Marla glanced at her palm. The prickling sensation had been replaced by a burning soreness where she’d touched the glass, and she noticed with alarm that her flesh was beginning to redden. Idly, she rubbed at the spots with her other hand. She didn’t need this distraction now.
“In the last few months, Bertha realized she was losing Roy’s attention,” Lucille continued in a chatty tone. “Bertha wanted to know if I were seeing him because I’d kept in touch. I denied it was me who’d alienated his affection, but I knew Roy still wasn’t happy. He was searching for love without realizing that it was right on his doorstep. Bertha decided to publish her memoirs as a means of revenge. Her notes would credit her with the company’s success and cast aspersions on Roy’s acquaintances, including me.”
Lucille’s eyes lifted to meet Marla’s rapt gaze. Marla couldn’t have pulled herself away for anything. “Go on,” she urged, wishing her hand would stop hurting. Damned peculiar how the irritation wouldn’t ease off.
Lucille tapped her foot in a rhythm on the tile.’ ‘Bertha warned me away from Roy. She was going to hurt him. I couldn’t let her publish her memoirs. She’d have exposed him, and then any chance for our getting together would be smashed. I knew Roy really wanted me. He’d just gotten confused, but I’d set him straight. First I had to deal with Bertha, though.”
A proud grin lit her face. “It was so easy to add poison to her powdered creamer jar. I knew Bertha was coming in for an early appointment that morning and that you’d be alone with her.”
“What about Carlos and leaving the back door unlocked?”
“A red herring so the cops would think an outsider did it. If not, you were the perfect fall guy.”
“Why did you kill Carlos—so he wouldn’t reveal who’d paid him?” At Lucille’s nod of affirmation, Marla queried: “How did you do it, Lucille?”
“He had a sweet tooth, so I gave him a home-baked cake. The poison was slow-acting. I knew it would take a few days.”
“And when you found out Roy was shacked up with Darlene?”
Lucille’s face darkened. “Roy shouldn’t have done that. I would have satisfied his needs. I understand him better than anyone. But he couldn’t see that because Darlene blinded him. The tramp just wanted his money. So I got rid of her.”
Marla choked. “W-What? You killed Darlene?”
Lucille’s eyes glinted. “Roy wouldn’t admit his passion for me. I had to make him acknowledge that we were meant for each other. Bringing him here was the only solution. He’s finally confessed his need for me, but his philandering eye keeps separating us. It’s like a sickness inside him, but at last, I’ve found a way to keep us together.”
Marla lost her train of thought She clutched her right hand, wide-eyed when she noticed blisters forming. This reaction isn’t normal, she realized. Panic seized her, and she leapt to her feet “What have you done to me?” she cried. Water. She needed to rinse her hand off with water!
Dashing to the side of the house where die bedrooms were located, she fled to the master suite.
“Oh, my God.” She skidded to a halt inside the bedroom. Roy Collins lay on the bed, eyes closed. Was he dead? No, she could see his chest move. Forcing herself to go on, she rushed into the bathroom and twisted on the faucet. Cold water splashed on her hand but the residue wouldn’t clear. As she let the water flow, her eyes caught on a ceramic dish decorated with hand-painted angels. A single earring lay inside. A pearl-and-marcasite earring with a screw-back setting.
Hastily patting her hand dry with a towel, she hurried back into the bedroom. There was nothing she could do for Roy without knowing what was wrong. Frantically, she scanned for a telephone, but none was visible. Lucille had made certain no one would be able to call for help.
“You went to Bertha’s house,” she accused Lucille when the receptionist appeared in the doorframe.
“That’s right. I wanted to find that tape she’d recorded. It wasn’t there.”
Marla didn’t like the menacing light in Lucille’s eyes. She edged to the side of the room, relieved when Lucille stepped forward. “What did you do to Roy?” she asked, maneuvering toward the doorway.
“He drank some of my herbal tea. I’ll drink my share soon enough. And now I’m afraid you’ll have to join us, honey.”
