“Thanks. That’ll help.” But not by much. “I know this might sound harsh, but I don’t need the negative publicity right now. I’m in the running for that educator position with Luxor Products, and this won’t look good.”
“You’re right. It does sound harsh in view of a woman’s death. That’s unlike you, Marla.” The fine lines around his mouth tightened.
She knew her husband wasn’t thrilled about her accepting another job, especially one that would mean more travel. They were celebrating their one-year anniversary in a couple of weeks, and she had enough to do between work and her new family. While it was a second marriage for both her and Dalton, they’d become a tight unit in a short amount of time. Marla still felt odd as Brianna’s stepmother, but the role had grown on her. The teenager needed a woman’s guidance.
Still, gaining the new position meant a lot to her. She had contacted the hair product company—whom she’d worked for at a beauty trade show—to let them know she’d like to do the models’ hair on any advertisements they shot in the area. They’d called back saying they had an opening for an educator and asked if she would be interested. Her affirmative response had prompted the admission that they were considering one other candidate as well. Would this incident jeopardize her chances?
At any rate, Dalton was correct. She shouldn’t be thinking about herself right now. As the day spa’s owner, she was ultimately responsible for Val’s death. And poor Rosana. This would hang over her head. Marla should see to it that the rest of the staff didn’t hold it against her.
She went from person to person, speaking to each staff member in turn and reassuring them the place wouldn’t stay closed for long. Her own state of nerves wasn’t as steady as she appeared. Her stomach felt increasingly queasy, and she had a strong urge to sit down before her knees folded.
Nonetheless, she took time to apologize to any clients still waiting to be interviewed. “If you’re here for your hair or nails, we’ll fit you in next door. Just see Robyn at the front desk. Otherwise, Traci can reschedule you for next week.”
“That poor woman,” one of the ladies said with a sorrowful expression. “To die in the middle of getting a facial, which is supposed to be a relaxing treatment.”
“I hate them myself,” retorted a young blonde. “All that steam in your face, and then they squeeze open your zits. It hurts. I don’t find anything pleasurable about it.”
“Rosana cares about her customers,” Marla said, defending her employee. “She must be doing something right, since her appointments are almost always filled.”
“She messed up this time,” said Miss Sourpuss.
Marla stared the woman down. “No one can predict the sudden onset of a life-threatening medical emergency. Rosana had done a thorough assessment on her. The lady didn’t have any known heart conditions.”
“Maybe she had a reaction to one of the products,” the other customer offered with a frown. She was a middle-aged lady with tinted auburn hair, and she wore skinny pants that belonged on a thinner woman.
“Rosana would have used the same lotions on her before,” Marla replied in a patient tone. “Val had been a long-term customer.”
“Val, as in Valerie? That wasn’t Valerie Weston, was it?” Redhead gaped at her.
“Yes, it was, although the police detective will urge you to keep this information quiet. They have yet to notify next of kin.” Marla pressed her lips together. Gossip would be bad enough, but they didn’t need rumors flying along with videos.
“I have tickets to her fancy ball next month. I hope they don’t cancel.”
Marla had a sudden sneaking suspicion that made the hairs on her nape rise. “What ball do you mean?”
“The annual holiday fundraiser for Friends of Old Florida. It’s a historic building preservation society. They do the best party, especially with Yolanda Whipp showcasing her latest fashion designs. I can’t wait to see what she’s come up with this year.”
Marla’s heart sank. The dead woman had been the Valerie Weston? Oh, no. Putting two and two together, she slapped a hand to her mouth. Val’s demise in her day spa would have more repercussions than she’d thought. What would this mean for the fashion show?
She’d been hired, along with her stylists, to do the hair of the models backstage at the highly anticipated event that took place during FOFL’s annual gala. Why hadn’t she realized the connection earlier?
Because I’d been upset. Val’s death threw me for a loop. And it hadn’t been Val who’d hired her team. Marla’s contact had been someone else from the group.
Dear Lord, this was much worse than she’d anticipated.
Stunned by her new knowledge, she addressed Traci once she was free. The receptionist’s usual calm had given way to a frazzled exterior as she tapped at the computer keys to change people’s appointments. This was Wednesday. Marla hoped they’d be allowed to reopen by next week.
“Tell me, did Ms. Weston show any signs of trouble when she checked in earlier?”
Traci shook her head, her shoulder-length layers framing a face that looked pale in contrast to her sangria lipstick. “She seemed fine. I liked her. Val always had a pleasant smile and something upbeat to say.”
“Do you know if she had any relatives nearby?”
“Just a sister who died recently. She called FOFL her family. That’s Friends of Old Florida, an organization where she devoted her time. Somebody from there made her appointment for today.”
“Oh, really? Can you give me their number?”
Traci squinted at the computer as she retrieved the data. “Here it is.” She wrote it down on a scrap of paper, while Marla wondered if it could be the same person who’d hired her staff for the fashion show.
“Do you remember the person’s name who called? So you’re saying it wasn’t Val?”
“That’s correct. Sorry, I don’t remember much else.”
“Male or female?”
