Bad Hair Day 4 - Body Wave (3 page)

*Chapter Three*
At work on Tuesday morning in the Cut 'N Dye Salon, Marla was subject to curious stares from her staff, who'd seen the local news reports. She had no choice but to describe her visit to Stan in the city jail. Sometime during today's full schedule, she hoped to squeeze in a phone call to Gary Waterford, Kim's former flame.
At the station on Marla's left, Nicole Johnson teased a client's hair. "So Stan is supposed to be released today?" Her ebony ponytail bobbed with her movements. The sleek stylist's gaze glowed with the same warmth as her cinnamon skin.
Marla paused, curling iron in hand. "That's assuming he gets an arraignment with a judge who sets bond."
She glanced at her client, Babs Winrow. The woman had shared secrets with Marla in the past, and Marla instinctively knew Babs could be trusted.
"Stan wants me to sound out Kim's relatives regarding possible motives," she confided in a low tone. "He thinks Kimberly might have been murdered for her inheritance. I'll tell you, it nearly bowled me over when Stan asked for my help."
"Why wouldn't the man consult you?" Babs said, snickering. "You're better at solving murders than the cops. Thanks to your efforts, Ben Kline's killer is behind bars. After Ben got his head bashed in, all of us on Ocean Guard's board of directors were under suspicion. Not only did you save our fund-raiser, but you also cleared our slate. Detective Vail should be glad you're on his side! What does he say about your involvement with your ex-spouse? Don't you have a thing going with him?"
Marla's face flushed, and she resumed curling Babs's blond hair. "We see each other occasionally. I wouldn't say either of us is committed. We're just getting to know each other better."
_Liar. What would you call that little scene in his office? Kissing the friendly officer?_
"Dalton hopes Stan will confess his guilt to me," she continued. "He won't be thrilled if he finds out what Stan proposed."
"What's that?" Nicole asked, leaning in her direction. "I get the distinct impression that you're about to plunge into hot water again. Wasn't it enough when Jolene drowned in that whirlpool last month?"
Marla gripped the curling rod tightly. "I owe it to Stan. He was there when I needed him."
"Girlfriend, he never lets you forget it. Now spill the beans. What does that louse want you to do?"
"Marla, another applicant is here," Giorgio announced. The handsome Italian stylist waved toward the front desk.
"Give me ten minutes," Marla sang out, hastening to finish Babs's coiffeur. She'd confide her plans to Nicole later, when they had a moment alone.
The salon was short several staff members, since Miloki had left to open her own place, taking along their shampoo assistant, manicurist, and another stylist. Marla still had to find a permanent staffer for the front desk, and now she had the added burden of interviewing for skilled professionals. Sighing, she put down her implements on the counter and accompanied Babs toward the front. Facing the plate-glass window was a seating arrangement with six chairs and a table that held a platter of bagels and cream cheese with chives.
Marla spotted a man hunched by the coffee machine and walked over to introduce herself. "Hi, I'm Marla Shore, salon owner. How can I help you?"
He straightened, and she took a step back after having a clear glimpse of him. The man was a better applicator of makeup than she. Even with the embellishments, his skin had a sickly gray pallor made worse by overly bleached hair with the consistency of straw. She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose and instead plastered a polite smile on her face.
"I'm, like, applying for the job." He pointed to his scrawny chest encased in a stained T-shirt. "Call me Joe."
"Which job? We have three openings." She couldn't imagine him in any of the positions.
"For the stylist. That pays the most, don't it?" His watery blue eyes peered at her in a manner that made her uneasy.
"How long have you been doing hair?" she asked, skepticism creeping into her tone. She ignored his remark about money.
"Like three years, baby."
Marla bristled. "Are you licensed?"
He glanced away briefly. "Sure I am."
"Are you working somewhere else?"
"Yeah, but it's not cool. I need to find new digs."
"Are you flexible about hours? We need someone for Thursdays from one until seven since we're open late that day; Fridays from nine to five, and all day Saturday."
He shifted his feet. "Can't do Saturday. That's when I meet my buddies at Culver Beach."
She compressed her lips. "Well, I'm still interviewing other applicants. If you'll write down your name, phone number, and where you're currently employed, I'll get back to you by the end of the week."
