A Body to Die For (2 page)

But wait, things get worse. Just before Labor Day, as I was cruising the Village in search of fall shoes, I spotted him from
a distance with a couple of cute female student types—he seemed talky, flirtatious, Mister Not-a-Friggin’-Care-in-the-World.
As I’d ducked on wobbly legs into a store to avoid being seen, it was finally clear that it was o-v-e-r.

The only question left in my mind was
why?
Had he not been that interested in me to begin with and his sister’s illness had become a good excuse to put distance between
us? Had he met someone else in the weeks we’d been apart? Had my request to take the sexual part of the relationship slowly
discouraged him despite the fact that he had sounded okay with it?

Just as I was about to travel this tiresome ground in my mind for the millionth time, the phone rang.

“Bailey, it’s Danny. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

As she spoke, I could see her in my mind’s eye. She was in her early sixties, pretty, or rather handsome, I’d say, with blondish
gray hair lightly curled. And she was
tiny
—only about five feet tall and as slim as a candlewick.

“No, no, I’m just lying in bed with a book,” I said. “Danny, your inn is absolutely gorgeous. You’ve done an
amazing
job with it.”

“Thank you so much, dearest. How has your evening been?”

Well, for the last twenty minutes I’d been tapping a freshly scabbed emotional bruise, seeing if I could make myself squeal—but
I spared her that sordid detail.

“Terrific. I had a lovely massage and then a light dinner up here in my room—or should I say my suite fit for a princess.”

“Who was your massage therapist, do you recall?”

“A woman. Redhead. Name started with a P, I think.”

“Piper. She has wonderful hands, don’t you think?”

“Yes, definitely.” I wasn’t going to get Piper in any kind of trouble by saying her heart hadn’t been totally into her work
tonight.

“By the way, I’ve set up a meeting for you and Josh, the spa manager, at four tomorrow—if that’s still okay with you.”

I write a few travel articles each year—it’s a free way to see the world and also a nice break from the crime grind—and Danny
was hoping that while I was ensconced at the inn I could provide some ideas on how to better pitch her place to editors and
travel writers.

“Of course,” I said. “But when do I get to see
you?
”

“How about breakfast together tomorrow morning?” Danny asked. “Would nine work for you?”

“Absolutely, though I still may be in a stupor from my massage.”

She laughed lightly, like someone jangling her keys. “Well, you know what I always say—too much of a good thing is wonderful.
Just wait till you have some of the other treatments I’ve got booked for you. Have you ever had a massage with hot stones
before?”

“No—but I’m game for anything as long as it doesn’t involve colonics.”

“Oh, Bailey, you always make me laugh,” she said. “Well, I’m going to turn in now because my head is throbbing for some reason.
I’m staying here at the inn tonight, by the way, in case you need to reach me.”

“Do you do that to see things from the guests’ perspective?”

“Partly. But also George is out of town and I hate staying alone. Our house isn’t far from here, but it’s very secluded. Shall
we meet in the lobby, then?”

“See you then. I can’t wait.”

And I meant it. I felt a tremendous debt to Danny. She had been so good to me when my father died the year I was twelve, taking
me on all sorts of little adventures and day trips at a time when my mother was struggling so much that it was hard for her
to comfort me. Danny must have sensed early on my fascination for the macabre, because one of our excursions had been to Salem,
to learn more about the witch trials. My mother had looked slightly agog at both of us when she’d learned where we’d ended
up that day, but it had been pure heaven for me.

My family eventually lost touch with Danny, during a period when she’d lived out west in a bad marriage. But after she moved
back to Massachusetts (with a new husband) to open the inn, she and my mother had reconnected. Though I was only now paying
a visit to the inn, Danny and I had spoken a few times on the phone, and I’d had lunch with her once in New York when she’d
come to the city on business.

