Perish By Pedicure

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “It’s our treat,” he said, giving her a genuine smile. “You’re being nice enough to house us for the week. I realize it’s inconvenient when you have another guest. We didn’t mean for it to work out that way.”

  Picking up her water glass, she plunked it back down. “I know you were originally supposed to come for Christmas but got delayed. You couldn’t help it if Justine needed a root canal.”

  “Yeah, but we would have chosen a different week to stay at your place if we’d known about the hair show.”

  She gave him a startled glance. “I thought you were supposed to stay with Dalton, and he couldn’t, er…”

  “Couldn’t handle it?” Justine pitched in with a smirk. “I suppose he told you that he didn’t want to hurt our feelings by having us stay there while he’s packing. We’re aware you’re moving in together. It’s only logical that he’d put away Pam’s things.” Folding her hands, she cocked her head. “Brianna asked me if we wanted her mother’s plate collection. She didn’t think you’d want them around.”

  Marla’s throat constricted. She glanced at her friend, but Georgia was studiously gazing at a lizard crawling up a nearby palm tree. “What are you saying?”

  “We chose to stay with you, to get to know you better. You’ll be responsible for our granddaughter when you marry her father. We meant to see what kind of person you are. I have my reservations, but I have to admit, I like your tenacity. You don’t give up on things easily.”

  Marla swallowed. “No, I don’t, if it’s something worthwhile. I care about Brianna a great deal. I’m not claiming that I’ll make a great mother, and I certainly never intend to take Pam’s place, but I’ll do my best.” So Dalton didn’t push them on me. It was their decision to stay at my house. Why did he lead me to believe otherwise? Probably to avoid raising my stress level, knowing Justine came to evaluate my mothering abilities. As if my own doubts aren ‘t enough to shake me.

  “I don’t expect you to involve my granddaughter in solving murders,” Justine said, lifting her nose. “She needs to concentrate on her school-work.”

  “Naturally,” Marla murmured. Here comes a lecture. But Justine dropped the subject, leaving Marla to wonder when she’d address it again. In the meantime, their conversation turned superficial as they strolled past exclusive shops with overpriced wares. Georgia browsed inside the Escada boutique, while Marla merely window-shopped at Versace.

  Justine halted in front of Tiffany & Co. “Oh, look,” she commanded, peering at the display. “I’d like to get that for Brianna.” Breezing inside, she let the door snap back in Marla’s face.

  Marla examined the items in the window. Surely Justine didn’t mean that cross pendant in sterling silver on a sixteen-inch chain. Brianna had never favored religious jewelry, and Marla could think of other necklaces file teen would appreciate more, like that Loving Heart design. What did kids wear these days? None of the necklaces were cheap, and even the silver ones cost more than one hundred dollars.

  “Are you coming in?” she asked Georgia, while Larry strolled ahead to look in the Brooks Brothers window. They entered the hallowed domain inside Tiffany’s.

  “Way cool,” Georgia said, fixing her dark eyes on a round-link bracelet. “I wish I could afford this stuff. Or rather, find a boyfriend who could buy it for me.”

  Marla glanced at her friend’s wrist, which already held a collection of bangles. “You don’t have room for anything else.”

  “There’s always room, hon. Besides, I need something to match my new shoes. Is there a Coach place here? I have to find a red handbag.”

  “We should go to Sawgrass Mills. The outlets are less expensive. Maybe on Thursday.” With the photo shoot at her salon on Wednesday, that left little time to spare. They’d be going to the Keys on Friday.

  Heather wouldn’t be coming, she reminded herself with a surge of sadness. How could she look at jewelry when the girl was dead? Just thinking about the scene back at the Turkish Bath made her sick. Undoubtedly the police wanted to question her further. They’d probably left messages on her machine at home. She shouldn’t be wasting time here.

  Intending to gather her charges, she approached the counter while Georgia stopped to look at a doughnut-chain bracelet in a display case. Justine was examining necklaces with cross pendants when Marla reached her. How could she convince the woman to consider Brianna’s preferences in selecting a gift?

