Murder by Manicure (11 page)

Friday after work, she put aside time to accomplish one task. Fortunately, she remembered the address for Tesla, the massage therapist, thanks to Vail, who had shown her the list of sports club staff members in his office. Now she could at least check this trail to see if it led to Jolene. Vail might have already investigated this angle, but she had an advantage over him. A woman was more likely to confide in a hairdresser than in a cop.

Her car's clock read six-thirty, meaning she had less than an hour before Eddie, Nicole's boyfriend, started barbecuing jerk chicken for a get-together at his house. Hopefully, Tess would be home if she hadn't yet gone out for the weekend.

Driving through an older section of Plantation near Fig Tree Lane, Marla admired the spreading banyan trees that shaded the streets. The lots extended well away from the road. From the house numbers, she surmised Tesla's place was the lemon yellow cottage with white shutters just ahead. She'd pulled along the curb and put her hand on the gear shift when a movement caught her attention. Someone was leaving the yellow house. Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a vibrantly colored kerchief dress, the lady wobbled on high heels toward a dark-green Buick parked in the short driveway. Squinting, Marla tried to get a better view in the encroaching darkness.

Two choices confronted her. She could approach the house and knock on the door. If Tess was inside, her patience would be rewarded. But if this person leaving was Tess, maybe Marla should follow her.

Have some
saichel,
she told herself. Good sense mandated that she continue with her original plan. Waiting until the visitor left, Marla studied the house. Weeds had overgrown the front lawn. A sodden newspaper in a plastic bag lay on the swale, victim of an early-morning sprinkler shower.

As she got out of the car and walked along the cracked sidewalk, her nostrils inhaled a sweet, fruity scent. Old Florida, she thought fondly, veering around a spreading bird of paradise plant.

The front door swung open, and a thin woman wearing rollers and a housecoat confronted Marla. “Do I know you?"

Marla mustered a smile. It was difficult to ignore the woman's red-rimmed eyes and trembling lower lip, but she managed a cheerful demeanor. “I'm looking for Tesla Parr. My name is Marla Shore."

"You just missed her. She left a few minutes ago."

"Oh. Isn't this her place?"

The woman gave a harsh laugh. “Hell, no. Who are you and where did you get that information?"

"From the sports club where she works. I'm a member there, and I wanted to know if she gave private appointments. As a hairdresser, I'm on my feet all day. I really need someone to come to my house and give me a massage after work. I can afford whatever fee Tess charges."

"Oh, yeah?” The woman's blue eyes glinted with avarice. “Wait just a minute, honey. I'll write down an address where you can find her."

"Are you her friend?"

"Sorry, I'm Betsy. We're ... more than friends."

Betsy grinned, showing surprisingly even teeth. With a smile, her expression lost its haunted look and transformed her features. She was a pretty woman, Marla thought, when she wasn't crying. Now what did she mean by that remark? Were she and Tess on intimate terms?

Clutching the piece of paper in her hand, Marla returned to her car. Temperatures ranged in the seventies, and humidity was low, making it a delightful evening for a barbecue. Her rumbling stomach heralded dinnertime. One more stop, then she'd proceed to Eddie's house, where the rest of her staff had probably finished their first round of drinks.

Traffic was heavy with rush-hour commuters, soit took her longer than normal to travel to Davie, the nearest town to the south. The directions took her to a community with speed bumps, which she cursed each time the Camry jolted over one. Whoever voted them into the development should grow like an onion, with his head in the ground. All they did was ruin the tires.

Hungry and annoyed, she wasn't in a good mood when she rapped on the door at 501 Fairlawn Court. It hadn't escaped her notice that the dark-green Buick she'd seen Tess leave in earlier now sat in this driveway. Expecting the woman to open the door to her house, she received an unexpected shock when a man responded to her summons.

"Slate! What are you doing here?” she asked as soon as she could speak. From his matted dark hair, freshly scrubbed face, and bare chest, she surmised Slate wasn't prepared for visitors. His exposed feet bore strange marks and looked swollen.

"I'm going to ask you this same thing,” he snapped, eyes flashing dangerously.

"I was looking for Tess."

"Why? And who told you to come here?"

She shifted her position. “Betsy said I had the wrong address, and she gave me this location. Is this where Tess lives?"