The call from Danny had managed to take my mind off Jack, and I picked up the book I’d taken into bed with me. It was of all
things a decorating book. Lately I’d been feeling in desperate need of a change in my Greenwich Village apartment. After my
divorce, I’d jettisoned all the modern stuff my ex had encouraged us to buy and introduced a Sante Fe feeling—with the help
of cinnamon-colored walls and some cheap baskets. But it was suddenly boring me, adding to my burned-out feeling. Last week
I’d asked the
Gloss
decorating editor for some guidance and had been forced to watch him recoil in horror as I described my place to him. You
would have thought I’d announced I’d just installed wall-to-wall shag carpet.

“Sante Fe is totally stupid to do east of the Mississippi,” he’d said. “The light is all wrong for it. Besides, who wants
to see another turquoise coyote with a kerchief around its neck.”

He’d suggested I go “minimal” and had pulled a book from his shelf for me to consult.

I’d gone through four or five chapters, covering everything from the value of white space to the pure evil of tchotchkes,
when I instinctively glanced at my wrist to check the time. My watch wasn’t there.

I felt a tiny swell of panic. It had been my father’s watch, an old stainless-steel Rolex I’d started wearing shortly after
he died. My mind raced, trying to recall where I’d left it. It had been on my wrist during the drive to Massachusetts because
I recalled checking it. Since it was waterproof, I never took it off when I showered. The
massage.
Rather than leave it in the locker, I’d worn it into the treatment room and placed it on a small stool in the corner. I would
never fall asleep if I didn’t retrieve it.

I dialed the spa number, which was listed on a panel on the phone. As I counted the rings, I leaned out of bed and glanced
at the digital clock on the bedside table: 10:25. I wasn’t surprised when no one picked up.

Plan B. I’d just head down there. There might still be someone on-site, cleaning up and not bothering to answer the phone.

I threw off the covers and dressed in the same clothes I’d worn earlier. My room was on the second floor of the inn, not far
from a back staircase that ended near a side entrance to the spa. Hurrying along the corridor, I was surprised at how deadly
quiet it was—no murmur of voices, no hum of TVs, and definitely no headboard banging. Guests here obviously preferred getting
loofahed to getting laid.

The door to the spa was solid glass, and I could look directly into the small reception area that was reserved for the use
of the inn’s guests. It was dark, except for a backlight in a case of spa products. I tapped on the door and then tried to
open it. No luck. As I turned away, though, I thought I heard a sound, something thudlike that I couldn’t identify, from deep
within the spa.

It sounded as if someone
might
still be there, but I was going to have to try the main reception area, which could be reached only from the outside. Walking
along the ground-floor corridor, I found an emergency exit and let myself out. I was on the edge of the parking lot, dark
except for a few perimeter security lights and a big puddle of moonlight. I headed around the edge of the building toward
the main entrance of the spa.

I was surprised at how cool the night was. The early October temperature had hovered around seventy earlier in the day, almost
balmy, but it had dropped at least twenty degrees. There was a stiff, choppy wind, making the tree branches shake. This was
one of those nights that told you that if you’d been hoping the summery weather would last forever, you were a fool.

Before I even reached the door of the spa, I could see I’d wasted my time. There was a narrow window alongside each side of
the front door, and it was dark inside. There were no cars at this end, not a soul in sight. It was totally silent, too, except
for the wind and the faint yawning of cars speeding along a far-off highway. I felt nervous all of a sudden, standing out
there in the darkness all by myself.

I quickly broke into a jog and crossed the distance of the parking lot to the front of the inn. There were about twenty cars
at this end, obviously belonging to guests. The front door was open and I walked into the reception area, where a girl of
no more than twenty-five was sitting at the front desk, staring at a terminal screen. Like my massage therapist, she had bright
red hair, held off her face with a tiny blue clip. Without giving her time to inquire if she could help me, I explained the
situation to her and asked if she could open up the spa.

“I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to let anyone into the spa,” she said. “But they open at seven. I can leave a note under the door
asking them to look for your watch as soon as they get in. Who was your therapist?”

“Piper.”

“Oh, I’m sure she saw it and put it up someplace. There’s no need to worry.”

“You’re probably right, but I can’t help it,” I told her. “The watch has incredible sentimental value to me. Who
can
let me in?”

“Well, Danielle could, but—”

“I don’t want to wake her. Is there someone else?”

