11 Hanging by a Hair (25 page)

“That’s true, but—”

“Where does he work?”

Gayle’s face flushed. “He owns a company called Steers Industrial Supply.”

“That rings a bell. Let me text my partner for a minute.”

As he turned away, Marla said, “Do you mind if I have a look around? I see some tops that I like.”

“Please, go ahead. This conversation has been a strain anyway.”

“We’re sorry for troubling you. However, as Dalton said earlier, your information might help bring Alan’s killer to justice.”

“Do you have any suspects?” Gayle’s eyes widened. “I hope you don’t suspect Ethan—”

“Oh, no. Dalton has to check all the angles, you understand. This is just a loose end he needed to tie up.”

Brianna sauntered over. “Aren’t you going to shop, Marla? I’ve seen a few things that would look great on you.” She poked Marla in the ribs and spoke in an undertone. “Don’t forget to ask for the kid’s contact info.”

“One more thing,” Marla said to Gayle. “Do you have an address or phone number for Ethan? Dalton may want to ask him some questions about Alan.”

Gayle scribbled down the data on a piece of note paper and handed it over. “Here, take this. I hope you won’t bother him too much. Alan is a sore subject for him now. I’d rather he focus on the good in his life: a family who loves him.”

Let’s hope he does.
“Thanks so much, Gayle.”

Marla wandered off, aware of Dalton punching buttons on his cell phone in a corner of the store, other customers gushing over the wares, and the steady beat of background music.

She’d just come out of the dressing room after trying on a bunch of outfits when Dalton accosted her.

“I was right,” he said in a soft tone, pulling her aside. “Ethan’s company is the same one that supplied manufacturing materials to Beamis Woodhouse. Kat said it’s not the first time Steers Industrial has had a problem.”

Marla plopped the clothes she’d chosen on a nearby folding chair. “It’s awfully coincidental that Ethan would be involved with Alan’s cousin.”

“Listen to this. Steers Industrial was sued in the past by Myers Aluminum, who accused the company of breaching its warranties by selling defective polyvinyl extrusions.” He read the info from notes on his cell phone. “The District Court concluded that the bowing of Steers vinyl occurred due to heat deformation caused by poor manufacturing techniques. The court awarded twenty-eight thousand dollars to Myers Aluminum.”

“So Ethan’s company produced faulty materials. He didn’t lose his license over it, though.”

“No, and the first incident happened a while ago. He must have gone back to his bad habits to make more money. Or else he’s done it all along, and the building supplier got blamed. Beamis Woodhouse has been right in saying the leaky windows are not his responsibility.”

“Someone should tell Gene Uris who’s at fault.”

“I’d like to have a talk with Ethan myself first. Maybe he got involved in our community on purpose.”

“Why, to get back at Alan? Our neighbor was only elected president recently.”

“Yes, but Krabber moved here when the first houses went up. He might have done a preconstruction sale. Maybe Ethan was keeping an eye on his movements.”

“What for? Did Ethan reveal his identity to Alan, who wanted nothing to do with him, and that set the guy off? So he decided to get his revenge by sabotaging the community?”

They locked gazes as a sudden chill raced up Marla’s spine. Either way, Ethan Lindberg had become someone Dalton needed to interview.

Refreshed from the getaway on Marco Island, Marla bounded into the salon at ten o’clock on Tuesday morning. Normally, this was a slow day, and she was grateful. Passover was next weekend. She still had to do the food shopping, set out the extra table, and find the Seder plate and matzo cover, among other things.

After waving a greeting to Luis and the other stylists, she headed for the rear to toss her lunch—a turkey sandwich—into the refrigerator. A frown creased her brow. Luis’s time there was almost up, and she hadn’t found a replacement. She should ask her staff if they knew anyone who was job hunting. Robyn hadn’t gotten back to her, so Marla assumed the marketing exec had other interests in mind.

“Hey, Marla, how was your weekend?” Nicole said from the next station when Marla strode over. Nicole’s first customer had just left, her gray hair elegantly coiffed.

Marla glanced at the schedule Luis had printed out for her. She had a cut and blow dry at ten-thirty, a touch-up at eleven with a wash and blow, and then a highlights. Hopefully, in between treatments she could take a break to eat lunch and catch her breath.

