Died Blonde (16 page)

“He knew my name.”

Hairs prickled on Marla’s nape. “Was it anyone you recognized?”

The girl shook her head, ponytail swinging. “He looked as though he were medium-height, with black hair sticking out from the mask. All I could see was the gun pointed at me.”

“Of course.” She turned to Vail. “Can’t you track the vehicle?”

“No luck. That other girl who was killed…she went to the same school. I’m checking into people who work there.”

Marla hugged Brianna, then released her grip. “I’ll take care of her. She won’t be alone.”

Vail cleared his throat. “Keep your cell phone on,” he said gruffly, “in case I need to reach you. And make sure you don’t park in any dark corners.”

“I’ll watch my back and Brianna’s, too. You get on with your work. Don’t worry about us.”

The detective escorted them to Marla’s Toyota. He stood in the parking lot, consternation twisting his features as he observed them driving away. Marla clutched the steering wheel, feeling a flood of warmth at the trust he’d placed in her. He’d given her his most precious possession, showing his faith that she’d keep his daughter safe.

“I don’t feel well,” Brianna said when they reached Marla’s town house. “I’d rather skip dance class today.”

“You had a scare, honey. I don’t blame you for being frightened, but you shouldn’t let it restrict your activities.”

Spooks barked on the other side of the garage door. Inserting her key in the lock, Marla pushed open the entry and quickly punched in the alarm code.

“No one took Lucky out,” Brianna said, throwing her bags on the tile floor.

“Dalton will have to worry about your dog.” Spooks yipped excitedly, sniffing Brianna’s ankles. “See, he smells your golden retriever.” Stooping, Marla scratched the poodle behind his ears and told him, “Come on, I’ll let you into the backyard.”

While Brianna sagged into a chair at the kitchen table, Marla laid her purse on a counter, let the dog out, and quickly rifled through the mail she’d picked up at the cluster box. More bills; nothing that couldn’t wait. After washing her hands, she turned her attention to Brianna.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked the girl, peering at her more closely in the bright interior light. Brie’s skin looked flushed, her eyes glassy.

“I really don’t want to go to dance class tonight. I have homework due tomorrow, and my head hurts.”

“Are you sure that man didn’t touch you?” Maybe Brie felt too uncomfortable telling her dad everything.

“It has nothing to do with him. I wasn’t feeling well earlier.”

Alarm frissoned through her. Perhaps more had occurred than Brianna could confess aloud, and the trauma was manifesting itself in other symptoms. She dispelled that notion as soon as she pressed the back of her hand against Brianna’s forehead. Her skin felt burning hot.

“Uh oh, I think you really are sick. Wait here. I’ll get a thermometer.” Since she’d played nurse’s aide at Miriam Pearl’s house, Marla had invested in a digital oral thermometer. It read 102.8 degrees after Brianna stuck it under her tongue.

Panicking, Marla phoned Vail who wearily told her to give the girl some aspirin. If that didn’t work, she could call their doctor. A cool sponge bath would help to bring the fever down.

“I don’t know how to deal with this,” Marla said in a frantic tone. “Can’t you leave yet? Your daughter needs you.”
And so do I
.

“You can handle it. Call me in an hour and let me know how she is.”

Plopping down the receiver, Marla rushed into the bathroom to fumble in her medicine cabinet for a bottle of Advil. Was the thirteen-year-old considered a child or an adult? Scanning the dosage directions, Marla decided to give her two tablets right away.

“Do you have a sore throat? Is your nose stuffy?” she asked Brianna, setting the two pills in front of her along with a glass of tap water.

“I just have a headache.” Brianna swallowed the tablets then gazed at Marla with listless eyes. “Where can I lie down?”

“In the guest bedroom.” Marla’s three-bedroom town house included her master suite, home office, and guest room plus the kitchen, laundry, family room, and rarely used formal dining area. She loved its spaciousness and the fact that it was single-story, so she didn’t have to climb stairs.

Settling Brianna onto the queen-size pullout sleep sofa, she hovered over the bed like a nervous nanny. Now what? “Do you feel like eating dinner? Or shall I get you a Coke?”

“Just the drink,” Brie said in a feeble voice. “My stomach feels upset.”

Oh, great. Marla pushed an empty wastebasket to the side of the bed in case Brianna threw up. What was wrong with her? Did she have an ordinary virus, or something worse?

Michael didn’t make her feel better when she called her brother for advice. He and Charlene had two young children. They’d know all about childhood illnesses.

“Could be meningitis,” he offered. “Or mono. Kids get that a lot when they share drinks and such.”

“Gee, thanks. What else should I worry about?”

