***
“Ouch!” I screamed as the large, eastern European lady dug her elbow in the middle of my back. “I…I. Ouch! I really think I’m fine!”
I tried to lift myself up off the massage table but she shoved me back down with what felt like her head.
“Very tense!” she said firmly as she continued to pummel me into painful submission. “Beeg knot in back!”
“Helen Wright liked this massage?” I called out, trying to look back at her.
“Nyet! Helen do hemp massage.”
“Wait what?” I turned around. “Ouch! What massage is this?”
“Sports massage!” she said and pounded my back some more.
Ow!
“But I don’t do sports!” I whimpered. “I mean I haven’t done sports in a long ti…ow! Um…maybe we could segue into the hemp massage?”
“You book sports massage, you get sports massage,” was Greta’s response.
I endured the pain for a full hour and a half and when we finally done, I wrapped the towel around myself, wondering if I’d ever be able to move again. I felt like I’d just participated in a decathlon.
Before my torturer left the room I called out to her. “Greta? During Helen Wright’s last massage, did she seem upset?”
Greta thought about it for a moment then shook her head, “Nyet. Not upset. Very relaxed.”
I thought about that. “But she left early right?” I asked. “I mean she had a few appointments scheduled, but she didn’t keep them…”
Greta frowned at me. “Nyet. Miss Wright never leave early. Whole massage. Whole everything. ‘The works.’ I happen to know this.”
I nodded. “Right,” I said, standing up and tucking my towel under my arm. “I know she was scheduled for all those things but her massage was at 10:30 and she was back home by 1:00”
“Nyet,” Greta insisted. “Massage at 10:30. Light lunch at 12:00PM. Seaweed wrap at 1:00PM. Oxygen facial at 2:00pm. Mani pedi/haircut/dye at 3:00PM, makeup at 5:00PM.”
Now it was my turn to frown. “Yes—I know she had those appointments booked. But do you know that she actually kept them?”
“Da! Yes! She kept,” Greta said and stalked out of the room.
Okay. I guess she got sick of my questions.
I grabbed my spa robe and put it on then I slipped into the plush slippers and padded out the door. I wasn’t quite sure where to go, so I headed back down the hall, the way I’d come, passing by some kind of administrative offices.
As I looked inside one of the rooms, I happened to see Greta standing behind the desk, looking at a large book.
I was about to continue on through to the salon, when she looked up at me. “Da. You see. Helen Wright, Greta massage. 10:30AM. Lunch at 12:00PM. Seaweed wrap at 1:00PM. Oxygen facial at 2:00. Mani pedi/haircut/dye at 3:00PM, makeup at 5:00PM.”
“Can I see that?” I asked, coming in and reaching out for the book.
“Nyet!” She pulled the book away. “Client confidentiality.” She put the book back on the desk as she went to answer the phone.
As she talked to someone on the other end of the line with her back turned to me, I couldn’t help but notice that the appointment book sitting on the desk, still open to the page with Helen’s appointments. I reached over and surreptitiously tried to aim it towards me so that I could sneak a peek.
Hmn. That was interesting.
According to the book, Helen really did seem to have kept all her appointments.
I reached into my robe pocket for my cell phone and was about to snap a quick photo of the page, when Greta barreled over and pulled the book away.
“Book ees private! Bad customer! Very bad!”
“Sorry!” I said, quickly slipping the phone back into my pocket. “Um, I just wanted to…I’m sorry. I’ll just go to my hair appointment now.” I started hurrying towards the hair salon but Greta grabbed me by my robe’s belt loop and pulled me back.
“Nyet, bad customer. Go!” she pointed to the front exit.
I looked at it, and then looked longingly towards the hair salon. “But my hair…I have an important event later and…”
Greta shook her head and kept pointing to the front door.
“Fine,” I said, realizing I had no choice. Greta directed an attendant to bring me my stuff, then she guarded the changing room until I was dressed and heading out the front door like a whipped dog. A whipped wet dog with uneven hair and a body that was beginning to grow seriously sore.
