Deadly Intent

by Camy Tang

  “I wouldn’t be very good company right now.”

  “Neither would I. Let’s cheer each other up before we have to go home and face your father.”

  Devon exited the front doors of his hotel and headed next door, across the parking lot of Alexander’s Steak House. He was so hungry that his stomach pulled painfully toward his spine.

  Headlights blinded him momentarily. A car zoomed past him, rather recklessly for such a small parking lot.

  He’d never take his admin for granted again. Martha had surprised him this morning by showing up at his hotel door with his laptop and a stack of files. She’d worked with him all morning, leaving him with, “I’ll be praying for you.” This time, for some reason, the phrase didn’t make him want to roll his eyes. Hopefully she had been okay driving the three hours back to her home in the South Bay.

  Prompted by a sharp pain in his belly, he hurried as he wove through empty cars. As he emerged from between two cars, a bright light made him blink and squint. The car that had zoomed past him earlier now sat idling down the aisle of the parking lot, headlights blazing. Waiting for someone?

  He walked along the edge of the aisle as he headed toward the restaurant entrance, keeping the way clear in case the car decided to drive toward him and out of the parking spot. But instead, it slowly stalked him, like someone following him in order to get his parking slot. Except there were plenty of empty stalls. His hackles rose. What was going on? He glanced back again, but the car continued to follow behind him, not too close, but obviously the driver was not going to pass him. He couldn’t see the driver because of the headlights, but he thought the car was white.

  He walked more slowly. The car slowed.

  He walked faster. But the car’s pace didn’t change.

  The car was several yards back. He stopped, indicating that he needed to cross. The car stopped.

  He crossed.

  The engine roared. Tires squealed. The sound rumbled through him, making his heart lurch. The headlights hit him right in the eyes, making his world turn white. His brain told his feet to sprint to safety, but somehow his body wasn’t responding fast enough. His leg muscles bunched as if wading through water. Move! Move!

  He flung himself forward. Wind from the passing car whipped at his ankles.

  He crashed into a large terra-cotta pot containing some ornamental shrub, and leaves rained down on him as the pot wobbled. The ground was still warm with residual heat from the day, and the acrid smell of asphalt rose with the warmth. Sharp stones dug into his side where he lay. As he dragged in a few breaths, he noticed the throbbing in his shoulder and upper back. Probably where he connected with the pot.

  From far away, he heard cries and shrieks. Then a strong hand at his shoulder. “You all right?”

  He rolled over and sat up gingerly. More than just his shoulder hurt—it seemed as if every bone ached from the jarring. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you hurt?” A young Hispanic man crouched beside him, dressed in the uniform of a valet.

  “I just ache a bit.”

  “Want me to call a doctor?”

  “Devon!” A cloud of something fresh, exotic and soothing at the same time was the only warning before Naomi Grant was on her knees in front of him. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

  “We saw everything.” Becca Itoh appeared beside him. “We were on the sidewalk, heading toward the restaurant.”

  “I was at the other restaurant across the street,” the Hispanic man said. “The car was a white Lexus driven by a woman—I got a look as she turned onto the road.”

  “Carlos, thank goodness you were working tonight.” Becca touched the man’s shoulder briefly.

  Devon eyed the gesture. “You know each other?”

  “Our families have been friends since Carlos and Naomi went to kindergarten together,” Becca replied.

  “This isn’t some random accident,” Naomi said, dialing her cell phone. “Not with everything that’s been happening. Detective Carter needs to know about this.”

  “I got a partial license plate number, too, Naomi,” Carlos said.

  Only then did it fully hit him. Someone had deliberately tried to run him down. Someone had tried to kill him. His sore muscles suddenly didn’t seem so bad. It could have been so much worse. He could be dead.

  Naomi clicked her phone shut. “The detective is on his way.”

  “The guy must think we have him on speed dial.”

  “Why would anyone want to hurt you?” Becca asked.

  Why would anyone want to hurt him? he wondered. His assets were nothing like they used to be, thanks to Jessica, and he didn’t have any disgruntled patients who were so mad they wanted to kill him.

  “It seems odd.” Naomi’s voice was low, tentative.

  “What do you mean?” He tried flexing his arms, his legs. Nothing serious. Maybe he could stand up.

  “You. This. That car.”

  “Maybe it’s not just Jessica—maybe someone’s after people connected with her.”

  “An ex-husband?” Becca snorted. “Seems far-fetched.”

  “I’m starting to think it’s not about Jessica,” Naomi said.

  “Why?” He didn’t like the strained look on her face, a mix of stress and fear.

  “I think it’s about the spa. Or me.”

  Something fiercely protective rose in him. “Why would you think that?”

  “If we hadn’t been here tonight…”

  “This would still have happened.”

  “But if we hadn’t been here, then I’d have been the first person Detective Carter would have called.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I own a white Lexus.”

  SIX

  Someone was setting her up.

  She shivered for the hundredth time. Someone hated her so much, he or she was trying to frame her. Nothing direct, but things blatantly pointing to her.

  Who would do this? She wasn’t Miss Congeniality, but she didn’t have any enemies she could think of who’d go to this extreme.

