Bad Hair Day 2 - Hair Raiser (19 page)

Before beginning work on her next client at the salon, Marla ducked into the storeroom and put in a call to Stefano Barletti. "I'd like to make an appointment to see you," she said in a smooth tone. "I've been looking over the figures you gave me, and some of them seem a bit high for a Pre-Need plan."

"You realize we're an independent funeral home? We provide more personal service than the bigger conglomerates."
"Do you do price matching?" she asked bluntly.
"If necessary." Papers rustled in the background. "When did you want to stop in?"
"I get off work at six today. How late will you be there?"
"I can see you at eight o'clock. Do me a favor, and don't tell anyone you're coming. I wouldn't want word to get out that we're negotiable about costs." He chuckled, a false ring to the sound that alerted her like a warning bell. The man had something up his sleeve, no doubt about it.
After closing down the salon, Marla headed home. She wanted to change into comfortable clothes and contemplate her next move while she ate dinner. If Stefano truly was Popeye's heir, was she being wise to visit him alone? She couldn't call Vail to accompany her. He needed proof before bringing in Ben's killer, and besides, he'd already assigned another detective to the case. Prudence told her to get a backup, and Providence provided him.
David's car was parked alongside her curb when she arrived home. He wasn't anywhere in sight, though. She pulled into the garage, shut off the engine, and emerged from her car listening to Spooks's excited barking.
"You're home!" David exclaimed, rounding the corner from a side of her house. He must have finished work early, because he had on a polo shirt, slacks, and running shoes. Scratching his freshly shaven jaw, he regarded her with a curious gleam in his eyes. "You never called me back about this weekend, so I thought I'd pop over to see if you were free."
Marla gestured for him to follow her inside. Unlocking the door, she pushed into the kitchen, where Spooks attacked her ankles with affectionate yapping. As soon as David stepped over the threshold, the dog growled menacingly, prowling as though about to pounce on a squirrel.
"Come on, Spooks, I'll let you out. What's the matter?" The pooch was disturbingly reluctant to leave. She had to lift him bodily to get him beyond the patio door.
"Come with me," Marla said to David, striding toward the study. "I have to check my answering machine."
"So you've no plans for tonight?" His long stride kept pace with her.
"I'm going to meet Stefano." Noting the blinking message light, she pushed the play button.
"Marla, call me the minute you get in. I have news." It was Vail's voice, sounding unusually urgent.
"Oh God, what am I going to do now?" Cynthia wailed in the second message. "We had a fire in the laundry room last night. It got put out, but there's smoke damage in the house. Now we need to have the drapes cleaned, and everything smells. I can't possibly have a couple of hundred guests here in two weeks! Oh, and another thing. You won't believe what Bruce discovered at Morton Riley's office. What fools we are. You've got to -- "
"I'm so sorry, I hit the wrong button," David said in a low tone. "I meant to hit replay and got erase instead. You can call your cousin back later." Marla swallowed her retort when he grinned sheepishly. "How about if I take you to dinner to compensate?"
"I don't know -- "
"That reminds me," he said, edging closer, his grin vanishing. "Do you have Ben's envelope with Mustafa's number? I can't find the chef's business card anywhere."
"It's in my purse. Wait, I've got to let Spooks in," she announced, hearing his frantic barking. The poodle wouldn't leave David alone, snapping at his ankles and attacking his pant leg while they stood in the kitchen. "I can't understand what's gotten into him. Look, do you want to come with me to Stefano's? I don't want to go there alone anyway."
"Why are you going to see Barletti?" Muttering a curse, David kicked at Spooks until Marla scooped the pet into her arms.
Dismayed by his behavior, she hesitated. Men who kicked dogs didn't belong on her list. Her hackles rose, and she couldn't prevent her gaze from narrowing.
