"Huh?"
"One block contains ten grams of carbohydrate, seven-point-five grams of protein, and three-point-three-three grams of fat. It translates to about one hundred calories."
"So you're saying I need a diet with one thousand calories? I'll starve!” His numbers couldn't be accurate. She wasn't fat! Added to the insult, Sharon the receptionist's remark surfaced in her mind: Is that your natural color? Fighting an impulse to dash to a mirror and check for gray hairs, Marla managed a demure smile instead.
"I don't think you measured me correctly. I'll see what Dave says when he uses that machine you mentioned."
His eyes flickered momentarily with an emotion she couldn't identify. “Regardless of the recommended blocks for your diet, you need to be aware of proper eating habits, such as avoiding foods high in arachidonic acid. Giving guidance in this area is my sphere of expertise."
Rummaging in a drawer, he selected several papers, which he handed to her. “Make an appointment with me for next week, and we'll personally roam over the details of your diet plan."
His eyebrows rose suggestively, giving Marla the impression he wanted to roam over her person rather than discuss her health. Given Gloria's rude behavior earlier, she wondered if personnel problems were par for the course here.
"I'll be coming with my friend next week. Perhaps you can advise us both together.” Compressing her lips, she scanned the pages detailing foods to avoid, which naturally included many of her favorite snacks, foods to include on her targeted diet plan, and sample recipes. She liked the one for spinach pie since it used ingredients that were easy to buy, unlike the energy bars that required fructose, nonfat dry milk, and soy protein powder, among other uncommon components. Maybe it was healthy for her body, but not for her purse. She wasn't about to stock items that weren't normally on her shelf.
Glancing at her watch, she cleared her throat. “I didn't realize it was so late. Guess I'll have to wait until Sunday to try this stuff,” she said, gesturing at the exercise stations.
Keith turned on a smarmy smile. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat somewhere with me? We can begin discussing your diet plan tonight. I know a great natural food restaurant where we can get the best veggie platters."
"No, thanks. I think I'll pick up a Big Mac on the way home. With a large fries and a chocolate milkshake. Yum!"
Grinning at his horrified expression, she whirled around and headed for the stairs. She was halfway there when a blood-curdling scream from below halted her dead in her tracks.
Chapter Two
Marla raced down the stairs, nearly stumbling over her own feet in her haste to find the source of the terrifying screams. Arriving in the lobby, she noticed Sharon gesturing wildly from the pool deck. Careful not to slip on the wet tiles, she rushed inside the aquatics area. The receptionist's face resembled the color of an overdone bleach job.
Marla skidded on the damp floor. “What's wrong?"
Her teeth chattering, Sharon pointed at the whirlpool, which gurgled and frothed like a witch's cauldron.
As though in response, a flaccid hand bubbled to the surface and then sank.
"Someone's under there,” Sharon wailed.
Not again. Marla's vision blurred as past events collided with the present in her stunned mind. Get a grip. This isn't little Tammy. That tragedy happened fifteen years ago.
She glanced up as Keith bounded into the room. “There's a body underwater. You've got to do something!” she told him.
Turning to the receptionist, he ordered, “Sharon, call nine-one-one."
Covering her mouth, Sharon fled from the aquatics section. A few minutes later, Marla heard an emergency announcement broadcast on the PA system: “Code Six in the wet area!"
Keith kicked off his shoes. “Whoever it is may be trapped by the drain. I'm going in.” Charging down the steps into the seething water, he grimaced as the heat enveloped his legs. It wasn't that deep—four feet according to a marker—so the water only reached his ribs. Slogging through the swirling current, he stopped suddenly and reached down.
A few moments later, a woman's limp form rested by the side of the pool. Marla felt the blood drain from her face as she recognized Jolene Myers.
"She couldn't have been under long,” Keith said, “or her skin would have sloughed off from the heat. She's not rigid yet. There's a chance.” Dripping onto the deck as he knelt beside her still body, he began performing CPR.
"Can I help?” Marla asked, wringing her hands. Jolene couldn't be dead. She'd just talked to her in the locker room! Maybe she had slipped and bumped her head and could still be revived. If only her skin didn't have that bluish tint. It reminded Marla of the Barbicide liquid she used at the salon to disinfect her combs.
