Highlights to Heaven (2 page)

“That’s not all I need. Assuming I have some free time in the next week, when can we get together again?”

She flushed, aware of what he meant.
At least you’re finally admit-ting why you really knocked on my door earlier
. “I’m not sure.”

“Friday?”

“I have to go to services with my mother. It’s my father’s
yarzheit
. Anniversary of his death,” she added in explanation. “How about Saturday night?”

“I’ll see what I can arrange for Brianna. She thinks because she’s turning thirteen soon, I’ll ease the rules. She’s been nagging me to let her stay home alone for one night, but I won’t go for it. Teenagers require discipline, or they get too wild.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” She gave him a quick kiss, her mood returning to earth with a solid thunk. “Go to work. I’ll see you later.”

His voice deepened. “Be careful. You don’t seem to go anywhere without trouble finding you.”

“It’s just my way of keeping you close to me, Lieutenant,” she teased. “But never fear; I know you’ll be busy this morning, so I’ll behave myself.”

“I’ll believe that when hell freezes over,” he muttered as she walked away.

She didn’t get too far toward her house. A crowd of neighbors accosted her on the sidewalk.

“What’s happening, Marla? Why are all those police cars here?” asked one of her neighbors, Lyn. Lyn was married, with two school-age children. She lived in one of the larger two-story town houses. The architectural variety of Green Hills was one reason why Marla had been attracted to this affluent community in upscale Palm Haven, Florida.

“A man was found dead in Goat’s house. Goat is missing. Have any of you heard from him?” She scanned the faces of her fellow residents, which represented a mixture of ages and cultural backgrounds.

“I think he was here on Friday,” commented Hector, a handsome Hispanic with a slight accent. “He must have been at work during the day, because I didn’t notice his van parked there until later that evening.”

Marla met his warm brown gaze. “Did you see him come home?”

He stroked his mustache. “Not quite, senorita. Goat’s vehicle was gone when I left in the morning. He still wasn’t home by six when I returned.”

“So how did you know he’d come back?” she persisted, curbing her impatience.

“I went outside after dinner, and the van was parked in his driveway along with a small, dark car.”

“I remember!” Lyn inserted. “My kids were playing ball, and I warned them to stay away from that junk heap.”

Marla’s pulse accelerated. “What kind of car?”

“Who knows?” Lyn said, shuffling a hand through her ash-blond hair. She glanced at her house, as though she expected her kids to charge out the front door into the street. “You could ask Craig later tonight. He studies car magazines and can tell you all about the different models.”

“I think it was a Corolla,” Hector offered.

Marla shifted feet. “What time was this?”

“Just past eight o’clock.”

“Did you see the Corolla leave?”

Regret stamped his features. “Nope. I don’t think it was much later though, because I heard a commotion outside.”

“You heard voices?”

“Doors slamming and tires screeching.” Hector gestured to Lyn.

They were the closest neighbors to Goat, having houses on either side of his place. “When did you go inside with your kids?”

“We didn’t stay out too long. Shanna and John had to finish their homework, then go to bed.”

“I heard something else, like a motorcycle,” Hector added, scratching his jaw.

So, it appeared Goat had a visitor after he came home from work, around eight o’clock on Friday. Something happened shortly thereafter. By the next morning, the Corolla was gone, along with Goat.

“I’ll tell Detective Vail your news when I talk to him later,” Marla said, not wishing to disturb him now. The medical examiner would determine the exact time of death, but she wondered if it had occurred Friday evening. Who had driven the Corolla? If it belonged to the dead man, had Goat stolen the vehicle to make his escape? Or was another party involved?

There could have been someone else in the Corolla, she figured on her way home. Perhaps several passengers. They had no way of telling if Goat had more than one visitor, unless Vail found evidence inside his house.

This isn’t your business
, she reminded herself as she quickly showered and changed clothes. But when she drew up her agenda for the next day, visiting Cutter Corrigan’s salon took top priority on her list.

