Murder by Manicure

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Driving down West Broward Boulevard, Marla gave her a quick glance. The girl's tightened mouth and pinched face told Marla how much it had pained Brianna to say those words.

  "I'm glad I brought my checkbook,” she said brightly.

  Her head averted, Brianna didn't answer.

  I'm trying to be nice, pal. If you can't handle that, you've got problems. “How's your dad's latest case going? Do you think he'll wrap it up soon so he can be home earlier?” she asked, her nose for news propelling the inquiry.

  "Who knows?” Brianna retorted.

  "Did he mention what happened to my client Jolene, by any chance?"

  Brianna swiveled her head to regard Marla with a sneer. “If he did, I wouldn't tell you. Dad confides in me because I can keep secrets."

  "I can, too, if he'd trust me,” Marla murmured. Brianna's response was a scornful sniff.

  When they arrived at the dance studio, Brianna hopped out of the car before Marla had a chance to turn off the ignition. After locking the doors, she stumbled after the girl toward a row of shops. Peals of laughter cascaded from inside the well-lit studio, where students in all age ranges bustled between classes.

  "I'm supposed to pay a costume deposit,” Marla said to the receptionist, peering through the crowd for Brianna, who had disappeared toward a set of classrooms.

  "What's the child's name?” the woman asked with a friendly smile.

  "Brianna Vail."

  "Brianna is in both of my classes,” crooned a voice at Marla's ear.

  Marla whirled about, astonished to see Lindsay Trotter, Dancercize instructor for Perfect Fit Sports Club. “You're a teacher here, too?” she blurted.

  The sleek blonde, attired in a black leotard, smiled. “It's what I do. Haven't I met you somewhere recently? You're not Brianna's mother, are you?"

  Marla's face colored. “No, I'm a friend of her father. She needed a ride tonight, so I offered to take her to class. My friend Tally and I belong to the sports club where you teach Dancercize."

  The green eyes widened. “Oh yes, I remember. That was your first time on Sunday. I hope you'll be back again tomorrow."

  "We'll try. Brianna said I need to pay a deposit tonight."

  "Judy will help you,” Lindsay said, gesturing to the receptionist. “Pull Brianna Vail's card, will you?” she ordered. “I've got to get my class started. Nice seeing you.” Waving at Marla, Lindsay scooted off.

  From inside the nearest classroom, Marla heard the instructor's clear voice ring out: “Dip your shoes in the resin, girls, so you don't slip and slide. Come on, now! We'll start with our pliés. Take positions at the bar, please.” Strains of Tchaikovsky floated through the air.

  "Your deposit for each class is fifty-three dollars,” said the receptionist.

  "How much?” Marla's eyes bulged.

  "Brianna's costumes cost a hundred and sixty dollars each including tax, so we're asking you to pay a third,” the woman explained.

  "That's exorbitant,” Marla grumbled, retrieving her checkbook. Writing a check for $106 would deplete her account considerably. Maybe she should stop off at the police station and ask Vail for reimbursement. He might have time to take a coffee break while she was there, too.

  Still shaking her head at the expense, which didn't even include the price of recital tickets, Marla approached the glass-enclosed front office of the Palm Haven Police Department.

  "I'm Marla Shore, here to see Lieutenant Vail."

  A few minutes later, she was given a visitor's badge and told to proceed through a door that unlatched as she approached. “I know the way,” she told the female officer who greeted her.

  Upstairs and to the right, she entered the detective division. Vail's private office was beside a row of cubicles where his subordinates worked. He stood up on catching sight of her and strode to her side.

  "Is everything all right? Did you take Brianna to class?"

  She glanced at his worried gray eyes and patted his arm. “Yes, I dropped her off and paid her costume deposit to the amount of a hundred and six dollars. I thought I'd drop by and see if you were free for coffee. I don't have to pick her up until ten."

  His expression softened, and he gazed at her appreciatively. Her heart quickened at his proximity. “Thanks, Marla,” he said quietly. “I knew I could count on you."

