11 Hanging by a Hair (28 page)

Marla wondered whether she should tell Debbie about Ethan’s connection to Alan Krabber. Had Alan realized his son was responsible for the defective product that sabotaged their development?

She could just imagine Alan’s volatile reaction upon hearing he had an offspring from the woman who turned her back on him. A Jewish woman. She’d bet that was what had soured Alan on her religion. His vitriol had been born from hurt and a sense of betrayal. Then what was this ministry he’d supported and that had paid him a regular income?

She believed Debbie who’d said she didn’t kill anyone. So who did that leave? Ethan? He would have bumped off his dad right after they’d first met, not now. And he would have had no reason to murder Cherry Hunter. The answers had to be closer to home.

“Who else knew about your, uh, indiscretion?” she asked Debbie. “Ron Cloakman found out money was missing, but he thought Cherry was to blame.”

“She was furious at him for accusing her and told Gene. He realized it was me. I’d set up the lockbox arrangement, you see.”

“So you two were watching each other’s backs, so to speak. He’d keep quiet about you if you supported the bid from Erik Mansfield.”

Debbie bowed her head. “That’s right.”

“People saw Ron talking to Cherry at the garage sale, so I’m guessing that was the first time he spoke to her about the HOA’s problematic finances.”

“If I were you, Marla, I’d tell your husband to take another look at Ron’s company. I don’t know that they’re doing so well. Those Native Americans have asked for a permanent injunction against further building in this neighborhood. That ruling would kill his master project.”

Maybe Ron
had
been warning Cherry against exposing the burial site that day. When Alan told the developer about his discovery, he may have mentioned Cherry was the one who’d verified his find. Ron might have lied about the true purpose of his conversation with the association treasurer, although Marla had no doubt he’d also accused her of embezzlement.

Another neighbor entered the office, and Marla took her leave. Troubled thoughts plagued her as she went to work. Had Dalton verified Ron’s alibi for the night Alan died?

Then again, what role did Herb Poltice play? Was he such a fanatic that he’d attempted to exact revenge on the pair who’d defiled his ancestral burial site?

She waved a greeting to Luis at the front desk and to the other stylists as she strode to her station. Had Herb been the one snooping in Alan’s yard the day Spooks fell down the hole? He could have been attempting to uncover more bones for himself. But that didn’t make sense. Herb wanted to preserve the site, not cause further desecration. And it was illogical for him to kill the two people who could serve as witnesses in favor of an injunction. The issue was bigger than him alone.

And what about her own near-miss incidents? Who was to blame in that regard? The intruder she’d surprised had been inside Alan’s house, not in his yard.

One fact was certain—Alan and Cherry were connected through the discovery in his backyard. That had to be the linchpin.

In her opinion, only one person stood to gain the most from silencing them. The finger of guilt pointed irrefutably to Ron Cloakman.

“How’s Dara doing?” Nicole said as Marla plopped her purse on the salon counter and plugged in her appliances. “Will she be okay?”

“She’s fine. I called the hospital and they’re releasing her this morning.”

“I hope she doesn’t sue. Those cupcakes were meant for you.” Nicole gave her an appraising glance.

“Yes, and she wasn’t supposed to eat them!” Marla gestured to the interior. “If she sues us, I’ll counter with accusations of theft. I’ll bet Dara can account for our missing inventory.”

“You don’t have any proof, since you’re the only one who caught her in the act. Unfortunately, the cameras hadn’t been activated yet.”

“Maybe, but I’d have plenty of character references in my favor. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“What was in the food? Could it have killed her?”

“No, it wasn’t a lethal dose. The drug was an antihistamine commonly found in many medicines. What’s scary is that Alan Krabber ingested something similar before he died.”

“The drug or the cupcakes?”

“Maybe both.”

“Was Dalton able to trace who sent them?”

“Not so far, although his lab tech might have lifted some prints off the box. It didn’t have a label, so we’re assuming the pastries didn’t come from a shop. You can buy bakery boxes in any kitchen supply store.”

“You think this was a warning directed at you?”

“Yes, and it worked. I need to be more careful, but I’m not going to stop my inquiries.”

“What does Dalton say?”

