Bad Hair Day 2 - Hair Raiser (15 page)

*Chapter Fifteen*
Marla entered Dalton Vail's house through a foyer, where she got a quick glimpse of an umbrella stand made out of a tree trunk and silk ferns in a white-rattan basket, before Vail hustled her into his living room. The brick exterior of the ranch-style home gave no indication of its contents, she thought, as her eyes feasted on a display of scented candles. From the rear came a dog's loud barking, presumably their pet Lucky in the backyard.
"I had no idea you liked antiques," she remarked, running her hands over the smooth surface of an old-fashioned wooden school desk. Her glance skimmed the sofa with its curved arms and Cabriole legs, the wing chairs and lamp tables.
Dalton regarded her with an unreadable expression. "Not me. My wife was into this stuff."
"Oh, I'm so sorry." His wife had passed away two years ago, and apparently he hadn't redecorated.
"Sit down, Marla." A fatigued look entered his eyes, as though being at home had defused his anger. Raking his fingers through his peppery hair, he remained standing while she sank onto the silk-upholstered couch. "Tell me why you went to Nassau with that Newberg fellow."
She grasped a velvet throw pillow and cradled it in her lap. "Ocean Guard sent me. Cynthia traced Morton Riley to the Bahamas, where he was involved in negotiating some sort of trade agreement with the government. Riley is the trustee for Popeye Boodles's estate. We figured he could give us the name of Popeye's heir. It was Cynthia's idea to send David along as my escort."
"And?"
Averting her eyes, she refused to meet his accusatory gaze. "We found Riley. He was dead ... murdered."
Vail grabbed the desk chair, whipped it around, and sat facing her straddling the seat. "Give me the details."
Waving a hand in the air, Marla swallowed. "What's there to tell? We'd been given his address. We went to the house Riley was renting and found him lying on the kitchen floor. He'd been stabbed."
"Did you call the authorities?"
"I used a pay phone and left an anonymous tip." Her heart raced as the scene replayed itself in her mind. "We were afraid of being detained. I needed to return to work on Thursday and couldn't afford any delays. We went back to the hotel and pretended as though nothing had happened."
"What day was this? What time did you go see him?"
Relating the details, she left out the coconut incident and the killer at Crystal Cay.
His mouth tightened. "Let me see if I got this straight. You went to your room to rest for a couple of hours. Later, you and Newberg took the trolley into town, then walked the rest of the way to Riley's address. Newberg knew exactly where to go."
"Yes, that's right." She didn't see where this was leading.
"According to his story, Newberg had already been there and found Riley dead."
"So? He knew I'd insist on going anyway to see for myself."
"Maybe not. Riley never answered his phone. Maybe Newberg hoped you'd give up your quest, believing Riley was unavailable."
David had tried to dissuade her from seeing Riley, Marla remembered. She'd thought he was being protective, but what if his efforts had been more self-serving? How did she know David didn't commit the deed?
No, that was ridiculous. Someone tried to clunk her on the head with a coconut while David was with her. And the killer at Crystal Cay had shot at them both, right? Or had the gunshots only come when she'd been separated from David?
Rubbing her temples, she gave Dalton a resentful glare. "What are you trying to do, make me suspicious of David? Do you think he killed Ben, too?"
His eyes were hard as flint. "In my book, everyone is suspect. You're interfering where you don't belong."
Rising, she tossed the pillow onto the sofa. "Oh yeah? Taste of the World is a few weeks away. A new trustee will be assigned now that Morton Riley is dead. In January, this person will decide whether or not Ocean Guard receives the mangrove preserve. We're running out of time."
He stood slowly, pushing the chair out of his path. Towering over her, he exuded menace with his hunched posture and clenched fists. "You're only doing this for your cousin. It's getting too dangerous, and I want you to sign off the project now before you become the next victim."
"Do you really care that much about me, or are you just concerned I'll screw up your investigation?" she retorted. "I would've thought you'd have taken Ben's killer into custody by now." She lifted her chin, defying him to respond.
His eyes smoldered dangerously. "I'm worried about you, damn stubborn woman."
Before she could protest, he hauled her into his arms, and his mouth descended upon hers. His kiss was brutal, crushing, but it made her knees weaken and a lazy warmth steal through her limbs. Clinging to him, she molded her body against his rock-solid length. A groan ripped from his throat before he thrust her away.
"I didn't mean for that to happen," he rasped, his dark gaze raking her with blatant hunger before his expression closed, and a blank mask fell into place.
"Didn't you?" She barely recognized her breathless tone.
"No ... yes. You're driving me crazy. I can't think straight on a case when you get involved."
"Please understand," she said gently, pressing his arm. "I have to see this job through to the end. Cynthia is counting on me."
