Facials Can Be Fatal

by Nancy J. Cohen

  Meanwhile, the sales associate named Eve came to ring up her customer. Marla stood aside and surveyed a display case with expensive costume jewelry. The necklaces were a bit elaborate for her taste but she liked the earrings.

  “How much are these?” Marla asked once the customer had left. She pointed to a pair of smoky crystal stud earrings.

  Eve took them out and laid them on a velvet cloth. “They’re only forty-eight dollars a set. Lovely, aren’t they? We also have them in clear crystal, blue topaz, and citrine.”

  Marla held them up to her bronze highlighted chestnut hair and glanced in a mirror. They sparkled in the light. “Oh, gosh. I love them.” They’d look great on Brianna and on her mother, too. You could dress them up or down, depending on what you were wearing. “I’ll take all four,” she said, giving in to impulse. She still had time to put them under the tree. They’d planned a gift exchange for tomorrow. Between Hanukkah and Christmas, she’d go broke, but these earrings were irresistible and in her price range.

  Yolanda chose that moment to return. “I’ll give you a discount,” she said upon learning of Marla’s pending purchase.

  Marla handed over her credit card then stood by while Eve wrapped her boxed items in festive tissue paper, subtly labeled each one’s color, and put them into a logo bag.

  Marla took the package and thanked the woman, who turned to greet a new arrival. She was about to make her departure when Yolanda tapped her arm.

  “Tell me, has any progress been made in finding Jason’s killer?” Yolanda asked in an undertone so her voice wouldn’t carry.

  “That’s another jurisdiction from my husband, so I wouldn’t know.”

  “But he’s in touch with their department, yes?” Yolanda brushed a stray lock of raven hair off her face. She wore her sleek hair in an attractive chignon.

  “He doesn’t share details of his cases with me.”

  “When did you say the photographer sent you this photo?”

  “I didn’t, but the time stamp put it before his murder.”

  Yolanda’s face folded into a frown. “How peculiar. I cannot fathom what it might mean.”

  “Me, neither. That’s what I’m trying to learn.” Marla paused to retrieve the other picture. “Jason also sent me this one. I recognize Howard Cohn here but not the other man.”

  Yolanda squinted at the photo. “Sorry, darling, I can’t help you there. He doesn’t look at all familiar to me.”

  “Tell me more about Howard. You know these people from your society functions. What was his relationship to Val, aside from their association through FOFL?”

  “He and I are not well acquainted. Isn’t he the group’s treasurer? Maybe their fathers knew each other. Both older men would have run in the same social circles.”

  “I understand her father’s love of history rubbed off on Val. Is there any truth to those pirate tales he used to tell?”

  “How should I know? Warren did well for himself, marrying into the Weston family. Theirs was a blessed union.”

  “Too bad Val’s marriage didn’t last.”

  “Look, I was grateful when Val invited me to participate at FOFL’s annual ball, but I never pried into her affairs.”

  Marla shifted feet, tired of standing. But as long as the information mill was forthcoming, she wouldn’t quit. “Did you know Val was an artist? I wonder if she exhibited her work.”

  “Sure she did.” Yolanda jabbed a finger in the air. Her nails were painted blood red. “She’d get a booth every year at the Las Olas arts festival in exactly the same location. I could see her from inside my shop. She faced in this direction. From what I gathered, she did a decent trade in sales. People loved her watercolors of natural Florida.”

  “So she was positioned directly across from your place?” Did the event organizers assign locales, or had Val requested that spot? Marla would have to tell Dalton to check into this angle. Perhaps Val wished to keep an eye on Yolanda’s establishment. But why? So she could note Henutt’s comings and goings?

  “Actually, it’s not my shop that captured her interest,” Yolanda said with an astute gleam in her eyes. “She had a contract with the gallery next door. They had exclusive rights to sell her work. She let slip once to me that she wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement.”

  “Do you know those people?”

  “Not really. They get a lot of tourist business. It’s too bad they’ve lost one of their popular artists. I imagine Val’s work has soared in price since she died.”

