by Kim Alexis
Iliana looked up at them miserably. “It’s not like I gave her any personal data, like phone numbers or whatever. I just confirmed their room numbers and spa appointments. I know I’m not supposed to do that, but it seemed like the easiest way to wrap things up and get her off my hands.”
“And once you told her what she wanted to know, did she say what her interest was in them, or why she was here?”
“No. But she did slip me a hundred bucks as a tip! When she first gave it to me, I about died, like I’d just been paid to violate company policy.”
After a beat, Juliette nodded. “Yet you kept it.”
At least Iliana had the grace to blush. “Yes. I told myself it wasn’t a payoff, it was just a tip. Raven has always been a big tipper, throwing around hundreds like a flower girl tossing rose petals at a wedding.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s this pair of Louis Vuitton ballet flats down at the mall that I’ve had my eye on, but I’ve been about a hundred dollars short—and they’re on sale through tonight. When she gave me that money, I decided it was kismet.”
“Kismet,” Didi echoed.
“I put it out of my mind.” Iliana’s expression turned grim. “But then you showed up, Didi, asking all of those questions. When you said you suspected Raven was trying to work out some sort of business deal on the sly—one that would undermine our long-standing relationship with your company—I felt terrible. Honestly I have no idea what Raven was doing here or why she wanted a room near those men. But I really, really hope you believe me when I say that if I had known it had anything to do with you or Ms. Taylor and might cause problems of some kind between us, I would never have done what I did. Everyone here at Palm Grotto knows what a valued business relationship we have with you guys. I would never endanger that. You have to believe me. I’m so sorry.”
Iliana’s face was now slick with tears.
Juliette assured her that they did, indeed, believe her. “You know, there’s a chance that whatever Raven was doing here had nothing to do with us or beauty products at all.”
Iliana dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Really? You think?”
“I guess it all comes down to who those men are. I mean, if we’re talking the cosmetics buyers for Macy’s or something, then yes, we have a problem. But if she just wanted to stay near a movie star or a famous author or a political figure or whatever, then that’s not about us and isn’t any of our business.”
Iliana nodded. “Well, I didn’t recognize a single one of the names, so they’re not movie stars, and probably not authors or political figures either.”
“What were their names?” Juliette knew that between her and Didi, they would recognize most everyone in the beauty business—especially those who wielded influence over the sales or distribution of product. “May we see the full list?”
Iliana shook her head. “Sorry, I threw the little paper out the other day, as soon as I was finished making all the arrangements.”
“Okay, then, just give us the names of the ones who are staying here.”
Iliana hesitated for a long moment, then turned to her computer and pushed a few buttons. “In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess. Right?”
They waited in silence.
“Here we go.” Iliana lowered her voice and read off the names. “Scott Ferguson, George Bailey, and Elwood Dowd.”
Didi repeated the names back to her then looked to Juliette, who shrugged.
“Of the three,” Juliette said, “only George Bailey rings a bell, but I can’t think why. I’m sure it’ll come to me.”
Didi turned back to Iliana. “I assume they’ve already checked in by now?”
“Yeah, they got here around noon. I let them have an early check-in.” Clasping her hands together and holding them in front of her, Iliana looked from Didi to Juliette. “You aren’t going to say anything about this to Reggie, are you? That would totally get me fired.”
Didi sighed. “I suppose there’s no need for that, not yet at least.”
Iliana nodded. “Thanks. For what it’s worth, I’ve learned my lesson. Trust me when I say that I won’t be giving out confidential guest information to anyone, ever again.”
CRYSTAL STOOD IN THE doorway of the long, narrow break room, which housed tables and chairs, vending machines, a fridge, and a counter area with sink, microwave, and coffee maker.
At the moment the room was overflowing with people. Glancing around, she decided that most of the faces here were familiar, though she hadn’t yet learned all their names. At least it was easy to tell who did which jobs by how they were dressed, from the green-shirt-tan-slacks attire of the administrative folks to the black-and-white outfits of the restaurant’s wait staff, to the brown uniforms of the security guards.