  “These heart necklaces are popular,” she remarked in an idle tone, pointing to several different designs with matching earrings. “Brianna would love to receive one of these from you.”

  Justine bristled. “She should have a cross. Pam’s got lost, so I’d like to replace it.”

  Marla hadn’t thought about Brianna inheriting her mother’s jewelry. “Why don’t you ask Brie what she’d want?”

  Justine’s eyes narrowed. “You know, Marla, I think the idea of Brianna wearing this item makes you uncomfortable. We haven’t discussed religious differences before, but I hope you’ll respect my granddaughter’s upbringing. She’ll expect to celebrate the holidays according to our cultural traditions. Dalton told me you don’t have a Christmas tree at your house.”

  “I celebrate Hanukkah, not Christmas.”

  “Well, it won’t be that way when you’re living together.”

  Marla glared at the smaller woman dressed in a prim outfit like she was going to church. She couldn’t expect Justine to understand. “We’ll work things out between us.”

  “So I fear. The woman always rules the nest.”

  Marla bit her lip. She had enough problems without this aggravation clouding her mind. “Can we leave now? I’d like to stop by my salon to make sure everything is all right before we go home.”

  Resentment kicked in that Dalton had dropped her into such an awkward situation. He should have accepted responsibility for his former in-laws instead of sticking her with them, regardless of Justine’s request. Did he care more about offending his relatives than her? What would happen when she met his parents? Would their relationship stand the strain, or were her worries enhanced by her own feelings of inadequacy?

  Hastening Justine out the door before she could make a purchase, Marla felt a wave of guilt Perhaps she should have let the woman buy her granddaughter a necklace, even if it wouldn’t have been Brianna’s choice. The gesture would be appreciated.

  Bad Marla, she chastised herself. Always interfering. If I could only just do my own thing, I’d stay out of trouble.

  Not necessarily, Marla discovered later when they finally returned home. The message light flashed on her answering machine. The Miami Beach police wanted her to contact them. Before she even had a chance to wash her hands, the doorbell rang. She couldn’t ask her guests to get it; they’d vanished into their rooms.

  “Oh, hi, Goat,” she said, spotting her neighbor on her front stoop. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah, man.” The scrawny fellow shuffled his feet. The clock ticks, and the fur licks, and before you can say shazam, the deed is done. You dig?”

  She thought a moment. “Are you asking if Spooks is okay? He’s doing fine, thanks. I got some Frontline from the vets, for another seventy-five dollars after I spent nearly two hundred for them to find nothing wrong.”

  Giving a crooked grin, Goat scratched his beard. “If I can help, let me know. You’ve got your hands full with all these people running around the house.” He craned his neck, peering over her shoulder. “Your friend still here? Ugamaka, ugamaka, chugga, chugga, ush,” he chanted, swaying his hips like an islander with his Hawaiian shirt and shorts, “a roll in the hay, a tumble in the bush.”

  These words she interpreted without any problem. Feeling mischievous, she cupped her hand to her mouth. “Georgia, you have a visitor.”

  The sales rep sauntered into view, having changed into a T-shirt and sweat pants. “Oh,” she said, her face registering surprise.

  Goat’s skin flushed. “You’d said you might want to see my cats
,” he greeted her. “I have an iguana, too.”

  “Way cool. Marla, do you mind? I’d love to see his animals.”

  She smiled. “We have plenty of time before dinner. Just be careful of the snake.”

  Rubbing her hands together, Georgia squealed with delight. “A snake! That’s wild.” She grabbed Goat’s skinny arm and tugged him outside.

  Marla shut the door, leaving it unlocked for Georgia to reenter. After changing into jeans, she entered her study to return phone calls while the older couple took a nap. Chores had piled up on her, and she felt neglectful of her duty to call her mom, best friend, and others. Foremost in her mind was another objective: decipher Heather’s desperate message before the killer added her to his target sights.

  Signing on to the Net, she entered the words Headier had scribbled. The search listed a turf farm in Belle Glade. Bell Farms…now it made sense. But what did Heather’s murder have to do with sod growers?

