by Mary Maxwell
Bree groaned as she sank onto the sofa back in our suite later that afternoon. She was surrounded by colorful shopping bags from several of the stores at Caesars.
“Why did I buy so much?” she griped. “My husband is going to kill me.”
Emma snorted. “Why would he do that? Aren’t you entitled to spend your own money?”
Bree muttered a reply.
“Besides,” Emma continued, “maybe he’ll like seeing you in some of those lacey things you bought at La Perla.”
“He’ll love seeing me in them,” Bree said. “As long as I don’t tell him how much they cost!”
We shared a warm laugh together before the room went quiet. I took a seat on the chaise by the windows and gazed out at the hazy sky and the mountains in the distance.
“What did we decide?” I asked after a few minutes of reflection. “Chippendales?”
“If we can get in,” Emma said.
“Well, Amanda said she heard it’s sold out,” Bree said. “All those other Splendora women probably booked it months in advance.”
“We can try our luck,” I suggested. “Maybe call them now?”
Emma grabbed her phone. “Let me check on it,” she said. “If we can get tickets, I’ll come right back. If not, I’m going to take off these clothes and put on my robe while we relax for a bit.”
After she left us, Bree started pawing through her purchases. She mumbled and grumbled to herself as she investigated what was in each of the large bags.
“I don’t know why you don’t believe Amanda,” she murmured.
I leaned forward to try and hear better. “About what?”
She smirked. “Chippendales. The show tonight is totally sold out. We should’ve thought of that ahead of time. Amanda said a lot of the other girls booked their tickets weeks ago.”
I didn’t feel like arguing about something as inconsequential as a Las Vegas revue, so I sat and watched her sift through the shopping bags.
“I can’t believe I did this again,” she said finally.
“What’s that?”
“Used my credit cards in so many stores. On one hand, I know it’s a stupid move. But on the other hand, I’m so far in the hole at this point that I probably don’t even care anymore.”
From the look on her face and the heavy sigh, it was clear the subject of money was making her uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, so I simply smiled and waited.
“My husband’s been really pressuring me lately,” she said after a minute of silence.
I looked over. “About shopping?”
She scowled. “About everything.” The word took on a weighty meaning; it seemed that maybe shopping and using her credit cards weren’t the only things she and her husband had been discussing.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked quietly. “I mean, not to pry or anything.”
She flashed a smile. “That’s sweet, Abs.”
“I don’t know about you,” I offered, “but I find it’s really helpful to talk about things that are making me upset.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“But it’s up to you,” I added.
Her face suddenly went from light to dark as her smile vanished. “Although I can’t see what you might possibly know about it,” she said coldly. “With your perfect husband. And your perfect marriage. And your perfect life.”
I was so stunned by the sudden reversal that my mouth fell open and my forehead crumpled with surprise.
“Are you okay, Bree?”
She snorted. “What do you care?”
“I do. What’s going on?”
With a gravelly growl, she pushed up from the sofa, grabbed her shopping bags and stomped toward her room.
“Just ignore me, Abby,” she yelped as she crossed the suite. “I’m having a really bad day. My husband left a message earlier that’s got me…” Her outburst ended with a whimper before she started to sniffle. “Just never mind,” she sputtered. “I’m not feeling like myself this afternoon. I think a nap will help.”
“I thought we were all going to the spa,” I said gently. “That might help even more.”
She stopped and turned around. “No, that’s okay. I’ll catch up with you guys maybe later if I’m feeling better. Have fun with Emma!”
Chapter 18
A statuesque woman with beautiful cocoa skin was standing behind the reception desk in the spa when Emma and I walked through the door.
“Good afternoon, ladies!” she said warmly. “How are you?”
Emma slumped onto the counter. “I’ll be better after my massage,” she moaned.
The receptionist nodded; probably the millionth time she’d heard the same grievance and offered the same friendly grin. After we provided our names and room numbers, she confirmed our appointments.
“Please have a seat,” she told us, sweeping a delicate hand toward a cluster of comfy chairs in one corner of the reception area. “I’ll be right back in just a moment.”
Emma staggered toward the chairs, flopping into the first available seat. “This is such a decadent treat,” she murmured. “But we’ve worked hard all year. Who deserves this more than us?”
I perched on the edge of the chair beside her and agreed with the remark. “I keep promising myself that I’ll do something like this every so often at home,” I said. “And then life happens—Robert has an unexpected business dinner, one of my clients calls with a makeup emergency or my mom shows up unannounced for one of her mother-daughter pep talks.”
Emma perked up. “A mother-daughter pep talk?” she asked. “About what?”
I shook my head. “It’s just something she does whenever she’s feeling that warm, fuzzy sensation about being a mother.”
“Isn’t that just menopause?” Emma suggested mischievously.
I couldn’t resist a little laugh. “Oh, that’s definitely part of it,” I answered. “But my mom’s been dispensing her very own pearls of wisdom since the day I was born.”
“I suppose being the oldest child comes with a high price,” Emma said.