“Jacob is having hip pain. He shouldn’t be experiencing a joint problem when he’s only five. We’re taking him to the doctor tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How do you manage when both of you work?” Michael’s job as a financial adviser kept him glued to Wall Street reports, and Charlene couldn’t just take leave from her elementary school at any moment.

“No problem. We call a sitter when one of our kids gets sick; otherwise we work appointments into our schedules.”

“Well, I don’t know any baby-sitters, and I can’t take off from work when I run a salon and have clients scheduled. Maybe I’ll call Ma and see if she can come over.”

“I spoke to her this morning. She’s changing her blood-pressure medicine and needs to adjust to the new regimen, so I wouldn’t bother her if I were you.”

“You’re not much help!”

“This is what it’s like when you have children. Get used to it. Taking on a teenager is an even bigger burden.”

“Brianna is a sweetheart. She acts like a tough cookie sometimes, but inside she’s just a needy child.” Marla spoke in a low tone from her telephone in the study. “Do you think her fever will be gone by tomorrow?”

“Who knows? If it’s a virus, it may last up to five days. Temperature is always higher in the evening, so check it the same time each day. It should respond to the Advil, but you can put a cool washcloth on her forehead.”

“I’ll do that, and good luck with Jacob. Let me know what the doctor says.”

Marla hung up, dwelling on the number of people she knew who were ill. For which one of them had Carolyn’s warning been intended? Or had it been aimed at herself?

One thing was certain: as soon as Marla had a free day, she’d head for Cassadaga to consult a certified medium. Another reading might help to dissipate the cloud of anxiety that enveloped her.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to take on the burden of raising a child,” Marla said to Tally on the road to Cassadaga. Sunday morning found them on the turnpike heading north. It had been her first free day after Brianna’s illness, which had turned out to be an upper respiratory infection.

For the rest of the week, Marla had been stuck between taking care of clients in the salon and rushing out to tend the teenager at Vail’s house. At least one good thing had resulted: the virus that had kept Brianna home had given the child time to recover from the trauma of the attempted abduction. She was a resilient kid, and Marla admired her fortitude. Brie had been scared but had learned a valuable lesson in caution.

“You can expect more of the same if you marry Dalton,” Tally remarked.

“I worried myself sick over that girl. This is precisely why I didn’t want to have children. I can’t handle it on a full-time basis. Raising kids takes too much from life,” Marla said, gripping the steering wheel.

They had passed the Fort Pierce rest stop at ten o’clock. That meant they should arrive at the spiritualist camp in time for lunch. Marla peered out the window at rows of orange trees laden with green fruit. Would she ever be able to take enough days off for a real vacation?

“That’s a selfish attitude,” Tally replied.

“So? I worked hard to establish my salon and build my business. I can’t stay home with Brianna, and I’m afraid Dalton would expect me to fall into that role.”

“He’s not like Ken. The detective respects your ambition. It’s one of the reasons he was attracted to you in the first place.”

“A lot of men change when you marry them. Look at your husband. Ken encouraged you to open the dress shop, but now he wants you to remain home and breed babies. They’re all alike.”

“Have you talked to Dalton about it?”

Marla shook her head, soft strands of hair brushing her face. “Dalton will have the same response you did and say I’m being selfish. Maybe I am, but I want more from life than taking care of children, watching them leave the nest, and constantly worrying about their health and safety.”

“It’s a big responsibility,” Tally acknowledged in a wistful tone that made Marla glance at her. With her lithe body encased in a tank top and shorts, Tally looked ready for a jaunt to the beach. How would her friend feel after having several kids when she couldn’t fit into a size eight anymore?

“Are you prepared to stay home with your brood when they get sick?” Marla shot at her.

“I can always hire a nanny. But if I decide to go that route, I’ll definitely need a manager. You should take more time off too, Marla, if only to give yourself a break. I’ve seen those brochures of Tahiti in your purse. Are they just pipe dreams, or do you really want to go?”

Marla grimaced as the dart hit home. She’d hardly traveled anywhere except with her parents in her younger days, and she yearned for adventures abroad. Sometimes you had to put off the things you wanted until you developed the means to get there.

“I’m working on it,” she said vaguely. “In the meantime, I hope to ask around to see if anyone in the psychic community has heard of Wilda Cleaver. I’m still not buying into her fortune-telling.”

“What about your nephew? You said he’d been ill.”

“Jacob had a mild joint inflammation treated with rest and children’s aspirin. He’d fallen off their swing set; that’s how he got hurt. Ma is feeling better, too, so I’m not sure who Carolyn’s supposed message was meant for. I’m more worried about the man who tried to accost Brianna than any of our ailments.”