“He’s clammed up. Usually, that means he’s getting close to solving the case. Anyway, let’s talk about more cheerful topics. What do you have going on this morning?”

Nicole pointed to her printed schedule. “My first appointment is a thermal heat treatment. I hope I remember how to do one.”

“If you want a quick refresher, we have a video in the back.”

Nicole would be tied up all morning with that procedure. The special process relaxed and straightened hair. Its effects could last up to four months.

“No thanks, I’ll be okay.” The sleek stylist glanced at her watch. She wore skinny pants and a blousy top. Several bracelets clinked on her other arm. “It’s almost time. I need some more coffee before I get started.”

“Me, too. I’ll walk you back.” Once they were ensconced in the break room, Marla addressed an issue of concern. “Did you make plans for Luis’s going-away party?”

Nicole grinned, a flash of white teeth in her warm mocha face. “Arnie is bringing platters over on Friday. I can’t believe this is Luis’s last week.”

“I’m grateful he’s coming in on Saturday since I have to leave early. We’re having eighteen people over for Passover.”

Nicole’s eyes bugged. “How will you get everything done in time? Have you started cooking?”

“Not yet, but I’ll manage.”

“You always do.” Nicole filled her mug with coffee, cream and sugar. “What do you have first?”

“A cut and blow on a new customer. At least, I don’t recognize his name.”

Marla approached the day with her usual cheer, putting aside the hundred things on her mental list until later. Working at her chair functioned as a form of meditation. When combing, cutting, or curling, she could forget about everything else. All that mattered was the art her fingers could create. And it never got boring. No matter how many times she blow-dried people’s hair, she designed the results for each client’s unique texture and volume.

She’d just put down her coffee cup on her station counter when Luis signaled to her. Marla went up front to greet the client and walk him back to the shampoo station. Her jaw dropped when she regarded the familiar face.

“Robyn! Luis told me someone named Robert was coming.”

“He must have heard me wrong.” Robyn Piper regarded her thoughtfully through her black framed glasses. “I thought I’d check out your place. I need my hair restyled anyway.”

“Come on back.” Marla accompanied her, stopping a minute to run her fingers through Robyn’s straight brown hair. “What did you have in mind?”

“Cut it shorter, but not too much. I’ve had bad hairstylists who hack your hair off.”

“Show me where you want it,” Marla suggested.

“Somewhere around here.” Robyn demonstrated a range from chin to shoulder length.

“Do you still want it one length or layered? Did you bring pictures of what you like?” Lots of times, people expected Marla to be a mind reader. Or they wanted a style worn by a celebrity but one that wouldn’t work on their type of hair.

“I’m afraid not. And can you do anything about the color? It’s so mousy. My hair looks like mud. Plus, it has no shine.”

Marla led Robyn to her chair where she discussed the possibilities for a makeover. Robyn agreed somewhat tremulously to a layered cut and color. While Robyn put on a smock, Marla consulted Luis about her schedule. She’d need more time with this appointment than anticipated.

Maybe Robyn had come to check out the salon regarding Marla’s job offer. Ads hadn’t brought in any more candidates for the receptionist position. Marla had spoken to a couple of women referred by other stylists. One of them didn’t want to work Saturdays, and the other person hung up the phone after Marla said group health insurance was available, but the woman would have to pay for her own portion. What she needed was an energetic person who enjoyed meeting new people and who had decent computer skills.

Robyn probably looked at this job as a comedown from her higher-paying corporate position. Marla didn’t want to pressure her for a decision but would hire her on the spot.

“I love it!” Robyn exclaimed after Marla finished restyling her hair. She gazed at herself in the mirror and grinned like a cat who just drank a bowl of cream. “I swear, you’ve made me look ten years younger.”

“You look great. Here, take this ticket up front. I’ve given you a discount as a first-timer and a Royal Oaks resident.”

“Sure.” Standing, Robyn fumbled in her handbag and withdrew a twenty-dollar bill. “Here, I appreciate you altering your schedule for me.”

“Thanks.” When she’d first opened, Marla hadn’t accepted tips as the owner. But she changed that policy not long afterward, feeling customers wanted to show their gratitude and felt awkward when she turned them down. She stuck the money in her drawer and pointed to her daily printout. “Actually, Luis makes up our schedules. Saturday is his last day.”

