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

by Murder By Manicure

  "Then you need something to focus on, so you don't think about yourself so much. Plan a dinner party. That always works when I'm depressed, because I get busy planning menus and can look forward to being with friends."

  "Thanks, but it sounds like more aggravation to me.” Finishing her sandwich, she fell silent. True, she'd been feeling restless lately. Was her moodiness due to a letdown after the holidays, or was she upset over her upcoming birthday? Either way, Ma was right. She needed a new goal, one that was more fun than getting into shape.

  Unwilling to address her insecurities further, she wiped her mouth with a napkin and got up. “What are you doing this afternoon?” she asked her mother. “I've got some errands to run if you want to come with me."

  Anita shook her head of short, white hair. “I have ballet tickets with my friend, Lil. I'm picking her up in a half hour.” She glanced at a table in the hallway. “I won't have time to stop at the pharmacy. My blood pressure prescription needs to be refilled."

  Marla spotted the paper with the doctor's scrawled handwriting. “Want me to drop this off? The pharmacy is on my list of errands. I need more vitamins and a few other things."

  "That would be helpful. Then I could pick up the medicine on my way back from the theater.” Anita embraced her in a quick hug. “Call me after you see Michael tomorrow. Your brother thought he might be coming down with a cold."

  "Maybe I'll bring him some zinc lozenges.” Marla grinned. “Have a good time at the ballet."

  * * * *

  Hank Goodfellow was behind the counter at the pharmacy. After twelve years, his white-coated figure was a fixture in the community. Neighbors relied on his advice, which he dispensed with a twinkle in his blue eyes. At forty-two, his dark hair had receded considerably, but his face held enough character for him to be regarded as a handsome devil by female clients.

  "How are ya, Marla?” he queried when she approached. A wide grin lit his entire face. His winged brows lifted, the deep creases beside his eyes indicating that he smiled frequently.

  She tipped her head in acknowledgment. “Just fine, Hank. Here's a prescription for my mother. She'll stop by later to pick up the medicine."

  "Okay. You need any more of your favorite hand cream?"

  "No, thanks. That stuff really works, and I've been careful not to let my hands get too dry. They're not so chapped now."

  Hank glanced behind her, and his mouth tightened. “Excuse me, Marla. Here comes Wally."

  Marla twisted around to see Councilman Wallace Ritiker bearing down on them, an angry scowl on his face.

  "Hey, Marla,” he greeted her before turning his attention to the pharmacist. “Hank, can I have a word with you?"

  Marla caught the hint and drifted discreetly away. Studying a display of vitamins, she still heard every word they said.

  "I understand you had a break-in a couple of days ago,” Wally's voice grated in a low tone. “Why didn't you call me?"

  "What for?” Hank replied.

  Marla neared a corner where she could view the interchange without being in their direct line of sight.

  "I expect to be informed when something like this happens that affects the town.” Ritiker tugged at his navy sport coat.

  Hank's face grew livid as he stared at the middle-aged politician. “Are you crazy? I'm trying to avoid publicity."

  "Oh, you've done a great job. Burglars rammed a hole through the roof, lowered themselves inside, and stole prescription drugs and cash. That was splashed all over the community newspapers, including how your alarm was conveniently shut off,” Ritiker said in a snide tone.

  "A wire was loose, and I didn't want to trip a false alarm, so I deactivated it until the security company came out,” Hank said in a curt tone that implied it was no one else's business.

  "How'd the crooks get out?"

  "They broke the back door lock and got away clean."

  "I warned you about this sort of thing. People will be suspicious.” Ritiker glowered at the pharmacist.

  "It was necessary."

  "Well, keep me out of it, or you'll be sorry."

  Marla sauntered toward them, wanting to detain the councilman for her own purposes.

  "Was there something else you wanted from the pharmacy?” Hank snapped at her.

  "Not right now, thanks.” Boldly lifting her chin, she addressed the councilman. “Wally, I've been meaning to thank you for voting in favor of the pool enclosure ordinance. It's too bad we didn't have enough votes for it to pass, but I appreciate your support."

  Squaring his shoulders, Ritiker beamed at her. “I always support my constituents."

