Bad Hair Day 4 - Body Wave (8 page)

*Chapter Eight*
Thursday morning Marla was swamped at work. She barely had time to gulp down breakfast, let alone get anything extra done. A break came when her two o'clock appointment canceled. _Yes!_ she almost shouted aloud. No one else had been scheduled during the two-hour block, so she was free until four.
She phoned Stan at his office. He agreed to meet her at his house but only for an hour. That was fine with her; she'd spend the rest of the time checking out his neighbors. Next Marla dialed the number for the School of Arts and Design. Claiming she'd been referred by her recently departed friend Kimberly Kaufman to their interior design program, she made an appointment for the next morning. How convenient that her first customer wasn't scheduled until eleven.
Not wanting to get stuck on the phone, she called a few numbers she'd jotted down earlier. She'd promised Vail to help plan his daughter's thirteenth birthday and had been negligent of her duty. Last night reminded her of the obligation.
"What do you mean, it's sixty-five dollars per person for a three-course chicken dinner?" she cried to a caterer on the other end of the line. "That's absurd. What? I don't care if that's what they pay at bar mitzvahs. This doesn't have to be so fancy." She slammed down the receiver. Better to find a restaurant with a private room. The catering places charged too much. She'd never imagined planning a teen party could be so demanding.
Eager to move ahead with her investigation, she snatched up her purse and was heading for the salon exit when she noticed a hearse pull up in front. _Oh God, what's that doing here?_
Ignoring the NO PARKING sign, the vehicle's driver shut off the engine and emerged. It was a woman dressed in a leather corset contraption and skin-tight black leather pants that fit into heeled boots. She wore a shawl, her only concession to the cool February weather. Heavy mascara fringed tawny eyes.
"I'm here about the ad," the woman stated, barely moving her raisin-painted lips.
Marla hesitated. "What ad?"
"For a colorist."
"Oh." _If your clothes are an example, you need to use a color chart yourself, pal._ "I'm Marla Shore, the owner. Can you give me an idea of your experience?"
The woman rattled off impressive credentials and showed her license. "I came by yesterday but you were having some sort of celebration. Loved the rags. I could tell you were my kind of people."
"My staff were celebrating my birthday. They wore their old Halloween costumes as a joke."
"Radical. So when can I start working here? I have to give my current place notice that I'm leaving."
"We're still interviewing prospective staff. If you leave your contact info, I'll get back to you."
The woman leaned closer, giving Marla a whiff of alcoholic breath. "You'd like what I do on the side, darlin'. Maybe you'd want to try it."
"What's that?"
"I'm a dominatrix. Lots of men get turned on when I whip them. You wanna come for a session? I'll bet you'd be good at it."
_Bless my bones, what a winner._ "No, thanks. I'm on my way out. I'll call you if I have further questions." Why did she get all the weirdos? Is this what graduated from beauty school these days?
She was late when she reached Stan's house. It was only the second time she'd been there, having come once before to retrieve the ceramic soup tureen given them as a wedding gift by one of her aunts. With seven bedrooms, four baths, a vaulted ceiling living room, fully equipped kitchen, and wood-decked pool area, the house seemed overwhelmingly huge to Marla. It hadn't been good enough for Kimberly, who'd wanted a location on the Intracoastal.
Facing Stan inside the marble-tiled foyer, she regarded her ex-spouse with wary eyes. He looked dapper in a three-piece wool suit, his black hair slicked off a wide forehead. Instead of his usual supercilious grin, however, his face wore a sad smile. _Don't let him get to you,_ she warned herself.
"Thanks for meeting me here," she said. "I'd like to see those albums you mentioned."
"They're in the family room. Follow me." On the way, he checked his watch. "I can't stay long. I have a three-thirty appointment."
