Perish By Pedicure

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “I’ll have some free time on Tuesday,” she said to Vail, acting her role as gracious hostess. “Did you have plans for Justine and Larry?”

  He regarded her with a hopeful expression. “I’ve got some work at the office. Justine said she’d like to check out the Festival Flea Market while she’s here.”

  “Or we could visit the Swap Shop in Sunrise. It’s closer, if you don’t want to drive to Pompano,” Georgia suggested.

  “Outlet shopping at Sawgrass Mills is another possibility,” Marla told them. “It doesn’t matter to me. I have a few clients to do early in the morning, but I’m hoping to be done by eleven at the latest.”

  “Couldn’t you take the entire day off?” Justine asked, smoothing the folds on her pleated skirt. She sat properly, her heels crossed at the ankles. Marla noticed with irritation that not a single hair on Justine’s brassy head was out of place. What did she use for holding spray, paint lacquer? And her bouffant hairdo had gone out of style years ago. Talk about preservation. Justine could pass as a monument to the fifties.

  “I’ve had to reschedule my clients already this week,” Marla explained, “and Luxor Products still has a couple of photo shoots coming up. I can’t spare so much time away from the salon.” An idea popped into her head. “We’re going to the Keys on Friday with the Luxor team. Maybe you’d like to come along?” She grinned at her houseguests, aware that her bared teeth might look more like a snarl.

  Larry scratched his chin, marred with gray stubble. “Can we swim with the dolphins at that marine park in Islamorada?”

  “I’d better find out for sure where we’re going first. We may not have enough time for a detour, now that I think about it, because I have to take Georgia to the Fort Lauderdale airport that night. What time does your flight leave?” she asked her friend.

  “Nine-thirty.”

  “I’ll need to drop you at the terminal before eight. Will it bother you if I don’t park and go inside?”

  “Not at all.” Georgia pointed to Spooks, who had emerged from his nap in the study. The dog rolled his head against the couch. “Look who’s decided to join us.”

  Justine glanced beyond the poodle and gasped. “Oh dear, I think your pet did something bad.”

  Chapter Nine

  Spooks, what did you do? Marla said, jumping from her seat. Rounding the couch, she dropped her jaw when she regarded the suspicious mound on the carpet and its soft, lumpy consistency. Oh, yuck. That looks like dog poop, although it usually isn’t light tan in color. And Spooks never had accidents indoors unless he was sick.

  The poodle stretched out at Vail’s feet, resting his head on his front paws and gazing at her with baleful eyes.

  “Did you throw up?” she asked him, but instead of barking a reply, he rubbed his head against the floor. “He must have eaten something that didn’t agree with him,” she said, eyeing her houseguests. “Did anyone give him human food?”

  Larry waved a hand. “He gobbled up my leftovers from the China Bowl. I thought he’d enjoy getting a treat.” His gravelly voice indicated an absence of malice, merely puzzlement.

  “No wonder. Regular food doesn’t agree with him. Please don’t give him any meal extras in the future.”

  She cleaned up the mess with paper towels, then sprayed the stain with a foaming cleanser. Scrubbing the spot with a damp rag, she was pleased to see no residual effects.

  Washing her hands in the kitchen, she glanced over her shoulder when Vail entered. Reaching from behind, he encircled her waist with his arms and planted a kiss on her neck. ‘You’re a saint to put up with them,” he growled in her ear.

  “I’m Jewish. We don’t have saints.” Snatching a dish towel, she dried her hands before turning into his embrace. Her lips met his, and she savored his passion before pushing him away. “Look, something is still wrong with the dog.” Spooks, who had followed her into the kitchen, ran along the baseboard rubbing his head against the wall. “Maybe he has an ear infection.” Concerned, she watched her poodle dash into the family room and repeat the bizarre behavior.

  “Tomorrow is Monday. You could take him to the vet in the morning.” Standing at her side, Vail stroked her back with a swirling motion that made her wish she had time to indulge in sensual pleasures.

