by Kim Alexis
Though the stone-and-stucco design elements were similar throughout the resort, the architecture for each grouping of rooms was different. This cluster looked to be four separate structures connected by a single roof. Like a square donut, the center of this little domain featured a courtyard open to the sky, with what looked like a hot tub or maybe even a small pool at its center. Nice.
Three cars were parked in the allotted spaces, but Juliette’s mouth almost fell open when she realized those cars were a Rolls Royce, a Lamborghini, and what she had a feeling was a Bugatti. Goodness. At a place like Palm Grotto, one expected to find the occasional Porsche or Jaguar or Mercedes, but this was unbelievable. Whatever the identity of these three mystery men, they weren’t hurting for money, that was for sure.
If Raven wasn’t rich in her own right, Juliette would’ve wondered if she’d come here hoping to acquire a Sugar Daddy.
She was doing a quad stretch when she spotted movement in the courtyard of the cluster. Heart pounding, she tried to act nonchalant as she watched a man emerge, walk to the Rolls, and open the door to the back seat. He sat down sideways and traded out the flip-flops he was wearing for a pair of sneakers. Stealing several glances at him, Juliette thought she might recognize him, but she didn’t. He had a very nondescript look—trim physique, blond hair, too-dark-for-May tan.
The guy’s phone rang, and from where Juliette stood, she could easily hear his side of the brief conversation that ensued.
“Ferguson here. No, I was just about to head up to the restaurant. Meet me at the fountain in five.”
Putting away his phone, he stood, closed up the car, and began moving toward the sidewalk. He noticed Juliette and gave her a polite nod—one early morning jogger to another—then he turned and started uphill slowly, away from her. She was tempted to follow along but decided to do an end run instead, using a shortcut across the grounds that would get her to the top of the hill much sooner than his more circuitous route. There was a ladies room with an exterior entrance along the side of the restaurant, and she had a feeling it would give her a clear view of the fountain area.
Sure enough, when she finally reached the top of the hill, she stepped into the small bathroom, locked the door, then went to the window and slid it open just wide enough to peek out. Pulse surging, she watched and waited until the jogger finally appeared at the fountain and began doing some stretches. She settled in to watch for the person he was meeting, eager to see what might happen between them. The resort was even quieter than usual, most of its guests asleep, the daytime employees at the very beginning of their shifts.
Juliette’s hip pressed against the cold porcelain of the sink as she kept her vigil. A minute or so later she suddenly spotted movement off to the right. She leaned in closer and saw that it was a security guard, walking over from the area of the front gate around the corner.
As he came closer, she was shocked to realize that the guard was none other than Orlando. He came to a stop at the fountain and handed “Mr. Ferguson” a big, fat envelope. The man offered up a folded bill in return, which Orlando pocketed.
This was starting to be a recurring theme.
Juliette was hoping there might be some further exchange between them, but after that the guy’s attention was focused fully on the package in his hands. With a quick “Thanks” on both sides, the two men parted, Ferguson walking toward the restaurant’s entrance and Orlando retracing his steps back to his post.
Eager to continue her surveillance, Juliette closed the window, washed her hands, and then exited the bathroom and headed around front to the restaurant. Once inside she saw that the place was completely devoid of customers except for Ferguson himself, envelope under his arm and an empty mug in his hand. He was near the beverage service area, tapping a foot impatiently as a restaurant employee fooled with the coffee dispenser. Across the room a breakfast buffet was being set up, which, according to the placard, would be open in another ten minutes. At least the coffee was available now.
Soon Juliette was sitting two tables behind her subject, sipping from a cup and discreetly observing his actions. So far, all he’d done was empty the contents of the envelope—an inch-thick stack of loose papers that appeared to be covered with text—onto the surface in front of him and then begin reading through them.
