Bad Hair Day 2 - Hair Raiser (7 page)

*Chapter Seven*
"Marla, it's me, David Newberg. How are you?" His familiar voice on the phone brought her a measure of comfort. "Oh, I don't know. I just had an aggravating conversation with Alex Sheffield." David's call had come through just as she hung up from the chef, and her blood was still boiling from their conversation. "Alex has a grudge against Jerry Caldwell, Ocean Guard's president. He isn't too supportive of our organization. I think I'll contact that Moroccan chef if I can find the piece of paper Ben scribbled his name on."
"I have an idea about that. If you're not busy Friday night, let's go to his restaurant. I looked up the Medina. They have a single seating at seven-thirty. So what do you say?"
A ripple of pleasure shimmied through her at his thoughtfulness in relieving her of another chore. If they were going to meet the chef in person, she wouldn't waste time on a phone call. It was a good idea to sample the guy's cuisine anyway before she invited him to join Taste of the World.
"Okay. What should I wear?"
"Choose something comfortable because I understand we sit on the floor. I'll pick you up at seven. And Marla" -- his voice lowered -- "I'll be looking forward to seeing you again."
He'd hung up before she even realized he hadn't asked her address. For that matter, how had he gotten the salon number? She didn't recall mentioning the name of her establishment at their little tea party. Probably Cynthia had told him, she figured.
Her plans for the rest of the week got waylaid by a heavy workload. Whereas she used to open the salon at ten every morning, she'd changed hours and now accepted clients from nine to six, sometimes staying later. Thursday evening was the first breather in her schedule, so she headed home to get some rest.
Her ears registered the absence of barking before her mind noticed. Usually, Spooks bounced against the window, crazed upon her arrival. But as she pulled the car into the driveway, she missed the poodle's excited greeting. Fear gripping her heart, she braked to a stop in the garage, shut off the ignition, and charged from her vehicle.
"Oh, my God," she murmured upon entering her kitchen. Pots and pans were strewn about the floor, jumbled with the contents of her junk drawer and assorted utensils. Her collection of cookbooks, tossed from the shelves, littered the counters. Stunned, she surveyed the disaster with a sinking heart. _Why?_ echoed through her brain. Crouching to her knees, she gathered the broken pieces from a souvenir apple bank she'd bought in New York. Somehow, that hurt the most. She couldn't conceive of how this had happened.
Silence deafened her, bringing her numb mind into focus. Alarmed, she raised her voice. "Spooks! Where are you?" Her heart lurched when he didn't respond. Straightening her spine, she glanced anxiously toward the living room. Was he sick, or worse, lying injured in one of the other rooms? Her pulse rate accelerated as she caught sight of an open patio door through the kitchen window. Ah, he must have gotten out. An instant later, her scalp prickled when she realized what it meant. Someone had been in her house, might even still be there.
Her body shaking, she whirled around and dashed out through the open garage door to Moss's house. His wife, Emma, answered her frantic knocking.
"I've got to use your phone. Someone broke into my house."
"What do you mean, dear?" The elderly lady peered at her, concerned. "Come on in. You look awfully pale."
"Spooks is missing. I need to call the cops."
"Oh my," Emma warbled. "Use the phone in the kitchen."
"Is Moss home?" She proceeded inside, knowing her way.
"Moss had a golf game today, and then he was going over to Sol Weinstein's house to design a shelving unit. I'm not sure when he'll be back."
"That's all right." While her fingers punched in the code for Vail's direct line at the police department, she took two deep breaths so her voice wouldn't quiver on the phone.
"It's Marla," she said in a rushed voice when he answered.
"I was going to call you," Vail countered, the deep rich timbre of his voice bringing reassurance.
"Yeah, well I have news. Someone's broken into my house, and I'm afraid to go inside. They might still be there. Spooks is missing. He must have run out through the open patio door. And yes, I locked up when I left this morning," she said, anticipating his next question.
"Where are you now?" he demanded.
"Next door at Moss's place. I'll meet you outside. Y-You are coming, aren't you?"
"I'm on my way."
