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

by Murder By Manicure

  "Thanks, but my mother invited me for a meal.” That was true; Marla didn't tell Vail she'd declined Anita's invitation because of her date with Lance. Even though the computer guru was an old friend, Dalton would probably get upset if he knew her plans.

  * * * *

  Lance Pearson lived on the east side of Fort Lauderdale in an older section with willowy bottlebrush trees and melaleucas shading the streets. His three-bedroom home was sand-colored with white shutters, a popular combination in Broward County's sunny climate. The bright pastels that were popular in the Caribbean were scorned here. Beige tones ruled, with occasional deviations by brave souls who wanted more color in their lives.

  Marla parked in the circular driveway overrun with dead leaves from a black olive tree, scourge of the region. For motives unknown to her, people planted them for their height and shady canopy, but the leaves that shed periodically could stain the paint on the sturdiest car. Split nuts from a mahogany crunched underfoot as she strode to the front door. It was only 6:30 but already dark. Insects buzzed by the hanging lantern that illuminated the entrance. A sweet scent of orange blossoms permeated the air. Were they starting to bloom so early? February was nearly here, she reminded herself. Soon it would be her birthday. She didn't want to think that far in advance.

  Her hands patted the pair of black slacks and rose hooded sweater she'd picked up at Macy's latest Karen Kane sale. Tonight was casual; she expected a pleasant evening with a good friend. A smile curved her lips as she remembered how they'd met. Lance had sold her the first computer she'd ever owned. Those were the days when he worked in an electronics store before branching out on his own as a systems analyst. Freelancing as a consultant suited his lifestyle and improved his budget. Calling upon him for computer advice had become a habit. Somewhere along the way, he'd stopped charging her and asked her out instead. Marla liked him but not in a romantic way. Keeping him at arm's length would be the challenge of the night.

  He opened the door right after she pressed the doorbell, as though he'd been loitering in the foyer. His acorn eyes, round as an owl's, peered at her with delight. He'd spiffed up for the occasion, wearing a checkered collar shirt and tan Dockers. His mud brown hair, frizzy as always, inspired her to offer an anti-humectant product, but she bit her tongue and smiled.

  "Come in, love,” he said in a deep voice that could have belonged to a radio announcer. “The computer's turned on. If you're not starving, we can take care of business first."

  Any other guy might have complimented her on her appearance, Marla thought in bemusement as she followed him into his home office. Maybe he was just too eager to show her his favorite web sites.

  She sat in the chair he'd motioned to beside the desk. Lance scrunched into a seat beside her and moved the mouse to get rid of the screen saver. Interested by what popped up on the screen, she leaned forward. It was some kind of anarchy site listing weapons you could construct at home.

  "Bless my bones, is this for real?” she gasped. Militant anarchism seemed to be the aim, with choices for drugs and bombs, news reports on racism issues, and claims of American war crimes in developing countries. Lance clicked on the “drugs and bombs” button. Her blood chilled as she viewed selections for malicious chemistry, a terrorists’ handbook, a classic must-have for America's youth known as the school stoppers’ textbook, and dangerous drugs. Explosive devices included not only pipe bombs, but also chemical fire bottles, dry-ice bombs, antifreeze-gelatin explosive, and aspirin plastique, among others.

  "Look,” Lance said, clicking on pipe bombs. “These seem too complicated for your average Joe to construct. So I found this other site called ‘Ways to Send a Car to Hell.'” The screen changed, and up came a site describing a substance you could buy in specialty hardware stores, an extremely explosive chemical called Solidox.

  Marla read the instructions, confused by the chemistry. “I don't get it. The active ingredient is potassium chlorate, but you still need an energy source to cause an explosion."

  Lance's eyes lit with excitement. “Household sugar serves that purpose. All you do is grind up the Solidox sticks, mix in some sugar, and you've got a bomb. It's probably not that easy, and I wouldn't know how to detonate the thing, but techno-wizards could figure it out."

  Marla frowned. “Who has that kind of knowledge? Jolene was the only one who worked in a chemical plant."

