Bad Hair 8 - Day Perish By Pedicure (14 page)

They reached the corridor, where Marla read a sign on the wall that said the recreation room was located down the hallway. Violet headed in that direction. Glancing at her watch, Marla compressed her lips. She should get back to the salon. Hurrying after Violet, she introduced another topic.

“Did your daughter say how she liked working with Sampson York, our artistic director?”

“She may have told me, but I don’t remember.” Violet bobbed her gray head at a passerby, a neatly dressed lady who actually spoke a greeting. Unfortunately, her garbled words made no sense. Violet paid no heed, continuing along at a snail’s pace.

“Sampson owed Chris some money,” Marla prodded, realizing Violet’s short-term memory surged and receded like a tide.

“Is that so? Well, I hope he paid her back.”

“Did she ever talk about her colleagues?”

“Christine was in charge. She knew how to do the right thing. You know, too, don’t you?”

Despairing of getting a relevant answer, Marla made a last attempt. “What about friends, other relatives? Can you guess who might have wanted to harm your daughter?”

“Harm my baby? Why would anyone do that?” Violet blinked. “She did say someone was taking the money…”

Marla’s pulse catapulted. “Go on.”

The elderly woman’s face blanked. “It’s nice of you to come visit me. Have we met before?”

Marla gritted her teeth. Farther along, she spotted a medicine cart propped outside an open doorway. Restraining her steps took strength of will, but she waited until Violet resumed her ambulation before searching for the nurse. A heavyset attendant wearing blue scrubs emerged from a room two doors down.

“Excuse me,” Marla said with a lilt. “I’m a friend of Christine Parks. She told me about her, uh, project with Dr. Greenberg, and I’d like to make a donation. I can’t seem to find his phone number, although I’m sure he’s listed.”

The nurse straightened. She wore her wavy black hair in a high ponytail, her florid complexion accented with rose-toned makeup, not the best choice in Marla’s opinion.

“Dr. Greenberg, now he’s got a reputation among the old folks. They all go to him for their sun spots, but I heard him talking to Miz Parks’s gal about bringing in younger patients. Don’t know what all she’d have to do with it, but that doesn’t matter now. A shame what happened, ain’t it?”

“Very sad.” Marla nodded at Violet, who hunched over to grip her walker. “Her mother keeps referring to Chris as though she’s alive. Is that normal for her condition?”

“You betcha. Memory loss is common for residents on this floor, but I don’t think all of them have Alzheimer’s. Some folks got what used to be termed senile dementia. It’s nature’s way of blocking out the pain of growing old and feeble. Miz Parks, she be a sweet little ole lady. Always has a kind word for everyone.” The nurse wheeled the cart ahead several feet.

“Does Violet have any other relatives in the area?”

“Nope. There’s another daughter, but she don’t live in Florida, nor does she ever come to see her mama.”

“So the last time Christine visited was right before she, uh, passed away?” The nurse gave a sad nod. “You didn’t happen to overhear if she had any particular concerns, did you?”

“I’d have been too busy to take notice, sister. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got to deliver these pills.” Flashing a quick grin, the woman whirled inside the next room.

“Mrs. Parks, will you be all right by yourself?” Marla said, retreating a few paces. She felt as though the walls were closing in on her and couldn’t wait to leave the oppressive atmosphere. Another resident ambled by, humming the national anthem.

“I’ll go back to bed now,” Violet’s voice quivered.

“Wouldn’t you rather sit in the recreation hall? It’s bright and airy,” Marla suggested, peeking into the large space where several inhabitants sat in their wheelchairs while a loudspeaker played old show tunes. No one spoke to anyone else. It could have been a roomful of zombies with all those inanimate faces.

“I don’t want to go in there,” Violet said in a belligerent tone. “Christine said she was coming to see me. Take me to my room.”

“All right.” Her temples throbbing, Marla turned and tramped along at an interminable pace until they returned to Violet’s door. After ushering the old lady inside, she dashed to the exit. Muttering the numeric code aloud, she punched the keypad and grunted with relief when the latch clicked.

Emerging outside from the first floor, Marla realized she no longer needed her jacket. The temperature had risen, and the warm afternoon air brought the perfumed scent of citrus. She shrugged free from her outer apparel, feeling like a prisoner released from jail. How awful to be confined in that place, and yet the old-age home provided good care for people who needed it.

She stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders before unlocking her car. One hour may have passed, but it seemed like twenty. She craved a long walk with Spooks, with the sun kissing her neck and a fresh breeze caressing her skin, but that would have to wait.

Crunched for time, she pushed aside her musings about Christine Parks, Dr. Greenberg, and the possibilities of their association until later that evening. She’d invited Anita over to shmooze with her houseguests, and she knew Ma’s friends visited just about every doctor in town. Anita might be able to get the scoop on the good physician.

