11 Hanging by a Hair (4 page)

Marla nodded, too choked to speak. Why would Alan have been erecting a fence around his property if he didn’t mean to hang around?

Oops, bad word choice.

How had he done it? Strung himself over the shower rod? Thrown himself over the second-floor balcony, if he had one? Bile rose in her throat. The guy was a big man. He might have choked slowly, his body twitching. Had he regretted his actions in those last minutes?

Shoving those troubling thoughts aside, she nodded at the neighbors who stood around in clusters, chatting amongst themselves. She’d have liked to linger and get the scoop on what was going down, but Dalton could fill her in later. Time to leave for work. Besides, guilt tore at her. Even though she knew they weren’t responsible, she and Dalton had been rather adamant in their disagreement over the property line.

She swallowed hard as she strode toward her open garage. How much would that affect his investigation? Would bias cloud his judgment?

It’s not your problem. Focus on your own job.

Nonetheless, Marla kept her cell phone close during her morning appointments, hoping Dalton would call and reassure her. Familiar noises made her jumpy. The background music seemed too loud. The whirr of blow dryers and the splash of water seemed to echo in her ears. And the chatter of customers seemed to rise in a crescendo.

When noon came and her phone remained silent, she turned to Nicole at the next station. The cinnamon-skinned stylist had been her confidant through other cases, and Marla had to talk about this now, or she’d
plotz.
You’re not going to burst out of your skin, an inner voice said. Instead, the words spilled from her mouth.

“Nicole, you’ll never believe what’s happened,” Marla said after Nicole switched off her hand-held dryer. “Our next door neighbor was found dead this morning.”

While waiting for her twelve-thirty appointment, the other stylist had cleaned her chair of stray hairs. The shampoo girl’s broom picked up the debris.

Nicole’s brown eyes popped. “You’re kidding, girl.” She plunked the dryer down on the counter.

Marla paused midway to arranging a stack of foils for her next client. “Do I ever joke about such matters? The man is . . .
was
president of our homeowners’ association. Dalton complained about him in front of everyone at our annual meeting.”

“Oh, great. Nice way to meet your neighbors.”

“Tell me about it. Then yesterday, I caught Alan—that’s his name—trying to put up a fence on our side of the property line.” Marla furtively glanced around to make sure no one else could overhear. “He wouldn’t listen to reason, so I called Dalton.”

“This just keeps getting better.” Nicole’s expression alternated between morbid fascination and sympathy. “Go on.”

“Dalton asked if Alan had a permit for the fence and if the workers had a license. They didn’t have a survey, either. Dalton threatened to sue if Alan didn’t comply with regulations.”

“Your neighbor must have been angry. He’d have had to pay those laborers.”

“Not according to what he told them when they asked for payment. He said their agreement was based on a completed job. They weren’t too happy when they took off.”

“And now the fellow is dead?”

“Rumor has it he hanged himself, but I haven’t heard confirmation from Dalton. Bless my bones, I wish he’d call.”

“Why would he be involved if it’s a suicide?” Nicole glanced up as Luis signaled from the front. Her next customer had arrived.

“His team investigates any unattended deaths.”

“Who called this in, then?”

Marla stared at her. “You know, I hadn’t even thought about that. I have no idea.”

Clients distracted her all afternoon but still she worried. Why didn’t Dalton call? He’d know she would be waiting for news.

Who would plan Alan’s funeral? His nephew?

Marla berated herself for knowing so little about him. Here they’d confronted a man who might have had suicidal tendencies. Their dispute may have contributed to his problems, but she doubted Alan had killed himself over a property line. She and Dalton couldn’t stand by and do nothing about the land issue. Regret mixed with anger. If Alan had followed the laws, she wouldn’t have his demise weighing on her conscience.

Impatient to learn more, she finished work early. Would Dalton be home for dinner as promised, or would he be engaged in this new case? Had he left her any messages?

Dalton’s car wasn’t in the driveway when Marla got home at five-thirty, but her mother’s white Chevrolet was there. She groaned inwardly, hoping Ma’s boyfriend Roger hadn’t come along. His boisterous manner would aggravate her sour mood.

“Hello?” she called upon entering. Voices emanated from the kitchen so she headed in that direction. She had to heat up the casserole she’d made the other day, anyway.

