Murder By Manicure Part 6

"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 ma.s.sage 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 ma.s.seuse, 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 Sat.u.r.day night?"

"Why?"

d.a.m.n 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 cla.s.smate 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-"

"Fiance?" 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. h.e.l.l 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. "Sat.u.r.day night I'm to date this hag, as you called her?"

"She's very attractive," Marla rea.s.sured him. "A real looker. It won't be such a ch.o.r.e."

"You'll owe me. Big time."

"Arnie and I will both be very grateful."

"I don't give a s.h.i.+t 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 Sat.u.r.day."

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 pet.i.te female Marla had met in the sports club. She held a sign and was exhorting pa.s.sersby 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 marched 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 Mitch.e.l.l, 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 wis.h.i.+ng 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."

"I'm sorry to hear you say that," Marla responded softly, hoping to encourage confidences.

"She came to your salon, was your friend. Maybe Jolene confided in you. Women like to tell their hairdressers things. Did she tell you about the falsified reports?"

"What do you mean?"

Cookie's eyes glittered. "You'd like to know, wouldn't you? You do favors for me, I'll be more accommodating."

Trembling with anger, Marla gave up on being civil. She whirled around and stormed through the door to her salon. The chutzpah of the woman! Maybe I should take up boxing instead of Dancercize, she thought, visualizing a match between herself and Cookie.

Tense and irritable, she greeted Tally with a snarl that evening at the sports club. "Thank goodness that woman isn't here," Marla muttered, stuffing her street clothes into the gym bag she'd brought. They were in the locker room, changing before their group cla.s.s began. Marla had spotted Lindsay on her way out just as they came in. Apparently, the dance instructor used the same facilities. Had Lindsay changed back into her street clothes the night Jolene died? Marla wondered. Jolene had mentioned taking her cla.s.s; then she'd eaten a snack at the refreshment bar. Lindsay could have changed and left before Jolene reentered the locker room and encountered Cookie.

Tally finished tying her shoelace. "Why do you have such a gloomy face? We're here to relieve stress, remember?" Using a hairbrush from her sack, Tally proceeded to fix her thick hair into a ponytail.

Marla filled her in on events of the week. "I'm glad Cookie isn't here. I don't think I could have tolerated her tonight."

"She's a royal pain in the b.u.t.t," Tally agreed. "I hope she doesn't find an excuse to picket Dressed to Kill Boutique!" Her blue eyes twinkled playfully. "By the way, did you ever make a ma.s.sage appointment for later?"

"I've got one with Slate. Manny is still out sick, and I just found out about Tesla. I'm hoping she's here so I can talk to her about Jolene."

Tally straightened. With her statuesque body and clear complexion, she could have been a model. "Marla, why are you pursuing this? Jolene's drowning was tragic, but in all likelihood it was an accident. Are you feeling responsible for another one of your clients?"

Dalton's revelation poised on her tongue, but she didn't mention the sedatives. "This isn't a clear-cut case like Bertha Kravitz's death, so I'm curious, that's all. Let's go upstairs."

On the way, she eyed the sleek, athletic bodies of their fellow members, and a moue of disgust formed on her face. How did they stay so slim? They probably subsisted on grapefruit diets. With all the jewelry on their arms, they didn't need to lift weights. So this was where the yuppie crowd hung out. Viewing the men, she noted a preponderance of paunches and graying temples. Were they trying to keep up with their mates?

She supposed one could really get into this culture and turn physical fitness into a personal crusade. Maintaining health was important for everyone, but she preferred other social venues than talking while treadmilling. After their trial members.h.i.+p was over, she'd rather meet Tally for dinner than Dancercize.

Not that it wasn't fun. While she was skipping to a big band beat, her worries flew out the door. Concentrating on following Lindsay's steps took her full attention. Blood surged through her taut muscles, energizing her body and eliminating fatigue. What galled her was the effortless grace with which Lindsay bounced through the routines. If only I were as young as that again, I'd be fitter, too, especially if I taught dance cla.s.ses all week.

Keith Hamilton waylaid her outside the door. "Hi, Marla. How's it going? Are you enjoying the club?" His nut brown eyes swept her in a practiced once-over.

She introduced him to Tally. "We've been taking Lindsay's cla.s.s," she responded, her gaze flickering over his muscled torso. He wore the club logo s.h.i.+rt and shorts, leaving the rest of his hairy body exposed.

His eyebrows rose. "I hope you're having a better time than when we first met."

"Oh, yes. That was awful. Poor Jolene."

"Marla," Tally interrupted, "I'm going to try the cycle machine. Come join me when you're ready." Flicking a meaningful glance in Keith's direction, she walked off.

"Amy isn't too upset," Keith responded, his mouth curving downward. "Now she's got a clear field to Slate."

"You don't seem too happy about that."

"I'm not, man. We've gone out a few times, and I know she likes me. But whenever Mr. Smooth Talk is around, she forgets I exist. It's not just him. She hangs at the scene down by the beach." His gaze narrowed. "I'm not worried as long as I keep tabs on her. That way, I can see she doesn't lose sight of who really matters."

"Like you, I suppose?" Marla s.h.i.+fted her weight to her other foot. After Lindsay's cla.s.s, her body was beginning to ache in places she hadn't known existed. Thigh muscles in particular were getting a rude awakening.

From the corner of her eye, Marla noticed Lindsay waving farewell to a lingering member of their cla.s.s and then stooping to brush the remaining vestiges of resin off her jazz shoes. Lindsay had advised her cla.s.s to use the powdery substance, normally provided for dancers en pointe, to reduce slippage on the polished wood floor.