He snorted, and she withdrew her hand as though she'd touched fire. "I realize her regard means a lot," he tempered, "but I'm sure Cynthia wouldn't condone risking your life. It was a dumb move to go off on your own with one of the suspects."
"You know what I think? You're jealous because I didn't bring you along."
"I am not. I'm only concerned for your safety."
"That's part of it. Don't try to hide your feelings, Dalton. I can see right through you."
His lips compressed. "Good, then you can see this discussion is finished. You _will_ listen this time."
Damned stubborn man, she told herself during the silent drive back to her salon. Why did he have such power to aggravate her? His hidden depths tantalized her, constituted a challenge she couldn't refuse. The man's complex personality invited further exploration like the layers of a client's hair. Yet how deep did she want to go?
As she adjusted her seat belt, she cast him a quick glance. His stern profile made her heart rate soar. Beneath his implacable exterior lay a passionate, vulnerable man, but it would take a gentle touch and a kind heart to draw him out. Many women would accept such a task with alacrity. Was this the path she cared to choose?
Marla didn't seek a commitment, didn't want one. Her freedom was too precious and hard-won to yield so readily. On the other hand, Dalton's mystique fired her guns, and she didn't recall anyone else who could keep her primed like he did.
Not even David affected her so strongly, and he had the background, position, and wealth that could provide security and status for whoever snagged him. But although she was attracted to David, he didn't sizzle her blood like the ruggedly handsome detective.
Marla considered what to say to David when she saw him at Cynthia's on Thanksgiving. _I like you, but our relationship isn't going anywhere?_ Or, _it's too early yet. I'm not sure how I feel._ Maybe she wasn't giving him enough of a chance.
David seemed to think they were already a duet, judging by his effusive greeting on Thursday.
"Marla, darling, I've missed you," he crooned, sweeping her into his outstretched arms. Brushing his lips lightly across hers, he released her after a brief squeezing embrace. He appeared casually dressed in a navy knit shirt and trousers, his fawn-colored hair neatly styled into a side part. His eyes twinkled as he regarded her. "So what have you been up to?"
"I could ask you the same thing." She smoothed down her silk cranberry blouse that went with dressy black slacks. An earring pinched, so she rotated the diamond stud until it loosened. "I expected you to call."
"Work kept me busy." He glanced at her cluster of relatives chatting outside by the pool. Marla had just entered Cynthia's house when he'd accosted her in the courtyard. "Your cousin wasn't too happy with our report."
"We failed to accomplish our mission in Nassau. We're still no closer to learning the identity of Popeye's heir. Can you blame her for being disappointed?"
He shook his head. "I'm just as concerned about Ocean Guard's future. You haven't experienced any further setbacks for the fund-raiser, have you? The chefs are working out okay?"
"Oh yes, everything is fine. I even spoke to Stefano, and he said the flowers will be magnificent."
"Good. Nothing must get in the way of Ocean Guard's getting that property, Marla. Nothing. We've all worked too hard at this to fail now."
"I need to talk to Cynthia." New information had come to light that she wanted to impart to her cousin. David would have to manage on his own.
Striding ahead of him, she pushed open the French doors to the patio. Her name rang out as various relatives sauntered over to greet her. Michael and Charlene each gave her a hug, after which Marla kissed her mother. Reclusive Aunt Polly shyly patted her arm. Shark was there, following Annie around like a puppy. Didn't he have his own family?
Her gaze meandered to the children playing beside a rocker. "Rebecca and Jacob, don't get too near the pool," she warned her niece and nephew, a flutter of panic in her breast. The water sparkled invitingly, its aqua depths holding hidden danger.
"The kids have heard your warnings enough times now to remember, Marla," Charlene admonished.
"It's never enough. Drowning is the -- "
"Number one cause of death for children ages four and under in South Florida. I know, you've told us a hundred times already. Jacob has had swimming lessons, and he'll be five in a few months. He helps us watch his baby sister."
Charlene's warm, tawny eyes assessed her. She wore her golden oak hair straight down her back which gave her an earth mother look, but her delicate features added refinement and sensitivity. Her gentle but firm nature provided the perfect personality for an elementary school teacher.
Marla smiled as she watched Charlene scoop Rebecca into her arms and snuggle the toddler.
"Aren't they growing fast?" Anita's voice said from behind. Marla turned to engage her mother in conversation, but she quickly lost Anita's attention. "Tell me, Charlene, what's the baby eating these days?" Anita asked, beaming at the toddler.
Marla's gut clenched as she observed their interaction. Charlene was everything Anita might have desired in a daughter. First her mother had been devastated when Marla dropped out of college as an education major; then she'd been crushed by Marla's divorce. It was only recently that Anita had accepted Marla's career choice. Thank goodness her brother had provided grandchildren, because Marla didn't need that guilt trip on top of all her other emotional baggage.