He arrived in less than fifteen minutes, accompanied by a patrol car and two officers. While she waited outdoors, wringing her hands together, they searched inside her house. Her knees wobbling, she ventured several feet down the street, looking for Spooks. A hidden part of her prayed that he wasn't lying lifeless in one of the rooms.
Emerging from the front door, Vail signaled to her. "No one is here. It's safe for you to come inside."
Marla covered her mouth with a hand. "Spooks ... Did you find him?" Fearful of the answer, she took a few hesitant steps in his direction.
Vail's long stride carried him to her side. His smoky eyes studied her as he took the hand from her face and held it in his own. "Spooks isn't around. Has he ever gotten loose before?"
"Only once. He chased squirrels until he got winded, then returned home." Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Violation of the sanctity of her home she could deal with, but not the loss of her pet. She clutched Vail's hand as though it were a lifeline.
"What's that weird noise?" he asked, hunching his shoulders. His feet automatically parted in a fighting stance.
An undulating sound invaded her ears. "Oh, that's just Goat. He's got an animal fetish." Her eyes widened as she realized the import of what she'd said. "God, do you think -- "
Without finishing her sentence, she flew toward her neighbor's residence and pounded on his door. Vail's heavy breathing sounded behind her as he caught up. The whale cries swelled as Goat flung open the door, only now they were mingled with wild barking. Spooks charged to greet her, leaping at her ankles and yipping furiously.
Bending down, Marla scooped him into her arms and hugged his small, soft body. "It's all right, sweetheart. You're safe now." His wet tongue licked her face as she grinned happily at Goat. "You found him."
"I figured he must have gotten loose from your yard. I was going to bring him over later." Goat scratched his scruffy beard. Assorted mewling and birds squawks emitted from inside. "Why you got cops hanging out?" he asked, his hooded gaze raking Dalton Vail.
"Someone broke into her house," Vail replied. "You seen anybody around her place?"
"No way, man." Goat shrugged in his sheepskin jacket. "Hope they didn't take nothing good."
"We'll see." Vail steered her down the steps and away. After Goat closed his door, the detective snorted. "He's a character, isn't he?"
"Thank goodness he took Spooks in. My baby could've gotten hit by a car." Cuddling the trembling pet to her breast, she entered her house. The other two officers approached Vail.
"I'll finish filling out the report," he told them. After the policemen left, he turned to Marla. "Look around and see if anything's been taken."
It didn't take her long to do a quick search. None of her jewelry was missing, nor were any important papers that she could see. Mostly her study had been disrupted, some of the kitchen drawers, and her bedside table. Electronic equipment was intact.
Vail's face was somber as he regarded her in the room she'd made into an office. Papers were tossed everywhere, drawers pulled out. It would take her the entire evening to return things to order.
"Since nothing is missing, I'm going to assume this is another attempt to scare you," he said. "Let's review security precautions." And he spent the next ten minutes instructing her on measures she could take to secure her premises. "Get your alarm system connected, will you?" he grated finally.
In no hurry to be left alone, she invited him to remain for a cup of coffee. "I can fix us a quick plate of spaghetti and meatballs," she offered, hoping he'd keep her company.
"I'm not off duty yet, but I can stay a few minutes to finish this report. Want me to put the coffee on while you straighten up?"
"Sure." Watching him move around her kitchen had a strange effect on her. Stan had never lifted a finger to assist her with what he regarded as women's chores. Dalton, on the other hand, hummed to himself while he added water to the coffeemaker and spooned in the grounds. Once the rangy detective glanced up and caught her staring at him. His wide grin made her heart thud erratically fast. Her cheeks flaming, she resumed her task.
"Any luck on Ben's case?" she asked, sagging into a chair at the table after the place looked halfway tidy. The coffee smelled wonderfully aromatic, and she took a sip from a ceramic mug. _Just right,_ she thought approvingly.
Grunting, Vail sat opposite her. "That's what I was going to call you about when you got me on the phone. We've identified the weapon that killed Ben Kline. It's from a knife collection belonging to Darren Shapiro."
