They walked out together. Already the sun had warmed the morning air, but at least the humidity was low. Marla rummaged in her bag for her own shades and took out her car key as well. She beeped the remote.
“I’m not sure where I want to look for another job,” Robyn said. She wore skinny black jeans and a cranberry top. “I’m tired of the usual frenetic pace. Fortunately, my mother left me an inheritance, so I have a decent income that covers the mortgage.”
“You’re lucky in that regard.” More so than most people. A germ of an idea made her pulse race. “Say, can I buy you a cup of coffee, or are you in a rush to get to work?”
“Like I care if I’m late. Let’s go to Starbucks. I’ll meet you there.”
Ten minutes later, they sat across from each other and nursed cups of strong-brewed coffee. Marla savored the aroma, sipping carefully so as not to burn her tongue.
“I’ll have to update my resumé,” Robyn said. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone on job interviews. I hate the process.”
“Where will you start?” Marla surveyed her new friend’s narrow face and straight cut hair. Robyn could use an update to her hairstyle as well.
“I’ll check out sites online.”
“Will you stay in the area or consider a move?”
“I don’t want to relocate, but I need to make enough money to cover living expenses, plus taxes and insurance. Hopefully, I’d still have some left over to save for retirement, not to mention vacations.” Robyn’s shoulders slumped.
“How are your computer skills? Are you familiar with social networking sites?”
“Sure, who isn’t? It’s essential today to know that stuff.” Robyn grinned, and it transformed her face into a younger, more energetic person; someone she could be under the right circumstances.
Marla noted her chin and the angles of her face. A layered cut and shorter length would do wonders for her.
“I have an idea. It’s not your field and it won’t pay nearly as much as you’re expecting, but I’m looking for a receptionist. It involves more than just answering phones. I need somebody who can manage everyone’s schedules, update our websites, design ads, connect with other merchants in the area, and help with special events. Believe it or not, I’m having trouble finding qualified applicants.”
Robyn gripped her coffee mug. “That’s not quite what I had in mind.”
“I understand, but maybe you know someone who might be interested.”
“Do you need this person right away?”
“Luis still has another week to go, and then my stylists will have to take turns manning the front desk until we hire someone.”
“I’ll think about it.” Robyn fingered her hair. “I’ve been meaning to change my style. Maybe I should make an appointment to come in and I can check out the place while I’m there.”
“That sounds great. I’ll give you a discount as a first-timer.”
Robyn gathered her purse. “Thanks for the coffee, Marla. I’ve got to run. I’ll be in touch.”
Oh, crap. Marla had forgotten her other purpose in inviting Robyn to chat. She’d wanted to inquire about their association Board members. Now she’d have to think of another way to coax information from her neighbors.
That opportunity came when she ran into Gene Uris at the grocery store on Tuesday afternoon. The bearded director was pushing his shopping cart down the health food aisle.
Marla trundled up to him, ostensibly searching for her favorite brand of cranberry juice. “Hey, Gene,” she said with a wave. She put a couple of juice bottles in her cart.
Recognition flared in his expression before a look of displeasure crossed his face. “Mrs. Vail. How nice to see you.” His flat tone said the opposite.
A mother pushed by, her toddler wiggling his legs in the shopping cart made up to look like a cartoon car. Marla sidestepped around them.
“I’m wondering if there’s going to be an election soon?” she asked in a cheery voice. “I mean, we have two Board positions vacant. Or do we only hold elections once a year?”
He drew back his lips, showing his large front teeth. “Our bylaws account for successions in the event a director’s chair is vacant. Since I’ve become acting president, a volunteer has filled my prior spot as veep, and John Hardington has stepped in as treasurer. We won’t have to hold elections until the regular time next year.”
“But we just had the annual meeting. Isn’t that a long time to wait?”
“Not necessarily. We’ll see how it goes. An interim election may be held but then you’ve got the ballot printing and mail-outs. It gets expensive.”
You don’t seem worried about expenses where the playground is concerned.
“I see. Speaking of the treasurer’s position, I’ve heard rumors about our bookkeeping practices. Has there been an audit in recent times?”
His eyes bulged. “What have you been hearing, and from whom?”
She shrugged. “I have a reliable source. This person believes the master corporation should be getting more income based on our dues. Debbie collects the checks every month, right? And it’s her job to record each payment and send the checks to the lockbox?”
“That’s right. Debbie set up the lockbox arrangement. She’s the one who recommended the financial company to the Board.”
“Debbie did so, and not Cherry?” The secretary had let Marla assume otherwise. “Why can’t residents make deposits directly into this account?”
“You’d have to ask Debbie. This set-up seemed efficient when she presented it to us. It saves time for our treasurer.” He glanced down the aisle as though eager to escape.
“You’re telling me Cherry didn’t enter into the equation at all?”
“Oh, sure she did. She’d get a report from the financial company every month.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight. Debbie accepts the checks each month. She mails them to the lockbox. The financial company deposits them and then sends a report back to Cherry.” She gulped at her mistake. “Or the report goes to the acting treasurer.”
