Murder By Manicure Part 19

"Please, let's not get confrontational," Marla urged, feeling she was acting out a prescribed drama. From a corner of her vision, a familiar figure drifted into view. Hortense! Or rather, Jillian. As an actress, she was bound to unmask their pretense. She must have shown up at the deli and been redirected to the salon.

Jill sauntered forward, dressed in a short-skirted canary yellow business suit. Her hair was tastefully swept into a twist atop her head. "I'm on lunch break, and there's something I have to tell Arnie," she said, taking in the situation at a glance. "But I fear I'm interrupting."

Arnie, taking advantage, gave her a wounded-puppy look. "Marla spent the night at Vail's house."

"Oh, my!" Jill's eyes rounded in pretended horror.

"If you'd kept closer tabs on her, this wouldn't have happened," Vail said quietly to Arnie. "If she were my woman, I'd keep her safe."

How? Marla bristled. By tracking every move I make? No way you're getting the chance, pal. She eyed Vail resentfully. He'd started this!

"Maybe you two would rather spend time together," Arnie conceded, hanging his head. Gads, thought Marla, he's playing this for all it's worth. "I can't protect her like you can, lieutenant. I see how things are between you. I'm a schmuck for not realizing it before. Marla, consider yourself freed from any obligation to me."

"What?" she screeched, getting into her role. "Are you jilting me?" She emphasized the first syllable of jilting, pleased by the blonde woman's startled glance.

"I'm letting you go so you can be with him." Arnie spoke in a strained tone.

Marla whirled to face the actress. "Do you believe this? I only went to Vail's place last night because my house wasn't safe. We didn't do anything ... unethical. His daughter was home, for G.o.d's sake!"

"It doesn't matter," Arnie whined, covering his face with his hands.

"You poor thing," Jill crooned, putting an arm around his slumped shoulders. "Marla may not appreciate you, but I do." Her voice lowered. "Let's go outside. I need to tell you what I found in Jolene's office today."

Chapter Seventeen.

"I'm coming, too," Marla said. "You and I need to talk, uh, Hortense." Aware of Vail trailing behind them, she accompanied Arnie and the actress outside. Cookie, who'd taken a break, had resumed parading in front of the salon.

"Don't I know you?" Cookie demanded, stopping to stare at the tall blonde. "Oh, yeah, you're a member at Perfect Fit. What are you doing here?"

"I came to see Arnie," Jill explained.

"Are you Marla's customer?" Cookie's green eyes narrowed. "This salon goes against SETA standards in using products from companies that do cruel animal tests. Do you know about the Lethal Dose Fifty? Rabbits, mice, and guinea pigs are force-fed or injected with household substances until half of them die. Cosmetic companies drip shampoos and hair sprays onto rabbits' eyes using the infamous Draize test that leaves many of them blind. More humane alternatives are available."

Jill gave a patronizing smile. "I'm aware of the options: computer a.s.says, live cell cultures, and ma.s.s spectrometry, to name a few."

Cookie paused to give her a penetrating glare, then continued her tirade. "If you support those poor, helpless creatures, you'll shun this salon. SETA has been effective in causing cosmetics industry leaders to observe a moratorium on animal testing, but we still need your help. Only by speaking up and boycotting involved businesses can we heighten public awareness. Here, you can read more about it." Reaching inside her backpack, she pulled out a stack of pamphlets.

Jill squinted. "Hey, you're not involved with that animal rights group whose members sent b.o.o.by-trapped letters to scientists, are you?"

Cookie planted a hand on her hip. "I don't hurt people, darling. I read about that in the newspaper, and it wasn't my group who claimed responsibility on the Internet. I would never condone hiding razor blades inside the top flaps of letters as a means of persuasion. It was a dumb move if someone thought that would force the release of monkeys held captive in laboratories. I demonstrate against suffering; I don't cause it."

"Good, then I'm already on your side. Listen, Arnie, I have information. Can we go somewhere private?"

"h.e.l.l, no," Marla snapped. "If this is about Jolene, I want to hear what you have to say."

Vail shouldered her aside. "This case is my jurisdiction."

"What's this about Jolene?" Cookie inserted.

Jill threw up her hands in capitulation. "I give up; you can all listen. I managed to get inside Jolene's office. In one of her drawers, I found an old newspaper article about Sam Zelman. Apparently, he'd been engaged in mortgage fraud on the West Coast a number of years ago. He'd put over fifty families into foreclosure. Sam offered people with bad credit a chance to buy homes through something he called an agreement for deed. Unknown to the homeowners, he never filed the deeds with the county clerk. Meanwhile, he falsified mortgage applications. When he defaulted on payments, lenders began foreclosing on the homes. Sam was charged with grand theft."