Ma sat across from Brie at the kitchen table. The teen’s history book was open and she scribbled notes into a notebook. Good, Brie was getting her homework done before her evening dance class. But what were they discussing?

Anita glanced up and grinned at Marla’s entrance. She waved an idle greeting, her red-painted fingernails flashing in the air. Her white layered hair was a contrast to the navy blouse she wore over a pair of white cropped pants. A pair of gold chains hung from her neck.

“Hi, Ma. How are things?” Marla tossed her purse on the counter and stooped to pet the dogs who danced around her ankles. After they’d calmed down, she refilled their water dishes.

“Brie’s birthday is in less than two weeks. I offered to take her shopping for her present, but she wants money toward an iPhone.”

Marla frowned. “I know, and Dalton disapproves. He’s afraid she’ll spend all her time playing with apps.” The teen had one of their hand-me-down phones. It was ancient with a miniscule screen. She really did need an upgrade but Marla could understand Dalton’s concern.

“All my friends have one,” Brie said with a moue of discontent. Her puppy dog eyes swung toward Marla. “You’ll talk to Dad, right?”

“We’ll see.” Marla hesitated to act as a buffer between Brianna and her father. Brie often asked her to intervene when Dalton was being intransigent, feeling a woman would be more sympathetic to her needs. “Ma, how come Roger didn’t come with you?”

Anita averted her gaze. “I haven’t heard from him in two days. That concerns me. It’s unlike him not to call.”

“Two days is nothing. Maybe he went out of town or is busy with his golfing buddies.”

Her mother gave Marla a pained glance. “It’s more than that. Whenever I’ve talked to him lately, he’s seemed more distant. I can’t put my finger on it, but things aren’t the same.”

While Marla held no fondness for the portly fellow who liked to eat, he did make her widowed mother happy. She’d thought they were on the verge of moving in together.

She turned the oven on and retrieved the casserole from the refrigerator. Busy getting out the dishes and utensils, she sought an appropriate reply.

“I’m sorry you’re upset. Maybe Roger’s lack of communication has nothing to do with you and will blow over.”

Anita gave a desolate shrug. “I hope you’re right. So Brie, are you all set for your birthday luncheon?”

The teen glanced up from her book. “What’s there to do? We’re just going to Jasmine’s on the Intracoastal. It’ll be nice.”

Marla wagged her eyebrows at Anita in warning. Brie hadn’t wanted a party, saying she’d prefer to have the money instead, but Marla knew that wasn’t the real reason. Ever since her mother died, Brie had invited friends over for a barbecue on her birthday. Dalton’s parents, Kate and John, had flown down for the occasion. But this would be the first time Marla’s family would be involved. She suspected the teen would be embarrassed by having her friends around so many relatives.

Nonetheless, Marla had planned a surprise. She’d suggested they go to a restaurant this year since Anita and Roger were coming, along with Marla’s brother Michael and his family. Brie had agreed, not knowing Marla had invited ten of her girlfriends to join them.

Anita pushed herself up from her chair. “I suppose I should go. Dalton will be home any minute and you have dinner preparations under way. We’ll talk again soon.”

“You can stay for dinner. I’ve made my chicken spaghetti casserole. We’ll have more than enough for company.”

Anita knew she had a standing invitation whenever she stopped in, although Marla wished she’d give advance notice of her visits.

“That’s okay. I’m playing mah jongg later, and I need to get ready, but thanks anyway.” Anita grasped her purse. “Have a good dance class tonight, bubula.” She bent to give the teen a quick kiss on the forehead.

“Thanks.” Brianna’s eyebrows lifted. “I hear the garage door. Dad is home.”

Brie scooted to her feet to unlock the inner door while Marla escorted Anita to the foyer.

“Ma, I’m sure everything will turn out all right with Roger.”

Anita gave her a troubled glance. “Do you think he’s sick? Maybe I should stop by his place. He might need me.”

“His son, Barry, is around to help. If you’ve left messages, it’s up to him to respond.”

She did agree that it was unusual for Roger not to call back promptly. That had always been his habit, almost to the point of annoyance when he phoned Anita several times a day. Perhaps a temporary issue had come up that kept him occupied.

