by Kim Alexis
“Daddy! Hi!” Her voice was exuberant and loud.
Jekyll, thank goodness.
“Hey, sweetie, how’s it going?”
“Hold on, Dad. I told everybody you’d be calling but they’re still being really noisy.”
He waited, listening as she extracted herself from a boisterous group of kids and made her way to somewhere quieter. The microwave dinged so he grabbed his plate and was just sitting back down to a steaming plate of Tuesday’s chicken casserole when she came back on the line.
“This is better, I’m in the hall now. We’re leaving for dinner in about ten minutes and the girls in my room are being all yappy and hogging the mirror. I got ready early so I could talk.”
“Good thinking. So how’s the trip going?”
“Oh, Dad, it’s awesome! Washington is, like, so amazing!”
Grinning, he took another bite and listened to her expound on the joys of DC. He’d just brought her there himself, a few years before, but to hear her talk, it was as if she was seeing it all now for the first time. She recounted the places they’d been so far, including the Capitol Building, two of the Smithsonian museums, and the zoo.
“Oh—and we saw the Spy Museum! It was my favorite!”
Why didn’t that surprise him?
“Jamie and Alison have decided that you’re a spy, Dad.”
Marcus nearly choked on his peas. “They what? Why?”
“There was a list of how to tell if someone is a spy and a bunch of things on it sounded just like you.”
“Oh boy. Guess my secret decoder ring gave me away?”
“No, really, you know how like you’re not allowed to talk about your work sometimes? Or how you have phone numbers for all kinds of important people, like high-ranking government officials and stuff?”
“Zoe, that’s—”
“You take photos of unusual things, like doorframes or the insides of cabinets.”
“Yeah, for structural analy—”
“And you’re always being called in to help when there’s been a big disaster or something.”
“That’s because I’m an expert in disasters!”
“I know, but they think that’s your cover—for espionage.”
Marcus shook his head, not sure whether to laugh or groan. “What did you tell them?”
“I said I could neither confirm nor deny.”
They both laughed.
“Great, thanks, Zo. I’m sure after that they were even more convinced than before.”
Marcus asked how everyone was getting along. By the time she was done recounting all of the middle school drama, he had polished off his entire dinner, washed the dishes he’d used, and put them away. At least it sounded like she was staying out of trouble herself. She also seemed to be learning a lot, and she was clearly having a wonderful time.
Just before hanging up, as he moved through the house making sure he’d locked the windows and turned off all lights, they picked the day and time for their next call, Sunday evening at 6:00. He also reminded her that he was about to leave on his trip with Grandma.
“Oh right, to that spa. Jamie wants to know, do you have to get naked for a massage?”
“Zoe!”
“Well, she asked.”
He groaned. “No, I think that’s optional. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my shorts on.”
“Eww! Dad! She wasn’t talking about you; we were wondering about Grandma.”
He laughed. “Honey, I assure you that even if your grandmother does choose to disrobe, she’d still have a sheet or a towel over her. Besides, a masseuse is like a doctor. They’re professionals about it—not to mention they’ve seen it all before.”
“Well, I hope you guys have a lot of fun either way.”
“We’ll try.”
“Hey, maybe you’ll meet some gorgeous manicurist or something and end up marrying her and bringing her home.”
The idea of Marcus meeting someone and getting married had become a frequent topic of Zoe’s lately. Good thing she didn’t know the real reason he was going to California. Otherwise, she’d already be calling Juliette “Mommy.”
“Though I highly doubt I could meet and marry someone in just four days, I’m glad you’d like to see me happy.”
“Oh, I don’t care about your happiness,” she teased. “I just think it would be cool to have someone in the family who could give me free manicures.”
He chuckled, checking the thermostat to make sure it was set down. “Zoe, I miss ya like crazy, kid.”
“Me too, Dad. Have a good time.”
“I will. You too. Be safe.” They said their good-byes, and he disconnected the call.
Ready to head out, Marcus gathered his things and paused at the back door, the last bag of trash in one hand and his keys in the other. There in the darkened kitchen, he asked a prayer of protection for his child and travelling mercies for them all. He closed that prayer with a huge thank-you for the best daughter a man could ever ask for.
CRYSTAL HAD BEEN AFRAID she might have to go into the room where the death occurred, but instead the detective brought her next door to the Sweetwater, where she’d been giving a hot-stone massage when things first started getting weird. Once inside, the man introduced himself as Detective Lopez, then a second detective joined them, a younger guy with the last name of Bryant. He had a friendly face and a gentler demeanor than his older, more grizzled partner.
The men explained that they wanted to hear what had taken place from her perspective. Ignoring the butterflies careening around inside her stomach, Crystal decided to start at the beginning. She moved closer to the massage table and demonstrated how she’d been standing there, doing some deep breathing in preparation for giving a massage, when she realized she could hear voices coming from next door.
“Actually, we’d like to go a little further back than that.” Detective Lopez eyed her intently. “Let’s start with your whereabouts since about five p.m. yesterday.”
