Bad Hair Day 2 - Hair Raiser (4 page)

*Chapter Four*
Cynthia's eyes grew round in her pale face. "Wait until you see what I have to show you. Follow me."
As they neared the shore, the tangle of mangroves thickened into a gnarled web of roots reaching from thin tree trunks down to a layer of muck inches deep. The tide was out because the mud was moist rather than flowing with seawater. By the coastline, rippling waves lapped onto sand littered with dried coconut husks and dead seagrape leaves. Air roots hung off overhead branches like giant spider legs. Except for faint sounds of scurrying creatures, Marla felt they were very much alone. She breathed in the smell of brine mingled with the rich odor of humus. It was a heady mixture, this primal combination of earth and sea. No wonder Popeye had wanted to keep this area in its pristine natural state. Much of the coastline had been lost to splashy hotels and boxy condominiums. Other than state parks, it was rare to find undisturbed habitats by the beach. Too bad Ben Kline's murder sullied her reason for being there.
Not until Cynthia led her a few paces along the boardwalk did she notice the desecration. "What's this?" she croaked, her eyes widening. Bile rose in her throat as recognition dawned. "Lord save me, those look like empty syringes. Oh, how gross." The corners of her mouth turned down as she surveyed dirty gauze pads, used needles, test tubes, and broken specimen containers strewn among the cigar-shaped seedpods on the ground.
Cynthia gave a grunt of disgust. "I couldn't believe it myself when I saw this for the first time last week. I figured the stuff might wash back out to sea on the tide, but it's gotten worse." Her voice lowered. "Even a smidgen of pollution invalidates Ocean Guard's chance to gain the property."
Marla turned an astonished gaze on her cousin. "What do you mean?"
"The preserve is supposed to be maintained in its natural state to meet the terms of the trust. Now that we're coming down to the mark as far as timing goes, everything seems to be going wrong." Cynthia's eyes darkened to indigo, and her jaw clenched. "I think you're right, Marla. Someone intends to make sure Ocean Guard fails. I'll bet whatever happened to Pierre with that explosion wasn't an accident."
_No kidding._ "Don't forget Max. They're not the only chefs who have withdrawn from Taste of the World in the last few weeks. I'm afraid ticket sales will be down if any more celebrity chefs cancel out."
"In that case, Ocean Guard won't make its monetary quota to fulfill the requirements of the trust, and we'll still lose."
"Maybe you're jumping to conclusions," Marla said, squinting at the debris. "It could be washing ashore from somewhere else."
Cynthia's face folded into a worried frown. "I doubt it. There hasn't been any trash on our estate. See how the tide is out now? Whoever is doing this must have come through last night. My guess is the scum brought a small boat in via the slough and dumped the stuff where it wouldn't wash back out." She referred to a waterway leading to the coastline. "High tide would help carry the contaminants further inland."
Marla stared at a land crab crawling from its burrow in the muck, realizing the extent of damage that might result from one individual's malicious acts. Mangroves harbored many forms of life and were necessary to south Florida's environment. Their tangle of arching prop roots trapped organic debris which, when decayed, built up the soil and prevented erosion. Without this protection, the fragile balance of ecology would be disrupted and habitats destroyed. While Marla didn't consider herself a nature person, she appreciated the benefits of her surroundings. _How dare someone defile such beauty!_
She scratched at a bug bite on her forearm, anger heating her blood, which undoubtedly made her more tasty to the insects. _Getting riled won't solve anything,_ she told herself. But it sure as hell made her want to know who'd done this. The sight of a soiled bandage turned her stomach, and she reversed direction on the boardwalk to march back toward Cynthia's terrain.
"Let's think about it rationally," she said, suppressing her rage. "Assuming these events are due to sabotage, someone close to Ocean Guard has to be involved. Who else is familiar with the terms of the trust?"
Cynthia fell into step beside her. "The board of directors. My husband Bruce, because he's caretaker for the mangrove preserve. The trustee, Morton Riley. And whoever inherits the property if Ocean Guard loses out."
"I suppose you'd count the lawyer who drew up the trust agreement," Marla added thoughtfully.
"We'll have to get this mess cleaned up before Riley comes for his next inspection," Cynthia muttered half to herself.
"When is that?"
She grimaced. "Usually in January after Ocean Guard makes its contribution. Bruce will know what to do. I'd better come out here more often to see if any more junk gets dumped." A shudder wracked her well-proportioned frame. "Medical waste. I can't think of anything worse."
Their eyes met and locked. "Dr. Russ Taylor," hissed Marla, remembering the surgeon on the board of directors.
"For all we know, he could be Popeye's heir."