As soon as the buffet opened, the man jumped up and went to it, leaving the papers just sitting there on the table, where anyone could see. Heart pounding, Juliette stood, then she watched as he claimed a plate and begin working his way down the fruit bar, his back fully turned to her. Unable to resist, she moved closer to the table and allowed herself one long moment to look down at the page and read what she could. It began at the top, mid sentence, with the words:
hardscrabble existence, it’s easy to understand how she turned out this way. Though her face is lined, her hands calloused and stained, there’s still a regal sense of nobility in her, that hint of Anglo-Scottish forebears that managed to trickle down through the generations to this one woman in this tiny Appalachian village.
Was this about Raven? Certainly, she had come from Appalachia, though Juliette didn’t know if she’d been of “Anglo-Scottish” descent. She definitely had a regal carriage, but it was highly doubtful that Raven’s hands had ever been calloused or stained, at least not in the past thirty years.
The words went on from there, but Juliette dared not push things any further. Instead, she tore herself away, walked over to the complimentary buffet, and grabbed a banana and a whole wheat English muffin. Then she left Ferguson and the restaurant behind, not sure whether to be proud of her brief attempt at surveillance or ashamed.
Perhaps she was a bit of both.
Outside she was crossing to the gift shop to buy a newspaper when she spotted two workmen at a nearby flower bed, erecting a big sign that faced the parking lot. Changing her direction, she walked some distance away, then turned around and took it in, unable to keep the smile from her face.
Welcome to this Juliette Taylor event, where it’s your turn . . .
. . . to be nurtured
. . . to be pampered
. . . to be restored.
If only her joy in the new look and slogans weren’t so bittersweet, thanks to the counterfeiting issues they had ended up bringing to light.
If only her excitement about the impending retreat weren’t tempered by yesterday’s tragedy and the many questions that had arisen from it.
With a sigh, she took one last look at the sign and then she walked away, reminding herself to turn the situation over to God and trust Him for the outcome, whatever that may be.
Chapter Sixteen
MARCUS AWOKE AT 8:30 a.m.—11:30 back home—surprised that his body had let him sleep that long. He must have been more worn out than he’d realized.
With a yawn and a stretch, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat for a moment. The flight had landed on schedule, but by the time they’d claimed their luggage, rented a car, and gotten all the way to the spa, it had been well into the early hours of the morning. His mom had been a trooper, never complaining despite her obvious exhaustion. He hoped she would sleep in for an hour or two yet, so she’d have enough energy to enjoy the retreat—not to mention that would give him time to slip out and find Juliette. He wanted to have that critical first encounter alone, no matter what.
Last night on the plane he’d allowed his mind to wander back to the past, but now he was thinking that was a mistake. Those thoughts stirred up things he’d put to rest ages ago. Why wake all that up now, when he had a far more important task at hand?
Marcus rose and moved to the window. The whole thing was ridiculous, really. Who falls in love with someone during a single encounter? Who admits that that love never really died? What kind of idiot was he, still carrying a torch for a woman he barely knew?
Get a grip, Stone. You’re here to keep her safe, not to sweep her off her feet. Deal with it.
Still, he wasn’t going to rule out any
possibilities.
With a grunt he pushed such thoughts aside along with the heavy drapes, eager to let in some light and get rolling. The sight that greeted him took his breath away. The resort had seemed nice enough last night, in the dark, but now in the daylight it was incredible. From his window there on the first floor, he could see the gentle curve of a lake, its banks dotted with occasional groupings of chairs and benches. The grounds were as lush and green and meticulously tended as a golf course, with enough unique trees and bushes and flowers to keep his mother in gardener heaven, trotting around with a pair of scissors all weekend long.
Beyond the lake loomed a large building that was probably the conference center. Seeing it reminded him that time was of the essence, so he pulled himself away from the window and headed for the shower.
Thirty minutes later he was dressed and ready to go. Time to take a walk and scope this place out, not to mention grab some grub at the free breakfast buffet. On the retreat schedule Juliette was listed as “unavailable” until 1:00 p.m., when she would greet retreat guests. He felt pretty confident that their paths wouldn’t cross just yet, though he decided to keep the Peppermint Pattie with him anyway, just in case.