When Dalton called to say he’d stop by with Brianna, Marla decided to pull together a quick lasagna dinner. Tired from work and running errands, she didn’t have a minute to relax before setting the dining room table for seven and sticking her assembled dish in the oven. Before anyone else arrived, she recruited Georgia to help in the kitchen, while Justine and Larry munched on cashews in the family room.

Georgia’s eyes sparkled as she spread minced garlic on the Italian loaf slathered with butter prior to baking. “Marla, you know, I was thinking. We could squeeze in one more person if I asked Goat to join us. I’ll bet the poor guy doesn’t get many invitations, and I really want to ask him about his volunteer work at the animal shelter. What do you say? Besides, Spooks would love to see his dog Rita.”

Marla laughed. “You present a tough case, don’t you? I can see past your excuse of getting our poodles together, though. Why don’t you just admit you like my loony neighbor? Go ahead and ask him to dinner, but let him know it’s a crowd. Spooks and Rita can play in the backyard together.”

Her plans went awry when Anita showed up with her boyfriend, Roger, and his son, Barry, in tow. Suddenly Marla had ten people for dinner, awkward introductions to make, and no chance to ask her mother about the dermatologist.

Here’s a hummus dip, Marla said, when everyone had settled into the family room, where a sports game ran on television at low volume. Anita had helped her add an extension board to the dining room table, but expanding the table had been easier than expanding their meal. Mentally calculating portions, Marla figured she could stretch the lasagna dish only by cutting it into fairly smaller slices.

She’d already told Georgia to grab another garlic loaf from the freezer, but salads would be skimpy unless she added mandarin oranges and water chestnuts—fortunately, items regularly stocked in her pantry. Also fortunately, she’d renewed her supply of appetizers during her latest foray to the grocery store.

“What’s hew-miss?” Justine said with a sniff when Marla placed the plate next to the eggplant dip. Justine and Larry sat stiffly on the loveseat, while Anita and Roger occupied the longer sofa. Dalton and Barry stood at opposite corners of the room, their arms folded and their postures tense.

“Hum-us,” Marla corrected. “It’s a Middle Eastern dish made from chickpeas, garlic, lemon juice, olive oil, and tahini, a sesame seed paste.”

“How interesting.” Justine’s nose wrinkled when Marla offered her a piece of pita bread. “No thanks, dear, I’ll stick with the port-wine cheese and crackers.”

“Try this chopped liver,” Roger said, munching. “Anita made it, and it’s de-lish. Her daughter is just as good a
balebosteh
. You’re getting a prize for a daughter-in-law.”

Anita nudged him. “They’re Brianna’s grandparents on the
other side
.”

“Oh, sorry.” Unfazed, Roger stuffed another cracker into his mouth.

“What’s a
balebosteh
!” Vail asked, genuine curiosity in his tone. Marla could have hugged him. He’d been making a sincere effort to learn the Yiddish words her family tossed into everyday conversation.

“It means a good hostess or homemaker,” Anita explained.

Brianna, who’d been on the telephone in Marla’s bedroom, sauntered in to join them. “When are we eating? I’m starved.” She wore flip-flops with her khakis and red cotton top.

“The bread isn’t ready yet,” Marla told the teenager, wondering where Georgia had gone. She’d run out to invite their neighbor but hadn’t returned. No one was keeping an eye on the oven, and the aroma of toasted garlic grew stronger with each minute. She’d better take a look at the timer. “Anyone care for a drink refill?”

Larry cleared his throat. “I could use another gin and tonic, and I think we need more potato chips. Did you get the pork rinds on my list, by any chance? They’re my favorite.”

Marla pursed her lips. He should know that she wouldn’t keep pork products in her house. Had he said that to provoke her, or was he simply ignorant?

Vail strode forward. “Come on, Marla, I’ll give you a hand with the food. I need another beer anyway.”

Barry detached himself from his holding spot. “Would you like me to open the Chianti that I brought? Red wine is more appropriate with our meal.”

“I could use a glass, thanks,” Marla said with a grateful grin.

She glanced at Vail, ruggedly handsome in black jeans and a slate gray sweater that matched his smoky eyes. His intense expression went along with his clenched jaw. Clearly he didn’t like having competition present, and Barry had done everything he could to enhance their differences. The optometrist looked like a surfer with his sandy hair and tanned skin, an image he’d embellished by wearing Tommy Bahama apparel.

She bustled into the kitchen, annoyed at both men for hovering at her heels. “Here,” she said, thrusting a set of pot holders at Vail, “you can take the bread out of the oven. Barry, you’ll find a corkscrew in the drawer to your left.”

