Murder by Manicure (4 page)

Waiting for her next client, Marla scraped hair off a brush with deliberate strokes. “I met Dalton Vail for dessert. He needed information. Didn't you listen to the news? Jolene Myers was found dead at Perfect Fit Sports Club last night."

Nicole's jaw dropped. “She was your client, right? The attractive woman who worked at the chemical plant?"

"Tell me about it.” Marla glanced furtively around the salon. Saturday mornings were always hopping, and today was no exception. Miloki and Giorgio were occupied with customers as were the stylists across the room. An assistant swept the floor while the new receptionist hugged the front desk. Clients strolled back and forth, sampling the bagels, sipping coffee, and greeting their friends.

Spotting her next client walking through the door, Marla leaned forward. “Jolene drowned in the whirlpool. The television report this morning said it was an accident, but Vail is waiting for the medical examiner's results. I was there."

"What do you mean?” Nicole asked.

"Just before she died, Jolene had an argument with a woman in the locker room. I overheard her plans to go for a massage before soaking in the Jacuzzi. Shortly thereafter, I saw her body.” Squeezing her eyes shut, Marla blanked the painful images from her mind. “It reminded me of Tammy."

Nicole put down the water bottle she was using to spray-clean her counter. “Don't you go on about that again,” her friend said, waggling a finger. “You've atoned for that tragedy a hundred times over."

Marla waved a hairbrush. “So how come bodies show up wherever I go? I've got more tsuris than those lab animals Cookie was talking about."

"Nonsense. Jolene's death had nothing to do with you, so don't complain you have too many troubles.” Nicole's gaze widened. “Wait a minute. Whose name did you just mention?"

"Cookie Calcone. She was the one talking to Jolene in the locker room. Apparently, she's an animal rights activist because she was railing against lab research techniques used at Jolene's facility."

Nicole grimaced. “Anytime there's a cause worth defending, you'll find Cookie at the front line. She's a real fruitcake."

Now it was Marla's turn to gape. “How do you know that woman?"

"She was a senior in my high school when I was a freshman. I heard she staged a sit-in with her classmates to protest dissecting frogs in biology. Another time, she demonstrated against trash disposal policies, claiming the school didn't make enough efforts to recycle. Cookie took garbage and spread it all over the cafeteria. Then there were the palmetto bugs."

"Go on.” Marla leaned forward eagerly.

"She felt they were a wasted source of protein, and every time the exterminator came, poison polluted the hallways. On Halloween, she brought in home-baked oatmeal raisin cookies. They were decorated with orange icing like a spider web, and she had enough to offer to anybody who wanted a taste. They were sweet, but a little too chewy.” Nicole stopped, shuddering.

"So?"

"We thought those black things were raisins until Cookie passed out a paper giving a nutritional analysis. They were
bugs,
Marla! Ground-up palmettos. We were eating giant cockroaches."

"Lord save me!” Her stomach heaved, and she imagined what Nicole's schoolmates must have experienced.

"You want to steer clear of Cookie Calcone,” Nicole warned. “She's not averse to taking physical action to prove her point.” Her glance strayed to the front door. “Here comes your next client. Motor Mouth will keep you occupied."

Stifling a groan, Marla turned to greet her latest customer. The woman didn't shut up the entire time she sat in the chair.
You can talk an ear off a brass monkey,
Marla told her client silently, impatient to finish so she could mull over Nicole's words. Just how far would Cookie go to further her aims?

Gossip filled the rest of the day, including speculation about why Jolene had died.

"I think she was on dope,” confided Marla's three o'clock appointment, who was a real yenta.

"Why do you say that?” Marla asked, sifting through the woman's damp strands of hair. Sheila had some perm left on the ends, but she would need another one by her next appointment.

"Jolene was always so wired. That woman had too much energy. It made me tired just watching her. She helped build that chemical company from the ground up, and I'll bet she stepped on some toes along the way. I always wondered how she managed to get a building permit for an industrial plant in our community, too. Who knows whose pocket she lined?"

"How did you meet her?” As far as Marla knew, Sheila chauffeured three kids around all day. Industrial complexes were not her normal milieu.