Marla gasped. "A knife? I thought you said Ben had been bludgeoned to death."
"Just so."
She considered that a moment. "Whose prints were on the weapon?"
His eyes chilled. "I can't provide any further details."
"You mean you won't. I'm involved in this case, too. If you would share information with me, I might be able to help. For example, I might tell you about the medical waste polluting the mangrove preserve next to Cynthia's house. It may be connected to Ben's murder."
His jaw clenched. "I told you about the weapon and warned you about the board members."
"So you did. I imagine you must have found something at the crime scene relating to Ocean Guard. Otherwise, why would you advise me to be cautious?" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, aware of his eyes following her movements.
"Papers relating to the group were strewn across the floor, some of them smeared with blood. It's my opinion someone was searching through them. Not that it proves anything, but that narrows the field." He took a noisy gulp of coffee, then intensified his gaze. "What's this about medical waste? Don't you have enough sense not to go snooping?"
"I wasn't snooping," she retorted, bristling with anger. "My cousin, Cynthia, invited me to her house and showed me the pollution. We're both committed to making Taste of the World a successful event, and someone is trying to stop us. I won't quit at the first sign of trouble."
Scraping back his chair, Vail stood. "Trouble? There's already been one murder, and you've found a dead duck on your doorstep. If you had an ounce of sense in your head, you'd accept this break-in as another warning. Maybe the killer is someone familiar who doesn't want to hurt you, unless you fail to back off."
Her eyes blazing, Marla leapt to her feet. "I'll never give up my job with the chefs. Cynthia is counting on me. Whoever is hindering us just better watch out."
"I may not be around the next time you need me."
She couldn't believe her ears. Now he sounded just like Stan. "Excuse me? I can take care of myself, thank you. It so happened I needed a police report in case I have to make an insurance claim. That's the only reason why I called you."
He smirked. "You can let yourself believe that if you want, but I know differently." His expression softening, he stepped closer. "Seriously, Marla, I'm worried about you."
His concern melted her anger. "I'm a big girl. I'll be all right. But you might consider trusting me a bit more. Your case could progress faster if you accepted my input."
"Not when you place yourself in danger. Be on the alert until I see you Saturday. Brianna is looking forward to meeting you."
Marla breathed a sigh of relief when he left. His visit had brought escalating tension instead of the calm she sought.
Ignoring Vail's advice, she went to see Darren on Friday after work. Although she was in a rush to get ready for her date with David, she could spare time for a detour. These activities related to the fund-raiser were consuming all her free hours, she realized with a flush of guilt. When was the last time she'd called Tally, or any of her other friends?
_Stop kvetching!_ Marla told herself as she approached Darren's house, a ranch-style structure located in an upscale neighborhood. _You're doing this for Cynthia. She needs you._
Yeah, right. And how much of it was to prove her own worth?
An attractive brunette holding an oven mitt swung open the door after Marla rang the bell. "Yes?"
"Hi, I'm Marla Shore," she said, smiling. "I work on the committee for Taste of the World with Darren, and I'd like to ask him a few questions if he's available."
"All right," the woman said grudgingly, "but please be brief. Darren is late for an appointment."
Marla followed her into a comfortable living room. Her gaze swept the furnishings and fixed on the cocktail table, on which lay a couple of long-handled blades ending in curved hooks. Studying them, she didn't hear Darren come in.
"Miss Shore. What can I do for you?"
His curt tone brought her head up sharply. He stood a few feet away, freshly showered if his damp black hair and shaven jaw were any indication. Her gaze widened as she took in the man's physique. Wearing a navy knit shirt and jeans instead of a suit, he couldn't hide his bulging biceps or his muscular torso. Her mouth went dry as she imagined one of those lengthy objects in his meaty hand.

Moistening her lips, she sought a cautious reply.
"I want to talk to you about Ben."
His expression visibly relaxed, which made her wonder what he was afraid she might say. "Horrible, wasn't it? The poor louse must have screwed one of his clients."
"Detector Vail thinks Ocean Guard's board members might be involved." Biting her lower lip, Marla restrained herself from blurting out about the murder weapon.
