11 Hanging by a Hair (9 page)

Marla made small talk until they’d ordered. She decided to be generous, requesting a bottle of wine and offering to treat Cherry if she wanted something to eat. The woman placed an order for one of the restaurant’s tastier flatbreads.

After their water and wine glasses had been delivered, Marla said, “We appreciate the work you’re doing for the homeowners’ association.”

Cherry’s shrewd eyes regarded her. “Sometimes it’s a thankless job. People tend to blame us when they don’t like how things turn out.”

“That goes along with the territory, I guess. What kind of work do you do in real life? I’m a hairstylist and salon owner.” She passed across her business card, ever mindful of possible new clients.

“I’m a history professor at Nova.”

Marla arched her eyebrows. Nova Southeastern University in Davie was in the top tier of private schools. “Do you have a specialty?”

“Native American cultures. But that’s no surprise considering my heritage, is it? My first name is actually Cherokee, although I’m half Immowakee,” she said, pride filling her expression.

“Oh? I haven’t heard of that tribe.”

“Most people recognize the Miccosukee and the Seminoles, but not us. Before Europeans arrived in Florida, our state was home to generations of Native Americans. The Timucua, the Apalachee, and the Calusa were other early inhabitants. Anyway, I enjoy educating people about the rich heritage our tribes contributed to Florida’s history.”

Cherry took a large drink, nearly emptying her glass, and poured herself some more. “But tell me about Alan. Why did you say he might not have done himself in?”

Marla studied the other woman’s straight ebony hair and cocoa brown eyes. “Some things didn’t add up about his death.”

“Is this public news or privileged information from your husband?”

“Nothing has been officially announced yet, but assuming it turns out to be a homicide case, who do you think might have wanted to harm the man?”

“Who didn’t? No, really, I thought Alan did an outstanding job for our community. You have no idea how many hours he’d put in as a volunteer to ensure our association ran smoothly. I didn’t always agree with his reasoning, but his decisions were sound. I’d back him in an instant, but not everyone felt that way.”

“Like who?”
Besides my husband, I mean.

“Well, there was that turmoil about the trees. Wallace Newberry got quite riled over our choices.”

“This must have been before my time. What was that about?”

Marla leaned back as the waitress arrived with Cherry’s flat-bread. The grilled vegetables made her mouth water despite her having already eaten dinner.

Cherry cut into the food with her knife and fork. “We voted to add plants in the median because it looked too bare, but we had to select trees that wouldn’t go above twenty feet or they’d obstruct the power lines. Wallace, a master gardener, insisted that we choose native shrubbery. However, our options were limited by availability and cost.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“You’d think so, right? Members couldn’t agree on how much to spend. Some people thought we should pay eight thousand dollars for seventy trees, and other people wanted a minimal expense of five thousand dollars for forty-seven trees. Wallace said we should have a special assessment to cover more than a hundred new plantings. He got out of hand.”

“What did the vote decide?” This didn’t seem like a strong enough motive for Wallace to have offed Alan, but you never knew what might set off a normally mild-mannered guy.

“We went with the first option.” She spoke in between bites. “Me, I can’t stand the nitpicking. If I’d known that came with the job, I wouldn’t have taken it. Then there was the speed bump issue. Mattie Nelson wanted them put on the main road to discourage speeders, but the majority voted her down.”

Marla shifted in her seat, watching a motorcyclist zoom by on the roadway. The sky darkened to a deep sea blue. “These are probably normal issues by homeowner association standards. I can’t see someone getting rid of Alan because of them.” She paused. “At the meeting, you’d mentioned he had secrets to hide. Can you elaborate?”

Cherry choked, grabbing her water glass for a drink. She chased it down with another large chug of wine before pouring herself a new round. Marla, still on her first glass, stemmed her impatience. When was she going to learn something useful?

“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember saying any such thing. However, I do recall Alan slinging some nasty remarks your way and your husband reacting to them. Is it wise for him to be involved in the investigation?”

“He’s not. His partner is in charge. Dalton removed himself from the case since he knew Alan personally, and there might be a conflict of interest.”

A small white lie, but it sounds better than “was removed.”

“Oh, I see.”

