“Everyone knows everyone here,” Uma said after a few seconds hesitation. “We’re close. It’s very sad.”
“Sad,” Lacy repeated. As if to prove it, a few tears trickled down her cheeks, although they were either from pain or possibly loss of nerve control in her face. Uma had moved on to the tender area above her coccyx. The agony radiated all through her body. Even her toes were twitching, withdrawing into themselves and expanding violently outward again.
Uma moved on to the large muscles at the back of Lacy’s legs and for once the massage felt good. The relief was so intense that Lacy went mute, enjoying the reprieve from pain. Just as she remembered she was supposed to be asking questions, Uma moved on to her calves.
The first squeeze of pain was so powerful that Lacy sucked air and jutted her leg out, nailing Uma in the stomach. She doubled over. Lacy flipped around, embarrassed. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I sort of lost control of my leg.”
“It happens,” Uma said. She stood upright and took a deep breath. Lacy could tell that it still hurt. She tried not to feel a secret sense of justice about that.
“We’ll finish with your feet now.” The look she gave Lacy’s feet erased any doubts about her intentions. It was the same look that Wile E. Coyote gave the Roadrunner before he tried one of his schemes to eat him. She reached for Lacy’s foot. Of its own accord, it dodged away. Uma used both hands to try and pin it down. It scuttled away again. Uma hopped onto the table and tackled the foot, digging her thumb into the soft instep while Lacy howled. She was fairly certain that the massage person wasn’t supposed to share the table with the person getting the massage, but Uma appeared to have become unhinged. She sat on the back of Lacy’s calves, grinding away at her feet while Lacy writhed and tried to kick her off.
At last it was over. Uma hopped down from the table and subtly pushed a tip bowl into Lacy’s sightline. Lacy fished in her robe, pulled out a twenty, and dropped it in the bowl.
“We recommend a warm bath after deep tissue. There may be some lingering soreness,” Uma said. She adjusted her hair, smoothed down her smock, and left the room. Lacy tried to sit up and couldn’t. Her muscles quivered in protest from breathing, let alone any other movement. She had failed to ask Uma any of her questions or get any answers about Jill. Worse, she had just tipped a woman twenty dollars to torture her and render her immobile. The session wasn’t a total waste, though. She had learned one thing—Uma was definitely capable of murder.
What was she going to do now? There was no way she could get off the table by herself; she couldn’t even flip over.
She called for help.
No one answered.
After an unknown length of time, someone knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Lacy said. She didn’t care who it was; she needed help. She craned her neck and was so relieved to see Kimber she almost started to cry again.
“What are you doing? I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Kimber said.
“I can’t move,” Lacy said.
“Too relaxed? I felt the same way after my massage.” She stretched luxuriously. “I wish I could have one of those everyday. I fell asleep, it felt so good.”
“I never want one again, ever,” Lacy said.
“Why not?”
“She did things to me. Bad things,” Lacy said. “Can you help me down?”
“Girl,” Kimber said on a sigh. “Only you go into a massage okay and come out unable to use your legs. Are you going to be able to make your family dinner tonight?”
“I’ll make it,” Lacy said, but as Kimber helped her off the table, her legs gave out and she slunk to the floor. “Probably.”
“It’s a wonder you’re still alive,” Kimber said as she reached her arms under Lacy’s armpits and pulled her back up again.
Chapter 11
It had been a good day, Jason thought. The one sport Tosh was good at was skiing, so he had no trouble keeping up with Jason, Michael, and Clint. The four of them worked their way up to the hardest course. It wasn’t on par with an Olympic course, but it was fairly challenging for a health resort. They skipped lunch in favor of skiing, and now Jason was famished. He and the other men sat at a table in a private room, awaiting the ladies. The Underwoods were there, the three B’s, as Jason had come to think of them. But the Steele women and Kimber were missing.
“It’s probably Frannie,” Clint said. “She’s never been early a day in our lives.”
“It could be Riley,” Tosh added helpfully. “She’s been running on turtle speed since the baby arrived. Not that I’m complaining.” He dodged a glance at his sisters, not willing to give them any more ammunition.
Jason didn’t say so, but he had the nagging worry that Lacy was the reason the women were late. For most of the day, he had turned off his brain and concentrated on skiing, but in those moments when his mind turned to Lacy, he couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding. He shouldn’t have left her alone on the bunny hill. Things had gone wrong somewhere in her day; he couldn’t say how he knew, but he knew. The thought that things always went wrong in her day popped up, but he pushed it back down. It wasn’t her fault that calamities found her like ants at a picnic.
“There they are,” Michael said, and Jason breathed a sigh of relief. Then he saw her waddling from side to side without bending her knees and knew he was right; something had gone horribly wrong.
He stood. “What happened? Was it skiing? Did you sprain something?”
“No, this is from the post-skiing massage. I’m fine. It’s just sore muscles,” she said, but she didn’t bend her knees when she sat, either. They stuck out in front of her like a toddler whose legs were too short to reach the floor. And she made a sound when she picked up her napkin, one that told him she was in no small amount of pain.
“Who gave you a massage? The Hulk?” he asked.