  Naomi stood to the side as Detective Carter spoke to Carlos. She’d endured a stressful grilling by him—after all, here she was present at the scene of yet another crime.

  She peered around the corner at the ambulance, which was blocking access to most of the parking lot. Devon still sat on its tailgate, where a paramedic checked his sore ribs.

  At first, when she and Aunt Becca had been walking down the sidewalk and she’d seen Devon’s dark figure in the parking lot, she’d fought down rising excitement—the first joyful feelings she’d had in two days. But only for the moment it took her to remember that he was hiding something—maybe something important.

  She couldn’t be sure if he was involved in Jessica’s murder or not.

  And now, waiting for a chance to talk to him, her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Because while it scared her to the core that someone wanted to hurt her, a part of her was profoundly relieved that that someone wasn’t Devon.

  Her attention strayed back to Carlos. Detective Carter had finished talking to him. In fact, Carlos was just ending a call on his cell phone. She wandered over to him.

  “How are you doing, Carlos?”

  He nodded and smiled. “Doing okay. Carmella’s starting to show.”

  “That’s great.” She cast a furtive glance at Detective Carter, a few feet away with his back turned toward them, and lowered her voice. “Did you see the woman driving the car?”

  “Just her profile, and I only got a glimpse when she passed under a streetlight.”

  “But it was definitely a woman?”

  He nodded. “Do you think it has to do with Ms. Ortiz’s death?”

  She wasn’t surprised Carlos knew about Jessica—Sonoma was a small town despite the tourists who flocked to it. She said, “It seems a little too coincidental, don’t you think?”

  “I think I recognized the car.”

  “You did? F
rom where?”

  “I’ve valeted the Paiges at the restaurant several times.”

  “The Paiges?”

  “A dentist and his wife. I thought the license plate number was theirs.”

  “Are they at the restaurant now?” She glanced across the street at Evergreen, the Pinecrest Hotel’s restaurant. The other valet was faithfully at his post, but craning his neck and trying to figure out what was going on.

  “No, but I called Jerry, one of the valets at Papillon—the Paiges often go there to eat dinner when they’re in Sonoma.”

  “Do you think they might be there tonight?”

  He shrugged. “It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” His cell phone rang. “It’s Jerry. Hello?…Really? Aw, man…Yeah, I’ll tell the detective. Thanks. Bye.”

  “Their car was stolen?”

  “The keys were still on the valet’s pegboard, but their car is missing from the lot. Whoever took the car must have broken in.” He glanced over at the detective. “I didn’t mention it to Detective Carter when he questioned me because I wanted to call Jerry first, but I should tell him now.”

  “Wait, before you go…you mentioned the couple’s last name—Paige. Is the dentist’s wife named Marissa Paige?”

  “Yes. Do you know them?”

  “She’s a regular at the spa. In fact…” Naomi searched her memory. “I think she had an appointment that morning when Jessica…” She still couldn’t say it, as if saying it made Jessica really gone.

  Carlos was silent a moment, too. “I’ll talk to you later, Naomi.”

  “Thanks a lot, Carlos.”

  Was there a connection between the Paiges and Jessica? Were they somehow involved in Jessica’s death? Especially when Marissa Paige might have been in the spa the morning Jessica was killed?

  Or maybe their car was taken because Naomi drove a white Lexus, too.

  She shuddered. Was someone spinning a web around her, trapping her into a crime she didn’t commit? Why would anyone want to do that?

  There was too much she didn’t know. Tomorrow she’d check the spa records to see if Marissa Paige had indeed been there that morning.

  And if she hadn’t…What did that mean?

  SEVEN

  Had her father blackmailed someone? Naomi couldn’t think of any other reason why the police were letting them reopen the spa tomorrow.

  Dad denied any shady dealings, so maybe Aunt Becca had finally charmed her way into Detective Carter’s good graces.

  Regardless, there was a ton of work to do today.

  Naomi had called Sarah and Iona that morning to ask the receptionists to come in. She left the entry foyer to escape the noise of both of them on the phone, calling clients who’d had to cancel to ask if they wanted to be rescheduled, and calling clients already scheduled for tomorrow to verify appointments. She made a mental note to remind them to call spa staff as well to make sure everyone came in tomorrow, but knowing them, they’d have already done it by the time she talked to them again.

  Naomi entered the ladies’ locker room. Everywhere was evidence the police had been here—furniture askew, black dust she assumed was from the forensic fingerprint powder, some trash here and there. The cleaning staff usually came at night, but she’d call and ask them to come in today during the daytime. At least the metallic blood smell had dissipated.

  Jessica’s blood. How could she be so callous and cold about it only a few days later? It seemed wrong to think about doing business as usual when a woman had lost her life in a room down the hall, when her blood had soaked the staff uniform and towels that had lain here.

  The outer door opened with a sudden whoosh, making her jump.

  “Naomi?”

  “In here, Aunt Becca.”

  “Martin was looking for you. You’re not answering your cell.”

  Naomi patted her pockets. She’d forgotten her cell phone in her office again. “I was working with Sarah and Iona for a while, then I came in here. We’ll need a new basket for linens. The police took the old basket as evidence.”

