“Yes, but you know how much that would cost to install? Our method works just fine.”
“So what’s your next move in the case?” Nicole asked, glancing toward the front to see if her next client had arrived.
“I need to call Raquel about our fundraiser, and then I can ask her what she was doing the day Alyce died. How did your weekend with Kevin go?”
Nicole’s complexion deepened. “I really like him, Marla. He might be The One.”
Marla crossed her fingers and held them up. “Here’s hoping he feels the same.”
“He wants me to meet his family. I’m nervous about it. That’s a big step. Even Eddie and I didn’t get that far.” Eddie had been her previous boyfriend.
“Does he have a specific date in mind?”
“He says we’re invited for Sunday dinner. His parents and siblings live in Miami, so they’re not too far. He has a brother and sister,” Nicole explained. Her own family lived up north, so she had no relatives close by.
“Good, things are moving along then. You’ll be fine.”
“How is Brianna doing? Anything new with her?”
“She keeps busy with all her activities. I can’t believe she’s sixteen and will be applying to colleges next year. She still has her heart set on going to Boston.”
Nicole chuckled. “Give her a winter in the snow, and she might rush home.”
“Or she might love it and get a job there afterwards. We’d miss her terribly.”
“You’ve come a long way, girlfriend. From someone who never wanted kids, now you’re doting over your stepdaughter.”
“Oh look, your next customer just walked in,” Marla said in a bright tone. She turned away before Nicole could ask about her family expansion plans.
Those plans might be coming to fruition if instinct told her right. On the way home from work, she finally bought a pregnancy test kit. When later at the house, the results turned positive, she gasped with mingled joy and fear. Could it be true? At nearly thirty-nine years old, was she actually pregnant? Moreover, should she share the news with Dalton and Brianna?
She knew her husband’s reaction. He’d be thrilled, but he would also forbid her from any further snooping into his cases. His overprotective nature wouldn’t allow her to place herself in danger. Worry about her condition might even distract him at a critical moment.
Biting her lower lip, she debated what to do. She’d hold off on telling him for now. Better to wait until he’d put Francine’s killer behind bars. Meanwhile, she should consider getting confirmation at the doctor’s office.
She hid the material, sticking it inside a bag and then placing it into the larger trash receptacle in the garage. Then she put on her best actor’s face when her family came home. Using her conversational skills, she got Brianna and Dalton each talking about their day and avoided any mention of her own activities aside from work chatter.
She couldn’t hide her secret the next morning from Nicole, however. The other stylist zeroed in on her as she was readying her station.
“What’s up, Marla? Why do you have that weird expression on your face?”
Unable to keep the news from her friend, Marla gripped Nicole’s arm. “Can you keep a secret?” she said in a low voice. “You know how my stomach has been sensitive lately? I bought a pregnancy test kit at the pharmacy. It came out positive.”
“No way!” Nicole shouted. She stepped away and regarded Marla with keen pleasure.
“Hey, keep it down. I haven’t told Dalton yet.”
“What are you waiting for? We have to celebrate.”
“He’s too involved in his case. If I mention my condition, he’ll worry about me. I could prove to be a distraction at the wrong time.”
“Heck, he may already suspect. That guy is sharp.”
“I know, but I’d rather not say anything until he wraps the case.”
“That’s your choice. I’ll keep silent if you wish, but I’m so excited for you!”
Marla’s personal concerns fled her mind when Tristan called to say he would be declining her offer to participate in the fundraiser. He’d rather not make waves with his boss. When he heard Marla had already found someone in his place, he seemed relieved.
She’d just hung up on him when Raquel Hayes walked in the door.
It must be providence, Marla thought, since I’d meant to contact her. The TV chef wore her bleached blond hair piled high atop her head. An emerald top matched her eyes and the earrings dangling from her ears.
“Marla, do you have a minute?” she asked in her honeyed Southern accent. “Becky told me about your fundraiser, and I said I’d be delighted to mention y’all on my next show. I came by for a sneak peek beforehand.”
“Welcome to our salon. I’m glad you’re willing to support us.” Marla introduced her to their receptionist. “Robyn came up with the idea of giving goody bags to people booking a service that day, so if you have any promo items, we can include them.”
“Sure, I have mini-spatulas with the show’s logo. I’ll send you over a batch. So have you done an event like this one before?” Her gaze darted about the salon, taking in the stylists at their stations, the customers in the waiting area, and the receptionist typing on the computer keyboard.
“It’s our first bad hair day clinic, and I’m already anticipating a success. We have Janet Winters working on publicity. Robyn has been handing out flyers, and we’ll be sending an email newsletter soon. We’ve been fielding a lot of calls about the event, so I’m predicting a big turnout.”
“That’s great. What’s in the back beyond the hair and manicure stations?” Raquel strode forward without waiting for an invitation.
“Our pedicure stations have an alcove of their own. Then we have the laundry facilities, a storage room where we mix our solutions, and two restrooms. The day spa next door is ours, also. You can go there for full-service spa treatments.”
Raquel halted, peering at Marla. “You’re looking a bit piqued. Are you feeling all right?”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind. I suppose you heard the news about Alyce.”
