by Camy Tang
“Well, yes. I have my own aromatherapy oils, some knickknacks—”
“A bear statue?”
The way he said it made her start to shiver again. “Yes, a teddy bear statue. It was a birthday present from Aunt Becca.”
“It’s larger and heavier than most of the other statues in the room.”
“It was a special commission from the artist who did the small stone statues in all the rooms—he usually does larger pieces. The teddy bear one was very expensive.”
The detective stared at his notebook, but she got the impression he wasn’t really reading it. His eyes lifted to hers. “The statue has a lot of fingerprints on it, Miss Grant.”
“I…I touch it all the time.” Her breath came in gasps. “It has that big round tummy. I rub it all the time. Because it’s cute.”
Detective Carter looked like the word cute wasn’t even in his vocabulary.
Her heart grew heavy. “Are you saying it was…the murder weapon? My teddy bear statue?”
Her statue. Her room. Her client.
Naomi pressed her hand to her mouth, only then aware of how badly she was shaking. She pressed the other hand to her stomach, to stop the roiling there.
“Several of your staff members mentioned that you had an argument with Ms. Ortiz this morning?” The detective’s mild tone had an edge to it.
“Not an argument,” she said hastily. “She…The last time she was here, her credit card had been declined. She gave us a second one, and that was fine. But because of that, this time I asked her to run her card through before her treatment.” She’d thought she was being a good manager-in-training and that Dad would be proud of her for her initiative. “Jessica wasn’t upset, really, more like…confused. She has a lighthearted way of saying things that makes you think it’s not a big deal.”
She’d just referred to Jessica in the present tense. The thought made her nose stuff up and a tremor run across her bottom lip. “She gave us her card and it went through fine. Everything was resolved.” Her voice broke on the last word.
The detective’s neutral expression gave nothing away, but Naomi thought she sensed a coolness in his manner. Why didn’t he believe her?
“Did you have any other problems with Ms. Ortiz?”
“No, not at all.” True, Jessica had always been a bit demanding and self-centered, but always so sweet-natured about it, even when Naomi told her no.
The detective paused a long moment. Could he read her not-quite-kind thoughts about Jessica? Naomi folded her hands in front of her to prevent herself from fidgeting. She swallowed. When would this be over?
“Can you think of any reason why someone would want to hurt Ms. Ortiz?”
She shook her head. “Jessica is—was so nice.” She took a deep breath. Calm down. “She was gorgeous, and that made some clients jealous of her.” She remembered Ms. Cormorand and Ms. Fischer. “And she talked a lot about herself, so that annoyed a few clients. But nothing that would make someone want to kill her.”
Detective Carter nodded as he took notes in his notebook. “I’ll speak to Ms. Itoh now. I might have more questions for you later. You also might not want to leave Sonoma anytime soon.”
This wasn’t happening to her. This couldn’t be happening. Jessica dead and herself a suspect! She couldn’t breathe. She was going to faint. No, she shouldn’t faint—she wouldn’t.
Naomi beckoned to Aunt Becca, who walked over. The detective hadn’t mentioned wanting to speak to her aunt alone, but Naomi backed up a few steps, enough to give them the semblance of privacy.
The detective turned to Aunt Becca. “Ms. Itoh—”
“Call me Becca, Detective,” she said, smiling.
He smiled back—faintly, responding to her charm, but not unreservedly. He consulted his notes. “You are a hostess for the spa?”
“Yes. We have two receptionists for here in the lobby area—” she nodded toward Sarah and Iona, who stood wide-eyed and stiff against the far wall “—but for the entire back area of the spa, I am general hostess to see to the clients’ needs.”
“And you’re also related to the Grants?”
“I’m their mother’s sister. I came to live with them after she died many years ago. It’s been so wonderful to raise my nieces. But I think sometimes Augustus is a little overwhelmed by having four women in the house.”
