Beauty to Die For

by Kim Alexis

  “I’ve been thinking of taking a little getaway myself soon,” Lacey drawled. “Hey, I wonder if there are openings left at that ’ol spa for this weekend.”

  “No,” Marcus and Dean replied, in unison.

  She jumped, startled by the intensity of their response. Dean tried to smooth things over, but Marcus just looked away. Lacey was nice and all—and as smart as she was pretty—but that didn’t change the fact that she was far too aggressive for his tastes, not to mention half his age. While those sorts of thing might appeal to his buddy, who’d been hip-deep in a mid-life crisis for the last several years, for Marcus it was a deal breaker. Idealistic, overeager young eye candy couldn’t compare to someone like Juliette, who was refined and classy and had become more beautiful with age. Marcus thought of the recent photo that Nate had showed him, and he had to admit that he was even more captivated by her beauty now than he had been when they were young.

  “Anyway, I need to get back to work,” he said. “Just wanted to remind you about my trip.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  “My break time’s over too,” Lacey said, jumping up and moving toward the building. “Might as well go in with you.”

  Marcus opened the door, catching a glimpse of his own reflection in the glass as he held it for them. Studying the image, he wondered how Juliette would see him. His hair was silver now instead of black, and his face was a little more lined. But he’d never stopped working out—jogging alternated with strength training, mostly—and in the past six months he’d even gotten in some extra training with the task force. Now he was in top shape, the best he’d been in for years.

  But was it enough? After all this time, would Juliette still find him handsome? More importantly, would she be glad to see him?

  Or had it been too long?

  ONCE MS. TAYLOR LEFT for her manicure, Crystal continued rooting through the supply closet until she found what she was looking for, a net bag to replace one she’d torn the day before. Then she made her way to the treatment room where she would be working for the next hour.

  Other than the main building, the spa also featured a series of huts and mud baths and other areas that dotted the sloping lawn outside. To get to the Sweetwater room, Crystal had to go out the back door, down a flight of slate steps, around a small but pretty fountain, and into a long, rectangular structure known as the Arrowscale building. Arrowscale housed four treatment rooms side by side: the Keysia, the Dodder, the Tamarisk, and the Sweetwater.

  All of the buildings and treatment rooms at the spa were named after different desert flowers, though some were more poetic than others. With so many beautiful flower names to choose from—Dusty Maidens, Purple Sage, Evening Snow—they sure had chosen some duds. Like, why call a building Milkvetch instead of Whispering Bells, or Stillingia rather than Shooting Star? She supposed she should take comfort in the fact that at least there was no Bladderpot, no Skunkbush, no Winter Fat.

  Then again, given the girth of some of their clients, Winter Fat might not be a bad idea.

  Smiling at her own joke, Crystal stepped into Sweetwater, nearly bumping into Ty, who was preparing the room for her upcoming session. Tall and tanned with biceps the size of mangoes, Ty was a total stud and he knew it. Women were always swooning over him, but Crystal was familiar with the type—the overblown ego, the flirty, behavior despite the small gold band on the ring finger of his left hand—and had steered clear since day one, cutting him off the first time he came across as even remotely interested. At least he was a good spa aide, hardworking and unobtrusive.

  Stepping around him now, Crystal made her way through the luxurious-but-understated space to the much more utilitarian common area in back, where supplies and equipment were kept for all four of the connected treatment rooms. She opened the sanitizer and began to gather a full set of basalt stones for her first massage of the day, using the net bag to transfer them into the steamer pot in the Sweetwater room. There, the rocks would rise to a uniform 120º, warm enough to be effective but cool enough that they wouldn’t burn the skin.

  “Okay, linens are changed and out, oil is heated, you should be good to go.” Ty headed for the front door. “Be right back.”

  She thanked him for his help, and once he was gone she took a moment to center and calm herself. Closing her eyes, she breathed in through her nose, enjoying the soothing scents of lavender and jasmine that filled the room. She held that breath for a long moment, then let it ease out through her lips.

