Highlights to Heaven (16 page)

“Jimbo? Is he the same man who works at Evan’s ranch?”

“Yup. Breeders know each other, see? Doesn’t mean nothing for workers to change locations. Could be Fargutt made him a better offer, or else Jimbo applied for a new job without letting on about his history. As for the cops, tell them I had nothin’ to do with no murder. I got my scruples, and they don’t let me go that far.”

Oh yeah? Your scruples allow you to engage in illegal animal traffic. How about those poor creatures who don’t survive transit? Or become captives for life? I don’t see you showing any compassion there, pal
.

Gritting her teeth, she lifted the heavy bag of dog food. “Well, thanks for your help. At least I know where to come for supplies from now on. Here’s my business card. Next time you’re ready for a haircut, stop by my salon. I guarantee you’ll be satisfied with the results.”

Always the promoter
, she thought,
even when interviewing suspects
. You never knew where your next client would come from.

She laughingly told Nicole about it the next day at work. “Boy, would I be shocked if he walked in here.”

The sleek stylist peered at her before swiping her countertop with a clean towel. “So you don’t believe this pet-store guy had anything to do with the murder?”

Marla sorted foils for her next highlights job. “No, and despite the illegal goings-on with Yani’s colleague, Wake implied Chang wasn’t involved, either.”

“Hey, Marla.” Giorgio breezed into the salon, just a few minutes earlier than his first appointment of the day.

“Since when do you wear driving gloves?” Marla asked, noticing the black gloves he casually tossed into a drawer.

“They protect my hands.” Grinning, he wiggled his fingers at her. “They are, after all, a valuable asset.” He sauntered closer, giving Marla a playful once-over. “You would like a demonstration?” White teeth gleamed under a trim mustache. Waiting for her reply, he ruffled his curly black hair as though to offer further enticement.

Marla stared at him. Dark-haired, Latin good looks, possessing a cosmetology license.

“What’s the matter? You eat lemons for breakfast? Oh dear, you must have heard the news.”

“News? From your expression, it can’t be good.”

Giorgio and Nicole exchanged furtive glances. “You tell her,” Giorgio said.

Nicole, putting aside her towel, pursed her lips. “There’s no easy way to say this. Carolyn Sutton is opening her salon this week.”

“Shit. I’ve been so busy that I forgot all about it.”

“She’ll be two doors down, on the other side of Arnie’s bagel place,” Giorgio said, his voice oozing sympathy.

“That woman hates me. She’ll do everything she can to steal business from us.”

“I thought she was already enticing customers away with free offers,” Nicole said.

“That’s true. Some people have returned to my chair, saying they don’t like how she conducts operations. But that was when her salon was still across town. Now we’ll be in direct competition with each other.”

“If you ask me, she’ll be the one at a disadvantage, not you,” Nicole said reassuringly.

“Just what I need, another headache.”

“Marla, you got a headache? I have some Advil if you want it,” Jennifer called from across the room.

“I was talking about something else,” Marla said, annoyed by how easily voices carried in a salon. “How was your dentist appointment yesterday?”

The blond stylist continued cutting her customer’s hair. “Would you believe it cost me two hundred fifty dollars to get a cavity filled? Man, we could have used that money toward a new dishwasher. Our old model broke last week.”

“Tell me about it,” Marla said. “Prices have gone up everywhere.”

“What’s that?” Giorgio asked, indicating the sheet of paper lying faceup on her counter.

“It’s a list of people who were in my class at cosmetology school. I promised Detective Vail I’d fax it to him.”

His dark eyes gleamed brightly. “Planning a reunion?”

“Something like that. One member is missing. I asked Dalton to try to track him.”

“Is that the fellow you told me about?” Nicole interrupted. “The one you made go bald?”

“Ouch,” Marla said, grimacing.

Giorgio tapped her arm. “What’s this?”

“Another shameful incident from my past, that’s all.” She turned away to make sure all her plugs were firmly in the sockets. Thankfully, the rest of her employees were busy with clients, because gossip spread quickly. She kept in mind that people liked to listen in to other folks’ conversations in salons. Hearing the buzz around town was part of the attraction in being there.

Giorgio planted his hands on his hips in an effeminate gesture. “Let’s have it, Marla.”

“I don’t have time. My highlights will be here any minute.”

“Give me the shortened version, then. I’m all ears.”

