Bad Hair Day 2 - Hair Raiser (14 page)

*Chapter Fourteen*
Marla stood outside the funeral home gazing at the colonial white two-story building with its circular driveway in front and its discreet side entrance, where a hearse was parked. Located in a busy commercial district of town, this was the main facility for Stefano Barletti's family, who owned a series of parlors.
_I can think of better things to do on a Friday morning,_ Marla thought, glad there wasn't a funeral in progress when she entered the foyer. A couple of chapels branched off on either side, rows of empty chairs facing forward. She gave her name to a man who bustled out of a small office to greet her.
"Oh yes, Mr. Barletti is expecting you. Please come with me." He led her down a hallway and halted at an elevator. After a brief pause, they boarded the lift to the second floor.
Upstairs, a hive of people busied themselves in a series of offices. Stefano, attired in a dark suit, greeted her warmly.
"I was so glad to get your call. You're doing the right thing, Marla. A Pre-Need plan will save you money and relieve your family of the burden during a difficult time."
His office was a cluttered space personalized by family photos and potted plants. Marla sank into a chair opposite the desk. Her glance surveyed the standard furnishings. _How unlike Dr. Taylor's ostentatious place,_ she thought.
After rummaging on his desktop for a printed form, Stefano dropped into a seat and folded his hands. "Can I offer you a cup of coffee before we get started?"
"No, thanks." She crossed her legs. "Tell me, how's your part going for Taste of the World?"
"The flower arrangements will be magnificent. And you? Any further problems with the chefs?" Something glinted behind his eyes for a brief moment, then was gone.
Marla gave him a shrewd glance. For all she knew, he might be the one sabotaging her efforts. "Everything is on target," she said airily.
"No more dropouts?"
"Not at this time."
Frowning, he examined his hands. "I heard you went to the Bahamas with David Newberg."
"Really? Who told you?"
"I don't remember. I keep in close contact with all the board members, you understand."
"Were you informed about the results of our trip?"
His eyes glazed. "Word got around. Riley bit the dust."
_You don't seem particularly upset, pal._ "He was the trustee for Popeye's estate. I was hoping he could tell us the identity of Popeye Boodles's heir. Someone has been dumping medical waste on the preserve next to my cousin's property, not to mention discouraging the chefs from participating in our fund-raiser. Whoever stands to inherit has the most to gain."
She leaned forward. "Ben's firm was involved in drawing up that trust. Do you think he was murdered by the heir?"
Stefano looked at her incredulously, his thick-set eyebrows rising like wings on a plane. The expression elongated his face, giving him a gaunt look accentuated by his perpetually startled brown eyes. "Why are you asking me that question?"
"Your family has been around town for a while. You might have heard things."
"The only thing I hear is you're snooping where you don't belong." Gripping a pen, he clicked it on and off. "Did you come here to discuss Pre-Need arrangements or to interrogate me?"
Brushing a strand of hair off her face, she smiled sweetly. "Forgive me, I'm just trying to help my cousin. Cynthia is getting nervous now that we're a few weeks away from the fund-raiser. Anyway, let's talk about funeral plans."
From the way he glowered at her, Marla figured he was wishing she could make use of one right now.
"Is this going to be a package for two people?" he snarled, pen poised in his fingers. His glance dropped to her ringless left hand.
"No, this is just for me."
"You should think ahead. At some point in your future, there may be a significant other. I assume we're talking about a traditional ground burial rather than a mausoleum?"
"I guess so." She had no wish to be preserved for eternity in a tomb like Romeo and Juliet. Besides, she believed her religion required a ground burial.
"Purchasing two plots now will save you money because land prices keep rising. In the event you don't need the second plot, we'll buy it back from you. Consider it a hedge against inflation." Pushing a chart in front of her, he pointed to various sites marked out in squares. "Which cemetery section appeals to you?"
Marla moistened her lips. "It doesn't matter, whichever costs less."
"That would be the newest section." He circled two spaces. "Do you prefer a chapel or graveside service?"
She gave it serious consideration, mortality being on her mind after viewing Riley's body and being shot at herself. "A graveside service would be easier on my family, so let's go with that one. Is there a price difference?" Squinting, she tried to read what was on the upside-down form.
