Shear Murder

by Cohen, Nancy J.

  “Could you give me his e-mail address then?”

  “What did you say your interest was in Mr. Bosworth?”

  “He knew a friend of mine. She's dead. I'd like to talk to him about her.” Marla didn't know that Hally had ever met Grant in person, but the society reporter had definitely been interested in him for whatever reason.

  “I'm sorry to hear that. As I said, I'll be happy to pass on your contact info to Grant and he can get in touch with you.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Realizing she wouldn't get any farther along this route, she gave the requested information and hung up.

  Her phone beeped. A text message had come in.

  Mom called, Dalton wrote. We got a couple more gifts. One of them was the crystal bowl you wanted.

  Oh, joy. More thank-you notes to write. Marla wouldn't send them out until after the wedding. Meanwhile, she was trying to keep up with the flow so it wouldn't be so overwhelming later. Following the wedding was the day spa's official grand opening, then their move into the house, and no doubt something else would come along.

  Rolling her shoulders to ease the tension, she hoped they'd have a chance to escape on a honeymoon somewhere along the way. She could sure use the break.

  She tossed the remainder of her lunch into the trash and went next door to check on the progress of repairs with Luis.

  Stepping past the open door, she regarded the floor warily. The broken glass had been swept away and the damaged furniture removed. A piece of plywood covered the front window space.

  “Hey, Marla, how's it going?” Standing in the middle of the reception area, Luis regarded her with a broad grin.

  She liked how nothing seemed to faze him. “The spa is working out just great. I am so happy we decided to put four hair stations in there. I'd never have thought we would be using them in this capacity. Did you get hold of the insurance agent?”

  He nodded vigorously. “An adjuster has already been by, and I contacted a window person.” He glanced at the boarded-up opening. “They'll take the measurements today, but it could be up to two weeks before the new one is ready.”

  “Will the insurance pay for hurricane-impact glass?”

  “I'm waiting for an answer on that, but I told the window company to give us the pricing.”

  “Good man. I see you found someone to pick up the furniture.”

  “Yes. Your policy has full replacement value. I told the adjustor you'll want to order a new front desk, display cabinet, chairs, and a coffee table. Plus, we'll need a new computer.” He made a sad face, obviously more concerned about his electronics than anything else. “I'm taking the hard drive to a guy I know. Maybe we can salvage the data.”

  “That would help. Did you tell the insurance man how we're losing business for each day the salon stays closed?” That was true, even if they'd moved their services to the spa. She'd had to rotate the hours of their staff members, since the new facility couldn't accommodate all the stylists.

  “He said he'll look into compensation for lost wages.”

  “I suppose we could manage in here without the front area once the place is aired out.” She wrinkled her nose at the lingering aroma of smoke. With the front and back doors both open, a breeze swept through. “What about the tile? Any damage from the water?”

  “The cleaning crew took care of it pretty quickly, so that won't be a problem. Most of the stations are okay, since everyone packs away their tools before leaving. We'll keep the doors open while I'm here to give everything a good dry-out.”

  She gave him a hug. “Thanks, Luis. I don't know what I'd do without you. Have you had any trouble reaching our clients?”

  “Nada, we're cool.”

  “Fantastic. Let me know if you need anything. I'm going to leave early today to take care of a few errands. You can reach me on my cell.”

  With the salon in his capable hands, she didn't have to worry. He'd make a good manager, she realized. She'd always considered Nicole her second-in-command, but Nicole had clients that demanded her attention. Should she ever decide to take an extended vacation, she'd feel confident assigning either one of them to take charge.

  Her mood buoyed, she returned to the day spa just in time to greet the electrician who'd returned to install some dimmers she'd ordered.

  After her last customer left at four o'clock, she called it a day. It would be a rush to stop at the bank, the dry cleaner's, and the print shop before they closed, but she'd get it done.

  Fortunately, Dalton was taking Brianna to dance class that evening, so she had some free time. Sitting in the car after her last errand, she dialed Griff Beasley's cell number.