As soon as he left, she felt as though fresh air swept through the salon. "What is it?" she asked Giorgio, who was doubled over.
"Culver Beach," the gay hairdresser said between fits of laughter. "That's where you bathe nude. It's down near Hallandale."
Marla rolled her eyes. "Just out of curiosity, I'll call that place where he works now. I have another phone call to make anyway." She had a few spare minutes before her next customer arrived.
Inside the storeroom, she lifted a telephone extension and dialed the phone number Joe the applicant had given her.
"Manny's Dry Cleaning," intoned a bored female voice.
Marla hung up, her curiosity satisfied. The man named Joe had lied to her. Scratch him from the list. She'd looked up Gary Waterford's home number in the phone book last night, so now she punched in the code and waited anxiously while listening to a ringing tone. No one answered. _Of course not, he's probably at work._ Didn't Leah say Gary owned an air-conditioning business in Dania? She pulled out the Yellow Pages. Several places were listed. She'd have to call each one and ask for Waterford.
"Marla, Andrea is here!" called Giorgio's voice.
"Okay, I'm coming."
Hours passed before she was able to conduct further research. At five o'clock Marla was finally free. Her last client had canceled, and she was finished for the day. She had meant to catch up on ordering supplies and dealing with the leak in the laundry room, but those chores were shuffled aside when Stanley Kaufman strode through the front door of her salon.
"Marla!" he cried, marching purposefully toward her. From his moist hair, clean-shaven jaw, and freshly laundered shirt, she could tell he'd gone home and showered.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded. Stan had never set foot in Cut 'N Dye before.
He planted himself in front of her, oblivious to the sudden hushed silence in the room. His intent gaze bored into hers. "We need to talk. I have information for you."
Oh, yeah. The nurse's aide position. Conscious of her staff's attention, she gestured to him. "I'm done here. Let me get my purse from the back room, then I'll join you. Nicole, would you mind locking up?"
Nicole's bright grin made her jaw clench. By now, her staff regarded Marla as a source of ongoing entertainment. Last month it was her fake engagement to Arnie. Before that, she'd had a relationship with a killer. Now Stan complicated matters. All she needed was for Vail to walk through the door!
_Be careful what you wish for, girl_.
In the storeroom, she scribbled down the phone numbers for the different air-conditioning businesses in Dania and added Waterford's home number. She'd reach him either way, unless Stan wanted her to call off the hunt. Maybe that's why he was here. Marla felt a brief stab of disappointment. She hadn't realized how much she'd anticipated another challenge.
"Want to grab something to eat?" she asked him once they were outside. The cold air hit her like a freezer blast, and she buttoned her brown suede jacket, wishing she'd brought a scarf. The weak afternoon sun added little warmth. Darkness would come swiftly. She'd prefer to be home by then, and Spooks needed to go out. Hopefully, they'd make this fast.
"Nice salon you set up for yourself with my money," Stanley remarked, brushing a piece of imaginary lint off his shirt. The cold temperature didn't seem to bother him, probably because he was so full of hot air.
"Thanks to our divorce settlement," Marla retorted, "I was able to achieve something worthwhile in my life, which is more than I can say for our marriage."
"That's your fault. You should've been happy being married to a rich attorney. I gave you everything you wanted."
"You didn't give me respect. You made me feel I owed everything to you, which I did at the start. That's the only reason I'm helping you now. But you refused to let me grow when I needed to become someone better. It's clear you never truly understood me."
A pained expression entered his hazel eyes. "Yes I did, babe. And I still do. You're trying to erase your guilt over Tammy's death. If you'd have been a proper wife, you might have redeemed yourself by giving me a family."
"Leah gave you a family, and where did it leave her? You let that woman seduce you."
His face purpled. "Don't speak of Kimberly in that manner."
"She used you, Stan, just as you use everyone to satisfy your ego." Uncertain if she still wanted to help Stan, she decided to hear what he had to say before making any hasty decisions. "Shall we go to Bagel Busters?" she snapped. Arnie Hartman, the proprietor, was a special friend. She relied on his concern in times of trouble. _So how come I let him act protective, but I can't tolerate that attitude in Dalton Vail?_
"Good enough for me," Stanley muttered. Taking her elbow, he meant to steer her in that direction, but she shook him off. "My God, you're touchy." The look he gave her could have shriveled a snake.