  Straightening his broad shoulders, he marched to his desk and withdrew a checkbook from a drawer. “Let's settle our account before I forget.” While he scribbled the check, she let her gaze roam his tall frame. He'd removed his sport coat and tie so that his dress shirt was unbuttoned at the neck. An empty coffee mug sat on his desk along with a cellophane sandwich wrapper.

  "Was that your dinner?” she asked, putting his check in her purse.

  "I didn't have time to go out.” His glance swept her body, heating her skin.

  "Can you spare a few minutes to go downstairs for a snack?” Last time he'd given her a tour, she'd spotted vending machines in the briefing room.

  "Sorry, I've too much to do.” Plowing a hand wearily through his peppery hair, he sighed. “Seems like I never have time at home anymore. I'm glad you were there to help out tonight, Marla.” His voice deepened. “Since you dropped by, I'd like you to look at something for me. Have a seat."

  "What are you working on?” she asked, claiming a chair opposite his desk.

  "I'll tell you shortly.” Sinking into an armchair, he shuffled through a sheaf of papers. “Here it is. This is a copy of the member sign-ins for Friday night at Perfect Fit Sports Club. Recognize any of the names?"

  Marla perused the list. Wrinkling her nose, she pointed to each name in turn. “Here's Cookie Calcone. I told you about her. Apparently, she left the club before Jolene's accident. Tally and I had a run-in with her on Sunday. She's the type who looks for any excuse to pick an argument."

  Marla shuddered before pushing Cookie's mental image aside.

  "Wallace Ritiker was in the steam room with Sam Zelman. Sam's wife, Eloise, was changing in the locker room when she heard screams. Oh, I didn't know Hank Goodfellow was there.” The pharmacist had signed in after Cookie. Where had he been during the whole debacle?

  "I dropped a prescription off for my mother on Sunday,” she added. “I was talking to Hank when Wally popped in. Ritiker mentioned a break-in at the pharmacy and was upset Hank hadn't notified him."

  "I'm not surprised."

  Vail's wry tone made her glance at him sharply. “What do you know about it?"

  The detective shrugged. “Another division is investigating. It's not my jurisdiction. Hank's pharmacy has had a couple of robberies in this past year."

  "Really?” Narrowing her eyes, she gave him back the piece of paper. “You didn't tell me what case you're working on. Is it related to Jolene's accident?"

  He withdrew another paper from the file. “Here's a list of staff members from the club. Anything unusual that you've learned about these people?"

  She smiled inwardly, gratified that he was asking for her input. “Who's this?” she asked, pointing to an unfamiliar name.

  "Tesla Parr, one of the massage therapists. Nickname is Tess."

  Marla tapped her chin. “Sharon told me the other therapist, Manny Kosmo, had been out sick when Jolene had her appointment Friday night. I remember Jolene saying she wouldn't go back to Slate. Maybe she'd made an appointment with Tess.” Memorizing the woman's address in case she needed it later, she lifted her questioning gaze to Vail's somber face. “Dalton, what does all this mean?"

  "A multi-drug screening showed sedatives in Jolene's blood. The drug would have been administered about an hour before she went into the Jacuzzi. Those capsules in her bag were gelatin, like you said. So how did she ingest a substance that made her so drowsy that she sank beneath the water and drowned?"

  Chapter Six

  "Jolene was too smart to knowingly take sedatives before immersing herself in the whirlpool. It doesn't make sense,” Marla said quietly.

  "I agree."


  "Poor thing. I would have attended her funeral if it was local.” Her head lowered, she reflected upon this latest loss. Jolene had been a cheerful client, and always complimentary of Marla's efforts. She'd revealed little about her personal life. Rarely did Jolene speak about her background, and even less about her work. Yet Marla had always admired the stylish manner in which she dressed, and the solicitous way she inquired about her concerns. Usually it was the other way around with customers: Marla sounded them out, wanting her clients to leave the salon feeling that someone cared for them.

  When she thought about it, Jolene had sported a more taciturn air in recent weeks. Maybe something had been bothering her. Could she have confided in that masseuse, Tesla? Harboring a sense of obligation to her former client, Marla vowed to find out. Her heartbeat accelerated at the potential for another investigation. All right, Ma, so you were right. I've been on a downer since the holidays were over. Looking for action is better than looking for gray hairs.

