11 Hanging by a Hair (30 page)

Marla was touched that he cared. “Thanks for confiding in me, Ron. I hope this issue with Herb’s tribe gets resolved soon.”

The waitress returned with the bill. Ron left the appropriate amount plus a generous tip on the table, and they both rose.

Outside, Marla considered stopping by the police station to report on her conversation but decided not to bother Dalton. She’d tell him at dinner. Instead, she texted him that she’d heard from Ron Cloakman.

She didn’t believe he was the killer. He’d mentioned Angela, but she discounted that idea. What motive would Angela have? Besides, Dalton must have already gone down that road.

He phoned when she was in the middle of a highlights. Marla noted Dalton’s name on her caller I.D., but didn’t answer. After setting the timer for her client’s coloring agent to set, she went outside for a breath of fresh air and to return his call.

“I have news,” Dalton said abruptly on the other end. “Philip Byrd was assaulted last night in front of his house.”

Marla’s heart lurched. “Is he all right?”

“He’s got a concussion, but he’ll live. He was in the hospital overnight for observation. I spoke to him earlier. He couldn’t tell who hit him. It was too dark. He’d just pulled into his driveway and gotten out of his car.”

“He’s lucky to be alive.” Marla thought of Cherry Hunter, who had been attacked but hadn’t been so fortunate.

“Killing him doesn’t seem to have been the goal. His house keys were stolen.”

“His keys? Did someone rob his house?”

“It doesn’t appear so. I met him there when he came home from the hospital, and we walked through the place together. He said everything was accounted for as far as he could tell. But he’d also kept Alan Krabber’s keys on that same ring.”

“Oh, dear.” She gazed at the parking lot where the sun gleamed off the cars. “Was Alan’s house the target? If anyone had lurked in his yard last night, the dogs would have barked.”

“Not necessarily, if it was someone familiar to them. This person must have followed Byrd home from Krabber’s house one day. How else would he know where Byrd lived? It makes me believe even more strongly that the culprit lives in our neighborhood.”

“But what would he want next door?” Her conversation with Ron Cloakman fresh in her mind, Marla scrunched her forehead. It put the developer farther out of range as a suspect.

“You tell me. What’s this about you hearing from Cloakman earlier?”

Marla repeated the gist of their conversation.

“You met him alone? Was that wise?”

She heard the censure in his tone. “We picked a public place.”

“Why talk to you and not me?”

“Come on, Dalton, we both know I’m much less intimidating. Ron felt you suspected him of murder and that you’d stopped looking elsewhere. Maybe it was Herb Poltice who assaulted Philip and stole his keys. What if he’d found out Cherry had falsified her research sources and feared she’d done the same thing with the bones? He’d want evidence himself of the discovery. It could have been him digging holes in Alan’s backyard the day Spooks fell down the pit.”

“So why would he need to get into Krabber’s house? Listen, I’m going to meet Byrd over there when he’s ready. He’s got a locksmith at his place now changing the locks, but then he wants to do the same for his uncle’s place. Want to join us?”

“Really? You’d allow me to come?”

“Kat is busy, and I don’t see the harm. Besides, Byrd might be more relaxed with you around.”

Her face fell. “I still have to blow dry this one client, and then I have others right afterward. I’m booked solid until dinnertime.”

“Byrd isn’t available yet anyway. I want to question our neighbors again in the meantime.”

“What for? He’s the one who was attacked.”

“His neighborhood has already been canvassed. If the purpose of the assault was to gain entry to Krabber’s house, it seems logical to look there. Did you see any strangers outside this morning?”

“I left fairly early to run errands. Why, do you believe someone broke into Alan’s place in broad daylight? You said Philip was hit last night.”

“I’m just thinking of all the angles. I’ll ask around to see if anyone noticed anything out of the ordinary. After I check in with Byrd on his time frame, I’ll get back to you.”

“Don’t forget to talk to Angela. This will give you an excuse to see her.” Marla hung up and resumed her duties.

Work kept her occupied, and she didn’t have a chance to even glance at her cell phone until two hours had passed.

Byrd has a headache and is resting, so he’ll meet us at the house between six-thirty and seven,
Dalton texted.
He’ll ring our doorbell before he goes inside. The locksmith is coming, too. That’s the only time he has available after regular hours.