Chapter 24
“That was so amazing,” Birdie said as she got into the passenger seat. She looked glowing and vibrant and about ten years younger with her swingy red hair and smooth skin.
In fact they all looked great—relaxed, refreshed and beautiful.
Nana was wearing a new shade of lipstick and her hair was streaked with subtle blonde highlights. Laila of course looked more gorgeous than ever, having had her hair blown out and her makeup done in a subtle but dramatic fashion.
“Wasn’t it just the best?” Laila asked as she scooched in next to me. “Can you believe it? Sven got us a res for dinner at the hottest place in town. And he told me I had the best hair he’s ever worked on.”
Nana and Birdie both nodded admiringly until Nana caught sight of me in the rear view mirror and frowned.
“Honey?” she said, turning around in concern.
“I’m fine,” I shrugged. “I just had a little spat with Greta. But I did find out something very interesting about Helen Wright."
I wasn’t sure if I should talk about this stuff in front of Laila, since I knew she was a bit of a gossip. But she was busy checking her phone for texts so I realized I didn’t have to worry—if the conversation was about something other than her for more than ten seconds, she tended to lose interest.
Birdie and Nana on the other hand were clearly waiting for me to tell them what I’d learned.
“Well, according to Greta," I continued, “Helen Wright was still at the spa at 1:00 pm the day of the anniversary party."
“Whooptie do," said Laila, twirling a finger in the air and not even bothering to look up from her text.
“But that’s when she supposedly made the call to the hotline, right?" Birdie’s eyes narrowed in thought. I could tell her forehead would have been scrunched up as well, except for the Botox she’d obviously just been injected with.
“That is right,” Nana said, nodding her equally smooth forehead. “And it doesn’t make any sense. Unless…” She looked at me, stunned.
“Unless Helen wasn’t the one who made the call to the crisis center,” I said, finishing the sentence for her.
There was silence in the car.
“I hadn’t even thought of that possibility,” Birdie whispered. “Do you really think it’s true? That Helen wasn’t the one who made the call?”
“Do you know who did make it?” Nana asked.
“Well it had to be a woman,” I said. “Obviously. It was definitely a female voice on the crisis center call.”
“Do you think it was Purple Streak?” Birdie asked.
I thought about it. Violet had been at the house that day at some point. But…
“Wait a minute!” I said. I grabbed my phone out of my purse and pulled up the art gallery website photos. Then I honed in on the selfie photo that Violet had taken at the Wright house. I enlarged it as much as I could and looked more closely at the clock on the fireplace mantle behind Violet.
The captain’s clock didn’t have any numbers…but if you looked closely enough, you could still tell what time it was by the position of the hands. According to the photo it was about ten minutes to 1:00.
“Violet was in the Wright house ten minutes before the call was made,” I announced.
Birdie, Nana and I all looked at each other.
“Well…,” Nana said after a moment. “I guess that explains how Violet knew about Helen’s planned suicide method.”
“Right,” I nodded. “Because it wasn’t Helen’s method
at all. Violet called the hotline to tell me about putting the pills in the smoothie. And then she put them in there herself.”
“And she left them for Helen to drink,” Birdie said, shaking her head angrily. “Her call to the hotline made Helen look so depressed and suicidal that police didn’t even question that it was a suicide.”
“You have to tell the police about it,” Nana said firmly. “She can’t get away with this.”
“I will. But first I have to make sure I’m right.”
I knew that Sanders was fed up with me enough already, so I had to make sure I was absolutely certain about our theory before I said anything.
“Okay, honey,” Nana said, starting the car and driving out of the parking lot. “But don’t forget about your party with Casey tonight—some things are more important than murder. If you want I can trim your hair beforehand. Even it out for you.”
“That’d be great,” I said, having totally forgotten about the party that evening. “Thanks.”
Nana drove us back to the bake shop and as soon as we pulled into the parking lot, I got out and hurried into my own car. Then I drove over to the Wright’s house, my heart racing—I just had to talk to Mrs. Pond to find out one more bit of information.
