, Marla drought cynically. Possibly she could use the woman’s insecurity to her own advantage.
Although she’d rehearsed her speech, when she went to say them, the words faltered on her lips. “I-I’m working with Bailey’s print shop. He said you had a pickup for me?”
The photographs in the magazine had to come from somewhere, and it was her guess that this was the place. The calendar might have been given as an innocuous business gift, but the imprint had led her here. She realized the erotic photos would have to be delivered to the printer, or at least the negatives, whereupon he’d assemble the magazine. Or else the printer picked up die items here. Either way, she hoped to gain some useful information from her inquiries.
“What happened to the young man who usually comes for die package?” the lady asked, frowning.
Marla smiled knowingly. “He couldn’t make it. I’m not sure about your schedule, but he told me to stop by.”
“Well, I don’t know. I’m only supposed to release it to him. If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll check in the back.”
Boy, wouldn’t she be lucky if the woman gave her the package, she thought after being left alone. Of course, what would she do with the evidence? Bring it to Vail? A bundle of erotic pictures by themselves meant nothing.
Glancing up when the door to the office opened, Marla felt her heart figuratively leap into her throat. That distinctive carrot-colored hair couldn’t belong to anyone else, and she’d seen those leering cobalt eyes before. Maybe he’d gained weight in the past fifteen years and now walked with a waddle, but she recognized the man who’d shot her photos as though the humiliating event had happened yesterday.
A light of recognition dawned in his face as he regarded her closely. “Why, Marla, my dear. What an unexpected pleasure.” She shuddered at his syrupy tone. “It’s been such a long time since you were here last I’m so pleased to see you. Come, let’s go into a consultation room so we can have some privacy.”
Rounding the desk so they were face-to-face, he slid his fingers along her upper arm. She got a strong whiff of garlic as his
hot breath caressed her cheek.
Recoiling, she gasped, “Get your filthy hands off me.” Just remembering how he’d fondled her during the photography episode made her skin crawl. Oh God, how could she face this man again? Yet he might have the answers to her questions. It was worth a bout of self-imposed trauma if she learned something valuable. Dex’s presence confirmed her hunch that she’d come to the right place.
“My, you’ve certainly changed,” he cooed. “No longer the lovely young girl desperate for money. Or is that why you’re here today? I must say, you’re looking swell.” His glance raked her body in a slow, leisurely manner that made her feel ill. If she weren’t so determined to garner new data, she’d leave now. But this man was too important to let go out of her own feelings of disgust and embarrassment.
Letting resolve firm her expression, she stared back. “I’ve just come to talk, not to work for you again, Dex.”
“Is that right? We’ll see. This way, please.”
Her fists curled by her side, Marla followed him to a private alcove, insisting that the door remain partially open as she seated herself in a comfortable armchair. Dex levered himself into a leather swivel chair behind a desk strewn with wedding albums.
“So what’s this visit about, Marla?”
Sensing an undercurrent of menace to his words, she thrust herself into the fray. “You’re sending sexually explicit photos to Bailey’s print shop, where they’re scanned into porno magazines. The finished products are sold via mail order. Sunshine Publishing is financing the venture.”
Dex’s shrewd expression bored through her. “I don’t know where you came up with these absurd allegations, but that’s all they are, I assure you.”
“Who else besides Bertha Kravitz is in on the deal? Does Roy Collins know about this little subsidiary business?”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
She hesitated. Could she be mistaken? “Bertha told me how she’d come here for boudoir pictures and you showed her a racier set of photos. That’s where she got the idea for the porno magazine from, I’ll bet Were you aware she was blackmailing me? She insisted on getting free hair services or else she’d publish my photos in her popular regional magazines. For years I’ve been demeaning myself to accommodate her. I’ve spent too much time and effort building up my reputation to have her ruin it with a single mistake from my past.”
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