  Hmm, how much more would her paintings be worth with her dead? Watercolors weren’t as valuable as oils, to Marla’s meager knowledge. And paintings of nature scenes wouldn’t be uncommon. But then, she knew little about the art world.

  Yolanda poked her arm as another customer entered the shop. “I have to go. Thank you again for returning my precious crown.”

  “I’m glad I could help. Please keep me in mind for future events. I’d love to work with you on other projects.”

  Marla sauntered outdoors and into the gallery next door. A fortyish woman in a sweater and skirt ensemble bustled forward from a counter where she’d been wrapping a framed picture.

  “May I help you?”

  “I’m wondering if you have any work by Valerie Weston. I saw her paintings at the last arts festival and fell in love with them, but I didn’t have enough money with me to buy anything.”

  “My name is Henrietta. This way, please. We have Val’s works along this wall.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. That must have been a blow for you. Had her style been popular?”

  “Oh, yes. She had the perfect eye for detail. Visitors adore her watercolors.”

  “Are you the proprietor, Henrietta?”

  “No, that would be Mr. Belorski. He’s not in today.”

  Examining the display of Val’s works, Marla had to admire them. They conveyed the tranquility of the Everglades, the fragility of the beach at sunrise, the majesty of a moss-draped live oak. “One of these would look great in my day spa,” she said, handing over a business card. “Val was our customer when she had her unfortunate episode.”

  “That’s terrible. I read about it in the papers. Such a tragedy.”

  “It’s only fitting that I buy one of these to remember her by. How much is this one?” She pointed to a pleasing scene of a hammock surrounded by sawgrass and populated by birds.

  Henrietta checked the tag. “That would be seven hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “Whoa, it costs that much?”

  The saleswoman clucked her tongue. “I told you her works were popular.”

  “That’s beyond my budget. But I am glad to see her work will find a home.”

  Marla followed the lady toward the exit. They passed a section depicting framed photographs. Some of those nature scenes were stunning in their reality. Maybe these were more affordable. She liked the portraits, too, wondering about the people this artist had captured.

  Wait a minute. She halted abruptly to peer more closely at the photographer’s name. A gasp of surprise escaped her lips. “What are these?”

  “They’re by an artist who’s also recently deceased. Jason Faulks. Poor man. The fellow got stabbed at Yolanda Whipp’s fashion show. She owns the shop next door, you know.”

  Marla’s pulse accelerated. Here was a connection between the two victims. She had to tell Dalton.

  “I’ve met Mr. Faulks. I didn’t realize he had an artistic bent. I thought he did wedding and graduation photographs, that sort of thing.”

  Henrietta gave a snort of laughter. “Jason was an artist in his own right. Yes, he did take society photos to earn his bread, but he does . . . or he did . . . quite well with his work here.”

  “Who handled the contracts for Jason and Val? Was it you or your boss?”

  “That would be Mr. Belorski.” Her voice lowered. “You won’t tell him we’ve been talking, will you? He urges us to have the utmost discretion about our artists. I probably shouldn’t hav
e told you so much about them.”

  “I’m grateful you did. Were you here the last time Val came into the gallery?”

  Henrietta cast her gaze downward. “I can’t say anymore. It could cost me my job.”

  “Why should it? Any customer is going to want to learn about an artist.”

  “Val wouldn’t have been with us for much longer. Oops, I shouldn’t have said that.” Henrietta clapped a hand to her mouth.

  “What do you mean?” Had Val considered pulling her works from the store? And if so, for what reason?

  “Please forget what I said. Good day to you, Mrs. Vail. Thank you for stopping by,” Henrietta said by rote as she showed Marla to the door.

  Feeling sure Henrietta had been on the verge of spilling the beans, Marla swallowed her disappointment and left. How much did the saleslady really know, anyway? If there were shady goings-on, would she shut up and put up to keep her job?

