Bad Hair Day 4 - Body Wave (17 page)

*Chapter Seventeen*
"What are you doing here?" Marla said to Morris Pearl.
His eyes narrowed. "I might ask you the same thing."
Out of the corner of her eye, Marla noticed Gary slide the newspaper off the counter. "My guess is you're here to place a bet," she told Morris. "I never would have connected you to Gary Waterford."
Morris stepped forward, stopping a few paces from her. "Who are you?"
She fortified herself with a deep breath. "I'm helping Detective Vail with his investigation."
"Hey, man, don't you know?" Gary inserted. "Miz Shore used to be married to old Stanley."
Kim's uncle stared at her, aghast. "You tricked us!"
_No kidding._ "Stan heard you were looking for someone to care for Miriam on the nurse's day off. Since I'm experienced at taking care of elderly ladies, he suggested I apply for the job. Stan is worried he'll be falsely accused of murdering his wife."
"You've been snooping into our family business. You have no right!"
"Folks, can you take this outside?" Gary pleaded, glancing at the clock. No doubt he was afraid his early customers would walk in during their confrontation.
"I'm outta here," Lacey said, swaying her hips as she strode toward the door.
"Wait," Marla ordered. "What did Kim know about Rocco that could get him kicked out of school? Did she ever tell you?"
Lacey sneered as she stopped and turned. "You're not a detective. I don't have to answer your questions."
"Lieutenant Vail already suspects you of murdering Kim out of jealousy. Do you want him to interrogate you again? Or will you help us find Kim's killer? Maybe you fought over Gary, but she was your friend once. Tell me what you know, for the sake of justice."
A play of emotions crossed Lacey's face. "Only to get you off my back, understand? Rocco has this thing going on his computer. It's not exactly legal."
"Porno?" Marla grimaced. "Or is he a hacker?"
"He sells pictures. You fill it in."
Morris gestured. "Maybe that fellow killed Kim so she wouldn't give away his game."
Marla's glare silenced him. "I don't believe Rocco did it any more than I believe Lacey here is guilty." Kathleen wouldn't have sounded so urgent if she didn't fear someone closer to home. That made Kim's family the most likely suspects.
"What are you doing here, Morris?" she asked. "Planning to place some bets on the horse races? My guess is your sweet wife doesn't know you have a gambling habit. Is that why your business is losing profits? It isn't the cold weather causing damage to the crops. It's your gambling losses."
His face suffused with color. "Watch what you say, or I'll charge you with slander."
"Go ahead. It'll bring things out into the open."
He clenched his fists. "Why, you miserable _klipeh!_ Don't come near our house. You're fired."
Her shoulders stiffened. "I may be an imposter as a nurse's aide, but I'm still hired to take care of Miriam, and I can do that job quite well. Your mother needs me. She's renewed her spirit since I spruced her up, and I promised to color her hair. I don't quit on a client until she looks her best. If Miriam wants to replace me, that's her call."
"I'll tell her who you are."
"Be my guest. I'd planned to tell her myself. I'll also inform her that I believe the truth about Kim's death lies close to the nest."
His gaze narrowed. "You'll be putting yourself in danger if you return."
"Is that a threat? Because if so, Gary is a witness."
The repair man raised his hands. "Hey, man, leave me outta this. I got enough problems."
"I don't need to hear this garbage, either," Morris retorted. Whirling around, he marched toward the exit.
"Maybe you'd like to explain to Detective Vail how Jeremiah Dooley is your half-brother," she blurted.
Kim's uncle halted and did a slow about-face. "Where did you hear that?"
"I have my sources."
"It's none of your business."
"I interviewed him at his fish farm. From what I understand, Jeremiah runs a successful ministry. He didn't mention that he was closely connected to Kim. I don't imagine he's eager for word to get out about his origins."
Morris's mouth compressed. "You know too much. It's not good for your health."
"From whose viewpoint, yours or his?"
A sly look stole over his features. "Keep snooping and you'll find out."
* * * *
On her way to the Pearls' compound later that day, Marla reflected on his words. Morris wouldn't have made such overt threats if he were guilty, would he? Vail hadn't wanted her to go tonight, but Marla didn't want to disappoint Miriam, who would be looking forward to getting her hair colored. Besides, she owed it to the matriarch to come clean. It wouldn't be an easy interview, and Marla dreaded losing the old woman's regard, but integrity compelled her to face Miriam and explain.
Gaining entry was a problem she hadn't anticipated. Raoul shut the door in her face. Morris must have left orders to bar her entrance. Wondering if he'd show up for dinner, Marla decided to enlist the aid of his wife.