"I believe Stefano is Popeye Boodles's heir," she said in a frosty tone. "The man at the biomedical waste facility looked at some photos Cynthia had taken of the stuff that's being dumped, and he said it most likely came from a funeral home. Shark is Stefano's son," she added, letting David weigh the implications of that statement. "Stefano recently applied for a loan at Darren's bank, claiming an upcoming inheritance as collateral. I gather Cynthia's message confirms all this."
She'd already forgotten about Vail. _I'll call him later,_ she resolved, _after I get the evidence he needs._
David gave her an appraising glance, his gaze shifting to her purse and back again to her animated face. "All right. It's early yet. We've got more than an hour before your appointment. Let's grab a bite to eat along the way."
Fortifying herself with a meal seemed a good idea. "Okay, but I need to get changed first."
"I'll wait here." As though realizing he needed to appease her, he scratched Spooks behind the ears. "Sorry, sport. Didn't mean to boot you in the butt, but you were being a pain. I'm just anxious to get this mess cleared up," he added with a lame smile.
_So am I, pal._ Nonetheless, she urged him to wait outside while she got ready. Having him in the house caused her unease for some reason she couldn't fathom. Maybe it was Spooks's hostile reaction to him.
"I think I'll go home while you're getting your act together," he said agreeably. "Would you mind picking me up on your way?"
"Oh. All right." It was strange that he couldn't wait a few minutes for her, but she didn't mind driving. Besides, his house wasn't far from where she lived.
At a quarter to eight, they approached the funeral home. The front lights blazed a friendly welcome, but the rest of the place seemed sheltered in darkness. Marla felt a moment's trepidation as she locked her car. Maybe she should've called Vail first, or at least phoned Cynthia to hear the rest of what her cousin had to say. Well, she'd made her decision.
She would face whatever Stefano had waiting for her.

*Chapter Nineteen*
When no one answered their summons at the funeral home's main entrance, Marla twisted the doorknob. It opened easily, and she slipped inside, with David at her heels. They faced an empty corridor, eerily silent. The lights were burning, and she sniffed the faint scent of men's cologne.
"Where is Stefano?" she whispered, hairs prickling on the nape of her neck.
"Barletti!" David yelled. "Where the hell are you?"
"His office is upstairs. Maybe he's waiting for me up there." Being in a funeral home at night gave her the willies. She wasn't eager to go exploring, visions of the living dead entering her consciousness. _I never did like horror movies._
"Why don't you wait here? I'll look for him." David set his mouth in a grim line.
"Good idea." Remaining near the front door seemed a wise option. Just then she heard a sound like metal clanging against a hard surface. "What's that?" Her gaze darted about nervously.
"I'll check. Do you know what's beyond this corridor?"
She moistened her lips. "There are two chapels on either side, then the elevator. I don't know where those other doors lead." She wasn't so sure she wanted to find out, either. Why take risky chances? A _schnook_, she wasn't.
Watching David tiptoe down the corridor made her restless. If Stefano was lurking somewhere in the back, then it should be safe for her go upstairs to search the man's office, right? Vail had claimed he needed proof. Now was her chance to get it for him. Besides, why let David have all the fun?
Tucking her handbag under an arm, Marla marched resolutely forward, glad she'd had the foresight to wear rubber-soled walking shoes. Too bad she hadn't thought to bring an umbrella from the car to use as a defensive weapon.
The elevator rose slowly, creaking as though announcing her presence to the world. Would the lights be on upstairs if no one was in the office? Momentary panic assailed her at the notion of being left in the dark, but when the door slid open, a row of overhead lights lit the spacious reception area.
Her heart pumping wildly, she stepped onto the carpeted floor and glanced around. Except for a small kitchen off to the left, mostly closed doors met her gaze. She couldn't remember which one Stefano had entered for their conference. They hadn't gone past the kitchen, so his office must be in that corridor straight ahead. Those looked like larger spaces anyway, more suitable for the owner and his administrative staff.
Hesitating while an attack of conscience held her in its grip, she cast her doubts aside. Stefano had no scruples, so why should she?
