In a bakery box with a clear window on top, Marla spied an assortment of red velvet cupcakes with swirled vanilla icing. A candy heart decorated each top center. There appeared to be a dozen of the mini-sized cakes.
“Who sent them? Is there a card?”
“Nada. Maybe I should taste one?”
“I’m not supposed to share, remember? That’s an odd request, but I suppose it’s a personal gift.”
“You must have a secret admirer.” He winked. “Are you sure it wasn’t Dalton? Is today a special occasion you’ve forgotten?”
“Heck, no. I’d better refrigerate them. Write me a sticky note that no one is to touch these.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve given Dara her notice. She’s to clear out her station at the end of the day. Make sure she doesn’t walk off with this box in her bag.”
The handsome Latino’s brows furrowed. “It’s about time. No one will be sorry to see her go. You did the right thing.”
A pang of sorrow for his imminent departure hit her. She hadn’t realized how much she relied on him. Oh, gosh. She’d forgotten all about a farewell party. How could she plan one plus get organized for the holiday?
Luis raised his index finger. “Marla, I forgot. The kid who delivered these said you could sample one about an hour before you left work. That way, the sugar rush wouldn’t kill your appetite for dinner.”
“I’m not in the mood for sweets, but Dalton and Brianna will enjoy them.”
Marla gestured for her waiting client to get shampooed while she refrigerated the cupcakes in the rear and devoured the turkey sandwich from Arnie’s deli. Coffee mug in hand, she returned to her station and quickly filled Nicole in on her plans.
“Thanks, pal,” she said when Nicole offered to arrange a going-away party for Luis. “If I add one more thing to my slate, I’ll plotz.”
As she cut and blow-dried her customer’s hair, Marla wondered how Dalton was making out on his investigation. Had Kat learned anything new? Glancing in the mirror, she examined the spot where she’d been injured outside Alan’s garage. Her hair covered the bruise but it still hurt when she touched it. An urge to call Dalton nagged her during the afternoon. She must have had a sixth sense because he phoned her as the clock struck four.
“Sorry to bother you, but I have a couple of questions.” His deep tone resonated through her, singing to her nerves and sparking her energy.
“It’s okay. I’ve just applied a coloring agent to my next customer, so we have a half hour to wait. I don’t have anyone else scheduled until then.”
Holding the phone to her ear, Marla strode toward the front and outside. Nobody occupied the chairs in front of the salon so she claimed one. She crossed her legs, wincing in the bright sunlight as she faced west.
“Did Alan Krabber’s nephew say anything to you about his uncle’s estate?” Dalton said.
“No, why? He is the heir, isn’t he?”
“Undoubtedly. But Byrd gave me the impression that he only expected to inherit a modest amount.”
“Krabber made his money in the insurance field. He must have invested it wisely. Certainly, he had enough money to pay for that expensive generator.”
“That wouldn’t explain the regular monthly deposits into his checking account. They’re for different amounts each time. He had a considerable nest egg.”
“Really? Were you able to trace the source?”
“Yes. Krabber had been receiving funds from a business account belonging to StayTrue Ministries.”
“What’s that?”
“Some kind of church, I assume. Did Byrd mention this organization to you? I’m wondering if he knew anything about his uncle’s involvement.”
“Philip said that Alan favored religious sites online. What do you know about this ministry?”
“They’re registered with the state, follow all the proper protocols, and have a popular website that gets thousands of hits.”
“Strange. You’d think Alan would be giving donations to a ministry instead of getting money from them. Do you think he sold them an insurance policy and those deposits were commissions?”
“On what? There’s only a post office box listed for the business, not a physical address.”
“Alan may have sold them a liability policy or performed another service for which he was reimbursed.” Marla bit her lower lip, considering the man’s passion for computers. “Maybe he created and maintained their website.”
“That’s always a possibility.”
“Whoever established the ministry’s post office box could be the same person who set up their bank account. Do you know the signatory for either one?”
