by Keyla Hunter
* * *
To: Natalya Chaykovsky
From: Tracy Turner
Subject: Another favor please
Hey Nat,
It’s me again.
I had a bit of a run in with a guest today and I was wondering if you could help me out.
I kinda promised to have someone from the salon come over and do her hair. I completely forgot that you were on leave today.
Please, Nat, I need to make it up to her. Amanda will have my head if she finds out.
~T~
* * *
* * *
To: Tracy Turner
From: Natalya Chaykovsky
Subject: Re: Another favor please
Seriously, Trace?
How do you get yourself into these soups?
I’m getting some sun, not right now, but ok.
You owe me big time.
Nat.
* * *
* * *
To: Natalya Chaykovsky
From: Tracy Turner
Subject: Re: Re: Another favor please
Thanks Nat!
Actually she was the one in a soup of sorts… It’s a bit of a saga and I’ll tell you when we meet up this evening.
The afternoon would be fine as long as it’s today.
She’s Katherine Walters - Room 666.
Thank you… thank you. You’re the best.
~T~
* * *
The ringing of my telephone startled me as I sat at my desk. It was Clara Johnson, Maxwell’s PA, with a request that I should report to his office at once. I popped my half-eaten peanut butter sandwich back into the brown paper bag and headed for the elevator.
Maxwell’s office was on the top floor of the main building which was twenty-four stories. Clara showed me into the almost semicircular room. Its curved perimeter of glass maximized the room’s breathtaking views. The mid-point of the curve overlooked the resort’s private coved beach, which was surrounded by the Heinz reserve. A majority of the properties in the vicinity belonged to the Henderson estate, much of the rest to the state.
A smattering of luxury yachts and smaller sailboats dotted the smooth sheet of blue ocean that stretched toward the hazy horizon. Families, couples, and solitary travelers reveled on the soft white sand and the scorching heat.
A couple of motorboats with the words Regency Resort Security in dark blue darted across the water close to the shore. They provided an assurance of the resort’s promise of safety and privacy it offered to its A-list clientele. The security personnel surveyed the coast for the paparazzi and other rogue elements that could disturb the peace.
The noiseless air conditioning in the room created a cool respite from the glaring heat of the day. With a wave of her arm, Clara directed me to the end of the room to one of three black leather chairs sitting against a mahogany table. I caught my reflection in the polished tabletop and realized that the goings on of the day had left me looking an absolute mess. Scowling at my image, I used my palms to smooth the hair that had come away from my ponytail as best as I could.
I faced the back of what I assumed to be Maxwell’s chair. It was upholstered in black leather with sleek and shiny dark brown wooden arms. I sank deeper into my own cloud of comfort when the chair in front of me swiveled around. Millie sat in her son’s chair across from me. The old lady cut a tiny form in the massive chair, but her presence filled the room. Her mouth was drawn in a straight line, and my smile didn’t stir a response. I sat up in my chair.
“Tracy, thank you for coming,” she said as if speaking to a stranger. Looking up at Clara, she said, “Thank you, Clara, you may go.” She turned toward me. “Katherine Walters telephoned demanding that she speak to Maxwell. She was very unhappy, Tracy. She was extremely irritated and accused the resort of spying on her private affairs. Can you please explain what happened?”
I gulped back the knot in my throat and told Millie about what had taken place. I told her about how nonchalant Katherine was regarding Frank’s death and her apparent joy that he was gone. Millie calmed down a little but was not completely convinced.
“She was very open about it, and that’s what was puzzling,” I said. “What really upset her was seeing that photograph,” I concluded.
“I see, but she didn’t say anything incriminating.” She took the photograph from me and reached for her spectacles. Propping them on her nose, she examined the photo. “It seems that it was not only Frank who was having an affair. Katherine, herself, seems to be a little too cozy in this photo. So, you are saying that this was found in Frank’s briefcase?”
“Well, the briefcase was empty according to this shot. The contents had been spilled out. Going by this photo, it’s safe to say that this may have been in Frank’s briefcase.”
“Who is the man with her?”
“I’ve got no idea. He looks so familiar. As I said, Katherine was not forthcoming when I questioned her. When I showed her that picture it drove her crazy. I think that this tells us much more than the fact that she had her own skeletons.”
“What does not make sense to me is why she didn’t try to hide that she was glad to see the back of Frank,” said Millie.
“Also, she had dropped an earring this morning in Frank’s bedroom. Catalina had found it and gave it to the police.” My voice was high-pitched, but Millie remained calm.
Millie tapped on the intercom. “Clara, get me Erico Peres.” She had a quick word with the head waiter at On the Rocks Bar and Grill and redirected her attention to me. “I spoke to Erico. Katherine’s story checks out. She did have breakfast at around half past seven, the time Frank was killed, but she was alone. The resort is almost fully occupied, and the restaurant can be quite busy at that time of the morning. She could have always slipped away and done the deed. I’ll ask Brett to pull up the CCTV visuals.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said and wondered if the police had bothered to review the security footage.