Sheila's luminous jade eyes met hers in the mirror. “My husband works at Stockhart Industries in the communications department. We attend their obligatory social functions. I was surprised when Jolene wasn't offered the vice presidency when there was an opening a couple of years ago, but the new CEO didn't approve of the way she was handling things. He brought in someone from the outside for the position."

"Was Jolene upset?” Marla queried, parting her client's hair with a comb.

Sheila shrugged. “Not that I could tell, but then I didn't work with the woman. No one will be able to ask her now."

"Are you talking about Jolene Myers?” snapped a customer in Nicole's chair. The slim beautician was applying coloring to the elderly lady's roots. “She was a paragon in our neighborhood. I won't hear anyone talk bad about her. If ever there was a project that needed volunteers, she would always offer her time. Jolene was a trooper, no mistake about it."

Well, there you go,
Marla thought,
two different opinions. Will the real Jolene Myers please stand up?

Not that it was any business of hers. So what if Jolene had been a client? That didn't make it her responsibility to investigate the woman's death. If she were smart, she'd heed Dalton's oft-repeated advice and keep her schnozzle out of places it didn't belong.

Nonetheless, when Sunday rolled around, eagerness made her bound out of bed. Surely people would gossip about Jolene at the sports club. She'd ask a few questions—merely to satisfy her inquisitive nature, of course—when she met Tally there later. And if she learned something juicy, she'd pass it on to the good lieutenant when they saw each other next.

"Come on, Spooks, let's go for a walk,” she said, reaching for the poodle's leash, which hung on a hook in the kitchen. Hearing the familiar rattle, Spooks raced into the room and stood patiently while she fixed his restraint. She scratched his cream-colored coat before straightening her spine. Morning walks were their routine because she was often too tired after work to do much more than let him out into the backyard.

Outside, the January air was cool but bracing as they headed down the street. Green Hills was an exclusive town house community in western Broward County. Marla liked being near major shopping centers. She hunted for special outfits at Tally's boutique; otherwise, sales at Burdines drew her attention.

"Remind me to ask Tally if she got in the new spring line yet,” Marla told Spooks, stopping while he sniffed the grass. It was impossible to move at a brisk pace when he halted every few feet either to do his thing or follow scents. Letting her mind wander, she wondered what Vail had learned about Jolene's death.
Whenever it is, he won't tell you. He gets closemouthed when on a case.
Besides, this may all have been a tragic accident.

"Hey, Marla,” called her neighbor Goat as she rounded the corner toward her home. “How's it going?” Wearing a sheepskin vest over a plaid long-sleeved shirt and jeans, the young man crouched on the ground. He held an open jar in one hand and a fly swatter in the other. Strands of straw-colored hair stuck out from a raccoon cap on his head.

Marla's mouth quirked into a smile. “I'm just fine, Goat. What are you doing?"

"Creepy crawly into the brink, come on, little fellows, into the drink.” Making kissing noises, he shook the jar, which contained a sprinkling of water.

Marla glanced at his closed front door, wondering why she didn't hear the usual sound track of animals emanating from the interior. “How's your menagerie? Are you looking to add to your collection?"

Rising to his feet, Goat undulated his body. “Come on, you lizard buggers. I'm gonna get you! Come out, come out, wherever you are. Junior has to eat today,” he explained.

"Junior?"

His expression brightened. “The sweet serpent of my life,” he crooned. “Would you like to see her?” Focusing on Spooks, who strained at the leash to get away, he leered. “I bet Junior would be glad to see
him."

"Ah, no thanks.” Marla backed away, her eyes wandering to his van, emblazoned with “The Gay Groomer.” Did any of his clients lose their pets during the grooming process?
No, silly.
Goat had been kind enough to retrieve Spooks when he ran away from home several months ago after the break-in. Goat had rescued her precious poodle, who had emerged unscathed from his host's lair.

"Have you seen Moss lately?” she asked, changing the subject. “His wife said he had a new limerick to tell me."

"Nope. The old guy's been out a lot. He's probably busier in his retirement than when he worked as a carpenter.” Goat gave her a keen appraisal. “I could use a new holding pen for Gertrude. I should ask the codger to build one for me. You really need to meet my friends inside, Marla. Ba-a-a,” he imitated, doing a sheep walk.

