Facials Can Be Fatal

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “In the playhouse? Are you saying he actually works as an actor?”

  “Oh, yes.” Lora gave a low chuckle. “It’s amazing how we all hide a secret side of ourselves. What’s yours, Marla?”

  “I’m too busy at work to have time for anything else.”

  “That’s a shame. We all need a creative outlet.” She pointed to Dalton. “And you, Detective? Are you a workaholic, too?”

  He allowed a small smile to play about his lips. “I grow tomatoes, do crossword puzzles, take walks in the park. But I don’t paint or do photography or act in the theater, if that’s what you mean. Did you know Val displayed her artwork in the same gallery as Jason Faulks? He was a photographic artist. The gallery is next door to Yolanda’s shop. Is that a coincidence?”

  Lora got up to pace the carpet. “Val was devoted to her art. It gave her great pleasure to spend time in her studio.”

  “Do you think the fashion show will continue without Val’s patronage?” Dalton asked in a mild tone.

  Marla recognized his interrogation technique. This might appear to be a friendly conversation, but he was digging for information.

  “I hope so,” Lora replied. “It’s a critical fundraiser for FOFL.”

  “Are you really interested in old buildings? How did you get involved in the group?”

  She stopped to glare at him. “I care about our history. It’s important to preserve our past. My day job is in commercial real estate. So often we see old structures torn down to make place for the new. We lose our heritage. If I come across a piece of property that has historical value, I’ll notify Friends of Old Florida so they can get involved.”

  Marla uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “What you do think of Yolanda? Her event generates press and attracts a crowd to your fundraiser. I found her missing headpiece, by the way, and returned it to her.”

  Lora’s face brightened. “I’m glad to hear it. Where was the thing?”

  “A person stole it who later had second thoughts. I doubt she’s anyone you know.”

  “I like Yolanda. She’s extremely talented.”

  Marla swallowed, her throat dry. Lora hadn’t so much as offered them a glass of water, but then, they were invading her privacy on a Sunday. Her legs restless, she squirmed on the chair. They’d sat all morning in the car driving up from the Keys, and now this. They should take a walk to get some exercise. But she remained silent, letting Dalton lead the conversation and providing him with her support. Besides, she might pick up on something he missed. What had Lora said about Howard Cohn’s hobbies?

  Dalton rose to stretch his limbs. “In your real estate work, how much contact do you have with Rick Rodriguez?”

  “I’ve dealt with him on several occasions. He’s usually successful in his bids to acquire land for his various projects.”

  “Tell me about Val’s fight with him over that strip on Hollywood Beach. I understand Solomon Gold owns some of those structures, and Val was opposing Rodriguez at FOFL’s request. Or did Gold have more personal interests in mind for prompting her intervention?”

  “Val loved that architecture from the thirties. She didn’t get involved because of Gold’s concerns. It was her genuine belief that those buildings belonged on the historic register.”

  “How far would Rodriguez go to obtain a property he deemed valuable?” Dalton asked.

  Marla gave him a sharp glance. Where was he going with this line of questioning? Did he know something she didn’t? A wisp of suspicion crept into her head. What had Dalton learned from his partner when he’d called Kat earlier? Now that she thought about it, he hadn’t mentioned their conversation.

  “Rick can be pretty obstinate,” Lora said. “He’s always juggling several projects. But I assume you’ve spoken to him. Do you consider him a suspect in any of these cases? Or me, for that matter?” Her eyes rounded as though she’d just had the thought.

  “We’re looking into all the possibilities, Miss Larue. Is there anything else you’d like to tell us? Or anyone whom you think might have wanted to cause harm to Val or Nadia?”

  He didn’t mention Jason, Marla noticed. Was that because his murder hadn’t been premeditated? It had appeared to be a crime of opportunity, whereas Val’s demise had been meticulously planned.

  Lora’s brow folded. “No, but I hope you catch the person. It’s horrible how Val died. And Nadia, too. I still can’t believe it.” She shivered and wound her arms across her chest.

