HANGING BY A HAIR
A BAD HAIR DAY MYSTERY
HANGING BY A HAIR
NANCY J. COHEN
FIVE STAR
A part of Gale, Cengage Learning
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Copyright © 2014 by Nancy J. Cohen.
Five Star™ Publishing, a part of Gale, Cengage Learning.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Publisher’s Note: The recipes contained at the back of this book are supplied by the author. The Publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The Publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Cohen, Nancy J., 1948–
Hanging by a hair : A Bad Hair Day Mystery / Nancy J. Cohen. — First Edition.
pages cm. — (Bad hair day mystery)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4328-2814-1 (hardcover)
ISBN-10: 1-4328-2814-2 (hardcover)
eISBN-13: 978-1-4328-2997-1 eISBN-10: 1-4328-2997-1
1. Shore, Marla (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Women detectives—Florida—Fiction. 3. Beauty operators—Fiction. 4. Florida—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3553.O4258H37 2014
813′.54—dc23 2013041350
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First Edition. First Printing: April 2014
This title is available as an e-book.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4328-2997-1 ISBN-10: 1-4328-2997-1
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Printed in the United States of America
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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Thanks to Robin Burcell, author of The Black List and former police officer, detective, and forensic artist, for answering my questions on police procedure and forensics.
As always, with gratitude to Detective R.C. White from Fort Lauderdale Police (retired). Thank you for your detailed responses to my crime-related questions.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
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(In Alphabetical Order)
ALAN KRABBER —President of Royal Oaks Homeowners Association, retired insurance company owner. Marla and Dalton’s next-door neighbor.
ANGELA GOODHART —Blond graphic designer and Marla’s neighbor on the next street over. She works from home and is single.
BEAMIS WOODHOUSE —Building supplier who is Krabber’s cousin. He claims the window leaks aren’t his fault.
CHERRY HUNTER —A divorcee with two children, Cherry is treasurer for Royal Oaks HOA. She’s a history professor who specializes in Native American cultures.
DEBBIE MORRIS —A real estate agent, Debbie is secretary for the HOA. She has strawberry blond hair and is a wife and mother. Her sister Hannah has been ill.
ERIK MANSFIELD —Construction company owner bidding for a lucrative contract from HOA to build a playground in the Royal Oaks community.
ETHAN LINDBERG —Gayle’s son and owner of Steers Industries, a manufacturer of polyvinyl extrusions. He sold his product to Beamis Woodhouse’s company.
GAYLE LINDBERG —Alan Krabber’s former flame. Married to Donald, she has three children, lives on Marco Island and runs a clothing shop.
GENE URIS —Vice President of Royal Oaks HOA who takes over as acting president in the wake of a vacancy. He supports the playground bid from Erik Mansfield. Gene is a furniture store manager at Lemmings and Sons.
HERB POLTICE —The shaman for the Immowakee tribe is Cherry’s distant cousin. His office is located in a nearby casino. He’s concerned with respecting the ancestral spirits.
KATHERINE MINNETTI —A detective newly transferred to the Palm Haven police force, Kat is Dalton’s new partner.
PHILIP BYRD —Krabber’s nephew and heir, Philip is a travel writer for the Global Rainforest Foundation.
RON CLOAKMAN —Developer of the master community including Royal Oaks, Ron stands to lose millions if Krabber’s secret is exposed.
SUSAN FEINBERG —Marla’s neighbor on the other side of Krabber’s house. Married with two children, Susan is a consulting editor for a women’s magazine and a blogger.
Author’s Note: This cast is limited to the principals in Hanging by a Hair and does not include recurring characters like Marla’s friends, relatives, and salon personnel.
CHAPTER ONE
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Marla Vail sat wedged between her husband Dalton in the aisle seat and a young couple on the other side. Her temples throbbed from the stark overhead lighting and the musty odor of old carpet in their community clubhouse. Or maybe her headache was induced by Alan Krabber, president of the Royal Oaks Homeowners Association. He ran their annual meeting with the subtlety of a drill sergeant.
Krabber sat at a long table facing the members. Flanking him to his left were the other Board officers. He addressed one of the residents in an exasperated tone.
“I don’t care how long your sister is visiting, lady. City code says recreational vehicles have to be parked in a side yard, and that includes trailers like hers. They’re supposed to be blocked from view by a solid fence or dense shrubbery.”
“But my sister is only staying for two weeks. It’s not like her trailer will be there forever.” The elderly woman’s voice quaked.
“Doesn’t matter.” Krabber glared at her. “The rules stand. We can’t make exceptions. If you don’t want the vehicle on your property, tell her to leave it at the community center.”
