Sergeant Masterson had a craggy face like Columbo’s and wore a rumpled blue shirt with a diagonally striped tie. He’d discarded his jacket, draping it over an empty chair. At his motion to enter, Marla strolled inside and sank into the seat he indicated. She hadn’t passed anyone in the hallway, making her wonder whom he’d interviewed last. Steeling herself, she clutched her hands in her lap while primly crossing her ankles.
After she answered the standard opening questions, he got down to business. His keen brown eyes narrowed as he fired the first salvo. “Tell me how you first met Christine Parks.” She noticed that his shoulders hunched while he waited for her reply.
“My friend Georgia introduced me to her on Friday.” She compressed her lips, having learned not to offer extra information. She waited to see where he would lead her.
“This was your first experience working with this group, correct?” he said, consulting his notes. He clicked on a ballpoint pen in his hand.
“Yes, that’s right. Georgia told me there was an opening for an assistant stylist. I thought it would be a great opportunity to try something new.”
“You’ve known Miss Rogers for how long?”
“We were college roommates. We both dropped out after our sophomore year to go to beauty school.” Her gaze slid to the floor. That wasn’t the only reason why she’d dropped out, but the tragedy that had set her on her current path had no relevance to this investigation. She lifted her glance, staring at him defiantly. “I lost contact with Georgia for a while, but then she found my e-mail address. We got back in touch and sent each other holiday cards.”
The sergeant smirked, as though he knew all her secrets. “And then?”
“Then she called to tell me about the job opening. I offered to put her up at my house, so we could visit while she was here.”
“So she arrived on…?”
“Friday. I drove directly to the convention hotel so we could check in. That’s when I met Christine Parks for the first time. She brought down the rest of the staff for a preliminary meeting so we could go over the schedule.”
“How was her demeanor on this occasion?”
“Very much in charge.” Chris wore flashy clothes to attract attention, Marla wanted to add, but she bit her lower lip instead.
“Did her behavior seem off-kilter in any manner?”
“Not really, and she appeared to be perfectly healthy,” she said, anticipating his next question.
He gave her a sharp look. “Tell me about the others who were present.”
Lighten up, pal. I’m on your side. In a concise manner, she rattled off her basic impressions of her colleagues.
“And how did your friend Georgia react toward Miss Parks?”
Marla shifted her position. “No problems there. Everyone knew Chris was the boss.”
“Please answer my question.”
“I said, there weren’t any problems. Georgia acted respectfully toward the director. If anything, Sampson was the one who had a problem with Chris. He seemed to resent her for requiring him to attend what he deemed to be an administrative session. Chris put him in his place.”
“What about Janice Davidson, who has assumed command now?”
“Jan wasn’t particularly grateful for her promotion to regional manager. I don’t think she was angling for Chris’s position.” Oh no? Hadn’t Jan said something about the perfect revenge being her getting Chris’s job? And what about Tyler, who felt he should have moved up the ladder? If Jan got the directorship, that left a vacancy for her position. Tyler could end up being promoted after all. Was it possible that political maneuvering was behind Chris’s death? That seemed too obvious. On the other hand, Georgia could have a hidden agenda. Who had the best motive, if not a woman betrayed by her lover?
“Not everyone liked Chris,” she blurted out. “At the cocktail party, Tyler warned me about crossing her path. I heard the same thing from Jan and Amy.”
“Did they say why they felt this way?”
“Not specifically, but I got the impression there were personal issues involved. I really don’t know any of these people well enough for them to confide in me.”
“Not even your friend, Miss Rogers?”
She squirmed. “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t Miss Rogers have an altercation with the deceased later that evening?”
“Well, yes,” she said, wondering who had ratted on them. “But it started with Tyler. We were sitting in the lounge after the cocktail party. Chris wasn’t feeling well. She had a headache, and she asked Tyler to walk her to her room. He turned her down in a rather nasty manner.”
“Wasn’t your friend seated next to him?”
“What about it?”
