Bad Hair 8 - Day Perish By Pedicure (17 page)

Marla twisted her head to view the crimson trails ribboning from the persimmon and ruby artist’s palette in the sky. Truth be told, she’d viewed sunsets enough times in Florida to take them for granted, but on a clear night like this the vivid colors still had the power to captivate. Her mood changed, however, as the red rivulets reminded her of blood, bringing home the fact that Luxor was two people short on this trip. She’d heard a lot of reasons why her teammates wanted Chris dead, but what about Heather? Had the model inadvertently uncovered a clue leading to the killer? Was that why she had to die? And what of the paper in her hand mentioning Bell Farms? What did that mean?

“I want to take a look at the boats in the marina,” Georgia said, nudging her. “Do you mind if we go there first?”

“I have to put my kit away,” Marla replied, lifting her bag. “Why do you want to go there? Are you hoping to catch a ride on one of the yachts?”

“Not this late.” Her grinning friend’s teeth reflected the light from the lampposts, which had flicked on just a moment ago, illuminating the grounds. “I can daydream about how the other half lives, though. You probably see this stuff all the time, but for me it’s way cool. Flowers blooming in January, palm trees, green lawns, and ocean breezes. I could dig living in the tropics—except now it’s actually gotten cold! You didn’t tell me the temperature could drop this much at night.”

“The weather is variable this time of year. Do you want to wear my jacket? I’m okay with just the sweater.”

“All right, thanks.” Georgia shrugged into Marla’s cranberry jacket, while Marla donned the sweater she’d brought for extra warmth. “I wish we had time to do some of the other fun things in the area. Do we have to leave so early in the morning?”

“Afraid so,” Marla replied, mindful of her other duties. Passing the poolside tiki bar, she glanced at the patrons sipping their drinks and chatting. Too bad this weekend couldn’t stretch into a week. She agreed with Georgia on that score. Someday—she comforted herself—she’d make it to the tropical paradise of her dreams. Someday.

“Where shall we meet?” Georgia asked, twirling a curl around her index finger. “I may not get upstairs before dinner. I’d like to take a walk on the beach after I see the boats.”

“In the dark? You can’t see anything on the sand, where you’re walking.” Marla supposed that wouldn’t matter to a northerner, so she explained: “You’d better keep your shoes on so you don’t step on any jellyfish. If you start getting itchy, head inside. The no-see-ums come out at dusk.”

After delivering those words of warning, she headed toward the main hotel building while Georgia split off to tour the marina and sandy beach. The perfumed fragrance of blooming jasmine filled the air, but Marla thought about the biting insects, the hidden predators that also surrounded them, targeting sweet, innocent flesh—much like the killer who had zapped the life from Christine and Heather. A shiver rolled through her. She would’ve felt a modicum of protection if Sergeant Masterson had been present. The Luxor group could be harboring a menace.

Her nape prickling with unease, she hurried into the brightly lit lobby and paced toward the bank of elevators. She didn’t feel safe until she’d entered her room and checked for intruders before locking the door. Then she pulled out her cell phone, connected the charger, and punched in Vail’s number. She needed the reassurance of his voice.

While the ringing tone sounded in her ears, she remembered all the things she’d wanted to discuss with Georgia, but they had blown from her mind when her friend mentioned Tyler’s situation. Oh well. They’d talk about it later. Dismayed when she realized she wouldn’t have the chance to tell Vail either, since his voice mailbox clicked on, she left a brief message for him to call her.

After a quick shower and a change into comfortable slacks with a coral cashmere sweater, she checked in with her mother via cell phone. She’d taken so long with her hair that only fifteen minutes remained before it was time to meet her colleagues.

“Don’t forget you have a date with Barry on Sunday,” Anita said. “He’ll pick you up at seven. Remember, it’s a black-tie affair.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t go, Ma. Dalton will be upset.”

“Do you want to meet Dr. Greenberg or not? Dalton will understand that you’re on a mission.”

“I think he agreed because he didn’t want to make a fuss. All he cares about is riding a steady road where Justine and Larry are concerned. I can just imagine Justine accusing me of dating another man while I’m engaged.”