Chapter 25
I parked across the street, scoping out the Wright house and waiting.
Like last time, I was very much hoping to avoid running into Purple Streak. And lucky for me, I had, so far, seen neither hide nor purple hair of her. It seemed possible that she wasn’t at the house at all today.
There were only two cars in the large round circular driveway, the silver sports car which I knew to be Chuck Wright’s and the white Civic which was Mrs. Pond’s.
As I was trying to figure out how to get to her without alerting him, she came out the side door, carrying a large garbage bag. She walked over to one of the large garbage cans on the curb and placed the bag inside it. She was about to head back inside, when I grabbed my purse then got out of the car and ran up to her.
“Mrs. Pond," I called out.
“You shouldn’t be here," Mrs. Pond whispered, looking around worriedly.
I was about to ask her why when I noticed her glancing nervously towards the house.
“They told me not to talk to you,” she whispered. “They were very upset with me after we spoke. Both Violet and Mr. Wright. He almost threatened to fire me!”
“I’m so sorry,” I told her sincerely. “But I’m just trying to find out one thing.”
She shook her head, ‘no’ and kept walking. “Violet’s inside. If she sees you again she’s going to call the police. She’s going to tell them you’re stalking Sammy.”
“What? Sammy? That’s ridiculous!” I followed after her as quickly as I could on legs that were starting to grow painfully sore. “I’m just…”
“They might already be on their way. The police,” she warned.
“Great,” I mumbled, stopping in my tracks. The last thing I needed was another run in with Sanders. Still, I couldn’t just let it go.
“Mrs. Pond. Did Helen Wright have some kind of call forwarding? Something that would allow her to make a phone call from her cell phone—but it would look like she was calling from was her home phone?"
She stopped and turned around to face me.
“No. Not that I ever saw. Why?”
I was about to explain to her that Helen hadn’t even been home at the time of the crisis center call. But before I got the chance, I heard a car screech up on the street behind me.
I sighed miserably and turned around, expecting to see Detective Sanders or another member of the San Coronado police department. But when I looked back I saw that it was Patsy Blaire. Newswoman and nemesis.
She came at me, holding her microphone out like a weapon.
“Is it true you’re stalking this family? That your guilt over Mrs. Wright’s suicide has sent you over the deep end?” Patsy was speaking in a voice filled with a mixture of false concern and accusation as her cameraman hurried after her, filming our confrontation.
“What no! How did you even…”
“Police scanner,” she smiled. “Apparently Mr. Wright’s nanny just called and reported you.”
I looked towards the house and saw Violet peering out of an upstairs window.
“How can you torment this family in their time of grief?” Patsy continued. “No matter how guilty you may feel.”
I shook my head and walked around her, hoping to get out of there before the police arrived. As bad as it would look to be filmed running away on TV, it would definitely look worse to actually be arrested on TV.
I just really wanted off the Wright property, asap. The only problem was Patsy was blocking my path.
“Just one comment,” she said.
“No,” I mumbled as I tried to push past her, in between the garbage cans. But unfortunately, there wasn’t enough room and I knocked into one of the large plastic bins, tipping it over and spilling trash everywhere. As I tried to reach for it, I fell to the ground on top of it and dropped my large tote bag next to me.
As I started to get up, red-faced with humiliation, I heard Patsy gasp.
“Is that a gun?” she cried.
“What? No!” I said. I looked to see what she was talking about. But as I quickly gathered the belongings which had spilled out of my purse, I saw one of Laila’s fake prop guns laying on the rocky ground. I quickly grabbed it and shoved it back into my tote.
“It’s fake,” I muttered under my breath as I then gathered up the empty wine bottles and old fruit that had spilled out of the garbage bin and onto driveway. I stuffed it all back into the big rubber can and set it all back upright. Then I walked, in as dignified a manner as I could, to my car. Which wasn’t very—considering my uneven hair, my limping, sore legs and my garbage-strewn clothes.
In the background, I heard Patsy narrating my escape and making me sound very much like a crazed stalker.