A crashing noise from below made her jump with fright. Heavy footfalls were followed by male curses and loud thuds that brought to mind unpleasant imaginings.
_Now, girl. Stefano is occupied._ Without stopping to consider how she'd escape if David's safety were compromised, she dashed across the reception area and entered a short corridor. On her right was the half-opened door to a darkened office. Wiping sweaty palms on her slacks, she took a deep, steadying breath. Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead. Dalton needed evidence, and Cynthia was relying on her. If she hoped to put Stefano away and end the threat to Ocean Guard, she must get proof of the funeral director's misdeeds.
Mustering her courage, Marla pushed opened the door. Yawning blackness met her gaze. Her scalp prickled as she sensed another presence. Oh, God. She'd forgotten about Shark!
Before she lost her nerve, she fumbled for a light switch.
A hand clamped over hers, pinning her in place.
As she gasped in shock, something noxious sprayed her face just when she was inhaling. Her senses reeled, receded. Slowly, she sank to the floor.
* * * *

She swam in a black void, a whirlpool sucking her into its depths. Struggling valiantly, she kicked toward the surface, her lungs expanding until they would burst. She couldn't take in a breath. Panic seized her when little Tammy floated by, her limp body pitching with the current. Marla tried to shove away the bloated corpse, but her arms felt leaden and wouldn't move. If she didn't breathe soon, she'd die. Rolling to her side, she felt something solid block her shoulder. Not hard. It had a soft feel, almost like a cushion.

Her eyes snapped open. As she drew in a labored breath, dry cloth stuck in her throat. She coughed, choking, her nostrils flaring. Air. It was possible to breathe through her nose. Carefully, she experimented, inhaling and trying to keep her throat closed to whatever was obstructing her mouth.
Fearful that she might gag and choke on her vomit, she concentrated on assessing her surroundings. At first, her vision seemed blurry, but then she realized she couldn't see because it was dark. Her arms wouldn't raise because she was bound at the wrists, hands in front. As she lay flat on her back, she ventured out a foot. Again, an obstruction limited her efforts. Outlines became palpable until she realized with horror where she was lying.
Inside a casket. Lined, no doubt, with one of the less-expensive crepe interiors.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced herself to wonder what had happened to David that he hadn't found her by now and freed her. Was it Shark who had attacked her, or had he been waiting below to waylay David? Supposedly, she'd been coming alone. Stefano must have been making sure she wouldn't escape. Two of them. She was trapped here, bound and gagged, lying in a coffin with an open lid. Was this to be her final resting place?
Desperate cries emerged from her throat as she struggled to sit up. She realized her purse had been set between her legs, presumably so no evidence of her arrival would be left behind. What would they do with her car?
Her grunts must have caught someone's attention, because she heard heavy footsteps approaching. _Uh-oh. Should I play dead? Whoops, I mean unconscious._ She couldn't close her frightened eyes, even though they burned from the substance used to gas her. Stefano might seal the lid, and she wanted to get in a last accusing stare if nothing else.
Bright lights clicked on, and she squinted instantly.
"So, my dear, you've decided to stay a while." Stefano chuckled. "Didn't I tell you to buy your funeral arrangements in advance?"
Muffled noises came from her attempt to speak. He stepped into her visual field, his narrow face looming overhead. Bulging dark eyes gloated at her helpless struggles.
"Allow me to make you more comfortable." Grinning, he yanked the cloth from her mouth. With his winged eyebrows and hollow cheeks, he looked like a Halloween death's-head. "Is that better?" he asked when she drew in a raspy breath.
Her throat felt like sandpaper, but at least her air passages were clear.
"What do you care?" she croaked, rotating her shoulders so she could push up on her elbows. "Aren't you planning to leave me in here permanently?"
He appeared horror-stricken. "Oh, no. You have a misconception. I only need to get you out of the way for a while. My inheritance, you know. Once I get Popeye's estate, I'll be home free. I already have a buyer for his property."
