“Logic. Sampson had been drinking before meeting the gang for dinner. His clothes were a mess, which they might have been if he’d dragged Georgia from wherever he waylaid her. If he felt I was a threat because I’d seen that check he wrote to Chris, then he’d want to get rid of me.”
“You think Chris was blackmailing him, and that’s what the check was all about?”
Marla nodded. “Possibly. I spoke to Amy Jeanne the next morning. She said Sampson had left the dinner table because he felt ill, and Ron had gotten up to go to the bathroom. Either one of them would have had time to crack me on the head.”
“Did you tell Sergeant Masterson what happened?”
“Yes, I phoned him as soon as we got back. He seemed very interested and said he had something relevant to tell me, but it would have to wait until he had backup documentation.”
“What do you think that means?”
“Masterson must have learned what it is that Sampson is hiding.” Marla gave her companion an appreciative glance. It was easy to talk to him. While he chided her for rushing headlong into dangerous situations, he respected her intelligence. She was well aware that her family would consider it a mitzvah if she married a single Jewish optometrist who valued the same traditions. She really could hang out with him, if she didn’t have Dalton. But she did have Dalton. And although she felt a special fondness for Barry, he didn’t fire her jets the way the detective did. Maybe with time, she’d feel differently, but time had also taught her to follow her heart. Her heart led straight to Dalton.
“So you’ve eliminated everyone else as suspects?” Barry asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“Never close your mind to all the options, that’s what Dalton says. Each one of my colleagues has a potential motive. For example, Janice took over Chris’s position after she died. Is Jan ambitious? Yes, although she claims to take no pleasure in getting a promotion that way. Nonetheless, we have to remember that Chris led her into an investment scheme that went bust. Now she’s struggling to support her mother, who has a lot of medical bills, so she can’t help resenting Chris’s misguided advice that put her in a hole financially.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to help her clarify her thoughts. ‘Tyler also resented Chris, because she’d passed him over for promotion. Chris had the hots for him, which was obvious to everyone. He rejected her, so she retaliated by giving the position to Janice instead. When she made another move on Tyler and he still wouldn’t give in, she threatened to spread rumors that could jeopardize his custody agreement.”
Gripping the steering wheel, Barry shook his head. “Refresh my memory. Who’s Tyler?”
“Our area supervisor. He didn’t tell anyone he has a daughter, but somehow Chris found out. I can’t help liking him. He acts like such a big flirt, but deep down, he mainly wants to be a good dad. At least that’s what Georgia said.”
“You think your friend is clean?”
“After someone tied her up and left her to rot in that shed? I should think so. At any rate, Georgia claims she got over her anger at Chris for screwing up her relationship with Nick.”
Barry didn’t respond until he’d navigated the ramp to Federal Highway north. In the distance, orange city lights reflected off the tall bank buildings in downtown Fort Lauderdale. He skewed into the middle lane, avoiding a driver whose slow crawl presented a hazard. “So who’s left?”
Marla shrugged. “Amy Jeanne blamed Chris for setting up her sister with a bad date. Liesl felt Chris got in the way of a potential relationship she might have developed with Tyler. Ron made a pass at Chris and got turned down. And Miguel is defensive of his brother, a plastic surgeon Chris was suing for medical malpractice.”
“Didn’t you say only someone with medical knowledge could have switched the antidepressants?”
“And someone with access to prescription drugs,” she added. “Those older MAO inhibitors have fallen out of favor. I doubt they’re easy to get hold of by your average crook.”
“What if they’re prescribed for a patient who still needs them, like an older person who may have been treated with the same medication for years? Did you ever check to see what medicines Chris’s mother was taking?”
“I didn’t think about it. Holy highlights, you’re a fountain of ideas tonight, Barry.”
“Maybe you can ask Dr. Greenberg some of these questions.”
“I should make a list,” she said in all earnestness, annoyed to realize she didn’t even have a pen in her tiny clutch bag. In any event, she’d be lucky to get five minutes alone with the good doctor to ask him about the items already in her mind.
