11 Hanging by a Hair (21 page)

“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “I was just leaving. Debbie, we’ll talk more about this later. I have to go to work.”

After he left, Marla handed over her check to the association secretary. “Here’s our April payment. Sorry it’s late, but I got busy with our daughter’s birthday and forgot to turn it in.”

“You’re still within the grace period, so don’t worry. How are things?”

“Good, thanks, except I was shocked to hear about Cherry Hunter. Her death must be another blow to the Board. I’m so sorry.”

Debbie bent her head, a lock of strawberry-blond hair falling forward. “It’s unbelievable. I’m beginning to think we’re cursed.”

“We are, if you listen to Herb Poltice. He’s the guy who staged the protest at our garage sale.”

“Oh, Lord. That was a nightmare.”

“What’s happening with the development in regard to a potential archaeological site?” Marla asked with wide-eyed innocence.

Debbie lifted her gaze to meet Marla’s. “Further construction is halted for now. I don’t know what will happen. I can’t believe Alan didn’t come forward with this news instead of keeping it to himself.”

“He told Cherry about it. I suppose he wanted to make sure those were human remains and not animal bones before he called in the authorities.”

“How did he even know the bones were old and not recent? Alan should have gone through proper channels.”

“That’s true.” Marla shifted her purse to her other shoulder. “So Gene is acting president now, right? I understand he has an interest in getting the new playground built. Won’t that project also be affected by a construction delay?”

“I suppose, but that might be beneficial. It’s going to cost us a special assessment. We need to know how much so we can send out a letter to residents.”

“Doesn’t the cost depend on which bid we accept?”

“Gene means to give the job to Erik Mansfield’s company so he can get a kickback.” Debbie slapped a hand to her mouth.

“Oh, gosh. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Marla lowered her voice. “I heard him mention hiring a management company. Wouldn’t an outside firm examine our financial records?”

“Sure,” Debbie said in a wary tone. “Why?”

“Well, if they discover any discrepancies, they’ll be sure to report them.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Marla leaned forward, her hands on the desk. “I spoke to Ron Cloakman. He hinted that something isn’t right in the association’s books.”

Debbie’s face paled. “Is that so? I wonder where he gets his information. Maybe you should ask Cherry, our treasurer. Oh wait, she’s dead.”

That’s a bit harsh, pal.
“Cherry would have been responsible for keeping track of dues payments, right?”

“Yes, I just collect the checks. It’s not my job to do the entries into the books.”

“Don’t our payments go to some lockbox in Tampa? I was under the impression that you sent our checks there and they make the deposits.”

Debbie’s lips pursed. “Just so.”

“And it was Cherry who made this arrangement? Why don’t residents mail their payments directly to the lockbox instead of going through you?”

“It’s easier to send them bundled together.” Debbie shoved her chair back. “Listen, Marla, I have work to do. It takes time out of my own schedule to be here, and I don’t get paid for these hours.”

“All right, I have some errands to run anyway. Nice talking to you, Debbie.”

As Marla headed for the front door, Robyn Piper breezed inside. The brunette paused upon spotting her.

“Hey Marla, how’s it going?” Robyn brushed her hair off her face. The marketing executive wore designer sunglasses and carried a Michael Kors bag.

“I’m great, thanks. And you?”

“Not so good, actually.”

“Oh? What’s happened?” A flush of guilt assailed her. Marla had been meaning to call Robyn. She felt the two of them would click. Sometimes you could tell when you met a person that you were on the same page, and Robyn struck her as the goal-directed type.

“My position got eliminated. I’m getting laid off.”

“That’s awful! I’m so sorry. What will you do?”

“Hold on a second while I turn in my dues. I almost forgot about it.” A moment later, Robyn returned. She pushed her sunglasses further up on her nose.

They walked out together. Already the sun had warmed the morning air, but at least the humidity was low. Marla rummaged in her bag for her own shades and took out her car key as well. She beeped the remote.

“I’m not sure where I want to look for another job,” Robyn said. She wore skinny black jeans and a cranberry top. “I’m tired of the usual frenetic pace. Fortunately, my mother left me an inheritance, so I have a decent income that covers the mortgage.”

