11 Hanging by a Hair

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “She would only go for a drink with me if I agreed to work on the garage sale. She neglected to tell me, at least initially, that the job entailed taking charge. The other chairwoman had to drop out for some reason. Maybe Cherry will forget our conversation on that score.”

  “Let’s hope so. You don’t have a lot of spare time.”

  “Tell me about it. I met her coming out of a jewelry store by the dance studio. She’d been admiring a diamond tennis bracelet on her arm and said she had cause to celebrate getting a bonus.”

  “Oh? Isn’t Cherry Hunter a history professor at the university?”

  “Where did you hear that?” She hadn’t mentioned Cherry’s occupation. Had he been holding back on her?

  “Kat is checking into the backgrounds of the Board members. I hear things now and then.”

  “I’m sure you do. Anything else you’d like to share?”

  “Nothing useful. So Cherry got a bonus at her job and spent it on an expensive bracelet?”

  “It appeared so, but I’m not exactly sure that’s what she meant.”

  “It sounds as though she wasn’t terribly forthcoming with information. Why did she go with you for a drink?”

  “For one thing, the woman likes her wine. Plus, I sort of mentioned Alan’s death might be more than a suicide. Probably she wanted to find out what I’d learned from you. Or else she just played me so I’d take on the garage sale.”

  His glance dipped to her mouth. “I can think of other ways to play you. Want me to demonstrate?”

  She sensed his arousal. Her nerves responded by heightening her sensitivity to his every move. How easily her attention could be diverted.

  “Wait, I’m not done.” She raised a hand. “We discussed other residents who might have had grievances against the Board, but they were minor issues. Alan’s secret vice was a bigger deal.”

  “His vice?”

  “Cherry said he loved his computers more than anything. That’s why he was putting in a standby generator, so he could keep the juice flowing to his machines in the event of a power outage. You know how self-righteous he was? What if he had an addiction to online gambling?”

  He gave her a skeptical glance. “I believe that’s illegal.”

  “People skilled with computers can find sites. Or maybe pornography was his thing. Either way, Alan would consider both of those activities to be sinful.” She sat up straight. “Do you think that’s why he killed himself? Because he was punishing himself for his lapse?”

  “That’s absurd. Krabber didn’t kill himself.”

  “Still, it’s worth checking out, don’t you think? You’re always telling me to investigate all the angles. Cherry thought maybe he ran a gamer site, like FarmVille.”

  “I’ll pass along your ideas to Kat and have her look into them.”

  “Did the crime lab guys take Alan’s computer?”

  “He had several, and yes, they would have done so. However, scuttlebutt says his hard drives came up clean.”

  “You mean, clean in terms of showing nothing significant? Or do you mean formatted?”

  “The latter. Even his emails were gone. Our cyber forensics team is trying to retrieve the data, but someone knew what to do.” Dalton rubbed his brow, fatigue lines etching his face.

  “Someone, but not Alan?”

  “That’s the assumption.”

  “Hey, maybe he wasn’t into gambling, porn, or games. Do you think he could have signed up for one of those matchmaking services?”

  “Anything is possible.” Dalton reached across her and grabbed the remote to channel surf.

  “Maybe the nephew can shed more light on Alan’s hobbies. Detective Minnetti must have interviewed him. Isn’t he the official heir?”

  “Yes, Philip Byrd is a travel writer who lives in Boca. His mother, Krabber’s sister, died from cancer two years ago.” Dalton tuned in to a sports game and stared at the screen.

  “And does Philip Byrd have a family?”

  “No. He’s in his mid-thirties and has never been married. Either he’s still looking for someone, or else he’s not interested in women.”

  “Maybe he just hasn’t found Ms. Right. It isn’t easy to meet people these days.”

  “That’s why virtual dating services have become so popular.” Dalton chucked her under the chin. “I’m lucky I found you.”

  She snuggled closer and rubbed against him. “We could continue this discussion in the bedroom. I’m getting tired.”

  He gave her a slow, sexy smile. “Perhaps we should.”

