Bad Hair 8 - Day Perish By Pedicure (15 page)

She pulled back. “No, they’d make things uncomfortable for you. I can handle it. Anyway, they’ll have the place to themselves when Georgia and I leave tomorrow.”

Marla had hoped to prod Georgia about her interest in Goat during the trip south, but she didn’t get the chance. As soon as they turned onto the turnpike extension toward Homestead, Georgia brought up a more compelling topic.

“Do you think it’s safe for us to be staying with the Luxor gang?”

“What do you mean?” Marla gripped the steering wheel as they whizzed down the highway.

Georgia flicked a glance her way. “Someone among us might be a killer.”

“Tell me about it. We’ll be in a group, though, so I wouldn’t worry.” Thinking of the group reminded Marla that she probably should have offered to pick up some of the others at the hotel, but she didn’t think she could have endured their company during the two-hour drive.

She put on her turn signal to pass a car that crawled along at forty-five miles per hour. The driver was so short, Marla couldn’t even see a head until she got parallel to the vehicle. The gray-haired lady could barely see over the dashboard.

Stepping on the accelerator, she sped ahead. She’d like to arrive at their destination early so they could scout around before the rest of the crew arrived.

By the roadside, an egret took flight, its long white neck arching gracefully. Various species of palms lined the highway as did the invasive Australian pines. In a circle-wide view, the blue sky stretched under the rising morning sun. It promised to be a glorious day with low humidity and temperatures in the seventies. Under other circumstances, she’d enjoy a trip to the Florida Keys, but this was a working weekend. She doubted they’d have time to enjoy the beach or to lounge by the pool.

Sadness snatched her joy away. Christine and Heather wouldn’t be splashing in the ocean anymore.

“If we eliminate you as a suspect,” she said to Georgia, “who does that leave?” Her arm itched, and she scratched idly at a mosquito bite.

Georgia pursed her crimson lips. She’d gathered her curly hair up with a large clip, making her eyes look enormous with her expertly applied makeup. ‘For one thing, there’s Liesl. It’s been no secret that she likes Tyler, but Chris had dibs on him when she was alive.”

“I presume he put the move on you in the lounge so as to chase Chris off.”

“Didn’t work too well, did it? It only made her madder and more intent than ever to get him into her bed. That sure backfired. She was nuts to accuse us of having an affair.”

“Chris was sick, not nuts. She’d already begun to experience a bad drug interaction.” Marla’s gaze sharpened. “Get a move on it,” she called to another slow driver, who hogged the passing lane.
Some of these people should go to driving school.

“Hey, look,” Georgia said, pointing out the window. “What’s that tree with the red blossoms?”

“It’s a weeping bottlebrush.” Marla glanced at the willowy branches with brilliant red flowers resembling an elongated brush. Something tickled the back of her mind, prompting a question she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t quite grasp the thought. Maybe it would surface later. “I’m trying to learn my trees so I can compete with Dalton and Brianna. Did you know he grows tomato plants? I never thought a tough cop like him would be a gardener.”

“You’re lucky he puts up with your snooping. But then again, he’d probably never have fallen for you if you were a timid housewife.”

“I did the domestic thing with Stan, thank you, and it led to strife. I like being a free spirit.”

“You won’t be one any longer once you tie the knot, hon. On the other hand, you might surprise yourself and enjoy being a mother hen.”

“We’ll see.” She swerved as a car cut in front of them. “Back to the cocktail party. Did you see anyone bring Chris a fresh glass of wine other than the waiter?”

Georgia frowned in concentration. “Amy Jeanne approached her at one point, and I can picture them both sipping their drinks. Chris may not have had anything in her hand before, now that I think about it.”

“I’ve noticed Amy keeps to herself. She looks alert, as though she knows what’s going on but doesn’t want to get involved. Yet she makes a statement with her nail art which seems incongruous, like someone who seeks attention.”

“No one can tell what’s on her mind. I’ve heard her mention Chris with a trace of bitterness, but if she holds a grudge, she isn’t talking.”

“Not to us, at any rate.” Marla squinted at the windshield. Even with her sunglasses on, she felt the sun’s glare. “I wonder what she’s said to Sergeant Masterson.”

“He makes me uncomfortable. I can’t understand why he wants to hang with us this weekend. His presence will make everyone nervous.”

Marla came to the junction where the road segued into the Overseas Highway. Soon they were barreling down the bridge with the Atlantic Ocean on their left and the Gulf on their right. Pinpoints of sunlight glistened off the water.