"That's fine. Detective Vail showed me the photograph you found in Kim's bedroom." Marla trailed him down a hallway to a family room brightly decorated in southwestern motif. Sofas upholstered in chili and turquoise accents, a handwoven wool rug with a Pueblo scene, Native American framed art, and mauve sandpainted vase lamps highlighted the room. _It's certainly different than the classic mahogany furniture you favored when we were married._ Marrying Kimberly must have cost him plenty.
Stan sank heavily onto a couch. "I think that picture fell from one of these albums," he said, pointing to several books scattered on a pine table.
"Which one was Kim most interested in?" She thumbed through an album showing Kim as a baby. The edges were brown, and many of the photos had become dislodged from the sticky backing.
"Try the red book," Stan suggested. "Stella wants to redo them, something about acid- and lignin-free paper. I won't let her have them until the investigation is complete. Florence keeps nagging me."
"Maybe there is something here that Kim's family doesn't want you to see." Putting the first book down, she picked up the red one. It weighed heavily on her thighs as she opened the volume. Inside, younger versions of Morris, Stella, and Florence smiled from photographs capturing their carefree swimming pool days. Miriam posed proudly beside her husband Harris in a tropical setting beside a lake.
Flipping through the pages, Marla stopped when she came to a blank space fitting the dimensions of the photo Vail had shown her. "Look," she cried triumphantly.
"What is it?"
"This must be where that picture fell from. Who's this woman next to Harris? It's not Miriam." She reversed the book so Stan could see. The photo showed Harris with his arm around a slender, flame-haired girl. A later grouping showed the woman, having aged, smiling sadly at the camera next to a young boy who bore a strong resemblance to the man Kim called Uncle Jerry. It appeared as though there might have been someone else on the other side of her, but the picture had been cropped.
Stan shrugged. His gesture moved her glance to his shoulders, where she noticed flecks of dandruff. "I don't know who the redhead is, although she does look somewhat familiar."
"Wasn't Kim working on her genealogy?"
"You're right. She bought one of those computer programs to research her family tree."
"Can you access the program? Or maybe she left notes."
"I'll check into it when I have time."
"Will you please stop rapping your fingers on that table? The sound is annoying."
He threw her an irritated look. "You're here to help me, not to criticize."
"I can't concentrate when you insist on making noises."
"You never used to be this way when we were married. Never." His brows drew together in a disapproving scowl.
"I was afraid to open my mouth for fear you'd put me down."
"You needed my guidance, just as you need it now. Let me offer you a tidbit of information. I heard Carolyn Sutton is planning to open a salon in the same shopping strip at the other end from yours."
Tossing the albums on the table, Marla leapt up. "You're lying! Carolyn can't afford to open a business in Palm Haven. The last time I visited her salon, it was Deadsville. Who'd buy that place in such a seedy neighborhood? And, if she's been hurting for business, how can she afford to change locations?"
"Maybe she has financial support," Stan said with a wink.
"You wouldn't! I knew you were behind her attempt to undermine my lease before, but this is going too far."
"I didn't say it was me, did I? As usual, you're jumping to nasty conclusions." He rose slowly. "If you need legal advice, I'm available."
"Over my dead body."
"That could be arranged," he said slyly.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Well, your cop friend believes I killed Kimberly. What's another wife out of the way?"
"Ha! You'd have nothing to gain."
He advanced toward her. "Oh no? What about our jointly owned property? We still have right of survivorship."
"That isn't funny, Stan. By the way, where are those signed papers you were supposed to give me?"
"They're on my desk in the study." He halted directly in front of her, looming like a menacing cloud.
Marla had an insane impulse to back away. What if he truly had killed his wife? Perhaps all this had been a ruse to get her alone. "Vail knows I'm here," she blurted.
He lifted a hand toward her, and she flinched. But he cupped her chin, raising her face so she peered into his stormy eyes. "I'm disappointed in you, babe. You've lost faith in me. Lost faith. I wasn't really threatening you. I just wanted to see how you'd react. Your lack of trust distresses me. Have you forgotten how much I've helped you in the past?"
