Bad Hair Day 2 - Hair Raiser (10 page)

*Chapter Ten*
Marla bit back a scathing reply. If she uttered the invective trembling on her tongue, she'd confirm Kimberly's low opinion of her in front of Vail's daughter. Aware of Brianna's watchful gaze, she forced a smile to her face. "I'm afraid Stan has outstayed his welcome. He was just leaving."
A stray thought entered her mind, and she turned to him. "In your eagerness to get me to sign over my share of our property, did you by any chance leave a package on my doorstep the other day?"
He lifted his nose. "Do you think I would leave you anything? You made your bed. Now lie in it." Whirling around, he cast Vail a hostile glance before stomping off toward his car. Kimberly stumbled after him, her tight skirt clinging to a set of firm thighs.
Flushing with embarrassment, she addressed Vail's daughter. "I'm so sorry. You must be Brianna. It's so nice to meet you."
Brianna didn't look anything like her father. Instead of the harsh angles delineating his face, hers was oval with less pronounced cheekbones and a narrower forehead. She shared his naturally thick eyebrows, but not the even divide of his chiseled lips. Chocolate brown eyes instead of Vail's steel gray regarded Marla above a nose with a slight upward tilt. Her gaze held a certain innocence that was reassuring, especially because Brianna's full lower lip gave her a sexy pout which would bring the boys in droves when she was older. Unaware of her potential allure, Brianna wore her toffee hair in a high ponytail. Marla glanced approvingly at the girl's black skirt and two-piece dusty rose sweater ensemble. Brianna had good taste, wearing stylish clothes suited to her slim figure.
She didn't respond to Marla's overture, but after the spectacle she'd just witnessed, Marla wasn't surprised. Before she had a chance to offer an explanation, Moss swaggered over holding an enormous bouquet of mixed flowers.
"Ahoy, mate. What's all the ruckus? These came for you earlier but you weren't home so I took them in." His keen glance surveyed her guests. "Whooie. This looks like a hot night. He send these to you?"
Vail's guarded expression gave her the answer. "I don't think so. Thanks, Moss. I'd better put these inside."
"Hey, wait a minute. Here's the card." He read the lines: "Last night was wonderful. Let's do it again next weekend. I'll call you soon. Love, David."
_Lord save me, the night is going from bad to worse._ Snatching the bouquet from her neighbor's hands, she whirled on her heels. "Please excuse me, Dalton, while I put these away. I'll just be a minute."
Inside, she freed Spooks from the study before staggering into the kitchen. The poodle, who'd been getting his jollies barking at the window, bounded after her. Arranging the flowers in a vase of tepid water, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. This wasn't how she'd planned the evening to go.
"What a disaster," she told Spooks who'd settled for licking her ankle. "My one chance to make a good impression on Vail's daughter, and I blew it. He'll never ask me out again. I don't know why it should matter so much, but it does." Facing the counter, she pressed cool fingers to her throbbing temples.
Spooks dashed away, and a moment later she understood why. The dog pranced into the kitchen, giving his special greeting bark. Before she could turn, a large hand patted her back.
"It's all right, Marla," Vail's voice rumbled soothingly. Grasping her arms, he spun her around to face him. Brianna was nowhere in sight, presumably waiting outdoors. Humiliation sank into her stomach like a heavy matzoh ball.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, wishing she were witty enough to make a flippant remark. But the hurt went too deep, surprising her in its intensity.
"I'm the one who regrets that I didn't arrange this date with you earlier. Who the hell is David? And what the devil did you do with him last night?"
Marla glanced at him, startled. No, the man couldn't be jealous! "David Newberg is a friend of mine. We went out to dinner last night, that's all. Since when do you keep tabs on my activities, anyway?"
"When it involves your safety," he growled. "Didn't I warn you about Ocean Guard's board of directors? Newberg is a member. Is your interest in him personal, or are you snooping again?"
"We're just getting to know each other." She lifted her face, and his grip tightened. His masculine warmth seeped into her veins until her limbs turned rubbery. Never mind his furious expression. He was worried about her, and that realization made desire ripple through her.
"You're a damned distraction, you know that?" he said, thrusting her away. "You make my job that much more difficult. I get too worried about you to think clearly. My daughter warned me about women who cast a spell on unsuspecting men, and she was right."
Marla laughed, the sound bubbling from her chest. "I think I'm going to like that girl." Feeling lighthearted, she picked up her purse from the counter. Her glance fell to the card with the name of Babs's hotel scrawled across it.
