Bad Hair Day 4 - Body Wave (10 page)

*Chapter Ten*
Marla had little time to contemplate Florence's words of warning on Friday morning. Her ten o'clock appointment at the School of Arts and Design preoccupied her mind. When she arrived at the massive pink-facade building on Hollywood Boulevard, her hopes rose that this visit would produce something of value. So far, she hadn't any strong leads regarding Kimberly's killer. Everyone who knew Kim seemed to have something to hide.
A directory led her to the admissions office on an upper level. After giving her name to a receptionist, she took a seat and nervously thumbed through an _Entertainment Weekly_ magazine. Five minutes later a man wearing a black suit and a friendly smile approached.
"Miss Shore? I'm John Crawford, one of the admission counselors. Please follow me to my office."
As soon as they were alone, Marla offered her rehearsed speech. "I was referred here by Kimberly Kaufman. I know you share in my sorrow about what happened to her. I'm interested in your interior design program, but this is an upsetting time for me. I'm a close friend of the family," she added in what she hoped was a convincing tone.
"We were stunned to hear the news of Kimberly's death. She was well liked by her peers." The admissions counselor opened a packet on his desk and picked up a pen. His brown eyes regarded her curiously. "What made you interested in interior design, Marla? I presume you're in some other field right now."
"I'm a hairdresser, but I don't like the long hours of standing on my feet. Creatively, I'd rather work with colors and design."
"Our program is very intensive, but you don't need any prior experience. Have you taken any college courses?"
Noticing his pen poised to write, Marla moistened her lips. She didn't have time for a lengthy interview. "Before we fill out any forms, is it possible for me to peek at some of the classes Kim attended and talk to her friends? She spoke so highly of your school, but I'm not sure about the level of commitment I can make right now. I'll have to work part time."
He nodded sympathetically. "Our average student is twenty-seven years old. Many are making career changes. They do quite well because they're already experienced in the working world."
His expression sobered, reminding Marla of a former math teacher who'd spent numerous afternoons tutoring her on the complexities of college algebra. "We expect you to attend classes regularly, including summers," he said in a didactic tone. "Here's a schedule of the sessions."
She took the paper, anxious to move on. She'd learn nothing if they were stuck in this office for the entire hour.
"As you'll notice, there's a track of general college courses. These can be waived if you've already satisfied the requirements. Our curriculum takes three years if you attend full time. You'll graduate with a bachelor's degree." He shuffled papers. "According to this schedule, Kim would've been in textiles class now. Would you like to check it out? I'll introduce you to her friends."
"That's great. Thanks."
Marla was dazzled by an array of fabrics and home decorating materials in the textiles classroom. A sea of faces greeted her as they entered. Students sat on stools around large rectangular tables on which were displayed numerous samples.
Mr. Crawford spoke quietly to the teacher, then motioned for Marla to come forward. "This is Sue Burns," he said, indicating the teacher. "She'll seat you with Kim's friends. You can join the class to get a feel for what it's like here."
This was more than she'd hoped for. She gave him a warm smile and shook his hand. "Thanks so much. I really appreciate your kindness. I'll get back to you on my application," she said before turning to the instructor.
A few moments later, she was seated beside Rocco Morales and Christine Kent, supposedly Kim's bosom buddies. A surreptitious glance at her watch made her heart flutter. She'd better hurry if she wanted to be back at the salon in time for her client.
When the teacher freed them to work on assigned group projects, Marla turned to the duo. "I understand Kim was excited about her classes," she remarked to Christine, a round-faced brunette who wore her hair in a ponytail. A splatter of freckles decorated her complexion like spots on a Dalmatian. Marla thought they were rather cute, but from the girl's application of cover-up, it appeared she didn't share Marla's opinion.
"How did you know her?" Rocco interrupted. Despite his macho name, he was a spindly creature. Too tall for his musculature, he looked like a tree that would blow down in a stiff wind. In contrast, Christine was stout as a shrub.
"I'm a friend of the family."
"I didn't see you at the funeral," he said, his natural squint becoming more pronounced.