“Yes, such a tragedy. I can’t imagine who would hit the poor woman and leave the scene without helping her.”
“Where were you that day?” Marla asked in a casual tone.
“I was at home studying the script for my next show.”
“May I ask what kind of car you drive?”
Raquel’s face reddened. “Why all the questions? I might have had a disagreement or two with that nasty blogger, but I wouldn’t cause her any harm.”
“Does that mean you believe someone tried to run her down?”
“Of course not. It was a tragic accident.”
“Dalton is working the case. He believes the incident might be related to Francine’s murder. Maybe they both knew something that got them killed.”
“Oh, dear. I’d hate to think any of us are next.” Raquel put a hand on the nearest counter as though to steady herself.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine. Did you travel far to get here?”
“Not really. I live in Pembroke Pines.”
“That’s a bit of a commute from your TV studio. Have you always lived there? Or did you move after culinary school?”
“I used to live in the Kendall area in Miami. That seems like ages ago. I worked under several chefs before striking out on my own.”
Her credentials had been easy for Dalton to verify. So how come he couldn’t find anything on her earlier background?
Chapter Eighteen
“I’ve called the culinary arts school. Raquel graduated with her class,” Dalton said when Marla spoke to him later on her cell phone. “She didn’t take out any student loans.”
“What does that mean?” Marla sat on a stool in the storeroom where she’d gone to get a bottle of water.
“She had cash available to pay the tuition. Yet I can’t find any details of her past beyond the cooking jobs she’d held.”
“Doesn’t the
school application give her relevant information?”
“Yes, and that stuff checks out, but it isn’t what I’m looking for. There’s a gap between her early years and the odd jobs she did before applying to the culinary arts academy. My gut feeling tells me something is off. But it could be irrelevant to this case. I learned other news today that’s more important.”
“Like what?” She heard voices in the background on his end of the line.
“Sorry, I have to go. I’ll text you later. I won’t be home for dinner.”
“Okay, but what is it—” A click sounded. He’d rung off.
“Drat.” She frowned at the phone. Maybe Robyn knew how to access those databases where you could research people. She could help Dalton dig deeper into the TV show host’s earlier years. Then again, he might not appreciate her interference in that regard.
While working on her next client, Marla kept her phone visible in case Dalton sent her a text message. Nothing came through during the entire afternoon.
It wasn’t until she went home, let the dogs out, greeted Brianna, and started dinner preparations that she finally heard her phone buzz. She’d kept it on vibrate earlier and had forgotten to switch the ringer back on.
Marla stood by the kitchen sink as she peered at the text message from Dalton.
Francine’s beneficiary is Alyce Greene.
What? Her heart thumped in her chest. Why in the world would Francine list Alyce as her heir? Those two must have had a much closer relationship than anyone thought. Or did Francine favor the food blogger because she and Alyce had shared the same beliefs?
Brianna breezed into the kitchen and halted when she saw Marla’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“You won’t believe what your father just texted me. He discovered Francine Dodger left her estate to Alyce Greene, the food blogger. I realized they’d known each other before the bake-off but not the extent of it.”
The teen’s dark eyes gleamed with interest. “And now both of them are dead. Who inherits Francine’s money now that Alyce is gone?”
“Good question. I imagine her husband Jon would be the one.” She gasped as the implications hit. “You don’t think he’s responsible for their deaths, do you?”
“Maybe he knocked Francine off so his wife would gain her money, and then he bumped Alyce off next.”
“That would only make sense if Francine had a sizable estate.”
“Here’s another theory,” Brianna offered. “The women had a thing going, and Alyce’s husband got jealous.”
Marla wagged her finger. “You’re not implying their relationship was more intimate than friendship, are you?”
Brianna spread her hands. “Why not? Maybe Alyce was planning to leave her husband for Francine. He got rid of the rival and then later his wife.”
“But Alyce seemed so supportive of him. She wanted the prize money to pay off his loan so he could expand his food truck operation.”
“That could have been her bargaining chip for a divorce.”
Marla put her hands on her hips. “I don’t see those women as having that kind of relationship. Besides, Francine had a boyfriend.”
“That’s true.” Brianna added dog food to the pets’ bowls and refilled their water dishes. She let them back inside and they bounded to their meals. Slurping noises filled the air.
“What about the other suspects?” Brianna asked. “Is Dad close to nailing anyone?”
“We’ve been focusing on Tony Winters and his olive oil imports. He’s still our best lead. There’s something shady about his Italian connection, and The Royal Palate is involved. I got sick after tasting a spoonful of their extra virgin olive oil.”
“Didn’t you ask their pastry chef to participate in your fundraiser?”
“He declined. Anyway, we got Teri from the chocolate factory instead, and Arnie has agreed to provide appetizers. Robyn and Janet are doing a great job with publicity, by the way. It’s going to be a fun event. I should give you some flyers to pass out to your friends for their moms.”
Marla rattled on about the proposed bad hair day clinic while dipping chicken tenderloins in a white horseradish and mayonnaise mixture before coating them with bread crumbs and chopped parsley. She placed the prepared pieces on a greased baking pan then set the dish in the oven to bake for a half-hour.
