Facials Can Be Fatal

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “Oh, really? Does he favor selling them or preserving the region’s history?”

  “He’s against selling those properties, so he agreed with Val in that regard. I still consider the beautician a more viable suspect. The victim might have discovered her secret.”

  Uh-oh. What did Kat know that she didn’t? Marla rose to face her. “What secret is that?”

  “That Rosana never filed for citizenship papers. She’s in this country illegally.”

  “That’s impossible. I confirmed her status myself.”

  “How so?”

  “She has a valid driver’s license.”

  Kat snorted. “Anyone can obtain a driver’s license if you know the right people. Did you examine her immigration papers?”

  “I didn’t feel it was necessary.” In retrospect, perhaps that had been an error on her part. Could this be true? Rosana had been lying about her citizenship status? And if the woman wasn’t being truthful about this matter, what else was she keeping from them?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Marla went back to work, troubled by Kat’s revelation. How could Rosana have lied about her citizenship status? Why hadn’t she applied years ago?

  Wait a minute. Hadn’t she married an American? Wouldn’t that grant her status without the rigmarole? She yanked out her cell phone and texted Kat. Perhaps the detective hadn’t looked into Rosana’s family situation. Then again, on what evidence did Kat state that Rosana was here illegally? Could her marriage be a lie, too?

  Troubled by a sense of betrayal, she vowed to ask Rosana about it later. Meanwhile, Marla kept busy and grabbed a bite to eat in between customers. The thought of Kat interrogating her spa personnel put her nerves on edge. So when Traci summoned her with a mysterious message, she hastened over to the spa as soon as she had a spare moment. Fortunately, the reporters who’d hovered outside hoping for a statement had already dispersed.

  She was startled to see Traci with a smock on and getting her hair bleached. Her glossy pink lips split into a grin at the expression on Marla’s face.

  “What? I’ve always wanted to be a blonde. It’ll go better with my blue eyes, and the guys might notice me more. Don’t you think?”

  “You’ll look great.” Not that you needed to change your looks with that figure. “But why did you call me over? What’s wrong?”

  Traci shifted in her chair at the front desk where she waited for her solution to process. “A customer came in who said she’s a friend of Val. She wants to speak to the owner.”

  Oh, great. Did this woman intend to give Marla a dressing down for letting Val die in her salon slash day spa?

  “Okay, I’ll see what she wants. Where is she?”

  “You’ll find her in number six. Her name is Nadia Welsh.”

  Marla entered one of the private rooms where nails, paraffin treatments, and foot reflexology were done. Soothing New Age music played in the background, while a citrus scent perfumed the air. Vats of swirling water weren’t used for pedicures here. She’d hired girls who knew a European technique employing waterless foot care. Marla had tried it herself at a salon on Las Olas and liked the more sanitary technique. None of their customers had complained about missing the foot soak.

  A comfy lounge chair and a wood secretary cabinet provided the main furnishings, with a potted plant in one corner and an extra chair for visitors. From the glass of iced green tea and plate of half-eaten pastry on a rolling side table, it appeared as though the woman had raided their lounge. None of the rooms had a TV with soap operas or depressing world news to provide distraction. More than one of their clients had been so relaxed as to doze off in these chairs. The technician easily switched sides in her wheeled seat while doing a manicure.

  Reclining in the lounger now was a middle-aged woman with straw-colored hair, a navy and ivory top over white capri pants, and painted coral fingernails. The nail tech smiled with a nod of greeting at Marla’s approach and then got back to work on the woman’s toes.

  “Are you Nadia? I’m Marla Shore, the salon and spa owner.”

  “Hi, I wanted to talk to you about my friend, Valerie Weston.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. We feel terrible about what happened.”

  Nadia’s eyes glistened. “Val and I had known each other for years. I knew her secrets and she knew mine. I understand you’re married to the detective investigating the case?”

  “Yes, that’s right. He’s working with his partner, Lieutenant Katherine Minnetti,” she added, so the woman wouldn’t think there was a conflict of interest.