  Chapter Twelve

  Marla wondered who would bring up the subject of Heather’s death while working the next day at her salon. Unable to reach any of the Luxor crew on Tuesday, she’d left a message on Jan’s answering machine at the hotel. Hopefully, their acting director had shared the news. Marla was too busy this morning with clients to spare time for phone calls. She had to clear her schedule for the photo shoot at noon.

  Georgia helped her move the chairs away from the front reception area in preparation for the photographer’s arrival. Marla stayed out of the man’s way while he set up his backdrop screen, lights, and tripod. Hoping none of their customers would trip over the wires snaking across the floor, she greeted the Luxor gang when they arrived.

  Marla relied on Luis to direct traffic, but the handsome Cubano receptionist wasn’t much help when the models arrived. Turning on his charm, he chatted them up and let the phone ring too long.

  Jan, who seemed born to command, was calm and collected in a svelte black pantsuit, although she was more subdued than usual as she issued orders. No one mentioned Heather. Each team member had a task to perform, and they all got to work without much conversation.

  Marla got sidetracked fixing a coloring error on a walk-in customer. By the time she finished, Jan was urging Sampson to finish his fancy updo on one of the models. Using Marla’s station, he chatted with the girl while wielding his curling iron with aplomb. From the awed look on the girl’s face, Marla guessed he must have been bragging about himself.

  Ron had just completed a geisha look on one model. Putting down his implements, he called for the next one. None responded, the girls just stood there, exchanging solemn glances among themselves. Ron approached Marla.

  “Wasn’t I supposed to work on Heather now?” he demanded, planting himself in front of the reception desk from where Luis avidly watched the proceedings. “Jan said she was killed yesterday. I can’t believe that’s true. Do you know what happened? You’re the one who left the message.”

  Marla swallowed. She’d known someone would broach the topic before long. Stumbling over her words, she explained how Heather had summoned her and what she’d found, omitting any mention of the piece of paper in Heather’s hand.

  “Who would do that to her? She was so beautiful.” His brows folded. “What did she say on the phone?”

  “Just that she had important information to share.”

  “Why you? You’re not one of us.” He must have seen the stricken look on her face, because he hastily corrected himself. “I mean, you haven’t been with Luxor as long as the rest of us. I’m just curious why she’d wanna talk to you.”

  Marla tilted her head. “Probably because I hang around with a cop boyfriend, and she saw Detective Masterson at the show. She must have figured I’d pass on whatever she told me, assuming it related to Chris’s murder.”

  “You think?”

  “Definitely.”

  He cursed. “Now we’ll have to get someone else for the shoot in the Keys.”

  Hey, show a tittle grief, pal. We’re talling about a woman you tumbled in your room. “I’ve been thinking about who we could get to substitute, at least for today. I need to talk to Jan about it” She thrust a hank of hair behind her ear. “In the meantime, ask the photographer who he wants to do next.”

  Leaving Ron, Marla walked toward Janice. Not all of the crew were present Amy and Miguel were visiting their accounts in the area, so she wouldn’t see them again until Friday. Tyler lounged in the back room, drinking coffee while calling in Luxor’s orders from the weekend. Liesl assisted the artistic team, not very happily it appeared from the sullen look on her face.

  Marla’s own staff, accustomed to her shenanigans, took the commotion in stride. If she knew her friends, this event would be fodder for gossip for the next week. She just hoped they didn’t resent her distraction from the salon and understood the boon it would be for business in the future. This photo session had to go well.

  “I have in mind someone we could use as a model, since Heather, you know, isn’t here,” she told Janice, who wore a disapproving frown as she studied her clipboard.

  “I was wondering when you’d get around to discussing the poor girl.” Jan’s face sagged. “I haven’t wanted to disrupt our flow. This whole thing makes me sick. Heather was so young and vibrant.”

  Marla launched into her story, wishing she didn’t have to convey sad tidings. Her voice clogged, and she faded to a finish. Georgia, filing her nails, glanced at her with concern.