  “I was wondering if we could meet for a drink,” she said after he'd answered and she identified herself. “I want to talk to you about something important that relates to Hally.”

  “Good God, I can't believe she's dead.”

  “Me, too. Have you heard anything about a memorial service yet?”

  “No, that's up to her family. The cops have been all over the office since we got the news.”

  “I'm so sorry. It must have been quite a shock.”

  “You have no idea. Hally and I, well, we were close.”

  As close as you and Torrie? Marla wondered if the police had questioned him as a person of interest in the case.

  “So are you up for a drink? I could be in Boca by six.”

  “Sure. Let's meet at the Ale House. You know the one on Glades Road?”

  “Yes, I'll see you soon.”

  During the drive, Marla considered how to coax him to talk. She wanted to know why Torrie had taken an interest in a photographer from a rival magazine, and why she'd looked up an article on Orchid Isle's history.

  At least, she assumed it had been Torrie. Rachel said she'd discovered those pieces in the copy machine and in the trash. Assuming Hally had found the articles among Torrie's files, did that mean someone at work had been keeping tabs on both women? Someone such as Griff Beasley? Was that why Rachel said it could be dangerous for Marla to contact her again?

  Fingers of dread crept up her spine. Was she doing the right thing in meeting the photographer on her own? She'd just promised herself not to get any more involved in Jill's affairs, and here she was racing up the turnpike to Boca Raton.

  Her fears quieted when she pulled into the parking lot of the Ale House. People milled about the front door and were coming and going from the busy parking lot. Even on a weekday, the place was hopping.

  Spotting Griff inside on a bar stool, she slid onto the empty seat at his side. They shook hands, while a lady across the bar winked at him. It seemed he'd already attracted female attention with his dashing good looks. What single woman wouldn't be lured by his appeal?

  She stiffened, imagining Dalton's reaction should he catch her there. Then again, hadn't she walked in on him dining at a restaurant with an old flame?

  Pushing those thoughts aside, she gave Griff a brilliant smile. She might as well make the most of this opportunity.

  She nodded at his glass, asked what brew he was drinking, and ordered the same, along with a refill for him. She'd invited Griff along, so she would settle the bill.

  “What's up, Marla?” His laser eyes snagged hers. “You didn't ask me out for a drink just to socialize.”

  “As I mentioned,” she said, adjusting her seat, “I have information on Hally. First of all, I suspect her death is related to Torrie's.”

  His gaze shifted to his glass. “They were both nosy. It goes along with their job. They must have both learned something that got them killed.”

  “Did either woman mention they were delving into the background on Orchid Isle?”

  He shrugged. “Hally and I covered the grand opening together. Research is part of the game.”

  “How about the land deal that Falcon Oakwood made to acquire the territory?”

  “What about it?”

  “Could there have been anything underhanded going on?”

  He squeezed
his glass. “Look, if you know something, babe, spit it out.”

  “Torrie had copied an article, or maybe Hally copied an article that she found in Torrie's files, about toxic waste on the land. This was before Falcon acquired it.”

  “So?”

  “So was any cleanup ever performed? What kind of toxic waste? Chemicals, fuel, biohazardous stuff? This may have been before environmental regulations got so much stricter.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you saying that Oakwood may have paid someone under the table to bury this subject?”

  “It had crossed my mind. If not Falcon, then perhaps the real estate agent or lawyer involved. Namely, Jill's relatives.”

  “Ah, now I see why you're interested.”

  “I am assuming that neither reporter mentioned this matter to you?”

  “Nope. How did you find out about this, by the way?”

  “Never mind.” She'd promised Rachel to keep silent about her source. “I don't see any other link between Torrie and Hally's murder. Do you?” She glanced at him pointedly.

  “Hey, don't give me that look. I had nothing to do with it. I was just as shocked as everyone else.”

  “What do you know about Grant Bosworth?” Marla hoped to catch him with the rapid change of subject.

  He jerked upright, nearly toppling his drink. “Who?”