“We went to Marco Island,” Marla said while plugging in her instruments. “The hotel had a fabulous restaurant overlooking the beach where we ate breakfast, plus we found a neat seafood place for dinner on the water.” She winced. “The only downer was the bill we got from boutique shopping. Our one little excursion cost nearly five hundred dollars.”

“Ouch. Did Brianna go with you? If so, what else did you expect?”

“It was worth the money. Dalton interviewed the boutique owner in regard to the case he’s on. Oh, before I forget, we’re holding our barbecue on Memorial Day. You’re invited, without Eddie if you don’t mind. We asked over the EMT team that responded when I got knocked out. It’s our way of thanking them.”
And I can introduce you to the hunk, Kevin.

Marla had verified that he was single. Her blood surged at the notion of being a
shadchan
or matchmaker. Hey, it might be more fun than solving crimes—and far less dangerous.

Oh, no, I’m turning into my mother.

Ma could use some fixing up, too, now that she thought about it. Marla would be happy to see Roger get the shaft. Anita deserved better than that jerk.

“How come Dalton took you and Brianna to interrogate the suspect and not his new partner?” Nicole queried with a raised eyebrow. She looked sleek in a halter top and skirt.

“Your
pipek
is showing, hon.” Marla pointed to Nicole’s exposed navel. Her friend yanked up her waistband. “Gayle isn’t a suspect, and anyway, the trip made for a nice family excursion. Plus, Kat was following up on another lead.”

“Like what?”

“The paper trail for our HOA. Ron Cloakman, the developer, suggested someone is siphoning funds from the accounts. We need to determine whether the secretary or treasurer is involved.”

Nicole sipped from a mug of coffee. “Isn’t your treasurer dead?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t automatically point the finger at Debbie Morris.”

“How do you know Cloakman didn’t mean to throw you off his trail? Maybe he killed Alan to keep him quiet about the burial ground, and Cherry found out so he did her in next.”

“And then he knocked me on the head outside Alan’s garage?”

“Who else could it be?”

“The nephew, although he had no motive to get rid of Cherry. Besides, his alibi checks out. So does Gene’s.”

“Who’s he?” Nicole asked.

“The HOA vice president, who is filling in for Alan’s position. I saw him having lunch with one of the potential contractors for our community’s new playground. Gene favors this guy’s bid. When I spoke to Debbie, she blurted out that the contractor promised Gene a kickback.”

“Oh, yeah? That reminds me of a case in New York in the nineties. Over fifty property managers and co-op board members were indicted for taking millions of dollars in payoffs from contractors and suppliers. Investigators found fake receipts and forged contracts among their files.” A grin split her face. “At the time, I thought it would be a great basis for a mystery, but my attempts to write one went down the drain. I don’t have the talent, so I’ll just remain a happy reader.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Marla glanced toward the front desk, but her next customer hadn’t arrived yet.

Nicole propped a hand on her hip. “What other leads is Dalton following?”

“Remember I told you about Alan’s lost fiancé? Well, we found her. That was the lady we interviewed on Marco Island. She admitted her son was Alan’s, who hadn’t known he was a father. The kid discovered his birthright and went to seek his natural parent.”

Nicole’s cocoa eyes widened. “Do you think he’s involved in Krabber’s death?”

“He isn’t ruled out yet. Dalton and Kat are going to follow up and talk to the guy. But that wouldn’t explain Cherry’s death.”

“Maybe they’re unrelated.”

“I don’t see how, unless Herb Poltice got to her. You’d think the tribal shaman would be grateful. After all, Cherry told him about the bones.”

“What motive would he have?” Nicole put her mug down and pulled up her waistband. Her skirt kept falling below her belly button.

Had she lost weight? Marla examined her with a critical eye. She did look thinner, come to think of it. And shadows sunk under her eyes. She hoped Nicole wasn’t too stressed over her situation with Eddie. That guy should either come up to snuff or bug off. It wasn’t right of him to keep Nicole dangling, and she was too afraid of losing him to give an ultimatum.

“Maybe Herb considered it a sacrilege that Cherry handled the sacred remains of his ancestors, and he killed her to appease the spirits,” Marla said.

“You’re grasping at straws. Do you really believe that’s the case?”