"The past is over. I don't need your help now."
He dropped his hand. "But I need yours. It isn't easy for me, you know. Asking for help."
_Especially from me._ "I want those papers, Stan."
"I'll get them." He trudged off, his gait unlike the man's usual purposeful stride.
Marla followed, feeling emptiness echo through the house. She halted abruptly when Stan stopped in the kitchen. "I should have offered you a drink. I didn't think ... Kimberly always took care of guests."
"I don't want anything, thanks." She shifted her feet impatiently, eager to move on.
"What will I do, Marla?" He whirled around, lines of consternation creasing his face.
"You'll survive, one day at a time. Just like I did, after Tammy's death."
"I've never realized how devastating it is to lose someone you love." His voice cracked. "I'm not sure how to go on. She's everywhere I look in this house. I can still smell her scent in the bathroom, feel her lying next to me in our bed. I wake up in the morning expecting to find her in the kitchen, making my breakfast. This house is too big without her."
Marla's throat tightened. "We'll focus on finding her killer. That should give you enough reason to get up every day."
"I suppose."
Before she stopped to think, Marla kissed him on the cheek. "I promised to help you, and I will. I always keep my word."
Stan's pain-filled gaze met hers. "I loved Kimberly, but I never stopped caring about you, Marla. We were a good team. A good team. You're the one who threw me aside like a sack of dirt after all I'd done for you."
How easy it had been to lean on him in times of trouble. He'd paid the bills, fielded her phone calls, kept all the ugliness and aggravation of life away from her. _Just like Vail wants to do,_ Marla's inner voice cried. Was she doomed to repeat her mistakes by being attracted to strong, controlling men?
She shook her head. "Lust is all we had between us. You never really respected me. Instead of boosting my self-esteem, you kept putting me down. You liked my being dependent on you."
"Not anymore. I wouldn't have asked for your help proving my innocence if I didn't believe you capable."
"Sorry, but your crack about Carolyn Sutton shows me you still think I'm susceptible to your charms." She lifted her chin. "Where are those papers you have for me? It's getting late."
"That's all you care about, isn't it? Remember, I'll only go through with the deal if you find Kimberly's killer before I go to court. Just don't desert me like _she_ was about to do."
"What does that mean?"
His eyes glittered. "You think I don't know? I'm not stupid. My wife got what she wanted, only not exactly in the manner she'd hoped." He shook his head. "After all I did for her. We could have worked things out, if she hadn't ticked off someone enough to murder her. Help me find who did it, babe, and I promise I won't bother you again."
She retreated to the foyer while he obtained the documents. Her gaze inadvertently lowered to the marble floor where a vague stain showed. "You've cleaned up the place quite well," she told him upon his return. "Is this where -- ?"
"Yes." His glance met hers, then slid away. He handed her the papers, which she stuffed into her purse.
"You came down those stairs to find Kimberly lying here?" She didn't mean to be cruel. It was important to get the facts straight. Maybe he'd remember something that he hadn't told Vail.
"You got it."
"Did the cops ever find a murder weapon?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"It wasn't ... still in her, was it?"
"No." A muscle in his jaw twitched.
"I suppose they searched outside your house."
"I suppose. I didn't really get into details of the investigation."
Again she was struck by his unfamiliar attitude. Normally, Stan was a vulture for information. This case had hit too close to home, and he was too upset to act in his accustomed manner. To her personal discomfort, this vulnerability appealed to her much more than his arrogance.
"Detective Vail mentioned a couple of your neighbors, the Addisons and Shpritzes," she said. "How well did you and Kim know them?"
"We played tennis with Cliff and Elise Addison. Kim said she was going to tell Elise about that sports club she'd joined. As for the Shpritzes, we used to go out with Adam and Jessica."
"Used to?"
He dashed a hand through his hair. "My group is involved in a malpractice suit against Adam, who's a dentist. I'm not involved, but he doesn't understand why I can't intervene. We haven't gotten together in months." His eyes narrowed. "Hey, you don't suppose he ... thought of a way to get back at me?"