While Brianna wandered off to finish her homework, Marla contemplated the possibilities on the case. Would Alyce’s husband be able to shed more light on her relationship to Francine? Had Dalton contacted him about the will’s provisions?
Another thought struck her. Alyce’s estate likely went to her husband. But if he died, what then? Most likely, her kids would inherit, unless her brother Steve entered the picture somehow.
The links twirled round and round in her head. Each person seemed connected to another by a tenuous thread. And don’t forget Carlton Paige, the food critic, she reminded herself. He’d sent his wife to Francine for the purpose of discrediting Alyce at the festival. Did he realize the two women had a close connection? And why had Sally refused to comply? Because Francine knew about her affair with the personal trainer? Maybe Alyce had also discovered this indiscretion. If so, Sally may have been the one who eliminated them both.
As another option, Sally had said her information on Alyce related more to the brother. Once again, Steve Madison appeared to be implicated.
Marla scrubbed a hand over her face. These thoughts made her dizzy. Any one of her recent acquaintances might be guilty. She leaned against the counter and waited for the moment of instability to pass.
The garage door rumbled. Dalton must be coming home earlier than expected. She unlocked the inner door, eager to greet him and discuss the case despite her fatigue.
As her mother had trained her, Marla served dinner first before mentioning anything important. After they’d cleared the dishes, she faced her husband across the table while Brianna ran off to text her friends.
“Did you speak to Alyce’s husband about her inheritance from Francine?” she asked, bringing up the subject foremost on her mind.
Dalton looked as tired as she felt. “I plan to stop by his house tomorrow. My team is checking into the possibility of life insurance policies as well.”
“I hope Alyce had one. Jon will have to hire a housekeeper to help with the kids and to clean the place. Things work out nicely for him otherwise. He’ll be able to pay off his loan with whatever money he gets. How well off was Francine? Did you access her accounts?”
“Yes, but her nest egg was modest. I could see why she’d hoped to win the contest prize. The only way she could guarantee everyone’s jobs at the magazine was to take control. That way, she could also choose what to publish without having to get approval.” Dalton swirled his glass of Chardonnay that she’d served him along with the chicken dish. He’d poured himself seconds and took another swig while Marla mulled over his words.
“It’s too bad Francine didn’t win,” she concluded. “I should pay her staff another visit to sound them out regarding Alyce. The food blogger may have stopped by their offices, or perhaps Francine had mentioned her.”
“Tomorrow is Thursday. You have the morning free,” Dalton pointed out. “Why don’t you come with me to see Jon Greene? We can go as a couple and express our condolences.”
“Okay, I’d like to meet him. Did Sergeant Langley learn anything new at Alyce’s funeral?”
“A lot of the folks from the food industry were present to pay their respects. He saw some people from the bake-off contest, but nothing noteworthy occurred. Alyce Greene’s blog had a large following.”
Marla wrinkled her nose. “Did Carlton Paige show up? He resented her popularity and accused her of stealing his readership.”
“No, but his wife came. I believe the ladies knew each other from their gym.”
“How about the TV chef? Alyce told me Raquel cheats viewers by using shortcuts behind the scenes, and that she only got her show from sleeping with the producer.”
“Her name was on Langley’s list. He spied her cozying up to Alyce’s husband. Maybe Raquel was trying to find out what Alyce had told him.”
“That’s assuming there’s any truth to what Alyce said. Maybe she was envious of Raquel’s popularity and meant to bring her ratings down, although she did seem dedicated to the principles of sustainable farming and green resources. Still, why aim darts at Raquel’s off-stage practices? She could have kept quiet about them. I liked Raquel’s show and thought she did a good job of engaging the audience.”
“You never know about people’s motives. We’ll ask Jon about these things tomorrow.”
****
Jon Greene looked as slim as his wife when they met him at his doorstep. Either he didn’t do much tasting of his food truck’s fare, or he followed Alyce’s precepts regarding healthy eating. His blue eyes wore a sad expression under sandy brows that matched his hair. A day’s growth of stubble shadowed his chin.
He gestured for them to enter his salmon-colored single-story house. Luckily for them, he hadn’t left yet to meet with his produce suppliers for the day. Or else, he was taking time off to mourn his wife.
Marla stepped past kids’ toys strewn across the carpet and trailed him into the kitchen. His children must be in school, she surmised. Her practiced glance noted dirty dishes in the sink and overflowing trash cans. What a difference from when Marla had been here previously. She’d watched Alyce stir her vegetable gumbo, and all had seemed so normal. Now look at the place.
“Has anyone come to help out since your wife’s passing?” Marla asked in a sympathetic tone. They entered the family room, where a coffee table at least had been cleared. The TV blared in the background, and Jon shut it off. He bade them to take seats on the sofa and followed suit on a recliner chair.
Jon gave a helpless shrug. His sport shirt hung loose over a pair of faded jeans. “My brother-in-law has been over to see what he can do, but I’m managing well enough. It’s harder on our kids. The school suggested a grief counselor, so I’ve made an appointment.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said with a nod. The smell of burnt toast entered her nose. She put a hand to her stomach. Oh please, not now.
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