Murder By Manicure Part 14

"Yeah, but if I go a step farther with the lieutenant, it would mean accepting Brianna with her mult.i.tude of problems, whatever their cause." A stormy road would surely follow. "Come on, let's get some fresh air," she suggested, anxious to change the topic.

They took Spooks for a short walk. Old man Moss and his wife, Emma, were outside chatting with Goat.

"Hey, mate," Moss called, his weathered face crinkling into a smile. "How ya doing? Hi, Tally, good to see you."

"Tally, I don't think you've met Goat before. Goat, this is my friend, Tally Riggs." She felt silly calling him Goat, but she didn't know his real name-if he had one. He wore a sheepskin vest over a Hawaiian shirt, a racc.o.o.n cap, and shorts over his skinny knees.

Moss pulled a piece of paper from his pants pocket. "I wanted you to take a look at this new limerick," he told Marla.

"He's too shy to show it to his poetry group," his wife remarked. Emma wore a wide-brimmed straw hat over her gray head, a faded housecoat, and slip-on shoes so worn they could have been a dog's chew toy.

Her sickly complexion would benefit from the sun, Marla observed with a critical eye. Normally, she advised clients to avoid basking in sunlight to protect their skin and to keep their hair coloring from fading. The strong Florida sun could damage skin cells easily, but Emma might benefit from exposure to fresh air to restore her healthy glow.

Aware that Moss was anxiously waiting for her opinion, she took the paper from his outstretched hand. "Can I read it aloud?"

His face flushed, but he nodded his agreement, so Marla read in a clear tone: -A woman named McGuire Once lit a fire She meant to cook a steak But her oven did break So she ended up building a pyre.- Goat danced a little jig. "Light a fire under my pyre. We'll toast some marshmallows, roast a swallow, and rub on the aloe. Give it to me, babe. Ugamaka, ugamaka, stew me a brew." The tail on his racc.o.o.n cap swung with each jerky movement.

"Is he always like that?" Tally murmured.

Marla grinned. "You got it. He keeps a whole zoo in his house, although I've never been brave enough to step inside."

He heard her last sentence. "You babes want to tour my humble abode? I promise I'll keep Junior in her cage."

"No thanks. We're working at the fair this afternoon, and we have to leave soon." She gave Moss back his poem. "Show this to your writing group," she urged him. "They'll be able to advise you where to send your collection."

"I'm not quite ready, but thanks for your comments, mate." Moss winked. "Y'all have a good time this afternoon."

Central Park was crowded with citizens when they arrived. Marla parked near the community center; then they walked past the lake to the field beyond, where artisans' booths mingled with exhibits by local businesses. The aisles were clogged with fair-goers. Feeling warmed by the sun, Marla adjusted her cardigan sweater. Her low-heeled pumps sank into the soft earth as she trotted toward her volunteer group.

After introducing Tally to her colleagues, she handed over her noodle kugel dish. "This is for the volunteer supper," she explained.

"Thanks," said the coordinator. "Marla, you can help Wally pa.s.s out leaflets. Tally, if you wouldn't mind, we need an extra person in the booth."

"How's it going?" Marla asked Councilman Wallace Ritiker after grabbing a stack of pamphlets from a nearby table.

He smiled, showing a row of even teeth. "We've had a good turnout, and a lot of folks have signed our pet.i.tion supporting the pool safety bill. It's been approved by three committees in the legislature so far. Only one more to go." His face was ruddy from the heat, and he yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his wide brow.

"Yeah, but then it has to get through the senate. The measure failed twice already."

"It's been modified to offer more choices to homeowners."

"How many choices do you need to save lives?" Marla said vehemently. Her body shook with outrage. How many children had to drown before legislators put safety measures into effect?

"You can't force people to put up pool fences. An exit alarm or self-latching locks on doors with pool access can be just as effective."

"Those are better than nothing," she agreed. "People who move here from up north aren't aware of the dangers. They should give their kids swimming lessons as soon as they're out of diapers. Not everyone knows that the city offers free instruction."

"You're right. There's a lot for us to do."

Marla glanced inside the booth, where Tally was explaining a pictorial display to a family lost in clouds of cotton candy. Her friend had joined the cause with alacrity, she noted with a surge of affection.

Speaking of causes, if Cookie created more trouble for the salon, perhaps Wally could help her out. "Are you familiar with Cookie Calcone?" she asked him. "Half the town seems to know her."

An uneasy expression crossed his face. "I've run into her a couple of times, and I can't say they were pleasurable occasions. Are you her friend?"

"h.e.l.l, no. She was at the health club the day Jolene died. I understand you were in the steam room with Sam Zelman."