  Marla hoped Lora wasn’t next on the list. The killer might believe Lora knew something, putting her in danger.

  “You’ve looked into Dr. Needles, I presume,” Lora blurted suddenly to Dalton.

  He gave her a startled glance. “We have. Why do you mention his name?”

  “Ashley, the model, says he’s the go-to person for prescription pain meds. But I want to consult him on a different issue. I’d like to know what you’ve learned about his surgical skills. Are there any malpractice suits against him? Are his patients satisfied?”

  “I don’t understand.” Dalton frowned at her.

  “I’ve asked him about weight-loss surgery. It’s an option I’ve considered, especially since I’m at risk for developing diabetes.”

  “It’s a risky procedure, isn’t it?” Marla said, not too familiar with the options.

  “In more ways than one.” Lora mashed her lips, her expression tormented. “I should lose weight for health reasons, but then would men still want me? They like my size the way it is. I’d stand to lose everything.”

  “Not everything, Lora. You’d have your important work for FOFL, your real estate business, and your other hobbies. You could still play a sexy tavern wench at the medieval fair.” Marla regretted her last words when Lora looked about to cry. This choice must have been weighing on her mind.

  A wave of compassion hit her. She felt sorry for Lora, who seemed lonely in this tower apartment all by herself. Lora had admitted to not having many female friends. Maybe her secret identity was her way to gain affection.

  “My sister makes fun of me, you know,” Lora said, her head down. “She says I don’t do anything to help myself, and I’ve let myself get this way. But my sister was always Mom’s favorite. She doesn’t understand.”

  So you began eating to comfort yourself, Marla surmised. Maybe Lora feared she’d slip back into her old habits even if she had the weight-loss surgery. It was a dilemma, all right. But the woman would never succeed unless she liked herself first.

  “Have you considered counseling?” Marla suggested in a soft tone. “You might want to look into why this role as Lingerie Lora is important to you. You’re a valuable asset to Friends of Old Florida, and you sell commercial real estate. Do you really need this other side business that you have to hide?”

  “I like the money aspect, but I suppose I could get by without it. What would I tell my fans?”

  “Exactly what you’ve told us. You had to lose weight for health reasons. You might be surprised. They might still want your, er, services.”

  “You’re right.” Lora swiped at her eyes. “Maybe I should talk to someone first. I’m glad you stopped by, but I don’t think I’ve helped you much with your case, Detective.”

  “We appreciate everything you’ve told us,” Dalton said in a formal tone.

  Marla sprang from her seat, unable to sit any longer. Inwardly, she smiled at Dalton’s reaction. He was great at interrogating suspects but less so when it came to expressing empathy.

  “So what now?” she asked him once they were back inside their car and cruising south. It was getting late. The ocean glistened to their left, a murky green until it deepened further out to sea. Strollers crowded the sidewalk bordered by a low concrete wall in a wave design, while cafés on the other side of the street bustled with patrons seated outdoors.

  Once again, Marla vowed to lessen her load so she could enjoy life at her leisure. But would she be happy that way? Or would she only be satisfied with tasks to accomplish each day?


  “Now we pay a visit to Howard Cohn and see what he has to say.”

  She glanced at Dalton’s stern profile and thrilled to his strong presence. It didn’t fail to astound her how he valued her input. A surge of affection made her pat his arm and smile. “I’d much rather park and walk along the beach. My legs need the exercise. Promise me we’ll come back here when we have some free time.”

  “Sure, Brie would love it, too. But first, we have to wrap this case before anyone else gets hurt.”

  “I know. What did Kat tell you when you called her earlier? Did it have something to do with FOFL’s treasurer that you want to visit him next?”

  “Kat found something fishy going on with Val’s investment accounts. She believes the trustee might have been siphoning money for years by putting it into phony funds that supposedly fizzled. Val only got wind of it recently when she wrote a check on her account that bounced due to lack of available cash.”

  “Do you think Val questioned Howard about it?”

  “I’ll bet she did and threatened to get an audit.”