  “I have some information you might want to pass on.” Nadia winced when the nail tech scraped under her big toe nail. “You do know Val was a benefactor for Friends of Old Florida, right? She was passionate about preserving our regional history and loved those old buildings.”

  “Yes, I visited their offices the other day and spoke to the president. He said Val had been involved in a fight against a land developer over a strip of historic structures on Hollywood Beach?”

  Nadia snickered. “Did that man tell you he owns several of those buildings, and they provide him with rental income?”

  “I’d heard he owned them but not that he rented them out. Did Mr. Gold assign this project to Val, or did she take it on by herself?”

  “She made her own decisions. Val loved the architecture with the rounded curves and bright tropical colors. Once she got the bee in her bonnet to salvage some old building, she went after it hog-wild. She’d butted heads with Rick Rodriguez more than once.”

  “The land developer? Do you think he’s happier now that she’s out of the way?”

  Nadia shook her head. “FOFL will only pursue those issues without her. Solomon is pushing to get those 30s buildings onto the National Register of Historic Places. Lora Larue, a board member, consulted the Miami Design Preservation League, since they’d been involved with Miami Beach’s Art Deco Historic District.”

  Marla drew over the other chair in the room and took a seat. She couldn’t afford to be here too long, but this woman had some valuable information.

  “Tell me about Lora. Were she and Val good friends?”

  Nadia guffawed. “They worked together. I wouldn’t say they were friends. They each had different dispositions, shall we say.”

  “Lora takes a lot of trips on behalf of the organization, from what I’ve been told. Do you think those will end without Val’s contributions to the group?”

  “I don’t see why they would. Val provided handsomely for FOFL”—she pronounced it foffle like everyone else—“in her will, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “You know this for a fact? Val told you so?”

  “It wasn’t a secret. Val often mentioned her bequest to wield power. Although lately she’d . . .” Nadia cast a furtive glance at the nail tech, who pretended disinterest.

  “Yes?” Marla asked in an encouraging tone.

  “After Val’s sister died, she’d been rethinking her purpose. She loved those old buildings, but what good would preserving them do for future generations if no one is around to appreciate their beauty? Her sister died from breast cancer. Val briefly thought about supporting medical research, but she figured pollution had to be a causative factor. We breathe poisons in the air, eat them in our food, and tolerate them in our homes in the form of radon. If we don’t act more strongly to preserve our planet, new diseases will spring up to foil us.”

  “You sound like a believer.”

  “I believe in the old adage, you are what you eat.” Nadia glared at her, wagging a forefinger. At her feet, the technician worked silently. She was probably used to her clients spouting off on all sorts of topics. “Unknown additives are put into our food, much of which is genetically modified. Then there are insecticides coating our fruits and vegetables. Unless you stick to organic products, you don’t know what you’re getting. These chemicals disrupt our systems. They’re probably what cause so many of our cancers.”

  “I have no do
ubt you’re right. And what about cell phone or microwave emissions? The list goes on, but you can’t live your life afraid of everything you consume or use.”

  “No, but awareness can be raised and safety standards put in place. Val was seriously considering supporting these efforts.”

  “She must have been devastated when her sister passed away. Will the husband stay in the area, do you think?” Marla’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket. It must be Robyn notifying her that the next customer had arrived.

  Nadia shrugged. “Who knows? Sean is a nice guy. I couldn’t make the funeral but I sent flowers. Poor man will have to raise their children alone.”

  Rising, Marla smoothed her skirt. “Too bad Val never had kids of her own.”

  “It wasn’t in her cards,” Nadia said, expressing what Marla felt about herself.

  “Yet she’d been married? Did you know her back then?”

  Nadia’s face clouded. “Yes. Her ex was a louse. The guy was only after her money, or at least that was Val’s excuse for dumping him.”

  “And she didn’t want to take another chance on love?”