"You're going to sell the mangrove preserve?" While she was talking, she glanced around. Other coffins, lids raised, cluttered the room on display stands. Even if she were to somehow tumble over the edge of this casket and land on the floor, what then?
"The transfer papers are prepared. After signing, I'll cash in the money from the sale of Popeye's preserve and his estate, and I'll go on the long vacation I've always dreamed about." Folding his hands behind his back, he paced the room, seemingly eager to reveal his plans. "You're so smart. Did you figure out how I'm related to the old bugger?"
"Why don't you tell me." Testing her bonds, she noted with dismay that the duct tape tightened with her movements, making painful grooves on her wrists. Inspiration hit, but she had to guard her expression. Inside her purse were the shears she'd stashed to cut Annie's hair.
Stefano smirked. "Popeye was my uncle. His sister married into the Barletti family, much to the dismay of her snooty parents. Mother never ceased to remind me how much they'd hurt her and how she deserved better. When they didn't come to her funeral, I vowed to get what was due me. I should've been Popeye's direct heir, not Ocean Guard. I'm only taking what's rightfully mine."
"What about Shark? The rest of your family?"
"I'll leave enough money for them to bail out the funeral homes, which Shark will manage. They'll be okay. I'm tired of all this fuss and bother. It's time to live the rest of my life as I please."
No wonder Shark shirked responsibility. Look at his dad's example. "So you want me out of your way until Popeye's property passes to you, because after that it won't matter what I know?"
His expression darkened, and he jabbed a finger at her. "You've been a nuisance. I told Shark to keep track of your movements. When he learned you were going to Nassau, I sent someone to the Bahamas after you, but the idiot didn't succeed in getting you out of the way. I had to think of something more drastic. Obviously, you weren't upset by that warning Shark left on your doorstep. Then you showed up on Thanksgiving night when I was making a dump. Oh, you're so clever. How did you figure the medical waste was coming from a funeral home?"
Marla dragged her handbag onto her stomach. "I asked Cynthia to take photos, then showed them to a man at the biomedical waste disposal company. He said bloody clothes often came from funeral homes."
He bared his teeth in an evil grin. "I thought I had you then, that night in the water, but you still escaped."
"What are you going to do with me now?" Wriggling her feet, she tried to loosen the tape around her ankles, but it didn't work. The tape twisted and strengthened.
"Don't worry, I'll put a breathing apparatus in the casket so you won't suffocate. Then I'll ship you up north. I have friends who will watch over you until this is over."
_Dear Lord. He plans to seal me in this thing, alive._
Desperate to keep him talking until she could think of a plan, she went on: "What about Cynthia and Bruce? They've discovered your identity. They'll tell the authorities what you've done. You're responsible for the incidents with the chefs, aren't you?"
"I figured I might throw the fund-raiser off track. I'm sure your cousins will keep silent if I promise to produce you unharmed after I inherit the property. Otherwise, I can always take Annie for leverage. Stupid, gullible girl. She hangs on to Shark like he's the only man who will ever have eyes for her."
_Please, no. Leave Annie out of this._
"Why did you trash my house? Was that another attempt to scare me, so I'd resign from my position with Taste of the World? Did you really think my absence would crash the fund-raiser?"
A puzzled frown creased his forehead. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Didn't you send Shark to break into my place?" When he shook his head, she considered another possibility. "Well, maybe it was that other goon who followed David and me to Nassau. You know, the same one who broke into Morton Riley's house and killed him. I presume that same guy tried to shoot me at Crystal Cay on your orders, also."
"I'd heard Morton Riley was dead." He cocked his head, a glazed look in his eyes. "Same as Ben. Murdered."
"Ben knew your name was on the trust agreement, didn't he? Is that why you killed him, and later Morton Riley?"
"No, you don't understand." His gaze sharpened, swung to meet her inquisitive look. "It wasn't -- "
David's large form lurched into the casket room. Taking in the situation at a glance, he launched himself at Stefano.