“I’m looking forward to this experience, even if the detective is there,” she replied. “It’ll be my first on-site photo shoot. This could open up a whole other avenue for publicity, don’t you think?”

“As if you have time.”

She rolled her shoulders to ease the stiffness from driving. “You know, Luxor’s models worked with Heather. I wonder if she said anything to them that might be significant. This weekend will give me the chance to ask.”

Georgia gave her a reproving glance. “If I were you, I’d worry about being too nosy. Like, Heather’s killer might have hung around the Turkish Bath long enough to mark you. In which case, you could be next on the hit list.”

Regarding the tropical scene unfolding before her eyes, Marla felt as though she’d entered paradise. Luxor had gone all out in booking accommodations for its crew. She’d taken a turn as directed down a palm-lined road and on to Great Heron Key, where a privately operated resort straddled fifty acres of luxurious landscaping bordered by aqua seas.

A bevy of signs met their approach, making Marla jam on the brakes in confusion. Arrows pointed to various restaurants, gift shops, pools, and conference centers along with villa lodgings, tennis courts, a sailing school, and marina. Where was the hotel registration?

“Way cool,” Georgia burst out, her eyes wide. “I could spend a week here. Too bad it’s only one night.”

“Tell me about it. I have a feeling, though, that this place is out of my budget range. Maybe they gave Luxor a break because they’ll be in the advertisements.”

Spotting a sign for the hotel lobby, Marla headed down the narrow lane indicated. An open-air jitney rattled past on the opposite side, holding a group of laughing guests in swimsuits and straw hats.

“Tourists,” she muttered. The ocean temperature was usually too cold in January for her to go swimming, but she wouldn’t mind sipping a drink while viewing the sunset on the Gulf side, or strolling the grounds where hibiscus, Hong Kong orchids, and winter impatiens bloomed. Hopefully, the soothing balm of the sea would lull her colleagues into revealing their secrets, or at the very least, seduce them into lowering their guard a bit. Was this why Sergeant Masterson planned to hang around? She didn’t see how he could keep track of everyone when accommodations were spread over the entire island.

Hoping for a villa, Marla merely shrugged when she and Georgia were assigned a regular hotel room, albeit with an ocean view. “Has anyone else from our group checked in yet?” she asked the clerk, one of many behind a Disneyesque reception desk.

“Oh yes,” the young man stated with a smile. “In fact, I have a couple of packets for you.” He handed over a folder with her name on the front and gave Georgia a similar one. “If you check the schedule inside, you’ll see you have plenty of time to get settled in and have lunch before the photo shoot at two o’clock. You’re to meet with the photographer by Pirate’s Cove, where your group leader will give you further instructions.”

Marla glanced at Georgia. “It’s a good thing I brought my portable curling iron and other tools. It’s breezy today, and that could wreak havoc on the models’ hair. I wonder where they’re staying.”

Four of the girls had agreed to do the gig, and Marla hoped to locate them to ask about Heather. Meanwhile, she accepted her room key-card and wheeled her bag to the elevator. Smells of bacon and French toast wafted into her nostrils. There must be a restaurant off the lobby, but she’d rather eat later and explore the environs in her free time. Lunch was still an hour away, and she could accomplish a lot in that interval. Thankful that Justine and Larry had remained in Palm Haven, she determined to press her advantage to learn all she could about her Luxor colleagues.

“Where should we go first?” Georgia said, claiming the bed nearest the bathroom.

Their room held enough space for a dinette table and two chairs, plus a desk with a high-speed Internet connection, a television console that doubled as their wardrobe, and two queen-sized beds. Tropical-patterned bedspreads in peacock blue, ivory, and coral matched the wall prints and carpet. Marla appreciated the separate dressing area, where she spread her toiletries before freshening her makeup.

“Let’s find Pirate’s Cove, and maybe we’ll run into someone we know along the way,” she replied.

Looking into the mirror while scrunching her hair, Georgia made a face. “I hope we don’t meet that police detective. He seems too interested in me for my liking. Too bad your hunk isn’t along for this ride. He’d take the heat off us.”

“Not off me—he’d raise my temperature,” Marla said with a grin. “I’m glad Dalton isn’t assigned to this case. He can get too single-minded, so it wouldn’t be much of a break. Besides, we already had our getaway. Our Thanksgiving family reunion took place at Sugar Crest Plantation Resort, and that trip raised more ghosts than resided there.” She shivered at the memory. “Remind me to tell you about Grandfather Andrew’s playful spirit pinching me in the elevator.”

