Bad Hair Day 4 - Body Wave (12 page)

*Chapter Twelve*
Morris's mouth curved downward as he regarded his sister. "Pesticides are necessary to control insects."
Florence sashayed into the room, her slim figure looking svelte in a pastel pink suit enhanced by enough jewelry to open a store. "If you grew the plants in their naturally shaded habitat, nature would take care of the bugs. You wouldn't need chemicals, plus you'd preserve the tree canopy where migratory birds nest. Good morning, Mother. Hello, Marla," she added in a condescending tone.
"I remember Barbara said you're helping with a fund-raiser," Marla said.
"Yes, I believe it's for a worthy cause." She patted her hair, swept into a classical French twist. "Did you know birds are losing their habitats to high-tech farms at an alarming rate? Without their shade canopy, coffee plants exposed to the sun need more fertilizer. Those high-tech farms lack natural predators that control insects, making pesticides necessary. There's more erosion, toxic runoff, and loss of trees. Our organization promotes shade-grown coffee production which preserves the forests."
"You're not considering the practical applications," Morris protested. "Our methods produce higher yields. Besides, you should support your own plantations. That's where our money comes from!"
"Blame your wife for involving me. Barbara says our company could just as well invest in traditional coffee farms."
"We don't have enough capital to invest right now!"
"That's your problem. Mother, I just wanted to see how you felt this morning. I have to meet Elise Addison at the country club. She's putting together a cookbook that we'll sell at the fashion show."
"Elise? You mean Stan's neighbor?" Marla blurted. When all eyes turned to her, she realized her mistake. "I mean, Kimberly used to play tennis with her. We're, uh, acquainted."
"Really?" Florence crooned. "I'll ask her about you."
_Bless my bones, now you've done it. Quick, change the subject._ "Have you noticed your mother's new hairdo?"
Florence's eyes widened in surprise as she swung her gaze to the matriarch. "Why, Mother, I thought you looked different! I love it. What have you done?"
The old lady waved a finger. "Marla fixed me up. Next week, she's promised to dye my hair. I'll tell Agnes to take some lessons from her!"
Marla gulped. _That's just what Agnes needs to hear._
* * * *
"I don't know how much longer I'll be able to play my part," Marla told Vail the next day during their drive to Tarpon Springs. "Someone in Miriam's household will tag me, and I'll be fired. I hope they don't summon you to arrest me."
"Why would they do that?" He gave her a bemused glance.
"For taking the job under false pretenses, or invading their privacy." Nervous laughter hid her anxiety. "I had such a good time with Miriam yesterday, wheeling her around Galleria Mall. We bought a few things at Burdines and ate lunch at Vie de France. Miriam encountered one of her friends. I'm afraid she'll hate me when she discovers our game."
"You really like the old lady, don't you?"
"I do." Marla folded her hands in her lap. "She's sharpminded, retains a sense of humor, and has interesting stories to tell when anyone bothers to listen. It's such a shame her family doesn't treat her better."
They sped past the Miccosukee Service Plaza on Alligator Alley, heading west toward Naples before veering north on I-75. Evergreens mixed with sable palms and cypress trees in the flat landscape bordering the highway. Winter was the best season for spotting wildlife in the Everglades, especially birds. Besides the usual graceful egrets and white ibis, she caught sight of an anhinga and a great blue heron feeding by a slough.
After searching in vain for alligators sunning on logs, she shifted her gaze to study the fluffy clouds overhead. Where else could you enjoy an infinite blue sky with a three-hundred-sixty-degree view? A sense of primeval peace pervaded the place, from its eastern fringes hedged by sawgrass, on through the Big Cypress National Preserve.
"Have you thought about how we're going to present ourselves at the Ministry of Hope?" she asked. "Will you mention that you're investigating a murder? Do we even know Jeremiah Dooley will be there?"
A devilish grin transformed Vail's craggy face. Marla's toes curled with warmth. Seated beside him in his car, she was acutely aware of his presence and his sideways glances in her direction. Her heightened senses detected every movement he made and recorded every expression on his face.
"When I phoned them, I said we'd watched Dooley's show on television and were considering a major contribution," Vail replied. "I said we hoped to tour their facility and meet personally with the minister before writing a check. After I mentioned the word _donation,_ doors opened."
Marla chuckled. "Well, I hope I look the part of someone rich enough. I wore pants because I knew we'd be sitting in the car most of the day." She'd brought along a rust-colored blazer to go with her silk eggshell blouse and black slacks. Gold button earrings and a Rado watch were her only accessories.
"Oh, I almost forgot." Struggling against his seat belt, Vail reached inside his trousers pocket and withdrew a small object that he handed to her. "Here, you'll need this."
