by Wendy Tyson
“You think Thana was a con artist?”
“In a way.” Yee started to head back into the worship room. She paused before reentering the front reception area and turned toward Megan. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “My sense was that Thana had learned to put on the face that got her acceptance. But that mask would fall away from time to time. And what was underneath wasn’t always so pretty.”
Nineteen
The Center seemed back to business as usual. The parking lot was full of high-end vehicles, and live bodies populated the restaurant veranda, mostly couples and a few single ladies lunching. This was Clover’s first visit to the new wellness resort, and she walked along the grounds with her mouth open.
“Someone had a lot of money. That building is new.”
Megan nodded. “And made to look old and gentile.”
Clover pointed to the real stone foundation. “No expense spared?”
“Wait until you see the interior. For a yoga and meditation retreat center, it is not humble.”
Megan and Clover entered the Welcome Hall and were greeted by one of the aqua-clad minions. She inquired about the names with friendly reserve.
“The spa, please,” Megan said, giving her name.
Clover asked for the restaurant. She’d decided to enjoy a meal on her own and then snoop around the Center while Megan did the same with the spa.
Today’s “hostess”—a twenty-something with giraffe legs and a toothy, thin-lipped smile—pointed Megan in the direction of the spa before escorting Clover to the restaurant.
“Catch you later,” Clover whispered.
They agreed to be out by the truck in two hours.
Megan followed directions to the spa. She walked through a solarium, past the hall that led to the “guest retreats,” and down a glass enclosed walkway that looked out at the pastures, the Center’s vegetable gardens, and the hills beyond. Admittedly, whoever designed the spa—presumably Carly Stevenson—knew what they were doing. Despite being less than an hour from Philadelphia and two hours from New York City, this felt like a country oasis, with only the best of rural living highlighted.
The spa was at the end of the glass corridor. An aqua door with the word “Wellness” marked the spot. Megan opened it slowly. She was immediately greeted by cool, moist air and the lingering scents of lavender and tea tree oil.
Spa reception consisted of a series of low teal ottomans spread throughout a dimly lit room. Soft instrumental music played overhead. A mister was the source of the scent, and cool lavender-tinged air sprayed from a Himalayan salt diffuser. A glass counter housed a single hostess. Like her Welcome Hall counterparts, she wore aqua, although hers was a soft aqua dress, not a suit, with the name “Trish” on a tag below her shoulder. She smiled when Megan approached.
“I have a manicure appointment.” Megan gave her name.
“Ah, yes. This way, Ms. Sawyer.”
Trish led her through yet another aqua door and into a locker room—although it was unlike any locker room Megan had ever been in. The room was open and airy, with off-white walls and dim lighting. The same soft music played overhead, and diffusers sprayed subtly scented cool, moist air. The floor was bamboo. Vanities lined two walls. The other two walls were lined with bamboo lockers. More aqua ottomans joined aqua, yellow, and lavender patterned oversized arm chairs. Three women lounged in armchairs while another was undressing in the corner.
Trish handed Megan a pale aqua robe and matching flat thongs. “The private rain showers and dressing rooms are through there.” She pointed to a wall of glass. “If you’d like a sauna or steam room experience after your treatment, they’re through there.” She pointed to two additional glass doors. “We also have a meditation parlor if you’d prefer that.”
With a forced smile, Trish left Megan to get ready for her treatment.
Clover called just as Megan was turning off her phone.
“This place gives me the creeps. Is it just me? Everyone is smiles, smiles, smiles, but I feel like they’re holding machetes behind their backs.”
Megan laughed. “It is all rather surreal.”
“And the food? I want to hate it, I really do, but the Salad Nicoise was a delight.” Clover lowered her voice. “I’m going to order dessert. Just as part of the surveillance, mind you, and then I’m going to take a walk around the grounds, maybe talk to some guests.”
“Just be careful.”
“Of course. You?”
“I’m in the Wellness Spa getting ready for my treatment. My phone will be off. I’ll meet you at four like we planned.”