“By the way, Marla, I know you’re tied up these days, but I was wondering if you’d like to see
Shear Madness
with me. I’ve got an extra ticket. That is, if your boyfriend wouldn’t mind.” Barry’s twinkling blue eyes aimed a challenge at Dalton, whose smoldering expression would have made a rookie cop quake.

“Oh gosh, I’ve never seen the play, and I’d love to go.” Turning off the oven, Marla grasped a spatula as she prepared to cut the lasagna. “That would be okay with you, wouldn’t it?” she asked the homicide detective.

He emitted a growl that Marla took to be an affirmative response. Smiling sweetly, she kissed him on the lips. “You’re a real
mensch
.”

They were just emerging from the kitchen when the front door crashed open. Goat staggered inside, followed by his dog, Rita, and a harried Georgia. The black poodle dashed into the family room, grabbed a cracker from the cocktail table, and scampered into the hallway before anyone could catch her. Spooks, roused from his torpor, played a game of rush-around-the-dining-room with his gal Rita, before Goat corralled the wayward animals and ushered them outdoors to the patio.

“Ugamaka, ugamaka, chugga, chugga, ush,” Goat chanted, performing his jig for the assembled company. He sported a flowered shirt over a pair of faded jean shorts. With his hair askew and his scraggly beard, he reminded Marla of Shaggy on
Scooby Doo
. Goat smelled strongly of bleach, as though he’d tried to scrub away the scents from his numerous pets.

“I helped feed his animals,” Georgia explained in a breathy voice. “Did you know his snake has hair?”

“Junior got a dose of an experimental hair-growth molecule,” Marla said without going into the whole
megillah
. “Goat rescued the formula from some bad people who’d tested it on animals with nasty results. He’s a real hero.”

Goat shuffled his feet. “Marla got screwed by the sneaky bald dude. He played a number sending stylists to their slumber, but she got wise and slashed him between the eyes.”

Marla winced. “Actually, I stabbed Wyeth in the chest, but let’s not go there. The dinner is just about ready. Shall we move into the dining room?”

They were digging into their main course when Roger’s voice boomed. “So, Marla, when are you joining us at Shabbat services again? Anita would really like her daughter to attend.”

Marla swallowed a gulp of tangy tomato sauce. “I’ve been too busy lately, between the hair show and my salon.”
Not to mention all these people in my house, disrupting my schedule.

“I hope you wrote down the Passover seder on your calendar for March,” Anita mentioned, wagging a finger. “You can’t get too busy for your own family.”

“I’ll say.” Justine took a sip of water, regarding Marla over the rim of her glass. “Speaking of family, Brianna has a concert coming up at school. Parents usually go to these things, you know.”

Marla stabbed her fork into a slice of lasagna. “Is that so? Brie, let me know the date and I’ll try to get there.”

“You’ll try? How can you expect to give her the nurturing she expects from you as her stepmother if you don’t put her needs before your own?” Justine snapped.

Marla bit back her retort when Anita interrupted. “Marla is a very giving person. She’ll do her best, but you have to cut her some slack. She’s put in a lot of hard work to establish her salon and build a reputation for herself in the business community. I’m proud of her, and I know she’ll be a wonderful mother as well.”

“What are your plans for the weekend?” Vail asked her quietly. His solid presence beside her offered reassurance, especially when he squeezed her hand under the table. He must be feeling just as put upon by their elders as she did.

Chomping on a piece of garlic bread, she spoke between bites. “Tomorrow the Luxor crew is going to the Keys for a photo shoot.” Thank goodness Larry and Justine had decided to stay behind. ‘They’ve booked rooms for an overnighter, but I’ll leave early on Saturday so I can get back to the salon. Darn, that doesn’t give me any time to make an appointment with that dermatologist.”

“What dermatologist?” Anita chimed in, giving her only daughter an aggrieved look.

“I went to the assisted-living facility today to visit Christine Parks’ mother. Violet mentioned that Chris had some project going with Dr. Greenberg. I thought I’d make an appointment to see him, ostensibly for a mole check.”

“Not a bad idea. Insurance companies allow us five office visits a year in Florida without a referral,” Anita told their out-of-state visitors. “You have to be careful of the sun.”

“What else did the old lady say?” Georgia asked. ‘Jan told me that the police detective, Sergeant Masterson, might come down to the Keys with us. I still can’t believe he thinks one of our crowd might have poisoned Christine at the cocktail party.”

“Oh, great. That’ll help everyone’s mood. It’s bad enough that they’re all stuck here until he finishes his investigation.”

“I can move into the hotel if it’s more convenient.”

Marla waved a hand. “I didn’t mean that. I just wish…No one seems upset about Chris or Heather.”

Brianna broke in. “Wasn’t that the model?”

She nodded. “I assume Heather died because she found out something regarding Chris’s death. Did it have to do with Luxor, or with that doctor? Dalton, would you be able to check him out for me, even though you don’t have jurisdiction on this case?”

