A Body to Die For (6 page)

“Tomorrow. I tried to reach him on his cell phone tonight, but he’s obviously turned it off for the night.”

The room Danny had taken for herself was on the first floor. After waiting for the door to close behind her, I hurried down
the corridor and up the front staircase to the second floor. Though the lights were on along my corridor, the far end was
thick with shadows, and I unlocked my door quickly, slammed it behind me, and turned the dead bolt.

As soon as I had the door to my room locked behind me, I kicked off my shoes, tore off my clothes, and flung myself onto the
end of the bed. I felt overwhelmed with so many emotions, it was hard to tell which ones were dominant and which had just
decided to home in on the action. The alpha feeling was clearly the distress and
guilt
I was experiencing about Anna’s death. If I’d only reported the thud. It might not have saved her life, but her killer might
have been apprehended. I was also highly distressed about Danny. If the police didn’t arrest someone soon, this event really
could
end up harming her business. I wanted to do everything in my power to help her.

And it wasn’t just for Danny’s sake. It was because of my mother, too. What can I say? She’d asked me to help, and I have
an endless need to please her. It’s not that she’s ever pressured me to be the dutiful daughter, but in the early years after
my father died, she was often reserved and detached, and I worked like a little beaver to maker her happy. Old habits die
hard.

I was also experiencing some déjà vu. Five months ago, I’d set out to help my boss at
Gloss,
Cat Jones, when her nanny had been poisoned to death. My life had ended up in jeopardy, and I knew that playing detective
in Danny’s situation could put me in danger as well. But if there was something I could do, I knew I had to make the attempt—for
Danny’s sake, and Anna’s, too.

As I lay on the bed like a big blob, I began to detect yet another feeling: a swelling of self-pity. I’d come to the spa to
be pampered, to take my mind off my love woes and my pathetic social life, and now I felt lonelier than when I’d left Manhattan.
How nice it would have been to have a man to call right now for comfort. Specifically Jack Herlihy. He had that shrink gift
of being a great listener, someone who could drag every sorry feeling out of you into the light of day, where you could then
watch it shrivel to the size of a chickpea. He wouldn’t have minded being awakened at two
A.M.
and listening to the whole terrible tale.

Instantly I kicked myself for even thinking of Jack, and worse for trying to romanticize him. The man had dumped me, and done
it as rudely as possible. I’d read once in
Gloss
that if you find yourself yearning for an ex, you can drive away the feeling by imagining him in a humiliating moment. I
pictured Jack walking down the streets of Georgetown in his perfectly pressed tan gabardine pants and a passing FedEx truck
spattering every inch of those pants in wet mud. Unfortunately, in my current state of fatigue and despair, that was the best
I could do.

I dragged myself, sea otter–like, to the top of the bed, wiggled under the covers, and hit the off button on the base of the
lamp. I was torn between my need to sleep so I could start the next day at full throttle and my desire to plot out what I
would do tomorrow. I was anxious to look at Danny’s financial records, and there were people I wanted to talk to. I just had
to be careful not to tip off Detective Beck that I was going to be his secret junior partner on the case.

As I lay in the dark, a question suddenly formed in my mind. I’d dropped Danny off only ten minutes ago, so I doubted she’d
be asleep yet. I hauled myself up in bed, picked up the phone, and hit seven plus her room number.

“It’s Bailey,” I said. “So sorry to disturb you, but I had a quick question.”
“Yes, dear.”

“The heart attack victim. What masseuse had he gone to?”

“Actually,” she said, “it was Anna.”

S
ATURDAY MORNING ARRIVED
as cheerful as a sledgehammer. I woke to the patter of rain on the roof and the kind of throbbing headache you get when you’re
a caffeine addict like me and are forced to temporarily subsist on lukewarm lemony water.

I heaved myself out of bed with one thrust. As soon as I had both feet on the ground, memories of the night before stampeded
through my brain. I groaned out loud. My trip to the Cedar Inn could easily turn out to be the most
un
rejuvenating spa weekend in recorded history.

After a fast shower, I fished Detective Beck’s business card out of my purse. My priority this morning was helping Danny figure
out if something fishy had been going on at the spa, but I wanted to get my trip to police headquarters out of the way. A
woman answered the phone, and after putting me on hold for more than a minute, she informed me that I should plan to be there
at eleven-thirty. It sounded closer to a command than a request. I wondered if the person she’d consulted was Detective Beck
himself.

After throwing on tan pants and a black turtleneck sweater, I headed downstairs. The lobby was bustling, mostly with rich-looking
women over forty and a few tottering husbands whose millions had not been able to keep the liver spots at bay. There was a
hyper hum in the air, which suggested people knew something big and bad had happened. Yet no one was charging out of the building
with bulging suitcases, looking indignant and demanding a refund.

I asked the morning desk clerk, a guy this time, where I could find Danny, and he reported that she was off-site somewhere
but would return shortly. This, I decided, would be my opportunity to grab breakfast. First, however, I wanted to check out
what was happening at the spa. I walked outside and headed around the east side of the building. The rain had tapered off,
but it was damp and raw out. As I crossed the parking lot, I saw that the police zone had been broadened to include a much
larger area. Cops were walking along the perimeter of the parking lot, obviously using the daylight to scour for evidence,
and through the spa window I could detect movement inside. No sign, however, of the dashing Detective Beck.

Back inside the inn, I followed a long corridor toward the dining room. Like the rest of the inn, the decor was charming but
not cutesy—more brown-and-white check as well as brown-and-white toile, and along the walls there were a dozen framed prints
of leaves. I was shown to a window table with mismatched antique wooden chairs. Though the room was only half-filled with
diners, there was a nervous hum here, too. People were clearly buzzing about the murder but weren’t sure what to
do.