Traci’s shoulders lifted and lowered. “Could have been anyone. I field a lot of calls every day.”
“Okay, please let me know if anything else comes to mind.”
“There is one more thing. Patty didn’t come in to work today. I’ve called her cell a few times, but it goes straight to voice mail.”
They had hair stations here for backup when the salon got too full. Patty, the shampoo assistant, helped with cleanup and other assorted tasks. She should have come in today.
“That’s odd. Didn’t we just hire her?”
“She’s only been here two weeks. She applied when our last girl had an accident on her bike, remember?”
“And you don’t have any other contact number?”
“Nope.”
“That’s not good. She should call in if she can’t make it to work.” Marla shoved the scrap of paper into her skirt pocket. “After you settle things here, why don’t you take the rest of today off? Tomorrow, you can work with us at the salon. Robyn could use the extra help. And thanks for your quick action. You did good calling 911 right away.”
Not wanting to keep her own customers waiting any longer, Marla hurried next door. She’d have liked to tell Dalton her latest revelations, but he was busy. And if he stayed on the case, it would mean a late night for him.
She drew in a shaky breath as she entered her salon. The bright lights, familiar sounds, and chemical scents calmed her. No matter what her problems, she needed to keep her cool and get through her appointments for the day. Customers relied upon her.
Plastering a smile on her face, she approached Robyn and gave her the rundown in a low voice so others wouldn’t overhear. To her credit, Robyn gave her a reassuring grin.
“We’ll do fine, Marla. Your eleven o’clock is waiting. I told her you’d been delayed, but she didn’t mind.”
“Now I’m off schedule. Thanks, Robyn. I’ll tell you more later.” She’d been lucky to hire the marketing expert after Robyn had been laid off from her corporate job. They’d become good friends aside from work.
Nicole intercepted her in the backroom where she went to mix her customer’s highlights solution. Shelves of bottles and boxes faced her as she selected the proper products and then brought them over to the sink. After double-checking her client’s profile card, she grabbed a bowl and began measuring components.
“So what happened? Who was screaming? I saw all the flashing lights outside.” Nicole pursed her lips and leaned against a counter. The dark-skinned stylist looked svelte in a maxi-dress with a matching sweater wrap.
“You’ll never believe it. Rosana, the aesthetician, was giving her customer a facial. She applied the mask and left the room for a few minutes. When she returned, the lady was dead.”
“What? How?”
Marla paused to think things through. “Dalton said it could have been anything from a heart attack to a brain aneurysm. The only problem that showed up on Val’s medical survey was a latex allergy, but Rosana knew this. Val had been her client for years, when she’d worked in east Fort Lauderdale.”
Nicole folded her arms across her chest. “So I gather the spa will be closed for a few days?”
“Yes, but I hope we’ll be able to reopen by next week. I told Traci to send all their hair and nail people over here today. Are you between clients now?”
“I’m waiting on a touch-up.” The stylist glanced at her watch. “Ten more minutes.”
“Traci will help Robyn tomorrow at the front desk,” Marla said. “We’re bound to be busier if she shifts some of the spa appointments to the salon.”
“Careful, hon, you don’t want to add that 30 volume bleach.”
“Oops, I guess I’m more rattled than I thought.” She retrieved the correct item and added it to her bowl. Her hand shook as she mixed the chemicals with a brush.
“You need to calm down.”
“I can’t. We have to handle the overflow. But that’s not the worst of it. The woman who died was Valerie Weston from Friends of Old Florida.”
“So? What does that mean?”
“FOFL is the group that hired us to do the hair at their fashion show in a few weeks. I don’t want to lose that gig.” She didn’t mention her educator opportunity, not wishing to spring this news on her staff until it was a done deal. It would mean more hours away from the salon.
“But was this client someone you recognized? Is she the person who spoke to you about doing the show?”
“No, it was somebody else.” Marla put down her brush and spared a glance her way. “Lora Larue contacted me. She’s one of the board members.”
“So you don’t know how this Valerie was connected to the group?”
“Not really. I hope they don’t blame us and cancel our contract.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions. How can it be our fault? That woman might have dropped dead anywhere if she’d had a true medical emergency.”
“Rosana left her unattended for a brief interval. Otherwise, she might have called for help sooner.” Visions of a lawsuit entered her mind. Oh, God. Marla clutched her stomach.
“Hey, come here. Give me a hug.” Nicole strode forward to embrace her and pat her on the back. “We’ll be okay. Things will get back to normal.”
Marla sprang away, grasping the bowl and brush before the moisture behind her eyes turned into a waterfall. “I know. And I appreciate your support, as always.”
She didn’t express her misgivings about the negative publicity affecting her personal goals. But she wasn’t to be let off the hook so easily. Her customer, displeased at having to wait for her appointment, demanded Marla relate the whole story. She gave an abbreviated version, aware of listening ears around the salon. Her rendition left out any mention of the dead woman’s medical history.
“Have you heard of this organization?” Marla asked, hoping to gain some information. She knew pitifully little about the group for whom her staff had been hired. Her fingers moved automatically to section off a strand of hair, place the foil under it, brush on the solution, and fold the foil over.