"Keep your hands off me." How had she ever let him talk her into this? The schmuck didn't deserve her attention. Maybe she should charge him a consulting fee.
The idea lurked in the back of her mind while she took a seat opposite him in the deli. "Is Arnie here?" she asked Ruth, a waitress.
The older woman smiled. "Sorry, honey. He ran off to pick up Jill from work. She had to get her tires changed."
A strange sense of abandonment claimed her. How dare Arnie desert her in this hour of need! He'd been spending much of his free time in Jill's company lately, she realized with a twinge of jealousy. Well, that had been her choice. Despite Arnie's urging to the contrary and their false engagement, Marla hadn't wanted their relationship to progress beyond friendship.
She ordered a full meal, intending to milk Stan for a free dinner. "So what's this information you have to share?" she asked him after Ruth left to get their drinks.
Folding his hands on the table, he leaned forward. A lock of black hair fell across his brow.
"I spoke to Stella, Kim's mother. We were discussing Kim's funeral, and I asked about the nurse's aide position. They're still interviewing people and haven't found anyone satisfactory."
"Tally said I could use her for a reference, pretend I'm working for her mother during the week. I feel guilty about lying, though."
"How do you think undercover cops conduct investigations? You're helping to find a murderer."
Marla tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Why are you so convinced one of Kim's family is guilty?"
"A lot of money is involved. A lot. Kim and I made a prenuptial agreement. In the event anything happened to her, Kim's family retains her share of Grandpa Harris's trust fund, although I think the trust itself is set up that way."
"What if something happened to you first?"
He regarded her with a steady gaze. "My kids inherit my savings and pension funds. I'm not a total nudnik, Marla. I take care of my own. If you had let me -- "
"Let's not go down that road again." She slouched back when Ruth brought their beverages. Just what she needed. A cup of hot coffee would revive her brain for a few more hours. Taking her time, she added cream and sugar while contemplating what to ask Stan next.
"How do I get an interview for the job?" she asked after sipping the strong brew.
"Here's their phone number." Stan gave her a piece of paper. "The old lady rules the nest, but she's grown feeble. Florence, her eldest daughter, is the one who interviews prospective employees, so ask for her when you call. God, I can't stand how those sisters bicker constantly. When Florence and Stella are together in the same room, it can drive you nuts."
"Why is that?"
He shrugged. "Stella dabbles in craft projects, which Florence thinks are frivolous wastes of time. Florence is hung up on society functions. The two of them don't see eye to eye on anything. Then there's the other reason they don't get along." Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. "Florence was in love with the man who became Stella's husband."
"Really?"
To her disappointment, he didn't elaborate. "Their brother, Morris, lives at the complex with his wife and sons, but he's engrossed in the family business. None of them ever approved of me because I earned my way up the rungs instead of being born into wealth. They're a bunch of snobs."
"How delightful," Marla murmured.
Their meals arrived, and she ate her corned beef sandwich in silence, savoring the greasy potato latkes that accompanied the dish. Stan played with his roast beef, cutting the meat into fine pieces and pushing them around on his plate. He didn't eat with his usual gusto, reminding Marla that he was in mourning.
A surge of sympathy engulfed her, but she steeled herself against it. "How about our agreement?" she said, putting down her fork. "I want proof that you'll sell me your half of our rental property."
A grimace crossed his features. "I figured you'd bring that up. Always interested in serving your needs first, aren't you?"

"I can say the same thing about you." Grabbing her mug, she accidentally sloshed a dribble of coffee on her blouse. Heat flushed her face while she mopped the spill with her napkin. Hearing a rustle of papers, she glanced up.
"My partners prepared these documents. I suppose you'll want your attorney to look them over."
Marla's eyes widened as she scanned the contents. "This is highway robbery! What kind of a schlemiel do you think I am? I can't afford to pay that much!"
Stan sneered. "My price goes along with the property appraisal. You want to call off the deal, it's fine with me. In fact, I'll pay you that amount for your share. Just think what you can do with the money: buy your car when the lease expires; pay off the mortgage on your townhouse. What do you say?" He stuffed a piece of buttered roll into his mouth.
Marla slammed her hand on the table, not caring that several patrons glanced at her in disapproval. "I say, _dershtikt zolstu veren!"_ You should choke on it.
