Dalton gave her an oblique glance. “We could give Mom something new to rejoice over.”
“Uh, if you mean what I think you do, let’s not go down that road.” She sought a safe change of subject, disturbed that he’d brought up this idea again. She knew exactly what he’d meant. Were his parents pressuring him to have another child? Maybe his mom, Kate, had put the bug in his ear. Regardless, Marla would hold firm to her decision.
Getting him talking about a case would distract him. “I haven’t confirmed the details with Lora, but I assume we’re supposed to show up at the fashion show as instructed. Events are moving so fast. It’s a week from tonight. Will you be present at the ball in any official capacity?”
He snorted, as though he knew her change of subject was deliberate. “That depends. I’m waiting on one more lab result.”
“For what?”
“To see if any prints come in as a match. The tech boys had the foresight to dust the back doorknobs as well as the entry to Rosana’s treatment room, among other things.”
“Why is that? Oh, I get it. You think someone might have sneaked in and doctored the face cream. But who would know Val had an early-morning appointment? And who would be aware of the procedure for a facial, except somebody who’s had one? How would this person have learned about Val’s allergy and which products Rosana used on her?”
“All valid questions. Rosana kept a file on each customer in that room. Your staff would be knowledgeable about her practices. One of them could have snuck in and taken a peek at that file. Or another customer might have done so when the beautician left the room. Oh, I’ve asked your receptionist for a list of all clients who had appointments there recently and a list of staff.”
“And you’re just telling me this now?” Marla sat back while the waiter delivered their meals. She’d order grilled salmon while Dalton had a steak. She took a bite of fish, relishing the soft, moist texture as it slid down her throat.
Dalton’s shoulders hunched, like they did when he was troubled. “We’ll be issuing a statement on Monday. Somehow liquid latex got into a product that wasn’t supposed to contain it and was applied to a person with an allergy. The victim died. I don’t believe this was an accident. It was a premeditated act to commit murder.”
Marla almost choked on a morsel and grabbed a gulp of water to chase it down. Although she’d suspected as much and Dalton had mentioned his suspicions before, it was another thing to hear him openly state the case.
“So where will you start? I mean, in terms of interviewing people. There’s a long list if you include the staff and customers, plus Val’s friends and associates.”
“I know. I’m going to begin with the obvious. One person of interest is that assistant who didn’t show up for work. No one has heard from her, and her apartment is empty.”
Marla sat up straight. “Empty, as in cleared out? Like, she’s moved without telling anyone?”
“No, I mean her stuff is still there, but no trace of her exists. I don’t get a good feeling about it.”
“You think she was involved and then vamoosed?”
“Something like that. But we’ve got other possibilities.”
So did Marla. Traci had said the person who’d called to make Val’s appointment came from Friends of Old Florida. It was time Marla stopped by their office. Mondays were her day off, so she could drop in with the excuse of confirming details for the fashion show.
Marla found the offices for FOFL in a converted house in the Victoria Park section of town. East of the Fort Lauderdale high-rises, this pricy district boasted waterways and expensive homes, including an eclectic mixture of mansions and old Florida cracker-style houses. Its tree-lined lanes seemed appropriate for the location of a historical society. Marla had often taken a shortcut through here from Broward to Sunrise Boulevard and thought it must cost a fortune to maintain these places.
Having parked her white Camry alongside the curb, she clutched her black Coach bag and proceeded past a cracked sidewalk to the front door of the two-story structure. Peeling paint, missing roof tiles, and holes by the windows for hurricane shutters attested to the house’s age. Evidently they hadn’t updated to impact-resistant windows or put on a new roof in recent times. How did the organization raise funds for building maintenance?
Facing a polished wood door, she rang the bell and heard someone from within holler, “Enter.” The doorknob twisted easily, and she breezed inside. She stood in a dimly lit hallway, a staircase to her immediate left. Ahead was a series of rooms opening off a long hallway. Seeing the light on in one of them, she stepped in that direction.
