Trimmed to Death

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “Okay, so you’re buddies with one of the owner’s sons. What’s the big deal?”

  “Rory is afraid the sponsors will decide to hold the festival elsewhere next year. This would mean a tremendous loss of income for the farm, which depends on the spring and fall harvest celebrations to bring in customers. Rory overheard his father talking on the phone, and Zach said something about losing the place. Rory and his brothers have families and depend on their jobs. Will you help prove who killed Francine? It’ll take the heat off them, and then Rory can breathe easier.”

  Marla couldn’t help herself. His story had captured her interest. “Why does Kinsdale senior think they might lose the farm?”

  “Rory has no idea. That would be something for you to ask Zach if Dalton will let you talk to him.”

  “He won’t want me to get involved.”

  “You can convince him. Please, Marla. I don’t want to see Rory get hurt. He’s struggled enough to get where he is, and he’s finally taking pride in his part at the farm.”

  “Maybe his dad wants to sell out to a land developer. That’s prime property. Broward County doesn’t have a lot of sites left for new housing.”

  Arnie shoved the salt shaker away and eyed the customers lining up at the cashier. “Tell me you’ll think about it at least. I have to get back to work.”

  Marla glanced at her watch and widened her eyes. “Oh gosh, I’m late. Are my bagels ready?” They both rose, and she reached a decision. “All right, Arnie, you don’t have to twist my arm any further. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, shaineh maidel. It means a lot to me.”

  Wasn’t it time for Arnie to stop calling her a pretty lady? Marla accepted the endearment with a fond smile and carried her order of bagels and cream cheese out of the restaurant.

  “I hear you found another body,” said her next client, senior vice president of Tylex Industries. Babs Winrow shared confidences with Marla and expected the latest news in return.

  Marla, sifting through Babs’ wet strands of hair, sighed in resignation. “Tally talked me into entering the bake-off contest at Kinsdale Farms. Have you ever been to one of their harvest festivals? They’re fun, and we like to pick strawberries while we’re there. Anyway, out in the fields, I stumbled across Francine Dodger. She’d been hit on the head, poor woman.” That much had been on the news stations.

  “Her magazine did a piece on me once,” Babs mentioned. “Women entrepreneurs and all. Francine was a go-getter in her own right, but she stepped on a lot of toes on her way to the top.”

  “I thought her magazine focused primarily on food-related topics.”

  Babs regarded her through the mirror at Marla’s station. “True, but their reporters can dig deep for research purposes. One of them interviewed me about my eating habits and how I managed to stay so slim, but she also included questions on various aspects of my job. I met Francine in person at a social function honoring the subjects of their profile pieces.”

  Marla could always count on Babs to know people around town. “Did she seem to have any enemies in particular?”

  “Francine wasn’t always kind in the articles she wrote. Her staff seemed to love her, though. You might want to pay them a visit to see what they can tell you.”

  Marla picked up a pair of shears and began trimming her client’s hair. “I’m not planning to get involved this time.” Liar, she told herself. Arnie just asked you to talk to the farm’s owner.

  Babs gave a low chuckle. “Sure, darling. Keep telling yourself that you’re going to mind your own business for a change. Do I know you, or not?”

  Marla rolled her eyes. “Probably better than I know myself after all these years.”

  “You’ll see. Dalton will ask for your input. He values your contributions.”

  As though the universe heard Babs’ words, Marla’s cell phone vibrated. She kept the ring tone turned off during work hours. Dalton had sent her a text to call him in a spare moment.

  “What’s up?” Marla said on the phone after Babs left and before her next customer plunked into the salon chair.

  “I’m looking into the contestants at the bake-off as well as the Find Franny characters, but I thought you might hear some gossip that could be useful. Has anyone mentioned the incident?”

  “Dalton, I’ve only had time to do one appointment this morning. But yes, Babs Winrow knew about it. And so did Arnie.” She repeated the gist of their conversations.

  “Wait until I conduct my initial interviews before you speak to anyone involved,” he advised. “And steer clear of the magazine’s offices for now. I want to get there first.”

  “I imagine your team will be examining Francine’s desk, computer files, and so forth?”

  “Of course. Her death might have been related to something she’d been working on, rather than her activities at the fair.”

  “That’s a viable thread to follow. So you have no objections if I talk to people about Francine as long as I don’t directly approach your interview subjects?”

  “Go for it. I’ll be home late tonight. Don’t wait on me for dinner.”

  “I figured as much. See you later. Love you.”

  As soon as she rang off, the phone pinged again. Tally was on the other line.

  “Marla, are you busy on Thursday morning before you go into the salon? There’s something I’d like you to do with me. You’ll be helping Dalton with his case at the same time.”

  Chapter Four

  “Why am I going to the city history museum with you?” Marla asked Tally on Thursday morning. Her friend had picked her up at home after dropping her son Luke off at day care.

  “Becky Forest, the woman you briefly met at the bake-off, is giving a talk. I always try to go when the curator speaks. She has such interesting things to say, and this gives you the opportunity to question her about the festival.”

