Nancy J. Cohen - Bad Hair Day 03 - Murder By Manicure

by Murder By Manicure

  "Hey, Marla! I was wondering if you'd make it. Normally, you're a late riser on Sundays.” Tally's blue eyes gleamed with pleasure, as though she actually anticipated getting a workout.

  "Believe it, pal. I even took Spooks for a walk already."

  "I heard what happened.” Tally spoke softly since the room was crowded. “Why didn't you call me Friday night?"

  "I was too tired.” Marla didn't admit to meeting Dalton, not caring to go into the details of their current relationship.

  "You'll tell me about it later. Which class should we join, or do you want to start on the machines?” Handing Marla a yellow sheet of paper, Tally pointed to the Sunday schedule.

  Squinting, Marla studied their choices. “Scratch the Step Reebok and the fab abs. Too strenuous for me. The splash class has already started, and besides, the older generation has dibs on that one."

  "How about yoga? I need to stretch my muscles."

  Contort them was more likely. “I don't think so."

  "That leaves only pace race or Dancercize."

  "Pace race isn't until eleven. Let's try Dancercize.” Hadn't Keith recommended that class? Thinking of him reminded her that she wanted to have her body fat measurement recalibrated with the machine. His deductions about her weight had to be wrong.

  Upstairs in a wood-floored studio, they checked in with the Dancercize instructor, a bleached blonde who managed her chin-length layered hair in an attractively tousled style. Subtle makeup highlighted emerald eyes as clear as a mountain lake and outlined thinly contoured lips. Her figure, Marla decided, was to die for. No way could I ever wear a leotard and look that good. Did all the female staff members have to resemble Barbie with hair color variations? she mused inwardly, recalling the swim coach.

  "Have you taken Dancercize before?” Lindsay Trotter asked.

  Marla shook her head. “Not unless it's the same thing as Jazzercize. I took that at Central Park once, but it was too time-consuming, so I quit."

  The dance teacher smiled. “Dancercize is quite different. It's more fun because we use music from the big band era. You'll feel like you're dancing more than exercising. Since this is your first time, if you get out of breath or experience any discomfort, stop and watch the rest of the class. Ladies, are you ready?” she addressed the group of thirty participants.

  Tally sidled to the back row, and Marla took a place beside her. “Some of these women have no shame,” Marla said in a low voice, nodding at a couple of plump members in tank tops and shorts whose flab could have qualified them for ballast. “I don't want to get like them."

  Her friend laughed. “What are you talking about? You look fabulous. If you've gained weight, it doesn't show."

  "Oh yeah, these baggy pants really reveal my legs. Anyway, the extra pounds I gain are in the middle."

  "How old are you, dear?” Tally smirked. “Getting closer to forty, I believe. Your thirty-fifth birthday is in a few weeks."

  "You're not far behind, pal."

  It was an ongoing joke between them that Marla was six months older than Tally, so that made her the elder but not necessarily the wiser. While Tally was happily married to Ken, Marla still struggled with her social life. Having made mistakes in her choices of men before to please her family, she was hesitant to commit herself for fear of losing her independence.

  Dancercize was more fun than she'd anticipated, and Marla lasted a good thirty minutes before quitting to catch her breath. With an envious eye, she watched Lindsay sail through the hour with a continuous smile and not even a sheen on her healthy complexion.

  Tally, having held out longer, staggered to join Marla, who leaned against the rear wall.

  "I'm going to look for Dave,” Marla said after the class finished. “He's a personal trainer who does the bioelectrical impedance test for body fat percentage."

  Her hopes were dashed, however, when Dave flashed her a grin and demanded her membership card. “Not a full member? Sorry, you're not entitled to use the machine."

  "Keith did some calculations with a tape measure. He said I needed a diet of ten blocks a day. That doesn't seem like enough."

  "Blocks? I don't know what you mean. And I've never heard of using a tape measure. There's the caliper test to measure body fat percentage."

  "Keith said he was using the circumference method."

  "Never heard of it. He must have been pulling your leg. Keith can get too personal with the ladies, if you know what I mean.” Dave winked. “Talk to Gloria downstairs. She'll give you a contract to sign, and then I can get you started properly."