_"He?_ Excuse me, but is that gender bias I detect?" Marla smiled, but there was no mirth present in her expression. "The beneficiary could be female, but you've got a point. What better way to keep tabs on Ocean Guard's status than to volunteer for the board of directors?"
It didn't seem feasible that a prominent surgeon such as Dr. Taylor would stoop to carting off his own medical waste, but greed was a great motivator. Hadn't she learned that you couldn't trust anyone? Her own staff members had betrayed her, and yet she persisted in believing in an individual's worth. If she didn't subscribe to that precept, her soul would've been destroyed years ago subsequent to Tammy's tragic death. Without faith in her own innate goodness, she couldn't have survived. Tally said past mistakes drove her to prove herself worthy and to expunge her guilt. Well, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Building a reputation from blood and tears to where she stood today hadn't been easy, but she was stronger because of it. Having risen from the ashes, who was she to judge anyone else?
Dalton Vail wouldn't agree with her. He saw everything in black-and-white, guilty or not guilty. In his mind, you were a suspect until proven innocent. Marla couldn't accept his negative view of the world. Better to have faith in mankind's nature than to consign everyone to the devil. Perhaps Dr. Russ Taylor was involved in dumping medical waste on Popeye Boodles' property. But that was only one possibility, and until Marla learned more, she wouldn't blame him.
"Hurry, Marla. My other guest should have arrived by now," Cynthia urged, gesturing.
"Who's coming?"
"Oh, you'll see."
"Isn't there something else you want to talk to me about? I got the impression that Taste of the World wasn't the only thing on your mind."
"It's Annie," Cynthia replied, sighing. "I don't know why I thought you could help."
Neither did Marla. While she didn't have kids of her own, she was accustomed to hearing clients talk about their offspring. Maybe Cynthia realized she'd be a good listener.
Her cousin developed a pinched look on her face as they approached the house. _Too bad she won't let me fix her hair,_ Marla thought absently. Those harsh facial lines would be softened by a more natural cut.
"So what's the problem?"
Cynthia hesitated. "It's this boy she's been dating. He's totally wrong for her, but she can't see it."
"Wrong in what way?" They approached the bridge arching across the lagoon, and Marla slowed her pace. She wanted to hear what Cynthia had to say before they reached the house. Maybe it was simply a matter of class differences. Wealthy folks were always on the lookout for gold diggers.
Cynthia cast a worried glance in her direction. "It's nothing I can put my finger on. Shark dresses decently, shaves, and doesn't have any weird body piercings, but sometimes he looks at Annie as though she's fish bait waiting to be swallowed."
"Shark?"
Cynthia smirked. "Cute nickname, huh?"
_Goes along with your own kids, cuz._ Annie's full name was Anemone and her brother, off in college, was Kelp. Cynthia and Bruce had always been enamored of the sea.
Cynthia spied a figure seated at their table on the patio and waved. "Fabulous, he's here. Marla, you remember David Newberg, the accountant for Ocean Guard? He was pleased to meet you the other day and phoned me afterward to get your number. I came up with the idea of inviting him to join us today."
_Gee, thanks._ She remembered the attractive man from the board meeting who didn't participate in all the back-stabbing, and an unanticipated thrill coursed through her. His interest was a pleasant surprise, not that she was looking for a relationship.
Her cousin winked. "By the way, David is thirty-five, single, and looking for a wife."
Marla detected a smug tone in her cousin's voice and instantly grew suspicious. Had Ma been putting a bug in her relative's ear about fixing Marla up with eligible men? She wouldn't put it past her dear mother.
David stood as they approached. His tall, lean frame fit superbly into a cream-colored summer suit. The light fabric contrasted sharply with a vibrant tie of aqua and crimson. Steady cobalt eyes regarded her closely as she neared the shaded porch. His tanned face split into a grin when she stepped up to him and extended her hand.
"Hi, David," she said, smiling. Her gaze swept over fawn-colored hair that brushed his forehead in a casual style.
His eyes glimmered as he took her hand. "I'm pleased to see you again. You look prettier than I remember."
_Yeah, right. I look great when I'm sweaty._ Pulling her hand free, she turned to the table. "Forgive me, but I'm dying of thirst." Confusion gripped her for an instant. Hadn't she left her purse on the seat? It was slung by its strap on a chair arm. _I must be dehydrated if I'm losing it._ Sinking onto her seat, she took a few noisy gulps of iced tea before regarding David with a wary eye. "I assume you heard about Ben."
"Yeah, I couldn't believe it. We'd just seen him that day."
"What an awful tragedy."
