Murder by Manicure (7 page)

"Congratulations, Arnie,” crooned Hortense. “You have a lovely fiancée."

Marla, entertained by Arnie's sudden, shocked glare as he raised his eyes, didn't catch on right away until she heard snickers from her staff.

"Don't tell me,” she said to Hortense. “Arnie told you
we're
engaged?"

"Oh, yes. I hope you won't get jealous if I give him a hug. It's been so long, hasn't it, darling?” she said, crushing Arnie in a tight embrace.

"Y-yes,” he stuttered, words obviously failing him.

Hortense stepped away, beaming at Marla. “We've so much news to share. Let's make a date and get together to schmooze."

"Of course,” Marla said, playing her part for all it was worth. Serves the man right, she thought wickedly, tucking a possessive arm through Arnie's.

"Friday night?"

"Can't,” Arnie mumbled. “Religious services."

Marla stared at him. Since when had he started celebrating the Sabbath?

"Saturday evening then. I'll meet you at the Spice Garden at seven-thirty, okay?” Hortense glanced between the two of them, her happy expression lacking any sense of guile.

Marla's heart went out to her. The woman seemed sincere in her desire to see Arnie for old times’ sake. What harm could one date do?

"He's already gotten a babysitter,” she said in a confidential tone to Hortense. “We were going out to dinner anyway, and it'll be a pleasure to get to know you better. Right, Arnie?” She poked him when he didn't answer. He'd been too busy studying Hortense's cleavage.

"Uh, sure. We'll be there.” Arnie turned to Marla as soon as Hortense left. Before he uttered a word, the receptionist gestured Marla over.

"Grace just canceled her appointment. She's running late and is terribly sorry. She rescheduled for tomorrow morning."

"Good,” Marla said, relieved that her work was finished. Now she could clean up and get ready for her duties with Brianna.

"Marla, is it true?” the girl asked. She was a temporary hire until Marla located a replacement. It wasn't easy finding a candidate who fulfilled Marla's stringent requirements for the position.

"What's that?” Marla asked, distracted by Arnie's hangdog expression.

"Are you Arnie's fiancée?” the girl persisted.

"Heck, no. It was a pretense to get Hortense off his back."

Arnie shook his head. “I don't want her off my back."

"Huh?"

"Did you see her? She's a
knockout!
Why the hell did I ever tell her I was engaged?"

"Shit, Arnie, make up your mind.” Disgusted, she ignored the grins of her staff and marched to her station.

Arnie trailed after her, watching while she cleaned her counter. “Maybe we could have a fight and break off,” he suggested. “Then I can tell Hortense I'm free again."

"She'll believe you're not reliable."

"So I'll get to know her first. I have an idea. Why don't we double date?"

"Ouch!” Marla felt a sharp jab of pain where she'd cut her finger on a pair of texturizing shears. “Get me a Band-Aid from that drawer, would you?” she requested, sucking on her fingertip.

Arnie complied. “Shall I kiss your hand first to make it better?” he teased, dimples appearing in his cheeks when he smiled.

"No, thanks.” She applied the Band-Aid and resumed cleaning her shelf. “So tell me about your idea.” Anything to get Arnie off
her
back.

"We'll invite another guy to go along with us when we meet Hortense. He can pay attention to you, and I'll focus on her."

"Won't Hortense think that's odd?"

"Not at all.” Stroking his droopy mustache, he appeared thoughtful. “She'll understand I'm just interested in renewing our acquaintance. Then, when you and I have a fight, hopefully she'll be there to comfort me."

"Arnie, you're despicable.” Yet his scheme appealed to her sense of adventure. Wasn't she looking for something to uplift her mood? Playing Arnie's game would serve to get him off her list, which was well and good because she'd always considered them close friends and nothing more. “Okay, who do you suggest we get to act as decoy?"

A broad grin split his face. “I know just the man: Detective Dalton Vail. He broods over you, so he'll be perfect."

Marla's jaw dropped. “Dalton! I don't think so. He'd be furious if we suggested this to him. He didn't like it when I went out with David. Can you imagine what he'd say to pretending I'm your fiancée?"

"Ask him, Marla. Otherwise, you're stuck with me. Hortense knows a lot of people in town. I can assure you the news of our betrothal will be smeared like schmaltz all over Palm Haven by tonight."

Marla approached Vail's ranch-style house with trepidation. A dim lantern shone over the portico, but spotlights from the garage provided bright illumination. She pushed the doorbell, shifting her feet while waiting to see who responded to her summons. She'd ask Dalton now if he was home. Better to get it over with, that was her motto.

She took a step back when the door swung open, revealing Brianna's sullen face.

"Hi,” the girl said. “I'll get my dance bag.” Turning on her heel, Brianna retreated into the hallway without inviting Marla to enter. She wore a leotard and tights under an oversized T-shirt. A pair of white Steve Madden tennis shoes covered her feet.

"Is your dad home?” Marla called, resisting the urge to clench her fists. This wasn't going to be a pleasant encounter.

Holding a pink sack, Brianna walked toward her. “He's still at work, and Carmen left after she fixed my dinner. I took Lucky out for a walk before getting changed,” she added proudly.

"Golden retrievers need lots of exercise,” Marla said approvingly as she walked beside the girl to her Toyota. “By the way, I like your bun. Did you put your hair up yourself?"

Brianna gave her a condescending look. “Of course. Do you think I'm so retarded that I can't do anything on my own?"

"I didn't mean that."

The girl's dark eyes raked her with scorn. “Let's get something straight, Miss Shore. I know you agreed to take me tonight to impress my dad. This is just temporary until I find another ride, understand?"

"I offered because I wanted to help,” Marla said, holding the passenger door open.

"We don't need anyone's help.” Brianna folded her arms while Marla slid into the driver's seat and started the car. “Daddy is just being nice to you because you solved a couple of his cases. That's why he agreed to let you drive me."

"Oh, is that the reason? I'm so glad you told me. Where are we going?"

"Dance Artists Performance Studio. It's in The Fountains."

"What time do I have to pick you up?"

"Ten o'clock. Ballet class comes first, then I have jazz.” The preteen turned away, staring out the window. “I just remembered, you might have to come inside. They're measuring for recital costumes, and we have to pay a deposit."

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?"