Murder by Manicure (27 page)

Unable to ignore a sense of foreboding, she crouched on the ground and glanced underneath the car. Nothing unusual dangled below.
Examine the engine,
she told herself, hoping she remembered how to open the hood. Being mechanically impaired, she'd always relied on Stan for car maintenance. Since their divorce, the local dealership did the job.

Spreading her fingers, she found a latch and exposed the engine. She leaned forward, but her purse strap slid off her shoulder and she fumbled to grab the handbag. Before she completely regained her balance, the hood crashed down on her shoulders, knocking the breath from her lungs. A small, hard object jabbed the small of her back.

"Turn around real slow,” said a husky female voice.

The pressure eased from her shoulders as her assailant lifted the hood. Waves of pain assaulted her muscles as she straightened. Marla turned carefully. When she saw who stood in front of her, aiming a gun at her head, her heart skipped a beat.

"What's the matter, Lindsay? Doesn't teaching dance classes give you enough money? Just what is your day job anyway?"

With her crystal blue eyes, the waves of soft blond hair clipped back off her face, and her slender body encased in a jogging suit, Lindsay barely looked a day over eighteen. Certainly not like a killer, Marla thought.

Lindsay's face contorted in a twisted smile. “I work at Listwood Pharmaceuticals over by Sawgrass Mills Mall in the Industrial Park."

"So you're the one!” Dozens of questions sprang to her tongue, but she held her silence.

"You think you're so smart, don't you?” Lindsay sneered. “Let's see how well you follow directions. Get in your car. We'll drive to the sports club."

"It's closed by now!” On Sundays, the place shut its doors at five o'clock.

"How convenient,” the dance teacher observed. “It makes things easier. It'll appear as though you were using one of the machines and didn't notice the club was closing. What a shame no one was there to help you when you had an accident."

Lindsay gestured with her gun, and Marla complied by slipping inside her car. But any intention of sliding out the opposite door was halted when Lindsay grabbed her wrist.

"You do anything foolish, and you're dead.” Lindsay maneuvered beside her on the passenger seat and aimed the gun at her head.

Keeping calm, Marla started the engine. Neither of them wore seat belts. Perhaps she could swerve the car or sideswipe a utility pole to knock Lindsay off balance. Then she'd throw open the car door and tumble outside. Wrestling with Lindsay over the weapon seemed an unattractive option. Although she'd never had a gun pointed at her before, she realized it might go off accidentally. She didn't know enough about the things to determine whether this one had a safety or not. Vail could help her. Where was the man when she needed him?

"Why did you kill Jolene?” Marla asked, heading south on Pine Island Road.

Folds creased Lindsay's smooth brow. “No harm in telling you now, since you won't be able to repeat my story to anyone. I didn't have much money when I grew up, and I was determined to accumulate enough to be comfortable. My boss at Listwood Pharmaceuticals didn't advance me fast enough. I thought I'd impress him by obtaining formulas from a rival company. Sam Zelman, who helped me find an apartment when I moved to town, told me about this woman who worked at Stockhart Industries."

"Jolene,” Marla rasped, hoping for a break in the traffic so she could make a move to freedom.

Lindsay's aim didn't falter. “Jolene was unhappy because she'd been passed over for promotion. She'd been griping to fellow members at Perfect Fit Sports Club where she belonged. Sam picked up on her dissatisfaction and asked if she wanted to earn the raise she would have had in a higher position."

Understanding dawned. “So Sam became the contact between you and Jolene."

"That's right. My boss, Rudy, was pleased when I presented him with our competitor's formulas. As a reward, he gave me twenty percent and Jolene got the other eighty percent of his payment. I felt I deserved more, so I made an offer to Jolene to sell her our test results, which were more favorable than hers. She paid me better than Rudy, but it wasn't enough for the risks I took.

"Jolene was too greedy. She wanted more money for the formulas she provided to Rudy, maybe to compensate for the payments she gave me. Up until that point, she didn't know my name. Sam got a cut to act as our go-between. But one day, Denise opened her big mouth."

"Denise at the New Wave?"

"Yeah.” Lindsay's glacial expression told Marla what she thought of gossip mongers. “The stupid manicurist blabbed about her other client who worked in a laboratory and how she was screwing her boss. Jolene looked me up and demanded more money, otherwise she'd stop our exchange. I couldn't risk her telling Rudy what was going on."

