A Body to Die For (22 page)

She wasn’t at all what I had expected. She appeared to be at least ten years older than Anna and on the heavy side. Her thick
dark hair, streaked with gray, was tied back with a black ribbon. She was wearing a plain rayony blue suit, more appropriate
for Florida weather than here, over a white blouse, and her shoes were the kind of comfy pumps that are supposed to energize
your feet as you wear them. As for the grief factor, she had deep circles under her eyes, though she looked more dazed than
distraught.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, joining Danny on the sofa. I noticed that coffee had been poured into two cups, but
neither Danny nor Connie appeared to be drinking it. “Is Green your married name?”

“Yes. My maiden name’s Gianelli.”

“So Anna…?”

“Was married once. Just for a few years. But she kept that name. She always hated the Italian.”

“Connie was just telling me about her visit with the police,” Danny said, interjecting. “It was very trying.”

“You met with Detective Beck?” I asked.

“No, with another man,” she said somberly. “But his name came up. Apparently he wasn’t available.”

Where was he? I wondered.

“Did the police give you any sense of how the investigation is going?” I asked. I doubted they would have told her much, but
they might have indicated whether an arrest was imminent.

“They say they’re working very hard on it, but they don’t seem to know anything,” Connie said. She shook her head in frustration
and despair. “I should have known something like this might happen.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, surprised. “Had someone threatened Anna?”

“Not threatened,” she said, locking eyes with me for the first time. They were almost black, just like Anna’s had been. “But
like I told the police, several months ago Anna said she thought she was being watched.”

“
Watched?
” Danny exclaimed, straightening in her seat. “This is the first I’ve ever heard of this.”

“She got the feeling someone was looking in her window at night,” Connie said. “And once she had the sensation someone was
following her car.”

“When did this happen?” Danny asked. “And I wonder why she didn’t tell us about it.”

“This past summer—in July, I think.” Connie massaged her forehead with her fingers as if she had the headache from hell. “I
told her back then that she should contact the police, but Anna didn’t like to be told what to do. It only lasted a few days,
and once it stopped, she just dismissed the whole thing.”

I flashed immediately on Matt Litchauer. It was the time his father had died at the spa. He would have learned that Anna was
his father’s massage therapist and he may have tried to check her out.

“You and Anna kept in touch regularly?” I asked.

Connie shook her head, her face pinched. “We never used to,” she said. “I’m much older than Anna, and we weren’t close growing
up. But we had started to talk a bit more after our mother died last year.”

The sun had set since we’d been in the room, and it had grown dark quickly. Danny stood and walked around the room, switching
on lamps. The light was cast downward, and it made the circles under Connie’s eyes even deeper.

“Do you know if Anna was dating anyone new?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t making her too uncomfortable with my questions.

“Not that I know of,” she said, sighing. “There was someone a while back—from the spa. That was over, though.”

“Does the name Rich Wyler ring a bell?” I pressed. “He’s the tennis pro here, and there was some talk she might have been
dating him.”

“No, it’s not a name I’ve heard before.”

“And what about Anna’s husband?” I asked. “Was there any resentment on his part? Is there any chance he could be responsible
for this?”

“I can’t imagine that. He was someone she met years ago—in her last year of high school. I doubt she’d talked to him in years.
No, it’s got to be some kind of monster.”

Connie lowered her face, holding her head with her fingertips. She was losing focus, and I knew I wouldn’t have much more
time with her.

“Where did you and Anna grow up?” I asked.

She lifted her face, hesitating a second before answering. “Wallingford. Wallingford, Connecticut.”

“Goodness,” Danny said, “that’s just a few hours from here.”

“Anything from that period worth noting?” I asked. “I mean, is there anything significant in Anna’s past that could have caught
up with her?” Her hesitation had reminded me of what Eve had said about old pain, buried deep.

“No, there’s nothing in her past worth mentioning,” Connie said. She rolled her lips in and pressed them tightly together.

I knew she was lying.

B
UT THERE WAS
nothing I could do about it. Her sister was dead, and it would be wrong to prod Connie or challenge her or beg her to tell
me what she knew. Instead, I was going to have to uncover the truth on my own.

Connie glanced at her watch and looked startled by the time—or maybe it was just a ruse to force the conversation away from
where I’d dragged it. She announced that she wanted to be on her way back to Albany. She was exhausted, and she had an early
plane to catch tomorrow.

She rose to leave, and Danny said she would accompany her to the front of the inn in order to make certain the driver was
ready. I hung behind, shooting Danny a look that indicated I would catch up with her later.

For the next few minutes, I sat alone on the couch in the solarium, staring out the windows into the darkness and yet seeing
nothing in the glass but myself staring back. With time to reflect, I was certain that Connie had information she wasn’t willing
to divulge. I’d read enough articles on body language and conducted enough interviews to know that when people lie, they often
touch their mouth with their hand as they’re speaking or pinch it shut afterward—it’s as if their subconscious is trying to
prevent them from prevaricating anymore. Of course, Connie didn’t owe me anything, but if there
was
a traumatic incident in Anna’s past, it might have played a role in her death—and I needed to know what it was.

One of the problems with this case, I realized, was that there were so many possible areas the murderer could have come from.
I had Anna’s love life to consider, as well as her sideline business, and then there was her past, which might hold some ugly
secret. Tomorrow morning, first thing, I would pay a visit to Piper to learn what I could about the most recent days and nights
of Anna Cole. As for Anna’s past, it looked as though I might have to do a road trip to Wallingford—and see what was buried
there.