"Go find Slate. He's in the massage suite,” Keith said, perspiring from exertion.
In the lobby, Marla confronted Sharon. “Keith needs assistance. Where's Slate? He must not have heard your bulletin."
Her chin quivering, Sharon opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. She lifted a trembling finger and pointed to the right.
Reaching the massage area, Marla faced an empty check-in desk and two closed doors. Rapping loudly on the closest one, she fell back when it abruptly swung open. A tall young man wearing a staff shirt and shorts strolled out, his cool amber eyes assessing her. Marla got a quick glimpse beyond of a voluptuous blonde sitting on a treatment table adjusting her green knit top with the club logo. From the way it fit, she didn't appear to be wearing a bra. A pair of long legs showed below matching shorts.
"What can I do for you?” the man asked, plowing a hand through his short, disheveled brown hair.
"Are you Slate?” she asked.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"There's an emergency, and Keith needs your help by the pool. Didn't you hear the Code Six announcement?"
He glanced over his shoulder at the blonde. “Sorry, I was distracted. Amy, I gotta go.” Without wasting another word, he darted off.
The girl slipped on a pair of tennis shoes and sauntered from the treatment room. Her overly made-up face expressed curiosity. “What's going on?"
"A woman had an accident in the whirlpool. She's unconscious, not breathing."
"Who?"
"Jolene Myers.” If Jolene was a regular, the staff member might know her.
"Hah!” Amy chortled triumphantly.
Marla gave her a sharp glance. Why are you so pleased, pal? “I gather you know Jolene."
The girl gave a curt nod. “I manage the juice bar. She bought a shake and a sandwich earlier. Maybe she should have let the food digest.” Her gaze cooled. “I'm Amy Gerard. And you are?"
"Marla Shore. A new member. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to see what's happening.” Her ears picked up the wail of sirens outside, getting louder.
Beside the pool, Keith and Slate attempted to revive Jolene. They jumped aside when rescue personnel thundered through the front door and were directed by Sharon into the aquatics section. While the paramedics performed their patient assessment, a uniformed police officer approached Marla.
"Excuse me, miss,” he said. “Can you tell me what happened here?"
Marla glanced uncertainly at the club attendants. “Sharon is the lady at the reception desk. I was upstairs when I heard her screaming. She found Jolene in the whirlpool. That's Jolene Myers.” She pointed to her client. The officer scribbled in a notebook while she spoke.
"Do you work here?"
"No, I'm just a temporary member. They work here.” She indicated Keith, Slate, and a couple other staffers who had joined them, including Gloria, whose supercilious expression had been replaced by one of mingled confusion and fear.
"Just a minute, please.” The policeman strode away to confer with the paramedics, who had attached various devices to Jolene's prostrate form. Their faces were intent as they worked on her without apparent success. When they called for a stretcher, Marla's desire to flee struggled with her sense of morbid curiosity. Fro
zen limbs glued her to the spot until the rescue truck departed with Jolene aboard, and the officer returned to resume his questioning.
"Shouldn't you be talking to them?” she croaked, her voice hoarse. Now that the action was over, she felt an intense urge to sink down in a corner and cover her face with her hands. It might not blot out the images of Jolene's unconscious body from her mind, but she needed to crawl away to recover her composure. She'd started to shake—doubtless a delayed reaction. And the chicken wings she'd eaten on her way here were creating havoc with her stomach.
"Are you all right? You don't look so good,” the officer said, his tone suddenly solicitous. “Say, haven't I seen you before?"
Marla gave him a closer examination. Her eyes widened when she recognized his ruddy face and kindly, pale-blue eyes. “Bless my bones, you're one of the guys who came to my house with Detective Vail after I had that break-in several months ago. I'm Marla Shore."
Light dawned in his expression. “Of course, you're the lieutenant's ... friend. My name is Barkley."
"Well, listen, Barkley. Is it possible Jolene slipped and cracked her head on that ledge inside the whirlpool?"
"Medics said there were no signs of a head injury, ma'am. How well are you acquainted with the woman?"