She rolled her eyes, knowing he wouldn’t stop haranguing her until she spilled the beans. “I’m not a total schnook. A gang of us in school experimented with a formula I’d discovered while doing research for a history paper. We thought it would promote new hair growth. As a joke, we applied it to our classmate Wyeth’s hair, pretending it was a coloring solution. Wyeth went bald. A short fuzz grew back, but then we graduated, so I don’t know if his hair ever regained its former thickness or not.”

“You mean the guy might have stayed bald? That’s pretty drastic. Why would you pull such a nasty trick?”

“Wyeth was a conceited jerk. I suppose we wanted to prick his bubble.”

“You might have ruined his life. Did you ever consider the consequences?”

Her face reddened. “Not at the time. Believe me, I’m considering them now, since several of my classmates have met with unfortunate accidents.”

Giorgio leaned closer. “I told you to be careful. The past has a way of coming back to haunt you.”

Chapter Sixteen

“I don’t know, Marla,” Tally said, Tuesday evening when they met for dinner. They’d already been served their minestrone soup at Jacaranda Italia restaurant. “Your theory seems pretty far out. I mean, Rogaine is already on the market. What else could be gained by another hair-growth formula?”

Marla regarded her friend, who’d come straight from work at Dressed To Kill boutique. Tally’s blond hair and azure eyes were set off by a metallic blue silk blouse tucked into a pair of black faux-leather pants. She had a figure to die for, although she constantly complained about fighting an expanding waistline.

“Male-pattern baldness is a sensitive topic,” Marla replied. “Women have it too, but we don’t talk about it as much. Most products on the market today merely prevent further hair loss, so a formula that stimulates new hair growth could be extremely valuable. That’s what I think Yani was working on.” Marla shoved a spoonful of steaming liquid into her mouth. Its spicy edge kicked her tongue. She chewed a piece of garlic bread to chase it down.

Tally raised her glass of merlot. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Cutter met Yani at a citrus canker workshop. They were opponents to the cause, but they must have found something in common. Yani started coming to Cutter’s shop as a customer. Cutter learned Yani worked at Stockhart Industries in the biochemical department.” Putting her spoon down, she leaned forward. “I think Cutter had my notes on the hair-tonic formula developed by that chemist who used to work for Martha Matilda Harper. He believed it had merit, and he brought Yani into the fold to develop it. They needed a place to work, so Cutter approached his cousin Evan.”

Tally nodded without ruffling a hair on her French braid. “Sounds logical so far, according to what you’ve learned. But even if this is true, how would a new formula be different from something like Rogaine?”

Marla waited while the waitress delivered their entrees of eggplant parmesan. “You have to understand what causes hair to grow. We’re born with all the hair follicles we are ever going to have. Hair grows in three stages. First, it develops in the follicles under your skin. At the base of the hair root is a network of blood vessels that feed the hair. Rapidly dividing cells push forward and up through the follicles until they reach the surface where they die. In other words, what you see on your head is dead hair cells.”

Marla paused to swallow a forkful of eggplant covered in rich marinara sauce. “How long your hair grows is genetically predetermined. That’s why some women come in for cuts every month, while other people I don’t see for ages.”

Tally grimaced. “It took forever for my hair to grow long. I still looked like a boy when I was five years old.”

“No one would make that mistake now!” Marla said, chuckling. “Anyway, a lot of scams claim to make your hair grow thicker and longer. Look at this ad I just pulled out of a magazine.” She withdrew a folded paper from her purse. “See this? It offers to send you a bottle of some rapid-growth formula. The ad uses faulty rationale by saying your scalp lacks the proper nutrition for your hair roots to grow normally. This formula will free clogged roots and provide a miraculous growth molecule to nourish them. As a result, your hair may grow to your waist! Nowhere do you see a list of ingredients. It also claims to contain protein which will make your hair silkier and fuller. That’s a lot of baloney. Proteins are too large to penetrate to the hair’s inner medulla. Conditioners can make your hair silky and fuller, but nothing is going to make your hair grow real long if it isn’t in your genetic makeup.”

Tally smiled. “Sounds like those medicinal concoctions that claim cures for every ailment.”

“You still get a lot of schmucks who believe this stuff.”

“What’s the second stage of growth after the hair pushes through the scalp?”

Marla swallowed another bite. “In the transition stage, your hair is dormant while the root moves up to the surface. Finally, the root separates from the base of the follicle. A new hair starts growing and pushes the old one out of the way. This is why you find loose hairs in your hairbrush. You shed about twenty-five to one hundred hairs a day.”