“She’s not the one you’re marrying,
bubula
. Call me when you’re home.”

Marla hung up, grabbed her purse and a warm fleece jacket, and dashed out the door. Following a hotel directory, she made her way to the Goombay Smash and arrived promptly at eight. A crowd milled about the open front doors. Searching for familiar faces, she tapped her foot to the steel drum beat from a band playing inside.

“Yo, babe, we’re over here,” called Tyler, who stood by a mahogany tree.

Marla strode over, doing a head count. Everyone was there except for Janice, Ron, Georgia, and their artistic director. The models had joined them, evidently intent on soaking up the company revenue.

“Did you reserve a table?” she asked. Reservations were taken for parties greater than six, and there would be twelve of them. The photographer had already left for Miami, so Marla was glad she’d had the foresight to get his card and mention that she’d like to do more work for him.

“I put in our name,” Amy Jeanne said in her quiet manner. “A table should be cleared in another ten minutes or so.” Her expression suddenly chilled. “Shut my mouth. That can’t be our eminent trainer, can it?”

Marla followed her glance and swallowed. Sampson staggered in their direction, his hair unkempt and his shirttails loose. If she had to guess, she’d say he’d hit the tiki bar for a few more rum punches. Talk about uncharacteristic behavior. He seemed unable to hold himself together today for some reason.

“It’s a good thing Jan didn’t come downstairs,” Miguel muttered at her side.

“Tell me about it. What’s the matter with him? Do you think he’s upset about Chris’s death?” A delayed reaction to her murder could cause him to lose his inhibitions.

“Are you kidding? York couldn’t be more glad she’s out of his way.” Miguel twisted the wire attached to his omnipresent earbuds. “Everyone else scampers to obey his orders, but our boss lady was the only one who could make him dance.”

“And why was that?” Marla asked, noting Ron rushing around the corner. Spotting her, the master stylist halted, looking shocked but then he just as quickly recovered himself. He must have gotten a look at Sampson’s disheveled appearance. Marla missed Miguel’s response, because just then the hostess called their group. “Wait, Georgia isn’t here yet.”

“She’ll find us inside,” Liesl said, looking very hip in an off-the-shoulder ribbed lavender top. “Let’s go, luv.”

Twenty minutes later, Marla got worried when Georgia hadn’t shown up. Her friend knew they were meeting everyone at eight o’clock. Had she gone to their room to change? Taking her cell phone from her purse, she punched in Georgia’s personal number. No answer.

Excusing herself, she found a hotel phone and dialed their room number. The ringing tone persisted until Marla gave up. Now what? Could Georgia have met some guy at the marina and decided to chuck her plans?
Possibly, but she would’ve told me, knowing that I’d worry
. She ‘d wait a while longer just in case her fears were groundless.

Returning to the table, she sipped her water but finally signaled the waitress to cancel her order.

“It’s unlike Georgia to be this late,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I’m going to look for her. You guys go ahead and eat. I’ll get something later.”

Ron raised his martini glass. “Where was she headed?”

“The marina and then the beach. I can’t imagine what’s kept her so long.”

“Maybe she found the shipwreck,” Sampson drawled from where he slouched in a corner nursing his drink.

“Say again?” Amy Jeanne piped in, after spitting her chewing gum into a napkin.

“It’s a roped off area at the north boundary,” Sampson replied. “Some old ship ran aground there, and instead of dragging it out to sea and sinking it like they do to make artificial reefs, the hotel owners made it into a resort attraction.” He hiccuped. “I suppose the wood rotted, because no one can step on it now. Maybe Georgia leaned over to take a closer look and fell through the gash in the deck. That’s the first place I’d search.”

Once outside the restaurant, Marla hesitated while she listened to the crickets. It had grown cooler, so she zipped her ivory fleece jacket up before venturing farther. Remembering that Georgia had put on her cranberry blazer, she looked around for a flash of the familiar color. None of the people strolling past gave her a second regard.