What I see is that you changed the subject and went on the offensive when I mentioned Alan’s secrets. Did they by any chance
concern you?

“So tell me, do you have any family in the area?” Marla asked. Cherry was nearly finished with her meal, and Marla didn’t want her to dart off.

Cherry’s long hair swung across her face as she bent to retrieve her napkin that had blown from the table. The breeze had picked up, a sweet-scented current of warm air.

“I’m divorced with two kids, both of them in college.”

“That must be tough.”

“I’m good at juggling our finances. At least they’re grown and out of the house. I can’t abide small children anymore.”

“You and Alan both. He yelled at Susan Feinberg’s kids for making too much noise in their pool.”

“Yes, I heard them when I was . . . walking in the neighborhood.”

Had she been about to say something else? Marla didn’t recall seeing Cherry strolling down the sidewalk on their street, but maybe she walked during Marla’s work hours.

“Dalton and I married in December,” Marla confessed in an effort to encourage confidences. “It’s a second marriage for both of us. He has a teenage daughter.”

“Lucky you.” Cherry’s tone had a cynical edge. “Royal Oaks is a nice place to live. It’ll get better as the trees mature and the empty lots get built out.”

“I like the location. It’s easy to go downtown, and we’re near two malls plus the library.”

“You’ll be glad you volunteered for the garage sale, Marla. It’ll help you get to know people. It’s a popular event.”

“Oh, yes, about that. What’s the date?”

“It’s the first Saturday in April. I hope you’ll be in town?”

Marla nodded, a hank of hair falling across her face. She tucked it behind her ear. “When’s the next committee meeting?”

“That’s up to you to decide. I’ll email you a list of members.”

“Why is it up to me?”

“Why, my dear, you’ve just taken on the job of chairperson.”

Marla’s mouth gaped. “I-I did what? Oh, no, I can’t possibly—”

“Gene will be relieved. He was so afraid we’d have to cancel, and it’s a huge fundraiser for the community. We’re hoping to use the proceeds to replace the carpet in the clubroom.”

Marla’s mind shoveled aside this new duty to focus on her original mission. “Gene is the vice president, right? Has he taken over Alan’s position already?”

Cherry pursed her ruby lips. “Gene Uris has been chomping at the bit to be president, so he’s leapt at the chance to fill the empty seat. He’ll bring his enthusiasm and energy to the table.”

How convenient for him that Alan is out of the way.

Wanting to pursue that train of thought but unsure what questions to ask, Marla poured the rest of the wine into Cherry’s glass. “What can you tell me about Alan’s personal life? Is anyone going to miss him besides his nephew?”

“Huh. He loved his computers more than anyone. I believe he was engaged years ago, but something happened and he never married the woman. He could have found someone else but remained single. Despite his abrasiveness, Alan could be quite charming to the ladies, so it wasn’t from lack of choice.” Cherry fell silent, her face sour as she gripped her wine glass.

“Do you know that from personal experience?” Marla ventured, sniffing garlic as the waitress carried a dish past them to another party.

“Who, me?” Cherry gave a braying laugh. “Let’s just say the man could make a gal think she was hot stuff, but then he’d splash cold water on the relationship with his notions of purity.”

Purity in what sense—a woman’s sexual status or a racist viewpoint? Marla had experienced Alan’s unwelcome advances as well as his religious bias. Maybe he liked to hit on supposed sinners in order to save their souls. He’d probably considered Cherry a half-breed with her mixed blood. It sounded as though her relationship with him had been bittersweet.

Yet he must have had charisma for people to elect him as president. Had he beat out Gene Uris in the election? Did the veep harbor any resentment toward him as a result?

“Did Alan have any friends in the neighborhood? Like, did he play golf or go out for sports with the guys?”

Cherry snorted. “He liked to eat. That was his sport. You’ve seen him. He sat in front of his computer all day and gained weight. He didn’t like junk food, though. Mostly the man snacked on veggies, but he enjoyed his pasta a bit too much, if you know what I mean. And desserts . . . he couldn’t pass them up.”

And how would you know this?
Cherry’s conversation hinted at a more intimate knowledge of their neighbor, but the woman wasn’t about to come out and say it.