  Someone ought to have a chat with Mr. Belorski. It couldn’t be mere coincidence that two of his artists died within a short time of each other.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Christmas Eve loomed, and Marla didn’t have time to ponder the meaning of her visits to the Las Olas shops. Dalton had promised to get off work early. They were invited over a friend’s house along with Brianna that evening. Since it was still Hanukkah, she’d light the electric menorah but forgo the candles. It wouldn’t be safe to leave them burning in her absence.

  Focused on family, Marla pushed aside thoughts of a querulous nature while they enjoyed the party that night and prepared the following morning for company.

  Brie rushed into the living room bright and early on Christmas Day, still in her pajamas and eager to open presents. Dalton had educated Marla on their traditions. She was happy to participate and give their lives meaning again. Holidays could be sad and lonely when you’d lost a loved one. Now theirs was joyous again, thanks to her. She glowed with warm satisfaction as she watched them tear into their gifts. Dalton grinned like a kid as he unwrapped the tablet computer she’d bought for him.

  “I know you have a laptop, but this can be more convenient to carry around,” she told him. “Now you and Brie will each have your own.”

  Marla hadn’t been a technology fan until she’d received her first iPhone. Then Brie’s grandparents gave her stepdaughter a tablet computer, and she’d seen what that device could do. Now Marla was a convert to the electronics age.

  Dalton’s gift to her was more traditional. Her jaw dropped as she opened the box in her hand. A diamond circle necklace sparkled in its embrace. “I love it,” she said, taking it out and holding it up to the light.

  “You’ve made our family whole again. A circle represents us, bound together for eternity.” He came over and gave her a kiss before fastening the jewelry around her neck.

  But that wasn’t all. Brianna’s present for her was a pair of white gold knot earrings that matched perfectly. Marla wasn’t necessarily a jewelry person. She had a collection of costume trinkets that went with her outfits for work. Otherwise, she wore very little adornment except for earrings and her wedding ring. But she appreciated value nonetheless. She’d add these items to the few fine pieces Stan had given her. That had been one good thing about her ex; the attorney had good taste in his gifts for women.

  They had a few presents each, having saved some from Hanukkah to open this morning. Dalton’s other gift made her frown in puzzlement. “A slow cooker recipe book? Why this?”

  “You can always use another cookbook. And I thought you might like this one. You can cook slowly on your days off, unlike those quick five-ingredient recipes.”

  She twisted her lips to smother her mirth. “My dearest, that’s not what this means. I don’t own a slow cooker. It’s an electric type of pot that you plug in and let food simmer all day while you’re at work.”

  His face flushed red. “Well, how would I know?”

  “My mother has one. Would you mind if I rewrapped this and gave it to her?” Besides, she got most of her recipes off the Web now. They had enough books crowding their shelves.

  Anita was thrilled with the gift and the others they gave her when the expanded family met to celebrate the combined holiday Marla called Christmakkah. She was relieved Ma had broken up with her boyfriend Roger. She couldn’t stand the fellow with his huge appetite and boisterous manner. He had raised Ma’s spirits, though. Anita seemed okay on her own but lacked a certain joie de vivre she’d had in his presence.

  Her brother Michael had come down from Boca with his wife and kids. They mingled with Cousin Cynthia and her family while Marla chatted with Dalton’s parents. Kate and John were busy decorating the condo they’d purchased in Delray Beach. Their house in Maine had yet to find a buyer, but in the meantime, they’d decided to become full-time Florida residents.

  “I’m so happy to see the joy you’ve brought my son,” Kate told her in an aside. “Now that you guys are settled, maybe you’ll consider adding to the family. You’re a great mother to Brianna. Isn’t it time you thought about your future?”

  Marla almost choked on her tongue. “Um, we’re okay as we are. I have enough to do with my salon and all.”

  “You could cut back on your hours. You own the place, for heaven’s sake.”

  “And that’s exactly why I have to be there to supervise. Oh look, my cousin Julia is here. Please excuse me.” She scurried away, her heart pounding. Likely Kate had put the bee in Dalton’s bonnet about having more kids. Thankfully, he hadn’t brought it up again.

