Perish By Pedicure

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “Is there anything on extensions?” she asked Liesl during a momentary lull. “I see they’re doing braiding over at Donado International.” Not all the companies had big stage productions or their own theater like Paul Mitchell’s artists. Many of the companies offered exhibit-hall education at their booths. Creative hair design interested her, because she was thinking she’d like to do more of that in her new salon location. The more elaborate jobs brought in bigger bucks, and she’d need added income to balance her expense sheet.

  “You have several choices for extensions,” the blonde said, consulting the schedule. “Torain is doing a class. He’s well-known as an author, teacher, and cosmetology demonstrator. ‘Torain introduced the contemporary adhesive hair-extension system called Fusion,’” Liesl read. “’Learn techniques that will allow you to perform one of today’s highest-paying salon services.’”

  “That sounds good,” Marla replied. “Anything else?” She peered over Liesl’s shoulder.

  “Here’s a demo that specializes in products for the Hispanic market. That could be useful for you in South Florida. Or else, Baha is presenting their Ultratress hair-extension technique. Get this, luv. You could win a free class valued at five hundred dollars if you attend.”

  “Nice, but I wouldn’t have time to take advantage of it.”

  “How about this one? ‘Increase your ticket price by learning about wigs, weaves, and extensions.’”

  “Too complicated. I need to concentrate on one technique at a time. Actually, I’m hoping to learn the most from watching Ron and Sampson.”

  Liesl gave her a guarded smile, as though she wanted to be Mark’s friend but couldn’t quite loosen her reserve. “Sampson acts like a blooming prima donna, but he knows his stuff. He’s a Platform Artist of the Year winner and was nominated for Top International Stylist I plan to stick with the bloke.”

  “Did he enter any of the professional competitions at this show?” The first fifteen contestants in each hair competition received a free mannequin. That hardly made up for the hundred-dollar registration fee, in Marla’s opinion. Then again, entering contests served as a means to garner recognition. It might be worthwhile to consider for the future, especially if winning could raise her profile with Luxor.

  “Not that I’m aware of. Look, there goes Adam Phelan. He won the GQ Image of the Year and Next Generation Fellowship awards. I think he’s doing a workshop on razor cutting.”

  “You seem to know a lot of these people.” Marla was familiar only with the big names, but, then, she didn’t attend as many shows as Luxor’s team.

  “It’s part of the job.”

  “What do you get out of it, aside from having your travel expenses paid?”

  Liesl’s gaze slid to Tyler. “It helps me improve my skills, luv. I don’t have any ambition to open my own place, but I aim to work in a high-class London salon one day. For now, I’m not tied down. Chris appreciated my ability to join the group at short notice. She wouldn’t bring anyone in who was too rigid. I guess you’re lucky there was a last-minute opening for another stylist.”

  “Thanks to Georgia. She’s pretty much a free soul, isn’t she?” Marla said with affection.

  “Rubbish. Georgia is looking to get hitched.” Liesl brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “She almost got married at our last show in Vegas. I’m surprised she agreed to work with Chris again after what happened.”

  Ron signaled them with an annoyed frown on his face. Pushing aside her nervousness at her upcoming performance, Marla pressed Liesl for more information as they headed toward the master stylist “And what was that?”

  “Why, don’t you know? That’s when Georgia discovered Christine in bed with her fiancé.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Liesl gave her a knowing glance. “I’m serious. Georgia and Nick were thinking about getting married in one of the wedding chapels. She broke off the engagement after catching him with Chris. Chris let on that he’d seduced her, but Georgia didn’t believe it. She figured Chris had to assert control as a reminder that she was in charge. When you worked for Chris, it was her way or no way. Personal issues had no place on her ground, or she’d mow you down.”

  Turning away, Liesl left while Marla stared after her. Why didn ‘t Georgia tell me? she thought, narrowing her eyes as she glanced at her friend, who worked the counter blithely as though nothing untoward had happened. Had Georgia used this show as a cover to get revenge? If so, why wait until now?