Aunt Becca must have been more nervous than she let on, because she was certainly running off at the mouth. The detective’s soft gray eyes seemed to smile at Aunt Becca’s rambling, but they were probing at the same time.
“Miss Grant?” a nervous voice whispered.
Naomi turned. Sarah and Iona stood at her shoulder, hunched over as if that would make the detective notice them less. “Yes?” she whispered back.
Iona cast a glance at Detective Carter. “Sarah and I were talking…We caught a glimpse of Ms. Ortiz when…well, when you first found her and before the police came. And we were both just noticing—”
“It’s so strange,” Sarah said, nodding. “We figured you wouldn’t mind if we mentioned it.”
“Mentioned what?” Naomi asked.
“Well, when Ms. Ortiz came in this morning, we both noticed her necklace.” Iona’s voice, already low-pitched, dropped even lower. “And when we saw her—you know, in the massage room—she wasn’t wearing it.”
“What necklace?” Detective Carter asked.
Iona started and Sarah turned pale as the detective’s eyes turned on them. Iona licked her lips. “Well…it might not be anything…”
Sarah shrugged. “It might just be in her locker, because who wears jewelry when they get a massage?”
“But we noticed she didn’t have on her Tiffany diamond necklace.”
“Did Ms. Ortiz have a locker?”
“Yes.” Aunt Becca dipped a hand into her silk pants pocket. “I have the master key. Sarah, will you find out Ms. Ortiz’s locker number on the computer, please?”
Sarah was off in a flash, her slender heels clicking smartly on the lobby’s tile floor as she headed to the receptionists’ desk. She hustled back with a breathless, “Number twenty-one.”
Naomi led the way back toward the women’s locker room, stepping under the yellow police tape, and Aunt Becca gave the key to Detective Carter. He opened cabinet twenty-one, and all three of them peeked inside.
There was a cream suit that looked expensive, hanging from the clothes bar. Salvatore Ferragamo shoes casually tossed on the floor. A minuscule Chanel clutch purse.
The detective rummaged in the purse but shook his head. No necklace. “We need to search the other lockers.” He raised eyes that were no longer soft gray, but steely.
Naomi glanced at Aunt Becca.
“I’m sorry, Detective, but we’ll need to insist on a warrant.” Aunt Becca’s voice was low but firm.
His mouth tightened. “You do realize we’re trying to solve a murder.” While his tone remained light and slightly gravelly, there was a frustrated edge to his words.
Aunt Becca licked her lips. “I do realize that, Detective, but you also have to realize that clients come to the Joy Luck Life Spa specifically for privacy and anonymity. We had a starlet in room thirty, a movie producer in room forty-five, and the CEO of a Fortune 500 company in room twelve.”
The detective’s cheek twitched, but otherwise he didn’t react to the impressive list.
“If we allowed you to search the lockers without a warrant, we’d lose our reputation and our clients. I’m afraid I must stand firm on this, sir.” Aunt Becca’s eyes narrowed at the same moment Detective Carter’s did, and they glared at each other with similar bulldog expressions. It was almost comical. Except for the fact he was a policeman.
Naomi’s stomach lurched. How could Aunt Becca have the backbone to stand up to him?
Detective Carter’s expression faded slowly. He straightened. “I’ll be back with that warrant, Ms. Itoh.” His low voice made it sound like a threat.
Aunt Becca nodded a
nd gave a faint smile. “You do that.”
Naomi’s stomach didn’t settle, even when the detective followed them out of the locker room. They had to do this to protect the spa, but were they allowing the murderer to go free?
FOUR
Devon had already checked into his hotel in downtown Sonoma when he noticed that his cell phone was missing.
That alarmed him more than usual, simply because it had been such a bad day.
Where had he last used it? He didn’t remember using it any time today. He hadn’t called his sister or his admin, who had the day off since he wasn’t taking appointments today.
