Highlights to Heaven (6 page)

“Tell me about it. I have the same problem with my staff.”

The director’s eyes lit with curiosity. “How long have you had your own salon?”

“Eight years. I actually used my portfolio design from class.” It had been part of her graduation requirements. The portfolio included a floor plan for an imaginary salon, projected costs, outfitting, and price lists for services, among other items. “I’d be interested in seeing what you do now. Things have probably changed since I studied here.”

She needed time to think about the connection between the dead stylists and herself. Were their deaths accidental as reported in the news, or had she almost become the third victim of a crazed killer who hit on hairdressers? Though if this were the case, why would her assailant take Goat’s envelope?

Cutter Corrigan had been their instructor. She should pay him another visit, with or without Dalton Vail’s approval.

“I think one thing you’ll find different than when you were here is that now we have defined lesson plans,” Virginia said, rising. She handed Marla the printout of her class roster, and a bunch of other documents. “As you see, the curriculum is much more structured, with set objectives and a course syllabus. Students must pass a basic skills test. We also have field trips to various shows.”

Marla shuffled through the papers in her hands. Lecture subjects ranged from bacteriology to business skills, sanitation to science, Florida state law to salon management. She noted classes on electricity, anatomy, chemistry, and disease. The requirements weren’t much different than when she’d gone through school. Hairstyling, cutting, coloring, chemical waving, and other services still had the same performance sheets, with a few modern additions.

“We’re always looking for substitute teachers,” Virginia said, noting her interest. “Let me give you a tour. Perhaps I can motivate you to become one of our instructors. Have you taken any specialized courses since you obtained your license?”

“Well, sure.” Marla mentioned some of the seminars she’d attended. They began their tour in the lab, the sound of blow-dryers competing with the students’ chatter. “It looks pretty much the same as when I was here,” she said, noting the worn linoleum on the floor and the plastic ceiling panels overhead.

“Terms three through five spend two days a week in the laboratory. The rest of the time is in the classroom. We’re working with Broward Community College to try to get college credit for our courses and maybe have some high school students join us. The health section is in our new building. We’re slated to renovate this one next year.”

“Are classes still just in the mornings?” When she’d gone to school, Marla had worked part-time as a shampoo girl in a local salon during the afternoons.

“We run three sessions six days a week. You can start at eight in the morning, three in the afternoon, or six in the evening. Labs are Wednesdays and Fridays. So if you’re considering being a substitute, just about any time you’re available except Sundays would work.”

They passed a row of green vinyl chairs with old-fashioned dome hair dryers. She figured a lot of senior citizens came in who still liked to get a wash-and-set. “How many students are enrolled?”

Virginia waved an arm. “We have upwards of one hundred twenty in here at a time. That’s an average of thirty students per classroom, with four rooms, including this lab. Then there are the facial rooms and the pedi-spa.”

Marla smiled at the familiar sight of one girl setting a mannequin head with perm rods while another combed out a head of curly brown hair after doing a foil frosting.
Gads, look in that corner
! She hadn’t used an electric oven for comb-pressing hair since training. Chuckling, Marla turned her attention to another student doing a demi-perm coloring on a real customer. Products spilled from roll-abouts standing in the aisles; cut hairs littered the floor; and trailing wires from various implements tangled on the counters. In the center stood a row of sinks for mixing chemicals. Her former mentor would be horrified by the mess. Cutter’s place exemplified order amid high style.

“Do you remember Cutter Corrigan? He was another one of my instructors. Cutter owns a salon on Las Olas now. Do you keep in touch with him?”

Before answering Marla, Virginia called out, “Not that way,” to a student doing a piggyback perm. “You’ve put the rods too far in the back. Move them over here.” After demonstrating the proper technique, she turned her attention back to Marla. “Cutter is always looking for promising graduates. I saw him at the Wella show a few weeks ago. He’d brought his friend.”

“Oh? Male or female?”

“The same guy as before.”

Marla gave her a curious glance. “Light or dark hair?”

“Very dark, with those Latin good looks.”

“Hmm.” Couldn’t have been Yani Verkovich; and, besides, you had to be a licensed professional to get into the shows.

“There’s one of Carolyn Sutton’s girls.” Virginia pointed to a student fixing a fancy updo on a mannequin. “You used to work for her, didn’t you?”

“Carolyn gave me my first job after I graduated.”

“She sponsors students here. Some of them don’t speak much English, so I don’t know where she gets them. She employs them in her salon after they graduate.”

Marla put a hand on Virginia’s arm. “Carolyn is opening a salon in the same shopping strip as my place. I thought her previous location looked rundown, and our rent is probably higher. How can she afford to move, plus sponsor any students? How much is tuition today, by the way?”

