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    Died Blonde: The Bad Hair Day Mysteries, #6
    Died Blonde: The Bad Hair Day Mysteries, #6
    Died Blonde: The Bad Hair Day Mysteries, #6
    Ebook298 pages3 hours

    Died Blonde: The Bad Hair Day Mysteries, #6

    By Nancy J. Cohen

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Join hairstylist sleuth Marla Shore in unraveling a murder case with wacky psychics, bingo mamas, and ghoulish family keepsakes in this clever cozy mystery.

     

    Hair shop rivalry comes to a head when hairstylist Marla Shore finds the body of her competitor behind their South Florida shopping center. Carolyn Sutton may not have been her friend, but Marla takes on the case for the sake of justice. And she's curious as to why a hank of Carolyn's hair is missing.

     

    Her quest becomes personal when Wilda Cleaver, Carolyn's trusted psychic, insists that Carolyn's spirit wants Marla to solve her murder. Marla had better find the culprit fast, or someone she loves might get hurt. Carolyn's resentful sister, her bingo partner, her chiropractor, a mysterious benefactor, and a local lawyer fill the expanding list of suspects. With a hurricane approaching, Marla needs to untangle the snarl of clues before the storm hits and the murderer strikes again.

     

    "Intrepid Marla Shore is up to her elbows in hot water when a rival salon owner turns up dead and shorn. Nancy Cohen has penned another follicle‑raising frolic with a wry twist of romance."  – P.J. Parrish, NY Times Bestselling Author

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOrange Grove Press
    Release dateMar 6, 2019
    ISBN9780998531700
    Died Blonde: The Bad Hair Day Mysteries, #6
    Author

    Nancy J. Cohen

    Nancy J. Cohen writes the Bad Hair Day Mysteries featuring South Florida hairstylist Marla Vail. Titles in this series have been named Best Cozy Mystery by Suspense Magazine, won the Readers’ Favorite Book Awards and the RONE Award, placed first in the Chanticleer International Book Awards and third in the Arizona Literary Awards. Her nonfiction titles, Writing the Cozy Mystery and A Bad Hair Day Cookbook, have earned gold medals in the FAPA President’s Book Awards and the Royal Palm Literary Awards, First Place in the IAN Book of the Year Awards and the Topshelf Magazine Book Awards. Writing the Cozy Mystery was also an Agatha Award Finalist. Nancy’s imaginative romances have proven popular with fans as well. These books have won the HOLT Medallion and Best Book in Romantic SciFi/Fantasy at The Romance Reviews. A featured speaker at libraries, conferences, and community events, Nancy is listed in Contemporary Authors, Poets & Writers, and Who’s Who in U.S. Writers, Editors, & Poets. She is a past president of Florida Romance Writers and the Florida Chapter of Mystery Writers of America. When not busy writing, Nancy enjoys reading, fine dining, cruising, and visiting Disney World.

    Read more from Nancy J. Cohen

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      Book preview

      Died Blonde - Nancy J. Cohen

      DIED BLONDE Copyright © 2004 by Nancy J. Cohen

      Published by Orange Grove Press

      Printed in the United States of America

      Digital ISBN: 978-0-9985317-0-0

      Print ISBN: 978-0-9985317-1-7

      Cover Design by Boulevard Photografica

      Digital Layout by www.formatting4U.com

      Died Blonde was originally published by Kensington. This Author’s Edition has been revised and updated with added bonus materials.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved. This book is licensed for your personal use only. No part of this work may be used, reproduced, stored in an information retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written consent by the author. Any usage of the text, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, without the author’s permission is a violation of copyright.

      OGP FULL PRINT LOGO BLACK 300dpi CMYK.jpg

      Chapter One

      The power went out again. It’s the third time this month, Marla Shore griped to her salon staff. She tossed her blow-dryer onto the counter in disgust. I’m going to murder that woman.

      You don’t know who’s responsible, Nicole said, sorting foils for her next highlights job. It might not be Carolyn’s fault this time. Just because she told the electric company to cancel your account before doesn’t mean she’s to blame again. It could be another outage due to a storm.

      Come on, ever since Carolyn opened her new beauty shop, we’ve been suffering one calamity after another. I’d be suing her for putting honey in my developer if I could prove she’d done it. Do you know how long it took me to wash that goo out of Abby’s hair? My poor client smelled like a beehive. This shopping strip cannot support two salons, no matter what our landlord says.