“And an even higher privilege. My mom and I are actually really good friends. And I can’t say the same for most of the other women I know.”
Emma raised her hand. “Such as moi?”
“Are you and your mother still at odds?”
She lowered her arm and sat up in her chair as the receptionist returned. “At odds?” She smiled and chuckled softly. “It’s more like at the end of our ropes.”
I frowned and asked what was going on. Emma offered to tell me another time. “Right now,” she said. “I want to change into one of those cozy robes, get up on the massage table and bid farewell to all of my aches and pains.”
A few minutes later, after the receptionist escorted us to our side-by-side changing rooms, I sat on an upholstered bench and slipped off my shoes. Following the chaos of the past twenty-four hours and the frenetic pace of the conference, I was ready to indulge in my spa treatment.
Unfortunately, someone else had a different plan for me.
When I stood up and turned to face the full-length mirror mounted on the changing room wall, I felt the familiar pang of fear and surprise as I gazed upon another ominous threat written in lavender lipstick:
Withdraw, Abby—
Or you risk it all!
“Emma!” I screamed, pounding on the wall. “Get in here right away!”
I hurtled across the room and opened the door. Emma barreled through the opening a second later wearing her spa robe and a startled look of terror on her face.
“What is it?” she demanded breathlessly. “It sounded like you were being murdered or something!”
When I pointed at the mirror, she clenched her jaw and announced that we were calling Trevor Cole again.
“Enough is enough!” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
While I waited in the changing room, my phone buzzed with a text from my husband: How’s it going?
/> I swiped the screen and tapped a quick response: Everything’s fine! Miss you much!
Then I glanced at the mirror again and shuddered as I read the words written in Lyrically Luscious Lavender. I stared at the message until Emma returned with the spa receptionist.
“I heard you scream,” the woman said cautiously. “I called security and was coming to your room when your friend met me in the hallway.”
“Trevor Cole’s on the way,” Emma said, nodding at me with concern.
The receptionist noticed the threat scrawled on the mirror. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, moving closer for a better look. “That mirror was perfectly clean when I checked your room a few minutes before you arrived.”
My heart skittered in my chest as I struggled to catch my breath. Emma crossed the room and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Just sit down, Abby,” she advised. “You look really pale, sweetie. I don’t want you to faint and hit your head or anything.”
I slumped down onto the upholstered bench.
Emma turned to the receptionist. “Do you know if Amanda Woodworth is in the spa this afternoon?”
The woman frowned slightly before glancing down at the iPad in her hands. “Uh, there was someone named Amanda earlier…” She concentrated on the list of appointments. “Yes, here it is,” she continued. “Amanda Woodworth left just a couple of minutes before you both arrived. She’d stopped by for a quick tour of the spa facilities.”
“A tour?” Emma said.
The attendant smiled and nodded. “Some guests like to get a peek at what we have to offer,” she explained. “It happens all the time, especially if they’ve never been to a spa before.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Well, Amanda spends half her life in one, so that wouldn’t be the case.” I giggled at the remark. “But you do show that she was here earlier, right?”
The receptionist nodded. “She was definitely here. I remember her because she got kind of snippy when I offered to walk her through the spa. She insisted on doing it alone. And she was also wearing my favorite perfume, Lemon Jasmine Sunshine.”
I quickly turned to Emma. “Did you hear that?” I said. “I smelled the same fragrance in the changing room when I walked in just now.”
Emma frowned. “Well, that’s another curious thing,” she said. “I can’t wait to share that little detail with Trevor Cole when he gets here.”
Chapter 19
After talking to Trevor Cole in the spa, I’d decided that I was no longer in the mood for a massage. How could I even begin to think about relaxing after another disturbing message from my mysterious stalker? I’d suggested that Emma stay and enjoy her appointment, but she simply apologized to the receptionist, grabbed my hand and announced that we were returning to our suite to find another way to unwind. “A glass of wine,” she’d mentioned. “And then a power nap sound pretty perfect to me!”
As we stepped out of the spa elevator and walked into the hotel lobby, I felt Emma’s elbow in my side. “Is that Bree?” she whispered, pointing toward the far side of the area.
I stopped and focused on the swarm of guests in the distance. The first thing I saw caused my eyes to widen. It was someone wearing the red floppy hat and floral caftan that I’d seen in our suite. They had their back to us, but they were definitely talking to Bree.
“Yes, that’s her,” I said quickly. “But who’s she with?”
Emma frowned. “I can’t tell from here. Do you want to get closer so we can get a better view?”
I grabbed her arm and tugged in the opposite direction. “No, I’ve seen enough.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Emma said. “Because Bree just went out the front door.”
I turned and looked back across the lobby. The woman in the red hat and caftan was now standing by the front desk.
“Ah, that’s probably nothing,” Emma said. “Maybe she’s checking on her bill or—”
“That’s him!” I blurted.
Emma smirked. “Who?”
I waved my arm at the woman in the caftan. She was now talking to the same front desk clerk that brought me the threatening message by the pool.
“The guy!” I said. “That delivered the anonymous note the other day!”