“Sorry, I haven’t. How’s that husband of yours, dear? Won’t next month be one year you’ll be married?”
“That’s right,” she said. “Our anniversary is December eighth.”
“Any little ones in the barn yet?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you planning on having children?”
“Dalton already has a teenage daughter. She’s taking driving lessons. That’s enough anxiety for us, thank you.”
The woman’s dark eyes met hers in the mirror. “You’re young yet. You can still get pregnant. I’m sure you’d make a great mother.”
All right, we need to change the subject. “Let’s discuss you instead. Weren’t you about to go on vacation when I saw you last?”
Marla skillfully steered the conversation away from her personal life. What concern was it to others if she and Dalton meant to expand their family? With her past history, she didn’t want children of her own. She had enough to do without the added responsibilities and constant worry. Besides, she looked forward to traveling, something she hadn’t had much time to pursue on her busy career path.
While she worked, part of her mind kept track of the cop cars coming and going outside, along with the scudding clouds overhead that heralded another cold front. It wasn’t until later in the afternoon that most of the police vans had left.
The body must be long gone by now, she thought, signaling for her next client to get shampooed. She was still behind schedule, but she’d catch up. And keeping busy prevented her from thinking too hard about what was happening next door. How long would it take before the autopsy results came in? She’d feel more vindicated if the woman had died from natural causes that couldn’t have been prevented or treated. Would Rosana quit her job there? Or if not, would she still want to work in that room?
“Hey, Marla.” Robyn approached her station, a friendly smile on her face. “There’s a sales rep here to see you from Luxor Products. Shall I send her over while your customer is getting washed?”
“Luxor Products? Oh, no!” She gulped. “I mean, yes, please send her on back. I have a few minutes free.”
Dear Lord. Luxor was the company where she hoped to work as an educator. Was this person truly a sales rep or someone come to evaluate her? If the latter, she was doomed.
CHAPTER TWO
Marla’s jaw dropped as she spied a familiar blonde heading in her direction. She hadn’t seen Liesl Wurner, another stylist, since their jobs at the Supreme Show in Fort Lauderdale.
“Hello, luv.” The tall, willowy woman embraced her. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise, Liesl. What are you doing in town?” They split apart and regarded each other with critical appraisals.
“I had an exit interview with the area supervisor. I’m finally moving to London. I got the position at a high-class salon in the theatre district that I’ve always wanted.”
“Good for you.” Marla beamed at her, genuinely happy that Liesl’s dream would come true. “I suppose you’ve heard I’ve been asked to apply for an educator position with Luxor.”
“Bang on. That’s part of the reason why I’m here. I hope you get the position, but you have competition.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I’d really like to see you succeed, although it seems like you’ve already struck gold.” She swept her arm to encompass the salon bustling with customers. “But a word of caution. You’ll be scrutinized carefully. After that disaster at the show, the company is very careful about whom they select to represent them.”
“They asked me if I’d be interested in the job.”
“That doesn’t mean you’ll get it. Don’t do anything to jeopardize your chances.”
“It’s too late for that warning.” Marla sank into her empty salon chair and rubbed a hand over her face.
“What is it?” Liesl asked, her eyes reflecting her concern.
“We’ve just had a death next door at the day spa. I own the plac
e.”
“Good heavens. What happened?”
Marla groaned inwardly. She didn’t care to repeat herself innumerable times, but it was inevitable. In a brief summary, she gave Liesl a rundown on what had occurred.
“That’s too bad, luv. Luxor won’t want even the hint of another scandal attached to their name.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Well, I just wanted to offer my support before I leave the country. I’ve given you a high recommendation to the district manager. He’ll be in on the decision.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. Best of luck to you in London. Let’s keep in touch.”
This appeared to be a day for visitors. No sooner had Liesl left than the receptionist sent a guy her way. He wore a courier uniform from a private company and held a sealed envelope.
“Marla Vail?”
“That’s right.”
“I have a delivery for you. Will you please sign here?”
She did as directed and took the piece of mail. After the man left and she slit it open, an expletive escaped her lips.
“What’s wrong?” Nicole asked from the next station.
“You won’t believe this.” Seeing that the other stylist had a few minutes free, Marla showed her the message.
“Get out of town. Amber Connors is suing you?”
“It says that my careless use of hair dye caused her scalp to burn, resulting in hair loss and disfigurement.” Marla’s gut clenched. After the events of the day, she couldn’t handle another blow.
“Do you remember her complaining?”
“Yes, and I removed the color and put a conditioning cream on right away.” Sometimes a pink sweetener packet could help lessen the sting as well. “She’d never had that reaction before, and I’d used the same mixture on her for years.”
“So what was different this time? Could she have become more sensitive?”
“Possibly, but she’d also started on a new med and hadn’t told me. When I asked, she admitted she’d been prescribed a certain class of drugs.” Some medications could cause people’s body temperature to rise so they reacted faster to hair bleach. If Marla had known, she’d have adjusted the timing. “Even though Amber failed to provide this information, I’ll still have to file an insurance claim.”
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