"Jolene Myers is one of my customers at Cut ‘N Dye Salon."
The stocky officer took notes while she spoke. “Does the lady have family nearby? Where does she work?"
"She's not married; her parents live up north; and she's a research supervisor at Stockhart Industries.” A pause. “Jolene swallowed a couple of pills in the locker room, if that's relevant. She said they were gelatin capsules. She always took them before soaking in the whirlpool because she believed they'd strengthen her nails."
"Were you alone with her in the locker room?"
Marla hesitated. Should she mention the argument between Cookie and Jolene that had caused her client to become upset? Maybe not, at least for now. If Jolene had succumbed to an illness or accident, the discussion she'd overheard would be irrelevant.
"Another club member may have been there,” she hedged, wondering where Cookie had gone. The woman was heading for the pool when Marla went upstairs. Had Cookie left the wet area by the time Jolene arrived?
"Jolene mentioned she'd been having a bad day,” Marla continued. “After Dancercize class, she'd scheduled a massage and then planned to soak in the whirlpool."
"I see. If you'll pardon me, I've got to call my sergeant for instructions."
The officer turned and nearly collided with a tall, athletic man who'd just entered. The newcomer wore a charcoal suit, expertly tailored to fit his broad shoulders. A crimson-and-navy tie added a splash of color to his otherwise somber appearance.
"Lieutenant Vail, sir,” Barkley muttered, giving a respectfully wide berth to his superior.
"Dalton!” Marla cried. “What are you doing here?” As a homicide investigator, Vail wouldn't be present unless foul play was suspected. “You weren't called in because—"
Detective Dalton Vail's steel gray eyes narrowed. “I was in the area and heard the dispatcher. I didn't expect to see you, however. Dare I ask why you're in the vicinity?"
She moistened her lips. “I, uh, joined the sports club. For a trial period. Today is my first day.” Her glance strayed to his peppery hair, neatly parted on the side.
"No kidding.” His mouth curled downward. “How amazing that someone just happened to end up unconscious."
Hey, pal, are you implying it's my fault? “Now wait a minute. Jolene's accident happened through no intent of mine. Just because Bertha Kravitz croaked in my salon and Ben Kline got his head bashed in after we met doesn't mean I'm a jinx."
"Maybe not, but a magnet for disaster is a possibility."
His eyes smoldered, and Marla recalled his earlier warnings for her to stay out of trouble. Warnings she hadn't heeded.
They stared at each other, his keen assessment making her knees weaken. His spice cologne and powerful presence made her heart race erratically. Damn, must she react like a hormone-driven adolescent? All right, so they hadn't seen each other for a few weeks. After Taste of the World at her cousin Cynthia's estate in December, they'd gone out together on New Year's Eve. Since then, busy schedules had claimed their spare time.
Someone cleared his throat beside them. “Excuse me, sir,” Barkley cut in, “shall I take statements from witnesses?"
Vail dragged his gaze from hers. “Go ahead, I'll be with you in a minute,” he replied, his deeply resonant tone sliding along Marla's nerves like warm brandy. Before he could continue his conversation with her, his cell phone rang.
"Lieutenant Vail,” he answered. Listening, he nodded once, his face impassive. “I'm on it.” He hung up, his demeanor grim. “That was our man at the hospital,” the detective told her. “The lady didn't make it."
"Oh, no! Jolene is...” A lump rose in her throat. An optimistic part of her had expected Jolene to survive.
"I gather you knew the victim. I'll have to interview you, but I've got to give some orders first. Wait here.” Pivoting, he strode away while punching numbers on his phone.
Marla stood by, wondering how she could help. There would be plenty of witnesses to question, judging by the uniformed staff clustered around. She didn't recognize everyone. Keith and Slate quietly chatted with the blonde, Amy, on the pool deck. In the lobby, Sharon sat at her post, her face a frozen mask of fear. Gloria leaned against the reception desk, watching the commotion. Her expression of cool disdain belied her earlier distress.
What about club members? Maybe someone had noticed Jolene entering the whirlpool.
No one paid Marla any attention when she headed for the women's locker room.
"Marla Shore! What's going on out there?” demanded a woman with intense moss green eyes, auburn hair, and a fiftyish face devoid of wrinkles.