"Tch, tch. Not nice, Marla."
"If you want my help, you'd better play nice with me. This cost is too high."
Her resolve must have shone through her expression, because he grunted resignedly. "Very well, I'll give you a discount, but you have to earn it."
She pushed away her plate, no longer hungry. "Consider it my retainer fee as your private investigator. I want new papers delivered tomorrow. I won't trust you until you sign them."
"Hey, you think I'm stupid? I'm not signing anything until you turn in Kim's killer to Detective Vail." His wily gaze penetrated hers. "Let me amend that statement. I'll sign, but with an option to cancel within thirty days. If you don't bring in a suspect by then, our deal is off."
"Thirty days? Ha! A piece of cake."
Like a punctured balloon, his expression deflated. "Kim made the best chocolate cakes. The best. I can't believe she won't be bustling around the kitchen anymore."
"I'm sorry, Stan." Her anger evaporated in the face of his grief.
A flicker of something else flashed behind his eyes. "Yeah, well, in one way you could say she got what she wanted."
"What does that mean?"
He pursed his lips. "A bird who tries to fly with clipped wings ends up on the ground."
"Excuse me? I'm not following your train of thought."
"Never mind." He shook himself, as though mentally resurfacing. "Let me know what happens when you contact the Pearls. Kim's funeral is set for Thursday. Her family will sit _shivah_ afterward at their place. I'll be receiving visitors for the required three days at my house. That includes the day of the funeral, according to my rabbi. So don't expect to be interviewed for the job until Sunday at the earliest."
"That works for me. Oh, I told Leah what happened. She'd like you to stop in and see the kids."
"Thanks, Marla. For everything." Rising, he threw some dollar bills on the table and waited while she pulled on her jacket. At the cash register, he paid their check.
"That was a simple meal," he said to her outside in the parking lot. "It was almost like old times, sitting across from you at the dinner table."
"If I recall, you preferred places with a dress code. But you're right; after things went bad between us, we argued our way through every meal just like tonight. I'll be seeing you, Stan."
"Wait a minute, let's say a proper good-bye." Taking her elbow, he directed her toward a darkened corner. "It's your birthday next week, and I want to give you an early present for being so helpful."
He drew her close before she realized what he intended and kissed her full on the lips. Marla was so astonished that she didn't pull back. He must have taken that as encouragement because he deepened the kiss, arousing memories she'd rather forget. Once upon a time, she'd craved his touch. Now it merely reminded her of past mistakes. She tolerated his embrace only because part of her wanted to comfort him, knowing he ached inside with grief. Maybe a passionate kiss was his way to reaffirm life in the face of death.
No, this wasn't right. While one arm tightened around her, his other hand snaked to her breast. What was the man doing? Bracing herself to push away, she froze when heavy footfalls sounded from behind.
"Here you are," Dalton Vail announced. "I've been looking for you."
Whirling around, Marla swallowed at the grim expression on his face. Behind her, Stan cleared his throat.
"Which one of us do you mean?" Stan demanded with a hint of bravado.
"I wanted Marla, but maybe you're staking a prior claim?"
Marla glanced from one to the other, feeling as though they stood on a battlefield. Stan returned her glance, his eyes speculative. Surely he didn't believe she still felt some attraction toward him? Her gaze swung to Vail, who'd traded his signature suit for jeans, a flannel shirt, and a black leather jacket. His mood appeared as dark as a level-one hair color.
Stan raised his hands. "I ended my claims long ago, unless Marla's had a change of heart. I think she knows what she's been missing. Or does she get it from you?"
"That's none of your business," Vail grated.
His fist clenched, and Marla feared they'd come to blows. But the detective reined his temper, no doubt saving it to take out on her later.
"Well, I was just leaving," Stan said, backing away. "Bye, Marla."
"What's going on between you and Kaufman?" Vail demanded after Stan's car squealed from the parking lot.
Marla shivered in the cool night air. "It was a friendly kiss. He didn't mean anything special by it."
"The two of you seemed pretty snug."
"That's because he surprised me. Don't worry, Stan doesn't affect me the way you, er, I mean..." She moistened her lips, aware he watched every movement. "S-Stanley is grateful because I'm helping him out."
"Really?" His tone held a dangerous edge. "I'll drive you home, and then you can tell me all about it."