Facials Can Be Fatal

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Marla washed the dishes while listening. “So you think he has a company low-ball the competition, and when they win the bid, they do free work for him on his private property as a bonus?”

  “That’s a likely scenario. If Val found out, it could explain why she was bumped off, but not Jason Faulks.”

  “That’s assuming the two cases are connected, and that the monetary rewards to Gold and these companies are substantial enough to warrant murder. What else have you learned?”

  “Gold supported Val’s efforts to block Rick Rodriguez’s corporation in their quest to develop beachfront properties into condo towers. He’s the one who tipped me off that the organization’s publicist, Andrew Fine, is writing articles slanted in Rodriguez’s favor.”

  “He told me the same thing.”

  “It’s more than supposition on his part. According to Kat, who’s been looking into the paper trail, Fine’s bank account shows some generous deposits lately.”

  “So he could be accepting bribes from Rodriguez. Why would he jeopardize his position with FOFL that way, not to mention his integrity?”

  Dalton shrugged. “He could need the money for some reason. We’re digging deeper.”

  “What else has Kat learned?”

  “The secretary’s ticket sales reports from last year don’t jive with the actual bill from the catering department at the hotel.”

  “Meaning what? That she fudged on the number of seats sold to give the impression attendance was higher?”

  “Her group paid the catering bill per their contract. Sue Ellen claimed three hundred people attended at two hundred fifty dollars per seat. In actuality, when Kat checked with the hotel, they said they’d charged for two hundred guests. That leaves a discrepancy of twenty-five thousand dollars. Do you think anyone from FOFL would go around counting seats? The way those tables were placed this year, the ballroom appeared filled.”

  “So you think Sue Ellen siphoned that money for herself? If so, she could have been doing this for years.”

  “Maybe Val caught on, and Sue Ellen had to get rid of her.”

  Marla couldn’t imagine the timid secretary doing such a vile deed, but she’d known folks before who’d hidden their true natures beneath a meek exterior.

  “If all these people had reason to resent Val’s interference, why did she send Nadia this journal? How does that tie into things?”

  “Who knows? I have to go to work. We’ll compare notes again later. Be careful, you hear? Someone has their eye on you. And you might want to report those scratches to the insurance company. Tell them it was vandals.” He kissed her and then left.

  Marla got too busy to think about the journal, between clients at the salon and their holiday party that night at a favorite Italian restaurant. She was pleased Nicole brought Kevin, the hunky EMT from the fire department whom she was dating. Having introduced the couple, Marla observed their glow of happiness with a sense of pride. Ignoring the lively music, loud chatter, and clanging dishware in the background, she sat in her chair at a long table in the restaurant surveying her friends and colleagues. Dalton still hadn’t gotten any new leads on Patty, the missing shampoo girl from the day spa. Marla hoped something bad hadn’t happened to her, although it appeared she’d cleared out on her own.

  As they opened gifts exchanged through their Secret Santa tradition, she wondered where Val had celebrated the holidays each year. Most likely, she’d spent them with her sister’s family. It must have been a terrible blow to lose her only sibling. Had Val really been considering changing allegiances and cutting Friends of Old Florida out of her will?

  Marla’s thoughts segued again to the journal whose significance remained obscure. She had to make time to read the thing. So Saturday morning, while fatigued from the night before, she bounced out of bed early. Brianna was sleeping in, having made plans with friends for later, and Dalton had decided to go into the office.

  Snuggling up on the couch with a mug of coffee and the journal, Marla began turning pages. She quickly got engrossed in the story.

  My friend George and I vacationed in Miami during February 1934. Thoroughly fed up with civilization, its artificialities and complications, we were bored with the monotony of our existence. An overpowering desire for a new environment and for the freedom of unconfined space, for adventure, swept over us. Both George and I had experienced these symptoms of wanderlust before, and we’d usually found a temporary cure by escaping to the simple life of the outdoors. This was what we needed on this occasion.

