A Body to Die For (27 page)

“Just one more stop, Danny,” I said. “Show me where the Mylar paper is stored.”

We wound our way back to the front of the building. At the end of the corridor where Anna had been killed, Danny pulled open
the door of a storage closet and pointed to what looked like a giant box of aluminum foil, still unopened.

“This is how it comes,” she said. “One sheet is about as long as a body. According to Josh, there was a half-used box in here,
but the police must have confiscated it.”

“What about duct tape? Is that kept here, too?”

“Up there,” she said, pointing to an upper shelf where two unopened boxes sat. “But Bailey, if Anna did have a date that night
like you think she did, how would
he
have known about the closet—and the Mylar paper?”

“Well, he might be familiar with the spa. But also notice how close the closet is to the room Anna was killed in. Maybe he
had an urge to cover her, and when he opened the closet looking for a blanket, he stumbled on this.”

“Why
did
he wrap her that way? It’s so horrifying.”

“I have no idea. I spoke to a criminal profiler, and she said it was definitely significant. That it meant something to him.
Look, Danny, I know this sounds crazy, but could I get one of those wraps today—when the spa reopens?”

“Why would you possibly want one, Bailey—considering everything that’s happened?”

“Because it might spark an idea. It’s been so helpful for me to be here today, to—”

The door slammed, and we both jerked in surprise. We heard sounds coming from the front reception area, footsteps and the
swish of plastic bags. Josh had evidently returned.

Quickly and quietly I closed the closet door. As I was about to give Danny a suggestion that we walk toward reception, Josh
appeared in the hallway. He was wearing dark denim jeans and a crisp white dress shirt, tucked in but no belt, and his hair
was slightly damp and slicked back, as if he’d washed his hands and, without drying them, run them through his hair.

“What’s going on?” he asked, glancing pointedly at me with a look that demanded an explanation.

“I wanted to look over everything one more time before the staff descended,” Danny said hurriedly. “By the way, Bailey would
love to try one of our wraps today. Is it possible to arrange?”

“A wrap? Goodness, aren’t we feeling adventurous. Unfortunately, however, Hildaco is off today.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“I gave her the whole week off, since there was no easy way to do the wraps in the salon. But—but Cordelia could do one. She
does them sometimes as a backup.”

I would have expected him to be annoyed by any request I’d made, but he seemed borderline enthusiastic about this one. Maybe
he was enjoying the thought of the discomfort I’d feel with my entire body smeared in hot mud.

“Cordelia would be fine,” I said.

“It’s not going to be quite the same degree of expertise as one of our Eastern European specialists,” he said, the sarcasm
rising in his voice. “But then I assume you’re just doing it for background research.”

“We’d better be getting back to the office,” Danny said, obviously trying to hurry us out of there. “Josh, you can leave a
message there for Bailey when you work out a time. Good luck with everything today. I’ll stop back over later.”

We both turned to go when Josh interrupted.

“Bailey, could you stay, please? There are a few things I wanted to add to what we’d talked about the other day.”

Danny shot me a concerned glance, but I told Josh yes, fine. I didn’t feel in any danger since Danny knew he was with me.

“So why don’t you tell me what your game is?” he demanded as soon as we heard the faint
swoosh
of the side door closing behind Danny.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” I said.

“No?” he said snidely. “Well, I did a search on the collected writings of Bailey Weggins, and your travel oeuvre consists
of exactly two articles, one of which is about a trek through the hills of the Equator. Not exactly the wide world of spas,
is it?”

“That was just for last year. I’ve certainly covered spas in the past.”

“What I
did
see was about a billion articles on Ted Bundy, the next generation. You’re some kind of crime writer, aren’t you?”

“I
also
write crime articles, yes,” I said. “What of it?”

“I just find it very interesting that you’re a crime writer who shows up at the spa under the guise of giving Danny feedback
and four minutes later there’s a dead body on the premises.”

“So you’re wondering if
I
killed Anna?”

“
Did
you?”

“Right. So what’s your point, Josh?”