  Maybe that hadn’t been enough to motivate Georgia to murder her boss. Maybe getting fired had lit the fuse. But that didn’t make sense, if Chris ingested the wrong drug in time for the cocktail party, or even at the event. Presumably it was the food she ate there that interacted adversely with the medication in her system. That meant someone had slipped it to her before she’d fired Georgia, right?

  Chewing her bottom lip, Marla contemplated the possibility that she had housed a murderess under her roof this weekend. Even though it seemed illogical, she couldn’t help adding Georgia to her list of suspects. What would Georgia do when the police got her alone for more intensive questioning?

  I have to help her, Marla decided. Despite her suspicions, she didn’t believe Georgia had done in their bossy director. No one had cared for Chris, and someone else was just as likely to have slipped her the dangerous drug. Marla could try to find out who would have the requisite medical knowledge as well as access to prescription medications, like the earlier class of antidepressant that wasn’t much used today.

  With her concentration elsewhere, Marla had trouble focusing on her stage demo. Ron shouted orders while she snipped and styled the model’s hair. She fumbled the shears more than once, aware of the growing crowd, but all she could think of was Chris’s absence.

  Ron lifted her elbow. “Hold this section closer to the head and take smaller cuts,” he said, speaking into his lapel microphone. ‘You want it to fall back in just this way.” Grabbing a segment of hair, he showed her the proper technique. The silver studs on his jacket shimmered from the overhead lights. He drew aside with a flourish but not before she saw his glowing expression.

  Of course. Sampson was the only one on the schedule today for giving a presentation at Luxor’s exhibit, so Ron had arranged for this little lesson out of spite. It gave him a chance to showcase his talent under the guise of teaching Marla. How clever.

  But how did Ron know that Sampson would be late? Probably the artistic director slept in at every show. Or he’d entered an early competition so he could strut his stuff twice in one day. Marla wouldn’t put it past him.

  Sampson strolled into view just as she prepared to take a break. She’d ended up acquitting herself rather well at the demo, pleased with how the model’s hair turned out. From the rapt faces on the audience, it appeared people had enjoyed the display. Marla hadn’t realized how much satisfaction could come from instructing others. This time she had been a student under Ron’s tutelage. Maybe next time, she’d try the role as teacher.

  “Want to walk around with me?” she asked Georgia. They had enough people to man the counters. Every hour, someone left to speak to the police investigator. Marla’s turn came after lunch, which wouldn’t be beneficial to her digestive system. Better grab a snack now so she’d have her wits about her later.

  “Sure, hon.” Georgia reached under the counter to snatch her purse. ‘You wanted to check out the salon furniture, didn’t you? I think there’s a whole section just before the nail polishes. And I’d like to get into the Ace discount store if we have time. The line was too long when I went by there earlier.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re in a better mood. Shopping always gives me a lift, too.” With a grin, Marla started down the aisle. She and Georgia both wore their smocks with the company logo.

  Farther along, she gaped at a group of male dancers gyrating on a stage to a pounding beat of loud rock music. They wore tight black pants and body-hugging shirts, except for a pumpkin-
haired guy in a kilt. Waving his arms over his head, he rotated his hips in an erotic motion that brought catcalls from the female audience. Another troupe of dancers trounced around on stage, women wearing tube tops adorned with blinking lights, their spiked hair in sunburst colors.

  She didn’t realize she’d stopped until Georgia yanked her onward. “You wanna ogle guys? Check out the Menswork performance later. They’re showing their punk collection in rock-and-roll hair.”

  “That’s okay. Now here’s something I need.” She pointed to another exhibit. “Bridal services. New graduates don’t realize all the things you can do with wedding parties.”

  “Come on over, ladies.” The educator, a svelte brunette, signaled to them. “We’re demonstrating spectacular hair for your spring and summer brides. Create an unforgettable look that your customers will remember for a lifetime. Spend a few minutes with us and you’ll see how to accessorize with veils and jewelry. Learn folding, knotting, lacing, and banding techniques. Wait, don’t leave. Take one of our promotional packets.”