By the time Marla pulled into a metered parking space in a lot behind Las Olas Boulevard in downtown Fort Lauderdale, it was ten-thirty. Anxious to reach Cutter Corrigan before the detective contacted him, she hurried onto the boutique-lined avenue, and walked past La Bonne Crepe, one of her favorite restaurants. Heavenly Hair Salon should be somewhere along the next block. Passing Seldom Seen Gallery, with its intriguing window display, she remembered that she still needed to buy a birthday gift for Brianna.

Not today. Time is running short
.

Having never been inside Cutter’s salon, she didn’t anticipate the marvel that met her eyes. Instead of rows of chairs facing wall-high mirrors on two sides of the room as in her salon, this place was a paragon of modern design and creativity. Directly facing her was a wave-shaped reception desk staffed by an attractive young woman with spiked black hair. Her silver metallic blouse shimmered like the curtains defining each station. Each chair came with its own mirror and utility cart and a sense of privacy. Curved furnishings and a blue and silver mosaic floor added to the modern appeal, but they didn’t compare to the neon-blue-ringed platform with a glass enclosure in the center of the room. Cutter Corrigan worked his magic on a client in full view of everyone as though he were a platform artist onstage at a beauty show.

He spotted Marla and waved.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist said with a bright smile.

Marla focused on her perfectly made-up face. The young woman wore wire-rimmed eyeglasses and had relatively plain features, yet she had made herself look striking with cosmetics and style.
It just goes to prove, anyone can be beautiful
.

She smiled in return. “I’d like to see Cutter. I’m the owner of Cut ‘N Dye Salon in West Broward. He used to be my teacher in beauty school,” she said, handing over a business card. “Is he nearly finished?”

The girl glanced over her shoulder. “It’ll just be a few more minutes. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“No thanks.” While she waited, Marla ruminated on the staff members she needed to replace in her salon. Another stylist, a shampoo assistant, and a decent receptionist were high on her list. The last one was the most difficult to find. She sought an attractive, friendly person well versed in computers who could run the Elite Salon Management software program Marla had recently installed. It wasn’t easy finding a motivated individual with the skills she required.

“Marla Shore!” Cutter said as he descended upon her. His medium-frame form embraced her in a bear hug. “How are you, dear?”

Stepping away, she grinned at him. “I’m doing great, thanks. This place is wonderful. How long have you been here?”

His pale blue eyes regarded her with pride. “It’s been almost seven years. I heard you have your own place, too.”

She nodded. “I opened my salon eight years ago. You must have stayed on at the beauty school after I graduated, then?”

“For a while, but after so many years working as a stylist in other people’s salons and then as a teacher, it was time to move on.”

“Tell me about it! I never liked working for anyone else.”

“A lot of stylists feel that way, but they’re not ready for the responsibility that comes with running a business.” He waved an arm.

“As our reputation grows, I’m pulled away from the chair more every day. I have a business manager as well as an artistic director. But in order to run a successful salon, you have to do more than what the three of us do combined. How’s your staff turnover?”

She cleared her throat. “Pretty high.”

“Do you have booth rentals?”

“Yes, although I’d like to get away from them. I want more control.”

“Then get involved with your political associations.” He jabbed a finger in the air for emphasis. “If you join the state board, you’ll have a chance to influence decisions about our industry. Did you know I’m supporting a measure to prohibit booth rentals in Florida?”

“I had no idea.”

“I’ve been instrumental in forming a political action committee for the Professional Beauty Federation. Our aim is to raise awareness about the Cosmetologists’ Tax Fairness Act, similar to the one in the restaurant industry. If you want to make a difference, you need to participate in your professional organizations.”

Marla swallowed, feeling as though she were back in class. “I belong to TSA.”

He nodded sagely. “The Salon Association focuses on business. It’s good for networking and exchanging ideas. When we first opened, we had a high turnover. After talking to several people at TSA, I realized the ambience in my salon didn’t offer anything special.”

“But this place is fantastic.”

