Murder By Manicure Part 22

"What exactly is he messed up in?" she asked encouragingly, as though Eloise hadn't already told her.

"Illegally selling prescription drugs. One of his clerks has turned informant, and we've obtained a list of his private customers. Apparently, Hank thinks he's doing them a service, but the law doesn't see it that way."

"That must've been what made Wallace Ritiker so upset. He was afraid he'd be implicated. Is his name on the list?"

Vail shook his head. "Not on that one, but he may have been paid to turn his back on the scheme. Jolene was one of Hank's customers. She'd been pretty vocal about protesting his recent price hike. You'd mentioned Lindsay. Isn't she Brianna's dance teacher? She takes some sort of pain med Hank supplies."

"She hurt her back a while ago," Marla replied, "and it still bothers her. Was Sam one of his customers, too? I don't see how he enters the equation. What did Eloise tell you?"

"Not much I didn't already know." He clicked the ballpoint pen in and out.

Marla sat forward as another idea flooded her mind. "Could Hank have supplied Jolene's gelatin capsules?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "That's a distinct possibility."

Sc.r.a.ping her chair back, she stood. "I'm going to see him."

"You are not." His bulk rose. "This investigation is nearly a wrap. He's about to go down for his little side business. Steer clear, understand?"

"Are you giving me orders, lieutenant? I don't believe I'm a member of the police force."

"Marla, please."

His pleading tone wormed into her heart. "I won't screw things up for you, but I'm concerned about Jill. If she knows who the killer is, she's in danger."

Walking to her car, she realized they hadn't identified any new suspects, other than Hank, who possessed the skills to make a bomb. Dr. Crone? Heck, she lived in Vero Beach. Besides, she'd sent the actress to learn who had harmed Jolene.

Wasn't there another chemical plant in town? Maybe their personnel files held some answers. Certainly it was worth a try, but most likely, they wouldn't be open until tomorrow. Hank's pharmacy seemed the best bet.

Fortunately, he hadn't locked his doors when she arrived. Ignoring the "Closed" sign in the window, Marla pushed through the entrance. Obviously figuring he'd seen the last of his customers, Hank had removed his white coat and was securing the cash register when she coughed to announce her presence.

Hank glanced up, his blue eyes looking startled at first, then relieved. "Oh, it's you."

"Who were you expecting?" she replied. The cops, maybe?

Giving a sheepish grin, he ran a hand through his thinning hairline. "I'm just about to lock up, but since you bring your mom's prescriptions in a lot, what can I do for you?"

Marla leaned on the counter. "I've been having headaches lately, and over-the-counter medicines aren't working. What have you got that's stronger? Forget my insurance card. I'm willing to pay cash."

He leveled an appraising stare at her. "Don't you hang around with that police detective?"

"I've helped him with a couple of cases."

"I think you'll have to see a doctor."

She smiled in a beguiling fas.h.i.+on. "Hank, I understand you've helped people. It's not exactly a secret. You probably figure you're doing them a kindness, especially with the way managed-care plans deny benefits these days."

His guarded expression didn't soften, so she tried another tack. "Look, I know law enforcement doesn't take kindly to folks supplying certain medications without a prescription. It's a shame, because patients can't even get a doctor's appointment unless they're dying. You're treading the line between healer and druggist. In some cultures, that's acceptable, but not in ours. In fact, if I were to give you a word of warning, I'd say the s.h.i.+t is about to hit the fan. Get my drift, pal?"

"Why are you here? You don't usually have headaches, do you?"

"Wally was afraid you'd drag him in. Did you bribe him so he'd look the other way? He was mighty upset after that break-in."

"The thieves stole my money," Hank said. "Ritiker felt I should've been more security-conscious."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you didn't stage that robbery yourself to cover up your cash flow imbalances? I'd heard you raised prices recently, and Jolene didn't approve. Did she threaten to blow the whistle on your lucrative sideshow?"

Hank slammed a fist down on the counter. "Don't implicate me! I don't know anything about her death."

"She swallowed a couple of capsules, thinking they were gelatin, but they contained sedatives. Did you supply them, Hank?"

His oblong face sagged. The pinkish jowls reminded Marla absurdly of a turkey's wattle. All he needed were a few tufts of hair standing on end. "I knew I'd get into trouble. She said to make up a bottle of capsules that looked like Jolene's. If I didn't, she'd produce evidence against me. She was angry because I hadn't filed for divorce like I'd promised."

"Is that why you fixed a bomb in Sam's car, because your friend ordered it?"

"No, I knew what she'd planned. I opened his hood to see if I could dismantle the device, but I'm no good with wires."

"Eloise saw you. She figured you'd b.u.mped off Jolene to keep her silent, then murdered Sam. Eloise suspected Jolene and Sam were having an affair, and she gathered you knew about it and were afraid Jolene had confided in Sam."

"That's absurd. Of course, Jolene was seeing Sam. She told me that Sam was their contact person."

"Huh? Who are you talking about?"

A sly look entered his eyes. "You don't know, do you?"