  “Great, just what I need on top of everything else is for Spooks to get sick.”

  Early the next morning, she dropped him off at the animal hospital with instructions for the doctor to do a thorough exam. He’d thrown up once more and still exhibited strange behavior, running from one room to the next, breathing fast, and scraping his head against the furniture. Marla felt guilty leaving him, but she and Georgia had to get to the convention center.

  “Don’t worry, they’ll take good care of him,” Georgia said reassuringly when they were back on the road.

  Feeling groggily in need of a second cup of coffee, Marla pressed the accelerator. Traffic was a lot heavier than on the previous day, but that was to be expected during rush hour heading east on I-595. Thank goodness this was the last day she’d have to commute. She had the feeling that when the show ended, however, her responsibilities would continue.

  Ron Cassidy waited for her at their exhibit booth. “Where have you been?” the master stylist said, shoving stiff fingers through his frosted blond hair. Marla noticed most of the others were present, except for Sampson, who must still be asleep. Detective Masterson roamed around backstage, poking at their equipment.

  “It’s nine o’clock,” she replied. “We’re right on time.” She watched Georgia slide into place behind the product displays. “What do you want me to do?” With an hour left before Ron’s scheduled presentation, she was supposed to log in the models and assist with costuming and makeup.

  The stylist jerked his thumb. “Get rid of him,” he urged, meaning the police officer. “He’ll upset the girls when they arrive.”

  “Maybe he wants to talk to them.”

  “Why would he do that? They don’t know anything.”

  “Chris might have spoken to the models on the phone. I imagine he has to interview anyone who had contact with her.”

  “Oh yeah?” Ron moistened his lips. I need the models to focus. Take them back to the prep area until it’s show time.”

  Marla had hoped to question the subjects herself, but there was too much commotion in the curtained-off zone at the far end of the convention center. Sounds of splashing water, whirring blow dryers, and people chattering made private conversation impossible. Ron had commandeered three models, one of them the leggy gal Marla had spied in his hotel room. Heather showed up with a wide-eyed glow that suggested this might be her first job. The skinny blonde who accompanied her wore a bored expression, while the flaming redhead bounced from foot to foot in a manner that displayed her assets and drew admiring glances from some of the male hairdressers.

  After putting the finishing touches on the models’ makeup, Marla rattled off last-minute instructions. Following a musical prelude, she would march the girls onstage and seat the first model in the chair. While the others flanked them, she’d assist Ron as he proceeded with his popular hair-design workshop. Marla looked forward to observing his texturing methods and precision-cutting techniques.

  “Look who’s in the audience,” Heather cried as they paraded down the aisle and came within sight of Luxor’s booth. Marla’s heart sank as she spied Masterson in a front-row seat. He looked out of place in his business suit among the casually dressed stylists beside him.

  “Never mind,” Marla said in a sharp tone. “Just listen for your cue.” A drumroll preceded their appearance onstage.

  “But I should talk to him. There’s something I noticed that could be important. When I—”

  Marla never heard the rest of Heather’s sentence, because the tempo changed, drowning out the girl’s words. And then she forgot all about Heather’s statement as she tried to keep up with Ron’s movements and get an education at the same time. He spoke rapidly as he worked, maintai
ning a continuous commentary while he cut and shaped and texturized. His energy drew more people, whom he soon had enthralled. He even cracked jokes, unlike Sampson, who played the serious diva. Marla liked his style immensely and wished he would offer day-long seminars. No wonder he yearned to be hairdresser to the stars. He deserved the recognition, which he wouldn’t achieve in Sampson’s shadow.

  “You did great,” she told him later, after the crowd had dissipated. Sweat beaded his brow from the hot spotlights.

  “Thanks,” he said, grinning as he packed away his gear. “So did you. I hope you stay on the team.”

  “We’ll see if the new director invites me.” She paused. “Have you any idea if Jan will get the position permanently?”