"Yes and no."

Resisting the urge to crane her neck and peer inside the house, she gave him a determined stare. “I need to talk to her."

Slate pursed his lips, which, Marla realized, bore faint traces of lipstick. Did he and Tess have a relationship? If so, what was Tess doing over at Betsy's house? And why did Tess list her girlfriend's address as her own?

"She's not available,” Slate told her. “But if you want to come in, just give me a minute to straighten things up.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively. “You probably wanted to ask Tess where I lived anyway."

"Oh ... right. So are you two very close?"

He slicked a lock of hair off his forehead. “Not in the way you mean, sweetheart. Come in and I'll prove it."

"Okay.” Her foot shot forward, but he wedged the door against her.

"Wait.” A look of panic flickered behind his expression. “I have to put some things away."

"You just said I should come inside."

"Not yet. Maybe we should make it another time.” His biceps bulged as he held the door in place. Hooded eyes raked over her. “I can give you a private massage."

Holy highlights, just what I need!
“Ah, sure, Slate. That sounds interesting. Let's schedule a time when Tess will be here. I'd really like to meet her, but it's hard to catch her at the club."

"Sorry, I can't guarantee when she'll be around.” A flush crept over his skin. “She keeps irregular hours."

Marla puzzled over their relationship, but Slate wasn't going to give any easy answers. Strange how Tess was so elusive.

Maybe she'd stake out the place another time and wait for her to show. “I'll see you at the club, and perhaps then we'll make a date for my private session."

Winking, he grinned. “You bet. I guarantee you'll never have it better. Some of the ladies take this stuff to heart, but I don't think you're the type. You know the score. We'll have a good time."

You wish, pal.

Wondering how Amy would feel if she knew about her heartthrob's philandering, Marla decided to sound out the Smoothie King attendant at the first opportunity. Amy had overheard Slate arguing with Jolene and had admitted to being jealous. Playing upon Amy's emotions might be a technique Marla could use to get her to talk about Slate.

She decided to confide her suspicions to Vail on their double date the following night. The only difficulty she foresaw was getting him away from Hortense.

It was a good thing they'd all decided to meet at the restaurant, or an awkward situation would have ensued. She waited for Arnie after work, and they drove together. She'd never seen him so excited.

"Do I look all right? Is my hair okay? I used a new cologne the kids got me for Chanukah.” Stroking his mustache, he guided the wheel with his other hand. His dark eyes glanced anxiously in her direction.

Seated on the passenger side of his Chevrolet, she smiled gently. “You're fine, Arnie. Just relax. You're supposed to be my date, remember?"

Sweat beaded his brow, and it wasn't from the Florida heat. A mild cold front had swept through the area, bringing temperatures in the sixties. “How did Vail react? I swear that guy doesn't seem as though he has a sense of humor."

"He agreed to come along, more likely to keep an eye on me. I think he's jealous of you."

Arnie gave a disarming grin. “He might have had reason to be, if you'd ever given me a second look."

"We're friends, pal. That means a lot to me."

"I know.” Shaking his head, Arnie focused on his driving. “Hortense bowled me over. Never in a million years would I have expected her to show such a
shayna punim."

"Ugly ducklings can turn into beautiful swans."

"Yeah, and what a schlemiel I was for telling her we were engaged! What a tight tush she has, too. Did you see her—"

"Arnie, please concentrate on where we're going. You just passed a stop sign."

"Oh, sorry. Anyway, it was a real good
chochmeh
of mine to ask Vail to join us. He'll pay attention to you, so I can focus on Hortense. She'll have to like me."

"She already does. That's why she called you when she came back to town."

Arnie's face glowed with happiness. “That's true, isn't it? So everything will work out when you and I have our supposed fight. Maybe we should break up tonight."

"Let's see how things progress. The best-laid plans go oft astray,” she quoted.

How prophetic were those words, she realized later. The Spice Garden was located west of Nob Hill Road in Palm Haven, on a corner beside an office complex. Weekend evenings brought out the singles crowd, whose boisterous chatter extended beyond the walls. Lacking early-bird specials, the restaurant appealed to a young, professional group of upscale patrons.