Marla fingered the black velvet box. Her jaw dropped when she opened the hinged lid and saw the ring inside. A brilliant purple stone was surrounded by two tiny diamonds in a gold setting. "What's this?" Her voice held a tremor.
"I told them we were engaged. Put it on your left finger."
Too stunned to protest, Marla slid the unexpected gift on her ring finger. It fit perfectly. _Don't get too excited_, she told herself. This must be a loaner, part of her disguise.
"You can keep it," he said casually. "Consider it another Valentine's Day gift."
"Amethyst is my birthstone," she murmured, "but I can't accept this, Dalton." Her words died on her lips as she regarded his smoldering gaze.
"I want you to have it, regardless of how things turn out between us." His hand snaked over to cover her thigh. "You know how I'd like them to turn out, or should I say turn on."
Speaking of turn-ons, the weight of his hand on her thigh did strange things to her body. Her imagination took flight, and she imagined his touch creeping northward. When he began lazy circles with his index finger, her breathing quickened.
"Stop that," she said, swatting him away. A lock of hair fell in her face, and she pushed it behind her ear.
"Why? You like it when I touch you, and Brianna isn't here to interfere this time."
Marla moistened her lips, acutely aware of how handsome he was in his customary charcoal suit. Stretched against his broad shoulders, the jacket made him look like a football star. His coal black hair, parted on the side, revealed silvery highlights in the sunshine streaming through their windows.
"I'd rather talk about the case," she said, effectively changing the subject. "Florence mentioned she knew Elise Addison. They're working together on a fund-raiser benefiting some bird society. What I find interesting is that their goals conflict with the Pearl family business."
"How so?" Gripping the steering wheel, he reverted to his businesslike demeanor. Up ahead was the tollbooth situated before the highway turned north toward Fort Myers.
"Morris's wife, Barbara, promotes shade-grown coffee. She got Florence interested, and now they're dragging Stella into the loop to do centerpieces. In traditional farms, tall shade trees protect the smaller coffee plants from the sun, provide mulch, and harbor natural predators that control insects. At large plantations, many of these trees are being cut down in order to increase production. Barbara's group supports organically grown coffee because it preserves the tropical forests; the tree canopy serves as a refuge for migratory songbirds. Morris, on the other hand, could care less. He's converted his plantations to high-tech farms that abuse the environment."
Vail's face folded into a puzzled frown. "What does this have to do with Kimberly?"
"Morris's plantations are located in the same countries as Jeremiah Dooley's ministry operations. That may or may not be a coincidence."
"Was the deceased involved in this conservation cause?"
"No. According to Stella, Kim's most recent hobby was genealogy. I wonder if Stan found anything in her files." She chewed on her lower lip, oblivious to the scenery whizzing by.
"Where do you want to stop for lunch?" Vail said after an interlude of silence.
"I'd rather wait until we're in Tarpon Springs. Tally mentioned some good restaurants there. I hope you like Greek food."
"I'll eat anything." He cast a suggestive glance in her direction, and she got the distinct feeling he was talking about something other than a meal. Her gaze fell to his chiseled mouth, and she remembered how his lips tasted pressed to hers. Her thoughts roamed to the other night at her townhouse. What would have happened if Brianna hadn't interrupted with a phone call?
_Stop it, Marla. You're getting distracted._
His grin broadened as though he knew what she was thinking. Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny. _Think fast, say something else._ "I should visit Elise again and sound her out regarding the Pearls. Do you think Kimberly knew about her connection with Florence?"
"Possibly."
"I got the distinct impression Elise thought her husband Cliff was having an affair with Kim. Do you think Elise shared her suspicions with Florence? Maybe that's why Florence said Kim was messing in things she didn't understand."
Vail raised a bushy eyebrow. "Kim had been fooling around with someone," he conceded. "Did Stan find out and kill her in a rage?"
Marla zeroed in on his mention of Stan. "Here we go, back to my dear ex again. Why don't you consider other possibilities? Lacey, for example. Kim's classmates said she'd fixed her sights on Gary. Lacey could have killed Kim in a jealous fit."
"How would she have obtained Stan's letter opener?"
"That's for you to figure out." Her stomach rumbled, and she pulled a bag of cheese crackers from her purse. They still had three more hours to go before reaching their destination, and she'd never last that long before lunch. "Want some?"
"Sure." He held out his open palm.
"I brought an extra water bottle if you're thirsty," she offered. "Oh, I have something else for you to investigate. Miriam's nurse, Agnes, keeps the old lady confined in her room. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I sense she has more than a professional interest in keeping Miriam dependent on her. On her days off, Agnes visits her sister in a convalescent home. At least, that's what she told Miriam. I'd like to know if this is the real _megillah._ Can you find out?"