“People’s belief systems can make them do bad things. Look at the lessons learned throughout history. That reminds me. Did I tell you I saw Angela Goodhart playing bingo at Herb’s casino? You could have knocked my socks off. She talks about religion and then goes gambling. What a hypocrite.”

“Well, it should be interesting to hear what Alan’s son has to say.”

As the day progressed, Marla wondered if Dalton had been able to interview Ethan Lindberg. Had he met his biological father, or had their trip to Marco Island led to a dead end?

Jennifer, one of the other stylists, pulled her aside in a spare moment.

“Marla, my can of spray mousse is missing.”

“What do you mean?” She glanced toward the rear. The shampoo assistant was busy with a client at her sink, and the storeroom door was shut beyond.

“I had Luis order the brand I like. It’s not on the back shelf where I left it, and Dara is using a can with the same label. No way could she have ordered the same one. I asked her about it, and she said the spray had been shelved among our other supplies. She’s lying! I’d put that can aside myself.”

Marla gave a heavy sigh. She couldn’t accuse Dara without proof, and while their surveillance cameras had been mounted, the security company still had to activate them.

“Did you check with Luis on the order?”

Jennifer nodded, some blond hairs loosening from her twist. “He only requested the one for me. It supports what I’m telling you. When are you going to get rid of her, Marla? None of us like her. She’s rude and inconsiderate and steals our stuff. If she stays, I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate it.”

“All right, we’ll have to be more diligent to catch her in the act.” Marla glanced at the stylist with spiked black hair and a nose ring. Dara, busy blow drying a client’s hair, shot visual daggers her way.

Marla recognized the customer as a regular. How many people would they lose if she fired the girl? Then again, would her other staff start leaving if she didn’t take action?

First, she had to have grounds for dismissal. After authorizing Jennifer to reorder her item, Marla returned her attention to her clientele.

When the next person was ready for a wash, Marla escorted the woman to the shampoo station.

“Juanita, can you use a different shampoo on Abby today?” she said to the assistant. “She’s complained several times now that her scalp itches. I’m thinking she must be sensitive to our standard product.”

“Of course, my dear,” Juanita said with a heavy Hispanic accent. “I have some of this other one we can try. I test on skin first.” She always appeared with her face expertly made up, hoop earrings on her ears, and a smile on her face. She was also old enough to be Luis’s mother.

“Hey, Marla,” called Zoey, another stylist, as Marla was walking back to her chair. “Do you remember how to do a perm? I have a lady coming in for one in an hour.”

Marla still did about two perms a year. “Sure, it’s like riding a bicycle. Once you learn, you never forget. You’ll be fine. Just ask your customer how tight she wants it. That will dictate the rod size.”

Zoey was fairly new at the business, having graduated cosmetology school six months ago. Her only experience with perms might have been in training. Marla should keep an eye out for her technique in case it needed finessing.

Finally finding time to go to lunch, she steered toward the back room. When she entered, she spied Dara sitting on a folding chair eating a sandwich—
her
turkey sandwich!

“Where did you get that?” Marla zoomed to the fridge and popped it open. Her lunch bag was notably missing.

“Oh, I saw this inside there and figured no one wanted it.” Taking another bite, Dara shot Marla an insolent look.

“You thought wrong. That was my lunch. You stole it, just like you stole Jennifer’s spray mousse from the shelves. And what’s that?” She pointed to Dara’s open purse, where something white gleamed out. “Toilet paper? Don’t tell me you bring your own to work.”

“Don’t be so uptight, Marla. We have plenty of supplies. They’re ours to share, right?”

“They are not yours to take without permission, and nothing from here should walk into your bag and go home with you.

Other items have gone missing, too, and now this. I’ve had enough complaints about your behavior. You’re fired.” Marla knew her voice quivered with rage. “You can see your clients for the rest of the day, but clear out your station when you’re finished. I’ll cut you a check for the remainder of your pay.”

As though meaning to spite her, Dara dumped the remaining sandwich into the trash.

Marla stared after her as Dara stomped out of the room and went back to her post.

The stylist’s chutzpah astounded her. How dare she steal from them? Her rudeness was bad enough, but this was definitive proof that Dara didn’t belong on her staff. Glad the deed was done and the girl would be gone by tomorrow, Marla mentally reviewed possible replacements. Getting another stylist was easier than finding a front desk person.