A woman emerged from the doorway. She wore her dark brown hair in a ponytail and wire-rimmed glasses on her nose. A patterned top flowed over a pair of slim black pants. Her only items of embellishment were a wristwatch and a pair of pearl stud earrings. Marla felt overdressed in comparison, wearing a maxi dress with strappy sandals and turquoise jewelry.
“How may I help you?” the lady said.
She looked familiar. Had Marla seen her at the funeral? “I’m Marla Vail, owner of Cut ’N Dye Salon and Day Spa. Lora hired us for the fashion show to do the models’ hairstyles. I thought I’d stop by to confirm our arrangements.”
“You really should be talking to Yolanda Whipp. She’s the designer in charge of the show.”
“I know, but my contract is with your group.”
“All right, come inside.” With a gesture, she led Marla into her office. “Have a seat while I look up the paperwork. I’m Sue Ellen Wyatt, the group’s secretary.”
Oh, yes, now Marla remembered. She’d been the person at the memorial speaking to a man named Rick Rodriguez.
As Sue Ellen headed to a dented metal four-drawer file cabinet, Marla wondered how she found anything among the piles of papers strewn across every surface. The air had a musty tinge, and an air-conditioner hummed in the background even though it was cool enough outside to open windows. These looked to be the old jalousie type. Maybe the hand cranks were broken.
“Did this place used to be someone’s home?” she asked, curiosity overtaking her. She’d gained an appreciation for history on her recent honeymoon out west, where Dalton’s uncle was restoring a ghost town.
“Yes, the history is quite interesting,” Sue Ellen replied, her back turned toward Marla as she riffled through the files. “Here it is.” Returning to her desk, she claimed her chair. “This house was originally built in 1915. Henry Witherspoon bought it for his wife, who operated a schoolhouse on the first floor after his death and rented rooms above to make ends meet. Eventually, it was donated to the school district.”
“So when did Friends of Old Florida take over?” Marla’s gaze rose to the planked ceiling. The house must be sturdy to have not succumbed to any hurricanes.
“We’ve been here since the 1980s. We’d like to restore the place and are trying to get it declared on the national historic register. That’s Solomon’s department.”
“Who is Solomon?”
“Mr. Gold, the president of FOFL. You should meet him. He’s just down the hall. He came in today to work on our newsletter. You’d be surprised by how many people are on our mailing list.”
“Volunteers or supporters?”
“The latter, mainly. We hold events throughout the year. These days, we send the newsletter out mostly by email, but there are a few holdouts who need a stamped envelope.” She waved one in the air. “That’s my job. Solomon writes the newsletter, and I distribute it.”
“How about Valerie Weston? Did she communicate via email? I’m asking because someone from here called our salon to make her facial appointment.”
Sue Ellen chuckled. “Dear Val. She didn’t like to do mundane things on her own when she could hire someone to do them for her.” The woman’s face sobered. “I’m going to miss her. We all are. It won’t be the same around here without her strong presence. She was a fighter. Val wasn’t afraid to confront anyone for what she believed was righ
t.”
“Was she in the midst of anything critical to your organization when she died?”
Sue Ellen’s lips compressed. “I’m not at liberty to discuss our business, Mrs. Vail. You’d have to talk to Solomon on those issues.” She glanced at the papers in her hand. “Here’s your contract. You’ve agreed to supply at least four stylists for the fashion show, without remuneration except for associated publicity. Again, speak to Yolanda if you want to get advance notice on the type of look she’s going for with her designs this year.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that. Does this fundraiser usually sell out?” she said, wondering at the size of the crowd. She hoped to slip into the ballroom once the show started to watch the models on the runway for at least part of the time. Yolanda’s fashions were legendary. Her pulse accelerated at the thought of viewing the designer’s gowns in person.
Sue Ellen turned over the papers on her desk. “Sales are going great. I’m hoping Val’s friends will still come. She has a standing order for two tables each year.”