"I know Brianna is waiting, but I need to make a quick phone call," she said. Without offering an explanation, Marla picked up the receiver and dialed one of the numbers she'd looked up earlier. When the Tampa operator answered, she gave Babs's name.
"Ms. Winrow isn't answering her room, ma'am. Would you like to leave a message?"
"Not at this time, thanks." Hitting the flash button, she listened for a dial tone then punched in the number for Orlando.
"Hello? Jen, is that you?" Babs's voice rasped on the other end of the line, when the hotel operator rang her room.
Marla replaced the receiver, her face grim. Babs had lied to her, and perhaps to her husband as well. She turned to Vail. "Remember Babs Winrow? She's the senior vice president of Tylex Industries who's chairperson of Ocean Guard's board. Babs told me she was going to Tampa on business, but she's in Orlando. She just thought I was someone named Jen."
Taking her by the elbow, Vail guided her toward the front door. "Snooping again, are you? Let's discuss it later. I'm sure you're eager to share what you know about _my_ case. My daughter is waiting, and Brianna is not the most patient person."
Dalton had made a reservation at the Parisian Bistro off Las Olas Blvd. Its casual ambiance suited her mood. Munching on a crunchy piece of French bread and butter, Marla swallowed before focusing her attention on the girl.
"You have a beautiful name. What does it mean?"
Brianna, slurping a spoonful of savory onion soup, glanced at her. "Mom said it means strong. That's what I have to be to take care of Dad since she went to heaven." Bending her head, Brianna twisted a ribbon of melted cheese onto her spoon.
"Oh, I see. I'm so sorry about your mother."
"We're managing just fine. Carmen helps with the cleaning and cooks our dinners. I look after Lucky when I get home from school," she added proudly.
Marla raised a questioning eyebrow at Dalton who appeared tense by the stiff set of his shoulders and the tight angle of his jaw. _It must be difficult getting his daughter to accept the idea of a new woman in their life,_ she thought, feeling a rush of sympathy. _How awful to deal with the loss of your mother at such a young age._
"Carmen is the housekeeper," he explained quietly, fingering his wine glass. A lock of peppery hair tumbled onto his forehead as he tilted his head. "Lucky is our dog. Brianna is responsible for her care."
"What breed is it?" Maybe she could connect with the preteen over pets. Marla had always been a dog lover.
The girl shrugged. "Golden retriever. She needs a lot of attention." Her brows furrowed as though that meant something special.
"I have a poodle. Next time you come over, I'll introduce you properly. His name is Spooks. Tell me, what grade are you in?"
"Sixth. I go to Cypress Middle School."
"Do you have a favorite subject?"
"No. Everything sucks."
Marla leaned back while the waiter served their entrees. She'd ordered poulet parisienne, chicken in wine sauce. It came with garlic mashed potatoes and fresh asparagus.
"How about after school activities?" she tried, feeling it was getting more difficult instead of easier to get the girl to talk.
At least her appetite didn't suffer. Brianna dug into her steak with gusto. "I take ballet and jazz. Look, can we just eat in peace? I know you're trying to impress me and my dad. That's what they all do, but he stops seeing them after awhile."
Marla nearly choked on a piece of chicken. Speechless, she gave up on her attempt to win the girl's approval.
"This is delicious," Dalton said quickly, glancing between the two of them. "Want a taste?"
"I don't eat pork, thanks," Marla stated.
"Daddy said you're Jewish. Jewish people don't believe in cremation," Brianna said matter-of-factly.
Marla's mouth gaped. "Where did that come from?"
"My wife requested that she be cremated when she died," Dalton rasped. "Brianna has a hard time with it." His eyes glistened, and he put down his fork. "So do I."
_My, aren't we having fun. I'd better lighten this up or we'll be sucking lemons for dessert._
"I meant to tell you what happened this week," she told him. "We got chefs to replace the ones who dropped out from Taste of the World. A new press release will go out soon."
"Uh-huh." Sparing a glance at his daughter, Vail resumed eating his dinner.
Brianna rolled her eyes. "Daddy, you tell me everything about your cases. I'm not an idiot. I know you want to discuss it with her since she's involved."
The corner of his mouth quirked. "I can't hide anything from you, can I?"
Marla could clearly see the understanding look passing between them, and somehow it warmed her heart to realize Dalton confided in his daughter. She supposed he needed a sounding board but wished he'd trust her as well. Maybe if she made the first move, he'd offer more information. A social setting might be just the impetus she needed to loosen his tongue.
