Nancy J. Cohen - Bad Hair Day 03 - Murder By Manicure

by Murder By Manicure

  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 class 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 class; 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 butt,” 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 massage 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 membership 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 classes 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 class,” she responded, her gaze flickering over his muscled torso. He wore the club logo shirt 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 shifted her weight to her other foot. After Lindsay's class, 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 class and then stooping to brush the remaining vestiges of resin off her jazz shoes. Lindsay had advised her class to use the powdery substance, normally provided for dancers en pointe, to reduce slippage on the polished wood floor.

  "What are you trying next?” Keith asked, his expression reverting to one of open friendliness. “Want to take a turn on the treadmill? I'll show you how to set the controls."

  Marla glanced at the row of treadmill terrorists. Eloise and Sam Zelman were going at a furious pace. She wouldn't want to compete with them. “No, thanks, I've got a massage scheduled. Say, do you know Tesla, the masseuse? I was wondering if Jolene had arranged an appointment with her."

  An odd light sprang into his eyes. “Yeah, I know Tess. She doesn't come in too often. Don't know if Jolene ever used her."

  "Well, I've got to go. I'll see you again, Keith.” She whirled around to find herself facing Lindsay. “Oh, I enjoyed your class today,” Marla told the lithe blonde, whose makeup wasn't even smudged one whit after the strenuous workout.

  Lindsay's blue eyes twinkled. “Thanks. I heard you talking about Jolene. She was your customer, wasn't she?"

  Marla studied her, wondering why the girl's inflection sounded so insincere. “Yes,” she admitted. “Jolene recommended your class to me. Had you known her well?"

  "Not as well as you, I'm sure. Don't women confide in their hairdressers? I'll bet she told you all her secrets."

  "Secrets?” screeched a voice from the stairs. “Wait for me!” Cookie scrambled into view. A red-and-black bandanna circled her head, and she wore a Spandex top with bike shorts that made her look like a wide version of a rubber band.

  "I've got to go,” Lindsay said, smiling apologetically at Marla. “See you later."

  Marla decided to take the offensive. “You know, Cookie, I was thinking about Jolene and her work. Maybe someone in her laboratory wasn't happy with the way she handled things. Didn't you say something about falsified reports?"

  Cookie glared at her. “Why should you care? I thought you weren't interested. Or maybe Jolene had told you everything like she suggested.” Cookie nodded at Lindsay, who'd paused on the steps. At her accusing tone, Lindsay hastily proceeded downward.

  "Jolene didn't talk much about herself,” Marla admitted. Hesitating, she wished it were possible to reveal what she knew about Jolene's death. The woman had obtained sedatives somewhere, but no other similar drugs were found in her purse. An alternate explanation was that she'd obtained them from someone present at the club.

  She glanced at Keith, ostensibly filling out a form at the trainer desk. Vail must be obtaining background information on these people, she surmised. That wasn't her job, but it wouldn't hurt to learn all she could by casually questioning them.

  "I'd be interested in hearing more about animal testing,” she said sweetly. “I'm not really familiar with th
e topic, and you can help to educate me. Certainly, I don't want to carry products in my salon that derive from such cruel techniques.” That's right, Marla, lay it on thick. Butting heads with Cookie will only make things worse. Playing her tune might get better results.

  A smug grin lit Cookie's elfin face. “Okay. Where are you off to now?"

  "I'm getting a massage. Want to go out for coffee later?"

  Cookie grimaced. “You drink that poison? Hell, no. Let's get some yogurt ice cream. You can eat a sundae while I give you the scoop on Jolene."

  Chapter Seven

  "Do you want to come with me when I meet Cookie?” Marla asked Tally. Having her friend along as moral support would make the interview easier.

  "I'd love to hear what that witch has to say,” Tally said, giving Marla a sideways glance, “but Ken is expecting me home by ten. You go ahead. Call me tomorrow and fill me in."

  "Okay. Maybe Slate will be talkative. I'd like to get some information to pass on to Dalton. The sooner he solves this case, the sooner he can resume taking Brianna to dance class. Oh, my God. I forgot to tell you about Arnie!"