Roger’s son, seated at the other end of the table, raised his arm. “Would that be Jake Greenberg? If so, I know how you could meet him without making an appointment.” He grinned broadly as though privy to a secret no one else could guess.

“Well, don’t keep us in the dark,” Marla said wryly.

“If he’s the right Dr. Greenberg, then he’s a bigwig in the American Melanoma Society. They’re having their annual ball this Sunday night I have tickets, but I wasn’t going to go because I…Anyway, if you’d like to come, I can probably still RSVP.”

Marla glanced at Vail for his reaction. Her fiancé’s expression remained impassive, but she noticed he began shredding his napkin. “Would you mind?” she asked him, intending to abide by his response.

“Go ahead,” he grated. “It’s the perfect opportunity.”

“Will you still look into his background? I need your input.”

“Gee, thanks.” She didn’t miss his sardonic tone. Vail pointed to his daughter. “Brie, maybe we’ll let Marla off the hook this week. She has too much to do.”

“No way,” Marla said, shifting in her seat. “Honey, which day is your concert? Nothing will stop me from being there.”

“It’s Wednesday,” the teenager said in a small voice, “but if you can’t make it, I’ll understand. It’s more important to find out who knocked off those two ladies.”

“Brianna, mind your conversation,” Justine chastised her.

“But you’re all picking on Marla, and that’s unfair. She’s trying her best.”

“Thanks, Brie. I’m glad someone’s on my side. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll let the dogs in the house.” Scraping her chair, she rose hastily before anyone could see the moisture tipping her lashes. This dinner party had been a bad idea from the start, and it had just gotten worse. Tempted to stay out on the patio, Marla slid open the glass door and stood aside while the poodles charged past.

Georgia found her in the family room, fluffing the pillows on the couch. “Don’t let them get to you,” Georgia said in a hushed tone. This could happen any time two families get together with a cultural gap.”

“Oh yeah?” She swatted at a pillow until the dust billowed. “We have more like a deep chasm between us. It’ll never work.”

“That’s not true. Dalton is totally willing to compromise, and so are you. Like, Justine and Larry aren’t even his parents, for heaven’s sake. For all you know, his folks might love you.”

“Justine and Larry are still Brianna’s grandparents. They have every right to visit her.”

“And you’ve been very gracious in allowing them to stay at your house.” Georgia grabbed the pillow from Marla’s hands before she beat it to death.

“You’d think they would be grateful, but Justine is doing everything she can to sabotage me. Look at the snide remarks she makes in front of everyone, and the photos of Pam that just happen to stick out of her purse. Doesn’t she realize that these things hurt? Why would she be so mean? I thought she wanted to stay here so we could get to know each other, but her actions only serve to alienate me.”

Georgia put a hand on her shoulder. “Try to understand how difficult it must be for Justine to see another woman take her daughter’s place. She may only want to assert Pam’s personality so Brie’s mother isn’t forgotten. No offense, but I don’t see you going out of your way to remember her.”

Marla lifted her gaze to Georgia’s bright eyes. “I asked about her interests.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been encouraging Dalton to pack away her favorite objects, as though you don’t want any trace of her in your new home.”

Marla glanced away. Was that true? If so, it made her sound heartless. “Brianna is keeping some of her mom’s collections. Dalton and I have agreed to start fresh.”

“That doesn’t mean you can erase Pam’s existence from his life. She’s always going to be a part of him, and you have to accept it. Why don’t you embrace her influence instead of denying it? Making peace with the past isn’t only Dalton’s task.” Georgia smiled gently as though to mitigate her harsh words. “Now, what’s for dessert? Goat said he would show me his parrot after dinner.”

“Did I hear mention of dessert?” Dalton strode into the room. “Are you okay?” he asked, kissing Marla.

She fixed a lock of his peppery hair that had fallen onto his forehead and stroked it back into place. The gesture provided pleasure, but she was self-conscious with Georgia watching. “I’ll be fine. It’s just difficult with two sets of parents pouncing on us.” She included Roger in that assessment, linking him with her mother and their obvious attempt to land her a Jewish husband, namely eligible optometrist Barry—who seemed amenable to their goal.

“I’ll entertain the in-laws over the weekend so you can get things done,” Dalton said when Georgia left them alone. “Besides, you’re escaping to the Keys.”

“Will it bother you if I go to that affair with Barry after we get back? Because if so, I’ll change my plans.”

“Go ahead. If you find a link between Chris’s death and the dermatologist, it would take the heat off the Luxor group, and they could all go home. I can’t wait until we’re alone.” Drawing her close, he gave her a mind-searing kiss. “Look, if you really hate everyone being here, Justine and Larry can come to my house.”