Megan hung up. Despite the calming ambience, the muted lights and soft music, she felt knotted up inside. She wasn’t sure if her anxiety was in spite of the Center—or because of it. Something just felt off.
“Relax, Ms. Sawyer. Your hands are telegraphing tension.” Megan’s “hand therapist” was a tall, sloping-shouldered older woman with blunt-cut, shoulder-length gray hair. She introduced herself as Gina. Gina rubbed a rich cream into Megan’s hands while commenting on the health of her digits. “Do you work with your hands? They’re very…sturdy.”
Megan stifled a laugh. Hours spent in dirt? Yes, they were…sturdy. “I’m a farmer.”
“Oh?” Gina gave her a “come now” look. “Like you work at one of these farms as a receptionist or retailer?”
“Like a farmer. Dirt. Vegetables. Pitchfork.”
Gina returned to her ministrations. “Well that explains your nails.”
Gina sat in a chair next to Megan, who was lying in a semi-upright position on a white-towel padded lounge chair. Her hand was extended on a padded table that pulled from the side of the lounge. Like the rest of the Wellness Center, their room was dimly lit and softly scented.
“Do you like working here?” Megan asked off-handedly after a few minutes of small talk.
“The Center is new.” She worked cream into the palms of Megan’s hands in short, slow strokes. “The spa is beautiful. Have you enjoyed your stay so far?”
Megan had to hand it to her—Gina had a politician’s ability to skirt the question. “Yes, it’s been lovely. I was thinking of applying for a part-time position. Would you recommend it?”
She bent her head over Megan’s hand. “Your cuticles could use some attention.”
Megan decided to take a different tact. “I heard about that artist. What was her name?”
“Thana. Thana Moore.” Gina said in an offhanded tone. She wiped Megan’s hands down with a warm, moist white towel. “Yes, a tragedy.”
“Had you met her?”
“Briefly. The staff were invited to see the show before it opened to the public. Maria—the event coordinator—hosted a cocktail party just for us. We got to meet Thana as part of it. Striking woman. Talented.”
“What a nice thing to do for staff.”
“Yes, Maria is wonderful. Sadly, she’s since quit.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” When Gina didn’t say more, Megan asked, “Did you like Thana’s work?”
“It’s certainly unusual.” Gina started in on Megan’s cuticles, which where were admittedly a mess. “I’m no art expert, but I like the landscape watercolors. I found the portraits disturbing.” She dug into a particularly stubborn piece of skin and Megan flinched. “I’m sorry. You should be relaxing and here I am blabbering on.”
“No, no. I find conversation restful. Art interests me.”
“I’m not sure I understand what constitutes art these days.” Gina held up a bottle of pale pink polish. “Color?”
Megan shook her head. “It would just chip. Maybe a clear gloss?”
“That I can do.” Gina spun around on her chair and pulled a bottle of polish from a drawer. “Organic,” she said.
Megan wasn’t sure what made a nail polish organic. It sounded suspicious. Nevertheless, she straigh
tened her fingers so Gina could finish that hand. “So about Thana, I’m familiar with her work. I heard the police were here asking questions.”
“Yes, tragic. She died after leaving the Center. We were all very upset. To meet someone famous like that,” she shook her head, “and have them murdered right under our noses. Wrong.”
“Do the police know who did it?”
“Not that I know of, but it had nothing to do with the Center. An unfortunate coincidence.”
“One big happy family, huh?” Megan kept the sarcasm out of her voice. “It must be nice to work in such a supportive environment.”
Gina was slapping polish down on Megan’s fingers with more fervor than Megan might have liked. “Would you like a second coat?”
“You’re the expert.”
Gina frowned. “You need a second coat.”
“Well, I’m sorry to hear about Thana,” Megan said. “I imagine you’re all being extra careful when leaving at night. Given what happened and all.”
“I’m sure the killer is long gone,” Gina said. “Probably a sick passerby. Or a deranged boyfriend.”