An expression of surprised delight lit Barbara's face when Marla knocked on their cottage door. "Marla, I'd forgotten it was Wednesday and you were due here. Will you and Miriam be joining us for dinner again?"
For a moment, Marla forgot her purpose. "You mean Agnes hasn't been bringing her to the dining room?"
"She says Mother is too frail, and the spicy food upsets her stomach. I believe Miriam really enjoyed being with us, though."
"I need your help. Raoul won't let me in."
"Why not?" Barbara removed the apron she wore and slung it over her arm. Tendrils of highlighted hair graced her weary face.
Marla sniffed the aroma of a baking cake. At least Morris's wife didn't rely totally on the family cook. "It's a long story," she said. "Your husband doesn't like me, and I'm afraid he gave orders to Raoul not to allow me entrance. But unless Miriam has someone to care for her, I'm not leaving her alone."
"Oh dear. I suppose one of us could fill in."
"Please, Barbara. I have to see Miriam."
A flicker of doubt crossed the woman's fair-complexioned face. "Let me ring her up. If Mom says it's all right, I'll help you. Wait here."
Barbara shut the door, leaving Marla shifting her feet on the doorstep. The baking-dough aroma mingled with the scent of a nearby Hong Kong orchid tree. It was a delightfully warm evening, and Marla glanced appreciatively at the Malaysian coconut palms, sea grapes, and gumbo limbo trees gracing the lawn. That spreading banyan tree must be decades old, she thought, admiring its hanging roots. Like the family living here, it had entrenched itself into the soil, forbidding any other plant life from encroaching on its territory. Was that how the Pearls felt about Jeremiah Dooley?
The door swung open, and Barbara faced her with a smile. "Mom said to let you right in. I've instructed Raoul. He shouldn't give you any further trouble."
The butler responded by opening the mansion door and standing aside while she passed, his nose turned up in disdain. If it weren't for the old lady whom she cared about, Marla would have been happy never to set foot in this place again.
She lugged her bag of beauty supplies along, hoping the matriarch wouldn't dismiss her right away. They both had a lot of explaining to do.
A greeting party met her at the second landing. Agnes, dressed in a severe black pants set, swept toward her with the swiftness of a storm cloud. Stella and Florence stood side by side, barring the entrance to Miriam's room. Their stern faces were disapproving.
"I knew you were an imposter," Agnes snapped. "You don't know the first thing about nursing. Miriam has insisted on going downstairs to the parlor every afternoon thanks to you! She'll break her hip, and it'll be your fault for interfering." The nurse pursed her thin lips.
"I'm glad she's more active," Marla stated firmly. "If she hurts herself, it's only because you've kept her confined to bed. The poor woman lived like she was already dead."
"You're dismissed," Florence said in a curt tone. "My brother told us all about you. You're working for Stan, hoping to blame one of us for dear Kimberly's death."
"If Miriam doesn't want me here, I'll leave, but I owe her an explanation."
Stella wrung her hands. "Oh my, Kimberly has gotten us all in trouble! I told that foolish girl to be patient, but she wouldn't listen. First my baby gets herself killed, and now this!" Her voice rose to a wail.
"Shut up," Florence said, her eyes glittering. "Marla, you are not welcome here any longer. Agnes will escort you outside."
"Hold on, dearie," warbled Miriam's voice from inside the room. "You don't leave until I say so. Come in, and close the door so those _yentas_ don't hear us."
Gratefully, Marla rushed inside the bedroom, shutting the door with a loud bang. If she never saw the Pearl sisters again, it wouldn't be too soon. As for Agnes, maybe she was better qualified to take care of Miriam than Marla was, but Miriam shriveled under her care.
The old lady, sitting in a wingback chair, wore a shift dress and a cap over her newly permed waves. She gestured at Marla. "Sit over there, and tell me the truth. Morris says you're related to Stanley Kaufman."
Marla heard shuffling noises outside the door, as though the sisters were jostling for a position nearest the doorjamb. She hoped Agnes had left to accomplish her errands.
"I was Stanley's first wife," she began, pulling an armchair closer to the matriarch. She was glad to see Miriam, whose cheeks seemed rosier, out of bed and dressed. "When he was arrested, Stan called me. I'd helped the police solve a couple of cases before, you see."
"But you're not a detective, and neither are you a nurse's aide."
Marla glanced away from the old woman's penetrating gaze, effective even through her eyeglasses. "I'm a licensed hairstylist," she admitted.
Miriam's delighted laughter was not the reaction she'd expected. "And a damn good one, too!" the matriarch exclaimed. "Hee, hee. Don't think you're leaving here without giving me that coloring you promised."
Marla grinned in response and pointed to her bag on the floor. "I'm ready whenever you are. Shall we go into the bathroom and I'll continue my explanation while I work on you? Or do you want to go downstairs for dinner first?"