Robyn swallowed and averted her gaze. “Um, does your offer still stand?”

“Honey, if you want a job, you’ve got one.”

“Really? Because I’ve decided I need a break from corporate America. It would be fun to work here. It’s lively, and I’d get to meet new people. I’d like to give it a try.”

Marla’s spirits soared. “When can you start?”

Robyn smiled. “When do you need me? I’ve been enjoying my time off, but I’m starting to get restless. I don’t like being idle.”

“We’re closed Sundays and Mondays. Can you begin on Tuesday?”

Robyn clapped. “I’m so excited. I have errands to run today, but could I come in tomorrow to see what Luis does?” Her eyes gleamed behind her glasses.

“Absolutely. This is fabulous. Nicole, meet our new receptionist!” Marla made the rounds, introducing Robyn to her staff. They extended friendly greetings.

“Welcome aboard,” Luis said. “I’ll be happy to show you the ropes. You’ll like this job. It’s a cheerful place to work. Marla, your first client on Thursday is scheduled for one o’clock like you requested.”

“Okay, great. I have things to get done in the morning.”

First thing on her list for Thursday was the appointment for the fence estimate. Dalton dropped Brie off at the school bus stop while Marla took the dogs out. It would be wonderful when she could just let the animals out in the backyard.

Around the corner, she spied Angela working on her plants. Stray wisps of hair curled around the older woman’s face under a wide-brimmed hat. She used a hoe in her garden, clearing a patch of land. The tool had seen better days, judging from the rust stains on its surface.

Spooks strained on his leash and barked. Lucky joined in at the sight of another hound across the street. Marla nodded to the other pet owner.

“Hey, Marla.” Angela stopped her exertions and waved.

“Hi, how’s it going?” Marla winced when Lucky halted to pee on Angela’s lawn. She tugged on Spooks’s taut line. The poodle kept barking even after the strange dog moved away.

“I’m trying to put my herbs in before it gets too hot. Say, how’s your husband’s investigation coming along? I don’t feel particularly safe knowing there’s a killer roaming the neighborhood. I’m surprised no one’s been arrested yet.”

I’m with you, pal.
“Sorry, Dalton won’t share the details.”

“That’s too bad. Do you know at least if they’re close to catching the guy?”

“I have no idea.” Uncomfortable with the topic, she changed the subject. “What are you baking? Something smells good.”

The scent of warm bread emanated from Angela’s house. Marla loved the cooking aromas when she walked around the block. You could always tell when someone was roasting a chicken or having a barbecue. Hadn’t Angela said she’d worked in a bakery?

“Easter is next weekend. I’m making some sweet breads and donating them to the local nursing home. I do it every year. They’re very appreciative.”

“How kind of you.” A lick of surprise hit Marla at Angela’s generosity.

“Bread symbolizes life and is an important part of Easter rituals. It’s amazing how much our two faiths have in common.” Angela put down her tool and trudged across the grass toward Marla. “Judaism is the basis for Christianity. I have no doubts in that regard. And the Lord was born of your disposition. However, He sacrificed himself so we could live free of sin. If you accept his teachings, you’ll join us when He returns to claim his followers. That day is coming sooner than you think.”

“Thanks, but this is my cue to move on.” Marla tightened her grip on the dog leashes. Spooks continued to snarl in an uncharacteristic manner. What had gotten him so riled? The poodle must sense her discomfort.

“I can give you a loaf to take home,” Angela offered with a friendly smile. “I’ve already made a couple of batches. My braided egg bread is the best.”

“Oh, really? That sounds like challah. I’m sure it’s divine, but you might as well save it for the people in the nursing home.” She strode forward, not caring if she was being rude.

No wonder the woman lived alone. Who would listen to her ramblings on a daily basis? Marla sucked in a breath of fresh, warm air and increased her pace. She’d better get home before the fence guy appeared.

A truck had pulled up to the curb in front of her house by the time she returned. She put the dogs inside the house. Ignoring their barking, she hastened around her yard to the rear, where Dalton was talking to a scrawny fellow with a craggy face.

“Marla, this is Ralph Emerson. My wife, Marla.”