  The next day dawned bright and sunny but with a strong breeze heralding an approaching cold front. March could still bring variable weather to South Florida.

  Marla sat down at her computer after Brianna left for school and Dalton for work. Her first appointment was at ten o’clock, so she had an hour to spare. She wanted to follow up with Angela Goodhart but didn’t know the woman’s phone number.

  She accessed the community’s website and the list of Directors. The Board members’ contact info faced her from the screen. She’d bite the bullet and ask Cherry for the garage sale volunteer list. Maybe Angela would be on it. Or perhaps Cherry knew how to contact the woman. Marla didn’t even have her address.

  Glancing out the window in her study, she peered over toward Alan’s house. A police car was parked at the curb. Hopefully, an officer was there to remove the yellow tape blocking the front door. She’d keep alert in case the nephew drove by. Was he even in town? As a travel writer, he must get around, unless his articles were confined to Florida.

  After sending Cherry an email requesting the garage sale info, Marla lost time checking her own messages and adding an update to her Facebook business page. Luis had suggested creating one for the grand opening of their day spa, and Marla had thought it to be a great marketing tool for the salon. Mostly, she let him handle the online promotions.

  She’d just grabbed her handbag in the kitchen when a shadow passed the front window. She snatched her keys, hurried into the dining room, and peered outside. The police car was gone and in its place was a silver Prius. Recognizing the vehicle as the one that had been parked in Alan’s driveway the day he died, she rushed out the door in the hope of catching his nephew. As she approached, Marla noted the yellow tape was gone from the front porch.

  A young man answered the doorbell. He had wheat brown hair that flopped forward onto his forehead in a tousled style, a faint moustache, and sad blue eyes.

  “Hello, are you Mr. Byrd?”

  “I am. And you are?”

  “Marla Vail. I live next door.” She gestured with her thumb. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  His face flushed. “Yes, well, thanks.”

  “I know it’s a job when someone passes to take care of the house and all. I’d like to offer my help, if you need anything.” She floundered for something to say that might encourage him to talk.

  “I appreciate that. I’m not going to rush into anything. First I have to deal with, um, Uncle Alan’s final arrangements. He wanted to be cremated.”

  “I see. It can’t be easy for you, having the police involved. I’m married to a detective on the force.”

  “Oh, really?” He examined her more closely. “Would you like to come in for a few minutes?”

  Marla glanced up and down the street, and saw no one outside. Dare she accept his invitation? What if he had been the killer?

  Nonetheless, she stepped across the threshold. “I’m on my way to work, so I can’t stay long. I own the Cut ’N Dye hair salon,” she explained. “I’ll just tell them I might be a few minutes late.” On her cell, she dashed off a quick text message to Dalton.

  Byrd led her into a living room furnished with a worn sofa and armchairs, a marred coffee table, a couple of lamps on accent pieces, and an empty fish tank on a stand. Dirty socks adorned the soiled carpet. To the left rose a staircase.

  Marla wrinkled her nose as her gaze lifted to the second-story balcony. A carved w
ooden railing bordered the edge. Her throat clogged as she imagined Krabber’s body swinging there.

  Philip noticed the direction of her glance. “That’s where I discovered my uncle.”

  She swallowed. “It must have been awful.”

  “I don’t believe he was responsible for taking his own life. The cops don’t seem to think so, either. What’s your husband’s theory?”

  “I imagine Detective Minnetti has already spoken to you about the possibilities.” She watched him carefully, but he just hung his head sadly.

  “Yes, she has, but she’s looking at the wrong person if she thinks I did my uncle harm.”

  “Oh? What kind of relationship did you have with Alan?” At his invitation, she sank into an armchair near the door.

  “I cared for the old coot. He had some strange notions about people, although I suspect that was due to his heartbreak.”

  Yes, now we’re getting somewhere. “I heard he’d been engaged once,” she said in a casual tone. “Is that what you mean?”