  It was at this propitious time that Ralph appeared from the north in a dilapidated Ford piled high with camping equipment. We questioned his presence and discovered another restless soul willing to do anything and go anywhere within reason, as long as it was away from people and the hustle and bustle of modern life.

  Our tropical surroundings influenced our imaginations. We remembered stories we had read as children about South Sea Islands and Robinson Crusoe, and we pictured ourselves inhabiting a similar small island.

  Our dream showed us living in a hut constructed from palm thatch and sunbathing on a beach with no other humans in sight and only scattered clusters of palm trees for company. Being severed from worries, toil, and turmoil that defined civilization would prove an idyllic existence. Such were the fantasies that passed through our minds, and so tempting did they become that we decided to make them materialize. We agreed to find our tropical paradise among the Florida Keys.

  Marla put the book down. So the other guys were named George and Ralph. If their last names weren’t given, how could she find out who they were? The captioned photos didn’t provide any clues, at least not to her. Dalton might be sharper at picking up nuances.

  Sipping her coffee, she read on. The boys took a car ferry to Key West and from there headed northward.

  We spent an entire morning in a fruitless search for nonexistent beaches on low-lying and swampy islands, which were nothing but breeding places for mosquitoes and other insects.

  Another afternoon spent repeating this experience left us feeling that such a place as our imaginations had pictured was not to be found anywhere in the state of Florida. And so we put the thoughts of an island from our minds and began to think of finding a substitute, some desolate and wild spot that would satisfy our extreme taste in this regard.

  An inkling of an idea sprang into Marla’s mind. What if these young men, searching for their personal Shangri-La, had discovered something more than they’d bargained for? The trio might have come across a dead body that washed ashore and hadn’t wanted to get involved. Or maybe they’d hit someone on a deserted roadway one night and had fled the scene. Good God, she sounded like Nicole, who devoured mystery novels and suspected a crime under every stone.

  Perhaps the young men had discovered something more valuable, like oil in the swamp. Or was black gold only found in Texas? Val had guarded this journal for some reason. Perhaps it disclosed a dark family secret she’d wanted kept buried or a treasure map to a hidden lode.

  Something had happened on that journey. Marla felt it in her bones. Only two of the men had made it out of Florida’s swamps in the end.

  Brianna stumbled into the room, ending her reverie. Marla put the pages aside and refocused her attention. “Good morning, honey. You woke up early.”

  “I have to study for a test before I go to Randy’s house. It’s on Monday.”

  “I’ll make you breakfast. What will you have?” She didn’t need to leave for work until eight-thirty and still had a half hour to spare.

  Her time became occupied until later that morning. She’d stuffed the printouts into her purse, hoping to have time to read more later, and locked it in her drawer at work. But as one customer after another walked in, Marla barely had time to breathe.

  However, when Ashley Hunt entered the salon asking for her, she made time to speak to the model. “Hey, Ashley, what can I do for you?” Marla asked, approaching the young woman upon the receptionist’s summons.


  “Do you have a minute? I don’t want to be overheard.”

  “Sure, let’s go sit on the bench out front.” Marla grabbed a jacket on her way. Once seated facing the parking lot, she waited for Ashley to begin the conversation.

  Ashley avoided her gaze, staring at the discount store across the asphalt. “I know you’re married to that detective, and I have information for him. Do you know Dr. Needles?”

  “Yes, I met him at the party. You said he’s been treating you for a back injury.” She remembered them huddled together. What was Ashley about to reveal?

  The model tossed a lock of blonde hair off her face in an angry gesture. “Ian hasn’t been returning my calls. I know he’s in town. He has to be avoiding me. When I suggested we move in together, I didn’t think it would spook him that much.”

  “Whoa, are you saying that you two are a number?”

  Ashley glanced at her through long lashes. “Let’s say his interest in me isn’t purely professional. I don’t deserve to be treated this way.”