Well . . . that was odd. Why did they need to know that? Trying not to frown, she thought for a moment then listed off her activities after she’d clocked out around 5:20 p.m. First she’d made a stop for free end-of-the-day pretzels near the park, then she’d gone to a pet store in downtown Cahuilla Springs, one where patrons were allowed to play with the puppies. After that, she’d gone home and whipped up a batch of Blueberry and Brown Sugar Body Scrub, which she followed with a bath and then bed.
Lopez grunted, looking down at his notes. “Buying a dog, are you?”
“No sir.” Heat crept into her cheeks. How pathetic she must sound to these two men. “I’m new in town and don’t really know anybody yet, and I was feeling kind of, uh, lonely. So I went and hugged some puppies. Is there something wrong with that?”
Bryant seemed to understand what she was saying, though Lopez merely grunted. She continued going through the time period in question, ending with this morning’s trip to the farmer’s market and the flea market, the quick stop at home, and her return to the spa to start her workday.
“From what I’m hearing, Crystal, can I assume you have some financial issues?”
What? Where did Lopez come up with that? She forced her voice to remain calm. “How can that possibly be relevant here?”
“Just sounds like you’re having to cut a few corners. I was thinking, if you’re pinching pennies at home, it must be hard to work at a place that caters to the rich. Having to serve folks like that all day long must make you kinda resentful.”
Crystal did her best to keep the disrespect from her voice. “Why would I resent it if my clients have money? This is my job. Thank goodness they do, or I wouldn’t get a paycheck!”
She knew she sounded defensive, but the whole subject rubbed her the wrong way. Pinching pennies? Compared to how she and her mother used to live, her new life here was a stay at the Ritz!
Fortunately they seemed satisfied with her answers and told her to continue. She went on to describe parking her car in the employee
lot, clocking in at the main building, meeting Juliette Taylor at the supply closet, and finally coming over to the Sweetwater Room, where the aide was getting things ready for her first appointment of the day.
The older detective flipped through his notes. “Right, that was a hot-stone massage at two o’clock with a Mr. VonTassel.”
“Who?”
“VonTassel. Your massage was with Quentin VonTassel.”
“No it wasn’t. My client was named Elwood Dowd.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Yes, he was here earlier. I saw you questioning him. Short guy, runner’s body, hair plugs along the forehead?”
Lopez flipped back and forth for several pages, but then Bryant interrupted him, giving him a meaningful look and stretching the name. “Dowd, remember? Threatened to call in the big guns?”
The men shared a look and then changed the subject. Crystal wanted to ask what that was about, but soon they were directing her to the back room, where they had some additional questions. Gesturing toward the refrigerator and microwave, Bryant asked if those were used for storing and cooking employee snacks and lunches.
“Gosh, no, there are appliances in the break room for that. We’d never put food in here.”
Crystal walked to the fridge and swung open the door, intending to show them the neat rows of various bottles and jars and tubes inside. Instead, it was completely empty.
“I don’t understand. Where did everything go?” She started to list the items they should have been seeing, but the young detective stopped her, explaining that the contents had been taken over to the Palm Springs police lab for analysis.
Before she could ask why they’d needed to do that, the older detective looked down at his notes again. “If no one ever puts food in there, how do you explain the large tub of yogurt and the fruits and vegetables that we found? Do you know anything about those?”
“Yes, sir. We use them in some of our facials. Yogurt is an extremely gentle exfoliant. And the silica in cucumbers is great for nourishing connective tissue in the skin. Lime juice balances pH levels—”
“It’s okay, we get it.” Lopez scribbled another note on his pad. “What about the various nonfood items that were in there? The tubes and bottles and stuff. Why do they need to be refrigerated?”
“They’re more effective when chilled. There’s a lot of heating and cooling in our various treatments. It depends on the goal, like if I’m trying to open up the pores or relax the muscles, I’ll use warmth. If I want to reduce swelling or soothe the skin, I’ll go with cool.”
“Okay, got it.” Lopez flipped to a new page in his notebook and moved on. “So you already mentioned that you were back here in this area several times today. At any point did you observe anyone else in this room or see anyone going in or out of this building?”
Crystal shook her head then hesitated. “Well, Ty, of course, in the beginning, but all he did was set up the room for me and then leave again to retrieve my client. Once he dropped off Mr., uh, whoever, I didn’t see him after that. The spa aides are kept pretty busy, all day long.”
Bryant nodded. “And you saw no one else back here other than Ty Kirkland?”
“No sir. No one.”
Lopez shifted in his seat. “Let’s talk about you. How long would you say you were in this back room before your client arrived?”
“I’m not sure, maybe three or four minutes.”
“Then you said you came back here again soon after that, just before the start of his massage?”
“Yes.”
“How long were you here that time?”
“A minute or two at the most.”
Both detectives were taking notes now. “And what did you do during that time?”
Crystal hesitated. She was picking up on a very strange vibe. Nothing had changed—their voices were still calm and modulated, their expressions neutral—but for some reason she felt uncomfortable. For lack of a better word, she felt almost accused somehow.