      Carolyn’s Hairstyle Heaven is no match for your Cut ’N Dye, Jennifer called from across the room. If you accuse her of resorting to tricks to undermine your business, she’ll slap a lawsuit on you.

      Marla nodded at the other stylist. You’re right. Carolyn wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage if I make a single misstep.

      Listen up, girlfriend, Nicole warned. I see more trouble brewing on your face than in those summer storm clouds outside. Carolyn isn’t worth your time of day. Just call FPL and see what’s going on.

      Marla turned to the savvy businesswoman seated at her station. Babs Winrow was senior vice president of Tylex Industries and a regular customer. I’m so sorry for the delay. I know you’re in a hurry to make a flight. Just give me a few minutes to see what’s wrong.

      Marla retrieved her cell phone from a skirt pocket and dialed the number for the local electric company. Your power is still connected, said a spokesperson for Florida Power and Light. Have you checked the circuit breakers?

      No, I’ll do that next. You’re sure nobody ordered my electricity cut off or canceled my account in error?

      Yes, ma’am. One other place you might look is the main connection. It might trip even if the circuits look okay. Also, see if your neighbors are having the same problem. If the outage continues, call us back, and we’ll send a service crew out there.

      Thanks, I appreciate your help. Marla hung up and tucked the phone back inside her pocket. The electrical box was located on a wall toward the rear.

      After opening the panel, she studied the switches. From what she could tell, they were all turned on.

      Go next door and see if their power is out, Nicole suggested, her voice as warm as her cinnamon skin.

      Want me to go? asked Luis, their new receptionist.

      No thanks, I’ll do it. Marla glanced his way. She had hired the Cuban-American after interviewing a number of female airheads and bimbo types who’d applied for the job. His charming smile had persuaded her to give him a chance. Their lady clients appreciated his sultry eyes, thick dark hair, and trim beard.

      Marla valued his computer skills more than his looks. In the two weeks since he’d been there, he had updated her database, applied a more efficient inventory system, and recalled each customer’s name after a single introduction.

      Babs, I’ll be right back, she called to her client. We can go with mousse and a scrunch style if necessary. I want to see if anybody else is affected by this power outage.

      A few minutes later, she returned in defeat. We’re the only ones without electricity, she told her staff. She missed the usual hum of the air-conditioning unit and the whirring motors of blow-dryers. Even the curling irons were dead. Their front windows brought in plenty of sunlight, but that wouldn’t help them get through the work day.

      Nicole’s chocolate brown eyes met hers. I’ll admit; it’s strange. This smacks of Carolyn’s tactics.

      Tell me about it. Marla had been provoked one time too many by her longtime rival. Since moving into the same shopping strip several months ago, Carolyn Sutton had done everything possible to sabotage Marla’s business. If that woman is responsible, it’ll be her last mean act. I’ll make sure she doesn’t hurt us again.

      Marla rummaged in a drawer by the reception desk and withdrew a set of keys. I’m going to check the meter room. Jenny, can you finish Babs for me? I won’t charge you for today, she told her hapless client before heading toward the rear.

      Outside, she breathed in a lungful of warm, moist air. August in South Florida brought heavy humidity, and Palm Haven was no exception. The hot sun broiled her scalp as she crossed the asphalt to the concrete bunker that housed the shopping center’s main circuits. It stood by the trash receptacle, where the stench of overheated garbage made her hurry along.

      This is just how I want to spend my Tuesday morning. If the juice doesn’t come back on soon, our salon will turn as ripe as that refuse.

      As she approached the meter room, Marla noticed the door was slightly ajar. Wasn’t it usually kept locked?

      She pushed the door open until it stopped, as though it had hit something. The pitch-black interior blocked her from seeing the obstruction. She fumbled for a light switch, wishing she’d had the foresight to bring a flashlight.

      Nothing happened when she pressed the button on the wall.

      What’s going on? She pushed her way inside, wrinkling her nose at a stale smell. She’d only been in here once before, when the electrician had to do repairs. All she remembered was a mess of circuitry and a stash of supplies belonging to the landlord. He’d been cited for safety hazards and ordered to clean up, but she suspected the paint cans, hoses, and scraps of metal were still there.

      She nearly tripped over the blockage by the door and stopped to prod it with her foot. The thing’s soft and lumpy feel made her skin prickle.