"It's $420 for use of the chapel as opposed to $275 for a graveside service." At her nod, he continued. "Next there's a basic charge for the professional services of the funeral director and staff. That's $1870. This includes arranging conferences between family and clergy, filing necessary permits, planning the funeral, placement of obituary notices, and coordination with other responsible parties. It also includes administrative expenses for the use of our facilities."
"I see."
"You have a choice about embalming. May I ask your religious preference?"
"I'm Jewish."
He nodded sagely. "Jewish people usually don't embalm unless you're going into a mausoleum. It's my understanding, and correct me if I'm wrong, that the religious directive is to return to the earth as quickly as possible."
"Okay, no embalming." She felt uncomfortable discussing these choices, but it made sense before you needed them. What a relief to your relatives to make one phone call in the event your prearrangements became necessary. Ma had paid for a plan, and Marla was grateful. She dreaded the day when she'd have to use it, but that was better than making hasty decisions later.
"You're going to have other expenses." Stefano reversed the general price list so she could see for herself. "Transfer of remains to the funeral home is $290. Use of a hearse will be $275. Dressing and casketing is $145. Since you're not embalming, refrigeration is required, which costs $395."
_I'd always wanted to die broke,_ she told herself sardonically. "What's this opening and closing that you've circled?"
"That's for opening the gravesite and closing it after the service. Also, I recommend a concrete vault. It gives more protection than a concrete liner, which is more porous. Now let's discuss choice of caskets." He stood, gesturing for her to follow. "We have a casket room so you can see the selections."
Oh, joy. She couldn't wait. Trailing behind, she entered a room where up to twenty coffins were on display. Detaching herself emotionally wasn't hard. She didn't want to think about herself lying in one of those boxes.
"The Jewish religion calls for your casket to be made of all wood, meaning pegged and glued with no metal parts so the body can get back to the earth quickly." He showed her a few samples. "See, no nails or metal hinges. Or, if you go into a mausoleum, embalming is required along with a sealed metal casket. Choices include steel, copper, and bronze, like this one here."
Her eyes bulged. The price tag of $37,995 made her choke. Hopefully the ones made from wood were more reasonably priced. She surveyed the different styles ranging from solid mahogany with a polished finish and a champagne velvet interior at a cost of $19,995 to a plain pine box for $795.
"How about this one?" she asked, pointing to a solid poplar design with a polished maple finish and beige crepe interior. It ran midprice range at $2,695.
Stefano ran his fingers lovingly over the smooth service, his dark eyes gleaming in appreciation. "Beautiful, isn't it? Of course, if you prefer a velvet interior, we have a similar one for an extra $800."
"No, I like this. What's next?" Uncomfortable in the confined space with Stefano looming beside her, she headed through the door and back toward his office.
"Clergy fees, death certificates, prayer books, yarmelkes, acknowledgment cards, a guest sign-in book. Then there's an archiving fee and sales tax on the merchandise."
He'd been writing everything down on a proposal form, and now he pulled out a calculator to get the total. "Here's the best package I can give you," he said circling a number that made Marla cringe. "We have a payment plan available if you'd like to stretch this out over four years with no interest. It includes our personal protection program. If, God forbid, something happens to you after a year, the rest of the premiums are waived."
"Terrific. Can I take this home to study?" She'd contact another funeral home to compare prices. Babs had told her Stefano charged exorbitant fees. Upon his approval, she folded the papers and stuffed them into her purse.
"Who handled the arrangements for Ben's funeral?" she asked, knowing the answer but wondering how he'd react.
He grimaced. "One of the Levinson places took care of him."
"They weren't the ones involved in that voodoo case, were they?" She'd read a news article about a mortician convicted of performing voodoo rituals by stuffing dolls stuck with pins into a dead man's chest cavity and chopping off his hand.
"No, that was somewhere in north Florida." Thrusting stiff fingers through his gray hair, Stefano regarded her from beneath heavy brows. "Levinson's is a nationwide chain. Conglomerates now own more than fifty percent of the mortuaries in this county. Most people don't realize it when they choose a place. Ownership may have changed hands, but the old names remain on the signs."
"Doesn't that hurt your business? Yours is one of the few family-owned firms left."
"We still provide more personal services than the chains, and their prices tend to be higher. Did you know they charge up to sixty-two percent more than independents for the same items?"
_Yeah, right, pal. Like your prices are cheap?_ "You've managed to stay viable."
"So far."