"Eloise also saw Jill in the parking lot. Hortense," she added at his perplexed frown. A sinking feeling knotted her stomach. "Was she ... the one who ordered sedatives that looked like Jolene's gelatin capsules?" Jill hadn't come to town yet, unless she'd arrived earlier than she'd let on. But she hadn't been in the locker room at the sports club that day. Whoever switched the containers had to be present.

Hank picked up his keys and rounded the counter to face her directly. "Ask your police friend. I'm outta here." He headed for the door, gesturing for her to follow.

"Cookie Calcone is dead."

That stopped him cold. Pivoting, he glowered at her. "That b.i.t.c.h should have minded her own business. She always was a troublemaker."

"Cookie discovered Jolene's supplier of test data. You are aware Jolene was falsifying lab reports?"

He shrugged. "I don't know the details."

"You said Sam was Jolene's contact, but she had to have been buying test results from someone at another chemical plant."

"Maybe Sam acted as their go-between." His brows knitted pensively. "That does make sense, when I add in what you've been saying."

A snort of exasperation escaped her lips. "Will you tell me who you mean?"

He reached for the doork.n.o.b. "Since you were so kind to pa.s.s on a warning to me, I'll pa.s.s on this tip to you. Denise at the New Wave knows the details."

She'd heard that name before. "Who?"

"The manicurist. I remember my ... friend was real angry the week before Jolene died. She'd mentioned hearing some gossip while she was getting her nails done, and that's what made her ask for the capsules."

"I don't get it."

"You're a hairstylist. Ladies confide in you, right? I'd guess they talk to their manicurist, too."

"Hank, this person whose name you won't reveal, she's dangerous. Three people have been killed. Whether or not you innocently supplied those sedatives, you're implicated, and I have a feeling the police already know. Why don't you get a lawyer?"

His mouth tightened, and he ripped open the door. "It'll be a relief at this stage. I could never have kept her in the high-mannered way she wanted."

Pausing, he regarded Marla with a hooded look. "Marla, please don't think ill of me. I've been doing people a service, giving them what they need and what our health care system isn't providing. It's tough enough to remain compet.i.tive with the big chains and with insurance companies limiting payments. I could have been doing worse."

How? By dealing in cocaine traffic? Disgusted with his att.i.tude, she watched Hank drive away while contemplating her next move. The New Wave wasn't likely to be open on Sundays, so her visit to the manicurist would have to wait. Realizing she was close to the truth, she bit her lower lip. If only Jill were here, they could compare notes.

Walking along the deserted shopping strip, Marla found a pay phone and dialed Vail's house to see if he was home yet. No one answered, not even Brianna. The girl should be there doing her schoolwork. Vail's daughter needed a guiding hand, she thought, but that wasn't her job.

Feeling forlorn, she decided to head for home. Dusk invaded the winter sky, and she didn't relish being caught in another empty parking lot. Storefronts receded like so many frozen sentinels as she marched forward, footsteps echoing on the pavement. A p.r.i.c.kly sensation ran up her neck, making her hesitate in front of her Toyota. Should she look for stray wires beneath the hood? She'd been occupied with Hank for nearly a half hour, enough time for someone to tamper with the vehicle.

Unable to ignore a sense of foreboding, she crouched on the ground and glanced underneath the car. Nothing unusual dangled below. Examine the engine, she told herself, hoping she remembered how to open the hood. Being mechanically impaired, she'd always relied on Stan for car maintenance. Since their divorce, the local dealers.h.i.+p did the job.

Spreading her fingers, she found a latch and exposed the engine. She leaned forward, but her purse strap slid off her shoulder and she fumbled to grab the handbag. Before she completely regained her balance, the hood crashed down on her shoulders, knocking the breath from her lungs. A small, hard object jabbed the small of her back.

"Turn around real slow," said a husky female voice.

The pressure eased from her shoulders as her a.s.sailant lifted the hood. Waves of pain a.s.saulted her muscles as she straightened. Marla turned carefully. When she saw who stood in front of her, aiming a gun at her head, her heart skipped a beat.

Chapter Twenty.

"What's the matter, Lindsay? Doesn't teaching dance cla.s.ses give you enough money? Just what is your day job anyway?"

With her crystal blue eyes, the waves of soft blond hair clipped back off her face, and her slender body encased in a jogging suit, Lindsay barely looked a day over eighteen. Certainly not like a killer, Marla thought.

Lindsay's face contorted in a twisted smile. "I work at Listwood Pharmaceuticals over by Sawgra.s.s Mills Mall in the Industrial Park."

"So you're the one!" Dozens of questions sprang to her tongue, but she held her silence.

"You think you're so smart, don't you?" Lindsay sneered. "Let's see how well you follow directions. Get in your car. We'll drive to the sports club."

"It's closed by now!" On Sundays, the place shut its doors at five o'clock.

"How convenient," the dance teacher observed. "It makes things easier. It'll appear as though you were using one of the machines and didn't notice the club was closing. What a shame no one was there to help you when you had an accident."

Lindsay gestured with her gun, and Marla complied by slipping inside her car. But any intention of sliding out the opposite door was halted when Lindsay grabbed her wrist.