He stepped off the gra.s.s and into the relative shade of the booth's awning. "So I was. It's hard to believe he isn't around anymore. We played poker together, you know."

"What do you think happened to him? Have you heard anything about Eloise?"

"I don't know much more than was on the news."

"Hank was at the restaurant Sat.u.r.day night. I noticed his name was on the sign-in list at the club when Jolene had her accident. Do you think he's involved?"

Wally snorted. "That fool is up to his ears in his own troubles. He won't listen to my advice."

"What do you mean?"

He glowered at her. "That break-in was a stupid move. It only brought Hank the kind of attention he didn't need. If Jolene were around, she would've blown the whistle on him."

Apparently, Ritiker believed she had insider knowledge about Hank's activities, whatever they were. "Are you saying he wanted Jolene out of the way?"

"Let's just say it was convenient for him when Jolene kicked the bucket."

"Detective Vail believes Jolene was murdered."

"I'm not surprised." Nor did the councilman appear blown away by the news, except for the tensing of his jaw muscle.

"Did you notice anything on your way to the steam room? Was Jolene already in the whirlpool?"

"I didn't see her if she was there. The pool area appeared vacant. Sam and I went directly from the men's locker room into the steamer. The entrances are right next to each other, and we were talking."

"And you were both still inside when the police came?"

"That's right."

"Had you seen Hank earlier?"

"Maybe." His shoulders hunched. "You're asking a lot of questions, Marla. Seems to me it would be safer if you kept your mouth shut. Jolene is gone, and if anything is amiss, let the cops figure it out."

He strode back to their booth while Marla continued to hand out leaflets and mull their conversation in her head. Maybe Wally hadn't seen anything, but was it possible that Sam had? It would have given the killer a reason to get rid of him. One piece of important information eluded her: exactly how had Jolene ingested the sedative? Timing was the factor here, and Vail must know the answer.

While she was home getting ready for her date with Lance, the detective returned her phone call.

"Sorry I didn't get back to you earlier," he said in a gruff tone. "Brianna's friend from camp visited us for the weekend, and I took them to Beach Place today. Then there were a couple of things I had to check at the office."

"You don't have any time to rest, do you? Did you get in very late last night?"

He grunted affirmation. "You'll be happy to know Eloise was not in the car."

"Oh, thank G.o.d. Then where is she?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out. We've been in touch with her children, and they haven't heard from her. Sam's funeral arrangements were already made, so that's no problem. Both he and Eloise had pre-need plans. Her daughter needs to arrange for the memorial service, though, so she's hoping her mother will be in touch."

A frightening thought loomed like a specter. "What if the person who set the car bomb has Eloise?"

"I'd say that's a faint possibility. Eloise believed her husband was having an affair with Jolene. First Jolene meets an untimely death, then Sam. It's more likely Eloise is hiding because she's culpable."

Marla's blood pressure rocketed. "You can't believe my client is guilty! I know you mistrust everyone, but that's absurd. How could Eloise construct a bomb? She's a realtor, for G.o.d's sake." So why are you having Lance research the Internet to see if a layperson could build an explosive device?

"Maybe she hired someone else to do the deed. Until we find her, Mrs. Zelman remains a possible suspect."

Her temples throbbed. "What if Eloise is in trouble?" Marla persisted, knowing from past experience that she shouldn't be so trusting herself but unable to visualize Eloise as the killer.

"Then she'll show up, one way or another."

Marla shuddered, not wishing to imagine what the word another represented. "I've been meaning to ask you, what was the sedative that Jolene took, and in what form?"

A pause followed. "It was a variation of Flunitrazepam. You may recognize the street name: roofies. It's a sedative that's ten times more potent than Valium."

"Isn't that the date-rape drug?"

"Right. The drug's effects begin within thirty minutes and are strengthened when taken with alcohol. It has no taste or odor and can render a person unconscious with no memories of what happened. The substance is very dangerous for two reasons: the cost is low, less than five dollars per tablet; and high schoolers take it for recreation without realizing it can cause dependence with withdrawal symptoms, not to mention impaired judgment."

"I thought roofies were illegal here." She had read articles in the newspaper about girls who'd been raped after being unknowingly drugged. It was a horrible commentary on society, that women had to be careful at social events to get their own refreshments. Thank G.o.d she didn't have any daughters to worry about. Another reason not to have children, Marla thought. She could imagine the lectures Brianna was in for when she matured, and she pitied the girl.

"Abuse is more widespread in Florida and Texas, because the stuff is smuggled in from Mexico or through Miami from Colombia. It's distributed legally as a sleeping pill in other countries," Vail explained.