"So you decided to eliminate the threat."

"My job was at stake. You don't know how hard it was back when I had to scrape to survive. I'd come too far to give up everything I'd achieved."

The traffic light ahead turned yellow, and a car in front zoomed forward. Reaching the intersection, Marla slammed on the brakes at the same time she reached for the door handle.

Something hard crashed into the side of her head as she prepared to catapult herself from the vehicle. White-hot pain exploded behind her eyes, blurring her vision. While she slumped, immobilized, Lindsay tugged her to the passenger side and traded places.

"Try that again and I'll pull the trigger. I'd rather not do it that way, but I will if necessary.” Lindsay pressed the accelerator when the light changed and sped toward the turn for the sports club.

Marla's head reeled. “If you think I'm just going to let you murder me, you're mistaken,” she croaked, her mouth dry. “You won't get away with it. Jill is onto you."

Lindsay gave a raucous laugh. “That bimbo won't be bothering me. I paid a friend to call her, pretending to be a former associate of Jolene. He implicated Dr. Crone. Jill took off for Vero Beach first thing Saturday morning."

"But Hortense called me. She hadn't heard from Jill all weekend."

"The girl is probably sneaking around, trying to collect evidence. I'm not worried about her showing up."

Marla grew more desperate as Lindsay turned in to the entrance to Perfect Fit. The parking lot was deserted, offering no protection when she emerged from the car with Lindsay jamming the weapon in her back.

"I suppose you have a key to the place,” Marla commented wryly. She clung to her purse, mentally assessing its contents for something she could use in self-defense. Too bad she hadn't kept her expensive shears. They'd come in handy once before in an unpleasant situation. Metal nail file? Maybe.

Marching forward, she stood stock-still as directed while Lindsay keyed the lock. Running wouldn't get her far if she tried to bolt. Her knees wobbled, and her head felt filled with cotton. She'd probably topple over at twenty paces.
Keep her talking.
Surely there must be some way she could escape.

The interior of the club was brightly lit, and Lindsay prodded her toward the left, past the massage suite and administrative offices to a staircase.

"How did you manage to switch Jolene's gelatin capsules for the sedatives?” Marla asked, wincing from a shooting back pain as she slowly climbed the stairs. Her leg muscles quivered, and she gripped the railing to steady herself. Her temple throbbed from the blow she'd received.

Lindsay grasped her shoulder from behind. “Hank made a bottle with capsules that looked exactly like her gelatin supply. I wanted something lethal, you know, but he tricked me. No matter; it did the job."

"Hank said you were angry that he hadn't filed for a divorce.” She stumbled and almost fell, but Lindsay steadied her. The top of the stairs was just ahead. This area of the gym was dark, with machines rising out of the gloom like misshapen cypress stumps in a swamp.

"We were lovers,” Lindsay confessed. “He was afraid I'd go to the police with what I knew about his money schemes. That's why he gave me the sedatives. Did Cookie tell you I left in the middle of Dancercize ostensibly to make a phone call? I exchanged the capsules then."

"Is that why you killed her?"

"She didn't remember right away. Later, when it came back to her, Cookie realized I'd had the opportunity to enter the locker room while Jolene was occupied in the studio. It didn't take much more for her to figure out my connection to Jolene."

"How did you do it? There wasn't any blood."

"We keep syringes in our labs. Easy to fill one with potassium cyanide. She wasn't expecting me to jump her on that island."

Reaching the top landing, Marla hesitated. “What about Sam? And how did you switch the gelatin back for the bottle of sedatives?” Pivoting, she faced Lindsay and put on a brave front she didn't feel.

Lindsay climbed the last step and aimed the gun point-blank at Marla's chest. “I didn't leave the club that night after Dancercize. Jolene had mentioned she was going for a massage. I waited in an unoccupied office and then sneaked into the locker room from the back entrance."

"You left some resin beneath her locker. I should've picked up on that, but I thought it might have been Eloise's foot powder."

"Go on over there,” Lindsay pointed. “You're going to have an accident with the weights.” When she was satisfied Marla was obeying, she continued. “Eloise was a real fool. Sam didn't die because he was having an affair with Jolene. I fixed that bomb because he was the only one who could connect me and Jolene."