"He must have made lots of people angry," Marla said dryly.

"That's old news," Vail commented, "and it doesn't explain why Eloise vanished."

"Unless someone who was seeking revenge caught up to Sam, and Eloise is afraid she'll be next," Marla suggested.

"Did I hear you mention my name?" trilled a woman's voice from the parking lot.

Marla twirled around, and her eyes widened. "Eloise, where have you been?"

Eloise appeared none the worse for wear in dark Capri pants, a rust cotton blouse, and low-heeled sandals. Her disheveled hair appeared the only thing out of place. "I have a hair appointment today. Did you think I would miss it?"

"Your husband," began Detective Vail, his face somber.

Eloise's mouth tightened. "Sam's accident was unfortunate. I drove separately and left just before it happened." Her jaw trembled, the only sign of distress. "I got scared."

"Why?" Jill's voice was strong as she moved close to Eloise. "Because you knew Sam was meeting Jolene, and you were afraid you'd be accused of murdering them both? Why did you do it, Eloise? Were you jealous?"

Arnie interceded, clutching Jill's arm. "Let it go, honey. This is Vail's case."

For once, Vail gave him a grateful glance. "I need to ask you some questions," he told Eloise.

"She didn't do it," Cookie said in an undertone to Marla. "You get rid of those bad products like I advised you, and I'll fill you in on what I know. I'm going to check back here every day until you comply. But you'd better hurry, before someone else ends up dead."

Marla stared after her as Cookie marched off, but she couldn't consider the implications, because Jill swatted her shoulder.

"Is it over between you and Arnie?" the blonde asked, a hopeful gleam in her sapphire eyes.

Vail had taken Eloise aside and was speaking to her urgently. Marla focused on her rival for Arnie's regard. "Arnie and I are friends," she confessed. "We'll always be fond of each other, but that's where it ends. Just keep this in mind: honesty should be the basis for your relations.h.i.+p. I know who you are, pal. Your patron and I had a nice chat in Vero Beach. I hope you're no longer using Arnie as part of your act."

With those parting words, she turned to reenter the salon. Checking her schedule, she noticed Eloise was her next customer. With so many distractions, she hadn't given the name a second glance earlier. No matter. When Eloise departed with the detective, Marla had other ch.o.r.es to do until the next client arrived.

The shop kept her busy until the evening, when it was time to pick up Brianna and take her to dance cla.s.s.

She began their conversation in the car. "I saw your father this morning. He came by the salon."

"Really?" Brianna faced forward, clutching a bulging dance bag in her arms. She'd swept her stick-straight dark hair into a high ponytail. Beneath a pair of jean shorts were tan tights that covered her long limbs like a second skin. An oversized T-s.h.i.+rt hung below her waist.

"When do you think he'll be finished with his night duty?"

The girl shrugged. "Who knows? If it's too much trouble for you to take me, I'll find someone else to give me a ride on Tuesday nights."

"I'm happy to help you." Marla glanced at Brianna's sullen expression. "I wish you'd trust me."

Brianna's lower lip quivered. "You've got your life; why bother with mine?"

Smoothing a length of bobbed hair, she gave a short laugh. "Good question. Guess I'm a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t, if you know what that means." Traffic heading south on University Drive was especially heavy. Usually it calmed down after seven, but the light at Peters Road was holding things up. She should have taken another route. Annoyed as a driver cut in front of her, she gripped the wheel tighter.

"I'm not stupid," Brianna retorted, anger flas.h.i.+ng in her eyes. "I get decent grades, and I'm in honors English."

"That's wonderful," Marla said quickly. "I'll bet your father is proud of you."

"That's why he discusses his cases with me." The girl jutted her chin forward. "We're a good team, and we don't need anyone to interfere."

Marla bit her lip, concentrating on driving. Talk about tough nuts to crack! Like father, like daughter. Vail didn't trust her yet, either.

"Hopefully, he'll discover who killed Jolene so he can close the case and return home in the evenings. Is he hanging his suspicions on anyone in particular?"

Brianna smirked. "You'd like to know, wouldn't you?"

Marla kept her tone casual. "I've learned that Jolene was tampering with lab test results."

"Someone named Cookie told my dad about that. She said she'd find the real source of Jolene's data."