  “Who says she didn’t, dear? Love comes in different ways.” Nadia turned her attention to the pedicurist, who’d finished filing her heels and was rubbing an exfoliate cream on her legs. “Oh, that feels good. Thanks for listening, Marla. I can see why Val liked your spa and will recommend it to my friends. But please see to it that your husband looks into the things we’ve discussed. Specifically, FOFL’s officers.”

  “I’ll do that. Thank you for the information.” As Marla headed back to her salon, she mulled over their conversation. While she hadn’t learned a whole lot that was new, Nadia’s last message may have been the point of their meeting. Plus, something nagged at her. Why hadn’t Val remarried? Had Dalton gone over to check out her place and speak to the neighbors?

  She asked him that night after they’d retired to bed. He put down the book he’d been reading about World War II to regard her. His spice scent aroused her but she tamped down her response, waiting to see what he would share.

  “Yes, I’ve been to her home and interviewed the staff. She lived in a Mediterranean-style mansion on the water. You’d love her place. It speaks of old money.”

  “Where did she get her fortune?”

  “Her mother’s family had a stake in Florida’s East Coast Railroad. That’s where the inheritance came from, but Val got her interest in history from her father. According to one of her friends, the man was a naturalist whose tales of Florida pirates, Indians, and Spanish explorers captivated her. Val’s ancestry might even have included a pirate who ploughed the high seas by the Florida Keys.”

  “Did you know she’d been married and divorced?”

  “So I heard. We looked up the guy. He lives out in California and remarried. He’s not a factor.”

  “It’s almost as though she substituted charitable works for a love life after her failed marriage. Did she have any boyfriends?”

  Dalton’s mouth compressed. “No one the staff mentioned. She lived a private life aside from her society functions. Oh, and the lady was an artist.”

  Marla sat upright. “What?”

  “She painted watercolor scenes of natural Florida. Her works were quite popular at juried art shows. I can’t tell which passion she held to more, saving historic buildings or painting.”

  “This is news to me. I’m surprised Val’s friend, Nadia, didn’t mention it when we spoke this morning.” Marla related the gist of their conversation.

  “We’re already checking into FOFL’s officers.” Leaning on his elbow, Dalton tickled her arm when she lay down to face him.

  “Sue Ellen, the group’s secretary, is the one who made Val’s facial appointment,” Marla said. “She’d scheduled it for two o’clock that afternoon, but someone called to change the time. Will you look into it?”

  “Sure, I’ll check it out. It could be important.”

  Marla told him what else she’d learned from her visit to FOFL’s offices. “Val had an antagonistic relationship with Rick Rodriguez. Mr. Gold mentioned the developer’s proposal during our discussion, but he neglected to reveal his personal stake in keeping some of those historic buildings under his ownership.”

  “The builder is a person of interest. His path is clearer with Val out of the way.”

  “Not if Gold persists in opposing his project. I’m also concerned about how everyone knew Val promised a bequest to FOFL in her will. After her sister’s death, the president was afraid she might make a change. That gives him a motive. And did you know Lora Larue hired our stylists for the fashion show at Val’s recommendation? Lora goes on a lot of trips for the group. If they lose Val’s funding, she might find this benefit curtailed.”

  “That hardly seems like a motive for murder.”

  “Maybe, but people have been killed for less. You’ve told me so yourself. What about that girl, Patty? Have you tracked her down yet?”

  “We’re working on it. Can we stop with the shop talk for now?” His hand drifted lower, making his intent clear.

  She swatted it away. “In a minute. Guess who I saw while I was driving through Wilton Manors on my way home from visiting FOFL’s headquarters? Tally’s husband, Ken. He was coming out of a café with some woman.”

  “So? It could have been a business engagement.”

  “I asked Tally about him later. She said he’d been doing paperwork in his office all day.”

  “Marla, mind your own business. You don’t want to go snooping into your friend’s affairs. And you certainly don’t want to imagine things that aren’t there.”

  “But Tally said he’s been acting distracted lately.”