"I think it's best if we don't expose you to Morris again. Go ahead and call for two trays to be sent up. You can join me. Kathleen isn't here, and so Raoul's filling in."
Marla almost mentioned her appointment with Kathleen for Thursday but held her tongue. If anyone was listening outside the door, she didn't want to mention the maid's message. Continuing their discussion in the bathroom would help drown out listening ears.
She ordered their dinners. "Let me help you," she told Miriam who'd already started to push herself from the chair with difficulty.
"No, dearie, I have to start doing more things for myself. I thought of hiring a new nurse since you showed me what I've been missing, except Agnes is so good with bookkeeping. She goes over all the accounts with me. My reading glasses broke, you know, and she's promised to take me to the eye doctor, but we haven't made it there yet."
"I know an optometrist, if you need a reference," Marla murmured, remembering Barry Gold.
"At least I don't have cataracts." Miriam grunted, trying to lift herself and brushing away Marla's assistance. Shoving herself to a standing position, she wobbled in place until Marla stabilized her with a walker.
On their way to the bathroom, Marla glanced at a desk laden with papers. "I'll be glad to help you while I'm here. I have my own salon, so I'm accustomed to bookkeeping."
"Tell me about yourself, Marla."
"Just a minute. Let's sit you in the wheelchair." After Miriam was comfortable, Marla spread her supplies on the counter. She studied the old lady's skin, and selected a level-eight Framesi product. She'd brought a few choices just in case. Squeezing the tube's contents into a bowl, she added developer and mixed the compound with a stiff brush. Then she withdrew a royal blue cape from her bag and tied it around the matriarch to protect her clothes.
While she was working the coloring solution into Miriam's roots with a gloved hand, Marla spoke. "My salon is the Cut 'N Dye, located in Palm Haven. I have my own clients as well as managing the salon. It means I hardly have any time off, especially when I'm doubling as a health care aide."
She hesitated. "I'm really sorry, Miriam. I feel bad about deceiving you. Stan suggested I take this position, because he suspects one of your family members killed his wife."
A heavy silence followed while Miriam digested her remarks. "I know we have our problems, but no one in this family killed that poor child. For God's sake, she's our flesh and blood! As for you, young lady, I'm very disappointed that you lied to me." Her eyes blazed. "Can't say I'm sorry you came here to take care of me, though. I had nothing left to live for until you pushed me out of that bed. I feel like a new woman! Do you know, I called a friend of mine I hadn't seen in years. We made plans to meet in the mall next week. Our nurses will push us around in our wheelchairs, and we'll have lunch."
"I'm so happy for you." Finished applying the solution, Marla stripped off her gloves and set the timer for thirty minutes.
The old lady grasped her arm. "I regret that you tricked me, but not that you've given me a new lease on life."
Marla blinked at the sudden moisture that sprang into her eyes. Stooping, she hugged the old woman's frail shoulders while emotion choked her throat. "I've enjoyed these visits. I feel ... you're like a grandmother to me. You may not believe this, but I care about you."

Miriam's voice quavered. "You make a better granddaughter than Kimberly ever did. I know you're being truthful." She gave her an affectionate pat on the back. "Now tell me who you think killed her."
"I'm not quite sure." Marla leaned against the counter, wondering how much to reveal. Was it necessary to expose Morris's gambling habit? Or Kimberly's pregnancy? Perhaps it was best to start with the one fact Miriam already knew. "I've learned about Jeremiah Dooley and his connection to the family."
Miriam's startled gaze met hers. "So I gathered when you turned on his television program," she said wryly.
"I interviewed him at his fish farm outside Tarpon Springs. He mentioned his acquaintance with Kim but not his relation to her. I don't suppose he'd want his constituents to find out about his illegitimate birth."
"That was a shameful episode in our family's past. Harris never could keep his eyes off other women."
"Did you know Colleen was pregnant when she left the household?"
"None of us knew anything about the pregnancy until Jeremiah presented himself to Morris one day and announced he was his half-brother. Jeremiah hadn't even known his true heritage until Colleen told him on her deathbed. He'd always believed he was Piotr's son, the man she married after leaving our service."
"I thought you'd dismissed Colleen because you'd found out about her liaison with Harris."
"I fired her when I realized she was his mistress. I wasn't aware she was carrying his child at the time. Harris must have had an inclination, because he settled tracts of property on Colleen. I believed it was just a payoff to get rid of her."
"So none of you knew anything until Jeremiah approached Morris?"
"That's right. You can't imagine the shock! Morris was afraid he'd claim part of Harris's estate."
"If that wasn't his purpose, why did Jeremiah expose his relationship?"