“What did he do all day on his computer?”

“I got the impression he made money from his online activities. I didn’t pry, but I’d wondered what might keep him so absorbed. Maybe he ran a gaming site. Don’t players have to buy stuff to add to the world they’re building for some of the more elaborate games?”

“I’m not familiar with those sites.” Marla met the other woman’s keen gaze. “Are you telling me this was the secret he was hiding?”

“Could be.” Cherry shoved her wine glass away and picked up her handbag. “Let it go, Marla. Bigger things than a mere hobby could be at stake.”

“Meaning what?”

“Why don’t you ask Angela Goodhart? The two of them were close. I suppose he considered her more acceptable to his standards.”

Marla didn’t miss the resentment in her tone. “I met her at the homeowners’ meeting. Doesn’t she have longish blond hair?” She recalled the woman who’d tried to excuse Alan’s behavior.

Cherry scraped her chair back and rose. “That’s right.”

“What about Debbie Morris? The secretary was rather quiet at the meeting, although she spoke up to explain the line item for security.” Marla signaled the waitress to get the bill and then rummaged in her purse for her wallet.

“Debbie is the type who always works in the background. She has her hands full with her family.” Cherry stared at the traffic zooming past, while Marla glanced at her diamond bracelet that sparkled in the fading sunlight.

“How did she get along with Alan?”

“Oh, she basically followed his orders like a puppy follows its master. Alan could be a persuasive guy when it suited his needs.”

“I suppose so. Thanks for taking the time to talk to me, Cherry. I’m hoping to make new friends in our community. Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

“Sure, Marla. But a word of advice where Alan is concerned: Don’t dig too deep, or you could stir things that are best left buried.”

“She’s an odd duck,” Marla said to Dalton later that evening, after Brianna had retreated to her bedroom. “Cherry offered all sorts of hints but didn’t really say anything of substance.”

Dalton stretched his arm around her. They sat on the sofa in front of the TV in the family room. The history channel was tuned to a program on war at sea. What was it with men and their love for sports and battles? Her ex-spouse, Stan, had liked documentaries about World War II.

At least Dalton watched the science channels. A puzzle lover at heart, he enjoyed delving into the mysteries of nature.

He tickled her bare skin. She’d already showered and wore a nightgown. He had on a pair of shorts and a black underwear shirt. “What did you talk about with Cherry?”

“She mentioned that she’s part Immowakee. It’s a lesser-known Florida tribe. Her real first name is Cherokee.”

“So how does that play into things?”

“It affected her relationship with Alan Krabber. She seemed to have a love–hate attitude toward him. According to Cherry, he could be charming when it served his purpose but he had notions of purity.”

“As in racial identity?” His fingers tightened on her arm.

“Certainly that makes sense, considering what we know about him, but he could have been referring to a woman’s sexual history. Cherry didn’t elaborate.”

“How did she sound when she talked about him?”

“Like she wouldn’t miss the guy, although she defended his decisions as Board president. It’s as though the man had an uncanny ability to sway people to his manner of thinking.”

“I could see that at the homeowners’ meeting, except when it came to his personal abuse of the rules. Then he got voted down.”

She noticed his smug tone. “His charisma seemed to extend more to women. The man was overweight and unattractive in my opinion, and yet Cherry seemed to have a flame for him. And so might Angela, if I understood her correctly.”

“Who’s that?” Dalton withdrew his arm and straightened.

Marla glanced at the TV and grimaced. It showed a ship taking on enemy fire during an air attack by the Japanese in the Pacific basin. “Angela Goodhart, another neighbor. Cherry said I should talk to Angela if I wanted to learn more about Alan because they were close.”

“Close in the intimate sense?”

“She didn’t explain.”

Dalton watched the show, his profile stern. Marla gazed adoringly at his firm jawline with its evening stubble, his nose that was slightly out of alignment, and his deep-set eyes. She rubbed his arm, her affection surging.

He responded by giving her a lazy smile. “Where was Cherry Hunter the night of Krabber’s death?”

His question dashed her ardor. “I didn’t ask. That’s probably information you could worm out of Lieutenant Minnetti.”