  “Ask her yourself. She’s right behind you. Hey, boss lady, Marla wants to come to our next big show.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Jan said, her tone cool. She held a clipboard and pen, looking sleekly business like in a moss green suit that enhanced her flaming red hair.

  “No offense, but you’re in charge now,” Marla said, not wanting to get Ron in trouble. “How long will it last?”

  “Until the board meets, and I have no idea what they’ll decide. Ron, I’ve fit you in at three-thirty with Yolanda to demonstrate our straightening system. Will that work for you?”

  “Super. You know how I’ve been wanting to share my technique. It’s light-years ahead of any other process. Here’s what I’ll need…”

  Closing her ears to the rest of Ron’s request, Marla searched the throng for Heather’s coppery head, but the models had zipped out as soon as their stint was completed. No matter, they’d show up again at her salon for the photo shoot on Wednesday. Then she could ask Heather what she’d been about to say before they went onstage. It might be important, but right now, she wanted to follow up on what Georgia had mentioned about Tyler. Her friend had hinted that the area supervisor might be hiding something from the rest of them. Was that why Tyler had told the homicide investigator that Chris had fired Georgia, to throw suspicion on her? Because he couldn’t risk the heat falling on himself?

  Her gaze halted on Amy Jeanne, who stood behind the counter obsessively rearranging shampoo bottles into perfect rows. Her cascade of black ringlets functioned as a showpiece for their shine products, while her nail art could have won contests. Momentarily at a loss for a task to perform, Marla approached the counter.

  “Can I help you with anything?” she offered the salon coordinator. “I’ve got a break until Sampson comes down.”

  Amy Jeanne grinned widely enough to give Marla a glimpse of her gums. ‘That means you can take a long lunch. The maestro makes his grand entrance just in time for his demo.”

  “Really? You don’t want me to take a shift at sales?”

  “We have more than enough help. You’re lucky. If Chris were still around, she’d find something for you to do. She couldn’t stand it if anyone was idle.” The salon coordinator fingered her pearl necklace. The beads contrasted with her warm mahogany skin and made her nut brown eyes appear to glisten. ‘Jan’s management style is completely different. I sure hope she gets to keep the job.”

  Marla raised her eyebrows. “This isn’t how you’d want Chris to lose her position, though.”

  “I know. Sergeant Masterson suggested one of us may have given her a bad drug.” Amy’s face sobered. “I didn’t know she took stuff for depression. She always seemed so on top of everything, and everyone.”

  Marla spied Tyler chatting with Miguel behind the display of holding sprays and anti-humectants. “I understand Tyler wasn’t happy with her.”

  “They had a long-standing feud. She’d always had the hots for him, but he didn’t reciprocate. Tyler may act like a flake, but he keeps to himself a lot of the time. You don’t really know what’s going on in his head. Chris couldn’t get through to him, and that annoyed the hell out of her. She liked to pull the strings where people were concerned.”

  “Are you speaking from personal experience?” Marla said, noting Amy Jeanne’s bitter tone.

  “You could say that.”

  Hoping she’d elaborate, Marla reverted to the original topic when Amy remained silent. “Did Chris try to coerce Tyler?”

  The other woman drew forward a pack of order forms, shuffling them like cards. “She claimed to know things about him that would chase women away. Tyler didn’t care. He flung her off like water, until recently.”

  Marla leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  She didn’t get the chance to find out, because a customer snagged Amy’s attention, and it looked to be a long conversation. Gritting her teeth in frustration, Marla retrieved the program from her purse. Her fingers brushed her cell phone, and she decided to call the vet to see if they’d diagnosed Spooks. First, she had to leave the exhibit hall to get away from the noise.

  “He’s perfectly healthy,” the doctor’s assistant told Marla on the telephone. “We took his temperature, listened to his heart, and checked him over, and there’s nothing wrong. He probably just ate something that didn’t agree with him.”

  “Okay, thanks,” she said with a sense of relief. “I’ll pick him up later.” She called her mother, then Vail, but he was out of the office.