“Wh-what?”
Lucille wormed closer. “You’ve really been most annoying. I couldn’t let you dig too closely into the past, could I? Warnings didn’t stop you, and you didn’t take the bait with those marzipans I sent you. Too bad. I really did like you. Now, come on back into the living room and have some tea.”
Marla complied, thinking she’d make it to the front door, but Lucille blocked her exit.
“Get out of my way, Lucille. I don’t want any of your tea.”
“Oh, but you don’t understand.” She pointed at Mar-la’s right hand which dangled by her side.’ ‘You’ve already absorbed poison through your skin. Those droplets on the glass—they weren’t water. Ever hear of sarin? It’s a lethal nerve poison related to insecticides. You should be feeling ill by now.”
Horrified, Marla stared at her hand as nausea rose in her throat. The blisters were puffy and red, spreading rapidly. And now her left hand began to tingle. Lord save me, some of that stuff must have gotten on my other hand, too.
“Listen, I have an antidote.”
Her heart thumped wildly. “Where is it?”
Lucille cackled. “It’s in the tea. You have to drink the whole glassful.”
Marla eyed the beverage suspiciously. “I don’t think so. Move aside, Lucille. I need to go now.”
“Roy and I will be together soon.” Lucille reached for her own glass and rattled the liquid. “I’ve got a stronger dose here than what I gave him. We should join each other at about the same time.” She tilted the glass to her lips.
“No!” Heedless of her own safety, Marla charged forward to stop her. Duty compelled her to prevent another fatality. But she was too late. Lucille thrust her away and gulped down the liquid.’ ‘Now it’s your turn to die, honey, unless you take the antidote.”
Pain lanced through Marla’s hands. Blisters crackled on her reddened flesh. She wondered if Lucille were telling the truth. Did she have a means to save herself or was it another trick?
“Drink,” Lucille ordered, reaching for Marla’s glass.
“No.” Marla turned toward the door. I’ve got to get help. But with the speed of a cougar, Lucille jumped in front of her. A cold, calculating look on her face, she grasped Marla’s shoulders and twisted her around.
“Let me go!” Marla yelled.
Lucille grabbed her hair. Yanking a clump so hard it brought tears to Marla’s eyes, Lucille hauled her into the living room. She lifted Marla’s glass, bringing it close to her mouth. The rim hovered into view.
Clamping her lips shut, Marla fought against her. She knocked Lucille away with a thrust of her hip. Pain tore at her scalp as the piece of hair ripped off.
A determined glow lit Lucille’s crazed eyes. With a snarl of rage, the agile woman lunged at her, thrusting a fist into her stomach. Gasping with pain and surprise, Marla clutched her midsection. Her jaw dropped as she struggled to suck a breath of air into her uncooperative lungs. Lucille pounced forward, pushing on her forehead and forcing Marla’s neck to arch backward. Liquid trickled into her opened mouth. Sputtering, Marla coughed and choked. She spit as Lucille tried to pour more of the cold brew down her throat.
“Bitch!” Lucille shrieked. “Drink it and die.”
Marla summoned her strength. She pushed at Lucille, pain shooting up her arms from her afflicted hands. Years of work had honed her muscles, and she used them. Lucille stumbled back, saving the glass from breaking by plopping it onto the cocktail table. Growling, she charged again, head lowered. Marla lashed out but missed decking Lucille, who twisted aside in time. Dimly, Mar
la became aware of a repetitive knocking sound.
“Marla, are you in there?” shouted Detective Vail’s voice.
Sirens blared in the distance, but Marla barely perceived them over the noise of her labored breathing. Before she could cry for help, Lucille swung a fist at her face. Dodging the blow, Marla grappled with her assailant. Both of them tumbled to the floor, sending a side table crashing over. A crystal vase shattered. Marla screamed, shielding her face. Fragments pelted the backs of her hands.
As she crouched, a heavy weight slammed into her. Lucille pounced on her back, shrieking like a wild animal.