  “How long have you been together?”

  “For over a year. He had the most soothing touch when I told him about my back injury. I know it was hard for him to resist me. He implied he’d do more at our next examination if I was interested.”

  Marla’s throat squeezed. “Wait, are you saying that he . . . that his hands wandered?” How could she pose the question so as to be more tactful?

  “Men always want me. Who wouldn’t with my figure and looks? Ian is an attractive man and a rich surgeon besides. I decided to have a fling with him. Maybe he could buy me the jewelry I wanted and a condo on the water.”

  “Did he . . . touch you inappropriately during your examination?” The breeze picked up, whipping a scrap of paper along the sidewalk. A trio of people exited from Arnie’s deli down the strip, laughing and chatting on the way to their car.

  “As I said, Ian gave the merest of hints about what he wanted to do. His fingers know how to move in just the right manner to turn a girl on.”

  “Is this what you came here to tell me?”

  “Hell, no. If he’s going to drop me without so much as a word, I’ll need another doctor to write my prescriptions. Ian has been pretty liberal about giving me what I want, although he hasn’t offered any break on the price.”

  “Is this related to the back pain from your injury?”

  “I still suffer from bouts of pain, and the meds help. Ian has a lot of patients, but not all of them look as though they’ve got a real problem like I have. Do you get my drift?”

  “Yes, I do.” Marla had thought the authorities cracked down on pill mills, at least with clinics. Could private practices have escaped their notice? Maybe Val had stumbled upon the doctor’s disreputable activities and threatened to expose him.

  “With your permission, I’ll mention your name to Dalton as my source of information,” Marla told Ashley. “He may want to contact you.”

  “I don’t mind as long as my involvement is kept confidential. Ian has a temper when he’s angry. I wouldn’t want him to learn I’m the one who ratted on him. But he’s not going to get away with ignoring me.”

  “Thanks for coming here, Ashley. I appreciate your trust.”

  For an instant, a look of vulnerability entered the model’s eyes. “I figured you’d be a good listener.” Smoothing her skinny jeans, she rose. “I hope we work together again. Your stylists are very talented. Maybe I’ll come here next time I need a trim.”

  Marla stood and smiled at her. “Please do. And unlike Dr. Needles, I’ll give you a professional discount.”

  As soon as Ashley left, Marla scurried through the salon and into the rear storeroom where the cool breeze wouldn’t chill her skin. She took out her cell and phoned Dalton.

  “That’s an interesting development,” he said in his wry tone after she’d related her conversation with Ashley. “This is between us, but the doctor is being investigated for possible prescription abuse. The sexual harassment is a new angle. I’ll have Kat check into any possible complaints against him.”

  “How do you feel Val fits into this, if anywhere? Did she threaten to expose his unethical practices? And how would she have learned about them?”

  “She knew a lot of people around town. She might have heard things.”

  “Even so, it doesn’t explain her connection to Warren’s journal or to the men in Jason’s photos, except for Howard whom she’d met through FOFL.” Marla still knew so little about Val’s personal background. “Are the staff still present at her house? If so, I should pay them a visit. They might be more willing to talk to me than the authorities.”

  “Kat and I have already interviewed them.”

  “So? I’ll approach it differently. Besides, I really would like to learn more about Val. She couldn’t have been as saintly as people painted her.” Val had been a painter, Marla remembered. Maybe she could catch a glimpse of Val’s artwork. “The staff might be able to tell me how Val came to acquire the journal.”

  A brief silence fell. “All right. You could be useful.”

  “I’ll stop by tomorrow. You’re taking Brie to the hockey game, so that will give me something to do.”

  “Just be careful. Val sent the journal to Nadia. That means she didn’t trust anyone else who was close to her.”

  Sunday morning, Marla drove east toward the Intracoastal. She turned left onto one of the bridges off Las Olas Boulevard toward a series of islands housing wealthy mansions and private boat decks. Yachts in every size docked along the waterways that made Fort Lauderdale the Venice of the South.