  “Grant Bosworth,” she repeated. “He's a photographer for Home & Style in Palm Beach.”

  “How did you get his name?”

  “Torrie was interested in him. She kept articles with his byline.” At least, she assumed it was Torrie, and that Hally had found them later.

  Griff swiveled away from her toward the bar. “Never heard of the guy.”

  “You must have met him in the photography circles. Probably you've covered the same stories for your respective publications?”

  “Nope, never ran into the fellow. What does he have to do with anything?” Griff shot back.

  “That's what I'd like to know. I phoned his office, and his editor said she'd never met the guy in person. He sends in his photos by e-mail.”

  “So? That's commonplace these days.”

  “I guess you're right.” She tilted her head. “It still makes me wonder what Torrie found so interesting about his work. Hey, you don't suppose this Grant guy is the one who bopped you on the head at the Venetian Pool, do you? Maybe he hoped to get the scoop ahead of you.”

  Griff downed the rest of his brew, then gave her an oblique glance. “Hally probably got creamed because she snooped into Torrie's affairs. Torrie knew things about other people that they didn't like, and now you're butting your nose in the same dirt. If I were you, I'd watch my back, babe. Because if there is a killer out there, you could be next on his list.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  * * *

  Marla figured she wouldn't have a chance to follow up on any of her leads on Wednesday, but fate intervened. In the middle of the morning, an unexpected visitor strode through the front door.

  “Jill, you're just the person I want to see.” Marla put down the foils she'd been separating for her next client and hurried to greet her friend.

  “I'm so sorry about your store.” Jill gave her a hug. She'd twisted her blond hair into a chignon and looked comfortable in a sapphire sweater and black pants. The only betrayal to her state of mind were the dark circles under her eyes and her pallid complexion. “Did the cops catch the vandals?”

  “No, but they're reviewing the surveillance videos from the parking lot.” She held her tongue about the possible motive, positive she'd been targeted because of her inquiries.

  “I hope your insurance covers the damage.”

  “It does. Let's go into the lounge where we can talk in private.” After offering Jill some refreshments, Marla poured herself a cup of coffee and settled on the sofa. “Something has come to my attention that I'd like to share with you. Several things, actually.”

  Jill stiffened. “Is that woman's death related to my sister's? They worked together, you know.”

  “Yes, and I interviewed one of Hally's colleagues last night. You remember Griff Beasley, the magazine photographer? He accompanied Hally to your wedding, and they covered the grand opening of Orchid Isle.”

  “Right.”

  “He said Torrie knew things about people, and Hally may have recovered her files after she died. For example, the land on which Falcon Oakwood built Orchid Isle had once been a toxic waste site.”

  Jill's eyes rounded. “You're kidding.”

  “That's not all. It appears your uncle Eddy and cousin Kevin were involved in the transaction wherein Falcon acquired the land.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Jill leaned forward. “That's the reason I'm here. I want you to come along when I talk to Uncle Eddy. Scott is giving me a hard time over our property issue, and I can't get any straight answers on what's happening with the oil people. I thought maybe you could help, since you've had experience with this sort of thing.”

  Marla resisted the urge to blurt a refusal. “Did Torrie ever mention someone named Grant Bosworth to you?”

  Jill shook her head.

  “How about Rachel, her assistant? Did you ever meet the girl?”

  Jill's gaze flew to hers, then slid away. “I can't say that I have.”

  No? Then why did she send you a floral basket? “Were you aware that Hally had a thing for Griff but so did Torrie? And that Torrie planned to leave her husband?”

  “What are you saying?” Jill's pitch rose.

  “Both Hally and Scott had possible grudges against your sister.”

  “That's absurd. Hally is dead, and Scott wouldn't hurt his wife. I can't believe you suspect them.” Jill twisted her hands. “Maybe I made a mistake asking you for help. I only wanted your advice on what I should do with my property. I didn't mean for you to go into sleuth mode, sugar.”

  Oh, so now I'm getting too deep into your affairs, am I? Friends can't maintain a relationship without trust.