“Kat is investigating that angle. The post office is local so this ministry must be in the area.”
“What if Philip Byrd knew about Alan’s financial status and hoped to cash in on it? Have you examined his accounts?”
“That’s one of the first things we did. He has a decent balance without any irregularities, plus he has a solid alibi for the night his uncle died.”
“And he didn’t have any reason to do Cherry in, either. That’s assuming their deaths are related.” A moment of sadness afflicted her for the woman’s children. Pushing aside those unhappy thoughts, she drew in a breath full of humid air in an attempt to focus. “What about Ethan Lindberg? Weren’t you and Kat supposed to interview him?”
“We did see him as scheduled. He didn’t speak about Krabber with any fondness.”
“So he admitted to a relationship? Did he visit Alan in person and reveal his identity?”
“Ethan was nervous about talking to us at first. I think he was afraid we might cite him for fraudulent business practices. When I mentioned Royal Oaks, he was quick to deny any responsibility for the leaky windows.”
“Despite his being hit with a lawsuit for the exact same thing in the past?”
“He said the installers were at fault and offered to give us a tour of his factory.”
“Oh, joy. So what did he say about Alan?”
“Ethan used Gayle’s name to meet Krabber at a bar. The young man revealed himself as Gayle’s son and Krabber’s as well. At first Alan didn’t believe him, but then Ethan showed him a copy of his birth certificate. He said Krabber hit the wall and nearly had a stroke. Then he started spouting anti-Semitic remarks that shocked Ethan and drove him away.”
“That must have created a scene.”
“Get this—it happened a while ago, before Ethan sold his vinyl extrusions to Beamis Woodhouse for the Royal Oaks development.”
“Really? I’d gotten the impression from Gayle that Ethan went to see him fairly recently.”
“Apparently not. It makes me wonder if Krabber’s rejection and the disparaging remarks about his mother caused Ethan to snap.”
“So you’re theorizing that Ethan killed his own father out of hurt and rage?”
“It’s been known to happen.”
“Do you think he purposefully sabotaged the construction materials to get back at Alan? And if so, why wait until now to do him in? And why kill Cherry? Did you find any DNA linking the cases?”
Before Dalton could reply, Luis poked his head out the door.
“Marla, come quickly. Aiyya. Something is dreadfully wrong.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
* * *
“I have to go,” Marla said to Dalton before she accompanied her harried receptionist into the salon. “What’s the problem?”
“Dara is passed out in the back room.” Luis hustled Marla toward the rear. “And I’m afraid I have worse news. She ate your cupcakes.”
Marla noticed the curious glances of her staff as she hurried past the hair and nail stations, the shampoo sinks, and the laundry room to the back storeroom.
Inside, she spied the black-haired stylist sprawled in a chair, her head lolled back. Vanilla icing smeared her lips. On the counter, the bakery box lay open as proof of her guilt.
“Oh, Dara, how could you?” She must have stuffed herself a
nd then fallen asleep. But when Marla prodded her, Dara failed to respond. Her nose ring didn’t so much as quiver, alarming Marla all the more. “Hey, wake up.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Luis narrowed his eyes. “Do you think she’s taking drugs? I wouldn’t be surprised. Maybe your firing her pushed her over the edge. I hope she didn’t accidentally O.D.”
Could she have overdosed? Marla studied Dara’s chest, which rose and fell in a slow, regular pattern. And her pulse was strong.
Her glance skewed to the open box. Dara must have eaten four of those mini-cakes, she judged from the empty spaces.
Marla’s blood chilled, and she felt the color drain from her face. Good God. She’d been meant to ingest them.
“Luis, what did the messenger say who brought these cupcakes? That I shouldn’t eat any until an hour before I leave work?”
His mouth gaped. “Surely, you don’t believe—”
“I’d have been driving home. Imagine if I passed out at the wheel. It could have caused an accident.”
“But there’s no guarantee you would have eaten one.”