Ah, the things we tell ourselves so we can sleep at night, Megan thought. But she put her head back and enjoyed the rest of her treatment, not saying another word.
After using the sauna, Megan was getting dressed when the spa receptionist found her in the locker room. “Ms. Sawyer, can you stop by reception before you leave?”
“Sure. Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine. I have something for you.”
Megan finished getting dressed quickly. She waited while Trish checked in two more guests before approaching the glass counter.
Trish smiled broadly, showing all those white teeth. “Mr. Cruise asked me to give this to you.” She held out a certificate for the restaurant. “He will be held up until after four, but he thought you might like a bite to eat and then he would love to speak with you.”
How did he know she was here? Megan nodded. She took the certificate—it was for fifty dollars. A lot of food for one person.
“Thank you. Did Mr. Cruise say why he wants to see me?”
“He didn’t share that, Ms. Sawyer. But he sounded happy you were here.” She smiled again. “I hope you’ll see fit to stay. Mr. Cruise is a generous man. You must be special if he’s giving you comps.”
Twenty
Megan skipped the restaurant—she wasn’t hungry anyway. Instead, she took a walk on the grounds in search of Clover. She’d meet Ray later—she was interested in what he wanted to say—but first some exploring.
Outside, the sun beat down with relentless determination. Despite the humidity, the sky was clear and blue. The grass along the Center’s buildings and in the pastures was turning brown, evidence of the drought, and the flowers in the copious beds were wilting in the heat. Megan looked for the walking path Sylvia might have taken on the fateful day Thana died. She spotted an entrance to a paved path past the tennis courts. It snaked around the barns and entered the woods between two large maple trees.
Megan headed in that direction. She walked down the length of the main building, and in an effort to find some shade, ducked under the awning that separated the Meditation Gallery and the guest quarters. She was about to round a corner when voices stopped her. They were women’s voices, and their hushed tones and the smell of tobacco smoke said they’d found a private spot to grab an unpermitted cigarette and quiet gripe session.
“I don’t get it,” one was saying. “Ten days in a row? Is that even allowed?”
“Just try and question it and see how fast you follow in Maria’s footsteps.”
Someone laughed.
“We all saw that coming,” voice number one said. “You just don’t challenge her.”
There were murmurs of assent. Voice number two said, “I don’t get Ray. Why doesn’t he do something? First Maria, then Sierra Jo, and now you’re on the hook with this schedule.” There was a pause. “He’s sleeping with her. I just know it.”
Megan held her breath, afraid they could hear her. She strained to listen.
“He was sleeping with that artist. At least that’s what I heard.” This was a new voice—a woman Megan recognized as her “hand therapist,” Gina. “Mistake on both their parts, ask me.”
“Look where she ended up.” Voice number one chuckled. “Sleep with Ray and you get axed.”
Gina said, “We need to get back. I have an appointment in fifteen. Need to rid myself of this smoke smell.”
“Yeah,” voice one said. “We don’t need her coming down on us for that too.”
Megan backed up a few feet, as quietly as she could. When she was far enough away, she continued in their direction, trying to make it look as natural as possible. They were heading back to work through a side entrance. Megan saw Gina, the front desk hostess, and someone she didn’t recognize. All wore the Center’s aqua garb. None seemed to notice her.
Megan mulled over what she’d heard. Ray Cruise, ladies’ man. Sleeping with Thana? And who was the woman they were referring to? Whoever it was, they clearly disliked her. Perhaps it was someone else with motive to kill Thana. Her hunch was Carly Stevenson. Maybe she could figure it out later, when she talked to Ray.
A glance at her watch told her she had another forty-five minutes until Ray would be ready. She needed to find Clover, who wasn’t answering her phone. She texted her, letting her know there was a delay. They would have to stay at the Center longer than expected.
The wooded path meandered through the forest that surrounded the Center, climbing through the trees to the top of a hill before opening up to a meadow of wildflowers and tall grasses. From this vantage point, Megan could see the Center below, to the south, the stream to the west, and the web of back roads that led to the Center from the north and east. Slightly winded, she sat down and put her head back, wishing for a breeze.