  "No, thanks.” Annoyed, Marla stalked away to join Tally in the locker room, where she was changing.

  "All they want in this place is your money,” Marla griped, wiping her face with a paper towel from the bathroom. “If you don't sign away your life for three years, you don't count."

  Tally's gaze locked with hers. “Lindsay seemed friendly and eager that everyone should have a good time."

  "That's true. Unlike some of the other jerks who work here, Lindsay acts like she cares. I should ask her about Jolene."

  "Why?"

  "When I saw Jolene, she'd just come from Dancercize class. If she wasn't feeling up to par, Lindsay may have noticed."

  "Tell me the details."

  Aware that others in the room were listening, Marla lowered her decibels. “I entered the locker room and overheard Jolene arguing with someone else. When Jolene saw me, she drew me into their conversation."

  "You interfering bitch!” a strident voice exclaimed behind her.

  Marla whirled around, her eyes widening at the sight of Cookie Calcone shaking a fist in the air.

  "That conversation was private,” Cookie cried. “How dare you tell the police that I threatened Jolene."

  Chapter Four

  Marla stared at Cookie, unable to fathom what had provoked her verbal attack. “Excuse me? I didn't tell the police you made any threats against Jolene."

  "Oh no? Then who did?” Cookie's green eyes threw fire. “I got a call from a detective who wanted to know what I was arguing about with Jolene. You were the only other one in the locker room with us."

  Marla lifted her foot onto the bench so she could retie a loose shoelace. “I told Lieutenant Vail I'd met Jolene in the locker room, and she introduced you to me. I didn't mention the gist of your conversation."

  A suspicious expression crossed Cookie's face. She really has good bone structure, Marla thought, glancing at her jutting chin and contoured cheekbones. Short, strawberry blond hair was styled into a side part with minimal effort put into curling the ends. Cookie's simplistic fashion statement continued with faded jeans and an Old Navy T-shirt. She wore the barest of makeup, her entire appearance telling Marla this was a woman who cared more about being active than about her looks.

  "Did you leave the club right after your swim?” Marla asked.

  "I wasn't here when Jolene drowned, if that's what you mean,” Cookie snapped.

  Finished tying her shoe, Marla straightened. Tally shot her a quizzical glance, and Marla realized she'd forgotten her manners. “I'm sorry, Tally Riggs this is Cookie Calcone. Tally and I joined for the trial membership,” she explained, feeling the need to defend herself. “Look, I told the detective that you were here that day, but I also mentioned the Zelmans and Wally Ritiker. I didn't tell him about your argument with Jolene."

  Cookie pouted as though wanting to disbelieve her. “Lieutenant Vail accused me of raising my voice in anger. How else would he have known I was pissed at Jolene? Someone ratted on me! What does he think, that I pushed her underwater?"

  That was a possibility Marla hadn't considered. Another option presented itself. “Perhaps someone entered through the rear door to the locker room and overheard us,” she suggested. “Who else might have reported our conversation to the cops?"

  "I figured it was you. The detective said an informant had left a tip on their hotline."

  Biting her lower lip, Marla evaluated t
his tidbit of news. Did Dalton really have no clue who'd phoned, or did he just say that as a smoke screen? Could someone else have been quietly listening to Cookie's diatribe against Jolene? Marla made a mental determination to ask to see the member sign-in sheet for that night. Other club members might have been present that she hadn't noticed. Then again, one of the female staffers could have entered the locker room from the rear.

  Aware that her mother was expecting her for lunch, Marla glanced purposefully at her watch. “If you don't mind,” she said, “I need to move on. Dancercize class was fun, but I think that's enough exercise for today."

  Cookie blocked her path, squeezing Tally against a row of lockers. “I do mind. What's the name of your salon?"

  "Cut ‘N Dye,” Marla replied automatically.

  "I'll be keeping an eye on you. You'd better not talk about me behind my back. If I find out that you're spreading rumors, you'll be sorry you ever met me.” Her glance shot at Tally. “You work with her?"