"The bastard brought it on himself." David's eyes blazed for a moment before he seated himself. "I mean, he did his best to antagonize people. You saw for yourself how he behaved at that meeting. Speaking of which, did you ever contact that chef he recommended?"
"Not yet, but I'll get to it this week. I haven't even looked at Ben's note with the guy's name." She'd stuck the envelope in a drawer at the salon so she wouldn't lose it, figuring there was time enough to thank Ben for the referral. Now the attorney was dead, and her thanks would go unheard.
"Let's talk about more pleasant things," Cynthia cut in, an annoyed frown on her face. She rang a crystal bell, and the butler appeared with a platter of crustless sandwiches.
"Tell me about your work," David said, giving a disarming grin. His teeth were so white she wondered if he bleached them. "You must meet lots of fascinating people. How many hours do you spend at the salon? What are your days off ?"
Glad to talk about a familiar topic, Marla rattled on about her job. Half her mind listened to birds twittering and sensed the gentle breeze upon her arms. David's battery of questions held her attention, and she described details that brought a smile to his lips and laugh creases around his eyes.
"You've really got some tales to tell," he said, his tone filled with admiration. "It must be tough to take care of all the bookkeeping and maintain your own client list. That takes a huge amount of skill."
"I like working with people. That's all it boils down to, when you think about it." His high regard filled her with satisfaction. Not all men gave successful women the respect they deserved.
"Well, if you ever need an accountant, I'm available." His mouth quirked at the double meaning.
"I'll keep that in mind," Marla murmured. She cast a glance at her cousin who munched on a chicken salad sandwich, pretending disinterest. Becoming aware of her hunger, Marla began eating. As though on cue, the butler reappeared with a plate of cookies.
A door slammed, and Annie bounded onto the patio. She was followed by a young man wearing an angry scowl on his swarthy face. "Hey, Marla," Annie called, grinning. She wore a spandex top that looked as though it would split if her bosom jutted any farther. Below her bared navel, cutoff jean shorts showed trim thighs and a hint of lace panties. Long shapely legs ended in a pair of scuffed sandals, navy-painted toenails peeking out.
Marla's eyes were drawn to the three earrings shining from her ear, then to the brassy highlights reflecting sunlight on frizzy blond hair. _You could use a good toner, honey._ "How's it going?" she responded, keeping her thoughts to herself.
"Okay. This is Shark," Annie introduced her friend. In contrast to Annie's teen rebellion fashion statement, Shark wore a polo shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans. The sneakers on his feet looked brand-new, and even his Coach leather belt still had a sheen. His light brown hair was cut so short, he might as well have shaved his head. _At least he doesn't wear any flashy jewelry,_ Marla thought, wondering why some men insisted on looking like pirates.
"Mom, you didn't fill up the gas tank again," Annie said, planting her hands on ample hips. "How do you expect me to go anywhere when you don't give me enough money?"
Cynthia stiffened. "You've used up your allowance for this week."

"So? I had to spend money on food. You should reimburse me for lunch."
"You should ask your friend to pay for his half."
"Leave him outta this. All my other friends get money when they need it. You just wanna be mean. I need to get gas."
"Tough luck. Guess you'll have to stay home."
"We're meeting some guys over at Hooters. Give me a break, will ya?"
Cynthia's scornful gaze turned on Shark. "Why don't you let him drive?"
"His air-conditioning doesn't work. We'd swelter in his car."
"Of course, if he had a job, he could afford to get things fixed," Cynthia sneered.
"I'm trying to save up for repairs," the youth cut in, "but I had to spend my last bucks on new tires."
Cynthia gripped her napkin in her lap. "How unfortunate that your car breaks down whenever you need a ride somewhere."
"It's not that way, ma'am. I know what you think, but I really like Annie. I'd help out if I could."
_Sure you would._ Marla had met his type before. No wonder Cynthia disapproved. As slick as hair conditioner, he'd have an excuse for why he couldn't contribute whatever the situation. In his mid-twenties, he should be working toward a career, but it appeared as though the only job he was applying for was a gigolo. As though to prove his point, he put his arm around Annie and gave her a possessive squeeze. Marla caught a glimpse of an expensive watch and narrowed her gaze. The boy got money from somewhere. She wondered if Cynthia had traced his background and resolved to query her cousin when they were alone. In the meantime, she exchanged amused glances with David who was wisely remaining out of the conversation.
"I've got to go," Marla said after the teens stomped off to scrounge up another ride. Too many chores demanded her attention, and playing tea party wouldn't get them done.
"Can I call you later?" David asked, rising. "I'd like to see you again."
"That would be nice. I'm always willing to have a good time. Cynthia, can you please walk me to the door?"