"Why didn't he say something to the cops?"

Lindsay snickered, a malevolent expression on her face. “Sam had already spent time in the clinker, and he didn't want to drag his name through that muck again. The schlemiel thought he was saving his wife further disgrace by keeping quiet, but he asked me for more money. Me! Why should I have to sacrifice?"

"If the manicurist hadn't alerted Jolene to who you were, would you have killed her?"

"Probably not. Proves it can be dangerous getting your nails done, huh?"

Intent on listening, Marla stumbled over a flat bench. Before she could regain her balance, Lindsay hurtled forward, slamming her in the chest. She tumbled backward, hitting her head on a horizontal weight bar and ending up sprawled on the green vinyl pad. She lay on her back, staring at her assailant.

"This weight bar will crush your ribs,” Lindsay gloated, dropping the gun. “Whoever finds your body will believe you overstretched your abilities and lost control."

Marla heard a strange gurgling cry that seemed to come from across the room. “What's that?” she said, rolling to her side and out from Lindsay's grasp.

"Oh, that's just Brianna."

"What?"

Lindsay seized the moment to grab a clump of her hair. Twisting Marla's head, she thrust her neck against the protruding metal bar. “The little brat asked me a question Tuesday night. My back hurt so I wasn't paying attention, and I told her where I worked. That was a mistake, because I realized she might tell her father. When no one was home today, I knocked on her door and told her you needed help to solve this case. It was a lame excuse, but the stupid child fell for it. You'd think she'd know better with her father being a cop."

Dear Lord.
Tears choked Marla's throat, which Lindsay forced against the bar until it dug into her skin. “No!” she screamed even as her breath was cut short.

Her windpipe was slowly being crushed. Pain no longer became an issue when her lungs wouldn't fill. Rage energized her, and she used the boost of adrenalin to kick backward. Her foot connected with something solid. Lindsay howled, loosening her grip. Marla staggered upright, clasping her throat. A raspy breath provided oxygen. Another breath brought clarity of purpose. She had to get to the girl and save them both.

"Brie, I'm coming,” she shouted, taking a swing at Lindsay. The blow glanced off Lindsay's chin. Marla spun around and ran. Metal poles sticking out from machines turned the room into an obstacle course. She crashed into a Gravitron 2000, shaking its pulley but not its stack of weights.

Snarling, Lindsay retrieved a heavy chrome dumbbell and charged. Marla sidestepped past a Reebok Body Trec and leaped aside when Lindsay whipped the dumbbell through the air by her ear. If only she could find something to use as a weapon. She'd dropped her handbag when Lindsay had first assaulted her at the top of the stairs, and Marla doubted she could lift a free weight as easily as Lindsay could. Her only hope was to reach the exit. But where would that leave Brianna?

Her heart hammered as she dodged Lindsay's repeated attempts to bash her brains in. She reached the treadmills, where Brianna was bound by the wrists and gagged. One flick of a switch, and Lindsay could put the machine on lethal overdrive. Dropping to her knees, Marla followed the wire and yanked the plug. That was quicker than fumbling with knots. The girl's dark eyes glistened with fear as she tried desperately to free herself from the nylon cords binding her arms.

"Hold on,” Marla urged. “I'll get us out of here.” She thrust her body between Lindsay and Brianna.

Lindsay raised the dumbbell. Marla knew she had to disable her, but how?

She'd be top-heavy holding up that weight. Crouching, Marla darted sideways, then reversed course. With a wild yell, she butted Lindsay in the side like a rampaging bull. Lindsay gave her a startled glance before tumbling to the floor. Shrieking when an end of the dumbbell bounced on her ribs, she lay flat on her back. Marla followed through by kicking Lindsay's chin and was gratified by the sound of her teeth cracking.

"Don't mess with Brianna,” she growled, “or you'll answer to me.” She turned her attention to the child. “Hang loose, honey. I'll call for help and then find something to cut you free. Let me take that gag off.” Wincing, Marla peeled the duct tape as carefully as she could.

Her mouth quivering, Brianna tugged at her bonds. Her braided hair swung with her efforts. “Don't leave me,” she pleaded. Gone were the bratty, defiant mannerisms. Her face, gazing up at Marla's, displayed a vulnerability that she'd kept hidden before.