“No. But if I didn’t, it’s a certainty that Dalton or Brianna would have tried them.” She snapped the lid down with the side of her hand. “Get me a bag. I’m giving these to Dalton to send to the lab.”
“What about Dara?” He pointed to the recumbent stylist.
“She might sleep it off . . . or not. I hate to call the paramedics, but we don’t know what she’s ingested. It could be a harmless knockout drug or something worse.”
“Are you seriously suggesting she was poisoned? By eating your cupcakes?”
“That’s correct. Drugged or poisoned, what’s the difference? I’ll ask Dalton what to do.” She had a feeling it would mean a call to the rescue squad again. On the good side, maybe the hunk she wanted to meet Nicole would show up. “I’ll tell Nicole what’s going on and have her take charge up front. You stay with Dara and make sure she doesn’t convulse or anything.”
Luis gulped, his Adam’s apple visible. “Make it fast, okay?”
Marla trembled at this latest crisis as she strode to her station. She hoped Dara was just asleep and would wake up later, none the worse for wear.
Nicole was busy teasing an older lady’s hair in the next chair. Marla approached, crooking her index finger. “Listen, I need you to watch the front desk for a few minutes. Luis is doing something for me in the back. We have a situation.”
Marla leaned over to whisper in her ear. The stylist’s eyes widened at her news.
“No way. You’d better make that call, girlfriend.”
Marla nodded, already half out of the salon. Once again on the front sidewalk, she called Dalton on speed-dial.
“Call the paramedics,” he said. “I’m on my way. Stay put until I get there.”
“Dalton, come around through the back door, okay? I don’t want to cause a commotion in the salon.” She gave the same instructions to the dispatcher.
They arrived within fifteen minutes. Marla didn’t see the guy she had in mind for Nicole, but she recognized one of the other team members.
“Brett, isn’t it? I think Dara ingested something that knocked her out.”
She stood back while they brought in their equipment to assess Dara’s vital signs. Luis, relieved of his duty, scampered back to his post.
Dalton pulled up in his sedan behind the rescue truck. Catching sight of him made Marla yearn to run into his arms. Quickly filling him in on what she knew, she sagged against a wall. This was one instance where she was glad to let her husband take charge.
Several hours passed before she could go home. She was clearing away the dinner dishes while Dalton lingered over a glass of wine at the kitchen table. Brianna had gone to her room to talk on the phone with friends.
“Those cupcakes were meant for you,” Dalton said, regarding her with a hooded expression. He’d changed into jeans and a polo shirt that stretched across his broad chest.
“For all of us,” Marla said, gesturing with a dish towel in hand. “I’m glad Dara will be all right.” The stylist would eventually wake up, according to hospital personnel. Meanwhile, Dalton had sent the cupcakes to the lab for analysis.
“You’re sure Luis had never met the kid before who delivered the box?”
“Nope. Someone must have paid the boy.” Marla stood by the sink, rinsing the plates and loading them into the dishwasher.
“Obviously you’ve ticked someone off. First the incident by the garage, and now this.”
“Yes, but my getting hit on the head next door happened because I surprised an intruder.”
“An intruder looking for what? We’d already combed the place.”
“I don’t know. Maybe your team overlooked something significant. Have you gone around to the backyard lately to see if any new holes have been dug in Alan’s lawn?”
“Why would I do that?” Dalton glanced down at Lucky who nudged his ankle.
“Herb Poltice could be snooping around, hoping to discover more ancestral bones. Did you find any connections between Alan and Cherry’s deaths?”
Dalton swirled the remaining dregs in his wine glass. “We’re still working on it. I can’t help wondering what the intent was in giving you those cupcakes. To knock us all out? And then what?”
“I think I was meant to eat one before leaving work so I’d fall asleep at the wheel.”
“Potentially causing an accident? You might not have been hurt, though. So it appears this incident is merely a warning.”
“Not necessarily. Look at Dara who ate four of them and is out cold. What if I’d eaten more? In a higher dose, it could lead to respiratory depression.”