“You’re lucky in that regard.”
More so than most people.
A germ of an idea made her pulse race. “Say, can I buy you a cup of coffee, or are you in a rush to get to work?”

“Like I care if I’m late. Let’s go to Starbucks. I’ll meet you there.”

Ten minutes later, they sat across from each other and nursed cups of strong-brewed coffee. Marla savored the aroma, sipping carefully so as not to burn her tongue.

“I’ll have to update my resumé,” Robyn said. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone on job interviews. I hate the process.”

“Where will you start?” Marla surveyed her new friend’s narrow face and straight cut hair. Robyn could use an update to her hairstyle as well.

“I’ll check out sites online.”

“Will you stay in the area or consider a move?”

“I don’t want to relocate, but I need to make enough money to cover living expenses, plus taxes and insurance. Hopefully, I’d still have some left over to save for retirement, not to mention vacations.” Robyn’s shoulders slumped.

“How are your computer skills? Are you familiar with social networking sites?”

“Sure, who isn’t? It’s essential today to know that stuff.” Robyn grinned, and it transformed her face into a younger, more energetic person; someone she could be under the right circumstances.

Marla noted her chin and the angles of her face. A layered cut and shorter length would do wonders for her.

“I have an idea. It’s not your field and it won’t pay nearly as much as you’re expecting, but I’m looking for a receptionist. It involves more than just answering phones. I need somebody who can manage everyone’s schedules, update our websites, design ads, connect with other merchants in the area, and help with special events. Believe it or not, I’m having trouble finding qualified applicants.”

Robyn gripped her coffee mug. “That’s not quite what I had in mind.”

“I understand, but maybe you know someone who might be interested.”

“Do you need this person right away?”

“Luis still has another week to go, and then my stylists will have to take turns manning the front desk until we hire someone.”

“I’ll think about it.” Robyn fingered her hair. “I’ve been meaning to change my style. Maybe I should make an appointment to come in and I can check out the place while I’m there.”

“That sounds great. I’ll give you a discount as a first-timer.”

Robyn gathered her purse. “Thanks for the coffee, Marla. I’ve got to run. I’ll be in touch.”

Oh, crap.
Marla had forgotten her other purpose in inviting Robyn to chat. She’d wanted to inquire about their association Board members. Now she’d have to think of another way to coax information from her neighbors.

That opportunity came when she ran into Gene Uris at the grocery store on Tuesday afternoon. The bearded director was pushing his shopping cart down the health food aisle.

Marla trundled up to him, ostensibly searching for her favorite brand of cranberry juice. “Hey, Gene,” she said with a wave. She put a couple of juice bottles in her cart.

Recognition flared in his expression before a look of displeasure crossed his face. “Mrs. Vail. How nice to see you.” His flat tone said the opposite.

A mother pushed by, her toddler wiggling his legs in the shopping cart made up to look like a cartoon car. Marla sidestepped around them.

“I’m wondering if there’s going to be an election soon?” she asked in a cheery voice. “I mean, we have two Board positions vacant. Or do we only hold elections once a year?”

He drew back his lips, showing his large front teeth. “Our bylaws account for successions in the event a director’s chair is vacant. Since I’ve become acting president, a volunteer has filled my prior spot as veep, and John Hardington has stepped in as treasurer. We won’t have to hold elections until the regular time next year.”

“But we just had the annual meeting. Isn’t that a long time to wait?”

“Not necessarily. We’ll see how it goes. An interim election may be held but then you’ve got the ballot printing and mail-outs. It gets expensive.”

You don’t seem worried about expenses where the playground is concerned.

“I see. Speaking of the treasurer’s position, I’ve heard rumors about our bookkeeping practices. Has there been an audit in recent times?”

His eyes bulged. “What have you been hearing, and from whom?”

She shrugged. “I have a reliable source. This person believes the master corporation should be getting more income based on our dues. Debbie collects the checks every month, right? And it’s her job to record each payment and send the checks to the lockbox?”

“That’s right. Debbie set up the lockbox arrangement. She’s the one who recommended the financial company to the Board.”

“Debbie did so, and not Cherry?” The secretary had let Marla assume otherwise. “Why can’t residents make deposits directly into this account?”

