involved with a man who has children,_ she thought while locking up. Too many interruptions!
Interruptions were something she couldn't afford right now. Three weeks remained before Stan's deadline. She needed to devote herself to finding Kim's killer before an innocent man went to prison for a crime he didn't commit.
----
*Chapter Eight*
Thursday morning Marla was swamped at work. She barely had time to gulp down breakfast, let alone get anything extra done. A break came when her two o'clock appointment canceled. _Yes!_ she almost shouted aloud. No one else had been scheduled during the two-hour block, so she was free until four.
She phoned Stan at his office. He agreed to meet her at his house but only for an hour. That was fine with her; she'd spend the rest of the time checking out his neighbors. Next Marla dialed the number for the School of Arts and Design. Claiming she'd been referred by her recently departed friend Kimberly Kaufman to their interior design program, she made an appointment for the next morning. How convenient that her first customer wasn't scheduled until eleven.
Not wanting to get stuck on the phone, she called a few numbers she'd jotted down earlier. She'd promised Vail to help plan his daughter's thirteenth birthday and had been negligent of her duty. Last night reminded her of the obligation.
"What do you mean, it's sixty-five dollars per person for a three-course chicken dinner?" she cried to a caterer on the other end of the line. "That's absurd. What? I don't care if that's what they pay at bar mitzvahs. This doesn't have to be so fancy." She slammed down the receiver. Better to find a restaurant with a private room. The catering places charged too much. She'd never imagined planning a teen party could be so demanding.
Eager to move ahead with her investigation, she snatched up her purse and was heading for the salon exit when she noticed a hearse pull up in front. _Oh God, what's that doing here?_
Ignoring the NO PARKING sign, the vehicle's driver shut off the engine and emerged. It was a woman dressed in a leather corset contraption and skin-tight black leather pants that fit into heeled boots. She wore a shawl, her only concession to the cool February weather. Heavy mascara fringed tawny eyes.
"I'm here about the ad," the woman stated, barely moving her raisin-painted lips.
Marla hesitated. "What ad?"
"For a colorist."
"Oh." _If your clothes are an example, you need to use a color chart yourself, pal._ "I'm Marla Shore, the owner. Can you give me an idea of your experience?"
The woman rattled off impressive credentials and showed her license. "I came by yesterday but you were having some sort of celebration. Loved the rags. I could tell you were my kind of people."
"My staff were celebrating my birthday. They wore their old Halloween costumes as a joke."
"Radical. So when can I start working here? I have to give my current place notice that I'm leaving."
"We're still interviewing prospective staff. If you leave your contact info, I'll get back to you."
The woman leaned closer, giving Marla a whiff of alcoholic breath. "You'd like what I do on the side, darlin'. Maybe you'd want to try it."
"What's that?"
"I'm a dominatrix. Lots of men get turned on when I whip them. You wanna come for a session? I'll bet you'd be good at it."
_Bless my bones, what a winner._ "No, thanks. I'm on my way out. I'll call you if I have further questions." Why did she get all the weirdos? Is this what graduated from beauty school these days?
She was late when she reached Stan's house. It was only the second time she'd been there, having come once before to retrieve the ceramic soup tureen given them as a wedding gift by one of her aunts. With seven bedrooms, four baths, a vaulted ceiling living room, fully equipped kitchen, and wood-decked pool area, the house seemed overwhelmingly huge to Marla. It hadn't been good enough for Kimberly, who'd wanted a location on the
Interruptions were something she couldn't afford right now. Three weeks remained before Stan's deadline. She needed to devote herself to finding Kim's killer before an innocent man went to prison for a crime he didn't commit.
----
*Chapter Eight*
Thursday morning Marla was swamped at work. She barely had time to gulp down breakfast, let alone get anything extra done. A break came when her two o'clock appointment canceled. _Yes!_ she almost shouted aloud. No one else had been scheduled during the two-hour block, so she was free until four.
She phoned Stan at his office. He agreed to meet her at his house but only for an hour. That was fine with her; she'd spend the rest of the time checking out his neighbors. Next Marla dialed the number for the School of Arts and Design. Claiming she'd been referred by her recently departed friend Kimberly Kaufman to their interior design program, she made an appointment for the next morning. How convenient that her first customer wasn't scheduled until eleven.
Not wanting to get stuck on the phone, she called a few numbers she'd jotted down earlier. She'd promised Vail to help plan his daughter's thirteenth birthday and had been negligent of her duty. Last night reminded her of the obligation.
"What do you mean, it's sixty-five dollars per person for a three-course chicken dinner?" she cried to a caterer on the other end of the line. "That's absurd. What? I don't care if that's what they pay at bar mitzvahs. This doesn't have to be so fancy." She slammed down the receiver. Better to find a restaurant with a private room. The catering places charged too much. She'd never imagined planning a teen party could be so demanding.
Eager to move ahead with her investigation, she snatched up her purse and was heading for the salon exit when she noticed a hearse pull up in front. _Oh God, what's that doing here?_
Ignoring the NO PARKING sign, the vehicle's driver shut off the engine and emerged. It was a woman dressed in a leather corset contraption and skin-tight black leather pants that fit into heeled boots. She wore a shawl, her only concession to the cool February weather. Heavy mascara fringed tawny eyes.
"I'm here about the ad," the woman stated, barely moving her raisin-painted lips.
Marla hesitated. "What ad?"
"For a colorist."
"Oh." _If your clothes are an example, you need to use a color chart yourself, pal._ "I'm Marla Shore, the owner. Can you give me an idea of your experience?"
The woman rattled off impressive credentials and showed her license. "I came by yesterday but you were having some sort of celebration. Loved the rags. I could tell you were my kind of people."
"My staff were celebrating my birthday. They wore their old Halloween costumes as a joke."
"Radical. So when can I start working here? I have to give my current place notice that I'm leaving."
"We're still interviewing prospective staff. If you leave your contact info, I'll get back to you."
The woman leaned closer, giving Marla a whiff of alcoholic breath. "You'd like what I do on the side, darlin'. Maybe you'd want to try it."
"What's that?"
"I'm a dominatrix. Lots of men get turned on when I whip them. You wanna come for a session? I'll bet you'd be good at it."
_Bless my bones, what a winner._ "No, thanks. I'm on my way out. I'll call you if I have further questions." Why did she get all the weirdos? Is this what graduated from beauty school these days?
She was late when she reached Stan's house. It was only the second time she'd been there, having come once before to retrieve the ceramic soup tureen given them as a wedding gift by one of her aunts. With seven bedrooms, four baths, a vaulted ceiling living room, fully equipped kitchen, and wood-decked pool area, the house seemed overwhelmingly huge to Marla. It hadn't been good enough for Kimberly, who'd wanted a location on the
Similar Books