"I was working. Wasn't it awful how she died?" Marla shook her head in pretended sympathy. "I couldn't believe it when I heard the news."
"Yeah, what a bummer." Rocco exchanged a glance with Christine.
Marla felt she needed to prove her acquaintance with Kim. "It's a shame she won't be able to carry out her plans now."
"Oh God," Christine burst out, "and with her being, you know, it was such a struggle."
"Her being what?"
Christine's jade eyes widened. "If she didn't tell you, it's not for me to say."
"Gary had plenty to say on the subject," Rocco snapped. "Remember his snide comments the last time we all went out together?" He picked up a swatch of thin cotton material. Rubbing it between his fingers, he gave a grunt of disapproval and tossed it aside.
"Gary Waterford?" Marla said.
"You know him?" Christine raised an eyebrow.
"I spoke to him about Kim."
"Gary didn't say anything about us, did he?"
"No, but he mentioned Kim's friend Lacey."
Rocco laughed. "That guy likes to walk a tightrope."
"Look who's talking," Christine countered, twisting a brocade fabric sample. "Until they find out who killed Kimberly, we're all under scrutiny."
"You said you're a friend of the family. Which family?" Rocco demanded.
Marla didn't think Stan would be the correct choice. "Kim's grandmother, Miriam." That much was true, at least. "Have the cops talked to you about Kim?" she asked, tucking a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear.
"They've questioned us," Christine admitted.
"We had nothing much to contribute," Rocco said, staring pointedly at her.
Electricity crackled between the pair, but Marla couldn't discern the cause. "The sooner this case is closed, the quicker we can get back to our normal lives," she said soothingly. "We all want justice for Kim. Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm her?"
Marla's cell phone rang before she had a chance to hear their answer. Wincing at the noise, she pulled it out of her bag and pushed the TALK button.
"Marla, where are you?" Nicole's voice said. "I thought you'd be back at the salon by now."
"Why, is my next customer there already?" she answered in a hushed tone. "I still have twenty minutes."
"Betsy canceled. I don't know what's happening, but you have a lot of no-shows lately. You lost that highlights yesterday. This morning your first appointment wasn't until eleven, and now this."
A frown of worry creased Marla's brow. "I see your point, but I'll deal with it later. I'm in the middle of something important. See you soon." She hung up, putting the cell phone back in her purse. Darn, now she'd lost Rocco and Christine's attention. They were occupied on their project, and the class was nearly over.
"Can I treat you to an early lunch? It has to be quick. I'm expected back at work." She handed them each a business card.
"I thought you were applying for school here," Christine said, stuffing her books into a backpack along with Marla's card. Other students had already left the classroom.
"I'm a hairdresser, but I've always been interested in design. I didn't know Kim that well, but she inspired me to check out this school." She paused. "Her grandmother is anxious to learn the truth about what happened to her."
"I don't know why," Christine said, giving her a curious glance. "Miriam cut her off. She's the whole reason Kim felt trapped."
Rocco trailed behind as they strolled into the hallway. It would have been easier to talk to Christine alone, because the girl genuinely seemed to care about Kim. Marla wasn't sure about Rocco, but she sensed self-interest motivated him. He shadowed them like a Secret Service guard, silent and observant.
In a cafeteria, Marla paid for their food, aware that she didn't have time to linger. After eating a few bites of her tuna sandwich, she focused on Christine's last words.
"What did you mean about Miriam cutting off Kimberly?"
"The old lady wouldn't part with any of her husband's money, even though Kim was entitled to an allowance. Kim said her grandmother insisted she prove her worth, so she didn't turn out like her useless mother. She had to wait until she reached thirty to access her trust fund," Christine explained.
"How did that make her feel trapped?" Marla queried.
"Kim's mother didn't prepare her for the working world. It wasn't her fault if she led a pampered life. That's why she married Stan."
Rocco took a gulp of his Coke. His prominent Adam's apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed. "Kaufman is a jerk. He didn't know how to handle her, man."