When they arrived on-site, she surveyed the crush of people and wondered how they’d find him. The cocktail hour was in full swing in one of the ground-floor meeting rooms, with dinner to follow in the ballroom next door. Clutching Barry’s arm, Marla surveyed the glitterati with a hard swallow.
Groups of people milled about balancing drink glasses and plates of hors d’oeuvres. A long, curtained table situated down the center of the room held platters of fruit and cheese and warming trays of meatballs, stuffed mushrooms, egg rolls, spinach wrapped in phyllo, chicken drumettes, and more. Off in one corner, one chef tossed a stir-fry concoction while another offered fettuccine Alfredo. Who needed dinner? She could eat her fill right here.
Nudging Barry, she spoke in a low tone. “Do you see him?”
“Not yet. Why don’t you get our place number while I have a look around?” He indicated a white-clothed table where name cards were laid out. “I’ll stop by the bar. What would you like to drink?”
“I’ll have a glass of chardonnay, please. I don’t see anyone that I recognize,” she added with dismay.
“Don’t feel alone. Neither do I.” Barry winked, before slipping into the crowd.
Marla obtained their place card before getting in line for the buffet table. She got her kicks from admiring the women’s sequined gowns, accessories, and makeup. When she was married to Stan, they used to attend lots of functions like this. She only realized how hollow they were when she outgrew him.
“Jake, I’d like you to meet my wife, Sherry,” Marla heard as someone bumped her elbow. “Sherry, this is Jake Greenberg, one of our board members. He’s been very generous in donating his time to the American Melanoma Society.”
Marla spun so fast she nearly spilled the drink of the person behind her. “Sorry,” she muttered, laser-beaming the guy with the reddish gold hair, impish twinkle in his eyes, and lightly freckled face. He looked to be mid-fortyish and had a stocky figure. Too many charity dinners, she guessed.
“Hello, my name is Marla Shore,” she said to him, sticking out her hand. “I’ve been wanting to meet you. My friend Chris raved about your contribution to the cause. Christine Parks,” she added at his puzzled look.
His shoulders slumped. “Oh yes, poor Chris. She was my friend as well. We shared the same goal regarding the society.”
Marla was grateful when the other couple drifted away. She only hoped Barry wouldn’t choose this moment to come looking for her and interrupt the conversation. “I’m a local stylist, but I’ve been working with Luxor for the beauty show. Chris mentioned that a percentage of our profits from the new sunscreen line would go to the organization.”
He grinned, showing an even row of teeth that were dazzling white, as though artificially brightened. Looking more closely at his hair, she noticed gray roots. So the good doctor had a touch of vanity. That might be useful to know.
“Chris was one of our best proponents. She was well aware of the damage the sun can do to your hair as well as your skin,” Greenberg said. His expression sobered. ‘Too many people who live in warm climates ignore the danger in favor of what they perceive as a healthy tanned look. That’s why melanoma is on the rise.”
“So Chris worked directly with you regarding the donation from Luxor?” Marla asked, attempting to focus their conversation before she got a lecture on the disease.
He
waved to someone across the room. “Actually, she pounded out the details with Heather.”
“Who?”
“Heather Morrison, my physician’s assistant. You may have met her. She worked as one of the models at the hair show.”
Chapter Eighteen
You are connected to Heather? Marla said, thunderstruck. Dr. Greenberg nodded. “Terrible thing, what happened to her, isn’t it? Who can believe someone would attack her in the sauna? I still look for her in the office when she’s not there.”
“I think her death is related to Christine’s murder, but I’d really like to talk to you about it in private. Actually, I tried to make an appointment for a mole check, but you’re booked up for the next month. I was hoping to give a donation to the society in Chris’s memory at the same time.”
Greenberg laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Call my office in the morning and tell them I said to fit you in. They may give you a hard time because you’re a new patient, but we can squeeze you into the schedule if you’re having a problem.”
Did he purposefully misconstrue her statement? She wanted to talk to him about the victims, not her skin condition. ‘Thank you, I’ll be sure to do that.”