"By killing Kimberly? Don't be absurd. Besides, you told me Kim's family has the best motive."
"I forgot to ask what you learned when you went there on Sunday." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm not thinking straight these days."

Marla resisted an impulse to touch him. "Miriam is delightful, although the nurse treats her like an invalid. Her two daughters don't get along, as you said. I met Morris briefly but not the rest of his family. I presume they live in the other house on the property. Oh, thanks for your birthday gift," she added in a cynical tone. "I can always use a first-aid book and a pair of bandage scissors. They'll help with my disguise."
He smirked. "I figured you'd like them."
"So who is Kim's Uncle Jerry? A relative on her father's side?"
Stan's eyebrows shot up. "I almost forgot about him. Hang on a minute."
Marla examined the foyer while he raced upstairs. _How amazing, you could never tell someone had died here._ A shiver wormed up her spine.
"Here you go," Stan said upon returning. "I found this piece of paper tucked into a pocket of Kim's slacks. Look at the man's name scribbled on it: Jeremiah Dooley. I'll bet that's who this Uncle Jerry character is, although I don't recall any relation by that name on either side of Kimberly's family. I've started to go through her things. Thought I'd offer stuff to her relatives before calling the donation truck. Say, does your child-drowning-prevention coalition do pickups?"
"No, we don't." She took the note, which included a phone number, and stuck it in her purse.
"I meant to give you the bottle of Obsession from Kimberly's dresser. It's your favorite scent, if I recall." He frowned. "Maybe the housekeeper misplaced it. I don't seem to be able to find a lot of things, lately."
"I don't want anything that you bought for Kimberly, thanks. I'm taking care of Miriam again tonight. I'll let you know if I learn anything important."
He gave a crooked smile. "I knew I could count on you, babe." Opening the front door, he followed her outside and pulled out his car keys. "Time is running short. I hope you get some answers soon. I'd hate to withdraw my offer to sell you that property, especially when we've reached a new understanding."
_I wouldn't go that far._ She smiled brightly. "Since we're so close, I hope you won't mind if I make a suggestion. You need to change shampoos. Your scalp is too dry, and you have dandruff. It shows on your jacket."
After he left, Marla glanced at her watch. An hour remained until her next customer. She'd knock on a couple of doors and see if any neighbors were home.
She lucked out a few doors down where she found a mailbox emblazoned with the Addisons' name. A woman answered the door. Wary jade eyes regarded her from an oval face framed by honey brown curls. A full head shorter than Marla, she wore a jogging suit. Her healthy complexion and lean frame showed her to be in top form.
"I'm Marla Shore, a friend of Stanley Kaufman," Marla began, handing the lady her business card. "He asked me to check out some information regarding his wife. I understand you were tennis partners."
The woman's gaze chilled. "That's right."
Marla adjusted the shoulder strap on her purse. "I'm wondering if you have any idea who might have wanted to harm Kimberly."
"Who wouldn't?"
_It would be nice if you asked me inside, pal._ "I sense a bit of hostility in your reply."
"Would you wonder why your husband gave another man's wife a set of concert tickets to a show at the National Car Rental Center? Do you know how much those cost? My name is Elise, by the way. Cliff is my husband. Say, you're not an undercover cop, are you?"
Marla laughed. "Nope. I presume you already spoke to the authorities. It appears no one in the neighborhood saw anything unusual the morning Kim was murdered."
Elise's face scrunched. "I didn't notice anything, but then I was working already at my computer."
"Oh?"
"I write e-mail newsletters for online companies."
"I see. Are you an early morning jogger? You look like you keep really fit."
"I only run four times a week. That morning wasn't one of my days."
"How often did you play tennis with Kimberly?"