  "There are simpler methods. You can also stuff gasoline-soaked rags up the exhaust pipe. I'm not sure what effect those would produce, but you don't need any technical expertise.” His questioning gaze caught hers. “Why don't you tell me what you're working on over dinner?"

  Shoving his chair back, he stood. “I mixed a carafe of sangria. Come into the kitchen. The chicken's marinating in the refrigerator. I'll get the grill ready, and we can munch on appetizers.” He lowered his voice. “I'm really happy you're here tonight, love. We don't get the chance to be alone that often."

  She swallowed at the predatory gleam in his eyes, and a forced smile cracked her face. “I appreciate your efforts to get me the right information all the time."

  In the kitchen, he took out the pitcher of sangria and poured them each a glass. Facing her, he raised his hand for a toast. Just under five feet seven, he was less than an inch taller than she. Close up, his nose looked broader, and his lips fuller than she preferred on a man.

  "To our friendship,” he announced, sipping his drink.

  Marla followed suit, enjoying the fruity flavor despite the strong liquor he'd added. When his amber gaze dropped to her mouth, she swallowed apprehensively.

  "I can get the grill ready or give you a tour of my house. I don't believe you've seen the renovations to my bedroom."

  Her hand waved in dismissal. “That's okay, maybe later. I'm getting hungry. Did you say there were appetizers?"

  Putting his glass on the counter, he stepped closer and placed his hands on her shoulders. She got a whiff of Old Spice cologne and tried to ignore the view of golden chest hairs below his open collar.

  "I know what you really came for, so you can quit the shy act. I'm hungry too, but not for the food.” His eyes glittered meaningfully.

  Marla endured his kiss, wanting to be kind to him. Poor guy was married to his computer instead of a real woman.

  "That was for old times’ sake,” she said after disentangling herself. “You know I value our friendship, but we need to keep things at this level because I have news. You know Arnie Hartman, owner of Bagel Busters? Well, we're engaged."

  Dismay and surprise warred in his expression. “Is that right? I guess I should be happy for you, then."

  She touched his arm gently. “I hope you understand. You'll always be special to me, but not in that way."

  His foot kicked an imaginary spot on the tile floor. “Sure. So I guess this is a celebration dinner."

  "Yes, it is. Next time, you can come to my place and chat with Arnie. Maybe you'll even bring a date.” Or I'll fix you up with one, she thought, considering Hortense as a candidate. Not a bad idea. It would get her out of Vail's range.

  Lance's mood shifted, and he grinned at her. “What are we waiting for? Let's chow down. Tell me what's been going on while I start the grill."

  * * * *

  Arnie's mustache quivered with delight when he spotted Marla entering his deli on Monday morning. The place was crowded, but he left his post by the cash register to greet her with a warm embrace.

  "Marla, darling,” he said in a loud enough voice for most of the patrons to hear. “How nice of you to drop by on your day off. Guess you couldn't keep away from your fiancé!"

  "This has got to stop, pal,” Marla replied in a hushed voice. “Any word from Hortense?"

  His face sagged. “Not since Friday night. She's supposed to start her new job today, so maybe she was getting ready. Have you talked to Vail?"

  She strolled with him back to the checkout point. “He called me yesterday. He's still trying to locate Eloise. I thought I'd stop by her o
ffice to see if her staff knows anything. Oh yes, and I believe she has a hair appointment for this week. I wish she'd show up!” Worry gnawed at her. What if the killer's target had been Sam, and Eloise had walked toward the car at the moment when the bomber was planting the device? Eloise might have been taken captive. Or maybe she'd been frightened into hiding, especially if it was a person she'd known. Marla didn't subscribe to the theory that Eloise had schemed to do in her husband. No, it had to be someone else.

  "Josh and Lisa have been asking about you,” Arnie said after a customer paid his bill.

  "They're good kids. Have they heard the rumors?"

  His dark eyes gleamed. “About us? Not yet, although they'd be happy if it were true."

  She bopped his shoulder. “I thought you liked Hortense."

  "I do, but only because you turned me down. Are you changing your mind?” Dimples creased his cheeks as he gave her a teasing smile.

  "I love you, Arnie, but as a dear friend."

