Facials Can Be Fatal
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FACIALS CAN BE FATAL
A BAD HAIR DAY MYSTERY
FACIALS CAN BE FATAL
NANCY J. COHEN
FIVE STAR
A part of Gale, Cengage Learning
Copyright © 2017 by Nancy J. Cohen
Five Star™ Publishing, a part of Cengage Learning, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
No part of this work covered by the copyright herein may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Names: Cohen, Nancy J., 1948– author.
Title: Facials can be fatal / Nancy J. Cohen.
Description: First edition. | Waterville, Maine : Five Star Publishing, [2017] | Series: A bad hair day mystery
Identifiers: LCCN 2016037336 (print) | LCCN 2016049125 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432832827 (hardcover) | ISBN 1432832824 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781432834760 (ebook) | ISBN 1432834762 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432832681 (ebook) | ISBN 1432832689 (ebook)
eISBN-13: 978-1-4328-3268-1 eISBN-10: 1-43283268-9
Subjects: LCSH: Shore, Marla (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Women detectives—Florida—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | Beauty operators—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths. | FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3553.O4258 F33 2017 (print) | LCC PS3553.O4258 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016037336
First Edition. First Printing: February 2017
This title is available as an e-book.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4328-3268-1 ISBN-10: 1-43283268-9
Find us on Facebook– https://www.facebook.com/FiveStarCengage
Visit our website– http://www.gale.cengage.com/fivestar/
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Printed in the United States of America
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My gratitude goes to aesthetician Carmella Hershcovich for sharing her expertise and for answering my numerous questions about facial procedures. She’s an exemplary professional who treats her customers with care.
Also thanks to Roxanne Hedlund, my hairstylist, for graciously filling in the blanks for me when I ask, “What would you do if. . . . ?” or “What’s the procedure for . . . ?” Roxanne styles my hair for upcoming meetings, conferences, and speaking engagements while offering her insights into the beauty biz.
And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Stacey Miller and Jessi Basilone, nail technicians, who listen to my plotting ideas with a smile while polishing my nails to perfection.
A word of thanks, too, for the staff at Design 4000 who’ve created a bright and cheerful environment, including Leslie and Nadine at the front desk. Their telephone reminders keep me on track.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Andrew Fine —Public Relations Director for Friends of Old Florida (FOFL), a historic building preservation society
Anita Shorstein —Marla’s widowed mother
Ashley Hunt —The headliner model at Yolanda’s fashion show
Biggs Kahuna —Manager of the hotel where FOFL’s holiday ball takes place
Brianna Vail —Dalton’s teenage daughter; nickname is “Brie”
Carla Jean Hatfield —A sales rep for Luxor Products
Dalton Vail —Marla’s husband and Brianna’s father; homicide detective in Palm Haven
Dr. Ian Needles —A board member for FOFL, he’s a plastic surgeon who is also a scuba diver
Gabriel Stone —A funeral home director in Parkland
Henutt Soe Dum —Yolanda Whipp’s husband who may have a connection to the Asian mob
Howard Cohn —Treasurer for FOFL and a banker who has a fascination for shipwrecks
Jason Faulks —A photographer who takes pictures at the holiday ball
John & Kate Vail —Dalton’s parents, both retired
Joyce Underwood —Makeup artist at the fashion show
Katherine Minnetti —A detective on the Palm Haven police force and Dalton’s partner
Lora Larue —A board member for FOFL who produces the annual ball and acts as liaison to other historic building preservation groups across the country
Marla Vail —Owner of Cut ’N Dye Salon in Palm Haven, Florida; married to Dalton Vail
Nadia Welsh —A friend of Val’s and a customer at Marla’s day spa
Nicole Johnson —Hairstylist at Cut ’N Dye Salon
Rick Rodriguez —A real estate magnate who covets historic sites for redevelopment
Robyn Piper —Marla’s neighbor and the receptionist at her salon
Rosana Hernandez —An aesthetician who gives Val Weston a facial
Sam Flint —A journalist in Key West
Sean Knight —Val’s brother-in-law who was married to Cathy, Val’s deceased sister
Solomon Gold —President of FOFL, he administers the day-to-day business at their office
Sue Ellen Wyatt —Secretary for FOFL, she handles ticket sales for the group’s gala fundraiser
Tally & Ken Riggs —Tally is Marla’s best friend. Ken is her husband; their baby is Luke
Traci Warner —Receptionist at day spa
Valerie Weston —Val is a major donor for FOFL
Yolanda Whipp —An upscale boutique owner and fashion designer who puts on a show at FOFL’s annual fundraiser dinner
CHAPTER ONE
Marla was busy sorting foils at her salon station when screams pierced the morning air. She glanced up, her nerves on edge. And here the day had started so peacefully.
Nicole, one chair over, paused in the midst of cutting a client’s hair. “What is that God-awful noise?” the other stylist asked.