“You’ll see what the psychics say at Cassadaga. What do you know about the place? I’ve never been there, although I always wanted to go.” Shifting in her seat, Tally raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Marla sniffed her friend’s favorite Poison perfume. It scented the dry air-conditioned interior. “A man named George Colby founded the settlement in the late 1800s,” she said. “He grew up in Minnesota, where his dead uncle sent a message through a medium that George would establish a spiritual center in the South. He developed the ability to communicate with spirits himself and traveled around giving seances.”

“No kidding? My deceased relatives don’t give me any good investment advice.”

Marla chuckled. “Listen to this. His spirit guide directed him to go to Florida and obtain a patch of government land that the spirits had selected for their camp. Colby filed a homestead claim, part of which he deeded in 1895 to the Southern Cassadaga Spiritualist Camp Meeting Association. That’s the town’s formal title. It’s listed in the National Register of Historic Places.”

“Holy smokes. So the spirits ordained where this camp should take root.”

“Actually, I think people wanted a place to escape from the cold weather.” Marla’s lips twisted cynically. “Most of the settlers came from up North. Residents pay a yearly rental fee to the association for use of the land. We’ll be staying at the Cassadaga Hotel.”

“I hope we can see the auditorium. My drumming-circle guide said the vibrations in its seance room are strong due to the ectoplasm produced by mediums over the years.”

“Ectoplasm? Isn’t that a made-up term from the
Ghostbusters
film?”

Tally threw her a narrowed glance. “It’s for real, Marla. Ectoplasm is electromagnetic energy that emanates from a medium’s body. Wrapped around a spirit, it lets you view the entity.”

“So you can see ghosts?” Marla scoffed. “Oh, joy. Just what I want to meet: Carolyn’s spook admonishing me to find her killer. Give me a break.”

A frown creased Tally’s brow; she took this stuff seriously. “If you don’t believe in psychic powers, why are you here?”

“To ask about Wilda Cleaver and see if anyone knows her. To get another reading and compare it to her predictions. I’m not totally closed to the possibility of extrasensory events,” she added, considering the fact that she needed an ally, and Tally might be more helpful if she felt Marla could accept metaphysical phenomena, “but I’d like confirmation.”

When they reached Orlando, Marla took 1-4 east until they reached Deltona. Shortly thereafter she spotted a sign for Blue Spring State Park and Cassadaga. Turning off at Exit 114, they came to a traffic light, where she turned left.
If I had natural psychic tendencies
, Marla thought,
I wouldn’t need a map. Instinct would lead me in the proper direction
.

Approximately a half mile farther, she made a right onto Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Beltway. Following Tally’s instructions, she hung right next, turning on County Road 4139. Scenes from old Florida unfolded as she drove along a narrow two-lane wooded road through hilly terrain. Welcoming the change from blistering hot South Florida, Marla felt her muscles relax and her mind ease. She didn’t see any people as they passed a house labeled spiritual gardens and entered downtown Cassadaga.

“It sure is dead around here,” she quipped. “Wow, look at that sign. It says we’re coming to a congested area. They must mean that intersection with all of five buildings.” Pressing on the brake, Marla checked out the village bookstore on the right and the hotel on the opposite corner. Other public buildings beckoned her interest, but she figured she’d explore them later. Across the street, Marla parked in a gravel lot in front of the hotel. Traffic was nonexistent; she wondered if residents were as wraithlike as the ghosts summoned in seances.

Emerging from the Camry, she smoothed her rumpled tan capri pants. Insects swarmed past her nose, drawn by a sweet honey scent pervading the humid air. Her envious glance surveyed Tally, who appeared none the worse for wear from their four-hour drive. Marla always felt practical when she compared herself to Tally’s svelte looks. It served her well during investigations. While men gawked at the tall blonde, Marla steered their conversation in the direction she needed to go.

“Quaint hotel,” Tally commented, fanning herself. “My guidebook says it was built originally in 1927 and renovated in the 1990s, so I hope that means it has central air-conditioning. Did you ask when you made our reservation? It’s so hot; we’ll have to go somewhere else if it isn’t cool inside.”

“Don’t worry; I’m sure they have modern amenities.” Marla’s doubtful gaze swept the two-story building with a cream facade and red awnings. A sign said, FOR A READING APPOINTMENT, INQUIRE AT THE FRONT DESK. While a light breeze stirred wisps of her hair, she listened to the twitter of birds and the occasional rumble of a car cruising past.

Her pumps crunched on gravel as she approached the ivy-covered building. A couple of middle-aged women sat on the front porch playing cards. One of them glanced up when Marla and Tally pushed open the screen door and climbed the steps. The lady’s plump face showed a heavy application of makeup. Into Marla’s head popped an image of a woman swathed in silk and seated around a crystal ball.
If she’s one of the mediums the hotel offers, I’ll pass
. Apparently the north porch invited smokers, because ashtrays sat on the scattered tables. Marla hoped that meant the interior was a smoke-free environment.