He didn’t remember dialing anyone for any reason. He’d avoided calling his sister to tell her what happened. Rayna disliked Jessica with a passion, but the news would still shock her. Plus, Jessica’s death meant it would be next to impossible to recover their mother’s Tiffany necklace now. It was probably lost somewhere in Jessica’s apartment, and he’d certainly never be able to show up and look for it.
He reined in his mercenary thoughts. Jessica was dead, and he could only think about his mother’s necklace? Maybe the years since their divorce had made him harder than he thought.
But today, seeing Naomi Grant again, something inside him had shifted…
For the past three years at the annual Zoe International dinner, he’d enjoyed talking with Naomi. He’d actually spent too much time talking with her. But the first time he’d met her, he was going through the divorce, and the other two times, he’d been trying to rebuild his business and finances. He hadn’t acted on his attraction because he’d been too distracted by other things. Plus, Naomi’s personality reminded him too much of Jessica’s—both bouncy and cheerful, although he sensed that Naomi had a more serious, responsible core.
Or maybe he just didn’t want Naomi to be too much like Jessica.
Logically, he knew that Naomi Grant was not Jessica Ortiz. Jessica’s family did have something in common with Naomi’s—they were both local but successful business owners. The Ortizes owned an exclusive clothing boutique with only one physical store in San Francisco, adding to the clothing’s appeal, allure and prices. Jessica had worked for her family, just as Naomi did—she’d been public relations manager for the store until she married him.
And then it had all changed.
She had spent all his money. Started running up huge bills and charging on credit.
And it was usually jewelry. Always jewelry.
And then came the divorce, when she’d taken him for everything that wasn’t nailed down.
Two years later, and he was finally starting to rebuild his finances. Luckily, his reputation hadn’t suffered; he’d continued to have a steady stream of patients in addition to his work with the Oakland Raiders.
He’d vowed he wouldn’t be betrayed by a woman again.
It wasn’t just the money—he’d truly loved Jessica for several years. But her personality had changed, and she’d hurt him in ways he hadn’t even admitted to his therapist.
The ugly divorce had made him more bitter toward her than he realized. Yesterday, when he’d found out from her personal secretary that she had an appointment at the Joy Luck Life Spa in Sonoma, he’d felt a sour anger that she could blithely go on with her life after ruining his.
No. He had to stop thinking about the divorce and focus on his cell phone. Naturally Jessica would be in his thoughts after what happened to her today, and he’d done all he could to help her….
Wait a minute. He had used his phone. Or specifically, Naomi Grant had used it to call the police. The dispatcher had put him through to the paramedics on their way so he could brief them before they arrived. And all the while, he’d been trying to stop the bleeding…but they’d been too late. She’d lost too much blood.
Jessica was gone before the paramedics arrived only minutes later.
Witness to it all, Naomi was dangerously pale, and he’d forced her out of the room.
He’d never retrieved his phone. There hadn’t been time. He’d spoken more to the paramedics as they tried to save Jessica. When they finally called the time of death, he’d left the room, but Naomi was gone.
He grabbed the hotel phone and called his cell. No answer. He called the spa, but again, no answer. Well, it was nine o’clock—the spa was probably empty except for the security guards left on the premises to monitor Dr. Rachel Grant’s research labs built into the backside of the spa building. He remembered Becca Itoh telling him about them a few years ago when he first met the Grants.
Wait, Becca would be able to help him. She liked him—or at least, she did before it seemed as if he were mixed up in his ex-wife’s murder.
He had her business card somewhere…No, he had her private number in his cell phone. But Martha would have that number, too. He called his admin.
“Have you forgotten you gave me the day off?” No hello. Typical Martha.
“Hello to you, too. Would you please get me the private number for Becca Itoh. I-t-o-h.”
“You’re assuming I have my computer with me.”
“You always have your computer with you. Don’t think I don’t know about the eBay stuff you do.”
She hmphed, but he also heard the clicking of computer keys. She rattled off the number and he copied it onto a piece of paper.
