Facials Can Be Fatal

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “Regardless, we have no one by that name listed on our records. Why are you interested in her, anyway?”

  “I’m investigating a murder. Three murders, actually, if we count a hit-and-run incident.”

  The manager swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving visibly. “You don’t think this lady is some sort of merry widow killer, do you?”

  Dalton’s eyes narrowed. “I hadn’t thought of her that way.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, but obviously if she stayed here, she didn’t register under her own name.”

  “Dalton, may I have a word?” Marla drew her husband aside. “That guy isn’t going to admit anything. We should talk to the bartender.”

  He glanced at her askance. “At this hour of the morning? The lounge is closed.”

  “Yes, but we can find out where he lives and track him down. He might have more information.”

  “Okay, we’ll try that angle.” Dalton approached the manager. “Thanks for talking to us, Mr. Otero. We won’t keep you any longer.”

  As soon as the man had scurried away, Dalton slipped the desk clerk a twenty-dollar bill. “We need the name of the bartender who was in the lounge that night and where we can find him.”

  Shortly thereafter, they shoved their luggage into the trunk of Dalton’s sedan before piling into his car. The bartender lived on the other side of the island. As they drove around, the magnificent view of the ocean stole her breath. A wide sidewalk bordered by a low concrete wall on the water side allowed bikers as well as walkers to enjoy the vista as they got their morning exercise. Fluffy clouds dotted the sky, its deep blue reflected in the sea.

  Marla rested her elbow on the median between their seats. “I’ve been thinking. Lora might not pay for her room because FOFL covers it. If she travels on business for them, it makes sense.”

  “She’d still have a room assigned to her name. I believe there’s more involved. You saw how Otero acted. He was nervous. And that remark about a merry widow? Larue is up to something on these trips.”

  He turned down a lane edged with royal palms that led to a residential development. The homes were weathered one-story structures that had withstood the ravages of storms. Yards, overgrown with tropical foliage, led to houses that weren’t nearly as grand as the ones in town. Nonetheless, these residences must still be pricy due to their location.

  A television blared from within the yellow painted house they approached from a front walkway. Marla adjusted her purse strap as Dalton rang the bell. The noise dimmed and footsteps sounded.

  “Who is it?” a man’s gruff voice called.

  “My husband and I are visitors to the island. We want to have a word with you about a customer at the lounge where you work,” Marla said, since she sounded less threatening than Dalton. “Her name is Lora Larue.”

  The door swung wide. A thirtyish guy with lanky hair and an unshaven jaw stared at them. He wore a tee-shirt and shorts. “The name isn’t familiar. What’s she look like?” When Dalton gave the woman’s description, his mouth fell open. “Well, what do you know? That sounds just like Lingerie Lora.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Now it was Marla’s turn to gape. “Lingerie Lora? What do you mean?”

  “That’s her stage name, or so I assume.”

  Marla gulped. This wasn’t at all what she’d expected to hear. What kind of side business was Lora running? “I don’t understand. Can you explain?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I’m a detective from Broward County,” Dalton replied. “She’s involved in a case I’m investigating.” When the guy remained mute, he handed over a couple of twenty-dollar bills.

  Pocketing the money, the bartender averted his gaze. “She, you know, has customers to her room. The night manager is one of them. But I don’t believe her claim that there’s no funky business going on. I mean, come on, have you seen her website?”

  A dog barked from another yard, and Marla shifted her feet. “Um, no. What’s the URL?”

  Dalton scribbled notes into a notepad while the man spoke. “Thanks, we’ll look it up. How often does she come down here?”

  The fellow’s nose wrinkled. “Not that often. From things she’s said, I’ve gathered she has clients all over the country. People talk to me at the bar. It’s like they need someone to listen.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Marla said in a soothing tone. “So how does she obtain her clients?”

  “Guys contact her. It’s all explained on her website.”

  “Have you heard of a woman named Valerie Weston? Did Lora ever mention her?”