“You would think so,” she said. She glanced dismally at her plate. “I don’t know why I have this. I’m still on liquids.” As if to prove it, a waiter set a chalky looking drink concoction in front of her.
“Lacy, stop it. Eat food. Leave the dark side and come back to me.”
“I have to make it through the weekend. It’s almost over.”
“You really don’t. You’ve punished yourself enough. Look at you, you can barely move. Where are these drinks coming from, anyway?”
“Sven.”
“Sven?” Jason hissed. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “He’s the prime suspect in Jill’s murder, and you’re drinking his swill?”
“He didn’t kill Jill,” Lacy said.
“The detective on the case told me he admitted to giving her strychnine.”
“A tiny amount, not enough to kill her,” she said.
“Lacy, come on. You’re talking about poison like it’s a normal thing to pass around. You barely know this man. Do you really trust him with your life?”
“He didn’t do it,” she stubbornly insisted, and Jason became aware that everyone had come to a stop and was listening to them argue.
“Are you talking about the dead woman?” Riley asked.
“Jill,” Lacy supplied.
“I still can’t believe you found a dead body. That’s so cool,” Belle said. “Was it like in the movies?”
Lacy shook her head. “She didn’t look as pretty as people look in the movies.” She thought of Jill’s loose, bright red skin and grimacing death stare and shuddered.
“Girls, please, let’s not talk about unpleasantness at the table,” Frannie said.
Clint made a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh.
“Something to say, Clint?” Frannie asked with ice in her tone.
“I don’t know. Is anyone allowed to talk, or do we have to run it by you for approval first?” Clint said.
Lacy picked up her chalk drink and guzzled. It left a white stain on her lips. “I’ve lost five pounds,” she announced, slamming the empty glass on the table like a cowboy in an old western.
Frannie tore her gaze away from her husband to turn smiling eyes on Lacy. “That’s good, honey.”
“No, it’s not. She doesn’t need to lose weight,” Clint said. “Tell her, Jason.”
Jason wasn’t sure which woman he was supposed to tell, but it didn’t matter because neither seemed to listen to him.
Michael pulled out a deck of cards and swiveled toward Betsy. “Pick a card.” Everyone turned relieved eyes to him to watch the trick. Lacy still seemed anxious and tense.
“I hate when they argue,” she whispered.
“I know,” Jason said. He patted her leg and she winced.
“That’s amazing. How did you do that?” Betsy asked Michael.
“I know how,” Riley said.
“Shh, the grownups are talking,” Betsy said.
“Bets,” Tosh admonished.
“What? It’s not my fault you married a child, Tosh,” Betsy said.
“It’s okay, Tosh. She’s jealous because I don’t have to dye the gray out of my hair or use Botox yet,” Riley said. She held up the corners of her eyes to indicate what Botox overuse might look like. Jason couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Betsy to see if her eyes actually looked that way. She was a good seven years older than Riley. Did women use that kind of stuff so early? What was it with women and their relentless pursuit of perfection?
“I wonder if I’m allowed to have broth,” Lacy mused as she stared longingly at her menu, oblivious to the growing tension at the other end of the table.
“Get the broth. And have them put meat and vegetables in it,” he said.
“I’m definitely not allowed to have that,” Lacy said.
“Your lips are white. You look like you made out with Casper,” Jason said. “Stop drinking chalk and start eating real food.”
She touched her fingers to her lips. “It’s not chalk. I think it’s clay.”
“If people were meant to eat clay, they wouldn’t bake dishes in a kiln before we used them,” he said.
“I think they would. Otherwise, how would they hold up?” she asked.
“I wasn’t being literal. I was making a point, which is that this diet is crazy. And you’re taking food from a murder suspect.”
“Sven didn’t do it.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’m a good judge of character,” she said.
“You’re a terrible judge of character. What you are is soft-hearted,” Jason said.
“Maybe you could talk to the detective in charge of the case and point out that a lot of people hated Jill. In fact, Snaps saw her arguing with Uma last night.”
“Who is Uma?” Jason asked.
“She’s the man-handed masseuse who demolished Lacy’s muscles,” Kimber said.
“Lacy, did you purposely get a massage with her to try and pump her for information?” Jason asked.
“Fat lot of good it did me. I was in too much pain to even ask any of my prepared questions,” Lacy said.
“You shouldn’t have any prepared questions,” Jason said.
“If I didn’t prepare questions, how would I know what to ask her?” Lacy said.
“You’re not supposed to ask her—or anyone—anything. This is not my case, and it’s definitely not your case.”
Everyone was quiet and looking at them again.
“Do they always argue this much?” Belle asked in a stage whisper. Jason was beginning to grow weary of the Underwood women.
“They don’t argue. They discuss things.” This surprising defense came from Riley, although Jason thought it probably had more to do with her ongoing war with the three B’s.
“Usually they tend the other way—so lovey it’s vomit inducing,” Michael said.
“No one who isn’t Thurston Howell should ever say ‘lovey.’” Lacy said.
Michael reached across the table and rapped her knuckles with his spoon.
“Thanks, that was the only part of my body that didn’t hurt,” Lacy said.