He smiled, the sides of his mouth creasing like double parentheses. “The number of melanoma cases keeps increasing. We can’t do enough to educate people, and your donation will help. Now if you’ll pardon me, I see someone I must greet.”
Barry sidled up to her, drinks in hand. That was a short conversation.”
She took her glass and sipped the fruity wine. “Short, but significant. Heather the model worked in his office as a physician’s assistant I guess the modeling thing was a moonlighting job. Chris must have set her up with Luxor.”
“Interesting. So Christine Parks arranged to donate a portion of the proceeds from Luxor’s sunscreen line to the melanoma society through Dr. Greenberg. His assistant, with ties to both groups, ends up dead.”
“You got it. That has to mean something. I just have to find out more.”
She had her chance the next day when she made an appointment to see Dr. Greenberg. Fortunately, he’d had a cancellation, because otherwise a Monday morning would have been too busy for him to have fit her in. Guilt assailed her for fleeing her houseguests again, but it couldn’t be helped. Jan had left a message that Masterson would be releasing the Luxor crew by the end of the week, so she had to move fast to tag the killer. She hadn’t heard back from the detective and assumed he didn’t have enough evidence if he was letting the suspects go. Justice wouldn’t be served until someone was behind bars.
The Weston location assured Dr. Greenberg of affluent clients, and his plush waiting room reflected the region’s upscale reputation. Framed prints of Mediterranean vistas, potted palms, a play area for kids, and a tropical aquarium vied for attention with a selection of glossy magazines.
Posters by the reception desk made her nervous with their reminders: READ YOUR PATIENT’S BILL OF RIGHTS, NOTIFY THE FRON DESK IF YOUR INSURANCE HAS CHANGED, and PLEASE TELL US IF YOU HAVE A RASH. Half the people in this crowded room probably had a rash, she thought, averting her gaze from the other occupants.
Folding her purse under her arm, she took a seat and for a few seconds watched the Skin Care Network’s offering on the television mounted in a corner.
“Has your skin grown over your belly button?” Marla heard a white-coated lab assistant say before she closed her ears. At the far end of the room was a display case with medicated skin creams, a poster for an eye compound to cover dark circles, and a wallboard announcing IT’S NEVER TOO SOON TO TAKE BLOOD PRESSURE SERIOUSLY. Oh joy. If you didn’t feel sick before going into a doctor’s office, you surely would by the time you left. The woman next to her coughed. Feeling her skin crawl, Marla jumped up and strode to the brochure rack.
Tired of your thick, discolored, or flaky nails? she read on one pamphlet that discussed fungal infections and the prescription medicine available to cure the problem. Another flyer offered a tablet to increase nail strength. Then there was one on Rogaine to prevent hair loss. She knew dermatologists treated hair and nail problems but hadn’t realized the pervasiveness of drug companies pushing their wares.
Her opinion was confirmed when she finally entered a treatment room. While she shrugged out of her cashmere sweater to put on a short, disposable gown with a Velcro closing, she noted the gorgeous redhead in an ad for Restylan, which the poster proclaimed could be used alone or with Botox for a smoother, more youthful appearance. “Oh yeah, as though any treatment would make me look like her,” she said aloud.
Dangling her legs on the examination table, she squared her shoulders when Dr. Greenberg burst in. He examined her while a nurse stood nearby. Marla scanned the room’s contents while he prodded at her moles and blemishes. Her gaze passed over the disposable gloves, syringes, gauze pads, and solution bottles, then rested on a certificate saying the doctor was a participant in the Botox Cosmetic Physicians Network. You could certainly tell where they made their money these days.
“Everything looks okay,” the doctor told her. ‘This is an even-colored lesion,” he said, focusing a dermoscopy instrument on her ankle. “If it gets bigger than a pencil eraser, then I’ll be concerned. The scope lets me look into the skin and see the architecture of a mole. See this spot on your arm? It’s a freckle-like area, no problem there. The one on your neck is almost papular. We call that type an intradermal nevus. When a mole has hair like this, that means it supports normal tissue and is healthy.”