Should she trace Georgia’s steps, starting at the marina? Or would it be a better idea to try the shipwreck? The mental image of Georgia toppling through a hole on deck and being trapped in a rotten hull propelled her toward the north. Voices receded into the background, and soon she heard nothing but the surf and the occasional cry of a seagull. A roped-off area loomed in the near distance, and as she approached, she saw shadowy shapes rising from the gloom.

Sampson had directed her here. Could this be a setup to get her alone? He knew she’d seen that check he’d made out to Chris.

She became conscious of a peculiar scrabbling noise. Spinning, she examined the beach to her right and the mangroves to her left. Nothing. It must be coming from that wreck, now a tangled mass of fallen beams draped with seaweed and sifted with sand. Calling Georgia’s name, she stepped gingerly beyond the barrier. Surely her friend wouldn’t have been so foolish as to venture this far by herself.

Illuminated by a half moon, the crisscrossing planks presented an obstacle course of dangerous proportions. Yawning gaps led to places she didn’t care to contemplate, although likely whatever fell below got washed out to sea in the rip current. Waves lapped against the wood with an angry rush as though protesting its invasion.

Mesmerized by images of how the vessel must have looked in full sail, she almost didn’t hear the crackle from behind. As she turned, a blunt object impacted the side of her head with enough force to knock her over. Her ears rang as she crumpled to the ground, too stunned to move. She lay on her side carpeted by the lumpy sand, aware that her hair had cushioned the blow.

A heavy foot prodded her rib cage. When she didn’t respond, her assailant rolled her onto her back. The movement made her head spin. Her vision narrowed, becoming a faint tunnel that rapidly grew dim. She caught a blurred image of someone bending over her before the buzzing in her mind overwhelmed her senses and she blacked out.

Coughing entered her awareness. Gasps for breath, followed by more choking coughs.
It’s me
, she thought vaguely, feeling her body lift, then sink. Flinging her eyes open with full consciousness, she panicked when salt water flowed into her mouth. Sputtering, she flailed her arms, but a wave smashed into her face, thrusting her under the depths. She kicked violently, breaking the surface. Her lungs sucked in air, but the wheezing breath ended in a rattle that made her cough and spit. Somehow she’d landed in the ocean, and if she didn’t regain control, she would be swept out to sea.

Her soaked jacket weighed her down. Holding her breath, she wriggled it off, no easy feat when waves kept smashing her. The waves were a good sign; they meant she hadn’t been carried beyond the crests.

When she regained her equilibrium, she treaded water and looked around. Lights were strung out like jewels on the shoreline. It didn’t seem so far, but with the feel of the current battering at her, she struggled against rising panic.
Swim parallel. Get away from the riptide
. Her temple throbbed as she positioned herself for a sidestroke. If only she could clear her lungs, she’d gather more strength.

Something bumped her leg, and her pulse rocketed. Shark! Or maybe just a school of fish. Adrenaline boosted her energy. With her back to the swells, she scissored a slow crawl at a diagonal that would bring her closer to shore. Her breaths became shallower with exertion. After each inhalation, she felt the rattle that made her want to give a violent cough. Unable to fight against the surging waves, she focused her efforts on reaching a standing depth. Her lungs burned with fire as the need to clear them became imperative.

Cold seeped into her bones and invaded her joints. She couldn’t think about that now.
Think about Dalton and Brianna. They need me. I have to survive for their sake.

With each stroke, her muscles grew weaker, and her gasping breaths more shallow. Salt water flowed into her nostrils, tickling down her throat, stinging her sinuses. Cough, sputter.
Breathe, Marla. You can do it.

Just when she thought her lungs would burst, her foot brushed the sea botton. Folding her knees, she planted her feet on the wet sand and stood, shaking. Water dripped from her as she bent forward to retch. After a series of choking gasps, she was finally able to take a clear breath. Pulling in a lungful of air had never seemed so sweet, but it wasn’t easy between her chattering teeth. She needed warmth fast

An hour later, she lay on her bed freshly showered and wrapped in a robe, counting her blessings.
I should call Dalton
was the first thought that popped into her mind, but what could he do from Palm Haven? Georgia still hadn’t returned, and Marla shuddered to think what might have happened to her. Whoever had clunked Marla on the head might have waylaid Georgia first, intending to put them both out of action. Or else the attacker had mistaken Georgia’s identity because she’d worn Marla’s blazer. Did it matter? Either way, she had to find her friend.