"Bastard!" David howled, punching Stefano straight in the midsection. Stefano doubled over, clutching his stomach.
"David, thank goodness!" Marla cried. "Get me out of here!" She glanced fearfully at the open doorway. "Where's Shark?"
"I beaned him with a lamp. Not as effective as a Samoan fire knife, but it'll keep him out while I deal with his villainous father." Growling, David gave Stefano a vicious chop on the back of his neck. The shorter man hit the ground.
Still conscious, Stefano yanked David's ankles, throwing him off balance. As David went down, Marla shrieked in terror. He was her only hope!
No, he wasn't. Prying open her purse, she turned it upside-down so the contents spilled onto her lap. She'd never had the chance to use the shears on Annie's hair. Lifting them with trembling fingers, she managed to turn them backward. With infinite difficulty, she cut the tape restraining her wrists. It didn't take long before she'd freed her ankles and leapt out of the casket. Two hundred-fifty dollars was a lot to pay for a pair of scissors, but they'd proved their mettle ... er, metal.
A white paper caught her eye. While the two men grunted and fought in a deadly struggle, curiosity compelled Marla to withdraw the envelope. David had asked her a few times about Mustafa's phone number scrawled across it. Was that really what he'd been interested in? Come to think of it, how had David found out about the Samoan fire knife? Babs knew about it, she recalled. Maybe a news report had described the murder weapon. It could be common knowledge by now, but that didn't comfort her.
Oh, my God. What had David meant when he said the lamp wasn't as effective as a Samoan fire knife in clunking Shark on the head?
Springing to his feet, David dragged Stefano up by the collar and socked him on the jaw. Marla was barely aware of the punches David rained on his opponent. Instead of feeling relieved that he'd gained the upper hand, she felt a chill of foreboding.
Withdrawing the letter from inside the envelope, she unfolded it and scanned the contents. It was from the group to whom Ocean Guard was obligated every year to give a donation under the terms of Popeye's trust. Addressed to Morton Riley, it claimed the contribution had not been made for the past three years. The responsibility for sending in the money was that of Ocean Guard's accountant, David Newberg.
Apparently, Riley had sent this letter on to Ben Kline, expecting the attorney who was on Ocean Guard's board of directors to deal with the matter. When had Ben accused David of stealing the money, before or after the meeting she'd attended with Cynthia? She imagined that had it been before, Ben would've brought up the subject in front of the other board members. Instead, he'd absentmindedly passed the envelope along to her after scribbling Mustafa's name on top. It would've been easy for David to notice the return address.
Marla glanced up to see David's eyes resting on her. Stefano lay limp on the floor.
"I didn't mean to kill Ben," David said quietly, a strange light in his eyes. "When he accused me of stealing sixty thousand dollars from Ocean Guard, I couldn't help myself. He wouldn't listen."
As she backed away, edging up against another coffin, David stepped closer. Feeling like a trapped animal, Marla glanced at the door. Unfortunately, David's massive body blocked the exit. His face had an oddly detached expression as he regarded her.
"Before you showed up at our board meeting, Ben said he was meeting with Riley that afternoon about an irregularity in Ocean Guard's records. Ben called me later and asked if we could meet. I made an appointment with him at seven o'clock. No one else was at his office since it was after hours."
Plowing his hand through his hair, David grimaced. "He accused me of stealing the money. I told Ben I knew nothing about it, but he didn't believe me. No one accuses me of dishonesty, Marla. You know that from our brief acquaintance. Honor means a lot to me. I got angry when Ben wouldn't listen, and figured I'd knock some sense into him. There was this weapon on the wall, and I grabbed it. I only meant to threaten him, but he fought against me. I cracked the fire knife against his skull. It's pretty heavy, you know, with a dull edge. Ben crumpled immediately."
Marla's hand flew to her mouth. Was David saying he wasn't a thief, but he was a murderer? Sashaying sideways, she advanced toward the door, but he put a hand out to grasp her arm.
