Massage & Murder (A Cozy Spa Mystery Book 1)

by Jenn Cowan

  Massage & Murder

  A Cozy Spa Mystery

  Jenn Cowan

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  A Note From The Author

  About the Author

  Other Books by the Author:

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 Jenn Cowan

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of author.

  1

  Someone is trying to break into the spa. A person in a black hoodie is rattling the back door. It’s ten a.m.; the spa is open. Why are they trying to get in the back door? The sign clearly states, Employee’s Only.

  I lock my jeep without clicking the alarm in order to not draw attention to myself. The thought of locking my jeep never occurs to me in the small town of Daysville. There’s never any crime. We had a few broken windows from bored high schoolers over the past few months, but otherwise our town is crime free.

  Snow starts to fall around me and the bitter wind is biting my cheeks. I can smell wood burning probably from the fireplace in the spa. I’m tempted to call out to this person, after all this is Daysville. Everyone knows everyone and if someone needs help, you help them, but something in my gut tells me to just watch. So, I do.

  The person is medium height and medium build although I can’t be too sure as they may be wearing layers. I can hear the scraping of metal like they’re trying to pick the lock. What are they doing?

  Someone blares a car horn in the parking lot next door. The person jumps and glances around. Their face is covered with a black ski mask. They see me and take off.

  “Hey!” I call out hurrying toward them. My boots slap across the pavement then slip on a patch of ice and before I know it, I’m on my backside. Pain shoots down my hip, but I catch a glimpse of the SUV as it peels out of the parking lot. It’s black with out of state plates. Which state I can’t be sure, but it’s not a Missouri plate. The numbers are blurry; I really need glasses.

  I reach for my phone and dial the police station. Debra’s pitchy voice greets me. “Debra, it’s Autumn. Someone was trying to break into the spa.”

  “You’re kidding!” she gasps as if this is the most shocking thing she’s ever heard, which it probably is. Jaywalking and speeding are our biggest crimes.

  “No, I’m not. They’re driving a black SUV. Out of state plates, but I didn’t catch the license number.”

  “I’ll send someone right over.”

  “Thank you.” I hang up, brush myself off and limp into the spa. What a way to start a Monday. I slip my key in the lock, it sticks, but only for a moment. Once it turns, I hurry into the spa making sure it’s shut and locked behind me.

  A familiar whiny voice floats into the employee break room. “I’ve been waiting ten minutes for a massage. The sign says, Walk-in’s Welcome, is that not the case?”

  I envision April with her blond bob, Barbie type body and designer suit pointing to the green sign with bold black letters on the door to the spa. A heel claps on the tile floor. More ranting ensues. I sigh and hang my wool coat on the rack next to the door. Static from my scarf causes my copper colored ponytail to spark like a lighter out of fluid. I straighten my black scrubs and stomp my black boots one more time on the Welcome rug to ensure all the snow is off. My hip still hurts so I limp toward the medicine cabinet and scrounge for the Arnica Cream. It’s my miracle cream for all bruises and sore muscles. I slather it on and place it back in the cabinet.

  “What happened to you?”

  I jump and spin around, not realizing anyone else was in the breakroom. “Oh, hi Sally. I fell on the ice. Someone was trying to break in. Did you hear or see anything?”

  Sally glances out the window. “I just sat down before you came in. I only heard your keys.” She shrugs and goes back to flipping through her magazine like someone breaking into the spa is no big deal. Of course, she is from Chicago so maybe this sort of thing happens all the time in her neck of the woods.

  I sigh and scoop up my blue “Breathe” tea mug from the dish rack then plop in two bags of chamomile tea before filling it with hot water from the tea kettle on the stove. I let the herbs fill my senses. Peaceful. Calming. Isn’t that what a spa is supposed to be? Not when April graces us with her presence. I can still hear her whining.

  April Biggs.

  Ex-beauty queen.

  Blond, busty and beautiful.

  The town’s queen bee.

  Well, in her eyes. In everyone else’s she’s a pain in the…well let’s just say we tolerate her. Why? Because it’s what we do. Our little town of Daysville, MO is full of Southern charm although we’re not really Southerners. We’re at the tip of Missouri almost in Arkansas so we’re close, right?

  Anyway, we always smile. Use our manners. Never gossip on Sundays and pretend we love April Biggs.

  Why?

  Because her family runs this town.

  Her grandfather was Mayor before he died last year of a heart attack. Now, her father is the Mayor. Her grandmother and mother have since passed. Cancer. God Rest Their Souls. They were staples in the community. Volunteering at the hospital, organizing fundraisers, supporting various charities and ensuring everyone knew the latest gossip.

  April has taken their place only with less class, and way less grace. She tries, but she doesn’t hold a candle to them. Her husband owns pretty much every building in town except for this spa. Not that he hasn’t tried to buy out Vicky.