“I also had a visitor earlier on today, Tracy. She claimed to be Frank’s fiancée.” Millie raised her eyebrows.
“Fiancée? His divorce was not finalized yet, but he had a fiancée? The guy sure is… was a fast mover.”
Millie laughed. “Interestingly, she had come to the resort late last night. Room 426. She was beside herself when she saw me.”
“You mean Gina Fey?”
“Yes, that was her name.”
“Katherine did mention her. She accused her of killing Frank. Something about an insurance settlement.”
“But why were they in separate rooms? It’s not like Katherine didn’t know about them.”
“For all of Frank’s infidelities, there was no real hard evidence of it. He was probably trying to keep it that way.”
Millie raised her eyebrows again. She looked impressed.
I blushed. “It was something I picked up on a Google search.”
“I think you should talk to Gina. There was something a little odd about that woman. Maybe she could shed some light on the white-haired man and why Katherine was in Frank’s room. Oh yes, and please be discreet. I’m not looking forward to another visit from her,” she said with a quick wink. “And, Tracy…”
“Yes, Millie?”
“Stay away from Katherine Walters.”
I smiled.
“Here’s Gina’s card.”
It was rose pink business card embossed with the symbol of two interwoven lotuses. In purple ink the card read:
* * *
Om Shanti
*
YOGINI GINA FEY
Tantric Souls
Yoga Guru & Couple’s Therapist Extraordinaire
* * *
CHAPTER FIVE
I followed the smell of burning camphor and jasmine wafting down the corridor leading to Gina Fey’s room. A quick Google search had confirmed the details on her business card. Gina was the proprietor of an exclusive Tantric yoga studio based in a shopping enclave downtown. Google Street view featured it as a dim-li
t venture tucked between The Witches Lair that peddled love potions and good luck charms and Armoires, Antiques & Things, a local store that sold near-new antiques.
Tantric yoga was an ancient Indian practice that was meant to strengthen a couple’s spiritual bond though sensual awareness and soul connection using yoga postures performed in unison. By adding her own spin to the basic poses, Gina, had created her own brand of therapy and charged couples big bucks to get naked and contorted.
Gina had sold Katherine the idea that the only way to save her marriage was to rekindle their intimacy by fanning the fires of desire. She swore that it was the jump start that their relationship needed. Within a week of beginning their sessions, however, the only thing Frank was jump starting was their curvaceous therapist.
First they had sneaked around behind Katherine’s back like a pair of love struck teens, but this was short-lived. A young reporter had snapped up the two canoodling at Fuga d’Amore, an Italian restaurant located near Gina’s studio. The photo featured the couple sharing what the article recorded as Katherine’s favorite dessert, Tiramisu—one bowl two spoons. Celebrity gossip columns across the country were set ablaze with the news. Katherine was devastated, but Gina made no apologies. There was even some speculation that she had tipped off the press.
I raised my arm to knock on the door when I noticed that it was ajar. From inside I heard an “Oooouuummm…” sound that vibrated deep in my belly. I peered into the room and saw Gina seated in samadhi pose with her hands resting on her thighs in chin mudra .
She stopped chanting and unraveled her legs that had been bound in the full lotus posture . She stood up and walked to the edge of her mat and did three rounds of sun salutations in quick succession.
I held the door still and gave it a gentle knock. She didn’t seem to notice and made her way to the end of the room, hoisted her feet up into the air, and rested her legs spread eagled against the wall.
I knocked louder and cleared my throat. “Excuse me, Gina,” I called, “It’s Tracy Turner. Millie Henderson sent me.”
“Come on in, honey,” came a voice as smooth and warm as chocolate fondue. Gina pushed her feet against the wall and flipped backwards. In a trice she was standing on her feet, arms spread out, bowed her head and smiled.
Her bushy tangle of blond curls with dark brown roots was pulled back with a thick elastic burnt orange headband. The leopard-skin leotard she wore left nothing to the imagination. A small brown cotton scarf was twisted and knotted at her throat and was a poor cover for the bare skin that was revealed by the plunging U-neckline.
I averted my gaze and focused on her face shining with a combination of perspiration and soft orange bronzer. Several clumpy coats of mascara accentuated her startling blue eyes.
I smiled back at her. “I’m Tracy, PR and Events,” I said as I offered her my hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
In a twinkling, her zen state evaporated like the smoke of the joss sticks littered around the room. “Oh, Frankie, my Frankie, how I loved him,” she wailed. She lost control and began to sob and moan. Exhausted, she collapsed into my arms.
Hating to be touched in this way, I stiffened. Regardless of my discomfort, I patted her back a couple of times, and each time she leaned closer. Suffocating under her weight, I tried nudging her with my shoulder so that she would get the hint. I was careful not to go too hard in case she fell back. The last thing I wanted was for her to complain to Millie that I had pushed her. I remembered that I had some old tissues in my pocket and pulled them out.