“Are you going to tell me why you needed me to look it up instead of dialing it yourself on your cell phone?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“You lost it, didn’t you?”
“There were extenuating circumstances. Speaking of which, something has come up and I have to stay in Sonoma for a few days longer.” Hopefully not in a jail cell. Just the thought made his stomach coil tighter.
“A few days? How many days?”
“You’ll need to clear my schedule for the next week.”
“The next week?” Her screech made the telephone vibrate.
“Martha, it has to do with Jessica.”
She immediately quieted. “I’m sorry. That woman has caused you more hurt and headache—”
“She’s dead. Murdered.”
“What?”
“And I’m the prime suspect.”
Silence.
“Martha?”
“This is awful. Just awful. Oh, God…”
“Your God isn’t going to help me now.” Why should He? He hadn’t done anything about the torrential divorce, what Jessica had done to his finances, what she’d nearly done to his reputation.
Martha didn’t tsk, but he heard it in her voice. “You’re not in a position to thumb your nose at Him.”
She was right. “Well, right now I need to recover my cell phone. I’ll keep you posted about how long I need to stay in Sonoma.”
“I’ll be praying for you, Devon.”
Her soft voice made the worry in his gut boil harder. “Pray I get my phone soon. Bye.”
He called his cell phone again, and the spa again, both with no answer, again. Then he dialed Becca Itoh.
“Dr. Knightley. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Becca, but I think Naomi has my cell phone.”
“Your cell phone?”
“She used it to call 911 earlier today.”
A brief pause. “Oh.”
“I called my cell and the spa, but there’s no answer. Is she with you?”
“No, she’s not home yet.”
“Not home?” It was full dark. And Jessica had been murdered in Naomi’s massage room. The killer was still out there…
“She was determined to take a late client at the spa tonight.”
“I thought the spa was closed.”
“We canceled all our other appointments, but Penelope Olson asked for a special session and Naomi agreed.”
“I realize she’s the senator’s wife, but isn’t it dangerous for Naomi to be there so late?”
“Don’t worry, we hired an extra night guard at the spa, and they’re looking out for her. I know sh
e’s still there, and you’re in the Cronby Hotel, right?”
“Yes.”
“You can get there in only a few minutes. She should be finishing her session in about forty minutes, so why not meet her out at the spa to get your phone? I’ll call the security desk to let them know you’re on your way.”
“Thanks, Becca.”
“In exchange, you can follow her home to make sure she’s okay.”
She trusted him? When he’d shown up asking for his ex-wife?
She must have read his mind. “I trust you, Devon. I know you and your family. And I think God brought you here for a reason.”
God again. How odd for Him to be mentioned by both Martha and Becca, the only two women he knew who were such strong religious types.
But Becca’s trust made his heart feel lighter as he hung up.
“Thanks so much for taking me, dahling,” Penelope Olson cooed over her shoulder as she followed the security guard out the front door.
Naomi leaned against the receptionists’ desk, but jumped when the main phone line rang. Caller ID told her it wasn’t a client. “Hi, Dad.”
“I just heard you’re still at the spa. Why did you agree to Penelope’s special appointment after everything that’s happened today?”
“Well, we had to cancel all our other appointments today and Penelope didn’t know—”
“Is she still there?”
“Martin’s walking her out to her car, then he’ll come back to walk me to mine.”
“Good. You’re being safe anyway. I tried calling your cell phone but you didn’t pick up.”
She patted down her cotton uniform. “It must still be in my office.” She always emptied her pockets before taking a client.
“Did the police come back?”
“Yes, they came back this afternoon with a warrant to search everything. But I’m not sure what they found. They didn’t tell us.”
“I wish Jessica Ortiz hadn’t always asked for you whenever she came in,” her father said.
“There’s nothing suspicious in that, Dad. Lots of people are loyal to their favorite massage therapists.”
