Body Wave

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “That’s a shame,” Marla said. She appreciated the value of healthy trees to earth’s ecology.

  “Supplies are too limited to offer a single brew based on shade-grown plants,” Morris countered. “We’re having enough inventory problems with the frost damage. It’s more cost-efficient to produce larger yields using modern technology. Our methods are becoming more widespread throughout the industry.”

  “I disagree.” Barbara’s tone indicated this was an ongoing argument. “Some of the finest coffee in the world is grown on thousands of low-tech farms where the cherries ripen in the shade without help from chemicals.”

  “Cherries?” Marla asked, confused.

  “That’s the name for the red fruit,” Barbara explained. “When the cherries mature more slowly, their natural sugars increase. It makes a better-tasting coffee. You can buy these products now if you look for the songbird labels.”

  Marla was more interested in the financial problems plaguing Morris’s company. Would Kimberly’s share of their inheritance infuse needed capital into a floundering enterprise?

  “Florence is helping plan our fund-raiser,” Barbara said, beaming at her sister-in-law. “Stella, would you like to do the centerpieces?”

  “Your money comes from our plantations, girls,” Miriam snapped. “You should be supporting your brother.”

  “Sure, I’ll help you,” Stella replied, ignoring her mother.

  “Was your daughter involved in this bird group as well?” Marla asked.

  Stella gave a startled look as though she only just realized Marla was present. “She didn’t care a whit for the family business or for volunteer work. Like me, Kim had a flair for design, but then she got bitten by the genealogy bug.”

  “Researching family trees is a popular pastime.” Marla noticed an exchange of glances between Morris and Florence.

  “Yes, and that’s one of the reasons why I want our family albums back,” Stella said. “I’m hoping to continue Kim’s work, but I have to preserve the albums first. The photos need to be transferred to acid- and lignin-free pages. That lousy husband of hers won’t give them to us.” She clasped her hands while moisture tinged her lashes.

  Marla busied herself cutting the old lady’s steak into tiny pieces. “I’m so sorry. Miriam told me what happened to your daughter. Perhaps her husband feels the albums are important to the police. I imagine he’s anxious to find her killer.”

  “The cops should have kept him in jail. He wasn’t the right man for her.” Stella’s words ended in a sob. “My poor baby.”

  “What a tragedy for someone so young,” Marla commiserated. “Her funeral must have been well attended.”

  Stella sniffed. “Not really, just her friends and us.”

  “Oh? She didn’t have any relatives on her father’s side?”

  “None who could come: an elderly aunt in a nursing home and a cousin in California whom she’d never met.”

  “Her father didn’t have any brothers?”

  Morris’s coffee cup clattered into its saucer, sloshing the dark liquid on his shirt.

  “Marla, perhaps you’d be kind enough to help my mother with her asparagus? She’s having trouble slicing it.” He eyed the others. “Let’s dispense with discussing business at the dinner table, shall we? Boys, let’s hear from you,” he said to his sons, who ate silently with bored expressions.

  The rest of the evening wasn’t nearly so stimulating as Marla prepared Miriam for bed and waited for the nurse to return. Agnes stalked in at five minutes past ten.

  “I heard all about you,” the heavyset woman said in a grating tone. They stood in the hallway so as not to disturb Miriam who’d fallen asleep. “If you hope to take my place by insinuating yourself into this family, you’re mistaken, young lady. Miriam needs me to look after her properly. Now that you’ve exhausted her, it’ll be the worse for me tomorrow when I have to return her to health.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with her.” Marla clutched her bags in one hand. “Miriam perked up this evening after I fixed her hair and put some makeup on her face. She was delighted to join the family. It isn’t right to treat her like an invalid.”

  “She’s eighty-five years old. The woman is frail and doesn’t do well being exposed to the elements.”

  “Miriam is strong-willed and not as fragile as you think. She’s sharp and alert for someone her age, especially if she can still review the family’s financial accounts.”