“It costs twenty-five hundred for the year. That includes fees, books, uniforms, and a personal styling kit. Field trips cost extra.”

Marla dropped her hand. “I think someone must be financing her.” Marla’s ex-spouse, Stan, had tried to undermine her lease at one point in Carolyn’s favor, but she’d defeated his efforts. After she helped solve the murder of his third wife, they’d become allies if not friends. He wouldn’t back her rival this time, so who would?
Get back on track
. Dealing with the competition wasn’t her priority right now.

“Do me a favor,” she said to Virginia. “If you see Cutter again, don’t mention that I was here.”

The director’s eyes widened with glee. “I know! You’re planning to surprise him with the reunion, aren’t you? How delightful. It’s so unusual for people to keep in touch these days.”

“I appreciate your help,” Marla said before taking her leave. Celebrating Cutter’s stint as her teacher was the last thing on her mind. She needed to learn what Cutter knew about Goat, if the deaths of these two stylists were coincidental or not, and where the history of hairdressing fit into it all.

Marla, didn’t get a chance to ask Cutter Corrigan about her classmates, because when she reached Heavenly Hair Salon at five P.M., he was just leaving. She followed in her Toyota as he strode along the sidewalk, then turned right at the corner. Thinking he must be going for a bite to eat, she was surprised when he climbed into a black Mercedes in the rear lot and headed off.

It might be better if she spoke to him at home anyway; the salon wouldn’t be very private for the questions she wanted to ask. But instead of aiming toward the part of town where he lived, according to the address she’d looked up, Cutter veered west on Broward Boulevard-all the way west, to Flamingo Road. Gritting her teeth, she followed, hoping they wouldn’t end up on Alligator Alley for a trip to Naples.

Staying several cars behind him, she passed the WELCOME TO DAVIE sign after the 1-595 underpass going south on Flamingo Road. Plant nurseries, herb farms, and palm-tree growers lined either side of the long stretch, interspersed by vast open spaces studded with pines, palms, and native shrubs. As they crossed the intersection at Southwest Thirty-Sixth Court, Marla spied a couple of tour buses in the parking lot at Flamingo Gardens on their left. Not much farther up the avenue, Cutter turned where a sign said WILD BIRD ranch. He charged down a bumpy dirt road into the dusty distance.

Marla made a U-turn and parked in the free lot at Flamingo Gardens. It wouldn’t be smart for her to trail directly behind Cutter’s Mercedes down a private road. Nor was it wise for her to continue on this course of action without backup, she realized with a spurt of doubt. But curiosity got the better of her, and so did her need to find Goat. Cutter knew something, and it was possible that tailing him might help her find her neighbor.

Glad she’d dressed for comfort that morning in dark pants and a lightweight pullover sweater, she trod down the dirt road in her sturdy work shoes. They’d never win a style award, but eight hours of standing in pumps or even strappy sandals would have left her legs hurting. Treading on small pebbles, she was grateful it hadn’t rained, or she’d be sloshing in mud. Probably she should’ve left her handbag locked in her car, but you never knew when a nail file, can of hair spray, or metal pick would come in handy.

What kind of ranch was this? The dirt road abruptly ended at a tropical hammock. She spotted Cutter’s black Mercedes parked on a patch of grass. No sign of her quarry showed anywhere in the thick foliage ahead. A glimpse of various buildings gave her a goal. Cutter must have gone in their direction. Shifting her purse from one shoulder to the other, she started through the foliage toward the closest structure. It wasn’t long before she realized the grounds consumed considerable acreage and the distances were deceiving.

Her hair lifted in a breeze too warm and humid for March. Carried on the wind came a cacophony of sounds: strident bird cries, twittering songs, squawks, and loud honks. Wait a minute. Hadn’t Vail said he’d found receipts in Goat’s house from a bird breeder? Could this be the place? According to his report, the receipts had been made out to a pet store. It logically followed that the breeder sold birds to that store. She wondered if Vail had visited either place to inquire about Goat.

Grimacing as her feet crunched on twigs and dead leaves, she steadily proceeded into the jungle along a meandering path. Shafts of sunlight illuminated pink and white impatiens nestled among broad-leafed green plants. A cluster of bamboo creaked next to a stand of spindly red crotons. On either side of the trail, trees rose skyward, forming a canopy. Species she had seen only in parks had her craning her neck to spy the tops: hundred-year-old live oaks, shady Indian jujube trees, sapodillos, and arjun trees with thick, odd-shaped trunks. She recognized a peeling melaleuca as the wind tickled her skin and brought a musty smell of humus.