Marla dropped the foils on her roundabout. “I don’t know, but it sounds as though it’s coming from our day spa next door. Maybe someone found a palmetto bug.”
But as she hurried outside and across the pavement to the adjacent spa facility—a recent expansion under her ownership along with the Cut ’N Dye hair salon—she doubted those blood-curdling shrieks could be due to an insect. They sounded too shrill and terrified.
A black bird squawked and dipped over the parking lot. Along with November and the season’s first cold front, the birds had returned from up north to South Florida. That wasn’t a vulture portending some disaster, was it?
Inside the day spa, patrons in the waiting area stood with their cell phones lifted, taking videos for social media. Her mouth compressed, Marla sped past them toward the rear, where staff members in smocks gathered. They all stared in one direction.
Traci, the receptionist, spied Marla and called out to someone beyond her range of vision. Just as abruptly as they had started, the screams stopped.
Marla reached the group huddled in front of one of their facial and waxing rooms. “What’s going on?”
An aesthetician, her complexion white as her lab coat, wiped her teary eyes. “I am sorry,” she said with an accent, her voice wavering. “Val was fine when I put the cream mask on her face
. I only left for ten minutes to let her relax. When I returned, she didn’t move and I thought she must be asleep. I did not realize at first she was not breathing.”
“I’ve already called 911,” Traci said in a quiet undertone. “The cops and medics should be here any minute.”
“Your customer isn’t breathing?” Marla pushed past the crowd to enter the room and administer CPR, but the sight inside made her stop midtrack.
A woman lay supine half off the table, her hands encased in cloth mitts and her mouth wide open. Her face, coated with a greenish substance, aimed a glassy stare at the ceiling. New Age music played in the background, the soothing melody an incongruence to the scene. Air-conditioning blasted cool air into the room with a citrus scent. A discarded towel lay on the floor.
“Oh. My. God.” It might be too late for CPR if the woman had lain like this for longer than ten minutes. Could she have suffered a seizure? Her bluish lips could indicate anything.
Marla forced herself to at least palpate for a pulse at the lady’s neck. She tamped down the bile in her throat at the clammy feel of her skin. The hardened face mask gave the lady an almost alien appearance. Was that consistency normal for a facial?
Not feeling a beat at the carotid, Marla backed away. The best thing she could do would be to secure the room until the cops arrived.
She swallowed uneasily, anticipating her husband’s reaction. Would Dalton, a homicide detective with the Palm Haven police force, arrive on the scene when he heard the address from the dispatcher? From previous experience, she knew that unattended deaths were investigated. That would apply in this case since the aesthetician had left the client alone.
Returning to the corridor, she drew the sobbing woman aside. “What’s your name?” she said, her brain foggy under the circumstances. Consuelo? Magdalena? It hovered on her tongue.
“Rosana Hernandez. Do you think she had a heart attack, senora? Val might have been trying to get up and call for help.” Her gaze misty with tears, Rosana bent her head.
“Yes, you could be right. Had you done a medical survey on her?”
Rosana, a couple of inches shorter than Marla’s five feet six, nodded. “Si. Val had been with me for years. She followed me when I came here from my last salon in east Fort Lauderdale. She did not have any history of heart problems or other sicknesses.”
“So you’ve known her for quite some time.” Marla glanced inside the room and grimaced. “What are those things on her hands?”
Rosana drew a deep breath. “I was giving the lady a paraffin treatment. She had a manicure scheduled next. I don’t know how this could have happened.”
Stomping footsteps drew their attention. The other staff members parted like the Red Sea under Moses’ command. A pair of uniformed rescue workers headed their way carrying a load of equipment. Following at their heels were two patrol officers and a tall, broad-shouldered fellow whose piercing gaze made Marla’s heart flutter.
She exchanged glances with Dalton but avoided embracing him in front of the staff, even when she wanted nothing more than to sink into his arms.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she told the EMTs. “The patient is in that room. I don’t think you’ll be able to do much for her.”
A quick examination on their part confirmed her assessment. Dalton and one of the uniformed cops entered the room while the other officer began questioning onlookers.
“What happened?” Dalton asked Marla, tucking his cell phone away as he rejoined her. He must have made a call from inside the room.
“Rosana was giving her customer a facial. She put on the woman’s face mask and left the room for a few minutes. When she returned, the lady wasn’t breathing.”
“Can I speak with Rosana somewhere private?”
“Sure. How come you’re here? Did you recognize the address from the dispatcher?”
“That’s right. Good guess.” The corners of his mouth lifted. This was far from the first time he’d been summoned to her place of business.
“We can use one of the empty massage rooms,” Rosana suggested in a weak tone.
Marla introduced the aesthetician to her husband. She patted the woman’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right. Dalton will ask you some questions, and then you can take the rest of the day off. Traci will notify your clients.”