"Often enough to notice the side glances Cliff gave her. We partnered with our husbands." She cleared her throat. "Cliff thinks I didn't know, but you can tell when your man's attention wanders."
"Excuse me?"
Her face paled. "I shouldn't have said that. I have to go now." She started closing the door.
"Wait! Did Kim ever mention an uncle named Jeremiah?"
Elise hesitated. "She talked about her Uncle Jerry, if that's who you mean. He has a Porsche; I saw it parked in front of her house once. It's a real beaut. Beats me where he gets the money when his ministry finances missionary work in impoverished countries."
"Is that what Kim told you?"
"Yep."
"Is he a priest?"
"I don't think so. Kim didn't tell me much about his visits, but I could tell she was excited about seeing him."
"Stan doesn't know anything about him. As far as he knows, neither does the rest of her family."
Elise shrugged. "That's not my business."
"Did she confide her plans to you?"
"What, to leave Stan? As though I couldn't guess what was on her mind!" She pointed a finger at Marla. "Don't tell the cops this, but I'm glad she's dead. Cliff has been spooked by the whole thing. I think he'll straighten out now that that vamp doesn't have her clutches in him anymore."
Marla kept her expression bland. "Well, thanks for your information. If you remember anything else, please call me. Can you tell me where the Shpritz family lives?"
"Jessica's house is number seven six oh six, one block south."
Mrs. Shpritz reminded Marla of a willow tree with her long limbs, graceful movements, and enveloping kindness. After studying Marla's business card, she gestured for her to enter.
"I don't know if you're aware of it," Jessica said after offering Marla a seat, "but Stan and Adam had a falling out. Stan's legal group is representing a malpractice case against my husband. Adam thinks Stan should intervene. You have no idea how upset we are about this lawsuit." She patted her swollen belly. "In my condition, I shouldn't have extra aggravation."
"I agree." Seated at a kitchen table, Marla watched Jessica remove a batch of chocolate-chip cookies from the oven. "Do you have any ideas about who killed Kimberly?"
"I can't say." Placing the cookie sheet on a rack, Jessica proceeded to remove her oven mitts.
_Can't say, or won't?_ "Had you spoken to Kim recently?"
"We kept in touch. I felt she could have done more to influence Stan. I got annoyed when she wouldn't bring up the subject to him, but Kim had her own problems." Jessica rinsed out two coffee mugs, filled them from a freshly brewed pot, and handed one to Marla. "Cream and sugar?"
"Yes, please." Jessica must be a paragon of housekeeping, she thought, surreptitiously taking in the spotless countertops, gleaming tile floor, and array of appliances with surfaces that shone like mirrors. _Wanna come do my house next?_
Jessica sat opposite her. "Kim was very unhappy, in case you didn't know. How did you say you knew the Kaufmans?"
Marla jerked upright. "I was Stan's first wife. In my profession, I come into contact with lots of people. I've helped the police solve cases before. That's why Stan came to me."
"I think he knew." Jessica lowered her voice to a whisper. "She was seeing some older guy. You know, the rich man who drives a Porsche."
"So you saw it, too. Elise mentioned his car."
Jessica stiffened. "You talked to _her?"_
"Yes, why?"
"Here, have a cookie. Elise must be upset. Now she'll have to find a new tennis partner."
The phone rang, and Jessica picked up the receiver. Marla caught the deep tones of a male voice on the other end.
Her face reddening, Jessica glanced at Marla. "I can't talk now. I have company. She's a friend of Stan's.... Yes, you know I'll be there. Adam thinks I'm going to a bridge game. See you later, snookems." Hanging up, she grinned at Marla. "Where were we?" Her smile was a bit too bright.
"You were telling me about the rich man who visited Kim. I understand his name is Jeremiah Dooley. Kim called him Uncle Jerry, but Stan doesn't know anything about him."
"If you believe he was her uncle, I'll sell you a piece of land in the Everglades. Kim told me she planned to leave Stan, and this Uncle Jerry was her ticket out the door."