Shear Murder (18 page)

Marla forced a smile to her face. “Nice to meet you. Am I interrupting a business discussion?” She glanced pointedly at their empty dishes. Apparently, they'd finished dinner and were lingering over coffee. The bill had already been placed on the table.

“We're discussing a case of mine that I feel is related to Dalton's,” Kathy said in a smooth voice while giving Marla an appraising glance.

“Really? Which case is that?”

“You know I can't always talk about my work.” Dalton's mouth compressed.

Oh? Since when?

“Don't let me stop you,” she replied in a silken tone. “I could use a cup of coffee myself.”

“Sorry, but I've got to go.” Kathy opened her handbag, fished inside, and then tossed a twenty dollar bill on the table. “This should cover my portion. Dalton, let's resume this talk after you've checked the lab reports. I think you'll agree with me that we're looking for the same guy.”

“Okay, I'll be in touch. Thanks for filling me in.” Waving, he watched her depart before turning his attention to Marla. “Now what's going on? Why did you follow me here?”

“Can we leave? I don't really want to stay.”

Signaling the waiter, he added his contribution to the bill and left a generous tip.

Marla pursed her lips, repressing her outburst until they stood by her car in the parking lot.

“You lied to me.” Her heart thumped painfully fast as she faced him. He stood tall and brooding, his features sharply angular under the light cast by a street lamp. “How many nights have you been working late recently? Have you been to dinner with her each single time?”

“Marla, you're being ridiculous. We were discussing a case and got hungry, that's all.”

“I saw you patting her hand as I approached. Are you as familiar with all your colleagues?”

He studied a lizard scampering into the grass. “We knew each other from before.”

“Before when?”

He looked her squarely in the eye. “College. I didn't realize she'd moved to Florida.”

“And she looked you up, did she? What exactly was your relationship in college?” Her voice rose. She couldn't help herself. A weight of self-doubt crushed her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

“We kinda, uh, hung out together.”

“Oh, that's even better. An old girlfriend? And you didn't tell me?”

“We got together over a case, Marla. I didn't tell you about it because you've been busy meddling in Jill's life.”

“Excuse me? Jill asked for my help.”

His eyes narrowed. “She asked for your advice on her property issue. You've gone above and beyond, like you always do.”

Marla's mouth gaped. “I thought you were encouraging me to find out things.”

“Not to the exclusion of all else. You have a salon to run, a day spa to open, and a wedding to plan. You're running out of time.”

“Aren't we losing focus here? This discussion isn't about me. I should have been informed about Kathy.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “I didn't mention it for this very reason. You're jealous.”

She shook him off. “I am not. I'm pissed because you didn't tell me you were meeting an old flame from your past.”

“That's irrelevant. I told you I was working late. It's the truth.”

“I don't care. How can I trust you when you keep things from me?” Her lower lip trembled. Tears leaked into her eyes. Pressure built from within, torpedoing to the surface.

Dalton pulled her into his arms. “I'm sorry,” he said into her hair. “I should have mentioned it. Okay?”

She sobbed against his shoulder, releasing her anxiety, her pent-up fears, her frustration.

“Me, too,” she murmured through a series of sniffles. “I do trust you. I just don't want anything to come between us.”

“Nothing ever will.” He hugged her tight. “You're mine, for better or for worse.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said with a half-laugh, half-sob.

He held her at arm's length and regarded her seriously. “If I sound resentful that you're too focused on your friend, it's only because I want our wedding to be special. We still have so many details to finalize.”

“I'd be all right if it wasn't for the break-in.”

“Say again?” His grip strengthened.

She glanced away from his eyes, gleaming in the oblique rays from the streetlights. “Someone threw a Molotov cocktail into my salon window. Brie and I were just finishing dinner at home when I got a call from the alarm company.”

“And you didn't notify me right away?”

“I tried, after I determined what happened. You were in there”—she pointed to the restaurant—“and couldn't hear me on the phone. I figured out where you were after I heard someone in the background holler for a corned beef on rye.”

“Good detective skills, Sherlock.”

She swiped at the wetness on her cheeks. “I know.”