"Has she?"

"Nope. Daddy thinks it's important. Actually, he's fairly suspicious of Cookie herself. She knows an awful lot, plus she hated Jolene for personal reasons."

Nodding, Marla felt compelled to explain. "Jolene fired her husband from his job, and their marriage broke up. Cookie blamed Jolene." She paused. "Cookie may be a big talker, but I don't think she has it in her to murder someone. The woman is too compa.s.sionate about animals."

"Daddy says people who are devoted to causes sometimes kill in the belief it's their calling."

"That's right, but I don't believe it applies in this case." They arrived at the shopping center where the dance studio was located, and Marla put aside further musings.

"You don't need to come inside," Brianna announced.

Instead of dropping her off, Marla pulled into a parking s.p.a.ce. "I'd like to say h.e.l.lo to Lindsay. My friend Tally and I enjoy her Dancercize sessions at the sports club. I don't see how she has any free time between teaching cla.s.ses here and working there as an instructor. Her evenings and weekends must be fully occupied."

Brianna cracked open her door. "She's a great dance teacher, but I don't think it's all she does. Lindsay may work somewhere else during the day before the studio opens."

"That's possible." A frown creased her brow. If she recalled, Dancercize was not listed on the club's daytime schedule.

Brianna slammed the car door shut and strode toward the brightly lit studio entrance. Swinging her purse strap over one shoulder, Marla hastened after her. The air felt chilly, and she s.h.i.+vered in her long-sleeved knit top. Darkness had fallen, bringing a cadence of insect sounds and a cool breeze.

"Hi, Brianna. Marla, it's great to see you again," Lindsay's cheerful greeting rang out when they entered. She straightened her leotard, which clung to her form like cellophane wrapped around a sculpture of the human body.

"Lindsay, how are you?" Marla said, speaking loudly to be heard over the pounding music and staccato sound of tap shoes coming from one of the cla.s.srooms. "You sure keep busy with all these dance cla.s.ses. Do you teach here during the day, too?"

Lindsay's expression clouded. "The studio only opens when the kids get out of school. Brianna, you haven't turned in your ticket order for the recital yet. If you don't hand it in by next week, you won't get the seats you want."

Brianna plopped on a bench to change her shoes. "I don't know who can come. My dad might be working."

"When is the recital?" Marla asked, stepping toward her.

"May twenty-fifth. We have it earlier than most other schools. It's held at Parker Playhouse."

"Our performances are always fully booked." Lindsay gave Marla an appraising glance. "Will you be attending?"

She glanced at Brianna, who was taking an inordinately long time to tie her jazz shoes. "Am I invited?"

"Anyone can buy a ticket," the girl snapped, but Marla detected a faint plaintive note in her voice.

"I'd really like to come. Let me know how much it costs, and I'll reimburse you for the seat."

"Sure, if you don't mind being bored all evening."

"I won't be bored. I took ballet lessons in my earlier years, so I'm familiar with the routines. Besides, I like dance performances. My mother has a subscription to Miami City Ballet, but she goes with a friend. If I get tickets to a single show, will you keep me company?"

Brianna examined a spot on the floor. "Wouldn't you rather go to a cool dance club with your fiance?"

Touche, Marla thought. "We broke up this morning. Arnie and I are just good friends. He's already got his eye on someone else. Didn't your father tell you our arrangement was, uh, temporary?" She glanced at Lindsay, but the instructor was already gliding down the hall.

"Dad said you were playing dangerous games."

"Oh, yeah?" Dangerous from whose viewpoint?

"Cla.s.s is starting," Lindsay announced.

Brianna leapt up. "You don't need to wait around."

Before Marla could reply, Lindsay yelped. The dance instructor staggered to the side, her torso bent.

"What's the matter?" Marla called, rus.h.i.+ng forward.

"Old back injury," Lindsay rasped. Her pale complexion indicated she'd never fully recovered.

Marla offered a steady arm. "Lean on me," she said while Brianna stood by, uncertainty written on her face.

Lindsay shook her head. "I'll be all right. Pills in my bag. I keep them with me, just in case. I can ask Tamar to start the warmups."

"Are you sure?"

Nodding, Lindsay compressed her lips.

"Nice nails," Marla commented, observing the teacher's fancy acrylics. "Who do you go to?"

"Denise at the New Wave."

"If you ever want to switch, we have a great manicurist at Cut 'N Dye."

"I'll keep it in mind."