After ten minutes of pondering in total solitude, I made my way back toward the front of the inn, down several long, dark
corridors. I passed no one except a frowning chambermaid hugging the walls. In the lobby, I discovered the front door open,
and Danny, wearing her poncho, stood outside on the top step, holding a set of car keys and peering into the cool autumn night.

“She’s gone?” I asked, joining her.

“Yes, she just drove off.”

I glanced back inside the inn to make sure no one was within earshot. Natalie was at the desk but appeared engrossed in a
phone conversation.

“The story she told us about Anna thinking she was being watched—you’d never heard anything about that?”

“No, not a word.”

“I wonder if it could have been that brutish Matt Litchauer,” I said. “He may have been checking her out after he’d heard
she was the one who’d massaged his father the night he died. I’m glad to hear she told the police. This may take their mind
off George.”

“Dear, I hope so. Speaking of which, I need to get back to the house. I want to be there to hear how George’s visit with the
lawyer went. I hate to abandon you like this, Bailey. If it were any other time, I’d invite you to dinner. You haven’t even
seen my home yet.”

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I’ll grab dinner in the dining room.”

“Well, that’s part of the reason I feel so guilty,” she said. “It’s not open for dinner during the week. I could have the
kitchen make you something and send it to your room.”

“I actually wouldn’t mind going out for dinner. Is there any place around? Other than the Bridge Street Tavern, that is?”

She named two decent restaurants on Route 11, the road off the turnpike. She said she’d be coming back to the inn later and
to leave a message if I needed anything. Lowering her voice, she confided that in addition to guest cancellations, several
people who worked at the inn had resigned and they were slightly short staffed.

Since there was no bellboy in sight, I picked up my bag and cooler from behind the front desk, took my room key, and headed
upstairs. I was in the same suite I’d been in over the weekend, though as I trudged up the front stairway, everything about
the inn felt different. It had been bustling with guests on the weekend, but now the halls were deserted. And while the old
rooms had looked so charming several nights ago, they now seemed somber, almost spooky.

I knew I would have to watch my back over the next few days. The mouse I was hauling in my cooler like a ham-and-cheese hero
had been a warning. I didn’t know if it had to do with the murder or the dirty dealings at the spa or both. But its message
was clear: stay away. With so few people around the inn, and so little activity, I needed to be very cautious.

The second-floor corridor was empty, and I looked up and down it as I unlocked my door. I switched on one light so I could
see and then put both the dead bolt and the chain on the door. My stomach was growling, but I took a few minutes to unpack
my bag and, feeling grungy from the long car ride, indulge in a quick shower. The soap of the day was citrus spice. As I lathered
my body with it, I could smell orange and clove and what might be anise. For a moment I imagined being in a place far away,
somewhere exotic and warm, and standing on a terrace lit with strands of lantern lights.

After throwing on black pants, a white T-shirt, and my black cashmere V-neck, I hurried downstairs, my jeans jacket over my
shoulder. I knew I needed to skedaddle, because in a town this size they liked to serve their last Salisbury steak no later
than nine. I said good night to Natalie and stepped outside onto the stoop, pausing while my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
As I stood there, a black car pulled up right in front of the inn. Two seconds later, Detective Beck stepped out of the far
side, zipping up his brown suede jacket. My heart jerked. It was as if I had conjured him up again, just as I had that day
in the woods.

He didn’t bother to disguise his surprise when he saw me.

“You didn’t leave?” he asked bluntly.

“I did, sort of,” I said, my heart at a canter, “but then Danny told me about George. She asked me to spend a few more days
here.” I climbed down the steps until I was standing near him in the driveway.

“Is Mrs. Hubner here now?” he asked.

“She’s gone home. Why? What’s going on?”

“She’d had some questions earlier in the week about security measures for when the spa reopened. I thought I’d stop by after
work and discuss it with her. And where do you think you’re going at this hour?”

“I’m in search of an Italian restaurant on Route 11. Leo’s, I believe it’s called.”

“You’re going alone?”

“Yes. Is that against the law in Warren?”

“No, but it might be a first at Leo’s,” he said, smirking. “Why don’t I escort you there? It’ll keep you out of trouble. Here,
get in.”

He opened the passenger door, clearly not expecting me to decline. What did this all mean, exactly? Was he actually going
to sit there and have a meal with me? Did he want to pump me for information about Danny and George? Or had I piqued his interest
as he had mine?

“I don’t bite,” he said as I hesitated for a second.

“Okay, fine,” I said. “But I’ve got something I need to show you. Can you wait a minute?”

I raced back upstairs to my room to retrieve the cooler. On the way back down again, I passed a couple in their thirties on
the stairs, and I felt relieved to know that the inn clearly wasn’t at zero percent occupancy.

Beck was already back in the car, but he pushed open the passenger door for me again. His car smelled of leather and coffee.

“You’re taking me on a picnic?” he asked as he eyed the cooler.

“No. And there’s not a donor kidney in here, either.”

I took a breath and slowly explained about the package. I told him I’d handled it with a tissue and had been as careful as
possible. There was a chance that he’d be miffed—because if someone had sent me a warning, it indicated that I’d been poking
my nose into things I shouldn’t have. But the look on Beck’s face registered mostly surprise.

“Was there a note?” he asked.

“No, nothing.”

“Who do you think sent it to you—and why?”

Careful, Bailey, I told myself.

“Well, I found the body. Maybe the murderer sent this. Maybe he thinks I saw something or know something and he wanted to
threaten me.”