  "Marla, what's on your mind?” Vail asked, while peering at her suspiciously.

  Her cheeks suffused with color. What could she say to distract him? Dalton wouldn't approve of her plans regarding Jolene's case. Didn't she have another reason for stopping by besides collecting payment for Brianna's costume deposit? Oh, yes. There was that second matter to discuss with him.

  Swallowing hard, she replied. “Uh, Dalton, there's a favor I have to ask you. Are you busy Saturday night?"

  "Why?"

  Damn his inquisitive mind. Clearing her throat, Marla twirled a section of hair. “I really hope you're free, because I'm kind of helping a friend, and we need your cooperation.” She glanced away from his keen scrutiny.

  "Which friend?” he demanded in a gruff tone.

  "Arnie Hartman. He got himself into a situation where, you know, a former classmate thinks we're engaged.” The last words gushed from her mouth, and she blanched when she saw Vail's expression.

  "What?"

  "Arnie was trying to get rid of Hortense. She'd been living out of town and he hadn't seen her in years. When she called, he panicked. The gal had a crush on him in high school, and he remembered her as a real hag.” Her lips curved upward as she recalled Arnie's reaction to Hortense's transformation.

  "I don't get it, Marla. How does Hortense believe Arnie is your—"

  "Fiancé?” Marla swallowed. “He told her on the telephone. When she said she was coming over, Arnie rushed to the salon and begged me to play along. He didn't count on Hortense being a beauty, and now he wishes he'd eaten his words. His idea is for us to double date. Eventually Arnie and I will supposedly have a fight and break off our engagement. But in the meantime, you can join us ostensibly as Hortense's date. Arnie knows you'll pay attention to me, so he figures he'll win Hortense's affections."

  Marla couldn't meet his reproving gaze. In the ensuing silence, she wondered how she'd gotten herself into another pickle. If you'd stay away from men, you wouldn't have such complications, she told herself. Was it worth the aggravation?

  Risking a glance in Vail's direction, she felt her knees weaken. Hell yes, it was worth everything to get a man to look at her that way. Now if only she could redeem herself in his eyes.

  "Very well,” he said, taking a ragged breath. Being with her had an effect on him, too, she noticed smugly. “Saturday night I'm to date this hag, as you called her?"

  "She's very attractive,” Marla reassured him. “A real looker. It won't be such a chore."

  "You'll owe me. Big time."

  "Arnie and I will both be very grateful."

  "I don't give a shit about Arnie. Your reputation is what matters. I know how hard you've worked to establish yourself. Does anyone else know about this?"

  "Arnie said word might get around. Hortense likes to talk."

  He rolled his eyes. “Great. Then we'll just have to give people something else to talk about."

  "We will?"

  "You bet.” He rose from his chair and closed the distance between them.

  Marla sprang to her feet, facing him while her knees threatened to buckle. When he got near enough for her to sniff his spice cologne, her heart began a jackhammer rhythm.

  "Let's start the gossip going,” he said huskily. Darting a glance at the open doorway, he pulled her into his arms. His mouth descended, and he gave her a bruising, possessive kiss.

  "Tongues will wag,” Marla whispered against his cheek.

  "Good. I don't want anyone pairing you with Hartman."

  "Hortense will think I'm being unfaithful."

  "It'll make her more sympathetic to your friend.” He nuzzled her neck, his hot breath caressing her skin.

  "Dalton, someone may be watching us."

  "That's the idea."

  After another quick press of his lips to hers, he stepped away. His hooded gaze raked her body. “I'll let you know if anything comes up and I can't make it Saturday."

  She told him the arrangements for meeting Arnie. “I've got to pick up Brianna. Don't work too late. She needs you home."

  * * * *

  Marla didn't have the chance that night to follow up on Tess's address. By the time she'd picked up Brianna and dropped her off at home, it was too late. Wednesday evening she was meeting Tally at the sports club anyway. Maybe Tess would be there. If not, she'd ask Slate about the female therapist.

