“Nice to see you again, Detective. How are things down at the station? Marla told me your place passed accreditation.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So have you cut back on your hours?”
“Well, not quite.” He threw Marla a panicked glance, but she ignored him and marched toward the bar. Not that a drink would help. At this rate, she’d need to jump in the pool to cool off before the night was over.
Poor Ma. She’d been disappointed about David. So what if the guy had murdered a few people? He was a nice, Jewish man who happened to be a wealthy accountant. Too bad, Ma, he’ll need his bankroll to pay the lawyers. So will Stefano, who’s being charged with illegally dumping medical waste on private property.
She detoured to a food station offering freshly prepared chicken and spinach crepes. “Hey, Pierre. Glad you decided to join us at the last minute.”
The stout French chef blustered at her approval, his white toque wobbling on his head. “Once you found out Barletti paid that son-of-a-gun assistant to tamper with my expensive rum, I realized what a fool I was. Mon Dieu! Who would have thought a funeral home owner was behind all our troubles?” He shifted the sauté pan in his hand. “I see you brought Alex Sheffield back to Taste of the World. You’ve got chutzpeh, no?”
Helping herself to a plateful of crepes, Marla laughed. “I just don’t let anything, or anyone, get in my way.”
Yiddish Glossary
Bubeleh—A term of endearment
Chutzpeh—Audacity, nerve, gall
Fresser—A big eater or a glutton
Kibbitz—To offer unsolicited advice
Klutz—A clumsy person
Kvetch—To complain
Maven—An expert
Megillah—The whole story; the complete details
Mensch—An admirable person; one who is decent and honorable
Meshugeh—Crazy
Mitzvah—A good deed
Oy Vey—An expression of dismay
Saichel—Common sense
Schmooze—To chat
Shandeh—A shame or a disgrace
Shaineh Maidel—A pretty girl
Shikseh—A non-Jewish girl
Shiva—Days of mourning after a funeral
Shlemiel—A clumsy, inept person; a fool
Shlepper—A freeloader
Shlimazel—An unlucky person for whom things never go right
Shlep—To drag or to carry
Shlok—An item of cheap quality
Shmaltzy—Sentimental
Shmoe—A naïve person
Shmuck—An obnoxious or contemptible person; a derisive term for a man
Shnook—A meek or gullible person
Shnorrer—A resourceful sponger or moocher
Shnoz/Schnozzle—Nose
Shpilkes—Restlessness; nervous energy
Shvitz—A steam bath
Tante—Aunt
Tchotchkes—Knickknacks
Tsuris—Troubles
Yenta—A gossip or a meddlesome woman
Author’s Note
Hair Raiser was fun to write because I could talk about one of my favorite subjects: food. With all the chefs signed up for Taste of the World and Marla’s trip to the Bahamas, I delighted in describing the different meals she encountered. Her adventure in Nassau followed my own journey where I diligently scribbled notes and sampled the cuisine. Similarly, Marla’s feast with David takes place in a fictional Moroccan restaurant that bears a strong resemblance to a former Fort Lauderdale dining establishment. Another area attraction turned into Cynthia’s estate in the story. If you visit Fort Lauderdale, be sure to tour Bonnet House. Lush tropical gardens and a historic beachfront mansion are a tribute to the region.
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About the Author
Nancy J. Cohen writes the humorous Bad Hair Day mystery series featuring hairdresser Marla Shore, who solves crimes with wit and style under the sultry Florida sun. These titles have made the IMBA bestseller list and have been chosen by Suspense Magazine as best cozy mystery. Nancy is also the author of Writing the Cozy Mystery, a valuable instructional guide on how to write a winning whodunit.
Her imaginative romances have proven popular with fans as well. Titles in this genre, including the Drift Lords series, have won the HOLT Medallion and Best Book in Romantic SciFi/Fantasy at The Romance Reviews.
A featured speaker at libraries, conferences and community events, Nancy is listed in Contemporary Authors, Poets & Writers, and Who’s Who in U.S. Writers, Editors, & Poets. When not busy writing, she enjoys fines dining, visiting Disney World, cruising, and outlet shopping. Contact her at [email protected]
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Books by Nancy J. Cohen
Bad Hair Day Mysteries
Permed to Death
Hair Raiser
Murder by Manicure
Body Wave
Highlights to Heaven
Died Blonde
Dead Roots
Perish by Pedicure
Killer Knots
Shear Murder
Hanging by a Hair
Peril by Ponytail
Facials Can Be Fatal (Coming Next)
The Drift Lords Series
Warrior Prince
Warrior Rogue
Warrior Lord
Science Fiction Romances
Keeper of the Rings
Silver Serenade
The Light-Years Series
Circle of Light
Moonlight Rhapsody
Starlight Child
Nonfiction
Writing the Cozy Mystery
Edited by Nancy J. Cohen
Thumbs Up by Harry I. Heller (Nancy’s father)
Buy Link
Smashwords - http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/NancyJCohen
Murder by Manicure Excerpt
Copyright © 2001 by Nancy J. Cohen
Here’s a sneak peek of Murder by Manicure, book #3 in the Bad Hair Day Mysteries.