“The decor is exceptional, no?” He tapped her arm. “But I’m not talking about the physical setup. If you want to keep personnel, you have to offer them an environment they won’t want to leave. Continuing education is one of our main thrusts. You have to keep yourself fresh and provide a comfort level so new stylists aren’t afraid to ask questions. They want more than money and medical benefits. Every two months, we have a meeting where we conduct training sessions and practice new trends. The entire staff is responsible for our success, not just any one of us. That’s why you shouldn’t hire just anyone off the street. You need people with enthusiasm and passion to join your team, and you must provide opportunities for them to grow.”

“Having a good location helps, too,” Marla muttered, noting the jewelry adorning most of his yuppie clientele. Las Olas was a tourist mecca, and the winter season saw pedestrians crowding the sidewalks. His salon was located in a perfect locale to attract walk-ins as well as regulars. He offered good advice, though. She had to try harder to fill her vacancies.

“Come, I’ll give you a tour.”

His hair had grown thinner, although its light wheat color didn’t run counter to his fifty-something years. He had covered his gray in a natural manner that Marla admired. As her former mentor pointed out the accoutrements at each station, she observed his effeminate gestures with growing interest.

“We have fourteen styling stations, six shampoo chairs, four nail-care consoles, three rooms for facials, waxing, and massage, plus a color lab,” Cutter boasted with a slight nasal twang.

“What’s over there?” Marla indicated a couple of booths where customers hunched in front of computers.

“Those are Internet stations. Clients can surf the Web while they wait for their timers to ring. They also like to play with our digital imaging services. It shows how they might look with different cuts, styles, and colors.”

You’re a little too high-tech for me, pal
. Providing quality customer service was her priority. A good scalp massage with a shampoo went a long way toward making your client feel relaxed, not to mention promoting healthy hair. That was more important than all this machinery, in her opinion.

“I’m impressed,” she murmured instead. “Tell me, are you still doing your signature highlights? I remember you tried to teach us in class, but no one could get it right. It’s the blend of different levels you use, plus the technique.”

He beamed widely. “Naturally, you must have the requisite talent. So much of what we do is pure artistry.”

Baloney. You just didn’t want to give away your secret
. “I think I met one of your customers. I recognized your distinctive highlights pattern. It’s such a great look, Cutter, that I was hoping to learn the technique. Maybe now that I’m more experienced, I could grasp the principles. Are you willing to teach me?”

“You’ll have to come to one of my seminars, dear.” His voice had lost some of its warmth. “I work for Regis in my spare time. We do a lot of their photo shoots here.”

“I see. Do you have a mailing list so I can be notified when you’re doing one of the workshops?”

“I’ll be sure to let you know.” Grasping her by the elbow, he steered her toward the reception area. “How do you like the West Broward location? I’ve been thinking about opening another salon out there.”

“You want to expand?”

“Why not? We’ve gained quite a reputation.” He lifted his narrow nose in the air.

“Sounds like you’re busy enough already.”

“Having a business plan is what makes it happen. If you take in good money, you can do what you want. You should make in a day what you pay out per month in rent, for example.”

I wish
. “What’s your average tab?”

“Between sixty and seventy dollars.”

“You bring in the right clientele.”

“You can do the same, if you nurture your creative side. You’ll burn out if you neglect that part.” His gaze shone with fervor. “Do you travel to any of the shows, participate in community outreach, involve yourself in any professional organizations besides TSA?”

She squared her shoulders. “I have enough to do sticking close to home. Managing my salon and working behind the chair keeps me fully occupied. How can I fit in anything more?”

Playing detective lately has been a time drain. So is this discussion. I came here for a reason
. How could she turn their conversation to the corpse in Goat’s town house?

“You’re ambitious.” He perused her face. “I could tell when you were in my class. I knew that either you’d go back to school and finish your college education, or you would seek alternatives beyond the confines of a salon. Tell me truthfully, have you never thought about teaching, entering competitions, becoming a platform designer? There’s so much more to do than stand behind a chair all day!”

