Free Bad Hair Day 2 - Hair Raiser by Nancy J. Cohen

since it was so rare among any kind of medical personnel.

"There's a company called UFO Medical Waste Systems." He grinned, flashing a set of teeth so perfect they might have been carved from ivory.

"UFO? Do they send the stuff into space?"

He laughed, his eyes sparkling merrily. _Too bad he's married,_ Marla thought for the umpteenth time.

"I think it stands for United Freight Operations," he said, sobering. "And no, they don't dispose of the waste in space. They incinerate it. We get the same registered transporter every month. He gives us a yellow sheet that's a biohazardous waste manifest. The bags are registered in my name, so they can be tracked." He accompanied her to the front desk where she waited for the bill.

"How much is the fee you pay to this company, if you don't mind my asking?"

"It's not much, maybe twenty dollars a month." His face lit with curiosity. "Why this sudden interest?"

"You know I do volunteer work for Ocean Guard. There's been some medical waste washed up on the beach, and we're trying to track the source." That sounded like a plausible excuse, and it was half-true. She just didn't mention which beach.

"If you find the labeled red bags, they're registered under the generator's name. Otherwise, it might be difficult to find out where it came from." He scratched his jaw. "I can give you a copy of the regulations if that would help."

"Sure, thanks." Her wheels of thought turned rapidly. "What about an oral surgeon's office? Wouldn't they produce more waste, meaning their fees would be higher?" Maybe someone was dumping medical waste illegally to avoid paying high fees to the disposal company. In that case, the mangrove preserve would merely serve as a convenient dump.

"Betty," Dr. Stiller said to the receptionist who'd just handed Marla her bill, "why don't you call over to Dr. Marconi's and ask them about pickup. Marla, I've got to go. Good luck with your inquiries." Waving, he hastened off and disappeared inside another treatment room.

Betty had an answer within several minutes, which allowed Marla time to write out her check. "UFO Medical Waste Systems picks up at their office once a week. But their fee isn't that much more than ours. Here's a copy of the Waste Acceptance Protocol," she said, handing Marla a set of stapled papers. "Say, can I ask you a question? My hair is awfully wilted lately. What can I do to make it look better?"

Marla glanced at Betty's straight cut. "Try using a good conditioner. That will give you more body. Layering could add more lift and so would taking an inch off the bottom." She grinned. "Stop in at the salon, and I'll work my magic on you."

Still smiling, she emerged outdoors into a blustery wind, thinking about what she'd learned. Medical waste. Who among Ocean Guard's board members had regular access to such products? Dr. Russ Taylor, that's who. The surgeon could be dumping the stuff illegally to save money. That would be logical only if he was suffering financial difficulty and the savings would be substantial. At least it was an alternative to being paranoid and believing Popeye's heir was sabotaging everything.

At home, she phoned Dr. Taylor's office, but she wasn't able to get an appointment until the following week, even though she claimed to have a painful injury. That put a crimp in her plans. How else would she determine the fees paid by a busy surgeon's office to the disposal company? The other option to consider was whether his practice was in trouble, and she knew who to call on that one. Her friend, Lance Pearson, was a computer guru who'd helped her out before. Now if she could only think of a way to request his assistance without having to view his web sites in return.

"Hey, Marla. What's up?" he answered in a raspy voice, as though he hadn't gotten much sleep.

"I need your expertise, pal," Marla replied, picturing his pasty complexion and owlish eyes. The guy ran a consultant business from his home and rarely went