“Correct.” He selected a nonfat plain soy milk carton and put it in his cart. “I don’t know how Debbie manages. Between her three kids and her sick sister, she has her hands full. Our Board positions are voluntary, mind you. There’s no compensation.”
None that’s evident, Mr. Acting President.
Did Ron Cloakman suspect Cherry was cooking the books? Was that why he’d confronted the treasurer at the garage sale? If so, he appeared to be barking up the wrong tree.
Gene knew it, too. She recalled his exchange with Debbie. Were they protecting each other’s secrets?
Later on at dinner, she related her news to Dalton and Brianna.
“Do you think Cherry suspected Debbie of embezzling funds, and Debbie killed her to shut her up?” She forked a salmon cake—or a croquette, as Anita called it—onto her plate, followed by a heap of spaghetti and tomato sauce.
“We’ve examined the Board members’ bank accounts,” Dalton said between bites. “Debbie Morris has some hefty expenses.”
“I’d imagine so, with her family obligations. Does she have any unexplained income?”
“There’s one paper trail we’re following. I’m expecting Kat to call with the results. So far, I’m putting my bet on Ron Cloak-man as the killer. He has the potential to lose thousands of dollars with construction shut down.”
“What about the builders, Dad? Won’t they be affected as well?” Brianna had been listening intently.
“They haven’t invested as much as Cloakman. That reminds me, I want to interview Beamis Woodhouse, the guy who supplied the leaky windows, to assess his role in this game.”
“Isn’t he a cousin of the dead guy?” Brie asked, reaching for another salmon cake. She studiously avoided the freshly cooked broccoli.
“That’s right,” Marla said. “He’s tangled up in this somehow. Alan was trying to get him to replace the windows. If I recall, Gene would rather bypass
him and get bids from other companies.”
“That doesn’t make sense if he’s responsible.”
“Beamis denies it’s his fault. He could just be a middleman for the manufacturer.”
“Or he could have bought a cheaper product than specified in his contracts, in which case he cheated on the builders,” Dalton suggested.
Brie jabbed her finger in the air, her face intent. “Maybe Mr. Krabber found out and threatened to expose this guy to the licensing bureau.”
The dogs had been roaming at their feet. They suddenly raced to the other side of the house and started barking.
Dalton wandered off to investigate. “I didn’t see anybody walking by outside,” he said upon his return. “Must have been a squirrel.”
“We really have to get our yard fenced in.” Marla took her empty dish to the sink. “Lucky and Spooks need the freedom to run around back there.”
Dalton added his plate to the dirty pile. “What are we waiting for? I thought you were going to call for estimates.”
“I haven’t had time.” She hadn’t the heart either, not after their dispute with Alan.
I guess that doesn’t matter now. The nephew would sell the house once he disposed of Alan’s goods. That shouldn’t affect their plans to erect a fence.
“Brie, are you almost ready for dance class?” Marla asked as the teen rose from the table.
Brianna plopped her dish by the sink. “Give me five minutes. By the way, I think this is my last year. I’ve been going for ages, and I want to do other things.”
Both Marla and Dalton spun to stare at her.
“Like what?” Dalton asked in a surprised tone.
The teen’s eyes flashed with enthusiasm. “I want to try out for the drama club next year. And you promised I could take acting classes, remember? I’m kind of liking soccer, too. Maybe I can get on the girls’ team. And then there’s a charity drive that a friend of mine is organizing.”
“Whoa.” Dalton held up a hand. “This is all great, but when would you have time for homework?”
“Really, Dad? My GPA is 3.8, and you’re worried?”
“You have to prepare for college,” he said with a pleading glance at Marla.
Marla wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I think it’s wonderful for you to branch out. Colleges will look at extracurricular activities on your application. I’d suggest focusing on a few things, sticking with them, and doing them well.”
Brianna nodded, her ponytail swinging. “I knew you’d understand. I’ll get my bag.”
As soon as she’d left, Dalton pulled Marla into his arms and kissed her. “As always, you know just the right thing to say. I have to admit, though, it pains me to see Brie give up dancing.”
“She’s not a little girl anymore. Get used to it.”
He gave a resigned sigh. “I can take her tonight. I want to run by the hardware store for some longer screws so I can fix that cabinet in the bathroom. And then I have to stop by the station. There’s something I was having the boys check out that I’d like to follow up on.”
“Okay, but don’t forget to return for Brianna. Call me if you get stuck at work. Meanwhile, I’ll catch up on email for a change.”
She got engrossed on the Internet after their departure and, at first, the sound outside didn’t register. But then she heard the dogs barking again and the sound of a truck rumbling by. Rushing to the window, she glanced out at the budding night. It was getting dark earlier, but she could see a delivery truck pulling up to the curb next door. Surely they weren’t still making deliveries to Alan’s address. Yet as she watched, a uniformed driver holding a package approached the house. A few minutes later, he returned, empty-handed.
He must have left the item on the front stoop. Should she go over and pick it up in case the nephew wasn’t around? Maybe Dalton had his phone number, and they could notify him.
She hastened to the hall closet, pulled on a sweater, and grabbed her house keys on the way out. After locking her front door, she tucked the key ring into her jeans pocket. She’d changed after work, not wanting to wear her skirt ensemble while cooking dinner.