Marla scanned the crowd milling outside the lushly landscaped entrance. Her gaze alighted on a tall, masculine figure.
Bless my bones, Dalton is already chatting with Hortense.
No shyness there, she noted cattily. Wondering who had recognized whom first, she was glad introductions weren't required. “I see you've met,” she remarked idly.

Dalton, who looked smashing in a herringbone sport coat, grinned at her broadly. “Hi Marla. How are ya, Arnie? Jill and I were just getting acquainted."

The subject of his attention leaned forward, giving Marla a view of her substantial cleavage. “Dalton is such a hunk, isn't he? I've never dated a police officer before!” Simpering under his gaze, Hortense patted the bleached blond hair piled atop her head, its delicate tendrils framing her face.

Marla glanced approvingly at the fancy updo. Either the woman was skilled with a curling iron, or she'd seen a hairdresser earlier. Hortense knew how to apply makeup artfully as well. Marla couldn't fault her taste, but Hortense's appearance seemed too perfect. How much of it was real, and how much was artifice? Would Dalton know the difference? Or Arnie, for that matter? And did they care?

She surveyed the woman's low-cut sapphire cashmere sweater, skimpy black leather skirt, and strapped heels. No matter what Hortense wore, she exuded sex appeal. Any man would be a fool not to look twice at her.

Marla's own outfit consisted of a silk tangerine-and-black dress that clung to her curves. Sensible pumps covered her stockinged feet. Standing all day in the salon made her careful about footwear. Comfort came first, saving a visit to the podiatrist.

Dalton poked her on the shoulder. “This was such a great idea. Jill has some fascinating stories about when she grew up here. I'm glad you included me."

Arnie, hovering beside Marla, frowned. “But we used to call her Hortense, and she—"

Marla kicked his ankle. “Be careful,” she warned him under her breath. “You're trying to snow her, remember? Don't bring up ugliness from the past."

Their number was called and they went inside to be seated. Marla wasn't too happy when Dalton preceded her with Hortense. In fact, she wasn't happy at all. He seemed to have forgotten their scheme and was being far too attentive to the newcomer.

"Your job is so exciting,” Hortense said to him. Winding her arm through his elbow, she sashayed forward.

Strolling beside Marla, Arnie panted like a puppy. Staring at the woman's swaying derriere, he smacked his lips. In another minute, he'll be drooling, Marla thought.

"Arnie, stop that,” she ordered. “Now who's acting like a dog?"

"Oy vey,
I can't help it. She really turns me on.” He tugged on his knit shirt tucked into a pair of Dockers slacks.

"Oh, so what did I do to you that you kept trying to get a date? Reminded you of a pot roast while she's the dessert?"

"Marla, you're a
shayna madel
and a beautiful person, but no one can compare to Hortense's uh..."

"Good taste? Cultured upbringing? Give me a break."

She waited until they were seated at a table overlooking an artificial brook and tropical greenery before throwing a wrench into their conversation. “So who's baby-sitting for Brianna tonight?” she asked Vail in a honeyed tone. She and Arnie sat together facing the other couple. “I don't imagine she goes out on dates yet. Your daughter is too young."

To her annoyance, Vail seemed unperturbed by her comments. “She's got a friend staying over. They rented a movie from Blockbuster.” He turned to Hortense. “I have a twelve-year-old daughter. She'll turn thirteen in the spring. How are you at planning birthday parties?"

Hortense thrust out her bosom. “I just love parties, sugar. I can help you arrange something for the sweet little girl."

Sweet little girl, my ass. You've never met Brianna, lady.
“I'm good at planning parties, too! We have them all the time for our salon staff. Boosts morale, you know."

Vail's smoky gaze fixed on her. “I'll keep that in mind. When the time comes, I may call on you."

Great, now I'll get stuck planning a teen shindig. Lord save me, this conversation is veering way off course.

"It's Marla's birthday next month,” Arnie interrupted. He'd been too occupied gawking at Hortense to speak since they'd been seated. “She'll be thirty-five on Valentine's Day."

"Arnie!” Marla nudged him angrily.

"How romantic,” Hortense crooned, beaming at them. “Are you planning a special celebration?"

Marla and Arnie glanced at each other. “Well, we hadn't thought about it,” Arnie confessed, a bewildered look on his face. He seemed confused by the turn of events, too.