  “Dalton is already checking into everyone’s backgrounds. He hasn’t shared his findings with me, and I’m not sure if he’s interviewed Becky yet. But you and I are just attending a museum lecture. If we happen to speak to Becky about the festival, it’s not as though I’m interfering with his case. Do you have any idea why Becky wanted the prize money?”

  Tally cast her a shrewd glance. “The city funds the museum for the most part. Maybe Becky needed the money for her private research.”

  “What’s her specialty again? The proposals had to relate to food in some way.”

  “She’s a paleoethnobotanist. She studies plant remains to determine the food practices of early inhabitants. You know, whether they were farmers or hunters or fishermen.”

  “I’ll admit history was never a favorite subject of mine.” That was putting it mildly. The topic had bored her out of her mind until recently. Dalton watched the History Channel, and his interest had sparked hers. When a couple of his recent cases included a historical angle, she became intrigued. Now she actually looked forward to learning more.

  They parked in a lot behind the one-story brick building surrounded by stately live oak trees mixed with mahogany and palms. A number of other cars already held spaces there. Marla hoped they’d be able to catch Becky Forest during a free moment for a private chat.

  They entered a foyer with a ticket desk and a rack of brochures touting local events. In the center stood a stone statue of an Indian woman holding an infant. Signs pointed to various exhibits in three different directions. She and Tally paid for admission and headed to the auditorium for the lecture.

  “The museum has a cool film with lighting and sound effects about the early settlers,” Tally told her as they took seats. “We won’t have time today to see everything. We’ll have to come back another day. You should bring Dalton and Brianna.”

  Marla paid attention as Becky introduced herself and spoke briefly about their museum programs. The caramel-skinned woman spoke in a confident tone as she segued into her lecture. She looked smart in a navy skirt with a shell top and blazer.

  �
�Southeast Florida has more than one type of ecological environment. You’ll be familiar with the Everglades and its rivers of sawgrass along with its hammocks of higher ground. The trees there have a specific orientation based on water flow. Every island has evidence that shows how people used to inhabit the land. For example, animals provided food. People ate alligator meat, fish, and birds. Plants and trees provided wood and other resources, including a type of flour. Another ecosystem included the ocean, not only the tide waters but also our mangrove swamps. Those people ate conch, dolphin, seaweed, seagrapes, and cocoplums. As you see, our early settlers used hunting, gathering, and fishing methods to acquire food. Agriculture didn’t play a role until later.”

  A gray-haired fellow raised his hand. “What about fresh water lakes and rivers?”

  Becky nodded her approval of his question. “We have the New River in Broward County. Turtles, fish, muscadine grapes, and even prickly pear cactus can be found near these fresh water sources. Lake Okeechobee to the north feeds the Everglades. Catfish used to thrive there, and now it’s bass. Elderberries and other edible plants grow nearby. Never forget that as our cities expanded west, we’ve encroached on these lands. Now we have problems in the Everglades such as Burmese pythons, giant African land snails, and green iguanas.”

  “We’ve plenty of iguanas in town,” another resident complained.

  Becky went on to talk more about the earliest natives and their food sources while Marla’s mind wandered. The museum appeared to be in good repair. Why did the curator need the ten-thousand-dollar prize money from the bake-off contest?

  “I’m interested in purchasing the Morant Collection for the museum,” Becky told them after the crowd dispersed. “As an archeologist, David Morant explored over one hundred and sixty sites in Florida and gathered one of the largest private collections of First People artifacts in the state. I’ve had the privilege of studying his work as part of my research. His grandchildren are seeking a home for the items.”

  “You would donate your prize to the museum rather than use it to fund your own research projects?” Marla asked. They sat in the curator’s office where she’d led them after her lecture concluded.

  “That’s right. The city gives us only so much money. This collection would bring in publicity, which would lead to an increase in donations. We wouldn’t need it so much if Carlton would mention our rotating exhibits in his newspaper column.”

  “Do you mean Carlton Paige, the food critic who judged the bake-off competition?”

  Becky’s expression soured. “He’ll only do favors if he gets one in return. Go talk to him yourself and see what response you get. Carlton only aims to please himself.”

  “Maybe you need to reach out to a different editor at the news desk,” Tally suggested. “Or are you also interested in coverage for your cookbooks each time you have a new release?”

  Becky picked up a pen and clicked it on and off. “Carlton told me to send him my last two books, but he never reviewed them.”

  “Sorry I missed your latest book launch party. Do you have any copies in the gift shop that you could sign for me?” Tally asked with a hopeful grin.

  “Sure, I’d be delighted. I like to recreate our early native recipes using modern ingredients and simpler preparation methods, so they’re easy for today’s cooks,” she explained to Marla. “That was my food tie-in element for the bake-off contest application. The Morant Collection would inspire a new cookbook based on findings from his excavations.”

  “Did Francine ever profile you in her magazine?” Marla said.

  “Not actually, no. My books never got reviewed there, either. Raquel is more supportive in that regard.”

  “I’ve seen you on her TV show,” Tally added. “It’s thoughtful of her to have you as a guest whenever you have a new release.”

  Becky smiled, her face softening. “I should say so. Raquel is a peach. The others should take lessons from her.”