"No time today, sorry.” Marla hastened away, feeling the cold wind bite through her clothes and chill her bones. Maybe when Dalton accompanied her, she'd venture into Goat's house. Her neighbor might be one card short in his deck, but he seemed harmless. It was his so-called friends who bothered her.

After releasing Spooks in her kitchen, she rubbed her arms to restore the circulation. Putting the heat on was an option. In south Florida, heating systems were as inefficient as air-conditioning up north: inadequate and never the right temperature. But it might take the edge off the cold in her town house, so she upped the thermostat to seventy degrees.

While she was microwaving a cup of coffee, the phone rang.

"Hi, Ma,” she said upon recognizing Anita's lilting tone. “I thought you were going to a breakfast meeting at the synagogue today."

"I'm on my way out the door, but I wanted to know if you saw the local news section. Your name is mentioned."

"It is?” She'd rifled through the
Sun-Sentinel
earlier and hadn't noticed anything. “Which newspaper?"

"The
Miami Herald
reported a drowning at your health club, and it says you gave a statement to the police. Marla, you're not getting mixed up in something dreadful again, are you? Because if so, you're really meshuga. I hope your involvement has nothing to do with that good-looking detective."

Marla planted a hand on her hip. “I just happened to be there when the accident occurred."

"We'll discuss it when you come for lunch this afternoon.” Anita hung up before she had a chance to retort.

Great. Now she had an interrogation to look forward to when she went to her mother's place. In the meantime, she was curious about the
Herald
article, so she bought a morning edition on her way to the Perfect Fit Sports Club.

Tucking the local section into her gym bag, she cruised into the lobby, where her eyes widened in surprise. Friday night must have been a fluke, because lively chatter filled the spacious entry. Members dressed in athletic shorts and tops milled about the juice bar. Couples sat at tables sipping hot beverages. Amy bustled behind the counter, preparing snacks and fruit shakes. Occupied with a customer, the receptionist waved at Marla.

Passing through a set of glass doors into the wet area, Marla noted the aquatics class was full. About twenty elderly women stood in the water, flapping their arms as though they were ducks, while a loud sound track played the chicken dance. Leading the troupe was a buxom brunette whose hourglass figure could have belonged to a beauty queen.

Careful not to slip on the damp tiles, Marla hastened past the whirlpool, where three gray-haired men lounged in the swirling water. She spared a quick glance in their direction, surprised the area wasn't closed off to members by yellow police tape. Didn't it matter that a woman had died there recently?

Her mood darkened when she thought about how callous society had become. Life went on routinely despite tragedy. One minute you're here, laughing and chatting with friends, and the next you're gone.
Time moves forward, stopping for nobody.
Those left behind still had their lives to live out, and who would begrudge them happiness? Yet Marla would have felt better if some respect had been shown to Jolene. The whirlpool could have been closed at least for the weekend.

Seeking solace from her friend, she sought Tally in the locker room. The tall blonde grinned broadly when she saw Marla. Always stylish, she wore a designer shorts set and Nike sneakers. Marla glanced down at her sweat suit. It was too cold to wear shorts, so she'd opted for comfort over glamour.

"Hey, Marla! I was wondering if you'd make it. Normally, you're a late riser on Sundays.” Tally's blue eyes gleamed with pleasure, as though she actually anticipated getting a workout.

"Believe it, pal. I even took Spooks for a walk already."

"I heard what happened.” Tally spoke softly since the room was crowded. “Why didn't you call me Friday night?"

"I was too tired.” Marla didn't admit to meeting Dalton, not caring to go into the details of their current relationship.

"You'll tell me about it later. Which class should we join, or do you want to start on the machines?” Handing Marla a yellow sheet of paper, Tally pointed to the Sunday schedule.

Squinting, Marla studied their choices. “Scratch the Step Reebok and the fab abs. Too strenuous for me. The splash class has already started, and besides, the older generation has dibs on that one."

"How about yoga? I need to stretch my muscles."

Contort them was more likely.
“I don't think so."

"That leaves only pace race or Dancercize."