Fifteen minutes later, after wolfing down a blueberry muffin and a cup of coffee, I hurried back to the lobby, where the desk
clerk revealed that Danny was back. As I walked toward her office, I saw that a dark-haired guy in his thirties was standing
just inside the doorway, obviously on his way out. I stepped into the office, and before I could even say hello, Danny introduced
us. It was Josh, the spa manager.

“I’m so sorry to meet you under such terrible circumstances,” I said, holding out my hand. His handshake turned out to be
more of a hard squeeze than a grasp, like someone using a grip strengthener.

“Likewise,” he said, cocking his head. He was extremely hunky looking and buff, with dark brown eyes and pale, almost milky
skin that was in sharp contrast with his nearly black hair. He had a thin, jaggedy scar running along the lower right side
of his jaw, which elevated his face from merely a model of perfect bone structure to something more intriguing.

“Danny was hoping we could still meet later, though,” I said. “If it’s all right with you.”

“Of course,” he said evenly. “The show must go on. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have plenty of fires to put out.”

As he strode out of the room, I turned my attention to Danny. Her face was saggy with fatigue, but she’d applied lipstick
and a smear of pink on each cheek, clearly attempting to appear pulled together and in control. As we hugged, I caught the
scent of sandalwood again and other smells that suggested far-off places, even other centuries.

“You holding up okay?” I asked.

“More or less,” she said with a deep sigh. “I’m so grateful you’re here, Bailey.”

“What’s the latest?”

“I don’t know where to begin. I went to the morgue this morning and confirmed that it was Anna. It was heartbreaking to see
her. Her body was mostly covered, but I could see these awful bruises along the top of her neck.”

“Then she must have been strangled or bludgeoned somehow. I wonder why the killer wrapped her in the Mylar. Maybe he wanted
to be absolutely certain she was dead.”

“I can’t bear to even think about it. The police called her sister, and she’s flying up from Florida at some point this week.”

“Have the police let anything slip about what happened?”

“Nothing. They had me walk through the spa with Josh this morning, and there’s no sign of anything missing. Apparently Eric
got quite the grilling, just as you said he would. I spoke to him this morning and he says that he left the spa at ten and
let his client out with him because she wasn’t going to bother changing out of her robe. He last saw Anna in the corridor,
waiting for her client to come out of the treatment room. From the spa he went directly to a birthday party in town.”

“So he’s got an alibi of sorts. What about things here at the inn? Have you lost any business because of what’s going on?”

“No—not yet, anyway. Josh and I have decided that we’re going to use the beauty salon to do treatments.”

She explained that the staff was currently in the process of setting up the waxing and facial rooms to handle massages and
that they would also offer them in guest rooms. The spa was going to be off-limits for several days, at least, but fortunately
they had extra massage tables and equipment stored in one of the outbuildings.

“I know things are going to be crazy,” I said, “but I’d like you to have Josh try to squeeze me in for a few treatments. Ideally,
I’d like to have some contact with Eric—and with Cordelia, too, since she’s a chatterbox.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” she said.

I also asked that she book me a lesson with the tennis pro, the one who’d been seen buzzing around Anna. His name was Rich
Wyler, she said, and he worked on a freelance basis. The inn wasn’t big enough to require a full-time teaching pro, so they
used a floater, someone who gave lessons at half a dozen hotels in the area. Part of his deal included free massages at the
spa. Danny said she’d have Natalie track him down and schedule something, probably for tomorrow.

“One more thing,” I told her. “I want to chat with Anna’s last client. Are you okay with me popping by her room? I thought
I could tell a little white lie and say I handle PR for you—and that you wanted me to make sure she was okay.”

“Actually that’s not a bad idea. Her name is Babs Hollingswood, and she and her husband are in room seventeen, on your floor.
I was hoping to contact her myself, but things have been insane.”

“Is George back yet, by the way?”

She pursed her lips, looking perplexed. “He’s not due back from his trip for a few hours,” she said. “I’m a little concerned
because I haven’t been able to reach him on his cell phone. He obviously has it turned off.”

“What kind of work is he involved in these days?” I asked.

She explained that George was now working with
her,
helping her expand the business. He’d gone to Boston to talk to someone about promoting the inn and spa for business retreats.
He had phoned her yesterday in the early evening, and the plan was for him to have dinner in Boston at seven with a potential
client, spend the night in a motel just outside the city, and be home by lunch today.

Oh God, I thought. I was in no position to criticize, having been married to a man who’d blown fifty grand on football pools
and pawned the jewelry he’d given me to prevent our apartment from being torched. But I didn’t like what I’d just heard from
Danny. Guys who glommed on to their wives’ businesses always gave me the creeps. Ditto for guys who went out of town, stayed
in motels, and failed to phone home.

Rather than add to her troubles, though, I assured her that everything was most likely fine. I’d have to see how I felt about
George when I finally met him.

“Now let’s talk financial records,” I said. “Have you got things computerized?”

“Yes, it’s all on a Quicken program.”

My volunteering to go through Danny’s financial records was on a par with my suggesting I should perform laparoscopic surgery
on someone’s knee, but I had a plan in my mind for how I was going to pull it off. Danny and I agreed that we would tackle
the project right after lunch. She was about to hold a meeting for the staff to explain to everyone what was going on. And
I, of course, had my appointment with Beck—he of the blistering stare.

As I came out from behind the front desk I saw hotel personnel moving along the corridor toward the dining room, obviously
assembling for the meeting with Danny. Spa staffers were recognizable in their khaki-colored T-shirts and matching drawstring
pants. I spotted a young Indian guy and figured that must be Eric. There was also a buxom blonde, very much an earth mother
type. That had to be Cordelia.