  Sauntering back inside the exhibit hall toward the food court, she spotted Sergeant Masterson stuffing down a burger at one of the crowded tables. After buying a chicken salad at the place with the shortest line, she claimed the seat beside him.

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  His curious eyes regarded her. “Not at all,” he said between bites. “How’s it going? I thought you handled the presentation this morning pretty smoothly.”

  “Thanks. I was afraid I’d drop something, but once I got absorbed in Ron’s act, I didn’t think about anything else.”

  “The show must go on, even if one of your team is dead.”

  She resented his sardonic tone. ‘That doesn’t mean no one cares. We’ve talked about sending flowers to Christine’s family.”

  “I see. Does anyone talk about who might have killed her? Who was intimate enough with her to know she was depressed and taking medications? Who had the medical knowledge to switch drugs? And who bought her drinks and fed her the wrong foods at the cocktail party?”

  Marla nearly choked on a piece of chicken. “I’m working on it. How much do you know so far?”

  “I’m running background checks on your teammates.”

  “Not me?”

  “You wouldn’t have known her long enough to bear a grudge. Besides, I had a nice chat with your boyfriend.”

  She could just imagine the earful Dalton had given him. “Will you keep me posted? I can be more useful if I’m clued in.”

  “As long as you don’t play sleuth all by yourself. Detective Vail warned me that you can be impulsive.”

  “He did, did he?” She tapped her fingers on the table.

  “I’m requesting that no one leave town until this case is solved. Will that be a problem? I know Miss Rogers is your houseguest. Liesl Wurner has an empty bed in her hotel room. Rogers could always move in with her if she overstays her welcome at your place.”

  “It’s okay, Georgia and I have a lot of catching up to do.” True, but she hadn’t counted on Georgia being there past Friday. She’d been looking forward to having time alone with Vail, his daughter, and Brie’s grandparents. Her heart sank at the thought of juggling them all for a few more days and the continued disruption to her work schedule.

  The detective studied her reaction. “I’ll be telling your crew soon. The bad guy won’t be happy about remaining.”

  “No kidding. I’ll do my best to assist you, Sergeant.”

  After lunch, she got too busy to pursue her queries. The afternoon passed quickly with Sampson’s performance. He outdid himself with the show’s creative design, including costumes, choreography, and music, receiving a standing ovation while a reporter snapped photographs.

  Still hyper from the demo,
Marla slipped out to attend a career-development seminar, a demo on extensions, and a class on updo styles from Nexxus. She felt like the odd person in the group, at loose ends when she wasn’t assisting either Sampson or Ron. It would be good to have the day to herself tomorrow, except for her guests. If Masterson was smart, he’d look into her colleagues’ activities during their spare time. Forced to remain in town, the killer would be trying to cover his tracks. He might leave clues for a sharp investigator.

  Why did she assume the perpetrator was male? Marla contemplated the possibilities during the drive home, while Georgia sat silently in the passenger seat. It could just as well have been Janice, who wanted to move up the corporate ladder, or Liesl, who’d sent venomous glances toward Chris at the cocktail party. Don’t discount Amy Jeanne, either. The salon coordinator appeared the quiet type who worked in the background, listening to everyone else, but even she’d had a reason to resent Chris.

  Thank goodness I won’t have to see these people again until Wednesday for the photo shoot at my salon. Vail would say it wasn’t her battle, even though Chris’s death happened on turf close to home. Her only reasons for getting involved were to clear Georgia of any blame, and to ensure her own continued employment by Luxor. She really liked working behind the scenes and could benefit from the travel opportunities. If she played her cards right, her attempts to remain in the company’s graces wouldn’t get derailed by the apparent homicide. She just had to keep her nose out of trouble.

  Traffic slowed, and she cursed under her breath. She had to pick Spooks up at the vet before their office closed at seven. Nervous energy kept her fatigue at bay. She still had to plan dinner, yet she hadn’t given the meal any thought.