  “So Howard could risk losing millions and going to jail. That’s motive for murder.”

  He gave a grim nod. “Let’s see if he’s home. An unexpected visit might throw him off guard.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “I should be visiting Cohn with my partner instead of you, but we’re close by and I’d rather not waste time,” Dalton told Marla. “If things go south, promise me you’ll leave to get help.”

  “Don’t worry; I’ll clear out if there’s any threat.” It should be okay if they keep this a friendly chat. Dalton can come back later with the handcuffs if necessary.

  Howard Cohn lived in Mangrove Isles, a community of pricey homes bordered by canals in east Fort Lauderdale. His Mediterranean-style villa had iron grillwork on a second-story balcony, ceiling fans on a covered porch, and hurricane-impact windows facing the front lawn. Tropical greenery bordered a paved walkway to the door.

  “Does Howard have a family?” Marla asked, unable to recall his marital status.

  “He got divorced eight years ago. His kids live with the ex-wife.”

  Unfortunately, no one answered the bell or their loud knock at the front door.

  “Could he be out back?” Marla suggested. “Maybe he doesn’t hear us.”

  “I’ll go check. Wait for me, and don’t make any moves on your own.”

  “I have an idea,” she said when her husband returned and shook his head in defeat. “Lora mentioned that Howard works as an actor at a playhouse. This is Sunday evening. He might have a performance.”

  “You could be right, but I need something to eat and then I’m taking you home.”

  “Heck no, I want this to end as much as you do. We’re getting close. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “It’s my duty to solve this case, not yours. Your safety is paramount. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

  An hour later, while they sat in a restaurant and waited for their check, Marla accessed the Internet and cross-referenced Howard’s name with community theaters in Fort Lauderdale.

  “Give it up, Marla. I’m driving you home.” Dalton peered anxiously for their waiter.

  “But we’re close by. I just found a place with his name listed. It’s a theater east on Sunrise. We could possibly reach him before the curtain rises.”

  “Damn, you’re stubborn. All right, but you’ll stay in the car.”

  However, when they arrived, only ten minutes remained before curtain time. Dalton bought tickets for them both at an old-fashioned glass-enclosed booth under an overhang with bright signage. Marla had never known a theater existed here. This structure looked to be quite old.

  They were lucky to get seats, having decided to confront Howard after the show. He was playing in the latest musical rendition of Peter Pan. A number of families with children sat in the audience. Marla leafed through the playbill before the lights dimmed, noting Howard’s role as the infamous Captain Hook. So he liked pirates, did he?

  “Hey, look at this.” Dalton nudged her. “In the credits, the theater company thanks Howard Cohn for his patronage. He must be a big donor.”

  She couldn’t envision the prim banker belting out a tune, but he surprised her on stage. Under his makeup and cosmetic enhancements, she could hardly recognize him.

  Hold that thought. Cosmetic enhancements? Did he use liquid latex to create those scars on his face? “Look at his makeup,” she whispered to Dalton. “He might have a supply of the stuff that killed Val Weston.”

  “Quiet,” someone hissed from behind.

  Dalton raised his eyebrows but remained silent. They’d head backstage as soon as the lights came up. There wasn’t any intermission, as the performance only ran for an hour and a half. Marla zoned out as various puzzle pieces fell into place.

  Howard, son of George from the journal, had a fondness for history and shipwrecks in particular. Hadn’t he told her so himself? Dr. Ian Needles was a certified diver. Did they work together searching for Red Ted’s downed vessel? Did Howard believe the pirate had treasure aboard? Or was his search confined to land in the vicinity where his father had camped? Was he stealing from Val’s investments to fund these expeditions?

  Eager to determine the truth, she headed backstage with Dalton after the last curtain call. It took a good fifteen minutes to get past the crowd and locate the entrance to the rear area. But a hefty security guard blocked their way.

  “Sorry, folks, you’ll have to wait out front with the others. The cast should be there momentarily to greet guests.”