Dalton pulled out a notebook and pen and followed Rosana into another treatment room. Marla joined them, intending to offer moral support to her staff member. To her gratitude, Dalton didn’t object. But then, he’d come to value her contributions. He had even identified her as his unofficial sidekick to an Arizona sheriff during their recent honeymoon.
“Okay, can you please tell me exactly what happened?” he asked Rosana.
Her lower lip trembled. “I was giving Val a facial. She has been my customer for years, and we never had a problem before.”
“Her full name is . . . ?”
“Valerie Weston. She lives east on the Intracoastal. Anyway, when I took the job here, Val followed me to this salon even though it was distant for her.”
“So you’ve given her facials before. And she’s never had a bad reaction?”
“No, sir.” Rosana gave a visible shudder. “Everything was fine. I put the facial mask on, set the timer for ten minutes, and left the room so she could relax. I went to get a cup of coffee. When I returned, I found her . . . like that.” Her voice choked on a sob, and she covered her face with her hands.
“Rosana, why don’t you make a copy of your client’s medical survey for Detective Vail?” Marla suggested.
“Si, I get it now.” The white-coated woman shuffled from the room like a condemned prisoner on her way to execution.
Marla’s heart went out to her. She knew how horrible Rosana felt. She’d been in the same position of losing a client when crabby Mrs. Kravitz died in the midst of getting a perm. The image of her head lolling against the shampoo sink remained with Marla even now. How many years ago had that awful incident occurred? She’d met Dalton, the detective assigned to the case, as a result. Back then, he’d suspected her of poisoning the woman’s coffee creamer.
“Won’t you be reassigned?” she asked him, leaning against the treatment table. “I mean, I own this place. You have a conflict of interest here.” Same as when our neighbor was found dead in his house next door after we’d argued with him.
“We’re short-staffed this time of year. A couple of the guys requested vacation time before the holiday crush. Come here.”
He held out his arms, and she rushed into them. She leaned her head against his solid chest, her anxiety easing under his embrace.
“I’m glad you came, even if your partner takes over later. I suppose you’ll order an autopsy?”
“It’s normal procedure. Does the woman have any close relatives nearby?”
“I have no idea. I’d never met her myself.”
“What can you tell me about Rosana? Is she an immigrant? Does she have citizenship papers?”
Marla stepped away, perturbed by his return-to-business tone. “Yes, she’s from Venezuela and married an American. Rosana is very good at what she does. Her customers highly recommend her.”
“What was her relationship to Valerie Weston?”
Marla spread her hands. “As Rosana said, Val was her customer, and they’d known each other for years.”
Rosana approached and handed a paper to Dalton. “Here is Val’s client survey.”
“Thank you.” He scanned the contents. “It says here Ms. Weston had a latex allergy.”
“That is correct, Detective. I was always careful not to use latex products in her presence and to wash my hands before touching her.”
“May I take a look?” Marla snatched the paper from his fingers.
The Confidential Consultation Card, as the survey was labeled, consisted of three sections. Marla scanned Val’s responses on the general health record. Topics ranged from dietary habits to female problems, sun exposure, implants, disease listings,
skin-related ailments, and medications.
She nodded at that last one. Meds could affect hair as well as skin reactions. Most people didn’t think to tell their hairdressers when they started on a new drug, but certain medications could cause a stronger response to chemicals such as bleach.
According to this report, Val Weston appeared to be in good health. The next two sections regarding skin care and the beautician’s analysis didn’t raise any red flags.
“Was she married?” Dalton asked the beautician. “Do you know who her next of kin might be?”
“She was single. No children. I know she had a sister who died recently from breast cancer.”
Dalton asked a few more questions before dismissing Rosana.
Marla walked her out. “Go home and get some rest. This wasn’t your fault. Val might have had an unknown medical problem to cause her death.”
Rosana sniffled. “Gracias, senora. It is horrible.”
“I know, but the police will find out what happened.”
Once the staff member had left, Marla sought her husband again. He’d been conferring with one of the other officers and broke off at her approach.
She drew him aside. “What’s your theory about Val’s death?” The woman’s image kept replaying in her head. The glassy eyes and weird greenish tint of the facial mask became increasingly grotesque in her imagination. Her stomach lurched.
Stow it, Marla. You have to remain strong.
Dalton’s gaze grew warm as he regarded her. “Could be anything. Brain hemorrhage? Aortic aneurysm? Heart arrhythmia? Who knows?” His cell phone buzzed, and he squinted at an incoming text message. “The M.E. is here. Marla, you can go back to work. I’ll catch you later.”
“Shouldn’t I stick around to support the staff?”
“It’s not necessary. I’ll help the uniforms interview witnesses, and then we’ll close down the day spa until we complete our investigation. I know you want to keep chaos to a minimum, so I’ll tell the body removal guys to use the rear entrance.”