There were multiple spots at which the path broke off and headed downhill, toward the stream or even the roads. She was pretty sure someone could take the path most of the way to the unnamed road where Thana was killed. By the same token, it would have been possible, she figured, to leave the Center with Thana, kill her on that road, and hike back via the trail most of the way. She pulled up Google Maps on her phone. Most of the way. Based on the satellite view, it didn’t look like any of the small unnamed roads intersected with the trail. So someone would have to hike part of the way in the woods, past the stream until they reached pavement.
Pavement.
Megan thought about Sylvia’s shoes. Caked with mud and grass, as though she’d been in a stream bed. A stream that was low and muddy due to the drought. Megan glanced at her own shoes. They were clear of any detritus. Someone who was simply going for a walk would stick to the paved path. Pennsylvania was riddled with poison ivy. Why risk it—or a twisted ankle or tick bites—if you had a level path to use?
Unless you were up to no good.
Sylvia wouldn’t tell anyone what she and Thana had been arguing about. Sylvia had insisted she’d simply gone for a walk to clear her mind. Sylvia had several hours unaccounted for. Sylvia had fought with Thana. Sylvia’s scarf was the murder weapon. Sylvia wanted money wired from Italy.
Sylvia was her father’s wife. How could she be guilty of something so heinous?
Megan stood, her legs suddenly shaky. She didn’t particularly care for Sylvia, but she’d been trying hard not to let that cloud her judgment. Trying too hard? Had she refused to see what was before her?
Sylvia as a killer. Admittedly, the woman seemed to have killer business instincts, but that was about it. There had to be another explanation for what were surely coincidences. As Megan made her way back down the path, toward the Center, she racked her brains trying to consider what they may be.
Twenty-One
“Megan, it’s always good to see you. You look
amazing, by the way. I didn’t want to say that last time, in front of your grandmother.” Ray Cruise smiled, flashing white teeth and one deep dimple. “Farming agrees with you.”
Ray had found her in reception shortly after four and he was leading her back to his office. He wore a gray summer-weight business suit with a pale blue shirt. No tie. His hair was combed back with easy elegance, and his skin glowed with the even tan of someone who worked on it. Megan watched as his aqua minions eyed their boss. She thought of the conversations she’d overheard outside. Eligible, wealthy bachelor? Or womanizer?
Suddenly Ray stopped. “You know what? Let’s not go to my office. Let me take you to another of my favorite areas. Come this way.”
They walked silently back through the solarium, down the spa corridor, and out a side door. Ray led her through a courtyard. Near the Mediation Gallery he took a hard right and walked around to the back of that building. Megan hadn’t noticed it before because it was so well hidden by bushes and flower plantings, but there was another solarium off the back of the Meditation Gallery—only this one housed a pool.
“Come on. This is something to see.”
They entered the solarium through a staff door. Inside was a large lap pool. It was divided by a wall in the center so that half was indoors and half was tucked into tropical plantings, in the solarium area. The tropical area boasted a waterfall and a hot tub, along with a view of the outdoor gardens.
“That’s not all,” Ray said. He led her around the pool, which was currently accommodating a few dozing women on full-length lounge chairs and an older man swimming laps in the more utilitarian indoor portion. “Come with me.”
They walked through another spa-like area that offered fluffy white towels, an assortment of cold beverages, and a ready supply of magazines and newspapers. Beyond that were three doors. Ray unlocked one.
This brought them into another solarium-like room. Once Ray turned on the lights, Megan saw it was a small suite. Lined with windows, it contained a chaise lounge, a small ornate desk and chair, and a soaking tub. A door led into a small but elegant bathroom. One long wall was lined with windows that looked out on an enclosed courtyard filled with flowers and bird feeders. Inside the suite, the walls were painted a pale shade of aqua, the linens were buttery yellow, and the furniture was deep brown. No television, no computer. The effect was calming and peaceful and Megan wanted to hunker down and hide away from the world.