  Cycling at a steady pace, Tally gestured to the adjacent machine. “You've still got extra time before your massage. Try this while you're talking."

  Marla eyed the row of Tectrix VR bikes. At the end was a young guy wearing earphones, swaying his head, and smiling. Presumably, she wouldn't have to worry about him listening in.

  "All right, I can do this.” Straddling the seat next to Tally's, she placed her feet on the pedals. “Now what?"

  "See that blue handle on your right?” Tally instructed. “Use the plus and minus signs to select your scene on the monitor."

  Glancing at Tally's screen, Marla saw her friend cycling through a virtual town. “What are you doing?"

  "This one takes place in New England. You can pick Penguin Peak, which is a winter adventure; Tank, a military game; Aztec 2000, which is a futuristic competition; or a Caribbean island."

  "That's for me.” Marla made her selection, then set the speed with the controls on the left handle. She set the timer for ten minutes. Any longer and she'd be late for her massage appointment. Soon she was pedaling along a path lined with tropical flowers. Steel drum music played from speakers built into the chair at head level. Pulling on the handles tilted the machine and let her steer around trees.

  "Hey, this is fun,” she cried, adding pressure to push her bike up a virtual hill. Over the horizon was a beautiful expanse of azure ocean. It wasn't long before her thigh muscles ached in protest and her heart raced. A panel display showed the time elapsed, miles ridden, difficulty level, and calories burned.

  While she zoomed down the hillside, Marla proceeded to inform Tally about her plans with Arnie.

  Tally's face broke into a wide grin. At the end, she laughed aloud. “I wish I could be there to watch Dalton pretending to be this girl's date. You've got to call me the next day! Oh, Marla, you do get yourself into the strangest situations."

  "Help! I'm cycling into the ocean!” Unable to steer around a sand dune, Marla ended up in the sea. Afraid she'd virtually drown, she was relieved when a vast underwater vista opened before her eyes. She'd barely had time to study the iridescent fish when the timer went off.

  Strange didn't adequately describe her encounter with Slate. After rushing into the locker room for a quick shower, she changed into jeans and a cotton blouse before heading for the massage suite. No one was present at the sign-in desk, which seemed to be a normal occurrence, so she knocked on the nearest open doorway and strolled inside.

  Slate whipped around, his matinee-idol face sporting an embarrassed grin as she spied him stuffing a pair of panty hose into a drawer. His light-brown hair was cut short and gelled away from his face in a spiky style. Amber eyes widened in recognition. “Miss Shore?"

  "Call me Marla. This is my first time having a massage, so I'm not sure what to do. Shall I lay down on that table?” She nodded to a treatment table covered with a clean white cloth. It had a hole where her head would rest.

  "Not yet. You need to remove your clothing and wrap this sheet around yourself, then lie down on your back. I'll give you a few minutes."

  "Wait! I, uh, only need my back and shoulders done.” Damned if she was going to completely disrobe.

  Slate didn't change his expression. “Well, then, just take off your shirt and bra, honey."

  Bless my bones, the things I do to gather information, she thought wryly as she lay face-up on the table, her nude upper body wrapped in a sheet. She'd found a closet to hang her clothes in, although it appeared as though another woman had left her outfits there. A couple of dresses, heels in an awkwardly large size, and various undergarments took up most of the tiny space.

  After a brief interval during which she counted dots on the ceiling, Slate reentered. He'd donned a white jacket to make himself look more professional.

  That won't help, pal. You still look like you belong on a marquee. Embarrassed by her half-naked state, albeit covered by a cloth, she gritted her teeth. He probably regards female bodies like a gynecologist does, she told herself reassuringly. Merely a day's work.

  Slate advanced to a panel on the wall and turned a dial. Soothing New Age music filtered into the air. He flipped another switch, and Marla could swear she smelled orange blossoms. Her heart quickened when he approached. Pulling out a stool, Slate sat himself at her head and put his thumbs on the base of her neck.