Marcus Stone was nothing if not prepared.
He tucked the silver-wrapped candy into his pocket alongside his room key and headed for the door. But when he swung it open he found himself face to face with Beverly Stone, holding up a tray laden with food and newspapers. They both gasped.
“Mom?”
“Marcus! Goodness! You scared me. What are you doing right here at the door?”
“I was on my way out. What are you doing up and around? I thought you were still asleep.” Taking the tray from her hands, Marcus stepped back to let his mom inside. Judging by her colorful resort-wear outfit, freshly made-up face, and neatly coiffed hair, she’d been up for a while.
“I was so excited I couldn’t sleep in, so I went exploring. The food’s for you.” She gestured toward the tray he was still holding. “They have a lovely breakfast buffet in the restaurant. I ate mine there, but I got yours to go, in case you overslept and missed it.”
Marcus blinked. “Recalculating route,” as Zoe liked to say whenever plans had to be rearranged.
“Thanks. Appreciate it.” Moving stiffly, he carried the tray over to the breakfast bar that divided the kitchenette from the sitting area and put it down. This was all well and good, but somehow he needed to get out of there without his mother waiting to come along with him.
Mind racing, he pulled up a barstool, sat, and lifted the stainless steel cover from atop his plate. The food looked delicious, and it was. With the first bite of cheesy eggs, all thoughts of leaving temporarily flew from his mind.
As he ate, his mother flitted around the room, chatting about all she’d seen during her morning jaunt. “This place is gorgeous, even more beautiful than in the photos. It really is ‘casually elegant,’ as they say, with a contemporary Southwestern architecture and décor throughout.”
“What’d you do, Mom, memorize the brochure?”
She smiled. “Just about. The Brood kept taking me online to show me stuff. They were more excited about this trip than I was, at first.”
“And now?” He bit into a fresh, juicy strawberry.
Her face broke into a broad grin. “And now, well, I guess you could say I’m ready to get my grotto on.”
Marcus laughed. Why was he surprised? His whole life his mother had embraced new experiences with gusto.
“Though I’m not sure about this whole bathrobe policy.”
“Bathrobe policy?”
Beverly went into her bedroom and came back out with a white robe draped over her arm and small cardboard triangle sign, which she handed to Marcus to read.
We invite you to don the Palm Grotto robe and wear it throughout your stay, wherever you may wander or dine or relax on our sixty-acre property.
“They’re not kidding about that, Marcus. Almost every person I saw was in robe and slippers. Can you imagine? Inside, sure, but outside? I’d feel like I was in my pajamas!”
Marcus chuckled, handing back the sign. “I’m with you there, Mom.”
“Then again, can’t hurt to try it on. ‘When in Rome’ and all that.” With a wink, she headed back to her room and closed the door.
Chuckling to himself, Marcus glanced down at the folded newspaper on the tray and then did a double take. Nearly choking on his food, he dropped his fork, grabbed the paper, and unfolded it so that he could read the headline in full: Supermodel Dies at Palm Grotto Resort.
No! Please, no!
Heart pounding, stomach churning, he had to skim the first paragraph several times before he had assured himself that the supermodel in question was not Juliette Taylor. It was someone named Raven, and apparently she’d passed away yesterday during a beauty treatment here at the spa.
Juliette’s okay. It’s not her. It was someone else.
Exhaling loudly, he lowered the paper to his lap and closed his eyes.
Thank You, Lord. I’m sorry for this other woman, but thank you just the same.
Marcus sat perfectly still, his heartbeat slowing, but his mind spinning. Once he’d calmed down, he opened his eyes again and read the entire article. What he found was not encouraging.
Though the report said nothing outright about foul play, it wasn’t hard to read between the lines. Something was fishy about this woman’s death, and the police knew it.
Suspicious death.