Strong fingers encircled Marla’s neck. Scooting backward, she rammed Lucille against the armchair she’d sat on earlier. The woman’s grip loosened, giving Marla a moment to grab a weapon. She scrambled for her purse, which she had left on the floor. But she wasn’t the only one looking for a tool. Lucille faced her, drool sliding from her mouth, a pointed shard of crystal gleaming in her hand. Ignoring the shooting pains in her arms, Marla whipped out the container of finishing spray from her purse and aimed it directly at Lucille’s face.
Screaming, Lucille recoiled instantly. Marla used the distraction to grab an onyx paperweight from the cocktail table. Wincing, she cracked it against Lucille’s temple. The older woman crumpled without a word.
“Wait, I’m coming,” she yelled to Vail. Her body shook violently, but she forced herself to her feet. Tottering to the door, she let him in, falling into his arms as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her.
“What happened? Are you all right?”
“My hands,” she whispered.
Glancing down, he muttered an oath. “What did she do to you?”
“Tricked me into touching sarin, a nerve poison. It feels oily then hurts and turns into blisters. She said I’m going to die. An antidote ... it’s in the glass of iced tea. But I didn’t believe her. She wanted me to drink it.” Marla babbled on, aware that her mind was becoming increasingly numb. She didn’t feel well, not at all. But she still had things to tell him.
“Lucille ... she killed Bertha and Carlos.”
“I know. You shouldn’t have come here alone.”
Her tongue thickened. She had to force the words from her dry lips. “Poisoned Roy. Took some herself. Darlene ...”
Her eyes drifted closed, and the searing pain in her hands receded. Awareness centered on Vail’s closeness and his tender words of concern. Her body became weightless as he lifted her to his chest. He shouted orders to his fellow officers, who’d rushed inside the house after him, then he addressed her.
“I’m taking you to a hospital. Don’t try to talk.”
She felt herself being placed upon the seat cushion of his car and then being strapped in. It felt so good to let him take charge. Entrusting herself to his care, she allowed oblivion to sweep her into its comforting depths.
Epilogue
Marla had just finished dressing prior to being discharged from the hospital when a knock sounded at her closed door. Glancing at her mother, who hovered nearby with an anxious expression, she called: “Come in.”
Dalton Vail marched through the door holding a wrapped bouquet of freshly cut red roses. “I wasn’t sure if you were being released today,” he said, his smoky eyes trailing over her silk blouse and slacks. Anita had to help her with the buttons. Marla could wiggle her fingers, but movement was limited by the bandages restricting her hands.
“Are those for me?” A smile came easily to her pale face. Once the shock of recent events had worn off, she’d rallied with her usual energy. Besides, being soft didn’t get the job done. It was time to put the past behind her and move on to bigger and better opportunities. Her smile broadened.
Anita glanced at the two of them and hastily stepped forward. “I’ll go find something to put these in,” she interrupted, snatching the flowers from Vail’s hand and scurrying out of the room.
“So how’s the patient?”
“Better, thanks.” Marla’s pulse rate quickened as she perused her visitor. His hair was neatly combed off his forehead, parted at the side. With his conservative shirt and tie, he appeared ready for a day’s work. His penetrating gaze and the tight lines around his chiseled mouth revealed his concern. Although his jaw was freshly shaven, the sharp angles and deepened shadows under his eyes told her he hadn’t slept well since yesterday, when he’d brought her to the emergency room.
“How’s the hands?”
Marla grimaced. “They don’t hurt anymore now, but as you see, I can’t do a whole lot until they heal.”
“At least that stuff wasn’t sarin. You’d be dead if it were a true nerve toxin. Croton oil is relatively harmless unless ingested.”
“The doctor said it will take up to three weeks for the blisters to heal.”
His eyes glowed warmly. “The time will pass quickly. Consider it a good thing you didn’t drink that iced tea. As you suspected, it wasn’t any antidote. The solution contained monkshood. You wouldn’t have lasted out the day.”
She was almost afraid to ask. “What about Lucille?”