  “Sorry, the name doesn’t ring a bell. I don’t know much else about the lady except she’s a generous tipper. I hope she visits us again soon.”

  Dalton gave him a business card. “If she does, will you send me a text message?”

  “I suppose. I hope she isn’t involved in anything bad. Her business might be kinky, but it isn’t illegal, or so she says.”

  “Don’t they all,” Marla murmured. “Thanks so much for your cooperation,” she told the guy, managing to withhold the sarcasm from her tongue. “Lingerie Lora? Would you believe it?” she said to Dalton once they were out of earshot.

  “I wasn’t expecting that, I’ll tell you, but it might explain her extracurricular activities.”

  At the curb, Marla slid into their car, wincing at the broiling hot interior.

  “Look it up on your phone while I drive.” Dalton angled his broad shoulders through the driver’s door. He buckled up and started the engine. A welcome blast of cool air poured from the vents.

  Once they were headed north, Marla put “Lingerie Lora” into her browser search window. A number of sites popped up.

  “Wow, would you believe there are videos, news articles, and more?”

  “Go to the official website.” Dalton repeated the Web address they’d been told.

  Marla waited while the phone connected. “Lord save me. It’s Lora.” She stared at the screen, mesmerized by the image of Lora Larue’s ample body in black lacey underwear.

  “What’s it say?” Dalton’s brows shot up as he caught a glimpse.

  “She gets paid to ‘squash’ men, but her site claims there’s no sex involved. Yeah, right.” Marla accessed the photo gallery. “Ugh, she sits on top of men’s faces and does other poses.”

  A sordid image came to mind. What view would those guys have from beneath her bulk? You can’t tell me this isn’t a turn-on for her customers. Marla’s nose wrinkled at the mental visions.

  “I can’t wait to see the YouTube videos,” Dalton said with a teasing grin.

  “I’ll bet. We’ll have to wait until we can access the desktop computer. I don’t want to look at them now. This view is too amazing.” She shut her phone down to peer out the window at the vista of sea and sky. This had to be one of the most beautiful drives on Earth.

  With a stop for lunch, they didn’t get home until nearly two. Since Dalton had called ahead, Brianna was there waiting for them along with Kate and John, who’d picked up the dogs from the kennel.

  “We couldn’t leave Brie here alone,” Kate said, following Marla into the kitchen where she went to wash her hands.

  Dalton deposited their luggage in the bedroom and then returned to properly greet his parents. “Hey, pumpkin,” he said to Brianna, giving her a hug.

  “Dad, can I go over Heather’s house until New Year’s? It’s only for two nights.”

  “What? You just got home.”

  “Is that what you really want, honey?” Marla asked, willing to comply if it meant more private time for her and Dalton.

  Brianna nodded, her long braid swinging at her back. “You’re probably tired from your trip, and it’s boring here. Heather’s parents are having a New Year’s Eve party.”

  John slapped Dalton on the shoulder. “Let her go, son. She’d rather be with her friends than with you old fogies.” He winked at them. “Once Brie has her driver’s license, you won�
��t be seeing much of her.”

  “How was Disney World? We want to hear all about it.” Marla hoped her husband wouldn’t start his rant about teenage drivers. She spooned some coffee into the coffeemaker filter, needing a jolt of caffeine to face the remainder of the afternoon.

  “It was great.” Brianna proceeded to tell them about the rides she’d been on and what was new at the theme park.

  “Sounds like you had a wonderful time.” Marla beamed at her after turning on the device. Soon the aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. “Did you have lunch? Kate and John, can I get you anything to eat?”

  Kate gave her an indulgent smile. “No, thanks, we’re fine. We need to go home and unpack.” Her mother-in-law’s hair was nicely arranged, Marla noted idly. Kate wore a pleasing red and white skirt ensemble that looked suitable for a ladies’ luncheon. Maybe she and John had plans for later on.

  “I’m sorry we kept you.”