Her mother’s problems fled her mind as Marla bustled into the kitchen to greet Dalton, but he wasn’t there. Brie sat alone at the table, biting her lip in concentration as she resumed her homework.

“Where’s your father?” Marla stuck the baking dish into the oven and set the timer.

“He went to get washed. Gosh, a girl can’t get anything done with all the commotion around here.”

“You could go into the study. It would be quieter.”

“No, thanks. How much time until the food is ready?”

“A half hour or so.”

Questions burning on her tongue about the day’s case, Marla hustled to the bedroom. Dalton was locking his gun into the safe they’d installed for that purpose. His heavy-duty belt lay across the bed, along with his tie. His face looked haggard, and sympathy seeped into her pores.

“How’d it go today?” She leaned against the door frame.

“Okay.”

“That’s it? There’s crime scene tape across Alan’s front door. Does that mean something you can share?”

Dalton’s mouth tightened. “Yes, it means the case is under investigation.”

“But what about the evidence indicating a suicide? And who called in the death to the police? Where was Alan found? Did he really hang himself?”

“You know I can’t discuss the details.” After adding his extra pack of ammo, Dalton punched in the code to lock the safe. Then he laid out his radio, cell phone, badge and cuffs in a neat row on top of their dresser.

“For heaven’s sake, we’d just spoken to the man. Do you think our conversation pushed him over the edge?”

“It’s not our fault. Don’t think that for a minute.” Dalton shot her a dark glare before striding into the bathroom to scrub his face with water. Patting his skin dry with a towel, he glanced at her in the mirror to where she’d followed behind. “Marla, give me some space, will you? I just got home. I’ll tell you more when I’ve relaxed.”

“I’ve been worried all day. I thought you would call me at work, knowing I’d be anxious to hear from you. Can’t you at least tell me what’s being made public?”

He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. “Soon, all right? Let’s eat first.”

She studied his stern features and tense shoulders. Craving an affectionate response and not this chilly reception, she decided to cease her probing questions for now.

Maybe he was hungry. Didn’t Ma always say to talk about important issues after a man had his meal? Nonetheless, he could offer her a crumb of information.

He headed to the study and picked up the mail she’d stacked on their desk.

Marla trailed after him, wondering how to improve his mood. Normally she wouldn’t pester him about a case, but this one involved someone they had both known. She watched him set each envelope down without reading it, his gaze turned inward. Something was definitely off kilter, and it might have nothing to do with her.

“Dalton, I know you’re upset.” She hoped her soft tone would soothe him. “So am I. We couldn’t have known Alan was so depressed. He didn’t show it, although his anger could have been a manifestation.”

Dalton had been quite vocal also, she remembered. The men had shouted at each other. Had her husband gone to code enforcement as planned and filed a complaint? Did guilt afflict him like it did her?

His lips thinned as he stalked into the kitchen. Clearly he wasn’t in the mood to talk, but it wasn’t healthy for him to keep his feelings restrained. Was this what it meant to live with a cop? Officers preferred to leave the ugliness of their world behind when they stepped inside the haven of their home. Maybe it was wrong of her to pry.

Focusing on her wifely duties, she grabbed a potholder and cracked the oven door to check on the casserole. It was bubbly around the edges. Almost done.

Dalton gave his daughter a perfunctory greeting and turned on the news. They kept a small TV in the kitchen. He liked to hear what local newscasters were saying about police matters. With an irritated glance, Brie slammed her book closed.

“I’ll finish this later. Marla, I’m going to pack my bag for dance class. Don’t forget the monthly check is due today.”

“It’s already in my purse. I’m giving this dish ten more minutes and then dinner will be ready.”

“Okay.” Brie halted halfway toward the door and whirled around. Maybe she’d noticed her father’s long face. Or maybe she’d picked up on Marla’s subdued tone.

“Dad, what’s the matter? I know you didn’t like our neighbor, but you’re usually able to be objective about a case. What’s so different about this one?”

Dalton’s morose gaze fell upon them. For a long moment, he didn’t speak.

“If you must know,” he said finally in a funereal tone, “I’ve been removed from the case.”

“What?” Marla and Brie said in unison.

“It’s a potential homicide, and I’m a person of interest.”