Facials Can Be Fatal

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “It’s likely the killer already knew Val’s allergic tendencies.”

  “That’s true. But the bad guy would need to know which particular cream Rosana used on Val’s face.”

  “Patty’s the one who changed Val’s appointment. She called Val and said Rosana wouldn’t be available that afternoon, and would Val mind coming earlier in the morning.”

  “Then Patty must have changed the time on our computer schedule. I didn’t realize she had those skills.”

  “She got scared after Val died and abandoned her apartment here. But the guy who hired her must have been tracking her movements because he contacted her again. We got nothing on those calls. Likely he used a burner phone each time.”

  “What did he want?” Marla asked with a sense of dread.

  “He asked her to do one more thing, or he’d rat her out. So early one morning, when Robyn was the only person in the salon and she went next door to get your usual order from the deli, Patty ran inside and searched through your drawers. The man was after the journal.”

  “Then when she didn’t find it, Patty tried to break into my car?”

  “That’s right. It’s unfortunate she made the wrong choices. I don’t think she’s inherently a bad person, but now she’ll probably end up serving some time.”

  Marla sank back into her seat. “She got greedy. That’s what happens to people who yield to their dark side.”

  She fell silent, wondering who might have hired Patty. Knowing it was a man narrowed the field. Her suspicions swung to Henutt Soe Dum. Jason had sent her his photo for a reason.

  “Has any progress been made in locating Yolanda’s headpiece?” she asked. “I’m wondering if Henutt stole the thing and sold it to his overseas friends. His wife said it could have military applications.”

  Dalton glanced at her. He’d started sorting the different sections from the Sun Sentinel on the table. She’d bought the newspaper on her way home, aware he liked to do the Sunday crossword puzzle. “Henutt wouldn’t have had to take the risk. He could merely copy her blueprints if he wanted to pass them on to his associates. But I don’t think his goals are so political. He’s in the game for profits.”

  “I should ask Yolanda about the guy in the photo with him. Maybe she’d recognize the other man. I don’t believe it was a random encounter like Henutt claimed. But if he didn’t take her signature crown, who did?” She opened her eyes wide and leaned forward as an idea surfaced. “Heck, why didn’t I think of this before?”

  “Think of what, sweetcakes?”

  “I ran into Carla Jean Hatfield at the fundraiser. She’s in the running beside me for the educator position at Luxor Products. When I asked what she was doing there, she said she’d been sent by the company. They wanted to make sure Luxor had been given credit for the products I used backstage on the models.”

  “Did you use their products specifically?”

  “Yes, and I notified Luxor, hoping they’d be pleased with the extra publicity. I would have sent them a program myself had I thought about it.”

  “So they sent Carla Jean to verify your claim. What’s the big deal?”

  “Did they send her, or was she lying? Where’s my phone? I’m going to send Luxor a text. I have a wild idea, but I need confirmation before I act on it.”

  Marla sent a message to the district manager. Despite it being Sunday, she got an answer within minutes. She responded with another text. A few minutes later, she put down her phone with a broad grin. “So I asked if they’d sent Carla Jean to the ball. The manager said no, and what did I have to report? I told him everything had gone well, and I would mail him a copy of the program.”

  Dalton’s brow furrowed as he regarded her. “I still don’t get what you’re implying.”

  “Carla Jean had a huge handbag that didn’t go at all with her cocktail dress. I paid no attention to it at the time, but what if she’s the one who stole Yolanda’s invention?”

  “A sales rep for a hair product company? What would she want with the thing?”

  “Same as any thief. To sell it and make money.”

  “Sell it to whom?” He put down the newspaper section he’d been holding.

  “Perhaps to a hair accessory firm. I think we’ve been looking at this the wrong way. It’s not a military group or another country who’s interested in the brain-wave applications. A smart company could reverse-engineer the invention and mass-produce similar copies. It would be a popular novelty item that could bring in substantial revenue.”

  “But why would Carla Jean risk her position that way?”