"She told us about the nasty things he did to her," Christine confided, her gaze darkening. "If I were married to a loser like him, I'd sure make a quick exit!"
"Is that what Kim tried to do?" Marla asked. Not so hungry, she pushed away her tray.
"Going to this school was her hope for the future," Christine said. "She got fired up about the program. Finally, she'd found something suited to her talent. When they lived in Palm Beach, her mother kept redecorating their house, and Kim helped her choose fabrics and such. She'd just never thought of the possibilities for a career in design before, plus she lacked the patience." Her expression soured. "Now that she'd finally set goals, Kim feared Stan would discover her ruse. She couldn't lie to him forever. If he learned about her plans, he would have been furious."
"Plans to pursue a career, or her intent to leave him?"
"Both. My guess is, Stan found out about Gary Waterford."
"You're forgetting something," Rocco interrupted. "Kim told us she'd be getting some money soon, and it would be enough to let her get a place of her own. It would come from the same source that paid her tuition."
"Why did you mention Gary?" Marla said. "Did he loan her money?"
"Are you kidding?" Rocco lifted his eyebrows. "Gary was looking forward to using her trust fund. I think that's the only reason he let her play up to him. Lacey is more his type."
"You don't know that," Christine retorted. "Kim told me she and Gary were getting back together. I think Stan found out, and he killed Kim so she wouldn't leave him for another man. In his eyes, she belonged to him. If he learned -- "
"Maybe Lacey is the one we should consider," Marla interceded before she lost her train of thought. "How serious is she about Gary? She could have been jealous over his attention to Kim."
"I think you're both wrong about Gary. He's hot for Lacey." Rocco folded his arms across his chest.
"Maybe the two of them conspired to get Kim's money," Marla suggested. "Is Gary in debt?"
Rocco snorted. "He's always in debt."
"Gary would have had to leave Kim in order to be with Lacey, so that doesn't make sense," Christine contributed.
"Murder doesn't have to make sense," Marla reminded her. "What about this extra source of income you'd mentioned? If it wasn't coming from Gary, what was Kim talking about?"
Christine gave her a sly look. "I didn't tell this to the police, but Kim mentioned the name of Stan's previous wife."
Marla stiffened. "Who?"
"Leah Kaufman. It's possible Kim worked out an arrangement with her."
"What do you mean? I saw Leah recently, and it looked as though she could use extra income herself. She has two children to support."
"Sorry," Christine said, rising. "Regarding Kimberly, there are some secrets we can't reveal. She kept our confidences, so the least we can do is return the favor."
At her gesture, Rocco shoved to his feet. They left the cafeteria arm in arm, smug smiles on their faces.
Marla had just thrown out her trash and turned toward the exit when a hand clamped on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't help overhearing part of your conversation," said an Asian student balancing a stack of books. "I liked Kim, so I'll help you. Kim said something to me after she'd been to Rocco's apartment: _I could get him kicked out of school._ But she'd promised to keep quiet, because the reverse was also true. They were protecting each other. I was afraid for her, because Rocco acts weird sometimes. He's not someone I would trust."
Marla didn't have time to think about her conversation at the school until later. Finishing work at the salon, dashing home to start meal preparations, and answering phone calls kept her occupied until Vail and Brianna showed up for dinner.
"Hi, Brie," she said, hugging the girl, who wore jeans and a Banana Republic sweater along with a sullen expression on her face. Long braids trailed down her back, making Brianna appear younger than her twelve years.
Vail grinned his greeting, handing her a bottle of chilled chardonnay. His clothing bore an L.L. Bean look: blue cotton pinpoint oxford shirt, Norwegian crewneck sweater in charcoal to match his hair, and black wool gabardine trousers. When he brushed past her, she got a whiff of spice cologne that set her pulse thrumming.
She engaged her guests in small talk during the salad course. When they were on the lasagna, she broached the subject that bothered her.

"What do you think Rocco and Christine were hiding?" she asked, after relating the gist of their conversation. "Whatever it is can get them kicked out of school. They knew something about Kimberly that might have gotten her in trouble, too."