"I heard a rumor that Ben was suing you on behalf of some former customers," she said, switching topics glibly to provoke a response. "Did that have anything to do with Pre-Need plans? What guarantee is there that I'll get what I pay for?"
He shifted uneasily. "You have to trust me, Marla."
_No problem. I'd trust you like I would a snake._ Digby had mentioned that story, she recalled. Had it been an attempt to discredit Stefano and throw blame off himself? Deciding to pursue that angle later, she directed her attention to a photograph on his desk. A handsome couple, attired in earlier-era swimsuits, stood in front of a palm tree on the beach.
"Nice picture," she commented. "Your relatives?"
"My parents. That was taken not long after they met."
"Any sisters or brothers?"
"No, I was an only child. But I made up for it with my own family." He pointed proudly to another framed photo. "That's my wife and our four sons."
"How lovely." Wishing she could get a closer glimpse, she squinted. One of those faces looked vaguely familiar.
"Is there anything else you want to know?" Stefano said, his lip curling in a sneer.
_Smart man._ "I've got enough information for now, thanks." Gathering her purse, she rose. "I guess I'll see you at Taste of the World." Heading for the door, she paused and turned. Stefano's expression made her catch her breath.
A look of utter hatred on his face was quickly replaced by an oily smile once he noticed her looking at him. "Yes?"
"One more thing. Detective Vail is investigating Ben's death. In case he asks me, where were you that night?"
"You think you're so clever, don't you? Well, the lieutenant has already questioned me. I told him I was out bowling that night, and he's confirmed my story."
Moving around his desk, he stalked closer, spearing her with his bulging dark eyes. In his narrow face, they reminded her of movies featuring the walking dead. Unlike a zombie, however, his menacing tone was laced with emotion. "Nosy _yentas_ get in trouble, Marla. You'd better make a quick decision about your funeral plans. You may be needing them sooner than you think."
His warning echoing through her mind, Marla returned to the salon in time for Babs's appointment. She spared a moment to call Anita and ask her about final arrangements.
"I'd like to get a quote from the person who helped you," she told her mother.
"That won't be necessary. I've got all the information here. If you're free tonight, why don't you come over after work? I'll show you my Pre-Need policy."
"I have a date with Ralph. Remember him? He's the guy from the auto body shop. We haven't seen each other in a while."
"What happened to David?" her mother's indignant voice responded. "You haven't broken off with him already, have you?"
Marla grimaced with annoyance. "Of course not. I just felt like being with Ralph for a change. He's a good friend."
"So what is David to you, something more? Just how far did things progress while you were in Nassau?"
Marla laughed at her mother's hopeful tone. "Not that far. David acted like a perfect gentleman." She was grateful David hadn't taken advantage of their situation but wasn't ready to confront her deeper feelings about him just yet.
"David will be upset if he finds out you're seeing someone else," her mother warned. "Cynthia told me he's smitten with you."
"We don't have any commitment to each other."
"How about that cop fellow? You're finished with him, aren't you?"
"You wish. Seriously, I don't think he'll be happy when he hears I went off alone with one of the murder suspects." A guilty flush stole over her. She'd never returned Dalton's phone call.

"Baloney. David wouldn't hurt a fly."
"You never met him! How do you know?"
"I'll meet him at Thanksgiving. Cynthia invited him."
"Oh, great." Sooner or later, she'd have to decide what she wanted from their relationship. David's smiling face and pleasant demeanor made him an enjoyable companion, but that alone didn't seem like enough for a long-term commitment.
"Marla, Babs is here," shouted Nicole's voice from the salon.
"I've got to go. Maybe we can review those funeral plans on Sunday? I have some free time then."
"Come for lunch. We'll have gefilte fish and challah."
Babs was in a cheerful mood when Marla greeted her. Looking the competent businesswoman in a crisp linen suit, she was on a late lunch break for her appointment. They made small talk through her wash and blow-dry.
When Marla was using the curling iron, she broached what was on her mind. "I'm thinking of going to Orlando to visit the theme parks. Can you recommend a place to stay?"
Babs studied her reflection in the mirror. "Orlando is teeming with hotels. It's best to stay near your destination."
"I like the Courtyard by Marriott chain. Which one were you at last weekend?"
"I was in Tampa."
