“I don’t know. . . .” Sadie shuffled junk mail on her kitchen counter. “What if Martin knows all her Facebook friends and has access to her computer? Any story I give him could totally blow up in my face and then if he is the killer, I’ve done nothing but make him want to cover his ass even more by, say, shooting me in the head like Jane!”
“The guy is a dinosaur,” Dean assured her. “He doesn’t know Facebook from Myspace. Jane would joke that she had to read his work e-mails to him because he didn’t own a computer and didn’t know how to use one but he didn’t want his bosses to know that.”
“Fine. Whatever. I’ll talk to the guy.” Sadie’s office phone began to ring and she took off back to her den.
“Don’t forget to go for that massage too!” Dean called after her.
Being a good friend to the detective and repaying him for all his kindness in the past was turning out to be a huge pain in the ass.
She ran into her office and snatched up the cordless phone on her desk.
“Scene-2-Clean. How may I help you?”
“My name is Bill. I own a property on Southwest Brandon Street that had a crime take place a couple weeks ago.” Bill had a low, gravelly voice. “So the police said I can go back in the house now, but the detective mentioned we gotta get it cleaned properly. And your company does that kind of thing, right?”
Sadie fist-pumped the air and said a silent yes!
“That’s right, Bill. I heard about the unfortunate incident in the newspapers. If the residents were your friends, I’m sorry for your loss,” she said seriously.
“They were only my tenants but good folks as far as I know,” Bill continued. He cleared his throat. “I don’t live down that way; I’m over in Capitol Hill. Do I need to meet you at the house, or what?”
“There’s no reason you should have to leave your place. I can come to your home, get a key for the rental house, and go over my contract. Do you have the insurance information?”
Bill told her that he did. Sadie took down the address in Capitol Hill and arranged to be at his house in a couple hours. When she hung up the phone she started rubbing her hands together gleefully and whistling to herself.
“Good news?” Dean asked.
“Not for the victims but for me, yes.” Sadie smiled. “Detectives released a house that was the scene of a home invasion in West Seattle. Multiple gunshot victims. Four, I think, so bi-i-ig job. More than enough to buy both a baby swing and possibly a car seat.”
“Perfect! You’ll be going right past the car dealership, so you can go and talk to Martin.”
“Not today.”
She got to her feet and headed for the kitchen, bent on whipping up scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast with raspberry jam.
Dean followed her.
“But I heard you say you weren’t meeting him for a couple hours, so you’ve got time,” he pointed out.
“First of all, the client lives in Capitol Hill, so it’s not on the way. I have to go to his place first and get the key. Second, I’ll be taking the company van. A little hard to pull up to talk to Martin all incognito driving my large cube van with ‘Scene-2-Clean trauma clean specialists’ emblazoned on the sides.”
Dean narrowed his eyes. “You’re smarter than this. You know enough to park a block away and walk in.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Why is this like pulling teeth getting you to help me out?”
She knew why. For the first time she was scared. And not just for herself. For that oversized comma growing in her uterus.
“I know you’re anxious to get this cleared up. I want nothing more for you than to find out who really killed Jane. But I’m going to be busting my ass all day, most likely for two or three very full days, to get this job done. I’m working alone right now. No employees helping me out. Just me and I’m going to be exhausted.”
“Okay. I get it. Your body’s really going to take a beating, so you know what you need? A massage. Today would be a perfect day to squeeze in a massage before you start work. You can question that masseuse . . . what’s his name? Emilio! Right. He was the last person to see Jane alive. Maybe she said something to him.”
She looked at Dean and thought, You’re a real pain in the ass. But his eyes were desperate and there’d been many a time over the last few years when she’d been desperate and he’d helped her out. When her brother took his own life, Dean was there for her. When she started Scene-2-Clean he sent jobs her way when victims’ families needed clean up at trauma scenes, even though he could’ve just as easily sent the work to other companies.
“Fine, I’ll call the spa, but it’s the last minute, and they might be fully booked.”
Sadie dug out the brochure from her purse and dialed the number for Jonelle’s Spa. It wasn’t Zenia who answered so she mentioned her coupon and asked if they had any openings for a massage today with Emilio.
“Usually he’s booked weeks in advance, but there’s been an opening in his schedule. If you can be here within the hour I can squeeze you in with Emilio.”
“I’ll be there.”
Sadie put down her phone.
“I have to be there in an hour.” At his excited face Sadie told Dean, “Don’t get your hopes up. From what I already learned, this Emilio guy gave Jane her massage and then left her in a relaxed state, allowing her half an hour before he’d hurry her out the door. It was during that time that someone snuck in and shot her with your gun.” Sadie massaged her acidic belly with her fingertips. “And I don’t suppose you know how someone ended up with your gun?”
“I have no idea.”
“An experienced homicide detective like yourself wouldn’t just leave your gun lying around. Every time I ever saw you it was in a holster under your jacket.”
“What can I tell you? I seriously don’t remember what happened.” He put his palms up. “I remember following Jane to the spa and fighting with her in the entranceway, and then the manager kicked me out.” He shrugged. “After that, I vaguely remember thinking Jane’s bitching gave me a headache and maybe I should go wait for her at her apartment.”