      More light! She had to see more clearly.

      She nudged the door open further and stared at the area exposed to light. Surely, that didn’t look like a body? No, it couldn’t be a woman lying there on the ground.

      Stifling the urge to retreat, Marla knelt and prodded the still form. She should feel for a pulse, her rational mind said. She’d just reached out when a clattering noise made her heart leap into her throat.

      She screamed as a dark form whizzed past, knocking into her with enough force to send her tumbling onto her side.

      Before she could regain her senses, the door slammed shut. Darkness enveloped her, as though a giant black hole had swallowed her into its depths.

      Dear Lord, don’t let me be stuck in here with a dead body.

      Quelling a surge of panic, she crawled toward the door. When her fingers outlined its shape, she hauled herself upright. She found the knob and rattled it until her teeth shook. The door wouldn’t budge.

      Get a grip, Marla. You need to call for help.

      Would she get cell phone service in here? Hey, if nothing else, she had a flashlight app on her device. She’d forgotten all about it.

      Fortune stayed with her, because she was able to place a call to the salon.

      Luis, it’s me. I’m stuck in the meter room, and the door won’t open. Something must have gotten wedged in the way. Her voice came out as a raspy croak.

      I’ll be right there, luv.

      Wait, there’s a— She stopped when he hung up. Anyway, her imagination might be playing tricks on her. Another shopkeeper could have had electrical problems and come in here, only to receive a disabling shock from the wiring.

      She stood frozen, not daring to shine her cell phone light on the other occupant of the room. When she heard scratching sounds from outside, she hollered, Luis, is that you? I’m trapped in here. She pounded on the door, her heartbeat as frantic as her fist.

      A moment later, daylight blinded her. She raised a hand to shade her eyes.

      Someone had jammed a piece of wood under the transom, Luis reported. Are you all right? What happened?

      You’d better see this. Marla pointed to the body.

      His gaze shifted, and he muttered an expletive. Sweet saints. It looks like...switch on the light, will you? I can’t see well enough.

      It won’t work. I’ve already tried.

      With a grunt of impatience, Luis headed to the mains and flipped a couple of switches. No wonder our power was out. Somebody tampered with the main circuitry. Bright light from an overhead bulb flooded the interior.

      Oh, my God. Marla stared down at the vacant face of her rival salon owner, Carolyn Sutton. She didn’t have to assess her further to know the woman was dead. The odd angle of her neck told the story.

      Her knees wobbled, and she put a hand on the wall to steady herself. I-I pushed past the door, and there she was. Then someone knocked into me. Whoever was here slammed the door and locked me inside.

      Luis’s solemn gaze met hers. The cops will want to hear the details. You’ll have to call Detective Vail. I’m sure your boyfriend will be delighted to find you in the middle of another investigation.

      Marla groaned, imagining his reaction. Lieutenant Dalton Vail was the Palm Haven Police Department’s chief homicide investigator. Barely five months ago, she helped him solve the murder of a dead man found in her neighbor Goat’s townhouse. Before that, she’d answered a plea from her ex-spouse, Stan, to investigate his third wife’s demise.

      At this rate, no one would be surprised Marla had stumbled onto another body. But Carolyn Sutton? Right after Marla had blurted out that she wanted to kill the woman?

      Speech deserted her. She pulled out her cell phone and gave it silently to Luis. She wouldn’t miss Carolyn, but her rival hadn’t deserved an untimely death.

      While Luis made the call to the police station, she walked outside, needing to escape the stifling environment in the shed.

      Go back to work, she told him when he’d rejoined her. You’ll have to cancel the rest of my appointments for today, or see if one of the other girls can take them. I’ll be here for a while.

      She knew the routine. A local cop responded first. After he took a quick look, he called his supervisor. Soon sirens pierced the morning air. A crime-scene van pulled alongside the solitary structure, followed by Dalton’s sedan.

      Marla’s heart thudded as she watched the detective’s tall frame unfold from his car. Her anxious glance noted his peppery hair parted to the side, his steel gray eyes, and his navy suit that displayed his broad shoulders and narrow hips. Absent from his demeanor was any hint of their intimacy as he approached wearing a stern expression.

      I hear you’ve been at it again, he said with a resigned twist to his chiseled lips. Show me.

      Marla breathed an inward sigh of relief. She detected no traces of judgment in his tone, merely curiosity. In there.