“I’m wondering why exactly you came here—and then why the hell you came back.” As he tensed his jaw in anger, the snake scar
began to writhe.

“It’s actually none of your business, but I don’t mind telling you—
again.
I’m helping Danny, just like I explained before. Because she’s in a jam and she needs friends right now. Unfortunately, when
you’re a successful businesswoman like she is, you can’t always be sure who you can count on—and who you can’t.”

As the implication of my words registered, I thought his head might explode off his body.

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?” he asked, clearly furious.

“Just what I said. Danny needs to be around someone she can trust completely. Yes, I write crime stories. And you’d be surprised
at all the unscrupulous things going on in this world. Now, since I take it you don’t have anything to offer for my project
for Danny, please excuse me.”

I could sense him glaring at me as I walked down the corridor. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d stepped into a treatment
room, picked up one of the stools, and hurled it at the back of my head. As soon as I’d released the bolt on the door and
stepped into the inn, I regretted my last comments to him. In a split second I’d decided to be provocative, try to flush him
out. But all I’d accomplished was to make him as mad as a bull charging through the streets of Pamplona. He had learned I
was a crime writer. He knew I liked to snoop. Now he knew I suspected him of something.

I wanted to catch up with Danny, but I was famished and I knew the only way to get lunch was to order room service or drive
someplace. I selected option A. I went back to my room and ordered a box lunch with coffee. Since it would be a few minutes,
I decided to return Jack’s call. There was every chance he was in class, so I could leave a message at his office without
having to go into detail about my whereabouts. I was surprised when he picked up.

“So you’re alive,” he said. Not in a testy way. Just an undercurrent of curiosity—like where had I
been?

“Yes, alive and out of town, actually. That’s why I’ve been hard to reach.”

“You on a story?”

“Kind of. Well, no, not really. But it does involve a crime. I had wanted to tell you this whole saga Monday night, but you…
well, you did such a beautiful job of taking my mind off it, I never got the chance.”

“And what saga is that?” he asked in the even tones of a shrink.

I launched into it then. Most of the big details, but not all the little ones. I left out the part about me being chased in
the woods and the mouse and my room being searched—just a few minor details—because I didn’t want to alarm him. I felt oddly
defensive, which I shouldn’t have. I had every right to be here, helping Danny. I knew my guilt was all related to the Beck
business.

“It sounds like a potentially dangerous situation,” Jack said when I had finished. Still even toned, but I picked up an undercurrent
of concern.

“I couldn’t say no to Danny,” I told him. “I really couldn’t. I’m not going to be here all that long, anyway—and I’m being
careful.”

“You were careful last spring and look what happened. You ended up nearly getting killed.”

“Jack, you’re making me feel like a ten-year-old.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you.”

I felt the slightest urge to snap back with, “Like you were last summer?”

“I appreciate that,” was what I said instead.

“So are we still on for Saturday night?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. I plan to be out of here by Saturday morning at the latest. I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

After we’d signed off and I’d set the phone down, I imagined him in his office at Georgetown, analyzing our conversation just
as I was about to do. I still
did
want to be with him this weekend, and I was glad I hadn’t done anything to rock the boat. At least until I was sure what
boat I was sailing on.

Before I rose from the chair, I saw that the message light was blinking. In the bright light of the afternoon, I hadn’t noticed
it before. I punched the code to retrieve the message. It was from Beck. Brief and almost curt. Please call him.

Oh boy. A man answered when I called with a brusque, “Warren Police.” I asked for Beck and waited, my whole body tense in
anticipation. Keep it light, I told myself. Don’t be a smart-ass.

“It’s Bailey—returning your call,” I said when he picked up the phone.

“Everything okay over there?”

“Seems to be,” I said, resisting the urge to announce that no dead bodies had surfaced today. “Any news on the mouse?”

“Not yet,” he said. “Look, I was wondering if you were going to be around later.”

“How later? There’s one thing I was hoping to do this afternoon.”

“Later later. I’m working tonight. I thought you might want to grab a drink after that.”