  “The guy has a new baby. Who wouldn’t be?” His exploring fingers cupped a part of her that involuntarily reacted. “Speaking of babies, we should discuss—”

  “No, we shouldn’t.” She sought a quick way to change the subject. “Your partner stopped by the spa to interview the staff. I don’t like her implications about Rosana. She said the woman is here illegally, but Rosana showed me her driver’s license. And I believe she’s married to an American. Can you check into her status? I’d hate to think she lied to us.”

  His eyes narrowed, as though he knew she’d redirected their conversation on purpose. Thankfully, he didn’t pursue it. “If she did falsify her credentials, that could be significant.”

  “Rosana has nothing to gain by Val’s death. She’d been treating the woman for years.”

  “And yet someone entered the day spa and doctored the face cream, knowing exactly which one Rosana used on Val.”

  “Yes, and she’d be stupid to kill her own client with the smoking gun pointing right at her. The bad guy must have accessed her files.”

  “Kat will examine all the possibilities. She’s good at her job. Listen, I’m more concerned about Brianna. She wants to drive every chance she gets. I wish she’d practice around the neighborhood more often before venturing too far.”

  “Did her driving instructor tell you he plans to take her on the highway next?”

  That put cold water on his ardor. He rolled onto his back with a groan. “Good Lord. Not I-95, I hope. I’ll forbid it until she has at least a year of driving experience under her belt. The turnpike has less traffic, or even the Sawgrass Expressway.”

  Marla’s gut clawed with anxiety over either prospect. “Let’s not think about that now.”

  “How about the lawsuit against you? Has it been dismissed yet?”

  “No, my insurance agent is supposed to get back to me. I’m trying not to dwell on it.”

  “You’ll see, it’ll be thrown out of court as a nuisance case.” He leaned over to kiss her. “I have no doubt you’ll rise to the top.”

  “Oh, yes.” She did just that, reviving their passion and erasing all further thoughts.

  On Thursday morning, before going into the salon, Marla detoured to the hotel where the fashion show would take place. She needed to scou
t the area where her staff would be working to make sure they’d have adequate electrical outlets and such. The ritzy hotel on Fort Lauderdale Beach faced the ocean across the street on A1A.

  Inside the spacious lobby, she gazed at immense crystal chandeliers, bouquets of flowers, and ornate Corinthian columns. Her heels echoed on the marble floor as she headed toward a polished wood front desk. One of the uniformed clerks smiled at her approach.

  “I’m Marla Vail. I’ll be working at the fashion show coming up this Saturday for the Friends of Old Florida event. Can you direct me to the location where we’ll be setting up? I’d like to check out the facilities ahead of time to see what we need to bring.”

  “Of course, miss. Our resort manager should be able to help you.” He waved to a heavy-set fellow in a suit across the grand hall. As the guy strode over at his signal, the clerk addressed him. “Mr. Kahuna, this lady would like a tour of the backstage area for Saturday’s fashion show.”

  The man turned to her with a grin and a handshake. He had a flat nose, wide lips, and dark, expressive eyes against a tanned complexion. His longish black hair brushed his broad shoulders. “I’m Biggs Kahuna. I’ll be happy to help.”

  “Biggs? That’s an unusual name. I’m Marla Vail.”

  He chuckled. “Biggs is a nickname. You can see why.” He indicated his rotund form.

  After Marla mentioned her purpose, he gestured for her to follow him down a wide hallway. They passed double doors labeled with a ballroom name and kept going.

  “That’s the Starlight Ballroom where the function will take place. Up ahead and around the corner is the actual backstage area. But the section where the models get prepped is on this opposite side.”

  Further along, he opened a door to their left and led her through a maze of connected rooms. One held a mirrored wall and mobile clothing racks. This might be where the models got dressed, Marla figured. Or it could serve as a staging area for a theatrical performance. An adjacent space sported a row of dressing tables lined up facing wall-mounted mirrors. Each one had a swivel chair and plentiful electrical outlets.