"You do anything foolish, and you're dead." Lindsay maneuvered beside her on the pa.s.senger seat and aimed the gun at her head.

Keeping calm, Marla started the engine. Neither of them wore seat belts. Perhaps she could swerve the car or sideswipe a utility pole to knock Lindsay off balance. Then she'd throw open the car door and tumble outside. Wrestling with Lindsay over the weapon seemed an unattractive option. Although she'd never had a gun pointed at her before, she realized it might go off accidentally. She didn't know enough about the things to determine whether this one had a safety or not. Vail could help her. Where was the man when she needed him?

"Why did you kill Jolene?" Marla asked, heading south on Pine Island Road.

Folds creased Lindsay's smooth brow. "No harm in telling you now, since you won't be able to repeat my story to anyone. I didn't have much money when I grew up, and I was determined to acc.u.mulate enough to be comfortable. My boss at Listwood Pharmaceuticals didn't advance me fast enough. I thought I'd impress him by obtaining formulas from a rival company. Sam Zelman, who helped me find an apartment when I moved to town, told me about this woman who worked at Stockhart Industries."

"Jolene," Marla rasped, hoping for a break in the traffic so she could make a move to freedom.

Lindsay's aim didn't falter. "Jolene was unhappy because she'd been pa.s.sed over for promotion. She'd been griping to fellow members at Perfect Fit Sports Club where she belonged. Sam picked up on her dissatisfaction and asked if she wanted to earn the raise she would have had in a higher position."

Understanding dawned. "So Sam became the contact between you and Jolene."

"That's right. My boss, Rudy, was pleased when I presented him with our compet.i.tor's formulas. As a reward, he gave me twenty percent and Jolene got the other eighty percent of his payment. I felt I deserved more, so I made an offer to Jolene to sell her our test results, which were more favorable than hers. She paid me better than Rudy, but it wasn't enough for the risks I took.

"Jolene was too greedy. She wanted more money for the formulas she provided to Rudy, maybe to compensate for the payments she gave me. Up until that point, she didn't know my name. Sam got a cut to act as our go-between. But one day, Denise opened her big mouth."

"Denise at the New Wave?"

"Yeah." Lindsay's glacial expression told Marla what she thought of gossip mongers. "The stupid manicurist blabbed about her other client who worked in a laboratory and how she was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her boss. Jolene looked me up and demanded more money, otherwise she'd stop our exchange. I couldn't risk her telling Rudy what was going on."

"So you decided to eliminate the threat."

"My job was at stake. You don't know how hard it was back when I had to sc.r.a.pe to survive. I'd come too far to give up everything I'd achieved."

The traffic light ahead turned yellow, and a car in front zoomed forward. Reaching the intersection, Marla slammed on the brakes at the same time she reached for the door handle.

Something hard crashed into the side of her head as she prepared to catapult herself from the vehicle. White-hot pain exploded behind her eyes, blurring her vision. While she slumped, immobilized, Lindsay tugged her to the pa.s.senger side and traded places.

"Try that again and I'll pull the trigger. I'd rather not do it that way, but I will if necessary." Lindsay pressed the accelerator when the light changed and sped toward the turn for the sports club.

Marla's head reeled. "If you think I'm just going to let you murder me, you're mistaken," she croaked, her mouth dry. "You won't get away with it. Jill is onto you."

Lindsay gave a raucous laugh. "That bimbo won't be bothering me. I paid a friend to call her, pretending to be a former a.s.sociate of Jolene. He implicated Dr. Crone. Jill took off for Vero Beach first thing Sat.u.r.day morning."

"But Hortense called me. She hadn't heard from Jill all weekend."

"The girl is probably sneaking around, trying to collect evidence. I'm not worried about her showing up."

Marla grew more desperate as Lindsay turned in to the entrance to Perfect Fit. The parking lot was deserted, offering no protection when she emerged from the car with Lindsay jamming the weapon in her back.

"I suppose you have a key to the place," Marla commented wryly. She clung to her purse, mentally a.s.sessing its contents for something she could use in self-defense. Too bad she hadn't kept her expensive shears. They'd come in handy once before in an unpleasant situation. Metal nail file? Maybe.

Marching forward, she stood stock-still as directed while Lindsay keyed the lock. Running wouldn't get her far if she tried to bolt. Her knees wobbled, and her head felt filled with cotton. She'd probably topple over at twenty paces. Keep her talking. Surely there must be some way she could escape.

The interior of the club was brightly lit, and Lindsay prodded her toward the left, past the ma.s.sage suite and administrative offices to a staircase.

"How did you manage to switch Jolene's gelatin capsules for the sedatives?" Marla asked, wincing from a shooting back pain as she slowly climbed the stairs. Her leg muscles quivered, and she gripped the railing to steady herself. Her temple throbbed from the blow she'd received.

Lindsay grasped her shoulder from behind. "Hank made a bottle with capsules that looked exactly like her gelatin supply. I wanted something lethal, you know, but he tricked me. No matter; it did the job."