  "Relax, honey, you're here to relieve tension. Do you have any physical problems we need to work on?” he said. His low voice rippled over her, buoying her like a wave. She felt his fingers press on a tender area at her nape.

  "I feel knotty after a long day at work,” she confessed. His thumbs began a gentle massage, and she could feel the coil of tension dissolving. This wasn't so bad. If she weren't careful, she'd get too relaxed and then she wouldn't accomplish anything.

  "Slate, I understand there's another therapist whose name is Tess. When does she come in?"

  His hands paused, then resumed their motion. “She works during my off-hours. I don't see her much."

  Marla detected a strain in his voice. “Jolene had an appointment for a massage the night she died. She'd scheduled it with Manny, but he was out sick. Do you know if Jolene switched to Tess?"

  His fingers stretched to stroke her neck. They pressed lightly on her carotids, making Marla imagine how easily he could encircle her throat. “Tess wasn't here. I took Jolene's appointment."

  She squirmed uncomfortably, suddenly uneasy. “I thought Jolene and you, uh, were not on the best of terms."

  "There wasn't any hassle. Jolene agreed to let me do it. She stayed for her session and then left to change into a swimsuit. That's what I told the cops when they asked me."

  "I see.” She didn't understand the reticence in his tone. Was there something more he was leaving out? “Did Jolene feel all right when she was here?"

  Again his hands paused. “Sure. Why wouldn't she? What do you know about her accident, anyway?” he asked suspiciously.

  "Oh, no more than you do. Tell me, how would you describe your relationship with Amy?"

  "Who told you about us?"

  "Amy did. Apparently, she considers you her territory. Do you think she was jealous of your interest in Jolene?"

  "There was nothing for her to be jealous about. Jolene thought she was too hot for me.” His voice rose. “She didn't realize she was turning down the best jock in town. Babes usually ask me out."

  Stepping away, he flexed an arm muscle to prove his point. “Now turn onto your stomach, please. You'll see how good I am."

  He waited while she flipped over and resettled her position. It felt peculiar to hang her face through the hole in the table.

  "If you want to see who's really the jealous type, check out Keith upstairs,” Slate said. “You won't believe the lengths that guy will go to protect his turf.” Shifting his position, he kneaded her shoulders. Her muscles relaxed as he du
g into the sensitive areas below her clavicle. Immersed in the process, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensations.

  Gloria had a different take on matters when Marla ran into her outside the massage suite a half hour later. “What time did I leave on Friday? Let me see.” The sales associate tapped a manicured fingernail to her chin. “After you left my office, I stayed to finish some work on my computer. Jolene must have been at her appointment with Slate, because I heard them arguing."

  Marla's ears perked up. “Could you make out what they were saying?” she shamelessly asked.

  "No, they were inside one of the massage suites. What's it to you, anyway?"

  She smiled as though it didn't matter. “Just curious. How did you know they weren't getting along if you were unable to hear them?"

  Gloria raised a supercilious eyebrow. “Do you think I'd make things up just because Jolene found out about my—” She broke off what she'd been about to say, her cheeks flaming. “Their voices were raised, and I heard a slapping sound. Slate probably made a move on her, and Jolene retaliated. You should've seen the look on Amy's face."

  "Amy could hear all the way from the snack bar?"

  "Hell, no. She was standing right outside the suite. She'd seen Slate show Jolene into a treatment room."

  "Did you see Jolene leave?"

  "No, Lindsay wanted me to check on one of the customer records."

  "I didn't know Lindsay was still here.” During her conversation with Jolene in the locker room, Marla had understood that the Dancercize class was over about a half hour before, because Jolene had gone after class to get a snack. Lindsay hadn't been upstairs when Marla met Keith. So how long had she hung around?

  Eloise was in the club, Marla remembered. Maybe she had noticed staff members playing musical chairs. Putting Eloise, as well as Amy, on the list to interview, Marla thanked Gloria for the information.

  "You want to thank me properly? Sign up for a full club membership. I need to make my quota this month."

  That's not my problem, pal. “I'll think about it,” she hedged.

  Gloria followed her as she headed for the front door. “I'll get the papers ready. You can sign next time you're here."