Vail's face creased into a smile as he cast a tender look her way. "You act like Miriam is related to you."
"I hate how Agnes smothers her spirit. Aside from a mild case of heart failure, she's in good health. There's no reason for her to be stuck in bed when she could be meeting friends and getting out more."
"Maybe her family members have their own reasons why they want her secluded." Vail reached for the spare water bottle, unscrewed the cap, and took a long swallow.
She stared at him. "Such as hiding the company's losses? Miriam hasn't given up her hold over the family finances; she checks the accounts with Agnes's help."
"Morris can't be happy about his mother's supervision. She must think he's incompetent."
"Maybe Kimberly found out their company was losing money and threatened to tell her grandmother. Morris killed her before she could rat on him."
He snorted in disbelief. "Did Kim care that much about the family business?"
"Not really," Marla said, remembering her conversation with Stella.
"I thought you said Miriam mentioned declining profits."
"That's right. Morris explained that inventories were lower because of frost damage." She paused. "I wonder if that's a valid excuse. If supplies for a commodity are lower, wouldn't prices skyrocket?"
"Are you implying Morris may be covering up for a financial loss?"
"Who knows? He might be afraid his mother will fire him if she still holds the legal strings."
"Fire her own son? Doubtful."
"Maybe Barbara decided to get Kim out of the way. Would she kill for Morris to keep his job?"
"You just said she doesn't approve of his methods of coffee production."
"She'd have to support him if she wants his income." Her argument sounded weak even to her own ears. Barbara hadn't struck her as being greedy. Florence, on the other hand, would be concerned with keeping her social position. Was that enough motive for murder?
"Look, there's an outlet mall. Too bad we don't have time to stop."
"I'd rather take you shopping when there isn't another case hanging over my head," Vail stated in a morose tone.
"We don't get too much time together, do we? I mean, when there are no murders to discuss, no children. Just the two of us." She hoped he didn't take her comment about children the wrong way. Marla didn't mean to dismiss Brianna, but she'd like to have Vail to herself. Today they were alone, but again she used the crutch of suspects to put distance between them. What would happen when their relationship didn't revolve around his work?
After crossing Tampa Bay on the Sunshine Skyway, they headed north on Route 19 into Tarpon Springs.
"Our appointment isn't until four o'clock," Vail said when they arrived at their destination, "so we have some free time. Let's have lunch, and then I thought we'd ask folks around town about Dooley's ministry."
They drove past the historical district and followed signs to the Sponge Docks. Dodecanese Boulevard bustled with activity. Crowds milled along the sidewalks, while people gawked at gift shops, Greek restaurants, and fishing boats bobbing on the water. Marla's legs ached to take a stroll. Vail pulled into a two-dollar parking lot.

"Any recommendations for lunch?" he asked after they'd emerged into the strong afternoon sun.
"I've heard of Pappas." She pointed down the road to an impressive structure. The Louis Pappas Riverside Restaurant stood as a landmark at the end of the street. "But let's go to Hellas. It's right here and looks lively."
White lights studded a bright, spacious interior. They were led to a ceramic tiled table that sported a bottle of olive oil as a decoration. They sat on wood-frame and blue-vinyl chairs. A mural of what looked like the Parthenon highlighted one wall. Potted plants and faux Grecian statuettes added to the cheerful atmosphere. Aromas from an adjacent bakery made Marla's mouth water.
They ordered Greek salads, which came with a slab of feta cheese and a loaf of crusty bread. Afraid the portions might be too large, they shared a combo platter that included generous servings of moussaka, pastitsio, gyro, dolmades-stuffed grape leaves, and tzatziki sauce. More than enough for both of them, the meal came with roasted potatoes, peas, and a watermelon wedge. The Greek house white wine, served in a regular glass, was the color of apple juice. It tasted mild with little body and probably less alcohol. In the background, dishes rattled, people chattered, and Greek music played.
Marla fought an overwhelming urge to take a nap when they had finished. She felt more stuffed than a grape leaf and a couple of pounds heavier. Vail insisted on paying the bill, and she didn't argue. This was one time she was glad to be treated.
"Now what? We still have an hour," she said when they left the restaurant.
"Let's ask some of the shop owners if they know Jeremiah Dooley. Many of the families who settled here were Greeks; I wonder how he picked this location to establish his ministry. Was he from this area, or did he migrate here? What was his connection to Kimberly Kaufman?"
They began at the end of the street where _Jaws_ music blared from the Coral Sea Aquarium opposite Captain Duran's Seafood Gallery. The first block held a clothes boutique, ice cream parlor, Birkenstock store, flag shop, and museum store. After several inquiries, they had gained no further information about Jeremiah. They passed the Fudge Factory and came to a fishing pier. Picturesque vessels rocked on the current. Marla breathed in the salty scent of fresh sea air.