  “Marla, your eleven o'clock is here,” Nicole shouted from the outer corridor.

  Marla swallowed her coffee in a large gulp, tossed away the cup, and rose. “I'm not sure what you expect me to do, Jill.”

  “I'd hoped you would visit Uncle Eddy with me so I could be clear on the legalities of our lease. But I shouldn't impose when you have so much to do. Forgive me.” Standing, Jill collected her purse.

  Marla put a hand on her arm. “I'll go with you.” Realizing Jill must be under tremendous strain, she cut her friend some slack. They could sort things out later. Marla couldn't resist it when someone needed her.

  “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving,” Jill murmured, her head down. “What are you guys doing?”

  Marla's tone brightened. “We made a reservation for the buffet at Palm Haven Golf Club. Normally, I'd have it at my house, but I can't deal with the chaos this year, not with the wedding so close.”

  Kate and John were joining them, making seven people with Ma and Roger, plus she'd called Tally back and invited her and Ken.

  It would be the only time they had to get together before the flurry of wedding activities began. Thank goodness Roger's son Barry was out of town. Her mother had tried to play matchmaker between them, but Marla had already made up her mind about Dalton. It would have been awkward to see the optometrist under the circumstances. When they met again, she'd be married.

  “How about you?” she asked Jill.

  “We're going to Arnie's parents.” Jill gave a wan smile. “I don't feel like spending the holiday with my relatives.”

  Marla patted her arm. “That's understandable. When do you want to go see Eddy with me?”

  “Can you get away on Friday morning? This is going to eat away at me until I get it resolved.”

  Marla compressed her lips. Her day off on Monday would have been better, but she could empathize with Jill's anxiety. “Let's go up front. I'll check my schedule.”

  She made a few calls and shuffled her clients around s
o that she had the morning free.

  “I'll have to be back by one,” she warned Jill.

  “No problem. Let's meet at Arnie's deli at nine. I'll let Uncle Eddy know we're coming.”

  Time flew by the rest of the day. Marla finished her last client at six and then drove home to her townhouse, needing an evening to herself to relax and prepare for the family ordeal the next day. She'd barely flung her purse on the counter, scratched Spooks behind the ears, and refreshed herself in the bathroom, when the doorbell rang. Her stomach growled. She planned a quick frozen meal and then just wanted to crash.

  She trudged through the foyer and peeked through the peephole. Her neighbor Kyle, a pet groomer nicknamed Goat because of his sparse beard and love for animals, greeted her with a silly grin. She flung the door open, noting his black poodle Rita straining on a leash.

  “Hey, Marla. Wassup? Rita's been bugging me to play with Spooks but you guys haven't been around much lately.”

  “I know.” Their doggy romance didn't have much of a chance, not when she'd be leaving permanently in a couple months. “Let me get him. We'll walk with you. He needs to go out anyway.”

  She retrieved her pet, locked the front door, then strode beside Goat on the asphalt. The temperature was a pleasant seventy-four with a sweet scent in the air.

  “So what's new with you?” She gave him an oblique glance. He wore a Cuban shirt over a pair of khakis. Scuffed sandals and a fur cap on his head completed his outfit.

  “Ugamaka, ugamaka, chugga, chugga, ush.” He danced a little jig while Rita ignored him and squatted on the grass. “The bells are ringing. My heart is singing. The lady and I are swinging.”

  Marla stood by while Spooks sniffed Rita's behind. “Stop that.” She nudged Spooks away before turning to Goat. His riddles made convoluted sense to her now. “I gather Georgia is flying in as scheduled?” When Marla's former college roommate had visited her earlier that year, she and Goat had hit it off. Being on opposite coastlines didn't help their relationship, though.

  Goat squared his shoulders. “Yep, and I can't wait.” His expression sobered. “I've made a decision, Marla. I can run my mobile pet-grooming service anywhere.” He swept an arm toward his van parked in the driveway. “You know how I've always wanted a bigger place on acres of land for all my animals?”