Seeking her cousin, Marla found Cynthia in the kitchen instructing her staff. "Cynthia, I have to talk to you," she said, her tone urgent.
"Hey, Marla. What's up?" hollered Bruce, a carving knife in his hand. Her cousin's husband stood so tall he had to stoop to trim a large roasted turkey.
She grinned at him. He looked silly wearing an apron, but his tailor-made clothes needed protection from his labors. His hair, black and spiky, shone with spray as polished as his shoes.
The sugary fragrance of baked sweet potatoes wafted into her nostrils. "Watching you slice that bird is making me hungry," she commented. "Cynthia, I have some news."
Her cousin lifted the lid on a simmering pot, sniffed the contents, then closed it again. "This just needs a few more minutes," she told a girl in a maid's uniform. "Marla, let's go outside."
The afternoon sun warmed Marla's back as she faced Cynthia who stood under the veranda's overhang. Sometimes November brought cooler air but not this year. After a brief cold spell, the weather had heated up again. The lower humidity and clear skies were a delight to beachgoers, but natives hoped for a winter chill. Not so Marla. Her early years had been spent in New York State, where she'd experienced enough snow and ice to last a lifetime.
"Pierre called me. He learned that one of his kitchen assistants used to work for Alex Sheffield," she said.
"So what does that mean?" Cynthia's face crinkled in puzzlement.
Marla's gaze shifted from her cousin's flawless makeup to her newly layered hairstyle. It looked a lot better than Cynthia's previous upsweep, more natural and flattering to her bone structure. Gads, she still had those shears in her handbag. When did Cynthia want her to do Annie's hair?
"Sheffield may be responsible for the chefs withdrawing from Taste of the World," she explained. "He has a grudge against Ocean Guard's president, Jerry Caldwell. It's logical that Alex might be the one sabotaging our organization's fund-raiser."
Waving a hand, Cynthia snorted. "I know Alex, and I doubt he'd go so far. Jerry is pushing for stricter regulations regarding commercial fishing practices, but so are other marine conservation groups. On a more personal level, Jerry accused Alex of serving a cheaper substitute for what listed on his restaurant menu as mahimahi. Alex got in trouble, but I can't believe he'd blame Ocean Guard for Jerry's actions."
Marla brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. "Well, someone put an explosive substance into Pierre's rum bottle. Other chefs are being persuaded to quit Taste of the World, like Max. If it isn't Alex Sheffield, who else is responsible?"
Her cousin's gaze intensified. "I like your first theory, that it's the same person who's dumping medical waste. You should take another look, Marla. Bruce has hired some people to clean up the mess, but we've got to stop the source."

"You've got to stop what?" Annie repeated, her arm linked into Shark's as the youngsters ranged into sight.
Marla wondered how long they'd been listening. "We've got to stop your hair from frizzing like that, honey," she said in a teasing tone. "Try one of the anti-humectants on the market. Any silicon-based product will do. Put it on when your hair is dry, otherwise it'll get too greasy. When would you like me to do your cut?"
"Huh?"
Cynthia caught on. "Marla did a great job on my hair, so I told her she could do yours next." Smiling, she fluffed the wispy bangs Marla had given her. "Now I need to update my wardrobe to go with this new look."
"Mom, you're so retarded." Hooking her thumbs into the waistline of her skin-tight black pants, Annie thrust out her bosom, shown off to advantage in a low-cut mustard sweater. "Come on, Shark. Let's go for that walk you wanted."
Shark wore an ivory guayabara shirt that contrasted sharply with his swarthy complexion. Marla's perusal halted at his scornful eyes. Something in his expression struck a familiar chord, but she couldn't place it. He bared his teeth, exhibiting a row of incisors that must have worn braces. Costly item, Marla thought, contemplating his origins.
"Isn't your family celebrating the holiday?" she asked him.
His grin widened, but she saw no mirth in his eyes. Malice gleamed brightly in their depths as he met her gaze. "I'd rather spend time with Annie. She invited me to come today, so I'm hanging here."
"Is that your blue Chevy out front? It must be a very popular car. I've seen a similar one cruising around my neighborhood. Just this morning, in fact, I spotted the same model when I took my dog for a walk."
"Coincidence, man. Let's move out, Annie. I wanna see that swamp you mentioned."
Marla watched in dismay as they headed toward the bridge leading across the lagoon. She wouldn't go near the mangrove preserve while they were in the vicinity. Turning to her cousin, she shrugged. "I'll take a look there later. Did you get the photos I'd requested? I meant to bring my camera but left it on the kitchen counter."
"Sorry." Cynthia frowned. "I haven't had the chance; too many preparations for the holidays. I'll call you when I've got them, I promise."