“So what happened?”
“Someone must’ve overpowered me and taken my gun. Maybe knocked me unconscious or something. It’s the only explanation, right?”
There was another explanation that Sadie needed to explore. Maybe her good old friend Dean Petrovich actually murdered his ex-wife in cold blood.
Chapter 7
When Sadie pulled up to Jonelle’s Day Spa for her massage she spent a few minutes in her car talking to her conjure bag.
“If I bring you inside the spa everyone there will think I’ve pooped my pants,” she told the bag. “If I don’t wear you around my neck, there’s a good chance I’ll have to deal with the ghost of Dean’s ex-wife, who was shot in the head. I don’t want that kind of headache.”
She frowned at the bag and it gave no response, so she called Maeva and explained the problem.
“Wear the damn thing. That’s what it’s there for. Hold on. . . .”
Sadie listened while Maeva dealt with Osbert, who was shrieking hysterically.
“As I was saying,” Maeva continued. “Wear the bag so you don’t have to feel Jane’s pain.”
“How did you do that?” Sadie asked. “How’d you get Osbert to go from screaming like a maniac to complete silence? I know he used to always stop crying when I held him, but you seem to have worked it out yourself. Maybe you should write down parenting tips for me.”
“He hasn’t stopped crying,” Maeva said. “I put him in his crib and I went downstairs to finish our call. I don’t usually let him cry, but there are days when parenting is sink or swim and survival of the fittest. The nanny will be here soon and I’ll get to go to work, where it’s sane and people don’t scream unless I charge them too much for a reading.”
“Oh.” Sadie felt the wei
ght of dealing of a screaming baby on her shoulders. She didn’t know if she was cut out for motherhood.
“He doesn’t scream all the time,” Maeva said. “Don’t worry. Babies are totally worth it.”
Sadie wasn’t convinced.
“Any word from Owen?”
“No,” Sadie replied. “I’m sure he’s gone back to Albuquerque. Now back to this conjure bag.” She held up the black flannel sack and stared at it. “How do I explain it? Don’t I have to strip for my massage?”
“Good point.” Maeva thought for a second. “Well, you don’t have to take off everything; you can keep on your undies, and yes, you can keep the bag around your neck. Apologize for the smell and tell everyone that it’s a medicinal healing bag given to you by a shaman in your religious faith. Explain that you’re required to wear it for two weeks and, if you remove it even once, it’s a sign of disrespecting your religion.”
“Wow. That’s good. You’re like a professional liar or something.”
“Thanks. Have fun at your massage. Wish it was me, except for the part about asking questions about Jane getting killed there. I’ve tried asking spirits the truth about the situation, but nobody has stepped up to give me an answer. Although my gut says Detective Petrovich didn’t do it, all the evidence they talk about on the news sure points that way.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem.”
She told Maeva she’d call her later and then Sadie slipped the flannel bag over her head and inside her shirt. She tried to ignore the smell. She closed her eyes and imagined she was on a ranch in Wyoming and told herself the aroma was simply a part of nature. Then she opened her eyes to a homeless man climbing up the side of a Dumpster across the road and it slammed her back home.
With determination she hopped out of the van and hoofed it a couple blocks to the spa. Once inside she was greeted by the Zenia clone, who wore a white lab coat and had identical bottled-blond hair. Sadie gave her name and was ushered to a changing room and told to slip into a robe and wait for Emilio in the Relaxation Room.
“Place your clothes in a locker and keep the key with you,” said the clone. “And you may want this for your shoes.” She handed Sadie a plastic grocery bag. “I think you may have stepped in something on your way in.”
“Oh no, I didn’t step in dog doo or anything. That’s just the healing bag given to me by my spiritual shaman.”
Sadie pulled it out from under her shirt and the smell propelled off the bag, causing the girl to wince.
“I, uh, admire your dedication.” She handed Sadie a clipboard with a sheet of paper on it. “While you’re waiting for Emilio, complete this form on the state of your health and hand it to him when he comes to collect you.”
“I’m a little nervous,” Sadie told her. “Were you working here the day that woman was killed?”
“No, but you have nothing at all to worry about. That was a onetime thing and it wouldn’t happen again in a million years.” She flashed Sadie a reassuring smile.
“So you like working here?” Sadie pressed, trying to get more information. “Zenia seems like a pretty organized owner. I bet she runs a tight ship.”
“It’s a very competitive business, and it takes someone with an iron fist to keep a business above water in these tough economic times.” She cleared her throat nervously as if she’d said too much and jabbed a finger at the clipboard. “Finish the questionnaire and Emilio will collect you soon.”
Sadie stripped down to her bra, panties, and conjure bag and tugged on the thick, plush robe and slippers left in the locker. Then she took the clipboard with her out to the relaxation area. She retrieved a small plate of almonds and dried fruit, then got a cucumber water and brought it all to a lavish golden armchair near the fountain. With her snack on a small table at her elbow, Sadie began ticking off the questions on the medical form. She paused over the pregnancy question and then ticked YES, blowing out a breath of resignation as she did so. In the spot for ANY ADDITIONAL INFORMATION WE NEED TO KNOW? Sadie almost wrote down, My psychic talents are in flux due to a hormonal shift so pardon the smell of manure arising from my conjure bag.
