Murder By Manicure Part 8

Cookie leaned forward, her gaze intent. "Besides shampoos, your cosmetics, toiletries, and household products involve animal tests at some stage in their development. You clean counters and wash towels at the salon, don't you? Detergents, bleach, and soaps derive from animal experiments. So even if all your hair care products are botanicals, you can't escape culpability."

Marla's shoulders stiffened. "Botanicals can cause problems in people, too. Herbal components may cause sensitivity reactions if customers are allergic. As for other products, surely not all companies use the techniques you mention."

"You have to learn the difference. Firms that label their products as not having been tested on animals may still use ingredients from other suppliers who do these tests. Or they'll contract other laboratories to do the tests, and then they can claim their company doesn't perform animal testing. There's a difference between companies that have made a real commitment to ending such cruelty and those who continue to use ingredients tested by torturing helpless creatures."

"What about medical research?" Marla asked. "Isn't it necessary to perform animal tests to discover new treatments for diseases? How else are scientists to find therapies that are effective and safe on humans?"

Cookie jabbed a finger in the air. "I'm talking about product tests that treat animals as expendable beings with no lives of their own. It subjugates their existence to serve humans merely to produce a new lipstick, shampoo, or toothpaste. Let me tell you about some of the tests."

"Go ahead." Marla ate a spoonful of ice cream, wondering how she could turn the direction of their conversation to Jolene.

Cookie's sea green eyes glowed with fervor. Turning her ice-cream cone upside down in a dish, she ignored the melting mess.

"In the Draize irritancy test, potentially harmful products are dripped into the eyes of rabbits, who don't produce tears to flush them away. The substances remain on the cornea, causing burning and ulceration, while the animals are restrained.

"Then there's the Lethal Dose Fifty Percent test. The toxicity level of a product is a.s.sessed by force-feeding it through a syringe directly into the animal's stomach. A number of animals are treated until fifty percent of them die. Death comes slowly, often after seizures, pain, and loss of balance. Animals left alive at the end may be killed and autopsied. What does this prove? In many cases, nothing. The animals die because of the volume forced into them."

Cookie's gaze misted, and her voice choked with emotion. "Finally, there's the skin test. A patch of skin is shaved and scratched, then the test substance is applied while the animals are restrained. They receive no pain relief as the substance burns through their skin. These cruel tests don't make the products any safer. If you use compounds derived this way, you're just as guilty as the researchers."

Marla's stomach churned. "What's the alternative?"

"Computer programs can predict toxicity using structural a.n.a.lysis. Cells can be grown in cultures and products tested on them. Other methods are being developed. The point is that these tests can be conducted differently."

"I remember hearing you accuse Jolene's company of conducting animal tests. How do you know so much?"

A pinched look came over Cookie's face. "I have a lot of friends in SETA. Jolene's reports minimized her department's use of animal experiments, but she was getting data from another source and claiming it as her own. Those test results were more favorable, although that lab does animal tests, too."

"So you're saying Jolene falsified her doc.u.ments to reflect this other material. Where did she get it?"

"I suspect from someone over at Listwood Pharmaceuticals," Cookie said. "They're the only other chemical plant in town."

"I see why you were upset with Jolene about the animal testing, but this other place conducts experiments, too. So why did you target just her?"

Cookie's fists clenched. "Jolene destroyed my life."

Understanding dawned. "You used animal rights as a smoke screen. Your vendetta against Jolene was personal. Tell me, why did you hate her so much?" Did you hate her enough to kill her, pal?

In a rare show of vulnerability, Cookie's lower lip trembled. "My husband worked at Stockhart Industries until Jolene fired him. We ended up getting a divorce. Now I'll never have a family, and it's her fault."

No wonder Cookie rambled on sounding so scientific. She'd learned the lingo from her ex-spouse. "You might still meet someone worthwhile," Marla said gently, taking a sip of water from a plastic cup. The noise level in the ice cream parlor dropped as patrons began to leave. Uneasy about driving home on her spare tire, she didn't want to leave too late.

"I'm not sorry about Jolene's accident."

Cookie's comment jolted her. "Oh?"

"She was immoral. Do you know I saw her meet Sam Zelman a few times on the sly? I wonder what they had going."

"Jolene wasn't involved with your husband, was she?"

Cookie's expression darkened. "If she had been, she'd have been dead a lot sooner."

"Detective Vail suspects there may be more to her death than an accidental drowning. Do you remember those gelatin capsules she took in the locker room?"

"Yes, I do. I warned her about them."

Marla sat up straighter. "Meaning?"

"Almost all capsules are made from animal sources. She just insisted on abusing those poor creatures any way she could. And her foolish practice of taking gelatin to harden her nails! I told Jolene that gelatin is an animal protein. It's extracted from beef and pork skin and bones."