“If she knew Chris had an interest in Tyler, she could have deliberately tried to provoke the victim.”
“That’s absurd. Tyler was the one making the move on Georgia. He’d put his arm around her.”
“And how did she react?”
“She slid away from him.”
“But not until she’d started an argument between Chris and Tyler.”
“Their disagreement had nothing to do with Georgia.”
“No? Didn’t Christine Parks once come between Georgia Rogers and her fiancé? Couldn’t Rogers, having detected the director’s interest in Tyler, have deliberately interfered in their relationship?”
Marla’s muscles tensed, and she gripped her hands together. ‘Tyler and Chris didn’t have a relationship. He wasn’t interested.”
“Precisely.”
“I tell you, that was not Georgia’s doing.”
“Rogers has been attending these shows for years. She’s probably gotten to know people’s habits. She could use that knowledge against them.”
“I don’t believe this. Georgia wouldn’t harm anyone, certainly not for an incident that happened months ago.”
“Someone wanted Chris dead.” The detective watched her carefully, gauging her response.
“I know all about the switch in antidepressant drugs,” she said, deciding to come clean. “My boyfriend is Detective Dalton Vail with the Palm Haven Police Force. He told me about the preliminary toxicology report.”
“Ah.” His neutral expression didn’t give away his opinion of this revelation.
“When do you think someone slipped her this drug? Presumably, she had an adverse reaction by taking the more dangerous medicine with the wrong foods. Doesn’t this imply the perpetrator had a degree of medical knowledge? Like, I didn’t know that drinking red wine and eating cheese could cause problems with some medications.”
“I’m considering the accessibility factor. Tell me, did Miss Parks obtain her own drinks from the bar?”
“Actually, at the cocktail party, a waiter came over and offered her a glass of wine. He said someone had paid the bartender. Did you talk to him?”
“I’ll ask the questions here, Marla. I may call you by your first name?” Scratching his head, he peered at his notes. “Did you see Chris helping herself to the appetizers? Or did one of your friends deliver a plate of hors d’oeuvres?”
“We were jostled by so many people, I can’t remember.” She pictured the scene, but had no memory of Chris standing in line at the buffet table. “Could you tell how many hours the drug had been in her system at the time of death?”
“It had a short half-life, so it wouldn’t have taken long to work its effects. I don’t think it’s anything Miss Parks took by mistake. I’m with you in that somebody gave it to her at the cocktail party.”
Marla leaned forward. “I’d like to help, because I don’t think Georgia would be capable. I’ve assisted Dalton with cases before with good results.”
Masterson’s face eased into a smile. “I’d be grateful for any tidbits of information you pass along, but I wouldn’t discount your friend if I were you. Rogers didn’t tell you about her engagement, did she?”
“Liesl told me, but Georgia was okay talking about it.”
�
�Close friends confide in each other. Did she also tell you she’d been fired?”
Tyler must have opened his big mouth. She met the detective’s hard gaze. “I learned that through the grapevine, too. Georgia didn’t deny it when I mentioned it to her.”
“Mr. Edgewater informed me about events that night,” he said, confirming her notion. “Evidently, the victim accused him of having an affair with Rogers. Despite their protests, Miss Parks dismissed your friend. Rogers stayed behind to argue her case after Tyler left. He’d decided to explain in the morning, after Miss Parks had a good night’s rest.”
“That’s because Chris looked ill. Don’t you see?” She leaned forward. The guilty party gave Chris the wrong drug before she fired Georgia.”
“It doesn’t prove anything. Rogers could still have held a grudge since the show in Las Vegas.”
Marla’s blood boiled at the officer’s single-minded attitude. “Is there anything else you want to ask me? Because you seem to have decided who’s to blame already. I don’t agree, and I’ll do everything in my power to uncover the person who really bumped off Chris.”