“You’d have to ask Debbie. This set-up seemed efficient when she presented it to us. It saves time for our treasurer.” He glanced down the aisle as though eager to escape.

“You’re telling me Cherry didn’t enter into the equation at all?”

“Oh, sure she did. She’d get a report from the financial company every month.”

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight. Debbie accepts the checks each month. She mails them to the lockbox. The financial company deposits them and then sends a report back to Cherry.” She gulped at her mistake. “Or the report goes to the acting treasurer.”

“Correct.” He selected a nonfat plain soy milk carton and put it in his cart. “I don’t know how Debbie manages. Between her three kids and her sick sister, she has her hands full. Our Board positions are voluntary, mind you. There’s no compensation.”

None that’s evident, Mr. Acting President.

Did Ron Cloakman suspect Cherry was cooking the books? Was that why he’d confronted the treasurer at the garage sale? If so, he appeared to be barking up the wrong tree.

Gene knew it, too. She recalled his exchange with Debbie. Were they protecting each other’s secrets?

Later on at dinner, she related her news to Dalton and Brianna.

“Do you think Cherry suspected Debbie of embezzling funds, and Debbie killed her to shut her up?” She forked a salmon cake—or a croquette, as Anita called it—onto her plate, followed by a heap of spaghetti and tomato sauce.

“We’ve examined the Board members’ bank accounts,” Dalton said between bites. “Debbie Morris has some hefty expenses.”

“I’d imagine so, with her family obligations. Does she have any unexplained income?”

“There’s one paper trail we’re following. I’m expecting Kat to call with the results. So far, I’m putting my bet on Ron Cloak-man as the killer. He has the potential to lose thousands of dollars with construction shut down.”

“What about the builders, Dad? Won’t they be affected as well?” Brianna had been listening intently.

“They haven’t invested as much as Cloakman. That reminds me, I want to interview Beamis Woodhouse, the guy who supplied the leaky windows, to assess his role in this game.”

“Isn’t he a cousin of the dead guy?” Brie asked, reaching for another salmon cake. She studiously avoided the freshly cooked broccoli.

“That’s right,” Marla said. “He’s tangled up in this somehow. Alan was trying to get him to replace the windows. If I recall, Gene would rather bypass him and get bids from other companies.”

“That doesn’t make sense if he’s responsible.”

“Beamis denies it’s his fault. He could just be a middleman for the manufacturer.”

“Or he could have bought a cheaper product than specified in his contracts, in which case he cheated on the builders,” Dalton suggested.

Brie jabbed her finger in the air, her face intent. “Maybe Mr. Krabber found out and threatened to expose this guy to the licensing bureau.”

The dogs had been roaming at their feet. They suddenly raced to the other side of the house and started barking.

Dalton wandered off to investigate. “I didn’t see anybody walking by outside,” he said upon his return. “Must have been a squirrel.”

“We really have to get our yard fenced in.” Marla took her empty dish to the sink. “Lucky and Spooks need the freedom to run around back there.”

Dalton added his plate to the dirty pile. “What are we waiting for? I thought you were going to call for estimates.”

“I haven’t had time.” She hadn’t the heart either, not after their dispute with Alan.

I guess that doesn’t matter now.
The nephew would sell the house once he disposed of Alan’s goods. That shouldn’t affect their plans to erect a fence.

“Brie, are you almost ready for dance class?” Marla asked as the teen rose from the table.

Brianna plopped her dish by the sink. “Give me five minutes. By the way, I think this is my last year. I’ve been going for ages, and I want to do other things.”

Both Marla and Dalton spun to stare at her.

“Like what?” Dalton asked in a surprised tone.

The teen’s eyes flashed with enthusiasm. “I want to try out for the drama club next year. And you promised I could take acting classes, remember? I’m kind of liking soccer, too. Maybe I can get on the girls’ team. And then there’s a charity drive that a friend of mine is organizing.”

“Whoa.” Dalton held up a hand. “This is all great, but when would you have time for homework?”

“Really, Dad? My GPA is 3.8, and you’re worried?”

“You have to prepare for college,” he said with a pleading glance at Marla.