      His inspection didn’t take long. When he emerged, he issued orders to his team. Then he headed in her direction. Okay, tell me what happened.

      She started with the power outage at their salon, then repeated the story she’d told Luis. Her voice shook, and she felt her body tremble down to her toes. She swayed like a sapling in the wind, suddenly sick to her stomach.

      Sit down by the curb, and put your head between your knees, Dalton ordered, pushing on her shoulder.

      Marla complied, swallowing huge gulps of air.

      I said I’d kill her. I didn’t mean it. You know how awful she’s been to me in the past, but I wouldn’t ever do anything like that, not even to her.

      I know, sweetcakes. Dalton’s gentle tone brought tears to her eyes. He crouched beside her, patting her back.

      A clap of thunder sounded, as though the heavens were admonishing her for evil thoughts about the dead woman. Moisture-laden clouds advanced rapidly, blocking out the sun. But instead of jagged streaks of lightning, she noticed the flash of cameras from crime techs doing their job. They’d dust for fingerprints. Maybe something would show up on the power switches or the doorknob.

      She addressed Dalton. Go ahead, you have work to do. Don’t let me interfere.

      I could use your help. You know the people in this shopping strip. I’ll be interviewing them, but keep your ears open. My guess is the victim’s neck was broken, although we’ll have to wait for the medical examiner’s report to be certain. It doesn’t look like an accident.

      If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to keep my ears closed and my mouth shut. I don’t want anything to do with another murder, especially not Carolyn’s.

      Marla rose to her feet with Dalton’s assistance. Leaning on him for support, she allowed herself the momentary comfort of his presence, not caring who observed them. Everyone at the police station knew they were an item by now. After his relentless pursuit, how could she resist the lonely widower and his thirteen-year-old daughter? They’d brought out a nurturing side in her she hadn’t known existed.

      Carolyn’s hair is wrong, she noted aloud. A chunk is chopped off by her face. It’s not that way on the other side.

      Dalton stepped away from her. What do you mean?

      Marla pictured the hairdresser’s bobbed strawberry blond hair, owlish round eyes, and pencil-thin eyebrows. Carolyn had maintained herself well for a woman in her forties, although Marla didn’t think miniskirts were appropriate. She wore her hair angled, but one section looked hacked off. I can’t see Carolyn doing that to herself.

      Good observation. Dalton glanced at the entrance to the meter room. You can return to your salon. I’ll catch you later. Will you be okay?

      She nodded mutely, grateful for his intervention. What if another detective had been in charge of the case? Assuming Carolyn’s death turned out to be something more than an accident, Marla would be considered a suspect by anyone who didn’t know her. She could well imagine the questions. How long had you hated Carolyn Sutton? Did you arrange to meet her alone behind the shopping center? Was the power outage a ploy to trick your staff?

      She’d already been the subject of police scrutiny after Mrs. Kravitz had died in her shampoo chair. It wasn’t an experience she cared to repeat.

      Marla plodded toward Cut ’N Dye, wondering who would run Carolyn’s salon now that the owner was dead. If she were lucky, they’d close the shop.

      That’s a nasty thought. And it gives you a motive for doing away with Carolyn. You should focus on who else had a reason to get rid of your rival.

      Marla, are you all right? Nicole said when she’d reentered the salon. Luis told us what happened.

      Just my luck to be the one to find Carolyn’s body in the meter room.

      Perhaps luck had nothing to do with it.

      Marla gave Nicole a sharp glance, but she felt too drained to consider what the other stylist meant. Before her shaky legs gave way, she stumbled to her station and sank into the chair. Customers bombarded her with questions, but she fielded them with a weary air. Been there, done that. She smiled weakly when Arnie Hartman from Bagel Busters rushed in.

      Smelling like garlic, he wore an apron over his tee-shirt and jeans. "What’s going on, shaineh maidel? he asked with a note of concern. Police cars are outside."

      Marla related her story, while his face bloomed with surprise and dismay. I’d just said I could kill that woman, Marla concluded, noticing for the first time since she’d returned that the lights were back on.

      If wishes could kill, you might have done it, but not in this case. Is Dalton here? Arnie said in a gentle tone.

      Ooh, I hope that hunk of a detective comes by, Jennifer’s voice oozed from across the room. You should see how this place heats up when he’s in the salon.