Departing in a huff, Marla sought Georgia at their exhibit. As she approached, she noticed the dance troupe on stage, having already attracted a crowd with their wild gyrations. Sampson peeked out from behind the curtain and signaled to her. All the electronic cables from the sound system and lighting had been hooked into a laptop computer, where a guy in blue jeans sat monitoring the equipment. Marla’s stomach clenched. It was almost time for their artist’s presentation.
Liesl issued last-minute instructions to the two models who hovered together backstage, glittery makeup shimmering on their cheekbones. This particular workshop would demonstrate layering techniques and the use of finishing products. Marla’s job was to joggle the spray bottles while Liesl managed Sampson’s tools.
“Marla, where have you been?” Sampson shouted, pacing backstage. In contrast to the models’ dazzling costumes, he wore all black. With his gray hair and piercing dark eyes, he looked like a maestro. Her heartbeat accelerated. This was her chance to observe an award-winning educator up close.
Grabbing the supplies she’d prepared earlier, she nodded to him. “I’m ready,” she said, her voice squeaky. After her morning performance, she figured she should be less nervous, but being in the spotlight still left her breathless.
Concentrating on her tasks when their turn came, she was barely aware of the colored spotlights focused on the chair in the center of the stage, the pounding music blaring from the stereo speakers, or the upturned faces of the crowd. Sampson pranced around the first model, snipping and trimming while spewing instructions. He held his scissors and comb in one hand, while he lifted strands of hair with his other. He worked with quick, deft movements that Marla envied. His commentary included references to their new product line.
He waved at her, and she squirted water on the section of hair he’d just separated. Lifting the hank with his comb, he addressed the audience. “You’ll want to preserve this brilliant red mahogany with our unique protection system. Our natural extracts extend the life of hair color with their essential sunscreen properties. Use of our four-part system protects the hair from damaging UVL effects, reducing fading and keeping hair healthy and conditioned.”
Marla handed him the locking spray. “This contains silicon and panthenol that help to extend the life of your color,” he added. “See this intensified shine? Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lift, comb out to ends, snip. “Your clients will be energized by this remarkable treatment system.”
By the time he went on to a second demo, the audience had grown. He took a brief intermission to get a drink of water while Marla swept the stage and the other stylist changed tools.
Returning onstage, he donned a cape embellished with flashing blue lights and a glove with shear like claws on his right hand. This time, he enhanced his act with flourishes worthy of a magician. Drumbeats vibrated through Marla’s bones, reverberating through her head.
Her reactions became automatic as she handed over the products he’d preselected while Liesl dealt with his implements. Her mind reeling, Marla felt as though she were part of some tribal ritual, especially when he displayed the model like a sacrifice to thunderous applause at the end. Exhausted, she hung back while he took his bows.
Hairdressers bombarded them with questions afterward, and she was too busy describing their product line and referring customers to the sales force to consult with Georgia until later. It wasn’t until they were on their way home that she finally had a chance to discuss the police interview.
“I’m so tired,” she said, sinking against the car seat cushion during the drive west. She’d promised to pick up dinner to feed everyone. Dalton and Brianna were coming over, and just the thought of all that company made her bone-weary.
Georgia gave her a sympathetic glance. “You get used to it after you’ve done a few shows. I thought you did great.”
“Thanks. I noticed that Ron disappeared during Sampson’s demo. Doesn’t he like to watch?”
“I think he had to go upstairs for an interview then. That police detective made me very uncomfortable. How did you feel?”
Marla gripped the wheel tighter. “He knew about Chris firing you. Tyler told him.”
“Shoot. Now the sergeant will have even more against me. As for Tyler, I’m not surprised that he’d think about covering his own ass. He’s the type who looks out for number one.”
Oh yeah? Maybe you should do the same. First you forgive Chris for screwing your fiancé, then you go out on a limb for Tyler, who stabs you in the back. Are you really such a schmuck? It’s time to stand up for yourself and focus on your goals.
“Masterson asked how I felt about Chris seducing my fiancé,” Georgia said, filling the silence. “He didn’t believe me when I said it didn’t matter anymore. Really, hon, does he think I killed Chris because of what she did to me? If anyone, I should off Nick. He’s the one who ruined my life. Besides, Chris annoyed plenty of other people.”