“Does your organization do the ticket sales or do you hire an event planner?”
“Oh, we do them. It’s no big deal. A lot of people pay via PayPal these days. You should visit our website to see all the opportunities we offer.”
“I’ve already checked it out.” Marla slung her purse strap over her shoulder and rose to leave. She’d accomplished her main purpose in coming, which was to confirm her engagement at the fashion show. “So do you know who called in Val’s facial appointment?”
“Why, that was me, dear.” Sue Ellen’s face eased into a frown. “I don’t understand why she switched her time, though.”
Marla’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”
Sue Ellen pointed to a large desk calendar. “I scheduled her for two o’clock so she’d have plenty of time for her lunch meeting with Rick Rodriguez.”
“Two o’clock? Val’s was the first morning appointment for our beautician.”
“Somebody must have changed the time, but it wasn’t me.”
Interesting. Did Dalton know Val’s initial appointment had been changed? Traci hadn’t mentioned a second phone call. So who had made the switch?
“Who’s Rick Rodriguez?” she asked.
Sue Ellen’s face scrunched in distaste. “He’s a land developer. Val was fighting one of his proposed projects.”
“So she missed her lunch meeting with him that day.” How convenient for the guy that Val wasn’t around anymore to oppose him.
Her glance fell on a spreadsheet lying half-hidden on the desk. Sue Ellen shoved it under a pile of papers and rose to see her out.
“Thanks for coming in, Marla. May I call you by your first name?”
“Of course. It’s been good to meet you. Will you be at the fundraiser ball?”
“Naturally, it’s the highlight of the season for me.” She spoke those words but her gaze held a hint of pain, not joy, at the prospect. Was she being sarcastic?
Marla shook her hand and then turned away, puzzled by the sudden impression that Sue Ellen was hiding something.
It’s Dalton’s job to investigate, she reminded herself. But inevitably, her footsteps took her down the hall toward the president’s office.
CHAPTER FOUR
Marla knocked on the open office door. A gruff voice bade her to enter, and she strode inside. A heavyset man rose from behind a worn wood desk and greeted her with a quizzical frown.
“Hello, how may I help you?”
“I’m Marla Vail from Cut ’N Dye Salon and Day Spa. We’re booked to help backstage at the fashion show this month. We are also the place where Valerie Weston, uh, you know.” She glanced away and let her gaze flit among the organized stacks of papers on a counter and the neatly aligned collection of bird figurines on a windowsill.
“Ah, I see. I’m Solomon Gold, the organization’s president. Please have a seat,” he said with a sweep of his arm. His glance dipped to her wedding ring. “Had you been well acquainted with our patron, Mrs. Vail?”
“No, I’m afraid not. She was my beautician’s client, although they’d known each other for years. I’m sorry for your organization’s loss. I understand she was a beloved benefactor. I attended the funeral but didn’t have a chance to meet you there.”
He reclaimed his chair and steepled his hands on the desk. “She’ll be greatly missed. Val’s funding underwrote our annual ball. This event is our main source of revenue for the entire year. I don’t know what we’ll do without her support and enthusiasm.”
“Did she come into the offices here often?”
“I don’t see why that would be your concern.”
“I respect her work and hope to learn more about her. I’m thinking of making a donation in her memory.” And maybe I can learn more about you in the process.
“Well, in that case, our purpose is to preserve our historical heritage in terms of architecture. For example, we’re campaigning against a developer’s efforts to acquire a row of buildings from the 1930s on the Broadwalk at Hollywood Beach. He wants to replace them with a condo tower. Then there’s a home built in 1925 along the New River. We are hoping to get that one listed on the national historic register.”
“I get it. Your group tries to preserve places like Stranahan House,” she said, mentioning a popular tourist attraction in downtown Fort Lauderdale.
“That’s correct.” He rose and lumbered to a side counter, where he obtained a couple of brochures. “Here is information on our organization and on ways to donate.”