The security guards.
Taking a quick, second look, Crystal spotted the handsome face of one security guard in particular: Greg Overstreet, only the best-looking, most interesting guy at the whole spa. Just the sight of him was enough to set her pulse racing, though she tried not to let it show as she continued on to the counter and began making herself a mug of herbal tea.
She had met Greg during her first day on the job and had been attracted to his beautiful brown eyes, chiseled features, and hiker’s physique. Unfortunately, other than polite friendliness, he hadn’t seemed all that interested in her. Not, that is, until this past Monday night, when they ran into each other at a local health food store. Crystal had wanted to whip up a batch of her homemade hydrating body treatment, so she’d gone there in search of sweet almond oil. Greg was there too, and when he saw her combing the shelves he offered to help find whatever it was she was looking for. They spotted the oil, but at $17 it was too big and too expensive. She was tempted to substitute Patchouli at half the price, but then Greg found a smaller bottle of sweet almond in a different brand, on sale for just $4.99.
She’d almost hugged him on the spot.
After that the two of them stood and talked right there in the store for a good half hour or more. When they parted it was with his suggestion that they “go out for a coffee after work sometime.” Her response had been eager and immediate, and they’d made plans for the following night.
Their date went well, though she found it odd that he hadn’t tried to kiss her or touch her in any way. Instead, they just talked—for almost two hours straight. He was a wonderful listener, though he seemed kind of shy when it was his turn to speak. She hoped he would soon open up a little more, but at least his shyness made a nice change from the men she usually went for—guys who blathered on and on about themselves for hours on end.
Though Crystal wanted to go sit with him now, she didn’t want to seem overeager, so she forced herself to join a group at a different table instead. She took the empty chair at a table with Michelle, a manicurist, Lisa, a spa scheduler, and Beth, an esthetician who specialized in anti-aging facials. They were deep in conversation, and she listened as she dipped the spicy tea bag up and down in her mug of steaming water.
No big surprise, the three women were talking about Raven, the client who had died. Crystal hadn’t even met her, but from what they were saying, it sounded like she hadn’t been popular with the staff. Sipping at her tea, Crystal picked up conversations at other tables too, all of them about Raven and what an awful person she had been and how much everyone hated her. Wow.
Hoping to change the subject, at least with these three, Crystal asked if there’d been any news on Brooke. They said no, not yet, not that they knew of—then they went right back to the topic at hand.
Good grief. Their talk went on for several more minutes until finally she blurted, “Maybe there was a reason she was so mean. She could’ve just been going through a difficult time or something.”
“Ha!” Lisa cried. “I’ve been here seven years and she’s been an absolute nightmare on every single visit.”
“I’ve been here fifteen years,” an older man in a cook’s apron volunteered from the next table. “Take it fro
m me, she was always that way. Those of us in the kitchen dreaded every visit she paid to this place.”
Agreement—and even a bit of applause—sounded from others in the room.
“Was there nothing good about her at all?” Crystal demanded.
Everyone was quiet until a woman from housekeeping volunteered, “She tipped well. I don’t know about all of you, but I’ll put up with a lot for the kind of money she threw around.”
“I wouldn’t serve that woman again no matter how much you paid me,” the cook replied. After a beat, he added, “Oh, right! Guess now I won’t have to!”
As many of the others laughed, he launched into a vivid tale about an altercation he’d had with Raven years ago. No sooner had he finished than another employee piped up with what she called her “own personal Raven horror story.” It seemed almost everyone in the room had one—and they were all eager to share.
Eventually Crystal interrupted again, unwilling to hear even one more tale. “You’re telling me that in all those years and all those visits, Raven never made a single friend on staff here?”
Everyone grew quiet for a moment, and even when she looked over at Greg and met his eyes, he shrugged and turned away.