They headed outdoors fifteen minutes later, not wanting to waste time inside. The air smelled like chlorine and coconut oil as they neared a free-form pool in a grotto with a rocky waterfall. Georgia pointed at the sunbathers stretched out on lounge chairs. “Oh, man, I wish we could just lie here. I could so use a day off.”

“Me too,” Marla replied, although she could think of other places that would be warmer in the winter. Shifting her purse, she considered the travel brochures she’d collected, with their photos of exotic beaches and lush tropical greenery. With all the events in her life, it seemed as though she’d never get to Bora Bora except in her imagination.

Maybe she should reset her standards, she mused, adjusting the sunglasses on her nose. Great Heron Key offered a close second to Bora Bora. A waiter circulated among the chaise lounges, offering colorful drinks garnished with tiny tropical umbrellas and pineapple slices. Tempted to dally, she forced herself to focus on her mission. The sooner Christine’s murder was solved, the sooner the Luxor crew could leave. While she enjoyed Georgia’s company, having one less person in her house would simplify things.

“Whoa, Marla, is that who I think it is?” Georgia stopped short, bumping into her.

Marla glanced at the paunchy figure ranging toward them. No way that guy in the hip-hugging trunks could be Sampson York! Divested of his fanciful show garb, he appeared almost, well, ordinary.

“Hello, my little nightingales. Isn’t this place stupendous?” Sampson waved his arm. “I couldn’t have chosen a better setting myself. Kudos to Chris for finding such a charming location for our shoot” His speech sounded slurred, as though he’d already sampled the tropical rum drinks on tap.

“It’s a shame she can’t be here to enjoy the Keys with us,” Marla replied in a sympathetic tone, “but we’ll do a bang-up job in her honor.”

“Damn right,” Georgia said, punching a fist in the air.

Surreptitiously studying their artistic director, Marla adjusted her blazer. She’d worn a pants set with black slacks, an ivory shell, and a cranberry jacket. It made her feel more confident to wear business attire. Going a bit more casual, Georgia had settled for fudge pants and a raspberry tank top, but she always looked put together, with her bouncy hair and confident smile. In contrast, Sampson seemed to have taken a serious dive downhill. What had happened to make him foreswear his professionalism?

“It’s rather windy,” Marla commented. “We’ll need to use extra holding spray on the models’ hair. Should I get my supplies? I left my bag in our hotel room until after lunch.”

Sampson’s imperious expression told her what he thought of her concern. “A windswept look is perfect for the girls. Picture the advertisements: gorgeous women in bikinis strutting on the beach, a stiff breeze blowing from the ocean, the sun gleaming off the water. Seeing those images will make consumers want to rush to the seashore. And they’ll need to use our conditioners to avoid damage to their hair.”

At least he sounded enthusiastic about their work. “How are we dividing our duties?” Marla persisted. “Do we each get to do one of the models?” By “each,” she meant herself, Sampson, Ron, and Liesl. They were the stylists; the others were ancillary personnel. She assumed Jan would be running the show.

“Indeed. I hope you brought your makeup kit as well. The photographer will tell you if he needs anything special regarding cosmetic enhancement He’s there now checking his light meter.” Sampson glanced furtively over his shoulder, then leaned forward. “I wouldn’t go to Pirate’s Cove yet if I were you. That annoying detective is hanging around.”

“Oh no,” Georgia moaned. “I really don’t feel like talking to him today.”

“You and everyone else.” Sampson’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t listen to anything he tells you. Half of it is untrue. He’s just trying to get a rise from you so you’ll talk. I suppose you realize he’s aiming to pin Christine’s murder on one of us.”

Marla observed him closely. What had Sergeant Masterson said to Sampson that the trainer believed to be false? Or had the detective hit too close to the mark where he was concerned?

“Marla, tell him about the dermatologist,” Georgia said, squinting from the sun. Taking a sun visor from her bag, she plopped it on her head.

Restless to move on, Marla shifted her weight to her other foot. “Apparently Chris was involved in a project with a local dermatologist supporting the American Melanoma Society. Would you know anything about it?”

“Of course,” Sampson began but then stopped, his gaze hardening.

“Yo, dudes, what’s going on?” drawled a familiar voice from behind. Marla whirled to see Tyler, Amy Jeanne, and Ron bearing down on them.

“Did you say something about Chris?” Ron asked, frowning. “I’d hoped we could avoid rehashing unpleasant events while we’re here. With all due respect to our former leader, we could use a break, especially if we’re to do our best work.”