As soon as they were alone, she pounced upon her cousin. "I agree with you about Shark. There's something unsavory about him but it's hard to pinpoint. Do you know anything about his family?"
Cynthia stopped at the inner courtyard where a snowy egret was grazing. "I haven't wanted to go so far as to hire an investigator. If Annie found out -- "
"Do it." She clutched Cynthia's elbow. "Better to make your daughter angry than to have her saddled with a miscreant." _Bless my bones, I'm starting to sound like Dalton Vail._
"What about the mess in the mangrove preserve?" Cynthia wailed. "Too many things are going wrong at once."
"Tell Bruce to clean it up."
Her cousin's face clouded with anxiety. "First your chefs quit, then Ben is killed, and now this. I've got all I can handle with Annie." A speculative gleam entered Cynthia's eyes. "Whoever is sabotaging Ocean Guard has to be an insider. Since you're not a board member, you could interview everyone to get an unbiased perspective."
"Sure," she agreed without thinking, flattered at Cynthia's faith in her.
Cynthia's voice lowered. "Be careful, Marla. You know what happened to Ben."
"Don't remind me." Her mouth tightened. "In the meantime, maybe Bruce can dig up the name of Popeye's beneficiary. If necessary, have him ask the trustee without alerting the guy to our problems. The medical waste bothers me. It seems incredible that whoever is polluting the preserve might also be Ben's murderer."
"I can think of a lot of people who'd jump for joy at Ben's demise," Cynthia drawled.
Her cynical tone brought Marla's head up sharply. "Oh? What did you have against him?"
"You don't want to know." Her closed expression said, _Don't ask me, either._
Marla hadn't known Cynthia and Ben had any association other than Ocean Guard. Her heart sank. She didn't want to add Cynthia to her list of suspects. True, the attorney must have made enemies from his newsworthy cases, but it was too coincidental that he should be murdered now. A gut feeling told her his death was directly related to Ocean Guard's mandate, which would eliminate her cousin from the list. Cynthia was as devoted to the organization's goals as was her husband. But if Ben's murder had nothing to do with their fund-raiser, her theory about the pollution being related would fly out the door. Then what? They needed time, dammit, but the clock was running out.
"By the way, when should we arrive for Thanksgiving?" Marla asked.
"Come at three o'clock. Last year at Julia's, your brother had to leave before dessert because his kids were getting sleepy. We can start earlier."
"You know how I worry when Rebecca and Jacob are here." Marla paused. "You don't have any fence around your pool, not to mention that lagoon. Need I remind you drowning is the number one cause of death among children four years old and younger in Florida? Home pools are the most common place where drownings occur. If either child slips away when our attention is diverted, that child could drown so easily."
"You say that every year, Marla. I'm not going to put up a pool enclosure for the few times when Michael and Charlene come over with their family. We never had a problem with our kids."
"All it takes is one mistake." Marla's voice choked; she spoke from personal experience. "It breaks my heart when I read the newspapers during the summer, because nearly every week has a report about some child drowning."
"This isn't summer, remember? It'll probably be cool by Thanksgiving. Besides, if you're watching them, Rebecca and Jacob will have nothing to worry about." Cynthia opened the front door, standing aside for her to pass. Her tone was clearly one of dismissal.
Too bad we couldn't get the mandatory pool fence law passed, Marla thought, reflecting on her activities with the child drowning-prevention coalition. She wouldn't give up because curious children always found a way to get near a pool.
"Will Corbin be coming to Thanksgiving dinner? We haven't seen your brother in a while," she said to Cynthia.
Cynthia blinked. "He'll be out of town."
"What's he doing these days, anyway?" Cynthia rarely talked about him, and he almost never came to family functions.
"You might say he's tied up in a new job. Now, Marla, I've left David sitting back there all by himself. If you'll pardon me, I need to attend to my guest. I'll rely on you to find out what you can about Ben's death. Ask that cop friend of yours, and check into which one of our board members might be involved."
_Like you, cuz?_ Her cousin was hiding something about her relationship with Ben Kline. Marla might not like the dirt she dug up, but her sense of outrage compelled her to investigate.
She exited into the warm afternoon. At least Shark and Annie hadn't blocked her car. Parked in front of the garage was a battered blue Chevy, presumably Shark's vehicle. Seeing it gave her a sense of unease that she shrugged off. Too many other things on her mind. Hastening into her Toyota, she turned the ignition and changed gears.
Priority number one was to find out who was dumping medical waste, and Dr. Russ Taylor headed the list. First thing next morning, she'd make an appointment to visit the eminent surgeon. Now she only had to decide which faux medical emergency should afflict her.