Chapter 26
I drove off, shaken, comforting myself that at least those who knew me, would know I wasn’t a nut. Or not too much of one, anyway. And at least I’d gotten out of there before the police arrived.
Blaring sirens signaled their immediate approach and as I drove off I saw a black and white police cruiser racing up to the Wright house in my rear view.
Whew, close call, I thought.
But at least I’d gotten what I came for. I now knew that Helen Wright definitely hadn’t made that call to the crisis hotline. Her murderer did, and was obviously setting it up to look like a suicide.
For a moment, I considered going to the police station right then and insisting that Sanders hear me out, but the clock on the dashboard told me I didn’t have time. Casey was going to be at my house within the hour to pick me up. And I really had to do something about my uneven hair.
I parked the car and hurried into Nana’s condo as quickly as I could on my painful legs.
“Nana!” I called out, hoping she’d be around to give my hair a quick trim before the party. But she was nowhere in sight.
Thankfully she had laid out the vintage Bill Blass silver sequin evening gown that she’d promised to lend me, along with a sparkly little clutch to go with it. I took both items and headed out to the guest house. I was hoping to find Laila there—not that I actually trusted her to cut my hair. But at this point I was desperate.
Unfortunately she wasn’t home either. My guess was they all probably went out to that new restaurant that Sven the hairdresser had told them about.
“Do you want to cut my hair for me, Cupcake?” I asked as I swooped her up into my arms. “Your hair is perfect all the time and never needs cutting, does it?” I cooed.
She blinked her yellow eyes at me and reached out with her paw. “No it doesn’t, CC,” I said as I sat on the couch and snuggled with her for a moment. As we sat, resting, I turned on the TV to check the weather, only to see myself on the screen!
I gasped in horror as I watched my onscreen
self, bumping into the garbage cans at the Wright house and falling on top of them in an awkward heap.
I quickly turned it back off, hoping and praying that Casey wouldn’t see the footage. Or anybody else for that matter.
As I sat fretting about it, Cupcake’s purring body acted like a tranquilizer and before I knew it, I was starting to nod off. I told myself that a 10 minute nap might be just what I needed—I’d still have 20 minutes to get ready. Plenty of time…
I awoke to a knock at the door.
Oh no!
I looked at the time. How did I sleep for the entire 30 minutes?
I ran to the door and then paused to glance at myself in the entryway mirror.
No no no. This was not good. Not good at all.
“Just a sec!” I called out as I ran back into the bedroom.
I quickly wrapped my uneven, messy hair into a towel and flung it over like a turban, then I pulled on my robe and ran into the bathroom to sprinkle some water on my face. I now looked as though I’d been in the process of getting ready and had just stepped out of the shower. I hurried to open the door.
“Casey!” I said with a big fake smile. “Sorry. I’m not ready yet, but almost…”
“No worries, love,” he said, looking gorgeous in an elegant black tux and white shirt. He gave me a kiss as he came inside. “I have some texts to answer so you have…” he looked at his watch. “Exactly ten minutes before we leave.”
“Perfect!” I chirped, hurrying back to the bedroom, knowing that in ‘girl time’ ten minutes meant twenty. Or maybe even thirty. I was pretty sure Casey knew it too.
The problem now was taking a shower without having Casey wonder why I appeared to be taking a second shower.
Oh well, I was too frazzled to figure it out so I just hopped in and washed myself and my hair as quickly as I could. Then I skedaddled out to the bedroom and grabbed the gown Nana had lent me.
I slipped it on and looked at myself in the mirror. It was too late to deal with the unevenness of my hair so I pulled it back into an elegant chignon. Then I did my makeup, putting soft pink blush on my cheeks, pale gloss on my lips and a smoky dramatic eye. Then I spun around in my pretty, sequined, grey gown and smiled. Not bad for 35 minutes total prep time.
Éclair Case of Murder: A Culinary Cozy Mystery (A Rosie Kale Culinary Cozy Mystery Book 2) Page 8