“Sure. That—”

“Good. I’ll meet you out front, then—at nine.”

My heart went into the familiar canter. I was going to see him again. Maybe kiss him again. Maybe more. I felt a wave of guilt.
I had just hung up from Jack, making promises about the weekend, and now here I was fantasizing about Beck. A guy would never
feel this kind of guilt, I realized. Men thought nothing of having two, two, two lusts in one.

My box lunch arrived and I decided to eat it outside in the garden. After sticking it in my tote bag along with my composition
book, I headed downstairs, planning to stop first in Danny’s office. She was on the phone but motioned that she would be off
in a second.

“What did Josh want?” she asked, setting down the phone. “I was concerned he might have some hidden agenda.”

“Oh, yeah—he did. He was wondering what
my
real agenda was. He suspects, I think, that I’m playing amateur PI, and he’s not happy about it.”

“He called a few minutes ago to say he’d scheduled you for a wrap. We’re closing the spa at seven tonight, but Cordelia can
do it at six. Do you really want to go through with it, Bailey?”

I assured her I did, that it might give me a new perspective on what had happened. It was finally time to broach the subject
of George’s indiscretion. She could tell by the look on my face that I had something on my mind.

“What is it, dear?” she asked.

“There’s something I want to discuss with you, Danny. When I asked you yesterday if you had ever had reason not to trust George,
you—your answer sounded kind of funny to me. I’ve been wondering if—”

“
Funny?
” she asked, clearly perturbed. “I’m not following at all what you mean.”

“I wondered whether there might actually have been some problem in the past.” I didn’t dare mention what George had told me
for fear of creating further trouble between the two of them.

“Bailey, I would hope that you of all people would have some respect for my privacy in these matters.”

In all the years I’d known her, Danny had never once expressed annoyance at me—until now. I felt my face turning red in discomfort.

“Danny, I’m so sorry if I offended you. I just thought there might be something you wanted to discuss but didn’t know how.”

She looked away, and an excruciatingly awkward pause followed.

“There isn’t,” she said, still not making eye contact. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there are some things I need to take care
of.”

I slunk out of her office like a dog who’s been caught chewing the heels off a pair of shoes. I had now managed to get on
just about everyone’s shit list, including Danny’s. But then what should I have expected? I was stirring things up, asking
rude questions, withholding information. The only person who didn’t seem miffed at me was Beck, and that was because he was
clueless as to how much I was withholding from
him.

Tote bag in hand, I left the inn and walked over to the gardens, taking a seat on one of the weathered wooden benches. It
was slightly warmer than when I’d been out earlier, but still nippy, not the best of days for a picnic. But I needed the fresh
air—and I certainly wasn’t going back into the nature reserve for a hike. I ate my overstuffed sandwich without enjoyment,
struggling all the time to keep the lettuce and tomato from slipping into my lap.

After I’d wadded the paper wrapper back into the box, I popped the lid on the coffee cup and opened my composition book. I
began jotting down notes about the murder. George’s remarks about his indiscretion, my conversations with Piper and Eric and
Josh, my observations of the spa, especially the dressing area: I imagined Anna at the counter, combing her hair, not knowing
that the only thing she was getting ready for was death. I needed to speak to Piper again before she took off. I sensed she’d
been truthful when she’d told me she didn’t know if Anna was seeing anyone, but maybe some odd, seemingly insignificant detail
she knew of Anna’s life might point me in the right direction.

What I
couldn’t
imagine was how the Mylar paper fit into everything. I wrote down the words, followed by an equals sign. Parker Lyle, the
profiler, had told me it was meaningful—but how? Had the murderer simply wanted to cover her, as homicidal maniacs sometimes
do, and grabbed the closest thing he could find? Or did the Mylar have some special significance? I just couldn’t imagine.

I thought about my trip to Wallingford. Now that I suspected Anna had been expecting someone the night she was killed, digging
up her past in Wallingford seemed like a waste of time and energy. Yet I didn’t want to leave any road unexplored.