“I love fixing hair. That’s what I do best. Customer satisfaction is my goal.” She fought for the right words to describe her philosophy. “If you promote healthy hair with quality products and attention to details like scalp massage, customers will know you care. And if you’re a good listener and make each person feel special, they’ll leave the salon feeling better about themselves. Beauty is more than style and products. They’ll return because they anticipate a pleasurable event.”

He pursed his lips. “You can get carried away with idealism and lose sight of the business aspects. Maintaining balance is crucial to success.”

“I don’t think you can ever get carried away by caring too much. Martha Matilda Harper is the perfect example.” She noticed his mouth tightened imperceptibly. “Coming from the serving class, she understood what quality service meant. She attracted customers into her community’s first public hair salon by giving them a clean, luxurious experience. Do you know that Jacqueline Kennedy and Lady Bird Johnson used her for a hairdresser? She was an astute businesswoman, so it’s possible to have the best of both worlds.”

Harper, she recalled, had had floor-length hair that advertised her healthful treatments. Marla glanced at herself in a mirror. Her chestnut hair had a glossy sheen as it curved inward toward her chin. She wore a cream-colored top, tan slacks, and a caramel blazer. Which one did she look like, a businesswoman or a talented artist? Both, or neither?

Maybe Cutter was right, and she’d been neglecting important aspects of her business. That could account for her high turnover rate and the fact that her rival, Carolyn Sutton, had been siphoning off customers.

“Why do your beautiful brown eyes turn away from me?” Cutter demanded. “I read people well, and my perception tells me you are not fulfilled, regardless of what you claim. What really brought you in to see me today? Did you want help from your old teacher?”

She met his keen gaze. “I told you. I want to learn your highlights technique.” A deep breath fortified her. “This person I saw, he was a gentleman with a broad nose and wide forehead. Might have been in his forties. He had bronze highlights with your pattern.”

Cutter’s skin paled. “You saw…When was this?”

“It was over the weekend.”

“Where?”

Standing in the middle of the salon, Marla shifted her purse to her other shoulder. “He was with a friend of mine,” she hedged.

“Who?”

She wondered why he suddenly seemed unable to speak except in monosyllables. “His name is Goat.”

He stared at her, his jaw dropping open. “Where did you see them? I must know!”

“Goat is my neighbor,” she said, without directly answering his question. Did Cutter know his client was dead? “What was…is your customer’s name, the man with those highlights?”

A mask closed over his face. “I have no idea who you mean. I do bronze highlights on lots of people.”

You ‘relying. I can tell by the way you’re sweating
. “Do you keep client records? Maybe it will jog your memory. A name might help me remember where I saw the guy last.”

His eyes turned glacial. “I have to get back to work. Let me give you some advice, Marla. Stick to salon business. That’s your safest bet. If you get too involved in other people’s affairs, trouble will find you.”

Didn’t Vail say the same thing earlier?
“Thanks for the tour,” she replied as Cutter ushered her out the door. It remained propped open to let in the cool breeze. Reluctant to leave, Marla hovered on the sidewalk. He hadn’t identified the dead man, but Cutter definitely knew something, and it involved Goat. She bit her lower lip in concern.

“Hey, doll,” called a stylist who leaned against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

Marla glanced in her direction. She had the typical chain-smoker’s look: dry skin, pinched face, thin frame-as though she’d rather consume a cigarette than a meal. Too many people in their business still smoked. She couldn’t understand why, but then, she didn’t comprehend why anyone would inhale toxic substances into their lungs. At least her salon was a smoke-free environment; she couldn’t abide contaminated air. It gave her a headache and stuffed nose. All of her staff members were nonsmokers, and customers understood they had to go outside to light up.

She remembered the story told by one of her mentors who had been a beautician in the seventies. The hairdresser had just sprayed her lady after a back-comb, shampoo, and set. Then the customer lit a cigarette. The hair spray had alcohol in it, and her bangs started smoking.

Marla smiled, pushing the image from her mind as she approached the young woman. “Hi, I’m Marla Shore from Cut ‘N Dye Salon.”