  Marla crossed her legs to get more comfortable. She glanced at the knickknacks and books on display in the cozy office. Photos of dig sites and dusty manuscripts covered a counter lining one wall where a lone window let in daylight. She liked the vibe that reflected Becky’s love of scientific research.

  “I overheard a comment Raquel made at the festival,” Marla mentioned in an idle tone. “She said Francine wouldn’t win despite her threats. Do you have any idea what Raquel meant?”

  Becky’s gaze chilled. “No, and if you’re implying Raquel had anything to do with that woman’s death, you’re wrong. Raquel has been kind to me, and I won’t see her good name maligned. You should contact her directly for an explanation.”

  “Somebody had a grudge against Francine. What about the others present?” Marla asked to steer the conversation in another direction.

  “You’ll have to talk to people yourself, although I don’t understand why you’d bother.”

  Tally stood and gathered her purse. “Marla can’t help herself from getting involved when a murder occurs. Her husband is the homicide detective on the case.”

  Becky’s jaw dropped. “You’re Detective Vail’s wife? I should have figured it out sooner. Did he send you here to question me?”

  “Not at all. I thought I’d get your viewpoint as long as we were here. He needs all the leads he can get. Can you name anyone who might have wanted to harm Francine?”

  The other woman’s face shuttered. She rose, and Marla followed suit. “As I mentioned, go talk to Carlton. That weasel seemed to have a beef with everyone. Otherwise, this conversation is over. Tally, if you’ll follow me into the gift shop, I’ll be happy to sign my latest cookbook for you.”

  Ten minutes later, Marla and Tally headed out the door. The humidity had returned along with a warm front. An earthy scent pervaded the air.

  “She’s touchy about Raquel,” Marla said, striding alongside her friend who clutched Becky’s recipe book in her hand.

  “That’s understandable. Raquel is very supportive of her writing efforts. It’s a coup to get an appearance on a TV show to hype your new book.”

  “Still, I sense there’s more to it than she’s letting on. Becky didn’t say much about the other contestants.”

  “So what? She’s right not to spread gossip, although she does seem to have it in for Carlton Paige. Maybe she’s resentful because he won’t review her books.”

  “Or she could know something about him that we don’t.”

  Marla dropped Tally off at her house before returning home to get ready for work and to let the dogs out for one last time. She wanted to tell Dalton about her latest conversation but didn’t care to disturb him at the station. They’d share news over the weekend. In the meantime, she had to get to the salon before her first client arrived.

  Work kept her busy until Sunday, when she finally had the chance to sit down with Dalton at breakfast and discuss the case. She couldn’t believe a week had passed since events at the farm.

  “I’ve vetted the list of contestants for the bake-off competition and the characters for the Find Franny scavenger hunt,” he told her between mouthfuls of pancakes with fresh sliced bananas. “You’re right about Becky Forest. She’s the only one who didn’t seem interested in personal gain if she won the prize. Her proposed business plan would have benefited the museum.”

  “Did you see the exhibits when you went to talk to her? You’d love that museum. I’m surprised you haven’t taken us there before.”

  “Truthfully, I’d forgotten about it. And the traveling exhibits change only once a year.”

  “Becky seemed defensive of Raquel. Did you find out anything more about their relationship?”

  “Raquel invites the curator as a TV show guest to tout her new cookbooks. Nothing odd about it. However, I couldn’t find much about the celebrity chef’s background. That puzzles me. No one’s past is a blank. The other judges didn’t shed much light on Raquel, either.”

  “Is that right? I’ve watched her show, and she’s good at
what she does. Her production is educational as well as entertaining. Surely you can verify her professional credentials.”

  He tilted his head to regard her. “That’s the easy part. Here’s an idea. You’re looking to open a spa café. You could approach these judges and mention that since you didn’t win the award money, you need an investor. Then you can skillfully steer the conversation toward their involvement in the contest and their personal history.”

  “Oh, so now you want my help?” Warmth coiled through her at his subtle praise. “Have you interviewed everyone from the festival already then? Do you have any strong leads on who killed Francine? I suppose you’ve interviewed her work colleagues as well. What about relatives?”

  He shook his head. “She has none in the area. I spoke to an aunt. Her parents are no longer living, and a younger sister died years ago. Francine moved here when she got a position at the magazine.”

  Marla felt a surge of sympathy for the woman. “How did she get along with people?”

  “Despite the lack of family, her life was full. Francine had friends, and she’d hang out on occasion with folks from work. She went to the gym several times a week and volunteered at Bisby Park, taking charge of the herb garden. The other volunteers praised her dedication.”

  Marla poured herself another glass of orange juice from a pitcher on the table. Brianna sat quietly, scowling at her math textbook. “I promised Arnie that I’d talk to the farm’s owner. Since we don’t have any particular plans for today, how about if we all take a drive out there? Brie would enjoy picking strawberries.”

  The teen glanced up with a bright expression. “Great idea. I don’t want to sit here doing homework all day. Let’s get ready.” She wore her hair in a ponytail and a loose top over a pair of distressed jeans. The weather had stayed warm, so they wouldn’t need sweaters.