“What do the true growth formulas do? Retard this process?”

Marla held up a hand while she took a drink of water. “You can’t grow new follicles, but you can affect hair growth in other ways. Improving blood flow through the follicles is a valid point. As you age, the blood vessels feeding your follicles deteriorate. Weakened follicles produce hair that is fine and thin. The growth cycle shortens, so when your hair sheds, there is diminishing regrowth to replace it. Theoretically, preventing the blood vessels from breaking down should rejuvenate the failing hair follicles.”

Tally glanced at her thoughtfully. “How did you learn all this? Was it included in your curriculum at beauty school?”

She shook her head. “It was part of my research for the history paper on Martha Matilda Harper. What was the scientific basis for her nourishing hair tonic? How could an errant scientist transmute that into a revitalizing formula? Increasing circulation to the follicles is one possibility.”

“Huh. You’d think a scalp massage would do the same trick.”

“Right. Here’s another idea: a hormonal by-product of testosterone is called DHT. As we get older, more DHT is found in our blood. Because of their rich blood supply, hair follicles have a higher concentration. So maybe it’s the higher DHT content that inhibits hair growth and causes your hair follicles to shrink. The only problem here is that hair on the rest of your body increases as you get older.”

Tally tilted her head. “How does this relate to women?”

Marla didn’t intend to bore her friend, but the topic fascinated her. She’d done enough studying and still wasn’t clear on how a truly effective formula might work.

“Testosterone is a type of androgen,” she went on. “After menopause, our estrogen levels no longer counteract the androgens in our bodies. So we’ll have a similar hair-loss pattern to men. Aside from estrogen replacement therapy, reducing the amount of DHT may help retain hair. There is a product on the market, Propecia, that prevents testosterone from making DHT. So far, it appears to be effective.”

“Is that how Rogaine works?”

“No one is sure. It may convert tiny follicles into larger ones so you get more regular-size hairs. You have to start treatment early to get the best results, and keep using it indefinitely.”

“Terrific.” Anxiety clouded her friend’s eyes, as though she was daunted by visions of aging.

“Who’s to say how Yani Verkovich modified my original formula?” Marla said. “Why would testing the solution on dogs or cats have any relevance to human hair?”

Tally gave her a curious glance. “How does this relate to those stylists in your class having accidents?”

Marla hung her head. “I have no idea. I meant to visit Kenya today, but I had no time. I’ll have to see her tomorrow. She’s the only one of my gang left, other than Wyeth Holmes, and he’s vanished off the face of the earth.”

“How does Dalton feel about your ideas?”

Food caught in her throat, and she choked. After a coughing fit in which her eyes watered, she regained control. “He’s willing to listen,” she spit out between ragged breaths, “b-but I think he believes Goat stumbled into a smuggling ring. That may be true, but it doesn’t explain Goat’s notes on Martha Matilda Harper or how my former classmates and I are involved. Dalton is worried about me. He wants me to move into his house.”

Tally raised an arched eyebrow. “For safety reasons?”

She took a deep, settling intake of air. “We’ve talked about it in terms of getting closer. You know what I mean.”

“Holy smokes, Marla. That’s a serious step.”

“Ma wouldn’t be thrilled. She respects Dalton, but she’s still hoping I’ll hook up with Roger’s son. I’m not sure if I want to accept responsibility for Brianna, either. On the other hand, I feel for the girl. She’s at the prime age for needing a mother.”

“Do I see a sign around your neck advertising maternal abilities? The last thing you ever wanted was to be burdened with kids.”

Marla examined a speck on the table. “It’s not so much the burden. It’s the caring. So many bad things can happen. I don’t want to suffer the pain and anguish.”

“What about the good side?”

She returned Tally’s frank gaze. “You and Ken aren’t rushing to raise a family. You always wanted to keep your independence along with your figure.”

“Touché. But my reasons are different than yours. You’ve been through a tragedy and saw how it affects a child’s parents. It’s a risk you decide to take when you have children. You’re risking the same thing if you get more involved with Detective Vail. He could get shot chasing after suspects.”

“That scares the hell out of me.”

“Well, you should go into a relationship with your eyes wide open.”

“I’m not a total schlemiel, you know.”

“So what are you planning to do? Take him up on his offer?”

“I haven’t decided. Right now, my main concern is bringing Goat home and finding out who’s threatening me and my friends.”