  “I’ll buy a new linen basket this afternoon,” Aunt Becca said.

  “Good, because after I’m done here, I want to make a few visits in Sonoma.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yesterday, Sarah and Iona looked up the Tamarind members who had been here the morning Jessica was…” She swallowed. “The morning I found Jessica. Some of them might still be in hotels in Sonoma, and I thought I’d pay them each a personal visit.”

  Aunt Becca smiled. “A personal apology from the Joy Luck Life Spa management, soothing ruffled feathers…”

  “And chatting about Jessica, and what she might have said to them that morning.”

  Her aunt nodded. “That’s a good plan. They might say something that means something significant to you, whereas it wouldn’t have meant anything to the police.”

  “I hope so.” She regarded Aunt Becca. “Speaking of police, I saw you talking to Detective Carter last night for a few minutes. What were you talking about?”

  “Devon Knightley.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, it was obvious that Devon being run over takes him off the suspect list.”

  Naomi sighed. “You trust him too easily. I still say he’s hiding something.”

  “And I think it’s nothing important.”

  “He could have arranged to get himself nearly run over.” But in her heart, she knew it hadn’t been that. It had been too close—so close, she had fully expected to see his body colliding with the car’s bumper, and she’d screamed like a maniac.

  Aunt Becca tilted her head as she thought about it. “He could have. Except he chose a rather empty parking lot to do it. He couldn’t have known we’d be walking on the sidewalk just as the car tried to hit him.”

  “That’s true. If I were going to stage an accident, I’d have chosen a place with more witnesses.”

  “If not for us, Carlos would have been the only witness, and an iffy one at that, since he was across the street.” Aunt Becca gave a triumphant toss of her gray curls. “I told you he couldn’t have been involved in that nasty business.”

  Naomi hadn’t wanted to believe Devon capable of murder, but she wasn’t about to admit it to her gloating aunt. “You were saying about Martin?”

  “He found me and asked where you were. It seems important.”

  They headed toward the back of the building, to the security room where the two day guards sat, monitoring the exterior cameras. “Martin?” Naomi poked her head around the door.

  He turned in his seat at the sound of her voice, then immediately rose to his feet. “Miss Grant. I’m glad you’re here. I have something to show you.”

  He rummaged in a cabinet opposite the security monitors. “I never got a chance to tell you that morning they found Ms. Ortiz, and then I didn’t see you until that evening when you came in to take that late appointment.” He pulled several videotapes out of the cabinet. “And then after that guy showed up that night, the detective was right there and I didn’t want to say anything in front of him.”

  He turned and popped one of the tapes in a playback machine to the side of the monitors. A previously dark screen flickered, then showed the front entrance of the spa, at night, illuminated by the front floodlight.

  Martin gestured to the screen. “We made copies of the surveillance videos before we gave the originals to the detective.”

  “What?” Naomi and Aunt Becca said at once.

  Martin’s chin gestured toward Jared. “After you called us about Ms. Ortiz, we knew the police would want the surveillance videos, so we immediately made copies of all the tapes from that morning. It didn’t take long. Then we gave the originals to the detective.”

  “But this is nighttime.” Naomi pointed to the video playing on the screen.

  “After that guy showed up that night, I made copies of the videos again before giving the originals to the detective. I wanted to tell you, but he was right there.”

  That’
s why Martin had been so antsy right after the detective questioned him that night. “And you were off work yesterday.”

  “Plus I didn’t know if you were at work or not. I didn’t have your personal phone number.” Martin lowered his voice. “I also didn’t want to be overheard by anyone at my home. The videos were here, and I didn’t want anyone else to know we’d made the copies.”

  Was it wrong to copy tapes before giving the originals to the police? She didn’t think so, but the action itself might seem suspicious. “Thanks, Martin. I wasn’t in a frame of mind to see the videos yesterday anyway.”

  Action on the screen pulled her attention back to it. Martin and Penelope left the building, the swath of exterior light glinting off some jeweled clips in her hair.

  A few minutes later, the stranger appeared on screen.

  Martin paused the video. The picture skewed a bit, but she could see the stranger’s pasty face, the wide eyes that looked nervous and agitated even from this still shot. He somehow looked more vulnerable here than when he’d been inside talking to her.

  “He hadn’t even known about Jessica’s death when he came in the spa,” she murmured.

  “Which suggests he wasn’t involved in her attack,” Aunt Becca said.

  “He was pretty desperate when he raced out of there,” Martin said.

  Naomi studied the picture. “I think there’s something suspicious about him, but I don’t think he killed her.”

  “But he still might know something about Jessica or about her killer,” Aunt Becca said.

  “Martin, can you print out a copy of this shot?”

  His brow wrinkled. He looked at Jared. “Do you think…?”

  Jared nodded. “I think I can. Give me some time.” He ejected the tape and inserted it into another machine on the other side of the desk, then fiddled with some cords and wires at the back of it.

  Martin inserted another tape. “These are all from the morning Ms. Ortiz died.”

  Died. The finality of it saddened her. She had to get used to the fact that Jessica Ortiz was really gone.