Marla gritted her teeth. She and Dalton had the misfortune to live next door to the president. Alan Krabber had already aggravated them by digging a big hole in his backyard. The open pit, waiting for a propane tank to fuel a standby generator, was hazardous to pets and small children. But that wasn’t the only reason why Marla’s blood pressure elevated. Now Alan had the chutzpah to quote city code when he’d violated it.
Dalton raised his hand after the older lady resumed her seat.
“Pardon me,” he said after Krabber gestured for him to speak, “but wouldn’t those rules also apply to the boat parked in your driveway?”
“Nah.” Krabber’s mouth curved in a disdainful smirk. He was a heavy-set guy with receding brown hair above a wide forehead and wire-rimmed glasses. “My boat is a modest size, and it’s not as unsightly as a trailer.”
“You just said no exceptions can be made. Aren’t you being hypocritical?”
The president jabbed his pudgy finger in the air. “You know, you’ve already complained to me about the construction crew in my backyard and the paved walkway on the side of my house.
Why don’t you let this one go, buddy?”
Dalton stiffened. “You can’t condemn a resident’s trailer in one breath and excuse your own transgression in the next. The code applies to everyone. Just because you’re president doesn’t mean you can skirt the rules.”
Marla noticed the tense look on his face and swallowed. A homicide detective in the local police force, Dalton had a tendency to play by the book.
She tugged on his shirt. “Dalton, we’re new here,” she said in a hushed tone. “Maybe we should discuss this with Alan in private.”
He glared at her, a lock of peppery hair falling across his forehead. “No way. Mr. Krabber has clearly stated the code and insisted that woman follow it to the letter. He can’t be allowed to mow everyone over and then do what he wants. If he intends to keep his boat on his property, he has to hide it from view as the code states.”
His face as red as a sunburned tourist, Krabber leaned forward. “You’ve been in this neighborhood for how long now, buddy?” He counted on his fingers. “This is March, and you moved in around the end of January. Things have been just fine without your input. But to make you happy, I’ll consider your objections.”
“You’ll have to do more than that, or I’ll report you to code enforcement.”
A thin guy raised his hand. “You know, he’s right, Alan. Maybe we should take a vote.”
Murmurs of consent wafted through the room. A show of hands reinforced the rule.
Marla breathed a sigh of relief when Dalton resumed his seat with a satisfied grunt. This wasn’t how she’d imagined their first homeowners’ meeting.
He shot her a reproving glance. “What? Someone has to uphold the law, and it might as well be me. Our neighbors agreed that Alan should follow the code, so I’m not alone. The vote went in my favor.”
Oh, joy. Maybe you should run for office. You can ticket people for speeding down the side streets or putting their trash out the night before pickup day.
Dalton couldn’t hold still when they got to the budget. His hand shot up when Gene Uris, the vice president, called for questions. Gene pointed to him with a pained glance, as though he knew a troublemaker when he saw one.
“What’s this line item for security listed at one hundred and forty thousand dollars? Can you please tell us exactly what that covers?” Dalton asked in a polite voice.
Marla, aware of stares directed their way, wished he’d sit through their first meeting without being so vocal. Maybe she should have come alone if she wanted to meet their neighbors in a friendly fashion. Then again, did any homeowners’ meeting exist without contention?
“We have video surveillance around the clubhouse and at the main entrance. And we pay for a private guard from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m.” Gene glowered at Dalton. A bearded fellow who looked to be in his forties, the Board member had carefully styled hair and large front teeth.
“Oh, yeah? I’ve never met this guy.” Dalton wagged his finger in the air. “What does he do, sit in the office all night?”
“He patrols the neighborhood and watches for anything irregular.”
“Why, have there been incidents?”
Krabber snorted, as though Dalton’s attitude was to be expected. “We’ve had a few break-ins, but it was determined some neighborhood kids were involved. And we’ve had thefts from unlocked cars in driveways. Otherwise, our record is pretty good for a community this size.”
“I’m not implying otherwise.” Dalton’s placating tone would have suited a hostage situation. “But this amount of money budgeted to security seems awfully high. Have you gotten bids from different companies?”
“Of course, we did.” Debbie Morris, the secretary, spoke in a defensive tone. She tucked a strand of strawberry blond hair behind her ear. Wedged between the taller men, she looked diminutive with her petite frame.
The fourth Board member, treasurer Cherry Hunter, was an attractive woman with raven hair and high cheekbones. She sat on the far end from Alan Krabber and kept relatively quiet. Shouldn’t she be the one answering questions about the budget?
“Maybe it’s time to reevaluate the need for a night guard,” Dalton persisted. “Some local communities have set up neighborhood watches, for example. I’d be happy to head up a security committee.”
Marla rolled her eyes. Was her husband turning into a political animal? Hopefully people would understand that Dalton meant well.
She tried to smooth things over after the meeting adjourned and members segued into the kitchen for coffee and dessert. March being the month of Purim, Marla had brought store-made hamantaschen. She munched on an apricot-filled pastry while chatting with her new neighbors.