  “Sales reps work hard. They’re always on the road. Being an educator would mean even more travel. Maybe she’s hoping to acquire enough money to retire instead.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Oh, yeah? We need to discuss that traveling part.”

  “Put that aside for the moment. What if I’m right? How can we investigate this angle?”

  “We are not going to investigate anything else right now. I’ll tell Detective Monroe your theory. He can pass it on to his property unit.”

  Marla’s heart thumped with excitement. If she was right, not only could they recover Yolanda’s proprietary headpiece but she’d gain the upper hand regarding the educator position.

  So why did this latter prospect make her feel hollow instead of joyous?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Monday morning, the day before Christmas, found Marla scurrying to complete her final chores. She’d already set the dining room table for their dinner party the next day, wrapped the last of her gifts, and dropped Spooks off at the groomer’s.

  She missed her former neighbor Goat, who’d owned a mobile grooming service. He’d moved out of town to be near her friend, Georgia Rogers, whom he’d met when Georgia stayed with Marla to work at a beauty trade show. Georgia was the sales rep for Luxor Products who had helped her procure a job at the show as assistant hairstylist. Had it been only two years ago? Gosh, so much had happened in that time. She really should call Georgia to catch up.

  A germ of an idea sprang into her mind. Could Georgia get information on Carla Jean? Marla didn’t trust the cops to follow up on her theory. Property crimes never got the attention they deserved. If she had some leverage, she could bargain with Carla Jean.

  After completing a few more errands, including last-minute food shopping, Marla returned home. She put away the groceries, let the dogs outside to the fenced backyard, and took a moment to relax. Gripping her cell phone, she settled onto the couch in the den and dialed Georgia’s number. Her friend’s familiar voice came on the line.

  “Georgia, it’s Marla. I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

  “Omigod, how are you? It’s been forever.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch. I miss you guys. Are you still with Goat?”

  Georgia gave a low chuckle. “He’s moved in. We’re talking about getting married.”

  “That’s terrific! You’ll have to invite me.”

  “Of course. So what’s going on with you? Anything new to report?” Her voice changed to a teasing tone. “Like, any buns in the oven yet?”

  “Huh? Oh. No way.” A flush heated Marla’s skin. “I have enough to do watching over Dalton and Brianna.”

  “Just thought I’d ask. How’s the salon?”

  “We opened a new day spa next door.” Marla proceeded to fill her in on the particulars, eventually getting around to the current case.

  “Sorry, I haven’t met Carla Jean,” Georgia replied when Marla asked.

  A wave of disappointment swept her. There went her idea of leverage. She’d been hoping Georgia might have heard some gossip about the woman that would put Carla Jean in an unfavorable light. “Is there any way you can find her address for me? I might pay her a visit.”

  “Sure. We have a directory of all the sales reps. Hold on a minute.” After retrieving the data, she shared it with Marla. “Please don’t mention where you got this info.”

  �
��My lips are sealed.” They chatted for fifteen more minutes before Marla hung up. It felt good to catch up with an old friend. She needed to pay more attention to the people closest to her. That said, she phoned her mother and Dalton’s mom to confirm details for the next day.

  An hour later, she pulled up to the curb outside a townhouse supposedly owned by Carla Jean Hatfield. The unit sported a ubiquitous sand color with white trim and had a detached garage out back. It shared the row with four other homes of similar design. Flowering hibiscus shrubs, graceful palms, and colorful crotons decorated the lawns. A dog barked nearby as Marla stepped from her Camry.

  Fortune shone upon her because the Luxor sales rep was at home.

  “Who is it?” Carla Jean called from behind the closed front door after Marla rang the bell. A shadow crossed the peephole.

  “Marla Vail. I have something to tell you.”

  “Really?” Carla Jean swung the door wide. “What is it, Marla? I’m surprised you could spare the time from your busy schedule.” She flicked a speck of dust off the teal top that she wore over a pair of black denims. A beaded necklace hung from her neck, matching the bracelets on her arm.