Chapter One
“I can offer you a fantastic deal if you sign up for a membership now,” urged Gloria, an account executive at Perfect Fit Sports Club. Sitting behind a desk in her office, she gave her customer a patronizing smile.
“I’m only here to register for the three-month trial membership,” Marla Shore explained. Crossing her legs, she surveyed the girl’s svelte figure, coiffed hairdo, and flawless makeup. You’d look better in a layered cut, she thought with the critical eye of an expert beautician.
“How can you turn this down? Don’t you want to save money?” Gloria persisted. “Normally, our contract runs for three years with an initiation fee of two hundred and ninety-nine dollars. But if you join today, I’ll give you a hundred dollar discount off that price. It’s a real bargain with the forty-dollar monthly fee.”
Just what I want to do with my money—tie it up in another monthly payment for three years. Marla wondered how often Gloria worked out, or if she even bothered. Heaven forbid the girl should break a manicured fingernail on one of the exercise machines. Not that Ma
rla was so familiar with the gleaming metal devices. Owner of Cut ’N Dye Salon, her main form of exercise was to take her poodle, Spooks, for his daily stroll. She felt as out of place in a fitness club as a white hair on a brunette.
“I’m just interested in the free trial. Is there someone who will show me around so I can get started?”
Gloria pursed her lips. “As a member, you’d receive a tour by a personal trainer. Otherwise, you’ll be on your own.” She sniffed. “I might add that people who come in for the free trial period never sign up for membership.”
Why is that? Became you’re so rude? “I don’t buy anything unless I try it out first,” Marla snapped.
“If you pay the full initiation fee at the end of the month, you’ll be sorry you didn’t join today. I’ll even throw in a coupon for a free massage if you sign up now.”
“Don’t you understand the word no?”
The girl’s face closed like a clamshell. “People like you never come back after the free offer is over.” Opening her desk, she pulled out a form and scribbled her signature. “Here’s your trial membership card.”
Grasping her bag, Marla stalked out. This place would never get her award for courtesy to customers.
She began her self-guided tour in the lobby, which held the front desk, a juice bar, and a comfortable lounge with leather armchairs. A glass partition walled off the wet section with its whirlpool and aquatics area. Offices and massage suites branched from the opposite side where a staircase led to an upper level.
Now you’ve gone and done it, she thought, glancing around in bewilderment. Coming here had been a gross mistake. She could feel it in her bones as surely as the January chill that penetrated through the green-tinted windows facing the parking lot.
Shmuck. You should never have let Tally talk you into this. It’s your fault for gaining weight over the holidays. Her best friend couldn’t make it tonight, so Marla had decided to get oriented by herself. Then, when she met Tally here on Sunday, at least she’d already know her way around.
“Is it always so quiet on Friday evenings?” she asked the receptionist, a ponytailed brunette focused on a computer.
The girl glanced up, her jaw working a piece of gum. “Oh, no, honey. Everyone’s at the competition over at Dayna’s Gym. I guess you weren’t interested in the prize, huh?”
“What’s that?”
“A date with Mr. World Muscleman.”
“You’re right, I’m not interested. Where can I get changed? I came here directly from work but packed a bag earlier.”
Pointing a finger, the girl said, “Walk through the wet area, and you’ll come to the locker room.” Her gaze surveyed Marla’s denim jumper dress. “Are you new here, honey?”
“Yeah, how could you tell?”
A grin split the girl’s face. “You have that lost look about you. Don’t worry, you’ll learn your way around soon enough. My name is Sharon if you need anything. By the way, I love your hair. Is that your natural color? It’s so shiny.”
“Yes, it is.” Marla patted her chestnut hair, curled inward at chin length. Even though her thirty-fifth birthday approached, she didn’t have any gray hairs yet. Considering her age, maybe getting in shape wasn’t such a bad idea. “I’m a hairstylist. Stop in at my salon, and I’ll give you a discount as a first timer,” she said, handing the girl a business card.
Glad she had worn rubber-soled shoes, Marla padded through the wet area, treading carefully along the slippery tiles. A whirlpool hissed and bubbled on her left, while on the right an aqua pool smelled strongly of chlorine. At the far end were doors to the sauna and steam rooms. I don’t need to go in there to feel the humidity, she thought, perspiration rising on her upper lip. The place oozed dampness like a mangrove swamp.
In the rear, she pushed open the door to the women’s lockers. Cool, citrus-scented air freshened the spacious area. Her quick glance noted polished wood benches, stacks of open cubicles, peach-and-turquoise floor tiles, and mirrored walls. Piped-in music played tunes from a popular radio station.
At least she was alone and could change in peace. But as she selected an empty cubbyhole for her street clothes, voices drifted her way.
“You’re a murderer! I know what you’ve done,” a woman cried.