"Where next?" she said, eyeing a collection of natural sponges, olive oil soap, bird feeders made of coconuts, and jungle starfish outside a souvenir shop.
Vail shaded his face from the sun. "We'll ask that guy." He indicated a man selling tickets for the Saint Nicholas Boat Line, a live sponge-fishing demonstration.
After an exchange of pleasantries, Vail got to the point. "I'm looking for a friend who lives in the area. His name is Jeremiah Dooley."
The huckster glanced at Marla. "Dooley, eh? Name sounds familiar. A better person to ask would be Aleko, our diver. He's been in town goin' on twenty years."
"Where can we find him?"
"Why, you'll have to buy tickets for the boat ride, folks. Five dollars each." He beamed a gap-toothed smile.
"Do we have time?" Marla asked, sniffing. Her glance fell on a display of sponges. They emitted a strong briny odor.
Vail grimaced, glancing at his watch. "Maybe we should ask some of the shop proprietors."
"Boat ride boards in five minutes," said the salesman. "See, she's comin' in now. You'll be back in less than an hour."
"Oh heck, why not?" Vail said, pulling out his wallet. "It's a nice day for a cruise, right?" Grinning at her, he winked.
"Do you give a triple-A discount?" Marla asked, ever mindful of bargains.
"Sure do. You get a dollar off each ticket. Here you go."
Marla felt amazingly carefree as they watched the orange, gray, and white boat slide into the dock, where it spit out a crowd of tourists.
When they were allowed on board, Marla found a seat on a white slatted bench lining one side. The diver, wearing a bulky diving suit and blue knit cap, marched to the aft deck accompanied by a tour guide. As the engine kicked in and the boat cruised along the bay waters, the tour director related a brief history of the sponge-diving industry in Tarpon Springs. Sponges were retrieved by hooking until a Greek fisherman introduced the technique of diving in 1905. Many Greeks had immigrated to the area to work in the thriving industry.
"Several types of sponges have commercial value," the man said. "The first grade is the wool sponge, which lasts from four to five years. It's good for bathing because it holds a lot of water. Second grade is a yellow sponge. Third grade is a wire sponge, which is abrasive. Fourth grade is a grass or vase sponge that is often used as a shoe-polish applicator or to start off flower seeds in. The fifth grade is the finger sponge, which has decorative value."
He held up samples of each one and passed them around the group. Then he pointed to the diver, whose suit and equipment weighed numerous pounds. "The helmets are made by hand and can last up to forty years with daily use," the guide explained.
Marla studied the diver, a handsome fellow with a mustache and ruddy face. As they glided past Marker Forty-Seven, he tied a nylon cord around his suit and donned his helmet. Standing at the boat's edge, he jumped into the murky green water. He held a hook in one hand to detach sponges and a netted basket in his other hand. Waving, he sank beneath the surface. Bubbles rose to indicate his location.
He remained in the water about fifteen minutes, his tethered hose steadily moving outward from the boat. They weren't very far from shore, because Marla could easily see the sandy beach and mangroves several hundred feet away. Seagulls circled lazily overhead. Sunlight warmed her skin, and she savored the fresh, salty breeze. February in Florida ... how delightful compared to the weather reports from up north!
When the diver returned, they passed around the sponge he had snagged. Dark slime covered its surface. Marla cringed as she touched the remains of animal matter. It felt like wet fungus.
"Normally the sponges are laid out on deck for two or three days to process," the tour guide said. "They're covered with burlap and kept wet until the animal dies. The remains are scraped off and the sponges rinsed. Anyone want to get your photo taken with the diver? Come on up."
Now was their chance, although neither she nor Vail had a camera. Vail nodded at her, and she waited while a man took a picture of his sons flanking the diver. When they moved off, she approached him. After offering a few compliments about his technique, she got to the point.
"I'm trying to locate a friend, Jeremiah Dooley. You've lived here a long time. Do you know him?"
The man's mustache quivered as his face lit up. "That's Colleen's son! Sure I know him."
"Colleen?"
"The Irish gal who married Piotr Sebastian. Their son runs a fish farm on the outskirts of town. He didn't want to do no diving like his daddy. If you ask me, it wasn't in his genes."
"How so?"
The diver leaned closer, and she smelled onions on his breath. His dark eyes gleamed with wicked delight. "I heard tell that the boy wasn't his, if you know what I mean. You go speak to Lorraine Parker at the Historical Society. She knows every soul in town. If anyone can give you the scoop on the Sebastians, she'll be the one."