  “What do you know about that?” Agnes stepped closer.

  “She’d mentioned that she went over the books with you and found decreased profits from the business. Morris explained how the lower inventory in their warehouses related to frost damage, and that led to higher prices for their coffee.”

  Agnes’s shoulders hunched. “You had no business listening in on a family discussion. It’s not your place.”

  “My place is wherever Miriam wants me. But don’t worry. I already work for another lady full time. I don’t want your job.”

  As she walked toward the staircase, she felt Agnes’s eyes on her back as though they were torches. She’d reached the foyer, almost joyful with relief, when Florence appeared around the corner. Raoul was noticeably absent from his post at the door.

  “Oh, here you are,” Kim’s aunt said, approaching with the slinkiness of a cat. She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “I wanted to mention one thing before you leave. My niece was murdered. It can be dangerous to ask too many questions, if you know what I mean.”

  Chapter Ten

  Marla had little time to contemplate Florence’s words of warning on Friday morning. Her ten o’clock appointment at the School of Arts and Design preoccupied her mind. When she arrived at the massive pink-facade building on Hollywood Boulevard, her hopes rose that this visit would produce something of value. So far, she hadn’t any strong leads regarding Kimberly’s killer. Everyone who knew Kim seemed to have something to hide.

  A directory led her to the admissions office on an upper level. After giving her name to a receptionist, she took a seat and nervously thumbed through an Entertainment Weekly magazine. Five minutes later, a man wearing a black suit and a friendly smile approached.

  “Miss Shore? I’m John Crawford, one of the admission counselors. Please follow me to my office.”

  As soon as they were alone, Marla offered her rehearsed speech. “I was referred here by Kimberly Kaufman. I know you share in my sorrow about what happened to her. I’m interested in your interior design program, but this is an upsetting time for me. I’m a close friend of the family,” she added in what she hoped was a convincing tone.

  “We were stunned to hear the news of Kimberly’s death. She was well liked by her peers.” The admissions counselor opened a packet on his desk and picked up a pen. His brown eyes regarded her curiously. “What made you interested in interior design? I presume you’re in some other field right now.”

  “I’m a hairdresser, but I don’t care for the long hours of standing on my feet. Creatively, I’d like to try something new with color and design.”

  “Our program is very intense, but you don’t need any prior experience. Have you taken any college courses?”

  Noticing his pen poised to write, Marla moistened her lips. She didn’t have time for a lengthy interview. “Yes, I completed two years before leaving to go to cosmetology school. But before we fill out any forms, can I visit some of the classes Kim attended and talk to her friends? She spoke so highly of your school, but I’m not sure about the level of commitment I can make right now. I’ll still have to work part time.”

  He nodded sympathetically. “Our average student is twenty-seven years old. Many are making career changes. They do quite well because they’re already experienced in the working world.”

  His expression sobered, reminding Marla of a former math teacher who had spent numerous afternoons tutoring her on the complexities of college algebra. “We’d expect you to attend classes regularly,
including summers,” he said in a didactic tone. “Here’s a schedule of the sessions.”

  She took the paper, anxious to move on. She’d learn nothing if they were stuck in this office for the entire hour.

  “As you’ll notice, there’s a track of general college courses. These can be waived if you’ve already satisfied the requirements. Our curriculum takes three years if you attend full time. You’ll graduate with a bachelor’s degree.” He shuffled papers. “According to this schedule, Kim would’ve been in textiles class now. Would you like to check it out? I’ll introduce you to her colleagues.”

  “That’s great. Thanks.”

  Marla was dazzled by an array of fabrics and home decorating materials in the textiles classroom. A sea of faces greeted her as they entered. Students sat on stools around large rectangular tables on which were displayed numerous samples.

  Mr. Crawford spoke quietly to the teacher, then motioned for Marla to come forward. “This is Sue Burns,” he said. “She’ll seat you with Kim’s friends. You can join the class to get a feel for what it’s like here.”