  Marla twirled a strand of hair coyly around her finger. “I guess all your wheeling and dealing takes its toll. Eloise Zelman told me you belong to the Perfect Fit Sports Club. I just joined with my friend Tally for the free trial membership. Isn't it awful what happened to Jolene Myers?"

  "That troublemaker?” His eyebrows raised. “She was a thorn in my side. Can't say I'm sorry she's gone."

  An old lady shuffled to the counter. “Oh hello, Mrs. Jenkins,” the pharmacist gushed, assuming his professional demeanor. “Is your ankle better? You could barely walk last week. I hope those cold compresses were helpful."

  "Indeed they were, but I could use more of that pain medicine, sonny. Do you still have any available?"

  "Of course.” He did a quick exchange, handing her a bottle that he retrieved from a locked drawer in return for a twenty-dollar bill.

  "Hank,” Ritiker began, an odd glimmer in his eyes.

  "Not now, Wally. I'm tending my customer."

  "I see exactly what you're doing. Didn't I tell you it was time to quit?” the councilman said.

  Hank shot him a dirty look. “Keep out of this."

  "Or what? Listen carefully, friend, if you're smart, you'll heed my words.” Turning away, he indicated Marla should accompany him. “I hope you're not on his list."

  "What are you talking about?” Marla said.

  Wally gave her a keen glance and shook his head. “Never mind. What were you saying about Jolene Myers?"

  "Eloise Zelman said you were in the steam room with her husband Sam when all hell broke loose in the sports club that day. Was anyone else in there with you?"

  "Nope. Sam and I had things to discuss in private, so we made sure no one else was around."

  "How about when you entered the locker room to change?"

  He stopped in the aisle by a display of household cleaning fluids. “Why are you so interested?"

  She spread her hands. “I just thought I might have more information to offer to the police. Detective Vail is a friend of mine. He's not officially on the case as far as I know, but I'm sure he'd pass on anything useful."

  His hazel eyes stared down at her. “We need more responsible citizens like you, Marla,” he said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “Now if you want to know who I saw skulking about that day, you might consider talking to Gloria Muñoz, the sales rep. I saw her leaving the women's locker room as I was on my way to the steamer. I remembered the look on her face. She reminded me of a cat who'd just swallowed a bird whole."

  Chapter Five

  Marla didn't have time to think about Councilman Ritiker's remarks. Monday was taken with visiting her brother and catching up on bookkeeping in preparation for the dreaded meeting with her tax accountant. On Tuesday, work was busier than usual, so lunch consisted of yogurt and a banana in the back room.

  Waiting for her final appointment, she was brushing stray hairs off her station chair when the chime over the front door sounded. Marla glanced up, eager to do her last customer so she could leave. Tonight was Brianna's dance class, and she wanted to be on time to pick the girl up.

  "Arnie, what are you doing here?” she asked as the proprietor of Bagel Busters charged in her direction.

  "Marla, you've got to help me!” The big man's mustache quivered, and his dark eyes regarded her wildly.

  Aware of her staff's interest, she t
ook his arm and gently propelled him toward an empty manicure station at the rear. He still wore an apron over a collared shirt and khakis. Beneath the fabric, she felt the rock-hardness of his biceps.

  "What's wrong?” she said. “Are your kids all right?"

  "Yes. That's not the problem. It's Hortense."

  "Who?"

  "Hortense Crone. You know."

  She tapped her foot impatiently. “No, I don't. You're confusing me, Arnie. Who is this person?"

  Arnie wrung his hands. “She's a former classmate. We went to high school together, and she had a crush on me. The ugliest dog in school, that was her. A real fresser, too. Ate everything in sight. And now she's here! Oy vey, what am I going to do?"

  "What do you mean?” Marla glanced furtively at the reception area, hoping her next client would be delayed. Arnie needed her, making her nurturing instincts surface.

  "Hortense is in town. She wants to see me. She's on her way over here!"

  "So? You can exchange a few reminiscences and then she'll leave."

  He leaned forward, breathing heavily. “You don't understand. She likes me. Hortense said she'd been sorry to learn my wife had passed away, and how difficult it must be for me to raise two kids on my own. I could tell from her tone of voice that she's still interested in me."