  “We need to have a word in private with one of the actors,” Dalton said, flashing his badge.

  They argued for another five minutes until the dressing room doors opened and actors—dressed in street clothes—spilled past toward the front lobby. Howard wasn’t among them.

  “Where can we find Howard Cohn?” Dalton demanded, his patience gone.

  “Dressing room number three. But he should have come out with the others.”

  He didn’t. His space was empty when they’d pushed through the unlocked door. A quick search of the other rooms left them with one conclusion. Howard had fled. Maybe he’d spotted them in the audience, or maybe he’d just had to leave early for some reason.

  While Dalton sped for the street exit at the end of the corridor, Marla gnashed her teeth in frustration. She scanned the room’s contents, looking for a hint of where Howard might have gone. An array of colorful costumes hung on a rack. Shelving held wigs and beards, pirate hats and leather belts. She walked closer to the dressing table that faced a mirror. It held a selection of cosmetics, including a bottle labeled Liquid Latex.

  Ah, the proverbial smoking gun. With the finger of guilt pointing at Howard, Marla wondered at his motive. Was it really about buried treasure? Or was it about removing the threat to his reputation from his father’s misdeeds? Or maybe the past wasn’t the reason at all. Maybe Val had latched onto Howard’s theft of her money after all these years. He had means and motive, and via Patty the shampoo assistant, also opportunity.

  She scoured the room, halting at a diagram and photos tacked up on the wall. What was this? It looked to be a construction project with various standing structures earmarked for renovation. Puzzled, Marla traced each one with her forefinger. In the bottom left corner of the blueprint was a note that said “Pirate’s Playground.”

  She’d never heard of a place by that name. Where was it located? Accessing the Internet on her cell phone, she did a search. What came up made her gasp in astonishment.

  “Listen to this,” she said to Dalton when he’d returned empty-handed. “Pirate’s Playground used to be a theme park in Hollywood. Built in 1966, it stood on one hundred acres of land off Sheridan, east of Federal Highway. Rock concerts were held there, and the site was also featured in film and television shows.”

  “No way. What happened to it?”

  “Disney World opened and drew the crowds
away. It went into bankruptcy and closed in 1976. A bid to open a biblical theme park there fell through when Orlando was chosen for the site. The property has gone through various owners since then but has never made it past the planning stage.”

  “So what is it to Howard Cohn?”

  Marla clicked on another link, frowning at the small screen. She hadn’t planned to upgrade her smartphone but maybe it was time. “Here’s an article that says a new owner has purchased the property and plans to erect condominiums, but the redevelopment is being opposed. Another party wants to get the site declared a historic property and restore it instead as a monument to the past.”

  “In this case, I’d probably support the redevelopment. Who needs another theme park? And even restored, would it merely serve as a museum on an expensive piece of land, or would it actually be operational?”

  “That’s not the point. How is FOFL’s treasurer involved?”

  Dalton shrugged his broad shoulders. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s the one interested in the preservation angle. Look at this diagram. It lists all the attractions as they must have been in the park’s heyday. He wants to see it restored.”

  “Of course. Howard loves pirates. It would suit his nature.” Having learned enough, Marla turned off her browser and stuck the phone in her jeans pocket.

  “Cohn could be supporting this effort with funds he stole from Val.”

  “Among his other interests, like this theater.” She examined some papers lying about on an armchair. “Looks as though he wants to renovate this place, too.”

  “It needs fixing,” Dalton agreed, pointing to the marred baseboards and worn carpet.

  He looks tired, Marla realized. They should go home and pick up where they left off tomorrow. She was about to make this suggestion when her glance fell upon a note card in the trash can. Meet me at PP after the show. Bending over, she plucked it from the receptacle.

  “Look, do you suppose this is where Howard went? It could mean Pirate’s Playground.”

  “Why would he meet someone there after dark?” Dalton took the message to examine it. Then he rummaged in the trash can but soon gave up. “There’s nothing else, not even an envelope. Somebody might have delivered this note to Cohn. I can ask around.”