  The salesgirl handed Marla a stuffed bag full of sample products and literature. I should have brought a shopping cart for all the freebies, Marla reflected. The bridal market was another area in which she could expand, with pre-wedding consultations as well as onsite service packages. But that would have to wait until she moved into her new salon.

  “I always feel overwhelmed at these shows,” she admitted to Georgia, turning down a row where brooms for sweeping hair were on sale along with tattoo jewelry, hair clips, styling books, and ceramic straightening irons. Smells of garlic and onions reached her nostrils as they arrived at the far end near the food court, where they got in line at Starbucks.

  Georgia shifted from one foot to the other. “I love having the opportunity to travel and learn new techniques. I wouldn’t be able to go to so many places just on my salary.”

  “Do you rent your chair or work on commission?”

  “I’m a renter, so I can reschedule my clients if a show comes up. I like being independent.”

  “I don’t do chair rentals at my salon anymore. It gives me more control and makes for better team spirit when we split a commission. I think your owner can be more involved that way.”

  “You also have more responsibilities, like restocking shelves and continuing the education for your stylists,” Georgia pointed out.

  That’s why I go to classes, so I can bring home the things I learn.” At the window, Marla ordered a tall black coffee and a piece of the low-fat cinnamon cake. Offering to treat her friend, she stood back while Georgia placed her order.

  “I’d like to take you out to dinner,” Georgia said. “It’s the least I can do in return for your letting me stay at your place.”

  “Let’s see what Dalton has planned with Larry and Justine.” Balancing her hot coffee cup and plate, Marla advanced to the condiment station. “I guess you’ve never had to worry about in-laws, let alone a man’s in-laws from his previous marriage.” She kept her tone idle, as though not expecting a reply. In truth, Marla hoped to prod Georgia into telling her about Las Vegas.

  Finding a seat at an unoccupied table, Georgia claimed the spot, and Marla followed suit after adding cream and sugar to her coffee. “I almost had the chance for a family, but Chris ruined it for me,” Georgia said, the corners of her mouth turned down.

  Marla blew on the hot liquid in her cup. “How so?”

  “I finally met a man I really dug. We were talking about getting married. He’d even gone so far as to buy me a ring.” Georgia cast her eyes downward, twirling a plastic spoon in her cappuccino. “He came to the last show in Vegas with me. Nick attended the cocktail party and had a good time meeting everyone. But that was a mistake.”

  “Go on.” Marla leaned forward so she could hear over the background chatter echoing in the huge hall. Dipping her tongue into her drink, she determined the coffee had cooled enough for her to sip.

  “It was so awesome, us being there together, but I let it distract me,” Georgia said. “Chris felt I wasn’t up to par. Nick and I were thinking about hiring one of those wedding chapels, and we had arrangements to make. Chris got mad when I told her what we had in mind.”

  “What did she care what you did on your personal time? Besides, she should have been happy for you.”

  “Not when Luxor paid my way. Anyway, I went off with some of the girls to go shopping, but I felt guilty leaving Nick behind. So I returned early. Chris was in bed with him.” Georgia lifted her face, her eyes filled with remembered pain.

  “You must have been furious.”

  “Furious doesn’t begin to describe how I felt. It was my room, so I kicked them out, and I threw Nick’s suitcase in the hall after him. I never wanted to see him again.”

  “What about Chris? I’d blame her for seducing the guy. What a rotten thing to do behind your back.”

  “I hated her, but I understood her reasons. It was never about stealing Nick from me. Chris, ever the control freak, expected my full devotion, and our romance interfered. She probably figured we’d have a spat and make up later, but I couldn’t forgive Nick for betraying me.”

  “So you just went back to work?”

  “I told Chris I didn’t have to like working for her, but I had an obligation to Luxor, and I wouldn’t abandon the crew. I guess I was kinda hoping she wouldn’t be around for the Beauty Classic trade show that I’d signed on for next.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

  Georgia shrugged. “It’s history. What matters now is that I’m single and looking.”