Instead, she opted to leave it blank.
A couple other women took up a love seat across from Sadie. They looked well manicured, perfectly coiffed, and not at all like they needed spa treatments. In fact, they looked like the kind of women who relaxed at spas on a regular basis. They giggled and whispered to each other as they sipped herbal tea. When Sadie heard Emilio’s name crop up in their conversation she couldn’t help but interject.
“That’s who I’m seeing for my massage today. Emilio. Is he good?” she asked.
“Good?” One of the women, a slim brunette, winked at Sadie. “Oh yes. He’s definitely good.”
“We tried to get in to see him today but he was fully booked,” said her friend. “He’s got his regulars, but unless one of them cancels, there’s a waiting list.”
“I just called today so I guess I was lucky.”
The brunette looked annoyed. “I’ve been calling daily for a month and I’ve never had a break. I thought after that woman died he’d at least have one regular space open up. Guess there was a waiting list.”
“That woman who was killed . . . she was a regular client of his?” Sadie asked.
“Oh yes,” said the friend. “She was here at least a couple times a week and always with Emilio.”
The brunette giggled and then covered her laughter by sipping her tea.
“Wow. That’s quite an expensive hobby,” Sadie remarked. “I mean, I have a half-off coupon; otherwise I couldn’t afford it. It’s over a hundred dollars for an hour massage. If she was here twice a week she’d be spending close to a thousand dollars a month.”
“Honey, some things are just worth it,” the brunette stated enthusiastically. She lowered her voice and leaned in. “This is your first time with Emilio? I’d bet you big bucks we’ll be seeing you again.”
“Even without a coupon,” her friend added.
The two went off into a tangent of hushed giggles that ended abruptly when Emilio entered the room.
“Sadie Novak?” He stuck out his hand. “I’m so glad you were able to give Jonelle’s a try after all.”
Sadie got to her feet and shook his hand and then handed him the clipboard.
“Right this way,” he said, pointing down the hall. As they left, Emilio paused and smiled at the other two women. “Ladies, nice to see you again.”
They just looked back at him and sighed.
Good God. It’s like high school all over again with the cheerleaders fawning over the quarterback.
Personally, Sadie had been more attracted to the bad boys with a key to their parents’ liquor cabinet than to jocks. As Emilio led the way and Sadie stared at the taut muscles in his gluteus maximus, she wondered if she should’ve been pursuing physically fit men all along. They stopped and Emilio opened the door for treatment room eight. It was second to last in the hall and Jane had been killed in number nine. Only a few feet away was a wood-paneled door labeled EXIT. If the door had been unlocked, it would’ve been only a couple steps to enter the room where Jane had her massage.
Emilio cleared his throat and Sadie returned her gaze to him and the door he held open for her.
“Hang your robe on the back of the door and slip under the sheets and onto your stomach.” He paused. “I meant to ask you yesterday why there is the smell of asafetida around you?”
“Um . . .”
“It’s a spice otherwise known as devil’s dung,” he said. “I love to cook. I’m quite the foodie actually.” He blinded Sadie with his smile.
Was he born with perfect teeth, or did an orthodontist do exceptional work?
“I use asafetida occasionally myself,” Emilio continued. “You know, once it’s cooked it loses that strong smell but adds a wonderfully savory flavo
r to dishes.”
“Oh that!” Sadie pulled the flannel bag out from under her robe. “My, um, healing bag from my shaman. It’s a religion thing.” She added quite hastily, “And I have to keep it on. For religious reasons. All the time. So, um, sorry but I can’t take it off for the massage.”
Emilio frowned, which for some reason actually made him better looking, if that was even possible. He tilted his head and stared at the flannel bag until Sadie tucked it back inside her robe. He walked around the cozy massage room and lit a number of scented candles.
“That should do it. I’ll wait outside the door until you’ve made yourself comfortable under the sheet. Call when you’re ready.”
The moment the door was closed Sadie speedily disrobed, hung the housecoat with key in pocket on the back of the door, and dove under the sheets on the table. The table was warm, as if it was heated, and the area where she rested her head smelled like lavender. She’d never had a massage before—unless you counted the ones that Zack used to give her, which only included two-minute shoulder rubs that always led to much more intense rubbing of their privates.
“I’m, uh, ready!” she called out.
Sadie’s face squished down in a cushioned donut opening at the head of the table, the conjure bag pressing between her breasts. She felt vulnerable and nervous. She was thinking she was definitely not ready at all to have this good-looking man’s hands all over her body. In fact, she didn’t think she should let any man near her. Look what happened last time! And they’d been careful. Sheesh.
Emilio walked into the room and lowered the dim lighting to only a vague degree above darkness.
“I read over your medical sheet. How far along are you in your pregnancy, Sadie?” His voice was a murmur just above a whisper as he went to a sink and washed his hands.
“About ten weeks.” Her voice was muffled as she spoke through the horseshoe-shaped pad where her forehead rested.
Drop Dead Beauty Page 10