  “Monday is my day off,” Marla explained. “And besides, it’s a holiday. Is that why you’re home and not out in the field?”

  “It’s a quiet time for me in terms of travel. What brings you here?” Carla Jean lounged in the doorway.

  “Can I come in? I won’t take much of your time.”

  “Sure.” A puzzled frown creased her brow. “Have a seat in the living room, but please try to be brief. I just got in a large order that I have to send to the main office. It’s often more expedient for me to process orders from home.”

  Marla sat on the cocoa-colored sofa while Carla Jean shut the door and joined her. She took an armchair opposite.

  “I’ve been thinking about how odd it was that you showed up at the Friends of Old Florida fundraiser. Why did you say you’d come? Oh yes, the company sent you to make sure they got credit for the products I used backstage. But they knew I could send them a copy of the program, so you didn’t need to be there. And would they really spend two hundred fifty dollars to buy you a ticket?”

  “What are you implying?” Carla Jean’s eyes grew wary.

  “I believe somebody else sent you, only it was to steal Yolanda’s signature headpiece.”

  Carla Jean shot up from her seat. “How dare you.”

  “You have to admit it makes sense,” Marla continued in a calm tone, hands clasped in her lap. “Who else would benefit? Surely not a collector, who’d stash the item in a safe somewhere. A military group? A research consortium? Another country after our technology? Or a hair accessory company who could potentially make thousands of dollars on such a novelty item?”

  “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “But I’m on the mark, aren’t I? Their offer must have been tempting. Steal Yolanda’s crown of achievement, and get a bonus that would allow you to retire. Did you already hand it over to them?”

  “I’m not going to tell you anything.”

  Marla’s pulse raced. She must be on the right track. And then the proper leverage popped into her mind. It fit so perfectly, she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it earlier.

  “Yes, you will. And if you still have it, you’ll give it to me to return to the proper owner. Or you’ll tell me who has it. In exchange, I promise to withdraw my application for the educator position.”

  Carla Jean gaped at her. “You’ll do what?”

  “I won’t compete with you. You can have the job.” Or had she misjudged the situation? Had her competitor already turned over the stolen goods and received her payout? In that case, Carla Jean wouldn’t care about her generous offer.

  As for Marla, it seemed a relief to give it up. Maybe the traveling part wasn’t for her, after all. She didn’t really want to leave her family, and the salon kept her busy enough. She’d rather gain Yolanda’s approval and do more work with the designer.

  “Do you mean it?” Carla Jean asked in a small voice. She sank into her chair with a slumped posture.

  “Yes, I do. So what’s the scoop?”

  Carla Jean didn’t meet her eyes. “All right, I took the thing. I got paid half up front and half upon delivery. Except the company changed its mind. You were correct, it was a hair accessory firm. But a lot of their stuff is made in China. My contact said they hadn’t realized the designer was related to Henutt somebody, and this guy had Chinese connections their company didn’t care to cross.”

  “So they backed out of the deal.”

  “They let me keep the initial payment as long as I promised to keep my mouth shut. But now I’m stuck with the item. What do I do with it?”

  “You give it to me. I’ll return it to Yolanda without mentioning your name.”

  “I don’t want this Henutt person coming after me.”

  “He’s Yolanda’s husband and may be involved with the Asian mob.”

  Carla Jean covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God.”

  “Give me the headpiece, and you’ll be finished with it. But you have to make me a promise, too. You’ll be honest with your customers and do your best if you win the educator position.”

  “Sure, Marla. Wait right here.” The sales rep stood and hurried from the room. A few moments later, she returned carrying a bundle in a plastic bag. “Here you go.”

  Marla peeked inside to verify it held Yolanda’s invention. The stones sparkled from its nest in the velvet case. “You won’t regret this. You’re making the right move.” She rose and gathered her purse.

  “If it means anything, I’m sorry I stole it.” Carla Jean walked Marla to the door. “I’m not really a thief, but I’m getting tired of the same old routine. I’d hoped with the money, I could retire.”