  "Hortense never married?"

  "She's divorced.” His brows drew together. “I said the only thing I could think of to get rid of her. I told her I was engaged."

  Marla smiled gently. “Arnie, how could you? The poor woman probably just wants an hour of your time."

  "No, no. She's moving back to Palm Haven! I had to discourage her. Tell me you'll play along."

  "Huh?"

  "I knew you wouldn't mind, since you're such a good friend.” Taking her by the elbow, he steered her into the rear storeroom. “She'll come into the salon. Tell her off for me, would you please?"

  "Me?” She wrinkled her nose. “Why would she come here?"

  "Oh, God,” he moaned. “I remember how her second chin jiggled when she waddled down the hall. She was the only girl with frizzy black hair whose boobs were overpowered by her blubber.” His eyes grew as round as bagel holes when the front door chimed. “That may be Hortense!” he croaked. “Marla, you've got to save me. I'll give you free bagels for a year!"

  "You're on,” she said, laughing. How bad could this woman be to make Arnie so afraid of her? Intensely curious, Marla strode toward the reception desk.

  The woman standing by the counter wasn't the ugly horse Arnie had depicted. Nor was she Marla's next client. A tall, sexy blonde, she wore a short skirt and bolero jacket with black leather heels. Wavy hair cascaded like a river down her back. A delicate lilac fragrance wafted around her. Marla approved of the woman's subtle makeup that enhanced her refined features. Envying her busty figure and shapely legs, Marla vowed to work out extra hard at the fitness club on Wednesday.

  "This is Marla Shore,” said the receptionist. “She owns Cut ‘N Dye."

  "Hi, I'm Hortense Crone.” The woman grinned, displaying a row of perfectly aligned teeth. “I was told Arnie Hartman came in here. Y'all can call me Jill; I use my middle name now,” she added, extending her hand.

  Marla exchanged a firm handshake. This was Hortense? A bubble of laughter welled within her. Would Arnie be surprised to see what a looker his classmate had turned into!

  "He's in the storeroom. I'll get him for you. Hey, Arnie,” she called, eagerly anticipating his reaction. “Someone here to see you."

  All eyes in the salon turned in their direction as Arnie marched toward the front, gaze downcast like a condemned man.

  "Congratulations, Arnie,” crooned Hortense. “You have a lovely fiancée."

  Marla, entertained by Arnie's sudden, shocked glare as he raised his eyes, didn't catch on right away until she heard snickers from her staff.

  "Don't tell me,” she said to Hortense. “Arnie told you we're engaged?"

  "Oh, yes. I hope you won't get jealous if I give him a hug. It's been so long, hasn't it, darling?” she said, crushing Arnie in a tight embrace.

  "Y-yes,” he stuttered, words obviously failing him.

  Hortense stepped away, beaming at Marla. “We've so much news to share. Let's make a date and get together to schmooze."

  "Of course,” Marla said, playing her part for all it was worth. Serves the man right, she thought wickedly, tucking a possessive arm through Arnie's.

  "Friday night?"

  "Can't,” Arnie mumbled. “Religious services."

  Marla stared at him. Since when had he started celebrating the Sabbath?

  "Saturday evening then. I'll meet you at the Spice Garden at seven-thirty, okay?” Hortense glanced between the two of them, her happy expression lacking any sense of guile.

  Marla's heart went out to her. The woman seemed sincere in her desire to see Arnie for old times’ sake. What harm could one date do?

  "He's already gotten a babysitter,” she said in a confidential tone to Hortense. “We were going out to dinner anyway, and it'll be a pleasure to get to know you better. Right, Arnie?” She poked him when he didn't answer. He'd been too busy studying Hortense's cleavage.

  "Uh, sure. We'll be there.” Arnie turned to Marla as soon as Hortense left. Before he uttered a word, the receptionist gestured Marla over.

  "Grace just canceled her appointment. She's running late and is terribly sorry. She rescheduled for tomorrow morning."

  "Good,” Marla said, relieved that her work was finished. Now she could clean up and get ready for her duties with Brianna.

  "Marla, is it true?” the girl asked. She was a temporary hire until Marla located a replacement. It wasn't easy finding a candidate who fulfilled Marla's stringent requirements for the position.