“So?” Emma shrugged. “That’s his job, isn’t it? To help hotel guests? It’s probably something totally innocent.”
“But I saw her give him an envelope just now,” I said emphatically. “It could be another threatening note for me.”
Emma laughed. “Okay, please don’t take this the wrong way,” she said sweetly. “But I think maybe you’re a little amped up, Abby. Let’s have a cocktail before we go up to the suite.”
I shook my head. “I don’t need a drink. And I’m not amped up or whatever you just said. I’m being perfectly rational. And I know what I saw—the woman in the hat gave an envelope to the front desk guy.”
“Yeah, okay,” Emma told me. “I’m not saying that I don’t believe you. I’m just saying that it could be something totally harmless and not at all related to the weird messages you’ve been receiving.”
“Like what?” I demanded. “What could she possibly give that guy except another threatening anonymous note?”
Emma stepped closer and put her arm around my shoulders. “Ah, sweetie,” she cooed softly. “You really are getting yourself tied up in knots over this stuff.” She pulled me closer and put her head against mine. “It’s not worth it, okay? Some mean girl is pulling a grade school prank. That’s all it is. And, anyway, that hot hotel security guy promised to keep an eye on us.”
I looked around the jammed lobby. “In this crazy mess?” I groaned. “How could he possibly do that?”
Emma pointed toward the ceiling three floors above. “Do you see all those ornate decorations up there?”
I nodded.
“Well,” she continued, “those are CCTV cameras disguised as architectural embellishments. Places like this have a million hidden surveillance cameras. Think of it as nanny cams on steroids, okay? Except for places like the bathrooms and changing rooms in the spa, every square inch is being filmed around the clock.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “She’s right over there now! I don’t want to wait until Trevor Cole can rewind the surveillance tapes or try to read her lips on the footage.”
Emma muttered something under her breath. Then she told me to stay put while she walked over to see if she could identify the woman in the caftan.
“I’ll just come with you,” I said. “What are they going to do in a crowded public place—sneer and call me names?”
As we navigated our way through the crowded lobby, I kept my eyes on the front desk clerk. It seemed that he was deep in conversation with the woman in the red floppy hat.
“Well, they do look pretty cozy,” Emma said as we moved around a cluster of teenagers and their luggage. “Maybe he is in on the scheme.”
I shifted to the right, moving at a slight angle to try and get a peek at the woman’s face. When I was directly beside her, she started to turn in our direction so I quickly spun around and pretended to be admiring the intricate mosaic tile on the lobby floor.
“What are you doing?” Emma whispered.
“Trying not to be so obvious,” I said. “Let me know when she—”
But before I could finish my request, I felt a cold hand slide around my arm.
“Abby?” a woman said. “Is that you?”
When I turned and looked, I was inches from Amanda Woodworth’s face.
And her red floppy hat.
“It’s Amanda Woodworth,” she said brightly. “Bree introduced us the other day.”
“Of course!” I smiled with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “How are you?”
“Peachy,” she said. “It’s a lyrically luscious day!”
I’d never liked the Splendora tagline, so I didn’t say anything. I was trying to decide if I should grill her about what she was doing with the front desk clerk when Em
ma jumped in.
“You are so right, Amanda.” She put out her hand. “I’m Emma. Bree introduced us when you were having lunch at Café Avalon.”
Amanda shook Emma’s hand with another overeager smile. “Oh, sure,” she replied. “And Bree’s told me all about both of you.” Her smile faded into a lifeless smirk. “But don’t worry. I promise not to repeat the naughty bits.”
The laugh that followed was too loud and too obviously forced. I fought the urge to give her a quick, sharp slap to bring her back to reality, but figured it wasn’t worth whatever trouble it might get me into with the Splendora Board of Directors or the local police.
“Okay, then,” Emma said, taking my hand. “We were just on our way to an appointment.”
Amanda’s eyes flashed. “Oh, in the spa?”
I gulped, but kept quiet.
“Yes!” Emma lied. “We’re running late. We haven’t even been down there yet.”
Amanda told us to have a good afternoon and promised to look for us later.
“I certainly hope not,” Emma hissed under her breath as soon as we were far enough away. “That snake is up to no good, Abs!”
“I know,” I replied. “No good involving anonymous threats and a plot to force me out of the Achiever competition.”
“I think we should find Trevor Cole right away,” Emma said. “He needs to know about Amanda.”
I nodded. “Can we go up to the suite first?” I suggested. “I’ll call him once I’ve had a few minutes to catch my breath.”
Chapter 20
A half hour later, after talking to Trevor on the phone and trying to decide on my outfit for that evening’s banquet, someone knocked on the door.
“I’ll get it!” Emma announced.
“Thanks, Em!” Bree called from her room. She’d just returned a moment earlier from whatever errand she’d run earlier when we saw her in the lobby.
“It’s probably housekeeping,” Emma said. “I asked for more towels and bath salts.”
I went back to comparing my blue sleeveless dress to an eggshell sweater and matching slacks when Emma appeared in the door to my room.