If she’d been tailed from the restaurant, it logically followed that her assailant must have been one of her dinner companions. Unless it was Jan, who claimed to be resting in her room, or even the photographer, who could still be lurking about.

Sitting made her momentarily dizzy, so she took her time getting up. Determined to locate Georgia, she roused enough energy to brew a pot of coffee while getting dressed. She’d been caught unaware once; it wouldn’t happen again.

Preparing to go out, she had just put on her spare jacket when she realized her handbag was missing. Thankfully, she’d kept her room key in her pants pocket.

Outside, she hastened toward the shipwreck, glad to find her purse half buried in the sand near where she’d fallen. After brushing off the grime, she retrieved her cell phone and hurried toward the marina, where she dialed Georgia’s number, hoping she might hear an answering ring.

No luck. Water lapped against the pier as she proceeded across the wooden planks toward the slips. The smell of diesel fumes mingled with salty night air as she descended a set of metal steps, avoided a coiled rope in her path, and scanned the clear expanse in front of her. Not so much as a flag moved. The breeze had died, adding to the delicious warmth from her black leather jacket.

Disappointed when her search didn’t yield any results, Marla debated which route to take next. Georgia had wanted to explore the beach. Considering her limited choices, she about-faced and dutifully picked a walkway winding in that direction. A young couple strolled past, starry-eyed, with their arms linked. It made her yearn for Vail’s comforting presence. Should she tell him about the attack?

She reached a hand to her hair, blow-dried but frizzy without the proper care. A long strand covered the sensitive bruise on her head. If she didn’t suffer any ill effects, she might keep quiet so as not to alarm him. He had enough problems without looking after her safety.

Halfway to the beach, Marla strained to listen. Crickets chirped a noisy chorus from a nearby bank of woods, and in the distance, waves splashed ashore. She caught the faint rhythm of Caribbean music from the poolside bar. A tern flew past, soaring overhead. This area wasn’t as brightly lit as the paths near the pool, where pink and orange ground lights provided illumination. Common sense dictated that she shouldn’t linger.

What did that sign up ahead say? Would it direct people to go left to the boathouse for jet ski rentals, or to the right for the gazebo? Idly scratching her forearm, Marla glanced dubiously in both directions. The trail to the boathouse led toward the beach, while the other snaked into the woods. Neither one would be a wise choice for a woman alone. But who could she trust to ask for help?

No, time to figure that one out. Just do it yourself.
After rotating in a full circle to make certain she was unobserved, Marla proceeded down the path to the gazebo. Georgia’s sense of curiosity might have directed her toward the garden, and in any event, Marla couldn’t bear to think of the ocean swallowing her friend. She’d check the boathouse next if this trail didn’t lead anywhere.

Halfway along the path, she paused by a Gumbo Limbo tree. Through its branches, she could barely make out the form of a toolshed. On a hunch, she tried calling Georgia’s number again. Her ears picked up a bare hint of sound on her left. Breaking off the trail, she rushed across the sandy ground to the shed, where she heard a distinct ringing tone coming from inside.

Banging on the door, Marla called out, “Georgia, are you in there? Answer me!” She stuffed her cell phone back in her bag.

A couple of muffled thumps sounded in reply.

Unable to see clearly enough, she rummaged in her handbag for a penlight. It had been handy for exploring the hidden tunnels at Sugar Crest over Thanksgiving, and she was glad she’d had the foresight to bring it along.

Shining the beam at the door, she spotted a bolt that slid sideways with ease. Slamming the door open, she aimed her beam inside—and cried out when she saw her friend wriggling on the floor. Bound and gagged, but very much alive.

“Bless my bones, who did this to you? Are you all right?” she babbled while fumbling with the bonds securing Georgia’s wrists and ankles. She let Georgia remove the duct tape over her mouth, wincing at the tearing sound.
Ouch
.

Thank God, Marla.” Clapping a hand to her forehead, Georgia sat up. “How did you find me?”