Marla wrinkled her nose. Gelatin was widely used in the food industry. Already she was learning more about animal products and testing than she'd ever wanted to know. She bit her lower lip, focusing her thoughts. "If someone wanted to do Jolene harm, who would be the first person you'd suspect?"

"Other than me?" Cookie snickered. "There are too many candidates. Maybe whoever had been selling her the better test results got spooked they'd be discovered. Or Eloise found out Sam was fooling around with Jolene. Amy at the club was angry at her for taking Slate's attention away. Even Gloria complained about her. As I said, Jolene got what she deserved."

Chapter Eight.

"Will you let me know if you learn anything more about Jolene's affairs, business or otherwise?" Marla asked Cookie.

"Why should I?" Rising, Cookie tossed her sticky dish into a trash can.

Marla discarded her sundae cup. "If you keep me informed, I'll check my inventory at the salon to see if our products comply with SETA's recommendations."

Cookie gave her a considering look. "I didn't realize Jolene was such a close friend." Her tone implied the woman couldn't possibly have had anyone who cared so much about her.

"I don't believe she drowned accidentally. Jolene was a mensch, you know what I mean? She had a good head on her shoulders. Jolene wouldn't have taken something that made her sleepy when she still had to drive home."

Cookie's eyes narrowed. "Cough it up, Marla." Marla sighed. "Jolene had sedatives in her blood. She ingested a drug about an hour before she died."

Cookie didn't answer immediately. "I'll call you," she promised quietly, making Marla believe Cookie might have some redeeming qualities after all.

Her next action refuted that thought. Reaching forward, Cookie grabbed the gla.s.s sugar container from their table and loosened the metal lid. "The next person who puts sugar in his coffee will get a surprise," Cookie said, a mischievous grin on her face. "Something I learned in high school. Refined sugar is bad for you anyway."

Marla was unable to follow up on any of the loose ends nagging at her until later in the week. Work and ch.o.r.es kept her occupied, including buying a new tire for the Camry.

Friday after work, she put aside time to accomplish one task. Fortunately, she remembered the address for Tesla, the ma.s.sage therapist, thanks to Vail, who had shown her the list of sports club staff members in his office. Now she could at least check this trail to see if it led to Jolene. Vail might have already investigated this angle, but she had an advantage over him. A woman was more likely to confide in a hairdresser than in a cop.

Her car's clock read six-thirty, meaning she had less than an hour before Eddie, Nicole's boyfriend, started barbecuing jerk chicken for a get-together at his house. Hopefully, Tess would be home if she hadn't yet gone out for the weekend.

Driving through an older section of Plantation near Fig Tree Lane, Marla admired the spreading banyan trees that shaded the streets. The lots extended well away from the road. From the house numbers, she surmised Tesla's place was the lemon yellow cottage with white shutters just ahead. She'd pulled along the curb and put her hand on the gear s.h.i.+ft when a movement caught her attention. Someone was leaving the yellow house. Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a vibrantly colored kerchief dress, the lady wobbled on high heels toward a dark-green Buick parked in the short driveway. Squinting, Marla tried to get a better view in the encroaching darkness.

Two choices confronted her. She could approach the house and knock on the door. If Tess was inside, her patience would be rewarded. But if this person leaving was Tess, maybe Marla should follow her.

Have some saichel, she told herself. Good sense mandated that she continue with her original plan. Waiting until the visitor left, Marla studied the house. Weeds had overgrown the front lawn. A sodden newspaper in a plastic bag lay on the swale, victim of an early-morning sprinkler shower.

As she got out of the car and walked along the cracked sidewalk, her nostrils inhaled a sweet, fruity scent. Old Florida, she thought fondly, veering around a spreading bird of paradise plant.

The front door swung open, and a thin woman wearing rollers and a housecoat confronted Marla. "Do I know you?"

Marla mustered a smile. It was difficult to ignore the woman's red-rimmed eyes and trembling lower lip, but she managed a cheerful demeanor. "I'm looking for Tesla Parr. My name is Marla Sh.o.r.e."

"You just missed her. She left a few minutes ago."

"Oh. Isn't this her place?"

The woman gave a harsh laugh. "h.e.l.l, no. Who are you and where did you get that information?"

"From the sports club where she works. I'm a member there, and I wanted to know if she gave private appointments. As a hairdresser, I'm on my feet all day. I really need someone to come to my house and give me a ma.s.sage after work. I can afford whatever fee Tess charges."

"Oh, yeah?" The woman's blue eyes glinted with avarice. "Wait just a minute, honey. I'll write down an address where you can find her."

"Are you her friend?"

"Sorry, I'm Betsy. We're ... more than friends."

Betsy grinned, showing surprisingly even teeth. With a smile, her expression lost its haunted look and transformed her features. She was a pretty woman, Marla thought, when she wasn't crying. Now what did she mean by that remark? Were she and Tess on intimate terms?

