Died Blonde (7 page)

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a scout,” Rosemary whispered.

“You work for the Girl Scouts?” Marla must have heard incorrectly. Rosemary didn’t look like a troop leader.

“Trail scout, talent scout, you know. I scout out the opposition.”

“Oh, like you work for someone else?”

Rosemary nodded. “This is the enemy camp,” she said, glancing furtively over her shoulder. “I’m here to keep my eye on the mark. Mustn’t let them get on to me.”

Marla watched her rearrange the paper cards on the table in a repetitive shuffling motion.
Am I missing something here, or does Rosemary lack a few stairs on the way to her attic
?

“I’ve heard people aren’t happy about the new hotel and casino down the road,” Tally commented. “Didn’t it cost two hundred million dollars to build, while the surrounding neighborhood is one of Broward County’s poorest areas?”

“You’re right, honey,” Rosemary said, puffing on her cigarette. “You can see the mobile-home community from the highway.”

“Doesn’t the income provide for better living conditions on the reservation?” Marla cut in. “I would think the new construction provided a lot of jobs.”

“Not for us. Our area has more traffic, more crime, and more car accidents. We have no say in what the tribe votes on, while their decisions affect everyone in the neighborhood.”

“If you dislike it so much, why do you support them by coming here?” Marla challenged.

Rosemary shot her a waspish gaze. “It’s my job.”

“You mean someone pays you to gamble?”

“I told you, I’m a scout. Shh. Don’t let anyone hear us.”

Tally signaled to draw Marla aside. Using the excuse that they were getting a snack, they headed for the concessions. “I remember a case in a newspaper a while ago,” Tally told her. “The Internal Revenue Service investigated the tribe’s finances after some men were accused of stealing from them. The men were acquitted, but tribal leaders admitted they didn’t pay taxes on gifts they gave people. In a three-year period, council members spent more than eighty million dollars on gifts.”

Marla gawked. “They make that much money?” After South Florida voters turned down proposals for casinos that would draw tourists, she’d never considered the reservations as gambling magnets.

“They’ve made millions since this place opened. Each tribal member receives almost forty thousand dollars per year. Not bad for an allowance, huh?”

“How do you know all this?”

“I read the newspapers.”

“Do you really think Rosemary is telling the truth about being paid to play bingo?”

Tally frowned. “She can’t gather too much information if she sits in the same spot all day.”

“Rosemary isn’t spending her funds on grooming, I can tell you that. Did you see the dirt under her fingernails? And she smells like she hasn’t seen a shower for days. I wonder why Carolyn liked her.”

“Let’s go back and find out.”

When they returned to their seats, Rosemary gave them each a furtive glance. “Did you see him? He’s out there,” she said, grasping her blue dauber. Thankfully, she’d finished her cigarette, but smoke lingered in the air, tightening Marla’s throat.

“Who is?” Marla croaked, sipping her coffee. She hadn’t been impressed by the snack bar. Dirty linoleum floor, bare block tables, worn chairs, glaring overhead lights. Fearing the kitchen nurtured a variety of wildlife, she hoped the heat from the liquid had vaporized any germs.

“The one who watches me. I have to be careful. Their assassins have tried before, but I foiled them.” Uncapping her red dauber, Rosemary stabbed the tip on a margin of paper as though demonstrating their attempt in a mock circle of blood.

“Maybe they got to Carolyn first,” Marla suggested.

Rosemary sucked in a sharp breath of air. “You could be right. She told me about the evidence. I warned her that it was dangerous to keep those things, but she didn’t listen.”

“What things?”

“You know, her collection.”

“What exactly did Carolyn have that was so valuable?”

“I guess you weren’t that close of a friend if she didn’t tell you.”

“Do you think the killer was after this evidence?”

“Probably, but she kept her stuff well hidden.”

“I spoke to Carolyn’s sister. Linda is supposed to inherit her collectibles, but she hasn’t received anything.”

Rosemary sneered. “That sister, now she was a jealous one. She wanted everything that Carolyn had.”

That confirmed what Wilda said
. “Linda told me Carolyn was envious because she didn’t have to work and had a family.”

“Are you kidding?” Rosemary’s eyebrows soared like a wingspan on liftoff. “It ate Linda’s heart out that Carolyn had her own business and didn’t need a man. She would have traded places in a minute.”

“Maybe you’re right, although Carolyn left the salon to her spiritualist rather than her sister. So what’s this prized collection she granted to Linda?” Marla tried again.