Marla slipped away to chat with her relatives while dusk fell and the sky darkened. A game of croquet got started, which didn't interest her. She sat beside Aunt Polly, wanting to visit with the elderly woman whom she didn't see that often. Aunt Polly was describing her latest foray into the neighbor's trash.
"They threw away perfectly recyclable tuna cans," whined Aunt Polly. "I washed the things out and put them in my bin. You'd think people would have more sense. They're _schmucks,_ all of them."
"_Tanteh,_ stop _kvetching._ I know how much you enjoy sifting through garbage. Where else would you have found that pretty rose-colored jar you use to store your kosher salt?"
A frown creased Aunt Polly's wrinkled face. "This world is going down the tubes, you mark my words. It's a _shanda."_
"That's not true. Folks like you make a difference."
Marla smiled fondly at her relative attired in a homemade shirtwaist dress. Aunt Polly didn't believe in technology. Environmental concerns and frugality ruled her life, which she lived alone in a tiny, hot apartment. She rarely turned on the air-conditioning, made her own soap, and refused to buy insurance to save money. It galled Marla that although she'd offered to cut Aunt Polly's hair for free, the woman insisted on trimming it herself. _Looks like it, too,_ Marla thought, noting the gray split ends that hung loose down her back.
"That's odd." Aunt Polly's filmy eyes squinted behind her spectacles, a piece of white adhesive tape wrapped around one of its arms. "Did you see it?"
"See what?" Seated on the patio, Marla faced the house while her aunt had a view of the grounds. Twisting her neck, she peered into the darkness but saw nothing.
David, who sat beside her stuffing down chopped liver on crackers, leapt from his chair. "Look at that."
This time, Marla observed a dot of light moving faintly among the trees. "What can it be?" Tossing her napkin onto the table, she rose. Her gaze scanned the company, but all her relatives were present. Annie and Shark giggled together in a private corner, the children played by a swing set, and her brother chatted with their cousins.
Michael glanced up, sensing her eyes on him, and winked. "Nice chap," he'd told her earlier, referring to David. "You could do worse."
"Gee, thanks, pal." Giving him a sisterly punch, she'd complimented his children's manners. Rebecca and Jacob went about their horseplay in a quiet fashion, although she knew they could be quite vociferous in their own home. "Just keep your eye on them," she'd pleaded, aware of the close proximity of the swimming pool.
No chance of the pool lights reflecting into the distance, she figured, watching the night swallow any gleam of brightness beyond. Had it been her imagination, or was something there? Aunt Polly had seen it, and so had David.
"I'm going to check things out," she hissed. "That's the direction of the mangrove preserve."
David fixed his shirt, tucking it into his expanded waistline. "I'll come with you."
"Got any insect repellent?" she joked, a trek into the woods at night not being very appealing. _This might be your chance to catch the culprit dumping medical waste, silly. Bug bites you can deal with later._
A camper mentality she didn't possess. David, ever thoughtful, conned a can of _OFF!_ from Bruce, and they spritzed themselves before trekking into the wilderness. Grateful she'd worn long pants, Marla traipsed behind David, who took the lead. Footlights spaced at regular intervals illuminated the sandy path that wound through woods alive with sound. Buzzing insects competed with hooting owls for dominance, but they were both overruled by a chorus of crickets. Strange rustling noises coming from the bushes added to Marla's unease.
Her nostrils tickled from a spicy scent, and she squeezed them shut to avoid sneezing. She could barely make out a faint light dancing through the trees ahead and didn't want to alert the intruder to their presence.
At the entrance to the preserve, the footlights ended. A boardwalk continued into the tropical hammock, a pitch-black void that no sane person would enter at night.
"Damn, we forgot to bring flashlights," Marla muttered.
"Ssh," David hissed. "There's enough moonlight. We don't want to give away our position."
"Well, maybe you're better at seeing in the dark than I am." Slippery from fallen leaves, the boardwalk felt treacherous. Marla groped for the railing and clutched her way along. After a few feet, the boardwalk divided.
"Now what?" Her pulse raced, and her hands felt clammy. Despite the sea breeze, a sheen of sweat covered her forehead. If she were smart, she'd have stayed behind and let David investigate. Vail's words came to mind as the utter folly of her situation revealed itself. _Don't be alone with any of them._ How did she know she could trust David?
"You go left, I'll go right. We'll meet somewhere up ahead," he said quietly, his matter-of-fact tone dissolving her fears.
"What if I meet the fellow out there?"
"Wait for me. I'll deal with him."
"How? We don't have anything to use in our defense." When David didn't respond, she glanced at him sharply. A muscle twitched on the side of his jaw.
"I don't need a weapon. That guy has done so much to harm Ocean Guard, I could kill him with my bare hands."