  Vicky’s my boss. She’s a stubborn spitfire of a woman. Determined to pass the spa onto her daughter, Bethany.

  Speaking of Bethany, I can hear her typing away on the computer, trying to re-arrange appointments to fit April into the schedule. “Sally is available now, but you requested another therapist.”

  I sneak a peek at Sally slouched on the plaid couch pretending to read the latest tabloid gossip. Her black hair is pulled back into a bun at the base of her neck and her black scrubs are practically hanging off her. Dark circles rim her brown eyes and stand out against her pale skin. She reminds me of a vampire except her teeth are perfect. Not a sharp tooth in sight. She sighs and tosses the magazine on the coffee table when April’s voices screeches from the front, “You bet I want another therapist. That girl shouldn’t have wasted her money on massage school. She massages like she’s fluffing hair. Should have been a hairdresser instead of a massage therapist.”

  I cringe. April isn’t wrong, but does she have to be so blunt…so rude? Wait, it’s April, of course she does.

  I open my mouth to say something encouraging to Sally when I hear my name.

  “Autumn has a client at eleven, but usually comes in early. I’m sure sh
e can work you in.”

  Guess that’s my cue.

  “I don’t have time to wait. My schedule is packed today. I simply want someone to work out this kink in my neck before the ladies luncheon this afternoon.”

  “We just opened so Sally and Josh are our only two therapists here. Josh just went in with someone so unless you want Sally, you’ll have to wait for Autumn.” I hear Bethany sigh. Envision her flipping her brown braid over her shoulder. It’s what she does when she’s frustrated. “We do have some openings this afternoon if you would like me to schedule you after your luncheon.”

  Another sigh. This time from April. “If Walk-ins aren’t available then you should take down the sign until they are available. It’s bad business. Either hire more therapists, BETTER therapists or don’t advertise for walk-ins.” Nails tap on the counter then another sigh. “Someone should open another spa. Daysville is growing.” Silence hangs like dark thunder clouds before the storm. “Maybe that should be my new business venture.”

  I hear a click, probably April opening her expensive hand bag. Another clap. Heels clicking along the tile floor. “Bobby. I know what I want to do for our next building project.” A jingle of the bell over the spa door, a blast of cold air then silence. Bethany must have pointed to the ‘No Cell Phone’ sign. At least now the spa’s quiet.

  I cast a glance back to Sally only she’s disappeared. The bathroom door is shut, and I hear soft whimpers from behind the door.

  I’m torn.

  Comfort Sally or save Bethany?

  I start toward the bathroom.

  “Oh, Autumn. Thank goodness. Mrs. Biggs is here demanding a massage from anyone other than Sally.” She glances around then rolls her eyes.

  I smile, press a finger to my lips and gesture toward the bathroom. “I think I can fit her in. Also, a detective should be by soon. Someone was trying to break into the spa.”

  Bethany gasps. “Break in? When?”

  “A couple of minutes ago. I saw them when I pulled up. Someone honked, they saw me and took off. I slipped on the ice chasing them.” I rub my hip.

  “Oh no! Are you ok?” Bethany touches my arm.

  “Nothing a little Arnica cream can’t fix.”

  “That stuff is amazing. Used it right after I hit my leg on the coffee table and didn’t even get a bruise.”’

  The bell chimes out front.

  “She’s back,” Bethany groans and hands me April’s file.

  I glance back at the bathroom door. The whimpering’s stopped. Maybe Sally just needs some space. I can catch up with her over lunch although the girl barely says more than a couple of sentences to anyone.

  My boots squeak against the tile floor. I slow my pace and stand on my tiptoes as I pass the Green room even though it’s not necessary. These walls are practically sound proof. Perfect to ensure client confidentiality. Since the door is closed, Josh must be with a client.

  Josh Parker is my best friend. He’s also my neighbor. We’ve lived next door to each other since we were born. Our parents are best friends hence we’re best friends. When our parents retired to Florida they sold us their houses. Well, actually they gave us their houses.

  His house is a bright blue and mine, a bright yellow. We joke that I’m the sun and he’s my sky. The metaphor isn’t wrong. I’m the social butterfly; usually the center of everything while he hangs around ensuring no one messes with me.

  He’s my dream guy. Dark hair, blue eyes, athletic build, tall but not towering and boy, can the guy give an incredible massage. A muffled moan from behind the door seconds that. We went to massage school right out of high school. He wanted to transition into physical therapy and work with athletes, but decided against it for some unknown reason he refuses to share with me…his best friend.

  Am I bitter?

  Maybe.

  Anyway, in massage school the girls swooned. Even some of the guys. Between his pretty boy good looks and his hands, which are strong, magical and healing, he’s nearly perfect.

  Why just nearly perfect?

  Because there’s no spark. No fire. He’s like my brother. Always teasing me. Making me smell his armpit. He’s also extremely quiet and shy in public. Around me, he won’t stop talking, but he hates crowds. Hates socializing. Would rather stay home and read a book than go to a football game. We’re so opposite it’s painful. Except when it comes to massage.