"I know. We've already had a discussion on the subject." With a weary sigh, he gestured her to a seat on the couch. "I tried to explain to the lieutenant how we're working toward a common goal, or at least I thought so until we began having these problems. Now it seems someone is intent on stopping us."
He studied her from under his thick-set brows. "How is your job going? Were you able to get substitutes for the chefs?"
"I got Carmel Corvinne from The Creole Palace, and tonight I'll meet the guy from Medina." Resisting an urge to glance at her watch, she plowed on. "Our fundraiser should be a successful event," she predicted.
"I hope you're right." Sitting in an armchair, he twisted his hands. "I realize Ocean Guard has its difficulties, but it is a worthy cause, and I'd hate to think we have a traitor in our midst, not to mention a murderer."
_What about your knife that was found near the body, pal?_
Marla couldn't mention that without offending him, so she tried a different approach instead. "What do you know about the relationship between Digby Raines and Ben? Babs mentioned something about a sex scandal."
Darren grimaced. "I only remember what I read in the paper, and this is going back eight years or so. Ben had a client who was accused of prostitution. She was a housewife who brought people into her home. Apparently, the woman videotaped her escapades. Ben got hold of one of the tapes and tried to sell it. The whole thing got washed over in a deal with prosecutors."
Clasping her fingers together, Marla leaned forward. "What does that have to do with Digby?"
"The videotape showed the woman having sex with Digby Raines. There may have been nude photos as well."
Marla swallowed a lump in her throat as an incident in her own life surfaced in her consciousness. She'd been in a similar situation when Bertha Kravitz threatened to expose certain photos from her shameful past. But instead of murdering the old woman, she'd succumbed to blackmail. It made her the perfect suspect when Bertha was killed and Dalton discovered their connection.
"Just because Digby might have held this incident against Ben, he didn't necessarily murder him over it," she said, her tone harsher than intended.
"Digby is in trouble at the polls. He might have been afraid Ben would bring the old skeleton out of the closet and cause further damage to his campaign."
"So you believe Digby is capable of homicide."
"I didn't say that." Darren jumped to his feet.
Changing tactics, Marla pointed to the objects on the cocktail table. "What are those? How interesting."
"They're part of my collection."
She lifted one by its wood handle, wrapped in cloth like a mummy. Her arm sagged from the weight. Was this considered a knife? It had a blade, albeit a curved one with a dull edge. Maybe you couldn't stab anyone with it, but you sure as hell could clunk somebody on the head. "What are they used for?" she queried, careful to keep her tone casual.
"Darren!" His wife interrupted, waving an accusing finger as she strode into the room. "Do you know how late it is? You'd better get moving, or you'll lose this job."
Did he have a meeting related to his bank business? If so, that would account for his wife's nervousness.
"Thanks for dropping in, Marla," Darren said, escorting her to the door.
Marla didn't see what he was thankful for. She'd brought up painful topics and hadn't come to any conclusions about his possible involvement in Ocean Guard's problems.
"Do me a favor," he whispered, grabbing her elbow. "Don't mention to anyone that you saw me going out tonight."
"Oh?"
He dropped his hand. "I'm supposed to be -- hell, never mind. I'll be seeing you."
_Sure, you will, but where are you going now?_ Outside, she closed the door upon hearing his wife raise her voice.
A neighbor, pulling weeds, gestured her over. "Are they arguing again?"
Marla strolled by. "What do you mean?"
The gray-haired woman stood from her crouched position, a handful of grass in her gloved hand. "An awful lot of yelling and screaming goes on in that house, and it mostly ain't Helen's voice. I worry about her. Are you her friend?"
"We're acquaintances."
"Did she ever tell you where Darren goes every Friday and Saturday night? It's mighty late when he gets home. Helen never accompanies him."
"Sorry, I'm as much in the dark as you are. Have you known them long?"
Taking a rag from her pocket, the woman wiped her brow. "Long enough to realize Darren appears a quiet type when he's spiffed up in his suit, but behind his mild manner roars the heart of a lion. You don't want to get on his wrong side."