      Marla rolled her eyes. Her relationship with the handsome lieutenant had long been fodder for gossip in the salon.

      As though he’d overheard their conversation, Dalton ducked inside just as the clouds burst with a torrential downpour. Rain hammered the roof, competing with the noise of blow-dryers and the chatter of customers who’d resumed their participation in the rumor mill.

      Flicking droplets from his windblown hair, Dalton regarded Marla with a wry expression. Got your juice going again, I see.

      Are you referring to the effect you have on me, or to my salon? Suppressing her feminine reaction, Marla gestured to the nearest shampoo bowl. You’re overdue for a cut. Want me to work on you while we talk?

      Dalton passed Arnie a look of understanding, as though they both knew the familiar routine would bring her comfort. If it makes you feel more in control, I can manage a few minutes. I’ve sent my associates to the deceased’s salon. Do you know if she’s married?

      No, she isn’t...wasn’t. I guess you’ll have to notify the next of kin. Her salon staff might have her personal information.

      Dalton leveraged his large body into a shampoo chair and leaned back. The salon assistant hastened to wash his hair.

      Marla’s glance lingered on him, then she turned to Arnie. Thanks for coming over. I can always count on you being there for me. Jill is a lucky girl to have you.

      Arnie shuffled his feet. Yeah, the kids adore her. She won’t be happy to hear this latest news.

      Arnie, whose wife had died in a car accident, had been left with two young children. While Marla considered him a close friend, she couldn’t conceive of anything more than friendship between them. She’d been delighted when he fell for actress and public relations specialist, Jillian Barlow.

      Tell Jill hello for me, she told him. I’ll be all right, so don’t look so glum.

      You shouldn’t feel guilty. You’re not the only one who won’t miss that shrew.

      He sauntered out the door just as a supplier walked in. Marla got busy writing up a new order until Dalton dropped into the seat at her station. Glancing toward the wall clock, she pursed her lips. Her immediate clients had agreed to be done by other staff members, but Marla could handle her later appointments. No sense in disrupting all their customers if Dalton didn’t need her any further.

      Fire away, she said, aware that he was obligated to ask questions.

      She parted his hair with a comb and let his silken strands run through her fingers. It brought to mind other places her fingers would like to roam. She attempted to focus on her task, but her imagination wandered. Snipping his hair brought to mind Carolyn’s missing clump. Bile rose in her throat. Later, she could succumb to an emotional meltdown, but not now. Her movements switched to automatic at Dalton’s first inquiry.

      Tell me where you first met the victim.

      She knew that tone of voice. Although he projected casual curiosity, Dalton’s keen awareness shone from the telltale glint in his eyes. Marla had no reason for subterfuge, so she gave it to him straight on.

      After I’d graduated from beauty school, I landed my first job as a stylist in Carolyn’s salon. She wasn’t a pleasant employer. Marla recalled how Carolyn would demean her stylists in front of customers and never had a good word to say about anyone. You can imagine how she felt when I left a couple of years later to open my own salon. I took my client list and some of her staff members along with me.

      That must have made her angry.

      She bore a grudge against me ever since. It didn’t help that my salon thrived while hers sank into obscurity. Carolyn’s first place was located in Palm Haven, but she moved to save money. Her poor business sense led to another failure. She didn’t treat her staff well, so her salon’s high turnover rate wasn’t any surprise to those who knew her. Then she relocated back to town.

      I remember you told me she’d subsidized students at the Sunrise Academy of Beauty, who later went to work in her salon, Dalton mentioned.

      Carolyn couldn’t have afforded to support those girls on her own. Nor could she cover a move back to Palm Haven. I know she meant to spite me, and that’s why she chose this shopping strip. She might have even bribed our landlord. But she had to have an investor working with her.

      Marla surveyed his cut in the mirror. Satisfied with the results, she picked up a battery-operated electric razor. She tilted his head forward and proceeded to shave the back of his neck. Thank goodness he didn’t sprout hair in his ears like her mother’s boyfriend, Roger Gold. She shuddered whenever that man walked in the door. His bulk overflowed the chair, making it difficult for her to work around him. How unlike Dalton, whom she yearned to touch in inappropriate places.

      Before Dalton could comment, a young woman breezed into the salon on a rain-laden gust of wind. I must speak to your manager, she said with a French accent. "I work at Hairstyle Heaven. Something terrible has happened to

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