  This was more than she’d hoped for. She gave him a warm smile and shook his hand. “Thanks so much. I really appreciate your kindness. I’ll get back to you on my application.”

  The instructor seated her beside Rocco Morales and Christine Kent, supposedly Kim’s bosom buddies. A surreptitious glance at her watch made her heart flutter. She’d better hurry if she wanted to be back at the salon in time for her next client.

  When the teacher freed them to work on assigned group projects, Marla turned to the duo. “I understand Kim was excited about her classes,” she remarked to Christine, a round-faced brunette who wore her hair in a ponytail. A splatter of freckles decorated her complexion like spots on a Dalmatian. Marla thought they were rather cute, but from the girl’s application of cover-up, it appeared she didn’t share Marla’s opinion.

  “How did you know her?” Rocco interrupted. Despite his macho name, he was a spindly creature. Too tall for his musculature, he looked like a tree that would blow down in a stiff wind. In contrast, Christine was stout as a shrub.

  “I’m a friend of the family.”

  “I didn’t see you at the funeral,” he said, his natural squint becoming more pronounced.

  “I was working. Wasn’t it awful how she died?” Marla shook her head in pretended sympathy. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news.”

  “Yeah, what a bummer.” Rocco exchanged a glance with Christine.

  Marla felt she needed to prove her acquaintance with Kim. “It’s a shame she won’t be able to carry out her plans now.”

  “Oh God,” Christine burst out, “and with her being, you know, it was such a struggle.”

  “Her being what?”

  Christine’s jade eyes widened. “If she didn’t tell you, it’s not for me to say.”

  “Gary had plenty to say on the subject,” Rocco snapped. “Remember his snide comments the last time we all went out together?” He picked up a swatch of thin cotton material. Rubbing it between his fingers, he gave a grunt of disapproval and tossed it aside.

  “Gary Waterford?” Marla said.

  “You know him?” Christine raised an eyebrow.

  “I spoke to him about Kim.”

  “Gary didn’t say anything about us, did he?”

  “No, but he mentioned Kim’s friend, Lacey.”

  Rocco laughed. “That guy likes to walk a tightrope.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Christine countered, twisting a brocade fabric sample. “Until they find out who killed Kimberly, we’re all under scrutiny.”

  “You said you’re a friend of the family. Which family?” Rocco demanded.

  Marla didn’t think Stan would be the correct choice. “Kim’s grandmother, Miriam.” That much was true, at least. “Have the cops talked to you about Kim?” she asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  “They’ve questioned us,” Christine admitted.

  “We had nothing much to contribute.” Rocco stared pointedly at his companion.

  Electricity crackled between the pair, but Marla couldn’t discern the cause. “The sooner this case is closed, the quicker we can get back to our normal lives,” she said soothingly. “We all want justice for Kim. Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm her?”

  Marla’s cell phone rang before she had a chance to hear their answer. Wincing at the noise, she pulled it out of her bag and pushed the Talk button.

  “Marla, where are you?” Nicole’s voice said. “I thought you’d be back at the salon by now.”

  “Why, is my next customer there already?” she answered in a hushed tone. “I still have twenty minutes.”

  “Betsy canceled. I don’t know what’s happening, but you have a lot of no-shows lately. You lost that highlights yesterday. This morning your first appointment wasn’t until eleven, and now this.”

  A frown of worry creased Marla’s brow. “I see your point, but I’ll deal with it later. I’m in the middle of something important. See you soon.” She hung up, putting the cell phone back in her purse. Darn, now she’d lost Rocco and Christine’s attention. They were occupied on their project, and the class was nearly over.

  “Can I treat you to an early lunch? It has to be quick. I’m expected back at work.” She handed them each a business card.

  “I thought you were applying for school here.” Christine stuffed her books into a backpack along with Marla’s card. Other students had already left the classroom.