He shook his head. “Her dose was more concentrated than the amount she gave Roy. She must have been planning to join him quickly when his time came. He’s in intensive care, but it looks as though he’ll make it Darlene wasn’t so lucky. We found an area of freshly turned earth in Lucille’s backyard.”
“Dear Lord.” Marla’s eyes filled with moisture. Maybe Darlene had deceived her, but the girl didn’t deserve this fate. Hey, Marla, don’t fall apart now. Crying doesn’t solve anything.
Vail gestured to her bandages. “So what will you do since you’re, uh, incapacitated? Take a vacation?”
Marla laughed, and her urge to dissolve into tears subsided. “We’re two people short in the salon. I can’t afford to take time off. Nicole and the others will handle my customers until I can work again. In the meantime, I’ll take over Lucille’s job.” Determination emboldened her tone. “I can answer the phone and peck at the computer keys. Plus, I’ve got to set up interviews for new employees. And there’s always paperwork to file. I’m sure there will be enough to do. If not, my cousin Cynthia has conned me into being on the planning board for Ocean Guard’s big winter fund-raiser.”
“The beach conservation group?”
“That’s right. I said I’d donate free hair appointments for raffles and help plan events for the black-tie gala at Cynthia’s estate.”
“Sounds like a big job.” Clucking his tongue, Vail regarded her with admiration. “You’re one amazing lady, you know that?”
Her expression sobering, Marla disagreed. “I wasn’t smart enough to figure out Lucille was the killer.”
“You’re too trusting, that’s your problem. You didn’t want to concede that a member of your staff might be responsible. I have to admit, I’d found evidence on both of you. Lucille’s tape and her handwritten poison list were in Bertha Kravitz’s safety-deposit box. So were your compromising photographs. I wasn’t sure which one of you did it since you both had motive and opportunity.”
Remorse colored his voice, and he glanced away. Realizing what he must be feeling, Marla forgave him his lack of faith. He wouldn’t be a good detective if he didn’t consider all the angles.
“Well, I believe in the people I hire,” she said. “I guess I failed to get beyond that sense of loyalty to suspect Lucille. From my past experiences, I prefer to believe that basic goodness resides within everyone.”
“Maybe it does, but that attitude can get you killed.”
They regarded each other in silence. Marla thought about their different worldviews, hers involving trust and his being suspicious of everyone. Maybe she was being naive, but she’d rather see things through rose-tinted glasses than view everyone as a potential criminal. How could he raise a daughter with an outlook so grim?
Gazing deeply into his eyes, she
read a hint of vulnerability that touched her heart. It must be difficult for him to be a single parent. As a stylist, she was used to listening to people’s problems. It gave her joy when she made customers feel better, not only by helping them look good but also by offering compassion. What could she give to this man to help him?
It crossed her mind that he might be seriously interested in her. The notion both pleased and frightened her. Since Stan, she’d avoided intimacy with other men. Her self-reliance had been too hard to come by to lose it in another relationship. Her other prospects were not serious considerations. Arnie was sweet, but he had too many kids. Ralph and she were more than friends, but she didn’t envision their relationship going further. Lance was cute but devoted to his computer. Dalton isn’t even Jewish, not that it matters. Bless my bones, I’d just be agreeing to get to know him better. Maybe it was time to plunge into the currents of change and see where they carried her.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Vail cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner tonight since you can’t cook until your hands recover.”
A silly grin split her face. “Sure, that sounds great. I’m ready to have some fun, aren’t you?”
Author’s Note
This story was inspired by my visit to a hair salon to get a perm. While waiting for the twenty-minute timer to go off, I peered around at all the ladies flipping through magazines and thought, “What we need is a gripping novel to read while we’re killing time.” Killing was the key word, and soon my imagination soared into a romp wherein Marla Shore was created and her client got permed—to death. Hence Permed to Death was born. If you enjoyed this story, please look for the next two books in the series, Hair Raiser and Murder by Manicure.
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