"Regarding the chefs, I approached Alex Sheffield since someone told me he'd participated in Taste of the World before. He seemed very vindictive when he refused my offer, admitting he has a grudge against Ocean Guard's president, Jerry Caldwell. It's possible, although unlikely, that he's behind the attempt to sabotage our fund-raiser."
"Sabotage?" Dalton's slate-colored eyes nailed her.
She took a gulp of water. "There's more going on behind the scenes at Ocean Guard than you would believe. Chefs have been receiving warnings against participating in Taste of the World. A couple of them have experienced disasters resulting in temporary closure of their establishment or significant fines. Someone at Pierre's cooking class was responsible for doctoring the bottle of rum that caused an explosion."
Now she'd caught his interest. His food forgotten, he leaned forward, eyes intent on her face. "Did you find out who it was?"
"Stupid me, I'm such a _shnook_ I forgot to follow through on that one. But it's a viable lead if we can finger the culprit."
"Maybe Alex sent a spy to work in Pierre's kitchen," contributed Brianna who'd apparently been listening with keen ears. "If he hates Jerry Caldwell so much, he could be trying to sabotage Ocean Guard by ruining your party."
"It's a fund-raiser, not a party," Marla explained. "People buy expensive tickets to attend, and the money goes to the organization. This year is especially critical for the group."
"How is that?" Vail compressed his mouth when a busboy came to refill their water glasses.
"I'll tell you in a minute, after I finish about the chefs. I got Carmel Corvinne from The Creole Palace to replace Robbie from the Cajun Cookpot. He was nasty when I went to see him, and I didn't care for the unsanitary conditions in his kitchen. That place is a sewer."
She rattled on, the need to sort things out in her head taking precedence over other topics. "Dmitri Sarvik is sticking with us, but Max quit from the seafood place. When I saw him last, I got the impression he had something else to say. I've been meaning to get back to him on that. Mustafa is substituting for Pierre so we're okay in that respect."
"You were saying about this being a critical year for Ocean Guard?" Vail persisted.
Marla glanced at Brianna. "Maybe we should continue this discussion another time. I really wanted to get to know your daughter."
Brianna snorted. "Go ahead and talk business. It's better than the two of you getting mushy."
Her face reddened. "You needn't worry. We don't have that kind of relationship."
The girl smirked. "Oh yeah? You're just showing interest in me to please him, aren't you?"
"Brianna," Vail growled, a thunderous look on his face.
Marla smiled sweetly at him. "I know. I'm just like all his other girlfriends, right?"
"Exactly," Brianna concluded with a smug expression.
"Well, you're wrong. I'm not looking for a serious relationship. Dalton and I are merely friends."
"Is that why he mentions you all the time?"
Marla gave him a thoughtful glance. "I wouldn't know about that, but we help each other. Right now, I could use his input. I'd like to learn more about you, honey, but you don't seem to want to talk about yourself. So you can just listen to us."
Ignoring the sullen expression on the girl's face, Marla returned to their earlier topic. "I was saying about Ocean Guard that this year is especially important. I'll tell you why."
Stuffing a piece of chicken into her mouth, she chewed quickly. "The founder of Ocean Guard was Popeye Boodles, a rich benefactor who established a trust. He owned the mangrove preserve adjacent to Cynthia's estate. Under the terms of the trust, Ocean Guard inherits the property five years after his death if certain conditions are met." She explained the terms. "Someone is voiding the antipollution provision by dumping medical waste in the preserve."

"Dr. Taylor?" queried Vail, familiar with Ocean Guard's board members.
She ate a forkful of potatoes. "I thought of him immediately. His clinic isn't doing well financially, but I don't know if he'd save enough money by avoiding fees to the waste disposal company. Or he could be Popeye's heir. If Ocean Guard fails to meet the terms of the trust, his beneficiary wins the property. Cynthia and I suspect this person is a member of Ocean Guard's board of directors."
Vail paused midway to taking a bite of his pork tenderloin. "Do you think Ben Kline's death relates to this trust? If so, I've been following the wrong path. I figured the board was involved, but I'd assumed personal motives prompted the murder. Nearly every one of those people hated Ben and would have liked to see him dead."
Brianna piped in, having finished her meal. "I need a Coke, Daddy," she ordered in the tone of a child used to getting her way.
"Sure, honey," he agreed, signaling the waiter. "Marla, you want coffee?"
"I don't think so, thanks. It's getting late. We need to go to the theater."
"How about alibis?" Brianna interrupted.