"Listen," he ordered, squeezing. She clamped her lips, squelching a whimper of pain. Maybe she could appeal to his affection for her. Or maybe she should keep him talking. Her ears picked up faint sounds from below. Shark might have revived. _Better the devil you know than the one you don't,_ she thought frantically, praying that the younger man would race upstairs to help his father.
"I cleaned things up and got out of there fast," David continued. "I bought a movie ticket for a show that had already started, so it appeared as though I'd been in the theater for a while. Later, I realized my secretary pretended to mail the donation every year. She diverted the funds so it looked as though I had stolen the money and then skipped town before I could confront her. I figured Popeye's heir had paid her to betray me."
"You didn't take the money. It wasn't your fault."
"I sent the proper funds right away to the organization to fulfill the terms of the trust, but I was afraid Riley would still believe I was guilty."
Her mouth dropped open. "You killed him!"
He bared his teeth in a nasty grin. "It was easy to run downtown while you were relaxing in your room. I hoped to convince you to let me deal with the trustee, but you were so damned persistent. Then I feared that you wouldn't believe me, either, if you read that letter."
"Of course I would.... I do. You're an honest man, David. Please let go of my arm."
His eyes glazed. "My father accused me of stealing. He'd always favored my younger brother. I thought Dean had taken the hundred dollars, but found out it was my mother. She'd been putting away money for her retirement because Dad couldn't save anything. She'd told Dean, and both of them were afraid to confess the truth. So I took the blame. Dad never had any respect for me after that."

"Is that why you became an accountant? To prove you could handle people's money and be trusted?"
He looked at her in an odd manner that chilled her blood. "You trusted me, didn't you? I became friendly with you to get that letter back before you read it. I searched your house, but the envelope wasn't there. Now you know what it says, and I can't have you telling anyone else. It impinges upon my honor. Besides, you know too much. It's a shame, because you and I could've been a number."
"We still can, David. I thought you liked me. We can go away together." She tried to give a coaxing smile, but her mouth wouldn't cooperate. Her veins felt like ice, but she steeled herself for action, putting one foot slightly in front of the other to maintain her balance.
"Shut up, liar. You're too friendly with that cop not to tell him the truth." He lunged forward, grabbing her by the shoulders. Marla shrieked and brought her hand up to scratch his face. He swept a leg behind her ankles to trip her. When she buckled, he tossed her like a sack of flour into the open coffin.
"Good-bye, darling. Stefano had the right idea for you, except I'll do it without the breathing apparatus. Looks like you'll save on the cost of a funeral, after all."
"Wait!"
He'd reached his hands to the rim, about to slam down the lid when Shark staggered into the room. Congealed blood coated his cheek. David, spying this new threat, crashed down the lid. Marla saw him wheeling away before blackness engulfed her.
"Help!" she screamed, battling the wood surrounding her. How long before she'd suffocate in here without oxygen? Her fingers pushed at the solid cover, but it wouldn't budge. Too heavy, or David had locked it somehow.
A heavy weight crashed against her casket, barely rocking it. That gave her an idea. Maybe she could pound her body against the side until the thing toppled over. The lid might fall open when it fell to the floor. But try as she might, she couldn't even turn sideways, let alone move such a heavy object.
Despair threatened to overwhelm her, but she refused to give up. Her breathing, already rapid, grew more labored. Sweaty fingers tried to find a hold on the lid and slipped.
_Holy highlights, what's that cold object against her leg?_
The metal shears!
Grasping the tool by its blades, she banged the handle against the solid surface. "Help, let me out!" she screamed.
Bright lights flooded her as the lid was flung open. "Marla!" exclaimed Cynthia, gazing down at her in shock. "What are you doing here? And why is Stefano lying on the ground?"
Marla toppled over the edge and landed with shaky legs on the carpeted floor. "He was knocked out. Where's David?"