  Philip paced the carpeted floor, hands folded behind his back. He took long, loping steps, like one would take to avoid cracks in a sidewalk. “Uncle Alan was in love with a woman many years ago. They were engaged and had started planning the wedding. But then her folks intervened and took her to Europe. You see, she came from a wealthy Jewish family, and they didn’t want her to marry him.”

  Marla’s mouth dropped open. “Alan Krabber was engaged to a Jewish woman?”

  “I know, it’s difficult to believe. When they returned, Uncle Alan tried to see her but she snubbed him. He never got over the feeling of betrayal.”

  That would explain a lot about the man.

  “Your uncle didn’t give his heart to anyone else?”

  “He felt demeaned by the experience, as though he wasn’t good enough. You could tell from his attitude. He started dissing on other people like they were below him.” Byrd noticed her distasteful expression. “I gather you’ve been at the raw end of his remarks. Being rejected took its toll on his ego in a big way. Every now and then, he’d mumble about the end of the world and how he could save people’s souls. I think he turned to religion as a crutch, using it to condemn anyone who didn’t agree with him.”

  “Yet he was a successful businessman, wasn’t he? I mean, he was able to retire in this nice house and was investing a chunk of cash on that generator. So whatever his personal beliefs, they didn’t impair his relations with others, at least not in the business world.”

  Philip nodded. “He owned an insurance company that prospered despite the economy.”

  “Speaking of the generator, are you going to fill in the hole in his backyard? It’s a hazard to children and pets. My dog got loose and fell down there the other day.”

  “So I’ve been informed. Sorry about that. I hope he’s okay.”

  “Spooks had a slight concussion, but he’ll be fine. Where is Alan’s boat, by the way?”

  “He’d moved it to the parking lot behind the clubhouse before he died. He told me he had to put up a fence to meet code regulations.”

  “He started to build one but neglected to do a survey or get a permit. And that brings up another point of contention between us.” She leaned forward. “That swathe of stones leading around his side yard? It infringes on our property.”

  He plowed his fingers through his hair. “I know I have a lot of things to fix. I can’t do it all at once with my job and all, but I’ll get to them as soon as possible.”

  “We’d appreciate it a great deal. What kind of work do you do?” she asked, as though she didn’t know.

  “I’m a travel writer for the Global Rainforest Foundation. They sponsor my trips around the world. I write about rainforest preservation and send my articles to various publications.” He plopped down on the sofa. “Rumor says your husband got into an argument with Uncle Alan over the property issues.”

  “That’s right. They’d exchanged words about the fence and the stone path. I hope you’ll think about planting those ficus trees somewhere else, too. Their roots are apt to grow into our property.” Marla rose. “Anyway, I’m very sorry for your loss and again would be willing to help you any way I can.” She sniffed the stale, foul-scented air. “I know a good housekeeping service if you need one. I presume you’ll want to sell the house?”

  Byrd leapt to his feet. “Eventually. I’ll send my own maid over one of these days.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “Can’t abide housecleaning myself.”

  “Remember, I’m next door if you need anything, Mr. Byrd.”

  “Please call me Philip. Have you heard your husband’s guesses about motives? I mean, why would somebody hurt my uncle? I know he could be snappish on occasion, but mostly folks realized he meant well.”

  “I’m sure Detective Minnetti is checking into his acquaintances. Are you his only relative in the area?”

  “He has a cousin on the other side of his family, but we’ve never met. Would you know if the investigation has brought anything specific to light?”

  “I’m afraid my husband isn’t officially involved due to a possible conflict of interest. Even if he were, he wouldn’t share confidential information with me.”

  The young man gave a nervous chuckle. “I get it. Marla, right? Thanks for stopping by. I’ll probably see you around.”

  She’d just stepped outside when a delivery truck rumbled to the curve. Marla intercepted the driver as Byrd had already secured himself inside the house.

  “Oh, is that for Alan? I’ll take it to him.” Grasping the parcel, she turned toward the door. On the way, she glimpsed the return address. The company name meant nothing to her, but she registered it in her brain to look up later.