Supermodel.
Palm Grotto.
Knowing what Marcus knew, he could only hope this had nothing to do with Juliette or her company and the counterfeiters who were profiting at her expense.
Had this death been some sort of warning sign, intended to scare Juliette into silence?
Taking a deep breath, Marcus had no choice but to call Nate and let him know about this disturbing new development.
EXCEPT FOR A GLIMPSE at the headline, Juliette waited until she was back in her room, showered and dressed, before she read the newspaper article on the front page of the local daily.
Supermodel Dies at Palm Grotto Resort
Raven, 55, the model who rose to fame in the 1980s and was known worldwide for her signature vivid red hair, died Thursday in Cahuilla Springs of undetermined causes during a spa treatment at Palm Grotto Resort.
Though the California Department of Public Health is conducting lab tests to determine the cause of death, police said they suspect it was caused by some sort of toxin in the products used during treatment.
Injured in the same incident was massage therapist Brooke Hutchinson, 35, of Cahuilla Springs, who was taken from the scene to Seven Springs Community Hospital and admitted for medical care. Hutchinson is in stable condition, said George Lewis, a spokesman for the hospital. The results of lab tests to determine the cause of Raven’s death and Hutchinson’s injuries are pending, Lewis said.
Some sort of toxin likely entered the bloodstream of both patients through the skin, according to County Coroner Dr. Scott Smith. “The difference between life and death here was due to the amount of exposure to the toxin,” Smith said. He stated that while Hutchinson was likely exposed only through her hands, the client was exposed over a much broader area of skin, and for a longer period of time.
The two women were heard making significant noise and “being uncharacteristically loud” during the massage session preceding the incident, according to Palm Grotto Spa manager Andre Leveque. “They didn’t seem to be in distress at the time but instead were overheard laughing and talking. As soon as the sounds grew more dire, we looked into it and realized something had happened,” said Leveque.
According to resort manager Reggie Roberts, this is a first for the posh resort known to cater to the Hollywood elite. “Nothing like this has ever happened here,” Roberts said.
In conjunction with the Department of Public Health, Cahuilla Springs police are looking into the incident. Spokesmen will neither confirm n
or deny whether a criminal investigation is underway.
Juliette swallowed hard. Her worst fear had been confirmed: The death was caused by some sort of toxin in the products used during treatment.
Stomach churning, she headed next door to show the article to her business partner, who had also just finished getting ready for the day. Good ’ol level-headed Didi went right into action, dissecting the issue, contacting the home office, and even getting on the phone with the company lawyers. When all was said and done, they’d mapped out a plan: While Didi handled preparations for the retreat solo, Juliette would contact the detective to alert him to the counterfeiting issue, then go to the spa and get the inventory information she’d been wanting since the day before.
Feeling much more at peace and in control, Juliette returned to her own room and made that difficult call to Detective Bryant. It went better than expected, mostly because he said that the spa manager had already told them yesterday about the problems her company had been having with counterfeits. Still, Detective Bryant sounded appreciative that she’d called and he told her that he or Detective Lopez might be in touch for further information as things developed.
After that, Juliette headed up to the spa to pay a visit to Andre and request a full review of their inventory procedures.
On the way she thought again about her and Didi’s conversation with their lawyer. According to him, they all better hope the toxin was from a counterfeit version of the mud lest they face legal liability regarding one of their own legitimate products. At least a follow-up call afterwards with Natalie, JT Lady’s head chemist, reassured them that there was nothing in the real chai soy mud that could spoil or otherwise somehow become tainted along the way. As far as Natalie was concerned, there was nothing to worry about on their end at all, that this couldn’t possibly have happened because of some chemical flaw in the real product. Thank goodness.
By the time Juliette got to Andre’s office, she felt calm and composed as she made her request to have a look at Palm Grotto’s inventory supply system. In response he said that they were shorthanded for the day, but that he would pull Ty from his duties for a brief period.