“You got that right,” Marla agreed.
“Speaking of Tyler, Chris knew something about him that he’s hiding from the rest of us. I overheard them talking once. Chris threatened him, and it sounded pretty serious. Tyler warned her that if she came ‘between them,’ she’d be sorry.”
“Between who?”
“I don’t know.” Georgia hesitated. “Maybe you can find out. Like, I’d be grateful if you diverted that detective’s attention away from me.”
“I’ll do my best,” Marla promised.
“Jan was talking about sending flowers to Chris’s relatives. I think she has a sister.”
“That would be a nice gesture.” Marla’s concern returned to more immediate matters. “What should we get for dinner?” Her tone lacked enthusiasm. Entertaining visitors seemed like a burden right now.
Brightening, Georgia pointed out the window. “How about Kentucky Fried Chicken? It’s quick, and you won’t have to prepare anything.”
“Works for me.” Disregarding the fact that this would prompt Justine to complain about her nutritionally deficient meals, she flicked on the turn signal. ‘Tell me, what do we have planned for Tuesday?”
“Nothing yet. We have a free day before the photo shoot at your salon.”
“I’d like to go in to work that morning. I’ll check with Dalton before making plans for the rest of the day. Justine and Larry are here to see Brianna, and I don’t want to interfere with his arrangements.”
Brianna’s grandparents had other ideas as they sat in her living room after dinner. True to form, Justine had made a snide remark about the fast food, but Marla had deftly switched the topic to the show’s highlights. She gave the older couple a gift of skin-care products, which seemed to please them. Brianna’s saucy eyes lit up when Marla presented her with a brightly colored nail polish collection, a package of nail-art tattoos, and a medley of lip glosses. For Vail, she’d bought shampoo and conditioner and an a
ftershave moisturizer.
“Thanks, Marla,” he said with a delighted smile. “You didn’t have to bring us anything.”
“This is so cool,” Brianna exclaimed as she sifted through her booty. “I love this glitter topcoat.”
“Thank you, dear,” Justine said, lifting her nose. “It was thoughtful of you to think of us, but isn’t Brianna too young to fuss with her appearance? Teenagers have enough problems today, without worrying excessively over how they look. It leads them to eating disorders, coloring their hair with toxic dyes, and ruining their complexions. She’ll have plenty of time to resort to artifice to cover up her age lines.”
“Come on, Nana, all my friends wear makeup and nail polish. This isn’t the Dark Ages.”
“Girls nowadays grow up quicker than we did,” Marla said a bit cautiously, exchanging glances with the child. She didn’t want to start an argument between Brie and her grandparents.
“That doesn’t mean you have to hurry them along the road to maturity,” Justine said. “As Brianna’s stepmother, you’ll be responsible for establishing standards. If you’re too lenient, a moral wasteland lies ahead.”
“Thank you for those words of wisdom.” Marla shot a glance at Vail. He was perched on the edge of his armchair, his attention fixated on a photograph peeking out from Justine’s handbag. Viewing it from an angle, she identified the handsome couple, arms entwined, against a background of leafy branches in a park. Dalton Vail and his wife, Pam.
Marla gritted her teeth, swinging her gaze to the elder woman smiling benignly from the camel sofa. It took all her willpower not to comment, but she held her tongue, forcing herself to breathe evenly until her nerves calmed.
Tension hung in the air as thick as a slab of meat. Grateful when Georgia’s prattle disrupted the ensuing silence, Marla surveyed her treasured possessions. She’d miss her living-room arrangement when she moved; it would remain behind for the renters. That had been part of her deal with Vail, in exchange for him selling the heavy antiques Pam had favored. They’d both start fresh, a new chapter in their lives. With all that she had on her plate, Marla couldn’t even begin to think of home decorating, but she was sure about one thing. She didn’t want any photos of Vail and Pam staring her in the face.
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