Trying not to act self-conscious, Crystal walked toward the back door and pointed out the master schedule hanging on the wall. “I washed my hands, then I came over and looked at the printout to learn which therapist was in Tamarisk. To be honest, I just couldn’t imagine who was making all that noise, and I was trying to decide whether to knock on the door and ask them to tone it down or call the spa manager so he could deal with it.”
“And?”
“And when I saw it was Brooke, I decided to do neither. She’s one of the best therapists here. It wasn’t my place to correct her. She knows what she’s doing.” She bit her lip. “At least . . . I thought she did.”
She pulled her hand away from the schedule, and as she did she noticed an odd, grayish-black substance on her fingertips. “There’s something on here that wasn’t there before. Some sort of dark powder.”
“Yes ma’am. That’s just residue from the fingerprinting.”
Crystal turned to look at them. “Fingerprinting? But why?”
The two detectives glanced at each other and then back at her, their gazes narrowing just a bit.
“Standard procedure,” the young one said.
“To take fingerprints when somebody dies? That’s standard procedure?”
He nodded. “When there are inconsistencies, yes.”
“Inconsistencies.” Crystal rolled the word around on her tongue and then she gasped, eyes wide.
This hadn’t been a death by natural causes, as she’d been assuming all along.
It had been a murder.
Chapter Ten
BY THE TIME CRYSTAL finished talking to the police, she was exhausted and in need of a friendly face. Her schedule had been cleared till the meeting at six, so she went in search of Greg.
The main security office was at the other side of the resort, and as she walked there, she inhaled deeply, letting the fresh air clear her head and revive her spirit. At the small tin building, she knocked on the door and swung it open, leaning inside to see an unmanned front desk. She called out a hello, hoping he wouldn’t think her pushy or overeager for having come here.
She heard a cough and some shuffling in the back room, and after a moment a man emerged into the hallway, the light revealing him in silhouette. As he came closer, Crystal realized that it was Greg, looking so handsome, as usual, in his khaki security guard uniform.
“Crystal?”
She couldn’t quite tell from his tone whether he was happy to see her or not. She stayed where she was, watching as he came toward her.
“Yeah, it’s me.” She couldn’t see his face, which was still in shadow. “Are you busy?”
He paused to twist on a lamp. “Just catching up with some paperwork. How’d it go with the police?” He turned toward her, and as she met his gaze, she realized his eyes and nose were red, as if he’d been crying.
Heart surging with compassion, she stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her. “Fine. Are you okay?”
“Sure. Why?” His voice was gruff.
Crystal shrugged, resisting the urge to take his hand in hers. “I don’t know, you look like maybe you’ve been crying.”
He was quiet for a long moment then he shook his head and gave her a rueful smile.
“What?”
“I was going to say my eyes are red because of allergies or something. But for some reason, the words won’t come out. I guess I just can’t lie to you, Crystal.” He cleared his throat. “You’re right, I was crying. Don’t tell anyone though, okay?”
“Sure. But you don’t need to be embarrassed. Everybody cries sometimes, even big strong security guards like you.”
Ignoring her attempt at humorous flirtation, he invited her back to his office. As they went, he started right in asking about her interrogation.
Crystal let him change the subject—for now. Maybe if they talked about other things for a while first, he would grow comfortable enough to share what had upset him so.
NO MATTER HOW MANY ways they looked
at it, Juliette and Didi could make no sense of the Raven-Jimmy Stewart connection. Finally, as it got closer to the time for them to head up to the conference center, Juliette returned to her room to get dressed and review her notes.
Back at her closet she traded the robe for a white blouse and a black-and-white polka-dotted skirt, then she draped a lightweight black sweater across her shoulders and tied it at the neck. Slipping on a comfortable pair of flats, she stepped back, checked her image in the mirror, and then turned her attentions to the materials for the talks she would have given today at the staff meetings, had they not been cancelled. She still had a good ten minutes before it would be time to go, so she gathered up her things and stepped outside.
Out on her own little private patio, she sat on a cushioned wrought iron chair and went through her papers, trying to winnow down an hour’s worth of information into a brief, ten-minute version of the most salient points. As she worked, she found herself relishing the warm air and the late afternoon sunshine. A hummingbird darted among a profusion of purple flowers blooming along the privacy barrier. Pausing to watch for a moment, she was struck with the thought that even on the saddest of days, God always seemed to provide glimpses of joy among the tragedy.
CRYSTAL GAVE GREG WHAT she hoped was a warm and reassuring smile and asked, for the second time, why he’d been crying. “Was it all that stuff with Brooke and the client’s death and everything?”
“No.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, well, sort of, I guess. But not exactly.” He reached for a picture frame sitting on the desk next to his computer. Picking it up, he held it toward himself and looked down at the picture as he spoke. “I’m not exactly buddies with Brooke, and I didn’t know the woman who died. So it’s not what happened to them specifically, it’s just, well, having such a close encounter with death—any death—is still kind of tough for me. I’m sure it’ll get better with time, but right now I’m pretty raw.”
He turned the frame around so that she could see the photo, a portrait of a young woman. She was beautiful, with dark hair and eyes, her lashes long and thick, her lips a deep, natural red. In the picture she was smiling, but her expression seemed tentative, even guarded . . . and sad.