Marla stopped short inside the entrance. “Eloise, I didn't know you were here.” A successful mortgage broker, Eloise Zelman had become a regular at Marla's salon after Cynthia introduced them at Taste of the World.
"I was in the sauna.” The older woman gestured to her salmon-colored shorts set. “I came in here to change and heard someone screaming. I was afraid to come out."
"Well, Jolene Myers dunked herself in the whirlpool and didn't surface. Keith pulled her out, but apparently too late. She drowned, or so I presume.” Marla shook her head, unable to believe her own words. “Jolene is just too smart to let that happen. I've known her for several years.” Realizing she was speaking in the present tense, Marla gulped.
"Jolene drowned?" Eloise's face paled.
"I should get her things and give them to Dalton,” Marla murmured thoughtfully, eyeing a rack of plastic bags on a wall hook. Ignoring Eloise, who trailed after her, Marla obtained a paper towel from the bathroom. Careful not to touch the turquoise sack with her hands, she placed the deceased woman's belongings into the plastic bag, but not before peeking inside. Jolene's shorts outfit was on top. She must have changed into a swimsuit after her massage. A bottle of something called Bite No More was tilted on its side.
"How did it happen? Were you there?” Eloise queried, her pitch rising.
Flushing guiltily, Marla rested the plastic bag on the shiny tile floor. “I was upstairs getting a tour with Keith. Did you see anyone else when you came out of the sauna?"
Eloise fluttered a hand in the air. “I didn't notice anybody, but I'll ask Sam. He was in the steam room with Wallace Ritiker."
"Wally is here?” Marla knew the city councilman from her activities with the Child Drowning Prevention Coalition.
Eloise shifted uneasily. “Yeah, he and Sam wanted to talk about something. I wonder if they're still cooking or if they went to get dressed."
Where the hell had they been during the crisis? Marla refrained from asking. A woman screams, and everyone scatters. Nice group of people. She wouldn't want them around if she were in trouble.
"How many policemen
are out there?” Eloise said, a worried frown creasing her forehead.
"The place is swarming with technicians.” Or it would be soon, once Vail called in his team. Jolene's death may have been accidental, but she supposed the detective had to cover all the bases. Time for me to skedaddle.
Eloise put a hand on her arm. Her palm was moist and clammy. “Who was screaming before? Was it Jolene? Was she being attacked?” Her eyes widened with fright, or some other hidden terror that wasn't readily evident.
Marla shrugged her off. “No, Sharon shrieked when she found the body. The girl is upset. I'll go talk to her."
Eager to get away before Eloise hounded her with more questions, Marla scrambled to the exit. Outside, the force of police personnel had increased. Dalton Vail was at the hub, giving orders. Catching sight of Marla, he broke away and hurried to her side.
"Here's Jolene's bag,” Marla said, handing it over.
"Oh, thanks.” Vail passed it to a tech. “Look, I'd rather talk to you away from the crowd. How about if we meet later at Sterling Worth Café?"
"Don't you have to get home to Brianna?” His twelve-year-old daughter would be there alone. Marla knew that their housekeeper departed after preparing dinner for the pair.
Vail glanced at his watch. “Brianna is used to my irregular hours. I'll be here for a while yet, but I realize you have to get up early tomorrow for work. Is ten o'clock too late?"
"Not for you.” She gave him a coy glance, pleased at the notion of having Vail's company to herself. Unfortunately, they always seemed to talk about suspects when they got together.
Crinkles appeared beside his eyes. “This is strictly a business date."
"Oh, sure.” She raised an eyebrow in amusement, noting his darting glance at her figure. “We'll have our usual discussion about whodunit."
"There is no whodunit until the medical examiner issues his report. I need to gather information at this stage."
"Naturally,” she agreed in a mild tone, although from the way he was looking at her, that wasn't all he wanted to cover. A vision of his tall, lean body entwined with hers flashed through her mind, sending a delicious shiver along her nerves. She hastily pushed the temptation aside. No time for that. This was business, remember?
Nancy J. Cohen - Bad Hair Day 03 - Murder By Manicure Page 2