Inside a cool rush of air-conditioning brought welcome relief to her heated skin. Orchestral music played quietly in the background while ceiling fans twirled overhead with Victorian-style lights. Green velvet upholstered chairs and polished wood tables wore lace runners. On a cocktail table in front of the sofa, a red candle squatted in a circle of fake red roses and baby’s breath. Marla had never liked artificial flowers; they reminded her of death. She took in the potted plants placed at strategic locations around the lobby, which, she admitted to herself, exuded a certain charm.

“I love this place,” Tally cried, studying a lamp with crystals dangling from an old-fashioned shade. A bar decorated with painted landscapes lent to the time-warp atmosphere. “I’ll have to take photos tonight. Did you know that when you use a digital camera in the dark and balls of light show up in the pictures, those may be spirits? They’re called orbs.”

“
May be
is the proper term,” Marla retorted.

Restroom doors painted black and a creaky staircase rising to the second level made her wonder if there were phantoms inhabiting the hotel. A sign announcing an evening ghost tour gave her the answer. Tally might want to move in. Her friend reveled in this stuff.

“You can sign up for readings with one of our mediums,” a desk clerk said in the gift shop. After registering and securing their single room key—a real key and not a modern card—Marla had inquired about seeing a spiritualist. “Or else visit the bookstore across the street. In the back room is a bulletin board listing the certified mediums and healers who are available today. You call them to make an appointment; there’s a phone provided. Be sure to pick up a copy of the program booklet while you’re there. It’ll let you know what’s going on tonight.”

“Thank you.” After accepting a free copy of
Horizons
, a newsletter containing spiritual insights and local advertisements, she proceeded upstairs with Tally to deposit their luggage. Their suite turned out to be two bedrooms with the wall removed between them, and the beds essentially foot to foot. A window air-cooling unit provided relief from the heat. It looked to be a fun night, Marla thought, glancing at the few amenities. No telephone, no television. Not much in the way of furnishings except for a huge wardrobe that could easily hide a dead body, a dresser with a bouquet of silk flowers that looked wilted, and a radio alarm clock, the only sign of modern civilization.
You’re supposed to seek inner peace here
, she reminded herself with a wry twist to her lips,
not the delights of the technological age
.

“Let’s get something to eat,” she said after refreshing herself in the single bathroom. Lacking a stall shower, the facilities consisted of a toilet and a tub framed by maroon drapes. A pedestal sink stood in the bedroom.

“This is so cool,” Tally crooned as they descended the carpeted staircase. Marla suppressed her unenthusiastic response. When they entered the Lost in Time Cafe, her mood lightened at the sight of other guests chatting happily in a bright, inviting dining room. A waitress wearing a black vest over a white blouse and black slacks brought the menus and took their drink orders. Resisting the urge to order a glass of wine, Marla got an iced tea to go with her mushroom swissburger. Lacy white curtains flanked the windows, while silk plants and paintings combined with the cozy decor to maintain the feeling of having been transitioned back in time.

Fortified with food, they headed outdoors to the bookstore across the street. Remodeled through the years, the single-story structure boasted a faded yellow exterior and low-slung roof. Reaching the front porch, Marla pushed open the door and stepped inside. The pleasant scent of incense drifted her way. Cruising the interior, she looked askance at books on topics ranging from astrology to the afterlife. Jewelry gleamed in display cases. Trying not to appear too clueless, Marla peered at pairs of metal balls in boxes, stones painted with symbols, and other strange items the purpose of which she hadn’t an inkling about. Clearly, she was out of her element here, although Tally squealed with delight as she browsed the contents.

This may suit you, but I’m getting the willies. The only spooks I want to know is my dog, and he’s safely in the kennel
.

Leaving her friend behind, she meandered into the next room, which held the bulletin board listing available mediums. Scanning the roster, Marla wasn’t struck by any intuitive guidance as to which one to pick. A natural inclination to choose a woman came to mind; otherwise, it was a crapshoot. Mustering her nerve, she picked up the phone and arbitrarily dialed one of the numbers.

A throaty female voice answered. “Hello?”

Marla wondered if the psychic had known she was going to call. “Hi, is this Reverend Hazel Sherman? I’m interested in getting a reading. Can you please give me more information?” She felt like an idiot, not quite knowing what to say.

“Is this your first visit to town, dear?”

The woman’s voice poured over her like warm honey. “Yes, it is. I’m not really sure how to go about this.”