  "What's that?” Marla asked, distracted by Arnie's hangdog expression.

  "Are you Arnie's fiancée?” the girl persisted.

  "Heck, no. It was a pretense to get Hortense off his back."

  Arnie shook his head. “I don't want her off my back."

  "Huh?"

  "Did you see her? She's a knockout! Why the hell did I ever tell her I was engaged?"

  "Shit, Arnie, make up your mind.” Disgusted, she ignored the grins of her staff and marched to her station.

  Arnie trailed after her, watching while she cleaned her counter. “Maybe we could have a fight and break off,” he suggested. “Then I can tell Hortense I'm free again."

  "She'll believe you're not reliable."

  "So I'll get to know her first. I have an idea. Why don't we double date?"

  "Ouch!” Marla felt a sharp jab of pain where she'd cut her finger on a pair of texturizing shears. “Get me a Band-Aid from that drawer, would you?” she requested, sucking on her fingertip.

  Arnie complied. “Shall I kiss your hand first to make it better?” he teased, dimples appearing in his cheeks when he smiled.

  "No, thanks.” She applied the Band-Aid and resumed cleaning her shelf. “So tell me about your idea.” Anything to get Arnie off her back.

  "We'll invite another guy to go along with us when we meet Hortense. He can pay attention to you, and I'll focus on her."

  "Won't Hortense think that's odd?"

  "Not at all.” Stroking his droopy mustache, he appeared thoughtful. “She'll understand I'm just interested in renewing our acquaintance. Then, when you and I have a fight, hopefully she'll be there to comfort me."

  "Arnie, you're despicable.” Yet his scheme appealed to her sense of adventure. Wasn't she looking for something to uplift her mood? Playing Arnie's game would serve to get him off her list, which was well and good because she'd always considered them close friends and nothing more. “Okay, who do you suggest we get to act as decoy?"

  A broad grin split his face. “I know just the man: Detective Dalton Vail. He broods over you, so he'll be perfect."

  Marla's jaw dropped. “Dalton! I don't think so. He'd be furious if we suggested this to him. He didn't like it when
I went out with David. Can you imagine what he'd say to pretending I'm your fiancée?"

  "Ask him, Marla. Otherwise, you're stuck with me. Hortense knows a lot of people in town. I can assure you the news of our betrothal will be smeared like schmaltz all over Palm Haven by tonight."

  * * * *

  Marla approached Vail's ranch-style house with trepidation. A dim lantern shone over the portico, but spotlights from the garage provided bright illumination. She pushed the doorbell, shifting her feet while waiting to see who responded to her summons. She'd ask Dalton now if he was home. Better to get it over with, that was her motto.

  She took a step back when the door swung open, revealing Brianna's sullen face.

  "Hi,” the girl said. “I'll get my dance bag.” Turning on her heel, Brianna retreated into the hallway without inviting Marla to enter. She wore a leotard and tights under an oversized T-shirt. A pair of white Steve Madden tennis shoes covered her feet.

  "Is your dad home?” Marla called, resisting the urge to clench her fists. This wasn't going to be a pleasant encounter.

  Holding a pink sack, Brianna walked toward her. “He's still at work, and Carmen left after she fixed my dinner. I took Lucky out for a walk before getting changed,” she added proudly.

  "Golden retrievers need lots of exercise,” Marla said approvingly as she walked beside the girl to her Toyota. “By the way, I like your bun. Did you put your hair up yourself?"

  Brianna gave her a condescending look. “Of course. Do you think I'm so retarded that I can't do anything on my own?"

  "I didn't mean that."

  The girl's dark eyes raked her with scorn. “Let's get something straight, Miss Shore. I know you agreed to take me tonight to impress my dad. This is just temporary until I find another ride, understand?"

  "I offered because I wanted to help,” Marla said, holding the passenger door open.

  "We don't need anyone's help.” Brianna folded her arms while Marla slid into the driver's seat and started the car. “Daddy is just being nice to you because you solved a couple of his cases. That's why he agreed to let you drive me."

  "Oh, is that the reason? I'm so glad you told me. Where are we going?"