  Sucking in another breath, she became aware of a noise coming from the room next door. Cocking her head and listening, she could hear what sounded like two women talking—far too loudly, at least by Palm Grotto standards.

  Odd.

  She tried to ignore them but it wasn’t easy, especially when the volume increased even more. Soon, the melodic rise and fall of their speech was punctuated by what sounded like bursts of laughter. Though Crystal had been working here for just three weeks, she knew this was unusual. She decided to take a minute to see who was in there and have a quick word with them about quieting down.

  She hated to be snarky, but this was ridiculous.

  Chapter Five

  CRYSTAL WALKED TO THE small bulletin board in the back room, where the day’s schedule and room assignments were always posted. She studied the chart, trying to figure out what was going on next door and who was in there. Therapists rotated throughout the facility, but on this day at this time, according to the printout, Tamarisk was being used by Brooke for a chai soy mud wrap. Crystal was surprised. She hadn’t known Brooke for very long, but the woman was a professional, highly-respected massage therapist, one who’d been working here for quite a while. If things were louder than usual during one of her treatments, no doubt she had her reasons.

  According to the schedule, the wrap was from 1:30 to 2:20. Glancing at the clock on the microwave, Crystal realized the session had just twenty-two minutes to go. She decided not to interrupt after all. As long as her client wasn’t bothered by it, she wouldn’t take any action, though she intended to ask Brooke about the noise later, if for no other reason than to satisfy her curiosity.

  Crystal returned to her treatment room just as there was a light knock at the front door. It swung open to reveal Ty, delivering the man who would be Crystal’s client for the next hour, a fellow by the name of Elwood Dowd. Stepping forward, Crystal introduced herself and shook his hand. Barely meeting her eyes, he grunted in return then directed his impatient gaze toward the massage table.

  Oh boy, a “Grunter,” one of those high-powered executive types who couldn’t be bothered with niceties and underlings. Crystal didn’t appreciate his abrupt demeanor, but she wouldn’t let it upset her. She’d seen all kinds in this business.

  Ty gave her the client’s intake form and slipped out, pulling the door closed behind him. Turning her attention to the papers, Crystal skimmed through them for any physical complaints, recent injuries or accidents, and any medications the client might be taking. She asked a few additional questions for clarification, taking silent note of one matter he’d failed to mention at all: the visible row of hair plugs clinging for dear life along his pinkish scalp. Though she wouldn’t say anything about it, she would be careful not to include a scalp massage in today’s treatment.

  While the client got situated on the table, Crystal slipped into the back room. She washed her hands at the sink, surprised to realize that the noises in Tamarisk were even louder than before. Unable to imagine what could be going on, she tiptoed up to the door and pressed her ear against it. In between bouts of laughter, she could make out some of the words, in particular when one of the women called out, “A drink! I need another drink!”

  Crystal jerked her head away. Was it possible that Brooke and her client were getting drunk? That could explain the noise level, and the raucous laughter. But if that were the case, should she do something about it after all? She considered dialing the extension for Andre, the spa’s manager, just to alert hi
m to the situation.

  On the other hand, she didn’t want to be a tattletale, and she didn’t want to get anyone in trouble with the boss. What business did Crystal have coming in here and blowing the whistle? For all she knew, maybe Brooke was using some sort of unorthodox stress-relief therapy or something, and the “drink” in question was water or tea.

  Ignoring the noise as best she could, Crystal sucked in one more deep breath, let it out slowly, and tried to focus on her own client.

  But it wasn’t easy. The sounds from next door continued to waft through the wall, disturbing both her and the tense man on the table in front of her.

  Moving to the head of that table, Crystal tried to relax the tension in his jaw by applying gentle, cross-fiber friction to his masseter and mandible. She moved from there into smooth strokes along the neck and upper shoulders, pressing the fleshy part of her fingers against the skin, sensing the many places where muscles and fiber were hard as stale licorice sticks. It didn’t seem to be doing much good, so she shifted down to his legs and feet, ready to introduce the stones, hoping the heat they put out would make the difference. Leaning toward the steamer, she retrieved two of the larger ones and coated them with massage oil.