With his spiked hair, metallic gray eyes, and trim frame, he could have stood in for a male model. His open-collared black shirt stretched across broad shoulders, its snug fit revealing his musculature beneath. Heather had slept with him, Marla reminded herself, before the long-legged model had ended up dead.

“Unpleasant events?” she repeated. ‘That’s not what I would call the loss of two people we knew.”

“Stew about it all you want,” Ron snapped at her, “but I’m not going to let some bad group karma stop me from doing my job.”

“Chill out, dude,” Tyler told him. “We’ll be fine.” He wore a safari outfit, complete with shorts, utility belt, and button-down shirt with bulging pockets. “Come on, I’m hungry. Who wants to chow down with me?”

His words dispelled the tension that had sprung up among them. Sampson, Marla realized, had been distraught, perhaps by something the detective had said to him, and Ron’s temper was on a short leash.

Georgia bustled forward to join Tyler while the master stylists marched off in opposite directions after curt parting remarks. Marla watched Ron, wondering again why he didn’t strike out on his own if he hated working with Sampson. Was it merely his loyalty to Luxor that kept him in their employ, or did he have another compelling reason to stay?

“Marla, let me give you a word of advice,” Amy Jeanne said by her side. The salon coordinator was so quiet that Marla had almost forgotten she was there. Her warm brown skin glistened in the sun, reflecting the warmth in her eyes.

“What about?” Marla fell into a slow pace beside the other woman. They headed down one of the paths away from the pool. The sound of splashing water receded into the distance, replaced by the gentle swish of ocean waves as they climbed a terrace.

Amy Jeanne, her jaw moving with a wad of gum, waved her hand. Marla noted tiny angel appliqués on her violet-painted nails. “I know you’d like to do more of this work. Tell the photographer that you would appreciate referrals. We’re not the only company doing ads here. Miami is very hot right now for global marketing.”

“No kidding. I read a news article recently that said New York designers are bringing runway fashion shows featuring swimsuits to Miami Beach. That makes sense to me. South Florida is the perfect locale, with our palm trees and sunny weather, plus we’re the gateway for Latin America and the Caribbean.”

“You should schedule more photo sessions at your salon,” Amy Jeanne advised her. “Have your people do the hair, then submit the photos to different hairstyle magazines. If you go for special themes like weddings, makeovers, and holidays, you’ll broaden your market and increase your chance of acceptance. Add these pieces to your portfolio. Meanwhile, meet as many people as you can in the fashion industry, and spread the word that you’re looking for more opportunities.”

Shading her eyes, Marla gazed out to sea. A freighter chugged the waters far out by the horizon. “I may have to put my plans on hold until I move the salon. That’s when I could really use the publicity. I want to get into more day spa services and raise awareness in the community. Plus, I’m supposed to get married, and that means taking on responsibility for a thirteen-year-old stepdaughter.”

“Shut my mouth, girlfriend! How do you manage to keep on top of things? I’d be bowled over by all that baggage. I can’t even handle my sister’s whining.” Amy Jeanne’s lips twisted in a self-derogatory smile.

Marla grinned. “I guess I thrive on challenges. Dalton is a widower, and his former in-laws are staying with me this week. Don’t ask—it’s just how things worked out,” she said upon noting Amy’s incredulous expression. “Anyway, I have my hands full right now. Escaping to the Keys was a welcome break.”

“I’m impressed.” Amy Jeanne regarded her with new respect.

Signaling for her companion to follow, Marla strode ahead. They reached a plateau that jutted over the sea wall. Halting, she viewed a school of fish swimming among strands of seaweed, the water pulsating as though alive. A light breeze stirred the hairs on her arms. Sniffing the briny air, she leaned against a painted wood rail. If only she were here for fun, not business.

Not this time. Get to work.
Mentally debating how to probe Amy Jeanne’s knowledge of Chris’s affairs, she searched for an opening remark.

“At least I have a chance to direct my future,” she said mildly. “Chris’s ambitions are dust. It’s still hard to believe she’s gone and isn’t sharing this weekend with us.”

Amy Jeanne avoided her gaze. “Sucks for her.”

“You don’t sound too broken up about it.”

“I sent her sister a card, but that’s the extent of my sympathy. I don’t miss the bitch.”

“What did she do to you?” Marla asked in a neutral tone.

“Chris didn’t do anything to me personally. It’s what she did to Ellen.” The salon coordinator paused, her face revealing conflicting emotions. “My sister is a stylist, too. She and Chris used to work in the same salon; that’s how I got connected with Luxor. You know how Chris tried to control everyone? Well, that extended to our personal lives. She set Ellen up with a bad date.”