  Marla greeted the new arrivals with air-kisses and a warm welcome. She’d turned to go into the kitchen to check on the food when the phone rang. She dashed into the study to answer it and have a moment alone to regain her peace.

  Dalton’s cousin Wayne was calling from Arizona to wish them a Merry Christmas. Before she went to summon her husband, she glanced at their desktop. Yesterday’s mail sat there untouched. She’d forgotten to open it in her rush to get everything ready for today. One return address stood out. She recognized her insurance company’s name.

  After handing the mobile receiver to Dalton, she returned to open the envelope. As she scanned the contents, she stretched her mouth in a smile.

  “Good news,” she said when she’d rejoined their company and Dalton had hung up. She waved the paper in her hand. “Amber Connors dropped her lawsuit against me in the spirit of Christmas, or so my agent says. He believes she realized her case didn’t hold water.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Dalton replied with a broad grin. “I’m glad it’s over. That should ease your mind.”

  “Tell us about your case concerning the woman who died in your day spa,” Cousin Cynthia urged as they sat around the dinner table.

  Marla had served the food buffet style. Her various relatives had contributed to the meal so she didn’t have to make everything. She’d hoped to avoid talk of work but now that the topic had been introduced, everyone peered at her and Dalton with curiosity.

  The dogs barked in the backyard as a pregnant silence fell over the assembled guests. She would let the pets in later, after she’d put the food away. Since Spooks had once eaten half the broccoli cheese casserole she’d made for Rosh Hashanah, she wouldn’t let the animals anywhere near the kitchen when unattended.

  Dalton cleared his throat. “We have a lot of leads. We’re still working on it.”

  “Oh, I have news that I totally forgot to tell you,” Marla said. “Yesterday, I visited Yolanda’s boutique after I went to see Carla Jean.” And she related most, but not all, of what she’d learned from her conversations with the Luxor sales rep, Yolanda at her store, and the clerk at the art gallery next door. “Keep this quiet, okay?” she warned her relatives. “Dalton’s case is still open, and so is Jason’s murder.”

  “Hey, Marla. Did you say you’re giving up the educator position?” Brie spoke from where she sat wedged between her paternal grandparents. “I hope you’re not changing your mind because of me and Dad.
We wouldn’t want to hold you back.”

  Marla’s eyes misted. “It’s not that, honey, but you’re a sweetheart for thinking that way. I’ve decided I don’t want to be away from home, even for short trips, without you or your dad being with me. And I don’t really need that type of career change.”

  “No, what you could use is another sort of focus,” her mother mumbled. Anita and Kate exchanged a knowing glance across the table.

  Marla’s lips firmed. This type of pressure was exactly what she did not need. “Let’s get back to the point of what I was saying. Carla Jean confessed to having stolen the headpiece to sell to a hair accessory company. They turned on her, afraid that Henutt’s Chinese associates might not appreciate the theft. So Carla Jean was stuck with the goods.”

  “And you gave her a viable alternative. Good thinking; I’m proud of you.” Dalton beamed at her, and then his face sobered. “I’ll talk to the property unit and make sure they list the missing item as recovered.”

  “Don’t mention any names, please. That goes for all of you. I promised Carla Jean her role would remain confidential, aside from sharing her info with Dalton.”

  Brianna’s eyes radiated enthusiasm. “So you returned the headpiece to Yolanda. And then what? She mentioned the gallery next door?”

  The kid was too enthralled by their cases, Marla thought. They needed to steer her attention to soccer, the acting classes that she took now instead of dance, and her driving lessons.

  Or not. Pretty soon she’d qualify for her driving test and then Dalton would go ballistic.

  “I gave Yolanda the headpiece in return for information about the man in the photo with Henutt. She said he’s a funeral director from Parkland and his name is Gabriel Stone. Dalton, you’ll follow up on that lead, won’t you? Why would Jason take that particular photo unless it meant something?”

  He speared her with an intense gaze. “We have yet to learn the answer to that question. You said you’d showed Yolanda the other picture.”