Rosemary cackled. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you? Why, honey? Are you working for them?”

Marla curbed her impatience. “I have no idea who you mean by
them
.” She tried a different tack. “Who do you think killed Carolyn? Can you give me some names?”

“Sorry, my lips are sealed.”

“I’ll put in a good word with the police for you. The cops might be able to provide protection.”

“I can take care of myself, thanks. That’s how I’ve survived this long.
They
know I’m a tough cookie.” Rosemary narrowed her eyes. “There’s someone else, though. Carolyn went to a chiropractor I’d recommended. John Hennings treated her for a neck problem, and she felt better afterward.

“On her last night here, Carolyn spent a lot of money playing the big jackpots. Said she’d found out something about Dr. Hennings that gave her a profitable edge on him.”

Thursday morning, Marla shared her evening activities with Nicole at the next station. “I won four hundred dollars,” she concluded, grinning. “Maybe I should try for a bigger jackpot the next time.”

“Would you really go again?”

“Probably not. My clothes smelled like cigarette smoke when I got home. I threw them right in the washer.” She wrinkled her nose. “It clung to my hair, too. You stink like a chimney when you come out of that place. I don’t know how people can stand it, but, then, all they care about are their winnings.”

“At least you came out on top,” Nicole said, winking. “Have you told Dalton what you learned?”

A different image of coming out on top popped into her head, a more erotic one then playing bingo. “He’s picking me up later. I didn’t schedule anyone past four o’clock today. I figured we’d exchange news then.”

“Uh huh.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, girl. He’s taking me to an appointment related to Carolyn’s case.”

Nicole’s customer asked a question, diverting her attention. The young woman exemplified the typical client who had dyed her own hair with unfortunate results. A natural auburn, she’d come in with orange splotches all over her head and white re-growth. Now she required professional intervention by means of a costly color correction. If she’d learned a lesson, hopefully it was to consult an experienced colorist and pay up front rather than pay more, later, to correct her mistakes.

This brought to mind a new marketing ploy, a Bad Hair Day when customers with hair disasters could come in for free advice. When Carolyn began siphoning off her clients, Marla had figured a special event each month might help draw in newcomers. Last week they’d done a hair drive to benefit Locks of Love, a nonprofit organization that provided hairpieces for disadvantaged children who suffered from medical hair loss. Those who donated their hair received a free cut-and-style at the salon. Hair donations had to be at least ten inches long, as it took ten to fifteen ponytails to make one wig. Marla felt good when she contributed to the community. And a Bad Hair Day clinic would be a good way to introduce potential customers to her salon.

Satisfied that her new marketing ideas would work, she took a break at lunchtime to run over to the hardware store to see how Sam Levy felt about her mother.

The older man beamed at her from behind the counter. “Hey Marla, what’s up? How’s that beautiful mom of yours?”

“Why don’t you call her and find out?”

“That sounds like a swell idea. How can I contact her?”

Marla hesitated to give out her mother’s phone number. Even though she’d like to see them get together, that struck her as being too pushy. “Are you on e-mail? You could send her an advertising blurb about the store, you know, nothing personal. See if she responds, and you can take it from there.”

“Okay.” His pale blue eyes glowed. “Is she on AOL?”

“Yes. She uses her first initial and last name.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. It isn’t easy for a widower like me to meet decent ladies. Your mom has a lot of class. I can see her in you.”

“Gee, I guess that’s a compliment.” Her ears picked up the sound of pounding rain. “Can you believe it’s raining? The sun is shining.”

Sam pointed to a cloud bank. “Not over there, it isn’t. Did you hear the weather report? That tropical depression is strengthening.”

“It’s too far away to worry about.” The hurricane season was full of storms that swirled off to sea and dissipated. Rarely did one hit the coastline, although all you needed was a maelstrom like Andrew to cause widespread destruction. “School starts next week. I just hope the weather holds up when Brianna goes to class.”

“You have a child?” His furrowed face reflected surprise.

“She’s Dalton’s daughter. He lost his wife to cancer over two years ago. Brianna and I have grown close. I probably spend more time at his house now than my own.”

“How old is she?” Sam pulled over a catalog on moldings and fingered the pages.

“Brie just: turned thirteen.”

“A difficult age.”

“No kidding. She wants to wear makeup and those scraps of clothing that teenagers call outfits, while her father is still in the dark ages where his daughter is concerned. I’m caught in the middle, because I understand her need to blend in with the crowd. On the other hand, Brie doesn’t have the judgment an older woman develops.”