  “Let me know if this temperature is too high for you.” She kept her voice soft as she placed the warm, oiled rocks in direct contact with the skin.

  After a moment, he groaned.

  She lifted the stones from his skin. “Too hot?”

  “No, it’s that noise.” He raised himself on his elbows and twisted around. “What is that? It’s driving me crazy!”

  “I’m not sure. Palm Grotto is such a quiet place, it really is.”

  Crystal realized that the nature of the sounds next door had changed. No longer did she hear talking or laughter. Instead, it had become more like a high, keening tone, almost as if someone were wailing. Chill bumps rose on her arms, and her stomach began to churn. “Mr. Dowd, can you excuse me for just a minute?”

  Without waiting for his reply, she set the stones back in the steamer and grabbed a towel, wiping her hands as she moved toward the back room. She walked straight through, and when she reached the door of Tamarisk, she didn’t hesitate this time. Instead, she gave one sharp knock and swung the door open, terrified at the thought of what she might find inside.

  Immediately she was assaulted by the sweet, pungent smell of coconut and sandalwood. On the table lay a woman, flat on her back with her eyes closed, her hair wrapped in a towel and her body encased in the white top-blanket of the spa’s signature chai soy mud wrap. Much to Crystal’s surprise, the client was alone and silent, Brooke nowhere to be seen.

  Then Crystal heard that sound again, a high-pitched, keening moan, coming from nearby. Stepping farther into the room, she peered around the open door and spotted Brooke crouched on the floor behind it, knees clutched to her chest, rocking back and forth, her eyes blank, staring ahead as she moaned.

  With a gasp, Crystal leaped toward Brooke, but as she did, her feet nearly slid out from under her. Grabbing the doorknob to keep from falling, Crystal looked down to see several open bottles of oil lying nearby, their contents spilled out onto the floor. Moving more cautiously, she skated herself forward then crouched in front of Brooke amidst the oily puddle.

  “Brooke.” She put her hands on the woman’s shoulders and shook her, gently at first and then harder.

  Brooke didn’t even seem to notice. Instead, she continued to rock back and forth, her eyes blank, her face flushed and sweaty, the eerie sound pouring from her lips.

  Crystal’s heart pounded. She couldn’t imagine what might be wrong. Not only was Brooke unresponsive, but there was something very strange about her eyes. They were dilated—so dilated, in fact, that all that was visible were the big black circles of the pupil, with almost no irises at all.

  Crystal pressed two fingers against Brooke’s neck. Pulse racing. Skin burning hot. Face flushed. Turning, Crystal called out toward the client on the table. “Ma’am? Can you tell me what happened in here? Do you know what’s wrong?”

  The client did not reply.

  Bile rising in her throat, Crystal stood and made her way on the slippery floor around the door and into the back room. She grabbed the telephone mounted on the wall there, and at the push of three buttons, she was connected with Andre, the spa’s manager.

  He answered in his usual clipped tone. “Yes?”

  “Andre? It’s Crystal. You need to come to Tamarisk right away.”

  “I’m almost there,” he snapped. “You’re not the first to complain about the noise.”

  Swallowing hard, she tried to keep from sounding hysterical as she said, “It’s not just the noise, Andre. Something’s wrong. Something in here has gone terribly, terribly wrong.”

  JULIETTE OPENED HER EYES. “What do you think is going on?”

  Her treatment almost complete, she was sitting with her hands under the nail dryer as the manicurist added the finishing touch, a light massage of her neck and shoulders. It felt heavenly, but it was hard to relax and enjoy it with so much noise outside.

  “I don’t know.” The woman looked a tad unnerved herself.