A waiter arrived. For a while, everyone was busy giving an order, everyone except Lacy who tried to busy herself by squeezing a lemon wedge into her water. Jason had never sat through a meal with her when she didn’t eat something. By now they had settled into a happy routine where she ate most of the bread and butter and he ate whatever vegetables came with her meal. They were the high carb/low carb version of Jack Sprat and his wife. Now there was bread on the table, and she didn’t even reach for it. Granted it was made from spelt, but still, he missed the non-dieting version of her.
He rested his hand lightly on her back and felt some of the tension ease out of her. She even managed a smile before her parents started to quibble again.
“So, you went skiing today,” Frannie said to Clint as if lobbing the first canon.
“Did I need your permission for that, too?” he said.
“Would it have made a difference if you did? You’re in your own world half the time anyway,” Frannie said.
“Guys,” Riley said. Lucy gave a tiny wail and she began to bounce her. “Supper table. Public place. Seriously.”
“All I’m saying is that a little consideration would be nice now and then,” Frannie said.
“When have I ever considered anything but you?” Clint demanded.
Lacy stood—with difficulty and the assistance of the table. “I’m going to go take another bath and see if it helps my muscles. I’ll catch up with you later,” she added to Jason. Everyone watched her hobble sadly away.
“I think she’s mad at you,” Frannie said, and Jason resisted the urge to check his ears. Was she serious? Did she not know Lacy at all? Could she not tell she was upset over the bickering between her parents?
“I don’t think so,” Jason refuted as politely as he could.
Frannie nodded. “She wants you to look into things for her friend, Sven. You know how Lacy is, always taking up for the little guy. And really, Jason, you’re a police officer. How hard could it be to make a few inquiries?”
“Frannie,” he said on a sigh. He didn’t want to have it out with her in front of everyone, to list for her all the reasons he didn’t want to get involved in a case that wasn’t his. If he were being honest, he couldn’t care less about the case. He was sad a woman was dead, but he was certain the local police could handle it. What he cared about at the moment was Lacy. He wanted to see her smile again. He wanted to see her eat again. In her world, the two went hand in hand. But she wouldn’t get off her diet kick as long as her parents were at war. Suddenly, he had a brilliant idea.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” he said.
Her eyes were instantly guarded. “What kind of deal?”
“I’ll ask a few questions for Lacy to try and help her friend, if you let me ask you a few questions, too.”
“About what?” she asked, fully wary now.
“This and that,” he said vaguely.
“You can ask whatever you want, but there’s no guarantee I’ll answer,” Frannie said.
All he needed was a foothold, and he was sure he could find the answers he was looking for. He was a detective, after all. “Good, then it’s a deal.”
Chapter 12
Lacy took a long warm bath that did little to alleviate her muscle pain and spasms.
“I need you to do something for me,” she said after finally levering herself out of the tub and struggling into some clothes.
“Order you a Percocet, full body cast, and a helper monkey?” Kimber guessed.
“I need you to come with me to talk to Uma. I want to ask her some questions about Jill.”
“You want me to talk to a murder suspect who has already taken out her anger on your body? What could possibly go wrong?”
“It’s not like Jill was bludgeoned. She was poisoned—double poisoned. That’s not a crime of passion; that’s a crime of forethought. Poison is the coward’s weapon of choice.”
“Maybe, but it still gets the job done,” Kimber said. “Fine. I’ll talk to t
he woman, if for no other reason than that I know you’ll do it anyway without me. How do you know she’s still here? It’s after eight.”
“She’s working the night shift. I checked.” The resort offered round-the-clock massages, just one of many pampering services they provided on demand. It occurred to Lacy that for all the resort’s comforts, she had experienced none. She hadn’t partaken any of the delicious food and her massage had been masochistic in nature. If she tried to have a pedicure, would she come away with one of those flesh-eating diseases?
They walked, or rather Lacy hobbled, to the salon where they were told Uma was on her break.
“Let’s see if she’s outside. I heard there’s an employee break area near the ski rental,” Lacy said.
They exited the building and rounded the corner, bracing themselves against the chill. The employee break area was secreted away behind some bushes, just a picnic table on concrete.
“I think prisoners have better break areas,” Kimber observed.
Uma sat on the lone table, smoking. Lacy recalled Uma’s deodorant lecture and idly wondered if the cigarette was organic.
“I was wondering if I might ask you some questions,” Lacy said.
“Did you bring a black ambassador so I’d talk?” Uma asked, rounding on them with angry, suspicious eyes.
Lacy looked at Kimber. “She’s black?”
The joke was lost on Uma.
“She’s not like that,” Kimber defended. “Plus she’ll keep hounding you until you talk to her, so you’d better get it over with.”
Uma sighed, stubbed her cigarette on the table, and pulled out another. “What do you want to know?”
Did you kill Jill? Better not open with that. “Did you and Jill get along?”
“No one got along with Jill. She was a stone cold demon.”
“How so?”
“Mean, rude, pushy, arrogant, self-involved, conniving, you name it.”
“Someone saw you arguing with her last night.”
Last Resort of Murder (A Lacy Steele Mystery Book 9) Page 8