  She couldn’t imagine the lifestyle of these people, who cruised on a whim, planned parties, and lived the high life. It wasn’t for her. She was driven to have a purpose, and a large part of it was helping women look good. Marla liked to think of it as her calling. It empowered people when they looked their best and gave them confidence.

  Lord knows she’d needed that boost herself when she was married to Stan. If not for Tally urging her to go to cosmetology school and eventually leave him, she might still be stuck in the bored wives’ club. Once she’d gotten out from under his domineering thumb, she’d grown and thrived. She owed Tally her life in that regard.

  Did Val have anyone whom she could rely on? Her friend, Nadia, seemed like a nice person. Hadn’t Nadia said she and Val knew each other’s secrets? What did that mean?

  Hopefully Val’s staff would be willing to talk. She glanced at the residences along the street, shaking her head in wonder at each magnificent house. As she neared the Intracoastal, they grew in grandeur. While part of her envied the residents who lived there, another part of her knew she wouldn’t be happy in such an enormous place. Her house was comfortable and cozy.

  She pulled into a circular driveway in front of a two-story Mediterranean-style villa. The garage was separate and had its own upper level, presumably extra living quarters or perhaps housing Val’s art studio.

  A gray-haired fellow in a staid suit opened the door at her summons. Once she introduced herself, he bid her to enter.

  “You may wait in the green parlor. I’ll get Mrs. Dale, the housekeeper. She’ll speak to you.”

  He bustled off after leaving Marla inside a delightful room facing the landscaped rear grounds that she could see through a series of French doors. Potted plants decorated the airy space along with white wicker furnishings. It looked like a pleasant room in which to cozy up with a cup of coffee and an iPad. Imagine if she lived in a place like this. She could decorate each room differently. Maybe she’d get used to it after all.

  A matronly woman clad in a black dress and white apron joined her. She had wary brown eyes and pursed lips with a dash of coral lipstick. Her graying black hair was fastened into a bun at her nape, while her ample figure indicated she frequented the kitchen.

  “I’m Mrs. Dale, the housekeeper. How can I help you?”

  Marla plastered a sympathetic smile on her face. “I own the salon and day spa
where your employer, uh, passed away. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “As you should be. I can’t understand how something like this could have happened.”

  “Liquid latex was found in the face cream Val’s beautician used on her, and it wasn’t listed in the ingredients. The substance would not have affected anyone else. I suspect the same person who added the latex made sure Val had the first appointment of the day. The secretary at Friends of Old Florida initially made her appointment for that afternoon. Would you know who called in and changed the time?”

  The housekeeper sank into a chair and indicated Marla should do the same. “I have no idea. This is the first I’ve heard of these matters.”

  Marla raised an eyebrow. “I assume the police detective filled you in.”

  “He came by to question us, but he wouldn’t share the details of Miss Val’s death.”

  “Did any of the household staff attend the funeral?”

  “The brother-in-law didn’t invite us. He explicitly told us he wouldn’t be happy to see us there. We decided to hold our own quiet memorial at home.”

  “Do you live in this house?”

  She nodded. “So do Cook and Mr. Lawson. He’s the butler who let you in.”

  “You must have been devastated by Val’s passing. Why wouldn’t Sean want you at the funeral? You would have been like family to Val.”

  Mrs. Dale twisted her hands in her lap. “We were indeed, poor thing, especially after Miss Cathy died. The sisters were close, but Mr. Knight resented how Miss Val had inherited the bulk of their parents’ wealth, including this house.”

  Why would the parents leave more to one sister than the other? Did they feel Val, being single, needed the money more? Or didn’t they like the brother-in-law? In that case, they could have kept the money in trust for Cathy and her children, which is what Marla presumed they’d done.

  “Val could have evened things out in her will, if she didn’t believe her parents had been fair,” she commented.