“It’s not like nobody ever talked to her,” said a different security guard, the older one with the mustache and the friendly smile. He was at the vending machine, buying himself a candy bar. “Upper management hung out with the lady almost every time she came.”
Crystal watched as that man loaded in his coins. “You mean like Reggie? Andre? They were friends with her?”
“Tell the truth, Orlando,” someone called out.
“Okay, maybe they weren’t exactly friends, but they’d share drinks with her on the restaurant’s balcony or take in the sunrise from reclining chairs by the lake. Stuff like that. They did what they could to make her feel welcome.”
“Of course they did,” snapped a groundskeeper from a table near the door. “Because they had to. Part of management’s job is to schmooze the clients, especially the rich ones who throw a lot of cash around while they’re here.”
Everyone nodded.
“Yeah, but just until that big mess she caused last summer,” said the cook as he crossed his arms over his ample chest. “After that, I don’t think even upper management wanted anything to do with her. When she came in January, they all steered clear.”
Crystal was about to ask what big mess he was talking about when someone hissed, “Speaking of upper management.”
Looking up, Crystal spotted Xena Peele, the spa’s director of scheduling, coming into the room. Tall and striking, Xena was a force to be reckoned with, the only person here at Palm Grotto that Crystal hadn’t yet been able to get a handle on. She was an intimidating woman, but intentionally so, Crystal thought, with her leather pants and chain belts, her black spiky hair, and her blood-red nails. Mostly, Crystal just tried to stay on Xena’s good side—when she wasn’t avoiding her entirely, that is.
Xena crossed to the coffee area, the heels of her thigh-high boots clicking a loud rhythm as she went. After pouring herself a cup of the rich, dark brew, she turned to face the group. “‘Speaking of upper management,’ what?”
Everyone was quiet for a moment until the groundskeeper spoke up. “We were saying nobody liked Raven, not even upper management.”
“Ah.” Xena sipped her coffee, her eyes moving from one to the other. “Actually, Raven did have one real friend on staff here.”
“Define real.” The cook’s skepticism was palpable.
“Real as in liked her and confided in her. Cared about her.”
Crystal was glad to hear it. Turning toward Xena, she waited for her to elaborate.
Xena’s gaze fell on Crystal in return. “Imagine that, knowing the deepest, darkest secrets of a monster like Raven, yet caring about her anyway. Sounds hard to believe, I know, but it’s true.”
MARCUS MANAGED TO WRAP things up at work, so after one final check of the day’s task list to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, he neatened his desk, locked up the office, and headed out.
Once home, he launched into packing for the trip but soon found that was easier said than done. Normally he could “load and roll” in under four minutes—a fact he had proven time and again, especially when he was working active response. But this time was different, thanks to the person he was going to see.
The more his small suitcase filled, the more he began to second-guess himself. He had no problems with the initial reason for his visit, the desire to protect an old friend. It was the unofficial, unspoken stuff—the memories, the emotions—behind that reason that gave Marcus an odd lurch in his gut. Was that nerves? Could the man Newsweek magazine had once called “the epitome of cool in a crisis” be rattled by the thought of reconnecting with a woman he hadn’t spoken to for more than two decades?
Marcus reached for the nearest folded set—blue shirt and silver tie—and tossed them into the open suitcase. There. Decision made. He began to close the lid then hesitated, rethinking the tie, concerned that it might emphasize the silver of his hair. Back then it had been thick and jet black. It was still almost as thick now, thank goodness, but it wasn’t black anymore and hadn’t been for ten or fifteen years. Not that he’d even given the matter a second thought, before this.
Scowling, Marcus removed the tie from the suitcase, hung it back on the rack in the closet, and chose a different one instead, a mix of blues, greens, and browns that Zoe had insisted he buy during a recent jaunt to the mall. Placing it atop the neatly folded clothes inside the suitcase, he wondered if he should rethink everything else in there as well. Should he have gone shopping for some new things? There was no time left for that now, but maybe tomorrow morning before seeing Juliette he could slip away from the spa and hit a nice men’s store out there.