  “Make retribution by being a better person and a great teacher. You might find that to be enough of a change. Goodbye, Carla Jean. I’ll see you around.”

  As she got into her car, Marla’s spirits lifted. She’d done a good deed in relieving Carla Jean of this burden. It had helped her, too, to see her rightful path. The educator position was not the answer to her restlessness. Her family shouldn’t suffer because she felt dissatisfied. She’d have to set herself a new goal.

  Glancing at the sack on the seat beside her as she drove downtown, Marla considered what she would say to Yolanda. Would her shop even be open since tonight was Christmas Eve? People might have parties to attend and would want to pick up their dresses, or so she hoped. At least traffic was light heading east.

  Shoppers were engaged in last-minute gift buying along Las Olas Boulevard as she scurried on foot toward Yolanda’s boutique. In the window on one side was a magnificent bridal gown worthy of a Disney princess, while the other held a turquoise sequined creation and a lovely beaded rose dress. Marla’s envy level climbed for the women who could afford to shop here. But then again, where would she wear these things? She didn’t have society balls to attend, although a short number would look good at next year’s Taste of the World benefit.

  A door chime tinkled as she entered. Yolanda glanced up from the cash register where she was ringing up a sale. Her elder assistant stood helping another lady some distance away.

  Gripping the plastic bag in hand, Marla approached. She waited until Yolanda’s customer left before greeting her.

  “Hi there. I see you’re busy, but I need a moment of your time.”

  “Sure, darling. What’s up?” Yolanda’s eyes gleamed as she viewed the bundle in Marla’s grasp.

  Marla whipped out her cell phone and accessed the photo of Henutt and another man that Jason had sent her. She showed it to the designer. “I need for you to I.D. this fellow with your husband.”

  “Where did you get that picture?” Yolanda shot a nervous glance toward the curtain at the rear.

  “Jason Faulks took it at the ball. Now he’s dead. I’m curious as to why Jason emailed this photo to me before he
was killed.”

  “I recognize him.” Yolanda pointed to her husband’s companion. “But why did the poor photographer send you the picture?”

  “Probably because I’m married to Detective Vail, and Jason knew I’d show it to him.”

  Marla weighed how much to tell Yolanda. Was the designer aware of her husband’s possible involvement with the Asian mob? Did he launder cash through her store with her complicity? She scanned the array of colorful gowns inside the shop. Where did these luscious fabrics come from? The sequins, beading, and pearls? And what about the shoes, evening bags, and lingerie? Did Henutt’s money buy the accessories?

  “I need information,” she stated flatly. “Please, Yolanda. I’ll make it worth your while if you give me a name. I have something you want in return.”

  Yolanda’s crimson mouth formed a pout. “Very well. It’s Gabriel Stone. He’s a funeral director in Parkland.” She mentioned the name of his place but it didn’t ring a bell.

  Gabriel. How appropriate for someone in the death business.

  Wait a minute. Did this guy ice the victims from Henutt’s mob hits? Or was her imagination taking flight in an unsavory direction?

  “And how are the men connected?” Marla asked with infinite patience.

  “They’re friends. I’ve met him before. Gabriel is a personable guy for someone in his line of work.”

  “Why do you think Jason sent me this particular photo?”

  Yolanda spread her hands. “How should I know? You could ask Henutt.”

  Was Yolanda truly innocent about her husband’s activities? “That won’t be necessary, but I might have a chat with his friend.” Marla lifted the bag she held. “Here, I believe this belongs to you.”

  Yolanda gave an exclamation of joy upon noting the contents. “Good Lord, where did you find it?”

  “Someone took it who realized they’d made a mistake. I promised not to reveal their identity, but be assured it had nothing to do with politics or military applications.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” Yolanda’s face eased into a smile. “I’m grateful to you for recovering this piece. It could have been dangerous in the wrong hands. I have to lock it up. Please wait here a moment.” She disappeared into the back area.