Steering around a bread-nut tree, she narrowly avoided colliding with a glistening cobweb. A black spider hung in the center, crouching for prey. Her nerves tensed as she imagined its sticky web catching her unaware, and a shudder racked her spine. She advanced forward, treading carefully to avoid roots and rocks in her path. Wary of creatures dangling overhead, she ducked under an overhanging branch.

A mosquito buzzed past her ear, and she swatted it away, cursing. Water trickled down a rocky ledge into a nearby pond, providing breeding grounds for more of the pesky insects. Bugs and spiders were not her thing, nor were the strange, piercing bird calls that rattled her composure. She almost missed the low murmur of voices ahead, but drew herself up short just in time.

“What’s happening?” Cutter said in a harsh tone.

“You go on ahead. I’ll join you in a few minutes,” said another man.

“Who’s this?” grated a third fellow’s voice.

“Cutter is my cousin. Cutter, this is Wake Hollander. Wake and I have some business to finish.”

“Sure, Evan. Is this business that pertains to me?” Cutter’s nasal voice inquired.

“Wouldn’t I tell you if it did? Wait in the lab. I’ll be right there.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll stand my ground.”

“Suit yourself. Wake, I told you, the shipment was delayed. It should be in early next week.”

“I paid you to have it ready today.”

“I can’t control what happens on the other side. You’ll have to be patient.”

“Be patient, my ass. My sponsor is expecting them tonight.”

“Look, I’ll throw in some extras. I’ve got an Anegada Island iguana coming in. Should be some new macaws, too. You tell him he can have his choice.”

“No way. We had a deal. You don’t deliver on time, you don’t keep the cash, buddy.”

“What is this?” Cutter broke in. “Listen, cuz, you told me you’d finished with this stuff.”

Marla crept closer to where she could discern their outlines through the trees. Squinting, she wished her vision allowed her to see more clearly. Maybe it was time to visit the eye doctor. Beside Cutter stood a brawny fellow. Together they faced a shorter, wiry figure.

“I have your parakeets, Wake,” said Cutter’s cousin. “I promise I’ll call you as soon as our other shipment comes in. It’s not my fault. I’ve always been reliable, you know that.”

The short man clenched his fists. “I’ll discuss it with Tiger. We’ll get back to you.” Abruptly, he turned on his heel and left.

Afraid he’d come in her direction toward the exit, Marla slinked back against a prickly tree trunk. Instead, he walked the opposite way, making her think there must be another entrance to the property. That made sense, especially if the rancher lived here. He’d want to drive up to his house. Did this place belong to Cutter’s cousin?

“You’d better not mess up our project,” Cutter warned the man named Evan when they were left alone.

“Don’t worry. I can handle those guys.”

“You’re risking our enterprise by screwing with Tiger. If he decides you’re a liability-”

“He won’t. I’m his main supplier. He won’t cut off the hand that feeds him. Now follow me to the lab. The results of our latest tests are exciting.”

“You’re able to proceed without Verkovich?”

A heavy sigh. “It’s necessary. Have you had any success tracking our friend?”

“Nope, but I have in mind someone who might lead us to him.”

As they strode away, Marla strained to hear more, but she couldn’t make out their words. Darn! She sidestepped along the path, intending to trail them, when she stepped on a particularly large twig. A loud crack made the two men glance over their shoulders. Marla froze, praying she blended in with her surroundings. After a moment suspended in time, they shrugged and resumed their pace.

She watched a lizard scurry up a papaya tree, waiting until the coast was clear before she proceeded after her quarry. She came upon a few buildings that looked like work sheds. Peacocks strutted across the grass, eyeing her warily. Rounding a corner, she stopped, confused. The two men were nowhere in sight.

She stepped onto a concrete path and entered an alley between huge wire enclosures. Each mesh cell was labeled and appropriately designed for its occupants, with rocky prominences and tropical foliage. But this was no zoo, and Marla wondered at its purpose.

Her nostrils wrinkled as she stepped carefully around a splotch of bird droppings. The stench reminded her of dead lizards she sometimes found at home. Curiosity compelled her to peer into some of the enclosures. At least the labels helped to identify the residents. Two red-tailed hawks kept each other company next to a cage harboring prairie owls. A Mississippi kite, with a gray body and black tail, gave a high, keening cry. Marla hoped its noise wouldn’t draw attention. Osprey, eagles, and a collection of vultures stared at her as though they knew she was an intruder.

Were these creatures for sale, or were they part of a private collection?

The air grew hot and still. Just as she considered clapping a hand over her nose to filter out the odor of death, someone else did it for her.

“Whaddya doin’ here?” hissed a male voice in her ear, a strong hand clamping over her mouth. When she mumbled between his fingers, he transferred his grip to her shoulder. Turning her around, he maintained hold of her arm while giving her the once-over.