  “No problem. So did you learn what you set out to do?”

  Dalton leaned against a counter. “We gained some valuable information. The hotel was great. We should take you there sometime,” he told his daughter.

  Brianna rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait. I’m going to tell Heather that I’m coming over.”

  Dalton, realizing he was defeated, spread his hands.

  “Hey, we should go visit Lora if she’s home and tell her we’ve learned her secret,” Marla suggested.

  “That’s not a bad idea. And I should check in with my partner to exchange news. Mom and Dad, are you going so soon?” he asked as his parents headed for the door.

  “Yes, we really have to leave.” Kate turned to face him and Marla, who’d trailed along. “Happy New Year in advance. Don’t drink and drive. I’ll see you on January first.”

  Brianna skipped after them to embrace her grandparents and say goodbye. Then she rushed to her room to phone her friend.

  An hour later, Marla and Dalton sped east on Sunrise Boulevard toward the address he had for Lora Larue. The buxom lady lived on the twentieth floor of a high-rise condo. Its prime beach location would offer a view of the ocean on one side and the Intracoastal on the other. As a real estate agent, Lora might have gotten a good deal on this expensive piece of property.

  Gripping her purse and comfortable in a pair of jeans and a knit top, Marla stepped out into the warm air at the parking garage. The humidity made it feel like summer. They needed another cold front to give the semblance of a Florida winter. At the front desk, she and Dalton each provided a picture I.D. The receptionist phoned Lora’s apartment while Marla held her breath. Would she be home? And more importantly, would she see them?

  An elevator ride later, they emerged onto her floor and found her door number. Lora wore a caftan-type ensemble with a turban on her head as she bade them enter. Her place smelled like chicken soup. Coming down the hall, Marla had sniffed various aromas as they walked along. Why did interior corridors like this always transmit cooking odors? It was merely one among many reasons why she’d never live in a high-rise unit.

  “We’re sorry to bother you on a Sunday,” she said with a friendly smile. “Thank you for letting us in.”

  “We weren’t sure if you’d be home or not.” Dalton roamed the living room, peering at various knickknacks lying around. “You travel so frequently on behalf of FOFL.”

  “I don’t do much traveling over the holidays. It’s too expensive and not a lot of work gets done. My trips will resume in mid-January,” Lora explained.

  “You’re lucky the group pays your expenses.” Marla settled onto an armchair and crossed her legs. Lora had expensive tchotchkes but no family photos. Whoa, was that one of Val’s paintings on the wall?

  “So what is it you want?” Lora asked with a wary expression.

  “We know what else you’ve been doing on your trips. How come you didn’t mention it when I first interviewed you?” Dalton stood facing her, his taller height imposing.

  Lora thrust her chin forward, no easy feat since she had a couple of them.

  Bad Marla. Don’t be so critical. This woman has hordes of customers for her alter ego.

  “You didn’t ask about my extracurricular activities, Detective. Nor are they relevant to the organization. What I do in my private time is my business.”

  “Did Val find out and threaten to curtail your trips?”

  “Hell, no. She might have curtailed them by dying, unless she left our group a bequest like she promised.”

  Marla leaned forward. “We’ve seen your Internet site, Lingerie Lora.”

  Lora’s complexion reddened. “So what? I’m careful to be discreet.”

  “Yet how would the Friends of Old Florida board members feel if they knew how you moonlighted on these travels? Maybe they wouldn’t want you representing their organization.”

  “If so, I’d just raise my fees so my clients paid the travel fare.”

  “Is that why you don’t register for your hotel rooms? You seduce the managers into becoming your customers to get your incidentals comped?”

  “I don’t seduce anyone. I get hired to do what I do. It doesn’t interfere with my business for FOFL. I’m very dedicated in that regard.”

  Dalton paced across the carpet and back again. “I understand you belong to the same health club as Nadia Welsh. Did you ever overhear her talking to Val about the journal that had belonged to her dad?”