Cynthia gazed at her with wide, blue eyes. "David? I came here to see Stefano, but it looks like you already dealt with him. What happened?"
"I'll tell you later. Let's get out of here."
Grabbing Cynthia by the elbow, she hustled her elegantly clad cousin into the hallway and around a corner past the kitchen. "There's got to be a staircase somewhere," she mumbled, glancing at a row of closed doors.
A crash sounded, and Marla nearly jumped out of her skin. It came from below. "David must be fighting Shark. We have to get to the front door."
"Oh dear. I hadn't counted on Shark being here, too."
"Move, cuz!" Opening one door after another, Marla sought the stairs in vain. It was only after they'd entered the corridor past Stefano's office that she found an exit. Never mind finding any evidence, now. Saving their lives was more important.
They emerged onto the first landing and were nearly bowled over by Shark barreling into David. Both men were bruised and bleeding, and they ignored the women. Seeing that the way to the front was blocked and the side entrance was out of range, Marla urged her cousin to retreat.
Pushing open a door, she charged into some kind of laboratory at the rear of the funeral home. Metal instruments glistened on sterile countertops, while three examining tables took up space in the middle of the room.
Cynthia stumbled after her. "Will you tell me what's going on? I came here to ask Stefano to call off Shark after learning that he is Popeye's heir. Now that the game is over, he'll have to quit polluting the preserve, and I don't want his son bothering my daughter. But what are you doing here with David?"
"I added things up and came here to confront Stefano, also." Marla wheeled on her cousin, eyes blazing. "David invited himself along. He's the one who killed Ben Kline and Morton Riley."
"Who? Stefano?"
"No, David. Quick, we don't have much time." Curses mixed with loud thuds from outside in the corridor. Marla couldn't guess who would win the battle, but it didn't matter. They needed an escape route regardless of the outcome. Her glance scanned the laboratory, resting on a steel door at the far end.
Striding forward, she yanked on the handle and flung open the door, receiving a blast of ice-cold air. Catching a quick glimpse of what lay inside, she hastily shut the insulated cooler door. Vomit rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard. This wasn't the time to be sick. Realizing the function of the room they were in didn't change her plan.
"Listen, do you remember 'Hansel and Gretel'?" Marla said. "I have an idea."
Cynthia's manicured fingers plucked at her silk dress. Her eyes, wide and frightened, snared Marla's. "Are you nuts? What does a fairy tale have to do with our getting away from a killer? I don't get it. How could David have murdered those people, and why?" Knowledge dawned in her expression. "He was going to kill you, too. That's why you were in that horrible coffin. Oh, no!"
Seeing that her cousin was about to have hysterics, Marla held out a steadying hand to grasp Cynthia's shoulder. "Listen to me. David may not have seen you. We can use the element of surprise in our favor. If he comes to get me, I'll lure him closer while you crouch between those tables. I've got to open this cooler door. If you're wise, you won't look inside."
Cynthia had just scurried into cover when David staggered through the doorway. Blood oozed from a cut on his lip, while a purplish bruise darkened one cheekbone. He loped forward like a wolf with a gloating grin on his face.
"Now that I've put those two down, I can take care of you. Let's finish what we started upstairs." At one of the counters, he grabbed a long metal needle and started toward her.
Marla calculated the distance between them. "You told me once that we make good teammates," she said, hoping he wouldn't notice the quaking in her voice. "We can still be partners."
"That's not an option." The murderous gleam in his eyes told her just what he intended. He advanced, holding the needle aloft. On his face was a grin which belied sanity.
Marla backed away until her buttocks tapped the open door of the refrigeration unit, which hinged to the side. David neared, snarling as he moved in for the kill.
"Now!" screamed Marla.
She hadn't known her cousin could move that fast. In a blur of speed, Cynthia shoved David from behind. At the same time, Marla began closing the heavy door. It clanged shut, and together they sealed the latches.
David was trapped inside like the fairy-tale witch in the oven.