  "Aw, shucks. I thought of getting hair plugs just for you."

  Glancing at his receding hairline, she grinned. “Bald is sexy, don't you know?"

  He rang up another bill. “I wonder how Hortense feels about me. She looks so young."

  "Yeah, thanks to various cosmetic alterations. Look, Arnie, be careful where she's concerned. Did Hortense tell you where she used to work in Vero Beach?"

  "Nope. She mentioned a breakfast bar, though, when we were talking about how I got started in the restaurant business."

  While he was distracted by still another patron, Marla debated how to coax more information from him. For some reason, Hortense's motives didn't ring true, and Marla didn't want Arnie to get hurt if his relationship with her developed any further. Thanks, Dalton. Your suspicious nature rubbed off on me. Come on, she thought, that wasn't fair. After her recent fling with David had ended in disaster, she'd learned to be cautious. It wouldn't be right to let Arnie fall into the same pit.

  Are you sure you're not jealous, bubula? she asked herself. Before Hortense arrived, Arnie was interested in you. Suddenly another woman comes along, and you immediately think she's here under false pretenses.

  Arnie's attention turned back to her. “I like Vero Beach,” she said quickly before he changed topics. “It's good for a quick weekend getaway, and there's a great outlet mall off I-95. What's the name of Hortense's breakfast place? I'll have to stop in next time I visit the area."

  "Seagulls & Saucers. It's on the beach strip. So what are you doing the rest of today?"

  She played with a pen on the counter. “I've got a lot of errands to run."

  Ruth, one of the waitresses, stopped on her way to the kitchen with an order. “Congratulations, honey. We're pleased as pie for y'all."

  "Oh. Thanks.” Marla stuck out her tongue at Ruth's retreating back. “Look what a monster you've created, pal. We'll never live this one down!"

  "It's Vail's loss. He should have nailed you first."

  "He's more ready than I am.” Her mouth watered as the aroma of garlic bagels and coffee wafted to her nostrils.

  "Baloney. You're just afraid of getting involved again. You tested the waters with David and came up dry. Mr. Perfect turned out to be a dud."

  "Tell me about it. The same thing happened with Stan, my delightful ex-spouse. So why should I risk a third round?"

  "Life is a risk, shayna madel. You might dive in this time and find you can swim like a dolphin. Vail cares about you. You can tell by the way his attention always wanders in your direction. If he seems overbearing, it's because he wants to protect you. It must frustrate him when you won't listen."

  She pursed her lips. “I can take care of myself, thank you. Witness the two killers that I subdued."

  "Ha! You were lucky those times. As your friend, I'll defend your right to forge your own path in life, but not when you endanger yourself."

  Men! They're all alike. Gritting her teeth, she changed the subject. “Did Hortense give you her phone number?"

  "Of course. I'll call her later to see how her first day on the job went. Maybe she's heard gossip about Jolene."

  "Let me know,” Marla said. “I'll talk to you later."

  * * * *

  Jolene was the topic of conversation when Marla entered the Zelmans’ realty office. She'd half-hoped Eloise would be sitting at her desk and was disappointed when her familiar figure wasn't evident. Approaching the woman at the front, she waited until the agent finished her telephone conversation.

  "No, Miss Myers's house isn't for sale yet. Her relatives contacted me, but it will be a while before things get settled. Wasn't Sam handling your account? I thought you just signed a lease for an apartment."

  Marla's gaze wandered the area while the agent listened through a set of earphones. Three desks stood on each side of the room like double columns. In the rear, a man sat behind a desk talking to an elderly couple. The other spots were vacant, making Marla wonder how successful the venture was, or if those agents just worked alternate hours. She didn't suppose that Monday mornings were a great time for showing properties. Posters with listings lined the walls. It was a utilitarian setting, functional more than aesthetic.

  "Certainly, Miss Crone, I'll tag your account and let you know as soon as the place is available. Bye, now."

  She hung up while Marla stared at her in bewilderment. Was that Hortense Crone who'd just called? If so, Hortense must be acquainted with Sam if she'd rented an apartment through him. Funny how she'd never mentioned that during their conversation with Eloise. Hortense knew a lot more than she let everyone believe. Why else would she be interested in Jolene's residence?

