Bad Hair 8 - Day Perish By Pedicure (12 page)

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?

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.

“You could have a new career as a model,” Marla told her with a smile.

“Like I have time,” Babs responded, tugging on her ruby sweater. “Neat idea, though, if I ever run out of things to do. Wait until I tell my friends about this.”

Walking away, Marla approached Jan, who stood watching the frenetic activity with an observant air. “I wanted to make a contribution to the flowers for Christine’s family,” she said to the sleek redhead. “How much would my share be?”

“Oh, thanks, but it’s not necessary,” Jan said with a genuine smile. “Luxor will cover the cost. It’s the least we can do for Chris. I thought we’d also make a donation to her favorite charity.”

“That’s a good idea. Tell me, where is her family located?”

“Her mother lives in an old-age home in Pembroke Pines, and she has a sister in Atlanta. The police detective has already spoken to her. She’ll take charge of the body when it’s released.”

“Is that why Chris arrived a few days early, to visit her mother? Pembroke Pines is only twenty minutes from here.”

“Who knows?” Jan shrugged. “I don’t keep track of people on their off time.”

“Maybe you should. Two people connected to Luxor are dead. Aren’t you wondering if someone in our group is involved?”

“That’s for the cops to determine.”

“It’s interesting how Chris died.” Picking up a pile of foils, Marla stacked them one on top of the other in perfect alignment. “Someone who knew she took antidepressants slipped her a similar drug with deadly side effects. I imagine this happened during the cocktail party.”

Jan gave her a startled glance. “How do you figure that?”

“A waiter brought us a couple of filled wineglasses and said the tab had been paid. Who ordered the drinks? And if the medicine wasn’t in the wine, how could it have been administered? In one of her appetizers? Chris’s plate seemed to be full, yet I don’t remember seeing her standing in the buffet line.”

“So you’re saying one of us poisoned her? “Jan snapped.

“I’m suggesting you should be a little more interested in what’s going on beneath the surface,” Marla said, risking her future job opportunities with Luxor to make her point. Hopefully, she wasn’t making it to Chris’s killer. Jan could have knocked off her superior to move up the corporate ladder, but that struck Marla as too obvious.

“During the show,” she continued, “Heather spotted the detective in the audience just before Sampson’s performance. She was about to tell me something relevant, but we got interrupted. Afterward, she called and set up a meeting between us, but she got killed before she could reveal what she knew. What had she seen that might be construed as a threat by Chris’s murderer?”

“You seem to be on top of things. If you want to deal with it, be my guest I have enough on my plate.” The look on Jan’s face told Marla she wasn’t completely insensitive, just that she felt overwhelmed.

“Maybe Chris’s mother knows something.”

“So go talk to her. Her name is Violet.”

“Same last name? I gather Chris never married.”

“You got that right. Chris liked men to fall at her feet, but she never let anyone get too close. She was more into controlling them than marrying them. I’d even wondered at one time if she could be a closet lesbian, until she had that affair with Alonzo. When he dumped her, Chris wore a sour face for nearly a year. But then she got over it and turned back to her usual pattern of conquer-and-control.”

Marla placed the foils on a nearby cart. “Where does this Alonzo reside now?”

“I think he moved back to Spain.” Jan’s gaze shifted. “The photographer is signaling me. We’ll catch up later, Marla.”

Having a spare moment, Marla noticed Tyler getting his nails buffed at the station next to Georgia. Her friend was rambling on about Goat and his animals. Smiling inwardly, she was just about to ask Ron if he needed help when the door chime jingled.

Oh, no
. Why had Ma chosen this afternoon to stop by with her boisterous boyfriend, Roger?

“Hiya, doll,” Roger Gold called, waddling forward to plant a wet kiss on her cheek. He wore a green golf shirt and tangerine pants, the colors making Marla think of a leprechaun except for his size. His bulging belly bespoke of too many trips to the dessert table to feed his sweet tooth.

Hiding her distaste, Marla embraced her mother with a firm hug. “What brings you to the salon today? Your appointment isn’t until next week.”

“I wanted to meet your cohorts from Luxor since you told me so much about them,” Anita said, smiling. “How is the photography session going?”

Marla swept an arm toward the makeshift studio. “Babs agreed to substitute for Heather, the model who, er, couldn’t make it.”

Roger punched her arm. “You mean, the one who bit the dust?” Marla had phoned her mother last evening and filled her in on recent events. “We’d better warn this group that you’re a magnet for trouble.”

Marla gritted her teeth. “Ma, can I talk to you in private? Maybe Roger would like to try one of our new shampoo products. It’s on the house,” she told him with a sugary smile. Not that he had much hair to wash, but like many condo commandos, he grasped at anything he could get for free. After waving him off to the shampoo chair and a waiting assistant, she ushered her mother toward the back storeroom.