"Oh, that's strange." Finished with the curling iron, Marla picked up a comb. "I wanted to confirm your appointment this week, so I called the one in Tampa. You were registered as a guest but didn't answer your phone. I recalled seeing a brochure sticking out of your purse with an Orlando address. When I tried that number, you picked up."
Babs's eyes narrowed. "I don't recall speaking to you over the weekend, nor do I recall showing you that number. I told you, I was in Tampa."
"Maybe Walter believes you, but I don't." Marla leaned over, lowering her voice. "Why are you lying, Babs? You can tell me. My lips are sealed, and it may help you to share this burden you carry."
Shoulders slumping, Babs covered her face with her hands. "No, it -- it's my secret. You mustn't let Walter know. He'd be devastated."
Was she having an affair? Feeling shameful for prying, Marla refrained from posing that question. Instead, she put a comforting hand on Babs's arm. "I won't say anything, but if you need help, please feel that you can come to me."
Instinct made her raise her head just as someone entered through the front door. _Oh, no._ Dalton Vail stomped toward her, brows furrowed on his craggy face. His charcoal sport coat hung open, showing a tie with crimson slashes that reminded her of blood. Her blood, which in his boiling rage, he might want to spill if she didn't appease him.
Babs's eyes widened. "If you're finished, I'll be running along now. Looks like Lieutenant Vail is about to lose his cool."
Marla, heart thumping wildly, applied a mist of hair spray. Even though reason told her to flee, she couldn't go without finishing her client's coiffeur. Besides, cowering in the storeroom wouldn't accomplish anything. Better to face your foes and disarm them.
Babs shrugged out of her cape and stood. After digging into her purse, she handed Marla a five-dollar bill. "I'm glad it's you he's after and not me," she whispered, winking. "Good luck."
Marla plastered a fake smile on her face and rounded on Vail who'd been impatiently tapping his foot while she finished with Babs. "Hello, Dalton," she said pleasantly. "What brings you into the salon?"
His steely eyes assessed her coolly. "We need to talk. Privately. You'll come with me now." Grasping her elbow, he propelled her toward the door.
"Wait a minute! I can't leave. My next customer -- "
"Can be handled by your staff. Right?" Raising a bushy eyebrow, he directed his query at Nicole.
Nicole's alarmed glance moved between them. At Marla's barely perceptible nod, Nicole agreed. "Yes, sir," the stylist intoned, seemingly as awestruck by his commanding air as the rest of her suddenly silent staff.
Her face flaming, Marla allowed him to lead her outside. "Let's go to Bagel Busters," she suggested, figuring Arnie would serve as an ally at the deli.
"I don't think so. Get in my car."
"Stop manhandling me, Dalton," she snapped, as he dragged her along the pavement.
"You've been wanting to play with fire. Feel the heat." He thrust her inside his vehicle, its interior hot as an oven in the afternoon sun.
She had a feeling that wasn't the kind of heat he meant, and her skin prickled in a deliciously wicked sort of way. Gads, had she brought this upon herself on purpose? Why else would shivers of anticipation be skimming along her nerve endings like this? Glancing at him as he levered his large frame into the driver's seat, she felt her mouth go dry. No doubt he was angry because she'd gone away with David, but was that because David was a murder suspect or a rival suitor?
Dalton didn't speak as he put the car into gear and headed onto the main road. He stared straight ahead, his jaw firm, hands clenched on the wheel.
Marla swallowed hard, afraid to break the silence. She'd wait to see what he had in mind before defending herself. Going to the Bahamas was the easy one. Cynthia had requested she contact Morton Riley in Nassau, and Ocean Guard had provided the tickets. Through no fault of her own, Cynthia had assigned David to accompany her.
Keeping it from Dalton was another matter. She should've answered his phone call as soon as she'd returned. Maybe he hadn't known about Riley. Maybe he'd assumed she was going on a tryst with David. In that case, they needed to clarify their relationship. Marla felt no obligation to Dalton, but she didn't want to lose him, either. Introducing her to his daughter had been a serious step. If she wasn't careful, she might chase him away, and that possibility filled her with dread.
"Where are we going?" she ventured, noticing they were entering an older residential neighborhood where overhanging branches from banyan trees shaded the road. At least he wasn't taking her to the police station. For an intimate conversation, that was not the place she'd choose.
"My house," he stated, his tone flat.
"Isn't Brianna home from school?"
"She's at the mall with a friend. We'll be alone for as long as it takes."