She pointed to Georgia’s purse lying on the concrete floor. “I dialed your cell phone and listened for the ringing tone. It’s just pure luck that I came in this direction. Can I help you stand? We should get out of here. Someone knocked me on the head earlier and tossed me in the ocean.”

“From your mouth to my legs, hon. We’re outta here.” Grasping Marla’s arm, she rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘Just give me a minute to get my balance. I think I got cracked on the noggin, too. Something hurts me fierce right here.” She indicated a spot on the back of her head.

“Come on, you’ll rest later.” Marla scooped up Georgia’s handbag. “Let’s go.” Stepping outside the door, she peered back and forth, heaving a sigh of relief when they appeared to be unaccompanied.

They made haste back to their hotel room, ordered room service for sustenance, and then fell on their beds as exhaustion claimed them. Neither one seemed to have suffered any long-term consequences except for a headache and painful goose egg under the hair. They’d live, which was the main thing. But deciding who had perpetrated violence against them posed a compelling question.

Sunday evening, she told Barry Gold about both incidents when he picked her up for the charity ball where she was going to have a chance to meet the dermatologist. Folding her hands on the black beaded purse in her lap, she gave Barry an admiring glance. Sitting erect in the driver’s seat of his silver Lexus, he presented a charming package with his sandy hair, bright blue eyes, and broad shoulders that seemed comfortably bound in a traditional black tuxedo.

“You take too many risks, Marla,” he said, his gaze focused out the windshield.

“I didn’t expect anything to happen in the Keys. That just about points the finger at one of the Luxor crew, wouldn’t you say?” She smoothed her skirt. “I tried to call Dalton to tell him about it, but he isn’t answering his cell phone. He and Brie had somewhere to go tonight. My mother is entertaining Justine and Larry.”

“Lucky woman.”

Yeah, right
. Traffic east was fairly light, so Marla figured they should arrive early enough to enjoy cocktails at the event, which was being held at the Fort Lauderdale Renaissance Hotel. Her mouth watered for a glass of wine. It would help ease her guilt at leaving her houseguests behind.

“Georgia and I decided she got attacked because she wore my cranberry jacket. When the bad guy realized his mistake, he went after me next” Still able to taste the salt water from her ordeal, Marla licked her lips.

“What makes you think it’s a man?”

“Logic. Sampson had been drinking before meeting the gang for dinner. His clothes were a mess, which they might have been if he’d dragged Georgia from wherever he waylaid her. If he felt I was a threat because I’d seen that check he wrote to Chris, then he’d want to get rid of me.”

“You think Chris was blackmailing him, and that’s what the check was all about?”

Marla nodded. “Possibly. I spoke to Amy Jeanne the next morning. She said Sampson had left the dinner table because he felt ill, and Ron had gotten up to go to the bathroom. Either one of them would have had time to crack me on the head.”

“Did you tell Sergeant Masterson what happened?”

“Yes, I phoned him as soon as we got back. He seemed very interested and said he had something relevant to tell me, but it would have to wait until he had backup documentation.”

“What do you think that means?”

“Masterson must have learned what it is that Sampson is hiding.” Marla gave her companion an appreciative glance. It was easy to talk to him. While he chided her for rushing headlong into dangerous situations, he respected her intelligence. She was well aware that her family would consider it a
mitzvah
if she married a single Jewish optometrist who valued the same traditions. She really could hang out with him, if she didn’t have Dalton. But she did have Dalton. And although she felt a special fondness for Barry, he didn’t fire her jets the way the detective did. Maybe with time, she’d feel differently, but time had also taught her to follow her heart. Her heart led straight to Dalton.

“So you’ve eliminated everyone else as suspects?” Barry asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Never close your mind to all the options, that’s what Dalton says. Each one of my colleagues has a potential motive. For example, Janice took over Chris’s position after she died. Is Jan ambitious? Yes, although she claims to take no pleasure in getting a promotion that way. Nonetheless, we have to remember that Chris led her into an investment scheme that went bust. Now she’s struggling to support her mother, who has a lot of medical bills, so she can’t help resenting Chris’s misguided advice that put her in a hole financially.”