Glad he hadn’t discovered anything adverse, Marla nodded. ‘Thanks, but I really came here to talk about—“
“Do you know the danger signs in a mole?” Greenberg continued, oblivious to her remark. “Look for asymmetry, color change, or growth.”
Following his lead, Marla commented, “Living in Florida, we have to be especially careful.” If only the nurse would leave, she’d ask him about Heather.
“Just a moment while I dictate my report.” As the nurse stood by holding Marla’s chart, he spoke with rapid-fire dictation into a handheld device. She didn’t understand a word of his medical jargon.
Afraid he’d walk out of the room before she got any answers, Marla decided she needed to keep him talking. “My father had a lesion removed from his forehead once, but I don’t think it was dangerous,” she said after he’d turned off his recorder.
Greenberg’s eyes narrowed. “Basal cell and squamous cell are the more common types of skin cancers. Those don’t usually spread like melanoma. People should realize how prevalent this disease is becoming. This year, there will be up to sixty thousand new melanoma cases in the U.S. alone. Maybe thirteen percent of those patients will die.”
“That’s scary. Education about the warning signs is so important. Tell me, did Christine’s involvement stem from a personal history?”
His mouth turned down. “Her uncle died from it. She learned the hard way that you have to be careful.” Taking her chart from the nurse, he scribbled something on a front sheet that was probably her billing code.
“How can it be prevented?” she asked, staring at the nurse as though willing her to leave the room. The middle-aged woman in the green scrubs just smiled at her blandly.
Greenberg gave Marla an indulgent grin. He must think she was unduly concerned about the disease. Didn’t he understand why she’d really come? To know how to prevent it, you have to understand the pathology. Melanoma begins in the melanocytes, cells that are normally present in the epidermis, or the top layer of skin. They produce a pigment called melanin, which gives the tan or brown color to skin and helps protect the deeper layers from the sun.”
“I’m familiar with melanin,” Marla replied, warming to the topic. “Melanocytes are the cells responsible for hair color. They’re generated within the follicles in the scalp. One of the theories about why hair goes gray is that these cells the off with aging or else they malfunction. Either way, they fail to produce enough melanin.”
Nodding, the doctor touched his head. “People with red or blond hair and light skin are at higher risk for skin cancer. Having blue eyes also increases the potential. The disease most often appears on the trunk of men and on the lower legs of women, but it can show up other places as well. People with lots of moles or atypical lesions should be especially observant.”
“Is there any heredity factor involved?” Marla asked out of genuine curiosity.
“Only to a minor degree. Approximately ten percent of people with melanoma have a family history. Frequent sun exposure is the biggest contributor. It damages the DNA of certain genes, causing cellular changes that may lead to melanoma down the road. The best prevention is to stay out of the sun.”
“Can’t I avoid it if I use sunscreen?” Marla considered all the rays she got while walking her dog. It couldn’t be helped in Florida—every time you went outside, you got zapped.
“Ultraviolet radiation is the culprit, and, again, this can result from excessive sunlight or from tanning booths. Children and young adults often receive intense UV exposure that may not result in an actual cancer for years. This early exposure starts the change in melanocytes that may eventually turn into melanoma. As such, the rate of melanoma increases with age, but it’s one of the few cancers that is also found in younger people. In fact, it’s one of the most common cancers in people under thirty.”
“I didn’t realize that,” Marla said, appalled.
“You want my advice? Avoid the midday sun between ten and four, when UV light is strongest. Remember that sunlight reflects off water, clouds, sand, concrete, and snow. You can also protect yourself by wearing a long-sleeved shirt and a wide-brimmed hat when you’re outside. Keep in mind that baseball caps shade your head but not your ears or neck. As for sunscreen, you need a minimum SPF factor of fifteen. Look for products that protect against both UVA and UVB, the two most damaging forms of UV radiation. Use it even on cloudy days.”
“Apply it about twenty minutes before you go outside so your skin can absorb the protective agents,” the nurse piped in. “Sir, I believe Mr. Andrews is waiting in the next treatment room.”
Perish By Pedicure Page 20