  Tally shifted uncomfortably. “No, I own a dress boutique. What's your beef, lady? Marla hasn't done anything to you. Why don't you pick on someone your size?” Tally's considerable height above the shorter woman gave her words more emphasis.

  If Cookie's eyes could have spurted venom, Tally would have been dead. “Are you meaning to take me on?” Cookie snarled. “Go ahead, I've got room for the two of you. From now on, you're both on my blacklist. Watch your backs, ladies.” Thrusting her chin forward, she marched out.

  Tally swiped a hand across her brow. “Whew, I'm glad she's gone. What a witch! She's got a hell of a nerve talking to you like that."

  Marla shrugged. “I'm not going to lose any sleep over her. Sorry to cut this short, but Ma expects me for lunch, and I've got to do some errands on the way.” Pulling a cranberry sweater and black slacks from her bag, she proceeded to switch outfits. She didn't care to be seen in her sweatsuit around town.

  "When shall we meet here again?” Tally asked.

  "Well, let's see. Tomorrow, I'm visiting my brother and his family. Tuesday evening, I promised to take Brianna to dance class.” Noting Tally's raised eyebrows, Marla offered a quick explanation. “Dalton has to work late for a few weeks, so he'll be unable to take her. I said I'd do it, but it doesn't mean we're getting more involved."

  Tally snorted. “That's what you think, darling."

  Pointing a finger, Marla leaned forward. “Look, I'm not a schmuck. I won't let myself get tied down on a regular basis. You know I'm not into kids and that whole routine."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Wipe that expression off your face, pal. Unless you want to be added to my blacklist,” she mimicked with a grin.

  Tally snatched up her gym bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. “What about Wednesday night? Any plans? I know you work late on Thursdays."

  "Okay, Wednesday it is.” She rolled her neck. “I should make a massage appointment. My shoulders have been stiff lately, and I could use a good rubdown."

  "You try it first,” Tally said, grinning. “I've never had a real massage, but then Ken has magic fingers. Maybe you should ask Dalton to rub your neck."

  "Yeah, right.” Marla wouldn't want him to stop there. The prospect of his fingers touching her skin sent tingles of delight along her nerves, as she could just imagine his caress descending lower. “What time Wednesday should we meet?” she rasped, a heated flush warming her face.

  "How about seven o'clock? We can work out on the machines and try the low-impact aerobics class, unless you want to stick with Dancercize."

  "We'll see. I'll make a massage appointment for nine."

  She approached Sharon at the reception counter. Whoever normally staffed the massage desk was absent. “Who are your other therapists besides Slate?” she asked. “I need an appointment for Wednesday night."

  Sharon's nose crinkled. “Manny Kosmo might be available, but if you want my honest opinion, he's not as good as Slate. Wait here; I'll get the appointment book."

  "Did Jolene schedule a massage with Manny on Friday night?” Marla asked when Sharon had returned.

  Sharon flipped a couple pages back in the calendar. “Manny's name is crossed out. He's been sick all weekend, so he must have canceled his appointments for Friday."

  Leaning her elbow on the counter, Marla lowered her voice. “Does that mean Jolene switched to Slate? She didn't like him because he'd asked her for a date and got angry when she refused him. Or so she told me."

  "Slate is used to getting his way,” grated a harsh voice behind her.

  "Amy, this conversation doesn't involve you,” Sharon said in an icy tone.

  Turning, Marla caught the Smoothie King attendant running stiff fingers through her bleached hair. You need your roots done, pal, she thought, her gaze drawn to the dark-brown layer growing in.

  Amy frowned, a movement that accentuated the creases in her overly made-up face. She wore skintight jeans and a white blouse unbuttoned to mid-bosom, revealing a lacy bra. “Slate shouldn't have asked Jolene out. He knows I'm hot for him, and I can handle his moods. He gets nasty when he's crossed."

  "How nasty?” Marla asked.

  "Why do you care?"

  "I was Jolene's hairdresser, and I'd like to understand what happened to her.” She glanced at Sharon, who gazed at Amy with an unconcealed look of contempt. Animosity crackled between the two women, and Marla wondered why. Was it merely their difference in values, or was it something more?