  "Hello, I'm looking for Eloise,” she told the agent.

  "Mrs. Zelman isn't here today. Can I help you? My name is Judy Sherman."

  Nice shag cut, pal, but you could use less makeup. The woman, in her sixties, was a medium ash blonde with a pasty complexion made worse by a heavy application of foundation. Her ebony eyeliner skewed outward at the corners of her eyes. Besides lipstick that was too red for current styles, she wore a turquoise suit with silver studs that completed her garish appearance.

  Marla managed a distressed smile. “I really need to consult Eloise. You see, I gave her my key because I wanted her to evaluate my property over the weekend. She said to stop in this morning and she'd return it."

  Judy pulled a pad of paper in front of her with an impatient gesture. “I'll notify her to contact you as soon as she comes in. It may be a while. Her husband was in an accident, and I fear ... she's very upset."

  Marla grew hopeful. “Has she called you since then?"

  "None of us have heard from her."

  "Isn't that unusual? I don't mean to pry, but I'm her hairstylist. She has an appointment with me later this week."

  "Oh.” Judy gave her an appraising stare. “You don't look like a hairdresser."

  Get your eyes fixed, pal. If you could see straight, your eyeliner wouldn't be so crooked. Withdrawing a business card from her purse, Marla handed it over. “I couldn't help overhearing your telephone conversation when I walked in. Such a pity about the Myers woman. I belong to that athletic club where she drowned. It's scary since Jolene and Sam died, and now Eloise is missing.” Marla was well aware that she could have become another victim that night in the parking lot.

  "Sam handled Jolene's property transaction several years ago,” Judy confided.

  "Eloise wasn't too fond of her. Jolene and Sam had been meeting behind her back. Do you know why?"

  Judy gave her a shrewd glance. “I have my theories, but I'm not going to tell you. The Zelmans aren't here now, so that leaves me in charge. Unlike Sam, I play things straight."

  "What happens to the business if they're both dead?"

  Judy appeared startled. “Why do you ask that? Eloise will show up."

  "I hope you're right."

  "In any event, I suppose it passes to their children. I'm sure they'll keep me on as manager."

  "Well,
I might be interested in making a move if Jolene's house goes up for sale,” Marla lied, shifting in her chair. “Was that Hortense Crone making an inquiry about it earlier?"

  The real estate agent's brow crinkled. “Yes, but I don't understand. She's just rented an apartment and has a six-month lease. Although if I recall, Miss Crone wanted to find an apartment on a month-to-month basis."

  "I've met Hortense at the club. Does that mean she isn't planning to stay in town?"

  "She may be more interested in purchasing a permanent residence. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work.” Shuffling through a stack of papers, she generated an air of dismissal.

  Rising, Marla grabbed her handbag and flung the strap over her shoulder.

  "A word of advice,” Judy said as Marla strode toward the exit.

  Marla wheeled around, her thoughts jumbled.

  "If the police look more closely into Sam's background, they'll find plenty of folks who had cause to harm him. Maybe that's why Eloise is staying away. She's afraid she'll share the blame, but he was the bad egg, not her. I just wanted you to know."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Heading north on the Florida turnpike, Marla grimaced when the foul smell of decaying garbage invaded the Camry. She zoomed past a hill with grass growing on its sides and pipes sticking out like spiked hairs—a mountain by South Florida standards, even though it was composed entirely of refuse. The rest of the landscape was as flat as its swampy origins, but this way, one could avoid the heavy truck traffic on I-95.

  Once a flat expanse of road stretched ahead, she let her thoughts drift. According to Judy, Sam's demise might have been related to his nefarious past, and Eloise could be running scared as a result. Judy believed Mrs. Zelman would turn up eventually. If she were right, did Sam's prior dealings have anything to do with Jolene? It was too powerful a coincidence for two Perfect Fit Sports Club members to die within a couple weeks of each other. Sam's murder must be connected to Jolene's. In that case, they were not crimes of passion committed by Eloise, as Vail believed. Instead, there was some connection to Sam's business practices.