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Teen girls wield a lot of power. They give out signals that can cause trouble.”

“That’s because they don’t know any better. It’s just immaturity.” Sam didn’t have any children, so perhaps he wasn’t attuned to their mindset. Marla had enough teenage customers that she heard their angst, plus her own conflicts with Anita helped her to empathize.

“Are you telling me that when they lead a guy on, they don’t know what they’re doing?” Sam said, lifting an eyebrow.

“That’s right. They need guidance from an adult, even though they won’t admit it. Anyway, you know how to reach my mother if you’re interested. I’ve got to go back to work.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. Need any batteries, light bulbs? We’re having a sale today.”

“I don’t think so. See you later, Sam.”

She ducked outside where the rainfall had let up and glanced at her watch. Four more long hours until Vail came by. He’d been mysterious when she had asked him where they were going, and ever since, curiosity had drilled a hole in her stomach. Or maybe it was hunger; she hadn’t eaten anything except yogurt for breakfast.

Dashing into Bagel Busters, she encountered Arnie in his customary apron. The proprietor smiled beneath his droopy mustache. “Marla, my
shayna maidel
, what brings you here?”

“I’m starving. Can you get me a quick corned beef on rye?”

“Sure.” Unable to leave his checkout post, he signaled to Ruth, a waitress, and placed Marla’s order. “So what’s new?”

She gave him a quick rundown. “You hear any gossip about Carolyn?”

He shrugged, his broad shoulders encased in a T-shirt that had seen many washings. “Those French girls of hers have come in here looking for croissants. They’re worried about their status, and if they’ll be allowed to stay.”

“I thought Wilda had reassured them she wasn’t making any staff changes.”

“It’s not that. I think they’re here on work visas. Assuming Carolyn sponsored them, they must be concerned about remaining in the country.”

Later that afternoon, Marla brought up the subject of Carolyn’s staff again while she and Vail drove in his car. “Are these girls the same ones from the Sunrise Academy of Beauty?”

“Yep.” Vail’s peppery hair, parted on the side, didn’t move a strand when he nodded his head. She’d have to speak him about lightening up on the holding spray. “They obtained immigrant visas through a local attorney, Peter McGraw. We’re on our way to interview him. He’s the same fellow who drew up Sutton’s will.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Why bring me along?”

His sidelong glance heated her blood. “It may throw him off guard if I show up with a woman. You know…we’re on our way out to an early dinner and we’re stopping by for a brief chat. Nothing formal like an interrogation, so he’ll think I’m only interested in talking to him as a matter of form.”

“So I’m your cover. While you drill him, I flutter my eyelashes and distract his attention.”

He chuckled. “You do that and I’ll want to take you somewhere private. Just listen and observe, and contribute to the conversation if you catch something I don’t. Remember how we worked together to interview Jeremiah Dooley?”

“Right.” Although it wasn’t his customary practice to have her accompany him during investigations, they had teamed up previously to interview the tilapia farmer after Kimberly Kaufman’s murder.

Playing her part, she smiled at the receptionist in the lawyer’s office and clung to Vail’s arm like a symbiotic vine. Her practiced gaze took in the fine furnishings, and she quickly tallied the attorney’s rates. He must charge at least two hundred fifty dollars per hour to afford the tooled-leather chairs and polished mahogany tables. Confirming her impression were the magazines available to clients:
Fortune, Money, Stock Futures & Options
, plus the daily
Wall Street Journal
. None of them were on her leisure reading list.

The selections reminded Marla of the first time she’d entered Stan’s office as a trembling nineteen-year-old forced to defend herself against a potential lawsuit from Tammy’s parents. She hadn’t wanted to drag her own family into the ordeal and instead stooped to a humiliating job to pay for a lawyer on her own. Purposeful negligence on her part as baby-sitter couldn’t be proven; it was determined the toddler drowned by accident, like so many other unfortunate occurrences in South Florida with its predominance of backyard pools.

“Are you okay?” Vail asked in a low voice after he finished speaking to the woman behind a glass partition.

Marla clutched her stomach. “I’m remembering how I first met Stan. He was a lifeline to my sinking ship. I don’t think I would’ve gotten through that year without him.”

Vail’s mouth tightened. “He took advantage of you, a beautiful young girl in distress. Professionals shouldn’t date their clients.”

She smiled wryly at him. “He was the perfect catch: an attractive Jewish lawyer who’d never been married. How could I resist?”