  Massage is the one thing we have in common. We love everything about it, how everything in the body is connected. It’s like a map and we’re the navigators. This muscle connects to this one and this point corresponds to this organ. It’s all so interesting and rewarding.

  We heal people. Make them feel better. Help them relax. Forget the world. Forget their problems. Give them a safe space to just be. To breathe. Hence my tea cup. I take another sip letting the chamomile calm my nerves and brace myself for April. Did I mention she’s my mortal enemy?

  “Oh, Autumn.” She rolls her eyes and wrinkles her nose as if I smell. I turn my head and sniff just in case. Lavender and vanilla. My favorite lotion. She must be snarling at the thought of me touching her. Josh usually works on her, but he’s busy. Sally isn’t good enough so I guess she’s stuck with me. Believe me, I’m not very excited about it either. She sighs. “Can you fit me in?” she mutters.

  I nod. Keeping my face expressionless and stoic. I’m a professional. I can do this.

  She sighs again. “The women’s luncheon is in an hour, so I only have about thirty minutes and my neck’s killing me. Just be sure not to mess up my hair. You do have a towel or a cap to keep oil from getting in it, don’t you?” April pats her blond bob.

  “Of course.” I grit my teeth and plaster on a smile. “We’ll be in the blue room.” I escort her down the long hallway and hold open the last door on the right. “Remove as much clothing as you’re comfortable with and please remove your jewelry. I will have you start face down and—

  April waves me off. “I know the drill. Don’t go far. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes and close the door behind her still gritting my teeth. My jaw starts to ache, so I take a deep breath and set down my tea mug before making a note in April’s chart. I walk back toward the reception area to snag a couple of heat packs. I overhear Bethany on the phone. She must be talking to her mom because she sounds upset.

  “Mrs. Biggs is going to open another spa. She was just talking about it with her husband. It’s going to be their new project. Daysville can’t support two spas. They’ll sink us. With all their money, we won’t have a chance.”

  I’m straining to hear what else she’s saying to her mother when Sally comes out of the bathroom.

  Her eyes are puffy and her nose is red. She spots the heat packs in my hands and asks, “Working on the ice queen?”

  I smirk and nod.

  “Good luck,” she says before heading back into the break room.

  I’ll need it.

  2

  I head back down the hall, slip into the blue room and adjust the sheets. A half an hour massage is never long enough. It’s a spot massage, so I’ll focus solely on April’s neck and pray I don’t strangle her.

  Just kidding.

  I’m a professional.

  Mortal enemies or not.

  I place a hair wrap around her bob and set the heat packs on her back and neck.

  The silence is awkward and heavy. Luckily, massage sessions are usually quiet so we don’t have to talk. Nor do I want too.

  I place a pillow underneath her ankles.

  April’s grating voice startles me. “I’m going to open a new spa across town.” She turns her head and rests her cheek on the face rest.

  I almost groan out loud. Talking to April is something I avoid at all costs. It’s too painful. Too emotional. Too traumatizing. It’s been fifteen years. I should be over it. I am over it. I straighten my shoulders, take a deep breath and force myself to ask, “Really? Why?”

  April huffs and
waves her hand. “Vicky’s Spa is a joke. I mean I had to wait until you came in to get a massage. She shouldn’t advertise for walk-ins if therapists aren’t available.”

  “Sally was available,” I say through gritted teeth as I oil my hands and knead her feet.

  She snorts. “That girl is awful. She should have never become a massage therapist.”

  I dig deeply into the sole of her foot.

  “A little too much, Autumn,” she gasps.

  I reduce my pressure, smile and apologize although secretly it gave me great satisfaction. When April doesn’t say anything else I spend a few more minutes on her feet before sanitizing my hands and moving to her back and neck.

  April sighs and says, “Don’t you think Vicky’s Spa is outdated?” She doesn’t give me time to answer before continuing, “I mean the décor out front…yuck. White walls, plaid couches and green tile.” April shutters. “I’ve been to spas in New York and they’re so modern. Clean lines. Leather couches. Water features. Soft music playing throughout the spa not just in the treatment rooms. Spring water with cucumbers. Facials, body wraps, pedicures, manicures.”

  “We have all those services.”

  April nods. “The same services. Nothing new. Vicky hasn’t changed her menu or the decor in years. This room is so blue. Blue walls. Blue sheets. Blue rug. Blue chair. I wouldn’t be surprised if the massage table itself were blue. I mean I’m all for themes, but this is ridiculous.”

  I glance around the room at the worn carpet, chipping paint and frayed rug. The heat packs are continuously being patched when rice starts to fall out of them and the hot towel cabi and electric blankets are on their last legs. Some days they work and others they don’t. Vicky does need to update things a bit, but I wasn’t about to agree with April.