Marla and Vail both stared at her as though she were some precocious genius.
"Gee, you're turning her into a regular Sherlock Holmes." Marla failed to keep a hint of disapproval from her tone. _You'd think he'd want to protect his child from the adversity of life._ Instead, Brianna was the one protecting him from an onslaught of predatory women. Not that Marla believed Dalton played the field that much. He hadn't given her that impression. Brianna was probably making up stories to scare Marla off.
Her thoughtful gaze fell upon him. The man exuded appeal with his thick ebony hair streaked with silver, intelligent gray eyes, and commanding jaw structure. His wide shoulders stretched the fabric of his charcoal sport jacket in a manner that suggested musculature beneath the fine wool cloth, and his confident air proclaimed self-assurance. All in all, the guy presented a damned sexy package, Marla concluded wistfully.
He must have sensed her change of attitude because his gaze smoldered back at her as if throwing a challenge. _Let's see what happens if we get closer,_ she interpreted his message. _No thanks,_ pal, she thought, needing more space. _I'm not ready for that just yet. And neither is your daughter._
They didn't get a chance to resume their discussion until later at the Broward Center for Performing Arts where _Rent_ was playing. Their center seats were adequate even in the rear orchestra section. Marla glanced at a control console situated in the middle of the high-ceiling room. It boasted enough lights and switches to qualify as an airplane cockpit. People filtered in, chattering loudly. Senior citizens wearing formal white and black served as ushers. While waiting for the music to begin, Marla scanned the hair styles of the people in front of them. _Look at that guy, the one who is bald on top._ He'd combed his mat of hair from the nape to his forehead. It looked ridiculous with a tuft sticking straight up. What some guys would do to preserve their masculine image. Didn't they know bald men could be sexy, especially if they look like Patrick Stewart? She could always tell if a man had implants, too. You could see the plugs. They weren't fooling anyone but themselves.
Vail sat between her and his daughter. His arm leaned against Marla's, making her acutely conscious of his nearness and the rock-solid hardness of his biceps. Her nerves were so attuned to his touch that she quivered inwardly from the contact.
"Brianna mentioned alibis," she said, hoping to coax him into revealing more information. "Did you have a chance to investigate each of the board members?"
He shifted away from her, leaving in his wake the fragrance of spice cologne. "I've checked out anyone who might be involved."
"Of course, you're very thorough. It makes me wonder how you determined the murder weapon belonged to Darren Shapiro." Crossing her legs, she swung her foot back and forth.
Snorting in exasperation, Vail glared at her. "You're not going to give me any peace, are you? Stop moving your leg like that. It's giving me ideas."
"Really? What kind?"
"You know."
"I know a few things, but I'd like to learn more. For example, what time was Ben killed? I seemed to have forgotten what you told me before."
His eyes narrowed. "For your information, Ben's murder occurred around eight o'clock Monday evening after your board meeting. Ben died from a blow to his head by a blunt instrument, a special type of curved knife used in Samoan ceremonies. His legal assistant said Darren Shapiro had given the knife to Ben as a gift in return for a favor. Ben displayed it on his wall."
"So you're saying the murderer grabbed this weapon off the wall and bonked Ben on the head? Whoever did it must have been angry and wanted to strike out. He snatched whatever was handy and hit Ben, maybe not even intending to kill."
"It would appear this was a crime of opportunity," Vail agreed, scratching his jaw. "The weapon was put back on the wall, the area partly cleaned up, but not enough to conceal all the trace evidence. We've got some good samples, and a set of prints for which we have no match. They don't belong to Shapiro, although he admitted the knife came from his collection."
"So you've eliminated him as a suspect."
"Not necessarily, but I am inclined to believe it was someone else. Motive is what I can't figure out. So many people had grudges against Ben."
"Any alibis not hold up?"
"Babs Winrow was home with her husband, Walter. Digby Raines was the guest of honor at a campaign dinner. David Newberg was at the movies; he showed me his ticket stub. Stefano Barletti went bowling with friends. Darren claimed he was visiting an acquaintance, but he wouldn't reveal his name. Dr. Taylor attended Digby's dinner. And then there is your cousin."
Marla stiffened. "Cynthia? Surely you don't count her as one of the murder suspects?"
His mouth twisted wryly. "I don't discount any possibilities, including the fact that you were at that meeting. Regarding your cousin, she was home alone that night. Or so she said."
A knot twisted her stomach. "But Cynthia has no motive. She had nothing against Ben."
Vail's expression clouded. "Oh yes, she certainly did."