During a break in conversation, she aimed toward Alan Krabber. He stood across the room from where Dalton was engaged with an elderly gent.
The association president wore a dress shirt tucked into a pair of belted trousers. A hint of stubble shadowed his jaw as he stuffed a chocolate chip cookie into his mouth. His flabby neck quivered as he chewed. Her glance rose to the retreating hairline crowning his square face. He kept his walnut hair combed neatly back.
She tapped his arm. “Hi, there. I’m sorry for the fuss about your boat, but I happen to believe my husband is right to support the city code. We have two dogs and are interested in putting up a fence ourselves. Maybe we should get together and exchange ideas since we share a common boundary.”
Normally Marla would approach the woman of the household to make a conciliatory gesture, but her neighbor lived alone. His closest family in the area was a nephew.
Krabber’s gaze turned crafty behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. “Sure, we could discuss it together. Why don’t you come over next time your hot-headed spouse is at work? We’ll have an intimate chat, just the two of us.”
“Who are you calling hot-headed? And did you just hit on my wife?” Dalton loomed over them, his mouth thinned and his eyes narrowed.
“Hey, buddy, loosen up. I didn’t mean to offend anyone.”
Dalton leaned forward, his jugular veins prominent. “If I recall, the first time we met, you made inappropriate remarks to Marla, too. I won’t tolerate that behavior.”
“Hey, you tolerated a lot more by marrying her kind.”
“What does that mean?”
“You should know. You’re not one of them.” Krabber winked. “If I were you, I’d think about saving her soul while there’s still time.”
Dalton’s fists curled, while Marla’s stomach sank to her toes. She couldn’t believe she’d just heard a racist remark in earshot of everyone. In this era of diversity, and especially in South Florida, it was a rare occurrence.
A sudden hush fell over the room, and shocked glances turned in their direction. Marla sucked in a breath to calm herself. She didn’t want to give anyone more fodder for gossip.
“Come on, honey, it’s time we left.” Her body trembling, she took Dalton’s arm. “If Mr. Krabber can’t appreciate the benefit of different cultures living in harmony, it’s his loss.”
Krabber didn’t deign to respond. With a snort of disgust, he turned on his heel and strode to the coffeemaker.
“Alan, what’s gotten into you?” another guy said, trailing after him. “I’ve never heard you speak like that before. You should apologize.”
While people filed around Krabber with murmurs of agreement, a blond woman approached Marla and Dalton.
“Hi, I’m Angela Goodhart. Please don’t mind Alan. I’m sure he didn’t mean to be so rude. He was just trying to get a rise out of you, Mr. Vail, for leading a vote against him.”
Dalton’s mouth turned down. “I should report his remarks. We have witnesses.”
Marla tightened her fingers on his sleeve. “I don’t think so. We’ve caused enough waves. By the way, Angela, I like how you do your hair,” she said to change the subject. “I’m a hairdresser, and I own the Cut ’N Dye salon in town. If you come in, I’ll give you a discount on your first appointment.” She handed over a business card.
> “Thanks.” Angela tucked the card into her purse. “What days are you there?”
“We’re open Tuesdays through Saturdays. I have a full client list, but I’d fit you in.” She gave a broad smile. Talking about the work she loved always energized her.
“So you’re married to a detective, huh? It must be difficult to settle into a routine when he works irregular hours. I’ve seen cop shows on TV and sometimes the guys are barely home.”
Marla nodded absently, her attention drawn to Krabber, who’d gotten into a close discussion with some other men. They shot occasional glances her way.
“Marla, I think we should leave.” Dalton took her arm and tugged her toward the door.
“Nice meeting you, Angela,” Marla called.
Before they reached the exit, the treasurer planted herself in front of them.
“You’re onto something,” Cherry said in a slurred tone, making Marla wonder if she’d been drinking before the meeting. Her stick-straight black hair hung down to her shoulders. “That man has secrets to hide. Better not push him. You don’t know what he’ll do.”
Marla got an inkling of what Cherry meant when a plastic bag of dog poop showed up on their circular driveway the next day. She’d just stepped outside at seven o’clock on Friday morning with Lucky and Spooks—their golden retriever and cream-colored poodle—when she noticed the item lying on the asphalt. Hauling on the dogs’ leashes, she veered over to verify her observation. Then she rushed back inside to inform her husband.
“I’ll bet it’s him,” Dalton said, rising from the breakfast table where he sat drinking coffee and watching the news. “Let me get my fingerprint kit. I can prove it.”
“Dalton, that’s absurd. What are you going to do, arrest our next-door neighbor for defiling our property? It’s a prank, that’s all. The best response is to show no reaction.”
11 Hanging by a Hair Page 1