"He'd been given property adjacent to some of our coffee plantations, and he wanted to use our connections to establish his missions. Once his fish farms were operational, Morris put him in touch with our exporters."
"I see." She checked the timer. Fifteen minutes to go.
A knock sounded on the outer door, and she hustled into the bedroom to let Raoul inside, who'd brought their dinners. Noting the empty bed, he glanced toward the bathroom with a disapproving scowl. "Where would you like me to put your trays, miss?"
"On the dressing table, thank you." After he'd left, she wheeled Miriam into the room so they could eat during the remaining interval.
"I presume Morris told the rest of the family about Jeremiah?" she said, resuming their conversation between mouthfuls of meatloaf and mashed potatoes.
"He asked me if Jeremiah could touch Harris's trust fund. Apparently he told his wife, Barbara, who spoke to Florence. Florence came running to me, horrified that her friends would find out. A Christian missionary who was a bastard offspring of Harris's affair! How disgraceful; it would ruin our sterling reputation in the community. None of us wanted to expose Jeremiah's relation to the family."
Satisfied that Miriam was able to chew adequately with her teeth in place, Marla dogged on after taking a drink of water.
"Then you, your children, and Jeremiah were in agreement."
"That's right."
"I understand that Elise Addison and Kimberly were neighbors. Elise reported seeing Jeremiah's Porsche in their neighborhood. Kim had told Elise about her rich Uncle Jerry. Do you suppose Elise snitched on her to Florence? The two of them work together for a charity organization."
Miriam nodded, her eyes wise. "That's not how Florence learned Kim had been seeing him."
"Oh no?" Marla had to wait for the answer because the timer rang. Back in the bathroom, she donned her gloves and worked the color through to Miriam's ends.
"How did you decide to become a hairdresser, dearie?"
"I always loved doing people's hair. When women look good, they feel better about themselves. It's all about image and selfesteem."
Their conversation focused on Marla's work while she proceeded through the shampoo, conditioning, and comb-out. Finally, she twirled Miriam in her chair to face the mirror.
"Yippee, I'm a blonde!" Miriam exclaimed, her eyes bright.
"Now you can have more fun." Marla plugged in a blow-dryer and curling iron. Sifting through Miriam's wet strands of hair with her fingers, she examined the results with satisfaction. A light golden tone suited the elderly woman's sun-starved complexion.
"You were telling me about Kimberly and Jeremiah," Marla prompted after she finished with the blow-dryer.
"Sorry. I'm forgetful at times," Miriam said, watching Marla's deft movements in the mirror. "Kimberly planned to redo our family albums that were falling apart. Florence told me she'd questioned certain photographs so she could label them. When she didn't get a response, Kim looked up birth records and mentioned finding out about Jeremiah."
"That must have upset Florence."
The old lady grimaced. "Because she'd been in love with the man Stella eventually married, Florence had always resented Kim. It's possible she told Morris about Kim's discovery. But neither of them killed my granddaughter, if that's what you're thinking."
No? Morris was afraid that revealing Jeremiah's blood relationship might entitle him to a share of their inheritance, while Florence feared besmirching the family's reputation. Did one of them silence Kim to prevent the news from leaking out?
"Kim was getting money from someone to pay her tuition at design school. She planned to leave Stan and found a financial source to help her. Do you think Morris had reinstated the allowance that you withdrew?"
Miriam's shoulders stiffened. "I never stopped that girl's allowance. I don't know what you're talking about! Maybe I didn't approve of her manner in getting what she wanted, but she was entitled to that money."
"From what I've heard, you cut her off. That's why she had to seek another source of support until her portion of the trust fund became available."
Miriam's sharp gaze speared her. "My daughters believe Stan killed Kimberly, because she'd mentioned finding a way out of her trap, as she called her marriage. Florence suspected she'd found another man."
Marla put down the curling iron and unplugged her devices. Armed with a teasing comb and hair spray, she quickly styled Miriam's blond wavy hair. "Kimberly had revived her relationship with Gary Waterford, the man she'd been dating before she met Stan. Gary got her pregnant, but he couldn't afford to pay her tuition. I thought Jeremiah must have been funding her, but it could've been one of your family members as well."
"That's absurd." Anger flashed in Miriam's eyes. "I provided for her. She should still have been getting my allowance."
An unpleasant possibility crept into Marla's consciousness. "Who wrote the checks and mailed them?"
"Agnes does my writing for me. My hand isn't so steady, and I don't see well close up even with my reading glasses."
"She signs your name?"
"Well, no, I sign a bunch of checks each month, and she fills them in. We go over the books together."
"Maybe you should ask Agnes where Kimberly's money has gone."