Clutching the piece of paper in her hand, Marla returned to her car. Temperatures ranged in the seventies, and humidity was low, making it a delightful evening for a barbecue. Her rumbling stomach heralded dinnertime. One more stop, then she'd proceed to Eddie's house, where the rest of her staff had probably finished their first round of drinks.

Traffic was heavy with rush-hour commuters, soit took her longer than normal to travel to Davie, the nearest town to the south. The directions took her to a community with speed b.u.mps, which she cursed each time the Camry jolted over one. Whoever voted them into the development should grow like an onion, with his head in the ground. All they did was ruin the tires.

Hungry and annoyed, she wasn't in a good mood when she rapped on the door at 501 Fairlawn Court. It hadn't escaped her notice that the dark-green Buick she'd seen Tess leave in earlier now sat in this driveway. Expecting the woman to open the door to her house, she received an unexpected shock when a man responded to her summons.

"Slate! What are you doing here?" she asked as soon as she could speak. From his matted dark hair, freshly scrubbed face, and bare chest, she surmised Slate wasn't prepared for visitors. His exposed feet bore strange marks and looked swollen.

"I'm going to ask you this same thing," he snapped, eyes flas.h.i.+ng dangerously.

"I was looking for Tess."

"Why? And who told you to come here?"

She s.h.i.+fted her position. "Betsy said I had the wrong address, and she gave me this location. Is this where Tess lives?"

"Yes and no."

Resisting the urge to crane her neck and peer inside the house, she gave him a determined stare. "I need to talk to her."

Slate pursed his lips, which, Marla realized, bore faint traces of lipstick. Did he and Tess have a relations.h.i.+p? If so, what was Tess doing over at Betsy's house? And why did Tess list her girlfriend's address as her own?

"She's not available," Slate told her. "But if you want to come in, just give me a minute to straighten things up." He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "You probably wanted to ask Tess where I lived anyway."

"Oh ... right. So are you two very close?"

He slicked a lock of hair off his forehead. "Not in the way you mean, sweetheart. Come in and I'll prove it."

"Okay." Her foot shot forward, but he wedged the door against her.

"Wait." A look of panic flickered behind his expression. "I have to put some things away."

"You just said I should come inside."

"Not yet. Maybe we should make it another time." His biceps bulged as he held the door in place. Hooded eyes raked over her. "I can give you a private ma.s.sage."

Holy highlights, just what I need! "Ah, sure, Slate. That sounds interesting. Let's schedule a time when Tess will be here. I'd really like to meet her, but it's hard to catch her at the club."

"Sorry, I can't guarantee when she'll be around." A flush crept over his skin. "She keeps irregular hours."

Marla puzzled over their relations.h.i.+p, but Slate wasn't going to give any easy answers. Strange how Tess was so elusive.

Maybe she'd stake out the place another time and wait for her to show. "I'll see you at the club, and perhaps then we'll make a date for my private session."

Winking, he grinned. "You bet. I guarantee you'll never have it better. Some of the ladies take this stuff to heart, but I don't think you're the type. You know the score. We'll have a good time."

You wish, pal.

Wondering how Amy would feel if she knew about her heartthrob's philandering, Marla decided to sound out the Smoothie King attendant at the first opportunity. Amy had overheard Slate arguing with Jolene and had admitted to being jealous. Playing upon Amy's emotions might be a technique Marla could use to get her to talk about Slate.

She decided to confide her suspicions to Vail on their double date the following night. The only difficulty she foresaw was getting him away from Hortense.

It was a good thing they'd all decided to meet at the restaurant, or an awkward situation would have ensued. She waited for Arnie after work, and they drove together. She'd never seen him so excited.

"Do I look all right? Is my hair okay? I used a new cologne the kids got me for Chanukah." Stroking his mustache, he guided the wheel with his other hand. His dark eyes glanced anxiously in her direction.

Seated on the pa.s.senger side of his Chevrolet, she smiled gently. "You're fine, Arnie. Just relax. You're supposed to be my date, remember?"

Sweat beaded his brow, and it wasn't from the Florida heat. A mild cold front had swept through the area, bringing temperatures in the sixties. "How did Vail react? I swear that guy doesn't seem as though he has a sense of humor."

"He agreed to come along, more likely to keep an eye on me. I think he's jealous of you."

Arnie gave a disarming grin. "He might have had reason to be, if you'd ever given me a second look."

"We're friends, pal. That means a lot to me."

"I know." Shaking his head, Arnie focused on his driving. "Hortense bowled me over. Never in a million years would I have expected her to show such a shayna punim."

"Ugly ducklings can turn into beautiful swans."

"Yeah, and what a schlemiel I was for telling her we were engaged! What a tight tush she has, too. Did you see her-"

"Arnie, please concentrate on where we're going. You just pa.s.sed a stop sign."