  “The show is jinxed,” Sampson cried. “I want to go home.”

  “You can’t,” Ron replied with a cynical edge. ‘That detective said we have to stick around town.”

  “Does he know we’re going to the Keys on Friday?” one of the models squeaked. “Oh gosh, I’ll miss Heather.”

  “Two down,” said Tyler, sauntering into view. “Don’t things happen in threes?”

  “God forbid.” Marla exchanged glances with Nicole, her colleague at the next station, and Jennifer across the room. The short blond stylist was doing her best to stay out of their conversation, but Marla noticed that her hand holding a comb had halted in midair.

  Just as their tableau seemed frozen, into the salon barged Arnie Hartman, owner of Bagel Busters a few doors down. She’d ordered salad platters for lunch, and he had called to say he was running a bit late. Grateful for the interruption, Marla hastened toward him. As usual, he wore an apron over his T-shirt and jeans. His dark eyes twinkled over a prominent nose, mustache, and firm mouth.

  “What’s up?” he said, with a wide grin.

  His cheerful manner lightened the mood, and work resumed. Marla helped lay out the food in the storeroom for the staff and signed the credit slip. Jan had promised to reimburse her.

  “We’ve been talking about the girl’s murder in the shvitz.” She’d described her weekend when she placed her order that morning, but they hadn’t had much chance for discussion. Marla would have liked to take the time now, knowing she could always rely on Arnie for support. A longtime friend, he’d been a wannabe suitor until she fixed him up with her friend Jillian Barlow, an actress and public relations specialist.

  Reflecting on the busy lunch hour, she decided not to inflict her problems on him. Nonetheless, his solid presence soothed her nerves.

  “We’ve been getting set up for the photo shoot, but now we’re one model short,” she added.

  “Sounds to me like something isn’t kosher with this group,” Arnie remarked, his brows raised.

  “I agree, although Goat suggested that Christine may have had other business in town. She arrived a couple of days before the show started.” Arnie had met her animal-loving neighbor Goat on a prior occasion.

  “Don’t you think the detective already traced Chris’s movements?”

  “Sergeant Masterson isn’t sharing his findings.”

  “Tell me again, my shayna maidel, why you should care?” He eyed her while sticking plastic forks into the salads for use as serving utensils.

  Marla
folded her arms. “I want to work with Luxor. It’s a great opportunity for publicity, as well as potential travel benefits. When we move the salon, we can use all the help we can get to bring in new customers, and to raise our recognition factor.”

  “That means you’ll raise your prices. Did Jill talk to you about doing our wedding party? She may want to lock in the cost now, before you go too upscale.”

  Marla swatted his arm. “You’ll always get a discount. And, yes, I’ve already agreed to do your wedding. Jill asked my advice on locations, so we’ve spoken about it.”

  Finished with his task, he straightened. “How about a double ceremony? You and Dalton…”

  “We haven’t decided on a date yet, and anyway, I have to get rid of his former in-laws first.”

  “Oy vey, you’ve gotten yourself into another pickle, haven’t you?”

  Marla snatched a dill spear from one of the platters. ‘This is the only kind of pickle I want today, thanks.” She wasn’t in the mood to discuss her personal situation.

  “Hof oif nissim unfarloz zich nit oif a nes. Hope for miracles but don’t rely on one,” Arnie said with a twinkle.

  “Yeah, I need one if I’m to survive their visit. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d better see what’s going on in the salon.”

  After Arnie left, Marla suggested Babs Winrow as their substitute model. “She’s a regular client who’s due in for a trim,” Marla told Jan. “Babs has a photogenic face. I’m sure you’ll agree when you see her.”

  “Okay, but make sure she signs the waiver,” Jan said. “We won’t be offering any compensation.”

  “Babs is senior vice-president of Tylex Industries. She’ll do it just for kicks.”

  Sure enough, Babs appeared delighted. “I’d love to be your model,” the blonde gushed after Marla broached the subject. She preened for the photographer after Ron restyled her short, layered hair and gave her golden highlights.