"So did someone dissolve a tablet in Jolene's drink?" she asked, thinking about Amy at the snack stand.

"No," Vail said in a grim tone. "It was in those gelatin capsules she took in the locker room while you spoke to Cookie Calcone."

Chapter Thirteen.

"Funny thing is, none of the other capsules in the bottle contained the drug," Vail continued.

"Meaning?"

"The killer may have switched bottles after Jolene took a dose."

"How? No one else was around. I went upstairs and met Keith. Cookie had left the club, or so she claimed. It was unusually quiet because of that compet.i.tion at the other gym."

"Eloise was in the sauna. And don't forget the female staff members, who also had access to the locker room."

"What was the purpose? To make Jolene sleepy?"

"Sure. Didn't you tell me Jolene always took gelatin before going into the whirlpool?"

"Well, yes. In fact, she'd had a manicure that morning. She wanted to protect her nails."

"The killer must be somebody who was familiar with her habits, and who had access to her bag."

"When would the tainted capsules have been put there?"

"My guess would be while she was in Dancercize. I toyed with the notion that the capsules might have been subst.i.tuted earlier-when Jolene was at work, for example. But then the killer would have had no control over when she took the drug, nor could the bottle be switched afterward. Probably the perp didn't realize the drug would be traceable."

Marla nodded. "Next time I see Cookie, I'll ask her if anyone left in the middle of dance cla.s.s. How about when Jolene went for a snack? That would've given the killer another opportunity to plant the drug."

Vail cleared his throat. "It would depend upon how closely she followed Jolene's movements."

"She?"

"It seems more logical, considering the circ.u.mstances."

"Unless the killer is a he with a female collaborator. Personally, my bet rides on one of the staff workers at the sports club. I wouldn't overlook all the possibilities if I were you." She thought about Eloise and Sam. "Do you have an alert out for Eloise?"

"Not officially, but I want her for questioning."

"I hope she turns up soon."

"What are you doing for dinner tonight?" he asked, as though deliberately changing the subject. "Brianna and I are going out for pizza. You could join us."

"Thanks, but my mother invited me for a meal." That was true; Marla didn't tell Vail she'd declined Anita's invitation because of her date with Lance. Even though the computer guru was an old friend, Dalton would probably get upset if he knew her plans.

Lance Pearson lived on the east side of Fort Lauderdale in an older section with willowy bottlebrush trees and melaleucas shading the streets. His three-bedroom home was sand-colored with white shutters, a popular combination in Broward County's sunny climate. The bright pastels that were popular in the Caribbean were scorned here. Beige tones ruled, with occasional deviations by brave souls who wanted more color in their lives.

Marla parked in the circular driveway overrun with dead leaves from a black olive tree, scourge of the region. For motives unknown to her, people planted them for their height and shady canopy, but the leaves that shed periodically could stain the paint on the st.u.r.diest car. Split nuts from a mahogany crunched underfoot as she strode to the front door. It was only 6:30 but already dark. Insects buzzed by the hanging lantern that illuminated the entrance. A sweet scent of orange blossoms permeated the air. Were they starting to bloom so early? February was nearly here, she reminded herself. Soon it would be her birthday. She didn't want to think that far in advance.

Her hands patted the pair of black slacks and rose hooded sweater she'd picked up at Macy's latest Karen Kane sale. Tonight was casual; she expected a pleasant evening with a good friend. A smile curved her lips as she remembered how they'd met. Lance had sold her the first computer she'd ever owned. Those were the days when he worked in an electronics store before branching out on his own as a systems a.n.a.lyst. Freelancing as a consultant suited his lifestyle and improved his budget. Calling upon him for computer advice had become a habit. Somewhere along the way, he'd stopped charging her and asked her out instead. Marla liked him but not in a romantic way. Keeping him at arm's length would be the challenge of the night.

He opened the door right after she pressed the doorbell, as though he'd been loitering in the foyer. His acorn eyes, round as an owl's, peered at her with delight. He'd spiffed up for the occasion, wearing a checkered collar shirt and tan Dockers. His mud brown hair, frizzy as always, inspired her to offer an anti-humectant product, but she bit her tongue and smiled.

"Come in, love," he said in a deep voice that could have belonged to a radio announcer. "The computer's turned on. If you're not starving, we can take care of business first."

Any other guy might have complimented her on her appearance, Marla thought in bemus.e.m.e.nt as she followed him into his home office. Maybe he was just too eager to show her his favorite web sites.

She sat in the chair he'd motioned to beside the desk. Lance scrunched into a seat beside her and moved the mouse to get rid of the screen saver. Interested by what popped up on the screen, she leaned forward. It was some kind of anarchy site listing weapons you could construct at home.