Читать книгу Deadly Intent - Camy Tang - Страница 10

Naomi had never seen someone die before.

Even when her mother had died, she and her sisters had been forced to stay home with Aunt Becca while her father went to the hospital alone. Mom had been killed instantly by the drunk driver, and Dad hadn’t wanted them to see her.

Aunt Becca rubbed Naomi’s arms and patted her cheeks now, as she had done that night. “It’s all right, Naomi.”

“No, it’s not all right.” Naomi had to speak around her chattering teeth. She wore two of the spa bathrobes and still felt as if she’d taken an arctic swim. “Poor Jessica. I’ve been massaging her for years. And now she’s gone.” Her voice cracked.

Jessica had always been friendly, if a little ditzy. Always said something to make her laugh. Had such a sweet, airy smile when explaining why she had to stay in the room longer than she was scheduled for. Jessica had been self-centered, but pleasant about it so that Naomi almost didn’t mind that her client was trying to get away with something.

“How are we going to tell Dad? This is going to make him determined to come to the spa, despite his condition.”

Becca gave her a little shake. “Even though your father’s a stubborn old cuss, your sister Monica is even worse than he is, under all her sweet demeanor. She won’t let him do anything that would hurt himself.” A twinkle appeared in her eye. “Besides, he’s not cleared to drive yet, and I’m pretty sure Monica hid his car keys.”

Speaking of sisters…“Where’s Rachel?”

“She’s still in her lab. She’s in the middle of an experiment—you know how she gets—and she wouldn’t be much use here, so I told her to stay.”

“The detective isn’t going to want to speak to her?”

“Why should he? Even though she’s one of the owner’s daughters, she didn’t see anything because she was in the laboratory in back all morning.”

And Rachel’s rather spacey way of stating the bare, honest truth might get them in trouble somehow.

Aunt Becca pinched her elbow. “Calm down.”

She jerked her arm away. “I am calm.”

“You’re as calm as a wet cat. I thought you’d bite the detective’s head off earlier when he asked if the massage room was yours or not. You didn’t need to tell him he could expect to find your prints all over the room in quite the tone you used.”

Well, that might have been true. “He just seemed so…stern.”

“But he had kind eyes.” Becca smiled a bit dreamily at the thought of the detective.

Naomi didn’t see Detective Carter in such a rosy light. Earlier, he’d only asked her about the massage room, but she’d been blubbering in shock, so Aunt Becca had asked him to come back later. In fact, Devon had kindly stepped in and offered to be interviewed first. Detective Carter would be interviewing her next, she was sure.

Naomi’s attention was drawn to Dr. Knightley, standing with the detective near the receptionists’ desk. Poor man seemed really upset—and why not? He’d come to see Jessica.

And she’d been found dying.

A shadow settled over her. Why had he needed to see Jessica so insistently? She wished she were close enough to overhear his interview with the detective.

Maybe she could arrange to get close enough.

She started making her way toward the receptionists’ desk. Devon’s mouth stretched tight and his words seemed clipped.

A bony hand clawed at her arm. “What are you doing?” Aunt Becca hissed.

She pulled away. “I want to know why Devon Knightley wanted to see Jessica.”

“Leave them alone.” Her aunt’s hand clamped around her elbow this time.

Naomi turned to glare at her. “One of our clients was killed in my massage room. I intend to find out exactly why I found her only minutes after he appeared asking for her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Devon Knightley didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“How in the world would you know that?”

“I know him and I know his family. I’ve worked with his mother on many different charity events. Devon Knightley would never do anything so violent.”

“People do unexpected things all the time in the heat of a moment.”

“I know Devon Knightley. Besides, I’m a very good judge of character.”

Naomi pressed her mouth closed, because she couldn’t really argue when Aunt Becca’s track record on who and who not to hire for the spa had been one hundred percent so far. What if she was right about Devon?

Naomi shook her head. “I can’t just stand here waiting.”

“You’re going to get in trouble.”

“I’m the acting manager of the spa. I can go wherever I please, which includes near the receptionists’ desk.”

Aunt Becca sighed and released her elbow. “You were never this stubborn when you were just head massage therapist.”

“I didn’t have to be this stubborn before Dad had a stroke and put me in charge.”

With that parting shot, Naomi tried to nonchalantly make her way toward the receptionists’ desk. It was a massive marble affair, but hopefully she could stand at one end and still overhear the conversation at the other end.

Detective Carter glanced her way as she approached, but she nodded professionally and then bent her head to fiddle with the appointments computer at the far end of the desk. He turned back to Dr. Knightley without hesitation, so he must not have been upset at her being nearby.

Good.

Except she couldn’t hear a thing.

She stared at the computer screen intently, as if that would make her ears work better. All she could make out were a few random words: “Jessica,” “talk,” “known.” Devon’s voice was louder than the detective’s, so she mostly heard his answers to questions.

How could she get closer without attracting notice?

“I didn’t like her, but I didn’t kill her!”

Devon’s exclamation made her jump. Her hand knocked the computer mouse askew.

Which gave her an idea…

She glanced at Devon and Detective Carter, but neither seemed to notice. Devon’s face had turned a motley shade of red, while the detective coolly surveyed his notebook.

She casually knocked her hand into a holder of pens and sent them scattering across the desk. Immediately she bent to pick up the one pen that fell onto the floor.