  “Your uncle got a package,” she said to Philip when he opened the door at her summons. She handed it over. “He seemed to get a lot of deliveries.” Could he have been one of those closet hoarders who ordered stuff off the Internet? Maybe he’d shopped on the computer all day.

  Philip snatched the package. “Thanks. Likely I’ll be sending this back and cancelling any other orders he’d made.”

  “I hope he made printouts of his transactions.”

  “I haven’t had the chance to sort through his papers. That’s another chore on my list.” Philip stuck the bundle on a foyer table and then returned to the front door.

  “Speaking of your uncle’s papers, you might look for information on the workmen he hired to put up his fence.” Marla slipped her foot over the threshold so Philip couldn’t shut her out. “He’d promised to pay the guys that same day, but I’m wondering if he ever did since they never completed the job. Their truck had no visible license tag. The cops might want to question them if you come across their contact info.”

  A perplexed frown knitted Philip’s brows. “Why? Do you think they returned to exact revenge on Uncle Alan for stiffing their fee?”

  “It seems extreme, but you never know. By the way, I understand Alan spent a lot of time on the computer. What hobbies kept him so busy all day?”

  “He was hooked on religious sites. I can’t abide that stuff myself. I tuned him out whenever he got onto the subject.”

  Maybe you should have paid better attention. Nonetheless, that wouldn’t explain the packages. Alan must have been ordering something on a regular basis.

  Wait a minute. What if not all of those UPS truck stops had been deliveries but were pickups instead? Still, what did it mean?

  “Maybe the cops will be able to pull some useful data off his computers,” she said in a noncommittal tone.

  “I doubt it. The lady detective told me his hard drives had been wiped clean. She asked if I’d done it. Huh, like I’d know how. Hey, I only stopped by now and then to see if he wanted anything.”

  “That was kind of you. Here’s my card if you need to get in touch.”

  Turning away, Marla pondered how Alan Krabber could hibernate inside his house and hunch over the computer for so many hours. She barely had time to check h
er email, let alone sit in front of a monitor for amusement. There was more to life than devotion to one’s machines.

  Brianna wouldn’t agree. The teen yearned for an iPhone and had pointed out several useful apps. But once she had one, Marla feared the device would prove an unnecessary distraction. The last thing they needed was for her to be answering the phone from behind the wheel when she started driving. But this wasn’t about Brie or Marla’s personal opinion. It was about Alan Krabber and how he’d spent his leisure hours.

  In a crunch for time, Marla sped to the salon. She spared a moment to notify Dalton of her whereabouts before work filled her mind and obliterated any other thoughts.

  Around noon, she got a text message from her mother. Call me. Her heart lurched. What now? Her mother rarely bothered her at work, and she almost never texted.

  As soon as she had a break, she headed outside. Clouds scudded overhead, bringing sprinkles and cooler weather. Facing the parking lot, she sat in a chair provided by her salon. Some of the stylists liked to have a smoke in between clients. It wasn’t a habit Marla encouraged, but she’d made an effort to accommodate her staff by setting out several inexpensive plastic chairs. Fortunately, the shopping center manager hadn’t complained. A cast iron bench would have been better, but it cost more.

  “Hi, Ma. It’s me. What’s going on?” She held her cell phone close to her ear.

  “Oh, Marla, I don’t know what to do!” Anita’s voice sounded desperate.

  “Are you sick? Do you need me to come over?”

  “No, it’s not that. Roger hasn’t called.”

  Holy highlights, that’s what had put her mother into a snit? “Maybe you should contact his son and make sure he’s all right.”

  “I did.” A pause. “Barry said his aunt is in town, and Roger has been busy with her. Then he made a rude remark that I don’t understand. You know how nice I’ve been to Barry. I had even thought he might be a good match for you before Dalton snagged your attention.”

  Marla rolled her eyes. She remembered her mother’s attempts to fix her up with the Jewish optometrist. “What did Barry say?”

  “Maybe it would be best if I gave his father some breathing space for a change. As though I’m the one who chases after him!”