  “I’m a hairdresser, but I’ve always been interested in design. I didn’t know Kim that well, but she inspired me to check out this school.” Marla paused. “Her grandmother is anxious to learn the truth about what happened to her.”

  “I don’t know why. Miriam cut her off. She’s the whole reason Kim felt trapped.”

  Rocco trailed behind them as they strolled into the hallway. It would have been easier to talk to Christine alone, because the girl seemed to care about Kim. Marla wasn’t sure about Rocco, but she sensed self-interest motivated him. He shadowed them like a Secret Service agent, silent and observant.

  In the cafeteria, Marla paid for their food, aware she didn’t have time to linger. After eating a few bites of her tuna sandwich, she focused on Christine’s last words.

  “What did you mean about Miriam cutting off Kimberly?”

  “The old lady wouldn’t part with any of her husband’s money, even though Kim was entitled to an allowance,” Christine explained. “Kim said her grandmother insisted she prove her worth, so she didn’t turn out like her useless mother. She had to wait until she reached thirty to access her trust fund.”

  “How did that make her feel trapped?” Marla asked, hoping to understand Kim better.

  “Kim’s mother didn’t prepare her for the working world. It wasn’t her fault if she’d led a pampered life. That’s why she married Stan.”

  Rocco took a gulp of his Coke. His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed. “Kaufman is a jerk. He didn’t know how to handle her, man.”

  “She told us about the nasty things he did to her,” Christine confided, her gaze darkening. “If I were married to a loser like him, I’d sure make a quick exit.”

  “Is that what Kim tried to do?” Marla asked. Not so hungry, she pushed her tray away.

  “Going to school gave her hope for the future. Kim got fired up about the program. Finally, she’d found something suited to her talent. When she lived in Palm Beach, her mother kept redecorating their house, and Kim helped her choose the fabrics. She’d never thought of a career in design before, plus she lacked the patience for study.” Christine’s expression soured. “Now that she’d finally set goals, Kim feared Stan would discover her ruse. She couldn’t lie to him forever. If he learned about her plans, he would have been furious.”

  “Plans to pursue a career, or her intent to leave him?”

  “Both. My guess is, Stan found out about Gary Water
ford.”

  “You’re forgetting something,” Rocco interrupted. “Kim told us she’d be getting some money soon, and it would be enough to let her get a place of her own. It would come from the same source that paid her tuition.”

  “Why did you mention Gary?” Marla said. “Did he loan her money?”

  “Are you kidding?” Rocco lifted his eyebrows. “Gary was looking forward to using her trust fund. I think that’s the only reason he let her play up to him. Lacey is more his type.”

  “You don’t know that,” Christine retorted. “Kim told me she and Gary were getting back together. I think Stan found out, and he killed Kim so she wouldn’t leave him for another man. In his eyes, she belonged to him. If he’d learned—”

  “Maybe Lacey is the one we should consider,” Marla interceded before she lost her train of thought. “How serious is she about Gary? She could have been jealous over his attention to Kim.”

  “I think you’re both wrong about Gary. He’s hot for Lacey.” Rocco folded his arms across his chest.

  “Maybe the two of them conspired to get Kim’s money,” Marla suggested. “Is Gary in debt?”

  Rocco snorted. “He’s always in debt.”

  “Gary would have had to leave Kim in order to be with Lacey, so that doesn’t make sense,” Christine contributed.

  “Murder doesn’t have to make sense,” Marla reminded her. “What about this extra source of income you’d mentioned? If it wasn’t coming from Gary, what was Kim talking about?”

  Christine gave her a sly look. “I didn’t tell this to the police, but Kim mentioned the name of Stan’s previous wife.”

  Marla stiffened. “Who?”

  “Leah Kaufman. It’s possible Kim worked out an arrangement with her.”

  “What do you mean? I saw Leah recently, and it looked as though she could use extra income herself. She has two children to support.”