Permed To Death [Bad Hair Day Mystery 1] by Nancy J. Cohen

that badly needed a shave. Rumpled clothes bearing old coffee stains indicated he was overdue to visit a laundromat. And the way he slouched in his chair told her this wasn't his first drink for the night, nor would it be his last.
    ''You didn't bring anyone else, did you?” he muttered.
    "No, I came alone."
    His gaze shifted to her bosom, half-exposed by her low-cut bodice, and a spark of interest ignited his eyes. Clearly he wasn't interested in the mother-of-pearl choker that matched her earrings. A lazy smile curved his mouth, sending a jolt of recognition through her.
    "I always thought you were a classy dame,” he said. “You and me ... we'd be a hot number."
    "I don't think so!” She shuddered at the images that came to mind. “What do you mean, ‘you always thought'? Did we meet somewhere other than at your mother's funeral?"
    He leered at her, making her skin crawl. “You really haven't got a clue, do you? Yo, get the lady a drink,” he yelled to a passing waitress.
    Marla ordered a bushwacker, in the mood for the coffee flavored beverage with its generous blend of liqueurs and cream. At least she'd get something good from this evening, if only a drink. She was wondering how to proceed when a warm hand touched her thigh. Shocked, she jerked away.
    Todd scraped his chair closer. “You want me to talk, you'd better be nice, babe."
    His hand snaked back under the table, stroking her inner thigh with a determined persistence. An unpleasant feeling invaded her senses, making her want to scream. Why did his touch seem so familiar and yet so distasteful? Had they dated before, so long ago she couldn't remember? Narrowing her eyes, she studied him, wondering how he had looked before he'd dyed his hair and lost years to a decadent lifestyle.
    Her drink came and she took a long swallow to quell her uneasiness. “What did you want to tell me about your mother?” she snapped, hoping to get this over with as soon as possible. “You said you knew who wanted her dead."
    He withdrew his hand, a scowl written across his face. “Zack Greenfield has a lot to gain."
    Somehow she wasn't surprised by his revelation. “Why is that, because Wendy will inherit Bertha's money? How do you feel about not being her heir?"
    "The old lady cut me out of her will a long time ago."
    "You sound resentful."
    "She never appreciated my talents, although you could say we were cut from the same mold. My mother was a real bitch.” He grinned at her, a sly look in his eyes. “You'd known her for a long time, babe. I'm sure you'd agree."
    Marla stared at him. Dear heaven, does he know about the envelope "? Quickly, she changed the subject.
    "Tell me about Zack."
    Putting his hands behind his head, he lounged back in his chair. “Unlike me, Zack desperately needs the money."
    She chewed her lip in frustration. Would she have to pry every bit of information from his mouth? Which tidbit should she pursue, his remark about himself or Zack's plight?
    ''Wendy said Zack was upset about her taking maternity leave. I gather they need her income to make ends meet Or at least they did until she became an heiress."
    "You got it” Todd glanced around and lowered his voice. “Greenfield's investments soured last year when the stock market took a dive. He had to borrow money to pay off his clients who were demanding their funds. His creditors ain't too nice if you know what I mean. Zack owes his old gambling buddies, and you don't mess with them."
    "So you're saying he's in debt"
    "Right on. His job is in jeopardy, plus he needs to repay those hoods he owes. My mother's estate will give him what he needs to pull himself through."
    "Do you think Wendy knows?"
    "Not the whole deal. I think she's spooked, though. She knows how much Zack hated the old lady. Mokie—that's what I called my mother—dictated their lives and was always putting Zack down. He resented her interference."
    "You said she cut you out of her will. What was the nature of your