Marla swallowed as she faced what appeared to be a thoroughly disreputable character. Hunched over with a twisted spine, the man stank worse than their surroundings and looked as if he’d been groveling in the dirt. Torn jeans covered mud-splattered boots. A ratty T-shirt hung over his beer belly. Much of his face was hidden by a scruffy black beard, but it didn’t distract from the man’s bulbous nose or his sharp gaze. He licked his lips, waiting for her answer.

She swiped her mouth where he’d touched her. “Uh, I…had some trouble with my car and was looking for help.” Her excuse sounded feeble even to her own ears. She glanced at his hairy arm. “Please let me go. I’ll just head back to Flamingo Gardens and call the motor club from there.”

“No, ya won’t, missy. My boss will wanna see ya.” His grip tightened. “This way.”

“Wait!” Panic flared at the thought of Cutter finding her here.

“My friends know where I was headed. They’ll be looking for me.”

He halted, squeezing her arm painfully as he drew her close enough to smell his sweat. His gaze flickered downward, resting on her bosom. “I think you’re lying. You behave, or it’ll go the worse for ya.”

“You’re making a mistake!”

She struggled futilely as he shoved her toward a pair of double wood doors with chipped, peeling paint. Swinging one open, he pushed her inside a dank, dark room. “Mr. Fargutt will decide what to do with ya. When he’s done, maybe he’ll give ya to me. He knows ole Jimbo is hunkerin’ for a woman.”

Slam
went the door, followed by the thud of a bolt sliding into place.

Marla whirled around. She faced a small space with a dim light-bulb overhead. Her gaze fell to the wall where a series of glass tanks were filled with branches, leaves, and rocks. And something else. A long black snake slowly uncoiled.

“Yikes! I’m outta here, pal.”

The next instant found her shoving open the double doors at the other end of her cell. She pushed outside into moisture-laden air that smelled like dung. Glancing around, she noted with dismay that the entire area was enclosed by heavy wire mesh. Great, she’d landed in an aviary, trapped like a bird.

Mashing a mosquito that considered her arm to be a handy ledge, she stepped forward onto sandy ground. The sound of water slipping over rocks reached her ears as she strode forward through a swampy preserve. Ducks held a quacking competition that increased in volume as she passed by. She spied a yellow-crowned night heron beside a cluster of spiky sawgrass. Other birds sat with their beaks tucked into their feathers like silent guards, watchful and wary. Brightly colored creatures flashed overhead among tree branches that veiled them from clear view. Ahead on her path, a dirt-covered turtle lumbered across the sand as though its life were a burden too heavy to bear. Or maybe she was projecting her own feelings onto her cell mate. Crossing a slippery wooden bridge, she cursed when something splattered onto her hair. Dammit, just what she needed: bird poop on her head.

There had to be a way out of this place.
Schmuck. You shouldn’t have left your cell phone in the car. You could have called for help
. Ma would worry when she didn’t arrive for dinner, but that might be too late. With no way to summon friends, she’d have to escape on her own.
If only I’d brought a pair of wire cutters
! she, thought, mentally reviewing the contents of her purse. Nothing useful in there. Quickening her pace, she decided to prowl the edge of the screening. Maybe she could pry a section loose from the ground.

Brushing through a clump of bamboo creaking in the breeze, she encountered a cobweb that imparted a sticky residue on her skin. With a cry of disgust, she scraped it off.
Never mind; just hurry
. Twigs and other debris stuck to her sweater, while her neck dripped rivulets of sweat. Ducking her head, she aimed for a clearing beyond a cluster of tall green fronds with jagged edges. A branch caught her hair, tearing at her roots. Tears wet her lashes as she yanked herself free, leaving behind a few strands as she sprang forward.

Crouching at the perimeter, she used a stick to clear away a mound of yellow feathers at a point where the mesh wire didn’t quite seem to touch the ground. Sure enough, a small gap was just large enough to slide her hand underneath.

Retreating, she cried out when the protruding wire gashed her wrist. Blood welled while she fumbled awkwardly in her purse for some tissues. She didn’t have time to apply pressure. Giving up the effort, she grabbed a rock and began digging. Time flew by while she labored, her breath coming in short bursts, perspiration dripping down her face and blinding her eyes. In desperation, she held the rock in both hands and banged at the screen. Her heart leapt in joy when it bent outward. Between pounding and digging, she finally created a hole big enough to slip through. She barely scraped past the barrier, ignoring abrasions on her skin and broken fingernails.

Exhausted, she lay prone on the other side, mindless of the insects crawling inches from her nose.
Get out of here
, an inner voice prodded. Her muscles quivered, resisting her mental order. She felt as if all the adrenaline had drained from her body.
They could still find you. Move
!