  Busy in the salon all day Wednesday, she didn't give the matter any further thought until Nicole brought her attention to a commotion outside. Excusing herself from the customer whose hair she was teasing, Marla followed Nicole toward the front.

  "I couldn't believe it was her at first, but that's definitely Cookie Calcone,” said Nicole, pointing. Parading back and forth like a soldier on patrol was the petite female Marla had met in the sports club. She held a sign and was exhorting passersby to listen. A small crowd had gathered, fueling her diatribe. With her animated gestures and energetic motion, she appeared to be an accomplished orator.

  "Oh no,” Marla groaned, torn between the need to deal with this new problem and her duty to finish the customer. “Are you waiting for your next client?” she asked Nicole. “I've got to finish Tillie. Can you see what this is about? I'm afraid Cookie has got it in for me."

  Nicole complied, and a few minutes later she approached Marla at her station. “Bad news. She's kvetching about the products you use in the salon, saying cruel animal tests are performed by companies like Stockhart Industries. They and other conglomerates like them produce the ingredients for our shampoos and conditioners. Customers should protest these torturous acts by boycotting our salon."

  "That's absurd.” Grabbing a can of holding spray, Marla spritzed her customer.

  "Sounds like you're her new crusade. What did you do, Marla? Tell her to change her hairstyle?"

  "To the contrary, that strawberry blond color is perfect for her complexion, and her layers have the proper lift. No, this is something else entirely. Cookie believes I told the police she argued with Jolene before the woman died. It's true I overheard their conversation, but I didn't reveal what they said. I wonder who did,” she ended, biting her lower lip. She might have to get to the bottom of this if only to get Cookie off her back.

  "Thanks, Marla,” Tillie said, rising from the chair after Marla removed her cape. She was a gray-haired lady active in the Jewish Federation. “Don't worry about your loyal customers. We'll always stick by you. It'll take more than one woman's slander to keep us from our favorite stylist.” She gave a crinkly grin, showing a row of capped teeth.

  "Maybe you should check with a lawyer, Marla,” Nicole suggested, wiping the counter with a clean cloth. “Cookie is defaming your reputation. You could sue her."

  Marla scribbled Tillie's bill and handed it to her. “Bless my bones, I don't need that kind of tsuris. I hope my dear ex-husband, Stan, doesn't get wind of this, or he'll embrace the situation. He might even take on Cookie's cause just to throw me off balance."

  Primed for battle, Marla march
ed outside. “Cookie, this has to stop. You're not welcome here.” She waved at the sign. “These are false accusations. You haven't even been inside the salon to see what products we use."

  The diminutive woman glared up at her. “I'm a member of SETA. You need to be aware of the crimes you're committing."

  "SETA? What's that?"

  "Society for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. You're promoting cruelty by supporting those companies."

  "We use only quality professional products. Rusk, Sebastian, Paul Mitchell, and Nexxus, for example. Biolage, Joico, and Redken are other well-known names. Most, if not all, claim to protect the rights of animals. Many of these companies are benefactors to groups like yours.” Marla couldn't help her strident tone. Onlookers were watching them, and she hoped to show that Cookie was an uninformed troublemaker.

  "Not Stockhart Industries.” Cookie's eyes narrowed. “They produce the chemicals that go into many of those hair care products. Sure, your companies claim they don't do animal testing, but they neglect to mention where they obtain their ingredients. I know for a fact that Jolene's division was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of animals. I have ways of finding out things."

  "Oh, yeah? Then what have you heard about Jolene's death?” According to what Vail said, Jolene had ingested sedatives about an hour before entering the whirlpool. That's when she was in the locker room with Cookie.

  Cookie's expression hardened. “The woman drowned. She should have suffered more cruelly, like those poor creatures she tortured."

  "Maybe you hastened Jolene on her way. How badly did you want revenge?"

  "Meaning?"

  "Never mind.” Marla's nostrils flared. People walked away, not wishing to get embroiled in a personal conflict. At least she'd succeeded in taking the heat off her salon.

  Cookie rested her placard against a wall. Green eyes blazing with hatred, she faced Marla. “Jolene ruined my life. She took away every chance at happiness I'd had."