Marla wrote back that she might be late but she’d meet him there. She worked fast to finish her last customer. Robyn had come in that day as promised, staying for a few hours in the morning to follow Luis around and then stopping by again to see how he wrapped up the day. A swell of sorrow hit her at the thought of Saturday being his last day. He’d been a stalwart supporter through all her trials. She’d miss his reassuring presence.

Robyn had a confident air about her, though, and carried herself well. She dressed with style and would easily make a good addition to the team. Robyn didn’t seem the type to take any guff from anyone. Hopefully, she could bring the salon up to speed in regards to social networking, plus she might think of some new marketing initiatives.

By the time Marla escorted her last client to the front desk, Robyn had left. Marla reviewed with Luis what they had yet to cover with her. She’d promised to pop in on Saturday with any final questions.

Satisfied that everything was in order, Marla prepared to depart.

“Can you close up?” she asked Nicole, who had a late appointment.

“Sure as peanut butter goes with jelly.” Nicole laughed at Marla’s confused expression. “You go on home to your husband, girlfriend. I’ll shut this place down.”

“Thanks.” Marla unplugged her tools, cleaned off her counter, and gathered her purse. “See you in the morning.”

Her phone rang on the way out. Thinking it must be Dalton asking where she was, Marla didn’t glance at the caller I.D.

“Marla, where are you?” her mother said.

“Why, what’s up? I’m on my way home. Is anything wrong?”

Marla crossed the parking lot. Clouds wafted overhead in an azure sky. It was a glorious spring day, the last month before humidity strapped them in for the summer.

“I promised to get the horseradish for Passover, and I forgot. Can you buy some? If they’re out of red, the white will do.”

“I’ll get it tomorrow. Is that all?” She didn’t mean to be sharp, but she had to go.

“Um, well, I hate to drop this on you, but Roger called and said he could come after all.”

“No way.” Her voice expressed her dismay. “We’re stretched tight as it is. Tell him it’s too late.”

“I can’t do that, bubula. We can always squeeze in one more.”

“Why do you always forgive the jerk? He’s taking advantage of you.”

“His son is poisoning him against me. The man is confused. We’ll work it out.”

Marla beeped her car key remote. “Sure, Ma. Whatever.”

Roger’s fickle behavior put a pall on her mood, so she approached Royal Oaks fifteen minutes later with a glum heart. Two cars were parked in Alan’s driveway, she noted before pulling into her garage. One of them she recognized as the nephew’s vehicle.

As Marla entered her kitchen, Brianna glanced up from where she was doing her homework at the dinette table.

“Hey, Marla. Dad is next door. He said you should go over when you got home. The rice is already cooked. He just has to throw the salmon on the grill.”

“I could bake it. That might be quicker.” Marla dropped her purse on the counter and then stooped to pet the dogs dancing around her ankles. “I have my cell phone in my pocket if you need me.”

“I’ll expect a full report when you return.”

Brie’s imperious reply made Marla smile. She hastened across the lawn to Alan’s house, where a locksmith was changing the front door lock. Brushing past him, she announced her presence in a loud voice.

“We’re in the bedroom,” Dalton yelled from down the hall to her left.

Her footsteps tapped on the ceramic tile as she headed that way. Doors opened to three bedrooms off a short corridor. A glimpse showed her the room facing front was set up as a home office. The corner room served as a den filled with bookcases and a worn couch, plus another computer desk. She was surprised Alan didn’t have any guest facilities, but maybe that sofa held a pull-out sleeper.

As she rounded the corner, she noted a walk-in closet on her right and the master suite dead ahead. What was upstairs in the loft then?

Philip had a bandage on his temple, shadows under his eyes, and a wan complexion. The lanky man at thirty-six was one year younger than Marla. His fatigue lines made him look older.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” she told him, standing just outside the master bedroom threshold. “Has any other news come to light on the attack?”

“Just that we know what they took,” Dalton said, his face grim as he approached her. “Krabber’s emergency supplies are missing.”

“What? That’s weird.” Marla glanced at the stripped-down queen bed, the wood armoire, and the book lying on a night-stand. A sense of emptiness pervaded the place.

“It would make a good haul for the flea market. We’re approaching hurricane season.”