“I don’t believe the drug is that strong. It causes deep sleep but isn’t lethal.”
“How reassuring. We’ll know more when you get the lab report.”
“Maybe some other evidence will show up from that box.” Dalton rose and brought her his empty glass. “By the way, I have a fence guy coming on Thursday for an estimate.”
“Oh, good. With all that’s been happening, I’d forgotten about it. I wish we had the enclosure already. It’ll be annoying to have the dogs underfoot on Passover.”
“That’s when, on Saturday night?”
“Yes, and I’m going food shopping tomorrow. My mother said she’d bring the matzo ball soup.” She reviewed her mental list of other ingredients. Roast brisket with prunes and sweet potatoes was the main meal. She’d bake some chicken breasts for those guests who didn’t eat red meat.
“How many people total are coming?”
“We’re up to eighteen including everyone’s kids.” She ran down the guest list for him.
“You’re kidding? Eighteen? This is Tuesday already, and we haven’t done anything.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll manage. Just make sure work doesn’t interfere with your being here for the entire Seder. See if Kat can take calls. Oh, what time is the fence person coming on Thursday? Luckily that’s my day to work late.”
“He’ll be here early, between eight and nine. I told him to bring samples but said we’d probably go for the white.”
“Aren’t we getting a chain link fence? I want to be able to see the shrubbery.”
“Wood fences give more privacy. I don’t want someone else looking into my yard.”
Spooks yawned and stretched upright from his favorite spot in a corner. The poodle gave Marla a forlorn look and barked. The dogs had already been out, so what did Spooks want? Did he sense her growing agitation?
She didn’t want to argue with Dalton, but the type of fencing should be a joint decision. “We’ll talk about it later. Oh, remind me to stop by the front office in the morning. I have to turn in my final report on the rummage sale. The Board wanted to know what kinds of things sold best, so we’d have an idea for next year.”
Wednesday morning on her way to work, Marla spotted Debbie Morris’s car parked by the community center. Another vehicle was there, to
o, so she’d quietly drop off her summary. As she approached the entrance, loud voices sounded from within the office. Its door stood partially ajar. Reluctant to intrude, Marla hung back.
“Residents will know something is wrong,” Gene Uris said, his pitch raised. “If anyone questions the expense, we’ll all take the heat. I’m not gonna let that happen.”
“We’d need an assessment anyway, Gene. This bid is too high. Don’t think for a minute that I’m not aware of your machinations. That detective who lives here suggested we get sealed bids from different contractors. You’re pushing us to accept Erik Mansfield’s company because you’ll benefit personally,” Debbie replied in a shrill tone.
“There’s nothing wrong with him giving us a show of appreciation if he wins the contract.”
“Giving you, you mean. How much money did he promise you?”
“Don’t go there, Debs, or I’ll tell people about your sister. You hear me?”
She sniffled. “At least my motives aren’t selfish.”
Marla shifted her feet, uncomfortable with eavesdropping. She should make her presence known.
Loudly clearing her throat, she rapped on the door frame.
The door swung open so suddenly, she sprang back. Gene snarled upon glimpsing her. “Oh, it’s you.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Marla breezed inside, waving her folder. “Hi, Debbie. I brought the report on the garage sale that you requested.”
Debbie cast the acting president a resentful glance. “Gene was just leaving.”
Gene glared back at her. “I hope I can count on your support, Debs. It’ll benefit us both.” And without another word to either woman, he swept out the door.
Marla handed her papers to the petite secretary. Debbie’s strawberry blond hair looked sadly in need of care. It hung in limp tendrils about her face.
“You seem upset,” Marla said in a kindly tone, hoping to inspire confidences. “It must be difficult dealing with association issues after two deaths on the Board.”
“You have no idea.” Debbie swiped at a tear trickling down her cheek. “And it doesn’t help that your husband keeps asking questions.”
11 Hanging by a Hair Page 21