“How much damage was done?”

Reassurance flooded through her at his concerned expression. How could she have doubted him?

“The entire reception area is a mess. I don't know what to do first. I can't call the insurance people until the morning, and then they'll have to send someone out for a repair estimate. I'll need to call contractors and order new furniture and . . . you get the picture. Meanwhile, there's a gaping hole in the front of my shop and broken glass all over the floor.”

“Let's go home and I'll make a few calls. We'll get someone to board it up.”

Marla was more than willing to let him take charge. “What about my customers and staff? I think the salon stations are intact but the place smells from smoke, and I don't know how far the water damage extends. Some tiles might need to be replaced. We're going to have to close the shop until everything is fixed. I can't afford to lose so much business.”
Not with all the upcoming bills to pay.

“How about the day spa? Don't you have hair stations set up for overflow from your salon?”

“Well, yes, we have four of them, but—”

“You passed the inspections already, right? So why can't you open informally for now and send your customers over there?”

Thunderstruck, she gazed at him. “You're right. That may work. I'd have to call Luis so he can notify people.”

“Good girl.” He patted her arm. “Delegate as much as you can. Let's leave now, and we can make our calls from home. Brie must be worried about you.”

After they arrived at Dalton's house, filled Brianna in, and made their initial phone calls, Marla and Dalton brought glasses of wine into the family room and settled onto the couch.

“Are you feeling better?” He tickled her thigh while the corner of his mouth turned up in a sexy smile.

She nodded. “I'm glad I don't have to face things alone anymore. I'm so lucky to have you.” Leaning forward, she kissed him on his perfectly contoured lips.

He grabbed her head and deepened the kiss.

“I'd like to take that into the bedroom,” he said after they separated, “but first, should I be worried that your place was targeted on purpose?”

“That thought had crossed my mind.” She bowed her head. “I might have ruffled a few feathers recently.”

“Why doesn't that surprise me?”

“You're right in that I have enough to do for the moment. I'm going to lie low. Jill has Arnie now. She has to learn to rely on him.”
And not to keep secrets,
Marla added silently.

“I'm glad to hear you say that. Our family needs your undivided attention.” Lifting her chin, he lowered his head and showed her what he meant.

Later, after their lovemaking, Marla vowed to concentrate on her own affairs and leave the investigation into Torrie's death to the police. Tonight's meltdown proved she'd been overtaxing herself, and she wouldn't accomplish anything if she lost her focus.

Her resolve lasted until the next day when Hally Leeds's assistant, Rachel, dropped by the day spa to share important news.

“Marla, there's someone here to see you,” Jennifer called from up front.

“Sorry, will you excuse me a minute?” Marla said to her client.

Putting down her comb and shears, she wiped her hand on a towel before hastening to the front desk at her day spa. She'd assigned Luis to oversee repairs in the salon, and her youngest staff member was taking up the slack in the spa by manning the reception area. She dodged the painter carrying a bucket toward the massage rooms and a nail tech carting supplies from next door. New Age music played quietly in the background, while a citrus scent honeyed the air. She hoped the pleasant, relaxing ambiance would make people want to return.

As she came into view of the shop front, she stopped short. Fresh-faced with minimal makeup and her blond hair in a ponytail, Hally's young assistant looked like a recent high school grad.

“Rachel, what a nice surprise. How are you?”

Rachel glanced anxiously through the plate glass window toward the parking lot. “I'm fine, thanks. I need to talk to you.”

Marla smiled encouragingly. “Do you mind if I finish a haircut first? Then I'll be free for a few minutes. Why don't you have a seat in our lounge?” she added, aware that Rachel might not want to be spotted by passersby.

She pointed to a room off to the side that held couches, magazines, coffee, and Danish. She'd added a trickling water fountain to enhance the soothing surroundings. Feeling her neck muscles knot with tension, she yearned for a stress-reliever massage. When the rooms in the back were finished, she'd be one of their first customers.