“What about other valuables, like jewelry or cash?”

Philip spoke in a hushed tone as though he didn’t dare disturb the spirits. “I’d already taken Uncle Alan’s wristwatch and his gold rings home for safekeeping. He didn’t have any other jewelry worth taking.”

“Portable electronics? Thieves like tablet computers and laptops.”

“He had a laptop but I haven’t seen it. It’s possible he stashed it somewhere out of sight.”

“Anyone who watches the obituaries would know this house was vacant,” Dalton remarked. “A clever crook could have discovered Philip’s relationship to the deceased and looked him up. Hence the assault and theft of the key.”

“I don’t buy that. Why not just smash in a window? As you said earlier, it’s more likely the thief was someone from here who followed Philip home.”

“We’ve been talking about Ethan Lindberg,” Dalton said.

“You think Alan’s son is behind this episode?”

“It’s possible. Philip says he’s never met the guy, or at least he doesn’t recall meeting anyone of his description.”

“But why would Ethan bash you on the head?” she asked Philip. “Because he felt the inheritance belonged to him?” That sounded more Machiavellian than Marla would give Ethan credit for, but then hadn’t he orchestrated a scheme to sell inferior products to building suppliers?

“Why don’t you get your fingerprint specialists in here?” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “There might be evidence of the intruder.”

“Philip doesn’t want to file a report. He just cleaned up from our last sweep through.”

She gave the nephew a sympathetic glance. “I’m sorry you’re having so much grief.”

His shoe scuffed the floor. “I just wish my uncle’s killer would be found. It’s hard coming in here and reliving those horrifying images each time. I can’t wait to sell the place.”

Marla opened her mouth to offer to help when she caught Dalton’s quelling glare.

“I’d feel the same way in your position,” she said instead in a soothing tone. “Say, did you ever get in touch with those workmen Alan hired to put up his fence? I’d gotten the impression they might know something about him that he wanted kept quiet.”

“Unfortunately, we weren’t able to trace them,” Dalton replied. “Philip found an estimate but it was handwritten without an address or phone number.”

“Too bad. So where do we go from here?”

“
We
don’t go anywhere.” Dalton grasped her elbow and guided her toward the main entrance. “If Philip decides to report a theft, that’s his decision. My job is to stop a murderer from hurting anyone else.”

“Amen,” Philip added. He accompanied them to the front door, where the locksmith was putting the finishing touches on his work. “Thanks for coming over, both of you. It’s helpful to know you’re nearby if I need anything.”

Marla shook his hand. “Stay safe, will you? Watch your back until this thing is over.”

Philip shot Dalton an inquiring glance. “I hope this incident won’t distract you from your investigation, Detective.”

“We’re getting closer to a solution. But Marla is right. Be careful while this person is still on the loose.”

“Are you nearly ready to arrest someone?” Marla asked on their way across the lawn. Dry grass crunched underfoot. She should check the frequency of their sprinkler schedule.

“Kat is waiting on one more piece of information that we hope will solidify things.”

“You’re not going to share it with me, are you?”

He chuckled at her resigned tone. “Just keep your head down and stay out of trouble until we wrap this case. Listen to me for a change, you hear?”

“Of course, darling. Don’t I always?”

Unable to figure out who might be guilty from the number of suspects, Marla decided to leave those worries to her husband while she focused on the upcoming holiday instead.

Friday dawned bright and sunny. She reviewed her mental list of chores while she leashed the dogs for their morning walk. Dalton had left to drop Brianna off at the school bus stop and then head into work. She didn’t have to be at the salon until ten and hoped to make the farfel stuffing for tomorrow first. A boxed mix made it easy but she added sautéed onions and mushrooms. Tonight she could assemble the Passover plate, so that would be ready.

Outside, she walked toward the next street over while considering what else she could prepare before the day ended. She wouldn’t have much time tomorrow after work. Absorbed in her thoughts, she didn’t look up until Spooks barked and yanked on the leash.

“Marla, just the person I wanted to see!” Wearing gardening gloves and busy weeding the beds around her crown of thorn plants, Angela stretched to her full height. A hat protected her face from the rising sun. The smattering of makeup she wore barely concealed a cluster of sunspots on her tanned complexion.