“Thanks.” Marla stuffed them in her purse. She indicated the bird figurines by the window. “What are those? Are you a birder?”
“Not in terms of bird watching, no. One of my private interests is in preventing birds from hitting windows. They don’t see the glass. Collisions kill millions of the creatures each year. Have you ever had one fly against a window at your house and fall limp to the ground?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“Some of them get up again, if they’ve been merely stunned. Others die. It’s a preventable death, if we can warn them off. There’s research being done into various ways to make bird-safe windows without obstructing the view.”
“That would be good.” Marla gathered her handbag. While instructional, this conversation was diverting off target. Perhaps Gold meant to mislead her on purpose.
“Some larger birds have a blind spot directly ahead as their eyes are placed to the side. Songbirds don’t have this gap but their frontal vision is weak. Research involves using UV light, because birds can detect it and we can’t. Patterns could be built into the glass that would warn them off.”
“You’re very passionate on the subject.”
“Yes, that’s true, and I’m just as passionate about our historic buildings. I hope you’ll consider joining our list of regular contributors.”
“Sure, I’ll read your brochure. In the meantime, I’ll look forward to seeing you again at the holiday ball. Will you be coming backstage?”
“I doubt it.” He gave her a patronizing grin. “I have my duties working the room. It’ll be weird this year without Val being there. She was a force all her own.”
“She’s with her sister now and at peace.”
“Yes, it’s so sad. The sister left behind a husband and two children. Val was devoted to those kids. Nonetheless, I’m hopeful she left us a bequest in her will. She was dedicated to our cause and promised she’d be generous.”
What’s sad is how you care more about her money. “So Val never married? I’d think she would have had many men interested in her.”
He shot a glance toward the door and lowered his voice. “Oh, she’d been married once. It soured her to the prospect again.”
“That’s too bad. Tell me, if I want to leave a donation in my will, what should I do?”
He pointed to her handbag. “The information is in the brochure. And your estate lawyer should be able to help you. Do you have children, Mrs. Va
il? Actually, why is your name familiar to me?” A frown creased his brow as recognition dawned, and he pulled a business card from under a stack of papers. “Wait, are you related to that police detective?”
Marla gave a proud smile. “He’s my husband. But be assured I’m here on my own. My stylists were hired for the fashion show long before Val’s death. I stopped by to make sure our contract was still valid. I’m thrilled that Lora asked us to participate.”
Gold snorted. “Lora had better enjoy this event. It might be our last without Val’s funding. I’ll have to put Howard onto finding another donor in her place.”
“Howard? Who’s he?”
“Howard Cohn is our treasurer. He reimburses Lora for her trips. She’ll be disappointed if they’re curtailed.”
“Yes, Lora mentioned she travelled a lot. What exactly is her role?”
“She acts as our liaison to other building preservation groups around the country. Lora confers with them over fundraising strategies and attends special events as our envoy.”
“I see.” And without Val’s money, Marla surmised, these trips might cease. “Surely Val’s provisions, if she did indeed leave something for the group in her will, might be enough to continue Lora’s trips and the annual ball.”
“I hope you’re right. Val had been talking recently about how pollutants contaminated our environment, and who knew which poisons caused her sister’s illness? I was afraid we might lose her to a new cause.”
Marla narrowed her eyes. Had he been afraid she’d change her will and leave FOFL in the dust? Her head reeling from the implications if this were true, she changed tactics.
“I spoke to Sue Ellen. She made Val’s appointment at the day spa but says the initial time was for two o’clock. Do you know who might have changed it to first thing in the morning?”
Gold’s wide shoulders rose and fell. “I have no idea. Why, is this significant?”
Marla wished she could tell him Val’s death was being considered a homicide but held her tongue. “It could be. If you find out, can you let me know?” She stood. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Gold. I’ll look forward to seeing you at the holiday event.”
Facials Can Be Fatal Page 5