Wait a minute. Shopping? New clothes? Hair color? Marcus groaned—he sounded like a teenage girl.
He couldn’t imagine why he was finding it so hard to prepare for this one simple encounter. Lowering himself to the edge of the bed, he had to admit that was because there was nothing simple about it.
Get a grip, Stone.
Looking at his suitcase, he could feel his pulse pounding in his neck. Stifling a groan, he closed the lid, zipped it shut, and lowered the bag to the floor. There. Now he had everything he needed for this trip save one last item.
He retrieved that item from his dresser and then paused and held it in his open palm. He’d just bought it yesterday, for less than a dollar, but to his mind it was the single most valuable possession he owned right now. It was to be his own personal calling card, a secret signal meant to bridge a gap.
A twenty-five-year gap.
With a grunt, Marcus looked down at the silver and blue wrapper in his hand. Who could imagine so much significance being attached to a simple piece of candy, to one small round patty of peppermint crème covered in chocolate?
Tucking it into the front pocket of his suitcase, Marcus couldn’t help but grin. A Peppermint Pattie as the must-have item for this adventure?
No one in the whole world would understand.
No one except Juliette Taylor.
Chapter Eight
THE ROOM HAD FALLEN silent, waiting for Xena’s revelation.
“So who was it?” someone prodded. “Who was Raven’s friend on staff here?”
Xena stirred her coffee. “Moonflower. Everybody knows that. The two of them were very close—and have been for years.”
Crystal frowned. “Moonflower Youngblood? The Watsu tech?”
“No, Moonflower Jones, the dishwasher,” Xena snapped. “How many Moonflowers do you think we have around here?”
Crystal didn’t appreciate the sarcasm, but it wasn’t worth a retort. Not only did Xena outrank her, but as the gatekeeper of the appointments, the woman was in a position to make Crystal’s life miserable—or the opposite, for that matter—if she wanted to. Fortunately Xena soon topped off her coffee mug and left
, done with the whole subject.
After that, one of the spa aides turned to Crystal and elaborated. She said that Moonflower had been Raven’s favorite therapist for years and that the two of them had grown quite close over time. “Not that they’d hung out after hours or anything, just that they developed a strong therapist-client bond.”
Crystal nodded, knowing that was common with masseurs, but especially so with those who specialized in the emotionally intimate art of Watsu. Its name derived from the words water and Shiatsu, Watsu was a unique form of massage done by well-trained professionals in small, waist-deep heated pools. Most Watsu sessions had the masseuse cradling the client in their arms for many of the stretches, a posture that mimicked the maternal bond and helped bring about physical and psychological healing to the client. It hadn’t surprised Crystal at all when she first learned that the naturally-maternal Moonflower was a Watsu specialist, nor did it seem odd to her now to hear that Raven had formed a strong attachment to the woman over the years.
“She was pretty upset when she heard,” the aide added. “I think she even went home.”
The cook grinned. “Meanwhile, the rest of us munchkins have been running around singing ‘Ding Dong the Witch Is Dead’ all afternoon.”
Heat flooded Crystal’s face, but everyone else laughed. This was awful. She had to get out of here. She washed her mug at the sink then made her way to the exit. Outside she took in a deep breath as she headed down the service walkway between the two buildings. Before she got far, she realized someone else had come out and was walking along behind her.
“I’m sorry you had to hear all that.”
With a backward glance, Crystal saw that it was Greg, his expression dark.
“The people at Palm Grotto aren’t usually so hostile,” he added as he caught up with her on the sidewalk. “It’s just been a really bad day.”
“It’s not only Palm Grotto, it’s everywhere.” Crystal knew the world was a cold and heartless place, but something about the harsh way those people had bandied about the dead woman’s name had been especially disturbing.