“I’m warning you, leave me alone or I’ll file charges.”
Marla’s ears perked up. She recognized that smoky tone as belonging to Jolene Myers, one of her clients. Palm Haven was a small community, even though it counted as a western suburb of Fort Lauderdale, and she often ran into customers around town.
“I won’t rest until you stop that torture,” the unknown woman said. “Do you realize the pain and suffering you’re causing?”
“Give me a break, Cookie. We’re talking about laboratory animals here, for God’s sake.”
Marla rounded the bend and entered a tiled section with a row of sinks. Hair driers and various toiletries sat on the counter. In front of a wall-sized mirror, the two combatants faced off.
Jolene’s eyes widened in recognition as she caught sight of the newcomer. “Marla! Will you tell this pest to get off my case? Our company goes out of its way to use the safest possible research techniques.”
“Who are you?” the stranger demanded.
“Marla Shore. I’m Jolene’s hairdresser.”
“Oh yeah? Cookie Calcone here.” Cookie, a diminutive woman, glared up at her. “Do you know what this twit calls harmless? Her scientists use the Draize irritancy test. They drip caustic substances into the eyes of rabbits to assess the damaging effects. The test may last for days, while the animals are restrained to prevent them from rubbing away the chemical. Since their tear ducts work poorly, the stuff won’t wash out. Blistering and ulceration of the cornea often occurs. Can you imagine the pain they suffer?”
“Well, yes,” Marla began, but Jolene cut her off.
“Those tests are necessary. Better we should find out if a substance is toxic before it’s applied to humans.”
Cookie’s green eyes blazed. “Safer methods exist. What about the skin tests done on guinea pigs? Their torture lasts for weeks. Sometimes they kill themselves trying to escape. You can’t tell me there aren’t more viable options.” With a grunt, she tossed a short strand of strawberry blond hair off her face.
Jolene squared her shoulders. She wore a gray jersey top with matching shorts and a towel wrapped around her neck as though she’d just come from a workout. “We’ve already begun using the Agarose Diffusion Method as an alternative to the Draize test, but sometimes animal trials are the only way to achieve reliable results. In that event, we anesthetize the lab animals when possible. We try to treat them humanely, but proving the safety of our products is paramount. Ultimately, we do what’s best for the consumer.”
Cookie snorted. “You’re saying that to justify the funding. Keep it up, and you’ll be sorry.”
Jolene’s eyes glittered. “You’re hot air without the wind, darling. You can’t blow my house down.”
“Oh no?” Cookie hunched forward, revealing the cleavage under her swimsuit. “I’ll bet if your friends find out what you do, they’ll shy away. You don’t condone animal testing, do you, Marla?”
Fascinated by their conversation, Marla didn’t expect to be drawn into it. “Uh, I suppose not. I haven’t really given the issue much thought.” Who did? In most cases, you bought products you liked without regard to their origins. She used items in her salon that produced the best results. It just so happened that many of them were botanicals. Would it make a difference to her if a particular brand employed animal testing in its laboratories? Probably not, if it made her clients happy.
“That’s the problem,” Cookie agreed, nodding vigorously. “Most people don’t think about it. But if I tell them what your company is doing, Jolene, you can bet the media will be down your throat.”
“Heck, I don’t need this. I’ve already had a bad day. Dancercize class wound me up tonight, and then I had a snack afterwar
d—which didn’t help. I’m going to relax in the whirlpool after my massage.”
“Which massage therapist do you recommend?” Marla queried, rubbing the knots of tension stiffening her neck.
“Don’t make an appointment with Slate Harper,” Jolene advised. “The guy asked me out and refuses to take no for an answer. He even showed up at my door one day. I’ve half a mind to complain about him to the manager.”
“So why don’t you?” Marla asked.
“Unlike Cookie, I don’t care to make waves. I just avoid Slate, that’s all.” Jolene strode to a locker and grabbed a canvas bag sitting in an open cubicle. “You should take gelatin supplements, Marla. All that shampooing can weaken your keratin. I always take a dose before going into the whirlpool, and I had a manicure today, so it’s doubly important.” Scraping aside some yellow powder at her feet, she opened her sack and withdrew an unlabeled bottle.
“We have a new manicurist,” Marla mentioned, aware that Jolene hadn’t liked their previous ones. “Why don’t you give her a try?”
“I’m happy with Denise at the New Wave. Hmm, that’s odd, the cap is loose.” Jolene’s brows raised as the lid popped right off. At the sink, she downed two capsules with a gulp of water. “I’ve got to run. See you, Marla.” Pointedly ignoring Cookie, she thrust her turquoise bag back into the cubbyhole and fled.
Left alone with Cookie, Marla experienced a sensation of unease. The woman’s gaze followed her around the room as though she were the quarry in a hunt. Changing quickly in a bathroom stall, she realized it would be necessary to buy a lock to secure her belongings. For now, she’d carry her stuff along upstairs.
Cookie trailed her to the staircase. “What kind of products do you use in your salon?”
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