She slowly slid her hand with the pen toward her left, closer to the two men. If anyone saw her slithering along on the floor, she could show the pen as her excuse, and the pens strewn across the desk would explain the rest.

She inched her body closer to them and strained her ears. The voices sounded even more muffled because of the desk. Why hadn’t she thought of that? If she got closer…

If she got caught…

Her heart pounded, and she closed her eyes for a brief moment. This wasn’t a smart move, but she didn’t care. She had to find out why Devon had so conveniently showed up, asking for a woman who was already bleeding to death in her massage room.

She crawled as quietly as she could toward the other end of the desk. Devon and Detective Carter’s voices grew louder, but not just from her proximity. It sounded like tempers were rising and they couldn’t keep their conversation low-pitched.

“I told you, Detective, I haven’t seen her in—”

“Then how did you know she’d be here this weekend?”

A minuscule pause. “I spoke to her personal assistant and found out.”

“And why did you speak to her assistant instead of Ms. Ortiz directly?”

“Jessica’s impossible to talk to on the phone, and I didn’t have half an hour to spare to try to keep her focused enough to answer my questions.”

That sounded like Jessica. She loved rambling during her sessions, telling Naomi things she probably shouldn’t know. But Jessica did that same rambling when Naomi had to settle her spa account, too, which had annoyed her.

Naomi bit the inside of her lip. It seemed wrong to remember being annoyed at her. Jessica hadn’t been a bad person. Naomi had even liked her, in a way.

“Detective, you have to understand this is just a coincidence.”

“And you have to understand, Dr. Knightley, that in my business, coincidences don’t happen very often.” The detective’s voice had deepened, grown more gravelly.

“I had nothing to do with her death.”

“Why did you need to speak to her now?”

“My sister’s wedding is in six weeks.”

“Why didn’t you try to contact Ms. Ortiz before this?”

“I did, but she wouldn’t take my calls.”

“And so you decided to force a confrontation in a public place.”

“I hoped she would be reasonable in public.”

“Any particular reason you picked this place?”

“I thought she’d be in a better mood here. She’s always happy to come here.”

“But she’s not happy, Dr. Knightley. She’s dead. Your ex-wife is dead.”

“What do you mean, you knew?” Naomi stared at her aunt as they stood on the other side of the foyer.

“Of course, I knew. I wouldn’t be a very good hostess if I didn’t know things about my clients’ personal lives.”

“Why would you need to know that?”

Aunt Becca gave her a hard stare. “Think about it. I might stick two mortal enemies in sessions at the same time so they’d meet in the common lounge, or in session rooms next to each other. The spa prides itself on giving high-profile clients a relaxing experience. Meeting someone you don’t like is not a relaxing experience.”

“But knowing things like that…Isn’t that gossip?” She had a hard time believing her religious aunt would stoop to something like that.

“It’s not gossip. I get my information from the clients themselves or the people involved.”

As acting manager, maybe Naomi ought to know these things as well. “Am I the only one who didn’t know he’s her ex-husband?”

“No, I doubt it’s common knowledge. I found out from Devon’s mother at a charity event we attended together last year.”

“How long have they been divorced?”

“At least two years. Before Jessica started coming to our spa.”

“Ahem.”

Detective Carter stood in front of her. Her heart slammed into gear like a revving truck engine.

“Miss Grant, could I speak to you alone?”

Naomi glanced at Aunt Becca, but her darling aunt, the woman who had protected and raised her since Mom died, threw her to the wolves. “Why certainly, Detective. I’ll just be over there.” Aunt Becca pointed to the receptionists’ desk several yards away. And then she was gone.

Could the detective smell fear? His “kind eyes” penetrated her sharply. Did he know she’d overhead part of his conversation with Dr. Knightley? His penetrating gaze made her struggle not to look away guiltily.

“Your father is the owner of this spa, but where is he?”

“At home, recovering from a small stroke he suffered a few months ago.”

“By himself?”

“My younger sister, Monica, is a registered nurse, and she left her hospital in San José to come home to nurse him.” And wasn’t too happy about it, either, but Naomi had to give Monica credit for making the sacrifice.

“Your mother is…?”

“She passed away when I was in junior high school.”

“I’m truly sorry.”

His sympathy made her blink harder. Mom’s death still felt like pinpricks in her heart, and Jessica’s death revived the old ache. She missed her mother’s murmuring endearments to her in Japanese, softly so Dad wouldn’t hear and complain he couldn’t understand.

“Do you have any other siblings?”

“My older sister, Rachel, is a dermatologist who does research in a laboratory facility built into the back of the spa. She develops the skin treatments we use. She was in her lab all morning and didn’t know about any of this, so we didn’t ask her to come out here. Did you need to see her?”

“Probably not.” He consulted his notes. “So Ms. Ortiz was a regular client of yours?”

“Yes, she came to the spa every few months. Her last visit was about four months ago.”

“Your staff mentioned that she always requested you for her massage.”

The way he said it was almost as if he’d caught her in a deliberate omission. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“You were with Dr. Knightley when you found Ms. Ortiz?”

“Yes.” Images of poor Jessica, weak and dying, made her press her lips together.

“Describe what happened for me.”

She told him in a low voice. She didn’t really want to go over it again.

“You mentioned that the massage room is yours. Do all the objects inside the room belong to the spa, or are some of them your personal items?”

“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 and 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?