Twenty minutes later, she filled herself a cup of coffee and sat opposite Rachel in the private lounge. No one else had come in, so they had the room to themselves. Marla glanced at her watch. She'd gotten a late start that morning, having had to move her roundabout and tools from the salon into the day spa, but then Grace Morgan had canceled her eleven o'clock appointment. She could always start her eleven-thirty a few minutes late. Hopefully, whatever Rachel had to say wouldn't take too long.

“So what can I do for you, honey?” Marla said softly.

The girl cast her eyes downward, wringing her hands. “Thanks for taking the time to see me. I thought you should know, since you're friends with Jill, and . . . and . . .”

“Yes?”

“Well, I found stuff around the office.”

“What kind of stuff?” Putting her cup down on the coffee table, Marla leaned forward.

“After Hally's death, the police came and took her computer, looked through her trash, and examined her desk. But they forgot one place.”

Marla's heart skipped a beat. “Where?”

“Hally must have used the copy machine last. She'd forgotten to take away the original inside. It was still in the machine when I went to use it. I dug a couple of crumpled papers from the trash can nearby, too. I just thought you'd like to know.”

You said that already. Get on with it.
“Can I refill your coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Rachel shook her head, her eyes round. “I realize you're busy, and I don't want to bother you. The article in the copy machine must have been from our archives. It was dated years ago and tells about toxic waste on a piece of real estate. Real estate now occupied by Orchid Isle.”

Marla straightened her spine. “No way.” That confirmed what the woman in class had said. Had Falcon cleaned the site before he built his nature center? He'd have had to pass environmental inspections, unless Kevin and Eddy had played a role in skirting regulations. Would people come if they knew the park had been constructed on contaminated land?

Rachel opened her purse, then handed Marla a document. “Here's the original article. I made an extra copy for myself, just in case.”

“Thanks.” Marla rose and slipped the document inside a drawer for safe keeping. Returning to the couch, she sat and tilted her head. “You said there was also something important in the trash can?”

“That's right.” Rachel retrieved a folded paper. “Sorry about the creases. I'm not really sure what this means, but I heard Torrie mention the guy's name before.”

Taking the article, Marla scanned it. She didn't understand how a write-up on a polo club gala would be relevant, but—oh, wait. The accompanying photo had Grant Bosworth's byline.

She studied Rachel, who wouldn't quite meet her gaze. “This photographer works for a rival magazine. Do you have any idea why your colleagues might have been interested in him?”

Rachel shrugged, her brows furrowed. “Who knows? Maybe one of them wanted to make Griff jealous. They both liked him.”

“Did you see Griff at the wedding?”

“He's so tall, it's hard to miss him.” Her face paled as she realized what she'd said. “I mean, you could spot him anywhere in a crowd.”

“Is there something you'd like to tell me, Rachel?”

Rachel's glance darted to the doorway as she squirmed in her seat. “I took a risk in coming here,” she said, her voice trembling. “I should go now.”

“Please don't be afraid. Let me help you. My boyfriend works for the police. Just tell me why—”

Rachel leapt up. “No, that's all I can say.”

“Then I appreciate your bringing these to me.” Marla stood, smoothing her skirt. “Can I share this information with Jill?”

The girl's eyes widened. “Of course. That's why I brought it to you.”

“Why didn't you go see her yourself?”

“I-I'm not ready. Torrie knew that when she found me.”

“And where was that?”

Rachel backed away. “It doesn't matter. Please don't tell anyone else I've talked to you.”

“Where can I reach you if I have more questions?”

Full-blown panic entered the younger woman's eyes. “Don't try to contact me. It could be dangerous. Goodbye, Marla. Thanks for listening.”

Rachel flew out the front door before Marla could stop her. Not having time to ponder the young woman's words, she proceeded to her next client. Greeting the middle-aged matron and mixing up a color solution took her mind off other matters. She even managed to avoid thinking about her conversation with Rachel during the subsequent cut and style, highlights, and blowout.

Finally able to steal a few minutes for lunch, Marla settled onto a stool in the storeroom, a turkey sandwich on a napkin in her lap and her cell phone in hand. Between bites, she called information and got the number for
Home & Style Magazine
in Palm Beach. She recalled that was the name of the journal that ran Grant Bosworth's byline.