A breeze stirred her hair as she scurried across the grass onto her neighbor’s property. The nephew still hadn’t removed the stone walkway. Although she hated to bother him, she’d have to complain. Or perhaps he’d give her and Dalton permission to remove it. She wouldn’t mind shouldering the cost if it solved the problem.
She shivered in the cooler temperature. Other than her dogs barking in the background, the street was quiet. Overhead lamps cast a surreal glow at set intervals, while shadows played in the recesses. A sense of unease crept up her spine at the eerie stillness.
Her breath hitched as she stepped up to Alan’s bare front stoop. Where had the package gone? The glass paneling on the front doors was too high for her to see inside the house. Was Philip Byrd here without his car?
What if the dogs had barked earlier not because someone had strolled by on the sidewalk, but because someone had been walking around the mutual side of their houses?
Marla trod around to the eastern edge of her property. She scanned Alan’s residence, but all windows appeared secure. Hoping none of the neighbors were watching, she patrolled all the way around his house but noticed no open windows or cut patio screening. Was she imagining things in believing someone might be inside?
And then she smacked herself on the head. Schmuck! Why don’t you ring the doorbell? If Philip is here, he’ll answer the door. He would have let himself in with a key.
Marla rang the bell. No response. So much for that theory. But then her initial question returned. If not Philip, who had accepted the package?
Something stung her ankle, and she bent down to scratch her skin. Damn bugs.
As she bent over, she sensed rather than saw a movement behind the front curtain. She wasn’t alone! But who was inside?
Patting her pockets, Marla cursed herself for forgetting her cell phone. Should she run home to call Dalton, or wait to see if someone left? She moved to the side of the covered portico, wondering how to proceed. This person must have gotten in the house somehow. Could one of the windows or doors be unlocked? Or what if the killer had his or her own key?
When living in her townhouse, Marla had given her next-door neighbor a spare key in case she ever forgot hers or needed him to check the place while she was away. Alan might have done the same. Had Dalton said how the killer might have gained entry? She didn’t recall.
Keys only worked at regular doors. She jimmied the front door knob, but it was securely locked. Since this one was secure, that left the patio doors, the laundry room door, or the side garage entry. The latter served as an escape route in case hurricane shutters were up and other exits were sealed.
She stepped onto the soft grass and strode around toward the garage side door. The knob twisted easily in her grip, but she let it go. She’d head home and phone Dalton while watching the house safely from a window.
She turned on her heel to leave but had only taken a few steps when she sensed a movement from behind.
Something smashed into her head, and all went black.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
* * *
Awareness seeped into Marla’s brain. A cold, hard surface lay beneath her. Where was she?
Fog enshrouded her mind, rendering her immobile along with a throbbing, pounding headache. The raspy sound of her own breathing reached her ears.
Her limbs twitched. At least she could move, she realized, testing her arms and legs. She cracked open her eyes. Darkness met her confused gaze. Why did she feel as though mud encased her brain?
Her eyelids fluttered closed.
Wake up! Alarm bells clanged in her head. For some reason, it was imperative she regain full consciousness.
With a moan, she twisted sideways. The movement produced a rumbling vibration. Or had that been there before? She froze, listening. Yes, the sound came from somewhere outside herself.
H
er eyes snapped open as a shot of adrenaline clarified her mind.
She’d surprised an intruder by Alan’s garage who must have hit her on the head.
And—dear Lord—that rumble was a car’s engine turned on, if she wasn’t mistaken. The intruder must have dragged her inside the garage and shut the side door.
She folded her legs but lacked the strength to push herself upward. Thank goodness she hadn’t been trussed up like a chicken meant for the oven. But what was wrong with her? Her body felt so heavy.
A single, clear thought pierced her like a hairpin—carbon monoxide, the silent and odorless killer.
She was meant to absorb the fumes. That’s why her brain felt like mush and her limbs seemed weighted down.
She squinted and discerned a faint outline of light. That would either be the window or the side door. She’d only need to reach that wall to find an escape route. The garage door would have a manual override, but she could never manage it in her weakened condition. Nor could she make it to the car to turn off the engine.
Her breathing slowed, her peripheral vision narrowing. She had no time to lose.
Dalton and Brianna need me. Get moving, girl.
Inch by inch, she dragged herself toward the meager light. When her outstretched hand met something solid, she summoned her energy. With a desperate shove, she pushed to her knees. Her fingers grappled along the wall until she grasped a knob.
She twisted the cold metal, and the outer door swung open. Thank God it hadn’t been sealed shut.
She rolled outside onto the grass, her legs still partially inside the garage. Clean, cool night air filled her lungs. She sucked in desperate breaths, eager for the oxygen to displace the toxic gas in her system.
Her mind cleared and she set a new target. She had to reach a telephone.
Mouth open like a beached fish, she staggered to her feet and stumbled toward her house. If only she could stop that painful symphony in her head. She reached a hand to her hair and touched something wet. That wound would heal. The blood in her cells wouldn’t fully recover until she got help.
11 Hanging by a Hair Page 17