“He never knew what you did to pay for his legal services, did he?”

“Thankfully, no.” She hung her head. “He might not have been so interested then. It was a whirlwind courtship that salvaged my self-esteem. I’ll always be grateful to him for that much.”

“You’ve paid your debt.”

“Yes, I have.” Together, she and Vail had discovered who’d murdered his third wife. She owed Stan nothing more.

“You should be proud of all you’ve accomplished,” he told her, cupping her chin and lifting her face. His smoky eyes imparted admiration along with something deeper.

A surge of affection swept her. Raising to her toes, she kissed him. “I feel that I can do so much more because of you.”

His hands found her shoulders, but before he could draw her closer, an inner door opened. They sprang apart, Marla flushing guiltily and Vail grinning.

“Detective? Please come in,” said a balding fellow in an impeccable suit. His few remaining hairs were brushed over his crown in an attempt to hide his shiny pate.

You could have used some of that secret hair-growth formula I chased down in March
, Marla thought. Too bad the prototype got slurped by her neighbor Goat’s pet snake.

The lawyer’s private enclave was every bit as plush as his waiting area. Marla stood for introductions before taking a seat at one of two upholstered armchairs facing his massive desk. A huge picture window showed a distant view of traffic on Broward Boulevard in downtown Fort Lauderdale. Usually heights didn’t bother her, but after September 11th she’d become more wary. Regarding the tiny cars below, she felt a twinge of discomfort at being on the top floor of a high-rise building. The sooner they concluded their business, the better.

“I’m Pete McGraw,” the man said in a rich baritone voice. “It’s nice to meet you in person, Lieutenant.”

“I’d hoped to get here sooner, but other things were more pressing. You told me most of what I needed to know on the telephone.” Vail’s broad smile widened as he draped his arm around Marla’s shoulder. “This is Marla Shore, my fiancee. We’re on our way to Las Olas to grab a bite to eat, so I thought we’d stop by. I just have a few more questions to ask.”

“Of course. Please take a seat.”

Marla, gaping at Vail, sank into the nearest chair. What did he mean by introducing her as his fiancee? Although she wore his amethyst ring on her finger, it by no means signified a commitment. He’d never asked her to marry him, and she hoped he wouldn’t anytime soon. Just because they’d used this ruse before to disarm a suspect didn’t give him leave to resurrect the pretense. Then again, maybe Dalton had a particular purpose in mind. She’d reserve judgment until later.

“You’ve been in touch with the people named in Carolyn’s will, I presume,” McGraw said, assuming a nonchalant expression.

“That’s right,” Vail replied. “Her sister hasn’t found any collection. Nothing turned up in the victim’s apartment, nor in her safety deposit box, except legal papers and stock certificates.”

“Can’t help you there.” McGraw straightened his tie. “My client never described the particulars about this collection of hers. She just wanted to make sure her sister received the things. I assumed Mrs. Hall knew about them.”

“Did anyone else have a key to her apartment?” Marla suggested. “A cleaning lady, or a maintenance man?”

The attorney leveled his gaze on her. “Do you think someone stole the items? That implies Carolyn told someone else about it other than her sister.”

“Indeed.” Vail glanced at her thoughtfully.

“You know, Rosemary mentioned Carolyn’s collection. She said Carolyn kept it well hidden.”

“And Rosemary is?” McGraw said, leaning forward.

“Rosemary Taylor, Carolyn’s bingo partner. I don’t think they were actually friends. They met at the bingo parlor every week.”

“What did you say you do, Miss Shore?”

Oy
, she’d forgotten to play her part of the dumb broad. “I’m a hair stylist. My salon is in the same shopping strip as Carolyn’s,” she said, offering him a business card from her purse.

His sharp glance penetrated her. “Oh, yes, I believe I recall the poor woman mentioning you.”

“We weren’t on the best terms, but that’s irrelevant now. Wilda Cleaver has asked for my help in managing their shop.”

“Ah, the psychic. She shouldn’t need any help if she communicates with the dead. Carolyn can tell her what to do. Har har.” He laughed at his own joke.

“When she made out her will, did Carolyn tell you why she was leaving the salon to her spiritual advisor instead of her sister?” Vail persisted.

“She said Wilda had brought her a lot of comfort.”

“Wilda doesn’t know anything about running a salon,” Marla inserted.

“Neither would her sister,” McGraw pointed out. “I gathered there was some animosity between them.”