  They’d been listening to sirens for the past few minutes and had even commented about what had to be a nearby multicar pileup or a raging house fire. But now things had changed. The sirens had gotten louder, so loud that they weren’t just down the road somewhere. They had to be on the property of the resort itself.

  The two women could hear other noises as well—voices speaking too loudly, footsteps running through the halls, walkie-talkies crackling outside. Finally it struck Juliette that the building might be on fire. Trying to remain calm, she suggested they check things out.

  They left the room together, joining in with the flow of people who were moving down the maze of hallways to the spa’s back door. Juliette was relieved not to smell or see smoke, though she was disappointed that no one else seemed to know what was going on either. Careful not to nick her freshly-painted nails, she stuck with the crowd until she was on the lawn out back, where there were tons of police cars parked all around, sirens now off but lights still flashing. Continuing on down the slate steps, Juliette saw two ambulances at the ready, parked side by side on the grass in front of the Arrowscale building, their rear doors open and waiting. Paramedics and police officers were milling about the scene, going in and out of one of the rooms, while numerous employees and spa guests hovered along the fringes of the action, craning their necks and jostling for a view.

  Juliette searched the crowd for a familiar face. She couldn’t find Didi but she did spot Xena, the spa’s leather-clad overseer of scheduling. Whip-thin and gorgeous in a fierce, stylish, faux-punk sort of way, Xena was standing about ten feet away, whispering with Andre, the spa’s manager.

  Relieved, Juliette headed over to them, eager to find out what was going on.

  “It’s Brooke and a client,” Xena told her.

  Juliette’s eyes widened. “Brooke Hutchinson? What happened?”

  Xena yawned. “No one’s quite sure exactly. She was giving a chai soy mud wrap in Tamarisk, but something must’ve gone wrong. Another therapist heard weird noises coming from in there, and when she went to investigate, she found Brooke curled up in a corner in a puddle of oil, babbling and incoherent.”

  Andre picked up the story from there, leaning forward and speaking in a whisper. A wiry guy with a shaved head and stylish, square-framed glasses, he’d always been a high energy person, but at the moment he was almost vibrating from the drama of it all. “Crystal called me to come, but I was already on my way. As soon as I opened the door and saw what was going on, I called 9-1-1. Now we’re just all waiting to see what happens next.”

  “You said she was with a client?”

  Xena nodded. “Still there on the table, all wrapped up.”

  With a start, Juliette realized that unless Brooke had already finished up that treatment and moved on to another, the client on that table wo
uld’ve been Raven.

  Before she could ask, Andre and Xena were both called away, so as the chaos continued to reign around her, Juliette returned to the slate steps and climbed partway up to get a better view. She couldn’t see inside the building because of all the activity, but she did spot Crystal, the new therapist she’d met earlier, sitting on a wrought-iron bench nearby. Spa employees surrounded the distraught young woman. They seemed to be offering comfort, though whether they really cared or were just trying to get in on the drama, she wasn’t sure.

  Ty must have had some part in things as well, because he looked traumatized too. He was standing behind Crystal, his face pale, his hands gripping the wooden slats of the bench. His gaze was locked on the Arrowscale building, his eyes narrowed, his focus intent.

  Scanning the crowd again, Juliette caught sight of Didi, heading in her direction. Just as she reached the foot of the slate stairs, paramedics emerged from the treatment room, rolling a stretcher toward one of the waiting ambulances. Both women turned to see Brooke lying on that stretcher, twisting her head and body back and forth, struggling against restraints. She was babbling something nonsensical, in a slurred voice.

  Once the ambulance was loaded and gone, Didi came up the steps to stand beside Juliette. “Well, I knew it would happen eventually.”

  “What?”

  “Raven has now officially driven someone crazy.”

  Juliette gasped. “That’s not funny, Didi, not at all. This isn’t time for jokes.”

  “You think I’m kidding?”

  Ignoring the question, Juliette squinted toward the treatment room, waiting for Raven to appear next. She still couldn’t see past the cops blocking the door. Was the woman okay? Would they be bringing her out on a stretcher too?