  “It matters that Chris is dead and you have a possible motive, if her death proves to be a deliberate act.”

  “Excuse me? It’s a far reach to believe I’d knock Chris off over something that happened months ago.”

  “Combined with the fact that she just fired you, I’d say you’re a prime suspect.” Marla forked a piece of cake into her mouth. The moist cinnamon flavor melted on her tongue.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Tyler remarked that you’re lucky to still have a job. He said how convenient it was for you that Chris died, and no one is the wiser.”

  “He’d better keep his mouth shut. I hope he didn’t rat on me to the detective. “You’re not gonna say anything, are you?”

  “I’ve learned not to volunteer information.” They fell silent, consuming their snacks. “Can I ask you something?” Marla said after swallowing her last bite. “Liesl answers my questions well enough, but she seems hard to get to know. I notice she acts more relaxed around you.”

  “Don’t take it personally. She feels guilty about her family history. Once when she was tipsy, she told me about it. Liesl’s grandfather served in the Gestapo. His wife fled to England with their children, one of whom married an American and moved to the United States. That was Liesl’s mother.”

  “Why should she feel bad about what her grandfather did?”

  “Collective guilt. I imagine she feels awkward around you.”

  “Tell me about it.” Marla rolled her shoulders to shrug off worldly concerns. They had enough problems without worrying about buried hatreds and generational atonement.

  She consulted her floor map for the booth with AB Salon Equipment. “Number thirty-four hundred is at the south end opposite the OPI exhibit. Let’s move on.”

  Tossing her trash into a garbage can, she started down the nearest aisle. She couldn’t decide what to look at first: gleaming shears at Ashai Scissors, titanium brushes at Interfashion USA, or Turbo Power hair dryers. Georgia lingered by a collection of shiny metal tweezers.

  Some guy was arguing with a security guard at another hairbrush booth. “When I opened the package I’d bought, the brush wasn’t the same model this fellow showed me. I want the one I paid for,” he said in a loud voice.

  Uh-oh. Marla hastened forward, dodging a surge of nail techs who stomped by discussing the latest China Glaze collection.

  “Tell me
again what happened last night,” she said to Georgia, hoping to spot a discrepancy in Tyler’s report.

  “I’m getting sick of repeating myself.” Glancing at her, Georgia sighed. “Sorry, I know you’re trying to help. I went along to give Tyler moral support, and Chris accused us of having an affair. She thought I wanted revenge for what she did to me and Nick. I tried to convince her otherwise, but she wouldn’t listen. She kept shouting at me, and her face was so red, I thought she’d burst a blood vessel.”

  “She complained of a headache earlier, remember? She might have been feeling ill by then.”

  “Oh, she was ill all right. That woman had mental problems.”

  Alarm shot up Marla’s spine. Did Georgia know that Chris had a history of depression before they learned about the antidepressants? Jostled by the crowd, she consulted her map to get her bearings. They should make a right at the Creative Nail corner.

  “You saw how Chris ordered you around,” Georgia continued. “She didn’t respect anyone, not even Sampson. He’s our leading design artist, and yet she made him dance to her tune same as everyone else.”

  Marla recalled the check he’d written to Chris. “I wonder what hold she had on him.”

  “Good question.”

  “Let’s keep our ears open. If you hear anything that might be important, let me know, okay?”

  “I’m more likely to add to your problems. Gosh, hon, I’ve brought a load of trouble on you, haven’t I?” Georgia patted Marla’s shoulder.

  Marla thought about Justine and Larry waiting back in her town house to offer more criticisms, Dalton’s probable resentment that he was left to deal with them alone, and Brianna caught in the middle. Never mind that she found herself in the midst of another murder.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she replied with a wry twist to her lips. “I manage to find enough trouble on my own.”

  Chapter Eight

  The homicide detective appropriated an unused classroom on the second floor for his interviews. Marla wiped her sweaty palms on her smock as she approached the door and gave her name to a deputy standing guard. She should be used to this by now, but it wasn’t Vail questioning her this time.