  “Huh? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you find it more than coincidental that both Val and Nadia were killed?”

  Lora stared at her. “Omigod, you don’t think I’m next, do you? Is there some sort of serial killer going around picking out victims at sports clubs?”

  Marla had to chuckle at that one. “Don’t worry on that score, Lora. We doubt that’s the case. But their deaths are related and so is Jason Faulks, the photographer from the fashion show. Do these photos mean anything to you?” She showed Lora the pictures on her cell phone.

  Lora examined them and shook her head. “I recognize Howard in that one but I have no idea who this other guy is with him. And that’s Yolanda’s husband with a stranger. What does this mean?”

  “They’re clues Jason sent me,” Marla said in a patient tone. “Nadia had a note on her person when she died that mentioned either Pilates or Pirates, depending on the middle letter. That’s how we got onto the health club.”

  Lora sank into a seat and covered her face with her hands. “I’m truly sorry Val is gone. Despite what you think, she was a friend. I don’t have many women friends, so that’s saying a lot.”

  “How did you get started in this other business?” Marla asked, genuinely curious. “And how do potential clients contact you? I didn’t see any email listed on your website.”

  “Believe it or not, I get booked through an agent. Once I’m with a client, I’ll give them my personal contact info. I get a lot of repeat customers.” Her ample chest puffed with pride. “If you think it would bother me to be let go by FOFL, you’re mistaken. I make a six-figure income from my private business, not to mention my real estate clients.”

  “And you sit on people?” Marla scrunched her nose at the thought.

  “Men like it. I fulfill their sexual fantasies. But I’m never naked and we don’t have sex.”

  Marla could just imagine. She shut out the distasteful images and changed the subject. “So how did Val learn about your secret identity?”

  Lora snorted. “She made a pass at me.” The large woman noted their expressions. “You discovered she was gay, didn’t you? It shocked the hell out of me. I would never have suspected it of her. When I turned her down, it put a strain on our friendship.”

  “Did she seem upset about anything in recent times that you noticed?” Dalton asked, settling onto a coastal-style sofa with beige upholstery, rolled arms, and a cherry wood frame.

  Marla glanced around, taking in the tasteful furnishings and the accent pillows with their palm leaf motif. Lora had a keen
eye for design. The woman continued to surprise her, but she found herself liking Lora despite their differences. Her gaze fell upon a paperback tossed on a side table titled The Duke’s Revenge. Good heavens, Lora was a fan of romance novels. Who knew? Then again, maybe Lingerie Lora was still looking for love.

  Lora twisted her hands together. “Val mentioned that she had misgivings about Howard handling her money. Have you spoken to him?”

  “Howard is the trustee on Val’s estate,” Dalton replied. “We understand his father and Val’s dad had been friends. That’s likely how he obtained management of their accounts.”

  “Val preferred for other people to handle the mundane details of her life. She probably didn’t question his role for years.”

  “Did Val ever talk about her dad in his youth?”

  “He claimed that he might have been descended from pirates. Val doubted his history was so colorful.”

  “What do you think happened to make her distrust Howard Cohn?”

  Lora shrugged. “Maybe she took a look at her investments for a change and asked Howard about them.”

  “How well do you know the group’s treasurer?”

  “We’re just acquaintances through the organization, although I’ve run into him a couple of times at those Renaissance festivals.”

  Marla interceded. “What do you mean?”

  “We both belong to a creative anachronism society. You know, we dress up once a year in medieval costume and have a fair. I like to play a tavern wench. But Howard, he’s a real actor. He’ll usually go for the role of a highwayman or bandit, but I’ve seen him play a pirate, too.”

  “You’re kidding.” Marla couldn’t picture the staid banker in costume, let alone hamming it up as an outlaw. How far from the truth was the part he played?

  “You talk about my secret life.” Lora’s blue eyes sparkled. “Ask Howard about his moonlighting activities. I haven’t seen him in the playhouse myself, but I hear he’s pretty good.”