She thought for a second, her blue eyes raised to the ceiling.

“Well, the manager had the day off. But I guess I could call Piper. She’s an assistant manager, and she’s got a key.”

“But then she’d have to drive all the way back here.”

“No, she wouldn’t—she lives right here. There’s a building out back where some of the staff stay. I don’t think she’d mind
coming over.”

Natalie—that’s what it said on her nametag—glanced at a phone sheet on her desk and placed the call. A machine obviously picked
up after five or six rings because she left a message, detailing what had happened and asking Piper to call.

“She must have gone into town for dinner,” she said, setting the phone back down. “I doubt she’ll be gone long. There’s another
assistant manager, Anna….”

She let her voice trail off without asking if I wanted to track down
her,
obviously hoping I wasn’t going to push the issue even more.

“I can wait till Piper gets back,” I said.

Once back in my room, I alternated between reading my book and fretting. I had just glanced at the digital clock for about
the four hundredth time—11:13—when the phone rang. It was Piper.

“Hi, Miss Weggins? Natalie said you left your watch in the treatment room.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s on the little stool in the corner. You didn’t see it?”

“No, but then I don’t recall looking over there.” She hesitated a second. “Why don’t I run over and check—I’m just behind
the inn.”

There was something about her tone—resigned polite-ness—that told me she was doing it not out of any inborn generosity, but
because the inn encouraged staff to bend over backward for the guests.

“God, I hate to put you out, but I’d die if something happened to that watch. Should I meet you down there?”

“I’d be happy to drop it off in your room—but actually maybe it’s best for you to show me exactly where you think you left
it.”

She said we should meet by the inn entrance to the spa. I’d kept my clothes on, so it took me less than two minutes to get
down there. I had a five-minute wait, though, before Piper strode down the corridor from the front of the inn. It was funny
how different she looked out of “uniform.” Instead of a beige T-shirt and baggy beige pants, she was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved
green jersey shirt, low-cut with a ruffle. Her shoulder-length red hair, which had been tied back earlier, was spread around
her shoulders like a brush fire.

She was courteous enough when she greeted me, but it seemed like that kind of phony politeness she’d displayed on the phone.
She already had her keys out, and she unlocked the door, lifting the handle slightly as she pulled it forward, obviously familiar
with the door’s quirkiness.

She flipped on a light in the reception area, and I followed her down one of the corridors. The scent of green tea still hung
in the air, and something else, maybe jasmine. The only sound was our footsteps on the stone floor. It felt kind of creepy
to be here alone, after hours.

I wouldn’t have been able to recall which room we’d been in, but she seemed sure of it. As we reached the open doorway, she
froze suddenly, like a gazelle picking up the scent of something possibly predatory.

“What is it?” I asked.

“There’s a light on,” Piper said in a hushed tone, using her chin to point down the hall ahead of us. I glanced in that direction
and saw a chink of light coming from beneath a doorway.

“Is someone here?” I asked, my voice as quiet as hers.

“No. It’s just funny. I swear I turned off the light and left the door open. Why don’t you look for your watch and I’ll check.”

She flicked on the light for me, and as she walked off down the hall, I made a beeline for the stool. I mouthed a big “Thank
you” to the gods when I spotted the Rolex lying there, all by its lonesome. As I slid it onto my wrist, I heard a scream.

With my heart thumping, I stumbled out into the hall. Piper was standing paralyzed in the doorway of the room down the corridor,
half in the room, half out.

“What’s the matter?” I yelled.

She turned to me with a look of absolute horror on her face, unable to form even a single word. I rushed down the hall, pushing
past her into the room. It was another massage room, though slightly larger than the one I’d been in. The lights were dim,
and at first nothing seemed amiss. Then my eyes fell to the floor.

Lying on the stone floor, absolutely still, was a body, or at least what I thought must be a body. Every inch of it was wrapped
up in some kind of silver paper. I could see the outlines of the limbs and the torso and the head, and the outline too of
the nose, protruding from the face. It looked like some kind of mummy. Like some horrible mummy from outer space.