"When you saw Stan, did he mention anything about Gary Waterford?" Vail asked between bites. His casual tone belied the keen interest in his eyes.
"No, why? Do you think he knew Gary and Kim were seeing each other?"
"Possibly."
"Do you think this is the secret Christine meant?"
"Kim's personal love life wouldn't get her thrown out of school. If Stan learned she wasn't spending time at the athletic club, however, he might have interfered."
"How? By notifying the school she didn't have his approval to attend? So what?"
"Where did she get the money for tuition?" Brianna cut in.
"Good question." Vail beamed proudly at his daughter.
Marla studied the girl thoughtfully. "Perhaps that's how Stan would have ended her ambitions. If he knew where she got the resources..." She let her voice trail off, wondering how Kimberly had paid for her college costs. If Miriam wasn't giving her an allowance, than her only source of income was Stan. Unless someone else was helping Kim, willingly or not. Could she have resorted to blackmail?
"Marla, you said you'd plan my birthday party," Brianna said, licking a dribble of tomato sauce from her mouth. "Are you sure you have time? I mean, between work and all, you're so busy. It's enough that you still drive me to dance class when Daddy works late."
Marla smiled gently. "It's something I want to do, honey. I don't have much experience with this sort of thing, though. The places I checked are way too much money." She rattled off the names of the caterers.
"This is a thirteenth birthday party, not a bar mitzvah," Vail reminded her, chewing a piece of garlic bread. His bemused glance created havoc with her hormones.
"Bat mitzvah," she corrected. "I don't know who else to call."
"Heck, Marla, don't you know anything about kids?" Brianna rolled her eyes as though her patience was being sorely tested.
"Suppose you tell me what to do."
"Look in the Yellow Pages. You're not trying very hard." Her accusing glance made Marla swallow guiltily.
"I thought you wanted a big splash. Aren't you being invited to a lot of fancy parties?"
"My friends' parents can spend all their money on expensive affairs. I don't have to compete."
"You're right. I'll work on it this weekend." The deeper she got involved with Vail, the more obligations she took on with his daughter. Marla had enough responsibilities already, but she felt bad for the girl, whose mother had passed away. Brianna needed a guiding female hand, not that Marla was applying for the role. It just seemed to drift in her direction, and she'd never been able to say no to someone in need.
She switched to a more comfortable topic. "Did you look up that phone number I gave you for Jeremiah Dooley?" she asked Vail, after refilling his wineglass.
He nodded, his smoky gaze searing through her defenses. When he looked at her that way, it was difficult to deny him anything. "It connects to the Ministry of Hope in Tarpon Springs," he said. "A tape recording mentions Dooley's Sunday morning television show. Channel thirty-nine at eight o'clock. He's some kind of televangelist."
"How do you suppose Kim met him?" A bite of lasagna slid down her throat, its tangy tomato flavor lingering on her tongue.
"Beats me. I need to talk to this fellow. I left a message, so I hope he calls back. Otherwise, I thought I'd take a drive up on Monday. Want to come?"
"That's a long ride for one day. Isn't it five hours each way?"
"She's right, Daddy," Brianna said, innocent brown eyes regarding him. "Marla has enough to do. You should go by yourself, or else let me skip school, and I'll go with you."
He chuckled. "I don't think so, muffin."
"I'd be happy to come along," Marla quickly inserted. "Will Carmen stay with Brianna after school until we get home?"
"I don't need a baby-sitter," the girl whined.
"I'll ask the housekeeper," Vail said to her. "I won't leave you alone for that long. We'd be getting back very late."
Brianna gave Marla a resentful glare. "You didn't tell _her_ about the murder weapon. How come you can tell me these things, but you won't let me come along?"
Marla put down her fork. "What's this?"
Vail used a napkin to wipe his mouth, but it didn't erase the grimace of annoyance on his face. "I was going to mention it."
"Oh yeah? When?" she retorted. "Spill it, Detective."
"We found a dagger, or actually a letter opener, buried in Kaufman's backyard. Tests have proved conclusively that it was the murder weapon. Stan's name is etched on the blade."