True to her words, Marla phoned Kenya when she got home that night. She only had a phone number for Kenya’s salon, so she left a message on the answering machine. Then she didn’t think anymore about it while she prepared the sweet potatoes for the next night’s dinner at Arnie’s house and got ready for bed. She was watching the news on TV, cuddling Spooks, when the phone rang. Her Caller ID read PRIVATE CALL. Marla’s heart lurched. Maybe it was Goat calling her back.

“Hello?” she said, clutching the receiver to her ear.

Heavy breathing sounded at the other end.

“Who is this?”

No answer.

Rattled, Marla hung up. Her hand hovered over the cradle while she debated whether or not to call Vail.
Am I getting in the habit of calling him every time I get scared?
Compressing her lips, she grabbed for Spook’s warm, comforting body and held him close.

Marla found time to run over to Kenya’s salon on Wednesday. She needn’t have wasted the effort.

“Kenya isn’t here,” said the receptionist, a perky middle-aged woman who wore her auburn hair in a blunt cut.

Have you looked in a mirror lately? Your white roots are a mile long
. “It’s urgent that I speak to her. Can you phone her at home? My name is Marla Shore.”

“I’m sorry; we’ve tried calling her, but she hasn’t shown up. I can give her a message when she comes in.”

Marla hunched her shoulders. “What do you mean, Kenya hasn’t shown up? Did she have clients scheduled for today?”

“She was supposed to come in yesterday. I don’t know what happened. I’ve had to cancel her appointments, and Angie is real mad that we’re losing business.”

“Is it possible for you to give me her home address? Maybe she’s ill. I’d like to check on her.” Alarm frissoned down her spine. This couldn’t be happening, although there still might be a logical explanation. A sick family member, or a simple misunderstanding about her schedule. Or an accident…

“I can’t give out that information.” The receptionist’s voice was firm.

“I’m really worried. Is she usually reliable about being here? Won’t Angie send someone to her place to see if she’s all right?”

The receptionist signaled her boss. “Hey, Angie, this lady wants to know about Kenya.”

Marla strode over to a woman straightening supplies on a display shelf. “I’m Marla Shore from Cut ‘N Dye Salon. Kenya and I went to school together. It’s urgent that I see her. I think she may be in danger, and I’m concerned about her absence.”

“Really?” The attractive dark-skinned woman regarded her with the same enthusiasm she would have shown for a fungus infection under a fingernail.

Marla realized she sounded dramatic, but how to convince the manager she was for real? “Some of our classmates have met with fatal accidents recently. It’s being investigated by the police. I’ll have to notify Detective Vail that Kenya is missing unless you cooperate.”

Angie’s nut brown eyes widened. “I don’t see any harm in giving you her address. You let me know if she’s okay, hear?”

Fear gripping her heart, Marla raced to Kenya’s street, which thankfully was only five minutes away. Her gaze drifted to the clock before she shut off the ignition on her Camry. Only ten more minutes before her next customer arrived. She’d have to make this quick.

Kenya lived in a rental complex by the Palm Haven post office. No one answered at her apartment number, so Marla rapped at several of the neighbors’ doors. “Excuse me,” she said to a mother who opened the door while holding a squirming toddler under her arm. “I’m trying to locate Kenya Dobson. She didn’t come into work today, and I’m worried about her.”

“Your guess is as good as mine, honey. I haven’t seen her car in its space since Saturday. Maybe she went on vacation.”

“Is there anyone here who is close to her? You know, a friend she might confide in?”

The mom struggled with her unruly child. “I haven’t a clue. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

Marla turned away after having the door shut in her face. She sniffed around Kenya’s doorway but didn’t smell anything bad to arouse suspicions. Might the landlord have a key? She tried the apartment building office, but they refused to invade the privacy of Kenya’s apartment on Marla’s word alone. That left her with only one option: Dalton Vail.

She used her cell phone to call him at the station on her way back to the salon. After she explained her mission, she got the desired response. He promised to check it out.

“I’ll get a warrant,” he said in his deep, commanding tone. “It shouldn’t be a problem, considering what happened to the other gals in your group. I’ve assigned one of my detectives to reexamine those accidents. Meanwhile, I’m following leads on that Chang fellow.”

Marla kept her hands on the wheel, speaking to the telephone on its cradle. “Did you figure out what Goat meant by warning me away from the white house? Maybe we should revisit Evan’s ranch. If we go when they’re not expecting us, we might find the lab. Showing them your warrant the last time got you the official tour. I’ll bet we could snoop out the real goods.”