“Here you go. This will make you feel better,” I said, giving me an excuse to move away. The paper tissues were falling to pieces. She snatched the bits from me and cleaned her nose with the soft trumpeting of a baby elephant. Her nose had grown three times its original size and glowed bright red, like a vine-ripened tomato ready to be picked.
She must have noticed that I had been staring at her bulbous nose because she turned and looked in the mirror and gave it a rub. She rummaged about an overnight bag and grabbed a jug with a handle and a long narrow spout. “Netti pot,” she explained.
She dropped some pink rock salt crystals into a bottle of water and capped it. As she shook the bottle, so did her entire being. She then poured the liquid into the jug. “Mucus. It needs to come out.” She held one nostril shut and tilted her head to the side. She stuck the spout up her other nostril and held the saline water for a few seconds, catching the fluid that dripped out in the fragments of tissue and repeated the process on the other side. She expelled more water than what went in. Her nose was still very red but not as swollen, so I guessed that the procedure was a success.
“There. That’s better. We can talk now,” she said.
“I understand that you were Frank’s…”
“Fiancée. We were to be married, you know, when the lawyers tied up the loose ends.”
“Katherine told me about the divorce, and that you and Frank were having an aff… in a relationship.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and bit my lip.
“That slut. She can’t talk, sneaking around with that lawyer of hers.”
“Her lawyer. An older gentleman, white hair?” I tried to keep my voice even. “Is this him?” I asked, showing her a copy of the photograph. So that’s where I had seen him. He was in the Channel 10 clips.
“Yes, yes, that’s him.” Her excitement reflected my own. “Pooh, she was accusing Frank of sleeping around. People in glass houses, I say…”
“So Frank knew about Katherine’s affair?”
“My Frank was smart. He found about it, didn’t he?”
“How did he find out?”
“He got a private investigator to follow her, and he got all the shots he needed to prove that she was guilty. Since they both had affairs, the pre-nup would have had no effect.”
I was quiet as I processed the new information and what it would have meant to the divorce proceedings.
“You are surprised, huh? She went nuts when Frank told her that he had found out. Swore to kill him. Bet she didn’t tell you that part of it. That cow all holy-holy, thinks everyone else is beneath her.” She puckered her mouth and I thought she would spit so I moved away from her line of fire.
“Katherine was pretty sure that you had done it. She said that you were to benefit from a life insurance policy. Is that true?”
She burst out laughing. “Look, Frank told her that to piss her off. He had stopped paying the instalments on that policy a long time ago. There was no policy. Truth was that the man didn’t have a dollar to his name. After the tournament he was going to declare bankruptcy. I made more than enough for the both of us. After our affair went public, business skyrocketed. We were going to start all over again. And now… and now he’s dead because of that whoring slut.” She swallowed a sob that threatened to interrupt the conversation, but thankfully it passed.
“Do you know anyone other than Katherine who’d want him dead?”
“BG—that’s before Gina—he had lotsa women. Let’s face it, my Frankie was a good looking guy. Women couldn’t resist him, and it was not like she was doing anything for him. That’s why he had to turn to me. So it could have been any one of those jealous women who couldn’t stand it that Frankie had found his soul mate.”
I nodded and smiled.
“What? You don’t believe we were soul mates?”
“I have no doubt…” I wiped the smile off my face and stared back into her eyes, with what I hoped was a solemn expression. Inside I felt a giggle growing in my belly.
“Anyone could see it,” she said, gazing up at the ceiling.
I sighed sympathetically and redirected the conversation to the matter at hand.
“Did anything else happen recently that seemed suspicious?”
“Huh?”
“Was there anything that made you worry about Frank?”
“Now that you mention it, there were some prank calls, weird hang-ups and such. I thought it was another wom
an.” She had a foolish smile on her face and shrugged. “Frank had needs and I made sure that I was the one satisfying him.”
“Of course. I would do the same in your situation,” I mumbled.
“So I put a tap on the line. It was not a woman, but a man. Called himself Burns. Once I picked up the call and he demanded that Frank pay the quarter of a million dollars that he said Frank owed.”
“Frank said he’d take care of it after the divorce and told him not to call the house because it would frighten the missus. See, he was always considerate like that.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“No, he just hung up.”
“Did you ask Frank about it?”
“No, I knew my Frankie had money problems. Like I said, we had a plan. We were going to work it out and start over.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“The police? Do you think they’d want to hear from me?” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her chest heaved in response. “No, now it’s all over. Anyway, no one hated him like that except Katherine. I’m sure as the sun rises in the sky that she killed my Frankie.”
“I heard that Frank and a man named Burns had it out in the casino last night.”
“You’re saying that piece of crud touched my Frankie? You think that he killed my baby?” Her voice rose into a sharp squeal and cracked.
“It is a possibility, Gina.”
“No, no that’s not right. Frank would have made it good. He told Burns that he would, and he is no liar. I know it’s that whore. She killed him.” She growled the words and her nose changed into a curious shade of maroon.