  When Sharon turned away to tend to another customer, Amy spoke. “If you're looking for someone who had a grudge against Jolene, don't bother with Slate. He's my territory, understand? Go talk to Keith Hamilton instead. That jerk is happy she's dead. So are a lot of other people around here."

  "Really? I'll keep that in mind.” Wishing she had time to question the girl further, Marla glanced at the wall clock and frowned. If she wanted to get her errands done, she'd better get moving. “I've got to go,” she said regretfully, “but thanks for the tip."

  After the girl went back to her post, Marla signaled to Sharon. “Book me with Slate for Wednesday at nine,” she said. “It could prove to be an interesting session."

  * * * *

  "Why do you think Amy said those things to you?” asked Anita Shorstein an hour later.

  "Ma, please sit down. I have enough to eat, and it makes me nervous when you bustle around like that.” Holding a corned-beef-on-rye sandwich, Marla sat at her mother's small kitchen table. After Anita got a cream soda and joined her, Marla answered. “It sounds like Amy has the hots for Slate, who hit on Jolene. According to Amy, Slate might have gotten nasty when Jolene rejected him."

  Anita took a swallow of her drink. “Do you think he had anything to do with her death?"

  "As far as I know, no one had anything to do with Jolene's accident. I'm not sure what Amy meant, but maybe Slate will tell me his version when he gives me a massage on Wednesday."

  Anita waved an admonishing finger at her. “Is that wise, Marla? If you take my advice, you won't go back to the sports club. You didn't pay anything for your trial membership."

  "Tally would be disappointed if I dropped out now.” She chewed a bite of sandwich, relishing the salty meat. “Besides, I'm not a quitter. I didn't give up my position as chef coordinator for Taste of the World when someone sabotaged our efforts. Cynthia depended on me to do my job, just as Tally needs me to go with her now. I don't let my friends down."

  "That doesn't explain why you're making a big deal out of Jolene's tragic end. Somehow I don't think it's just because she was a client.” Anita's all-knowing motherly gaze met Marla's troubled glance.

  Putting down her sandwich, Marla folded her hands on the table. “Okay, so I'm bored."

  "Oh?"

  "Taste of the World gave me a focus for the past few months. I was so busy between the fund-raiser and work that I didn't have time to think about anything else. Now the holidays are over, and I'm stuck in my everyday routine again."

  "You should say
a prayer every time you wake up in the morning to face another day. Be grateful for your routine.” Anita hardened her gaze. “Remember when Papa died? That phone call we got?"

  Marla hung her head. “Of course I do. His heart attack was totally unexpected."

  "Things could be worse. Think of that when you go about your daily business. Jolene's accident had nothing to do with you. Don't make it into more than it was to liven things up."

  "You're beginning to sound like Dalton."

  Anita rolled her eyes. “I hate to say this, but sometimes I agree with the man. Don't take that as approval of your irregular relationship with him."

  "Irregular? What does that mean?"

  "You're still dating other guys, like Ralph. I know the two of you are friends, but if you felt a commitment to Detective Vail, you wouldn't want to be in anyone's company but his."

  Marla kept her tone neutral. “And if that's what I decided?"

  Her mother shrugged. “I've already told you my opinion. Cops make lousy husbands."

  "So do arrogant lawyers who impose their will on others."

  "Stan believed he was acting in your best interests."

  "By keeping me from seeing my own friends and putting me down constantly? I don't think so.” She chomped on another piece of sandwich. “Anyway, I didn't come here to discuss Stan or my love life."

  Anita patted her hand. “I know, bubula. Are you going to let me take you to lunch for your birthday?"

  "Ugh, don't remind me. I don't want to get older."

  "You'd prefer the alternative? I doubt it."

  "I'm getting fat, and the sports club receptionist asked if I dyed my hair. Do I look that bad for my age?"

  "You look beautiful."

  "Soon I'll be getting wrinkles."

  Anita laughed, a pleasant sound like clinking crystal goblets. “Snap out of your mood, Marla. Or do you have PMS?"

  Marla nearly choked on a morsel of corned beef. “Hell, no. I had that last week."