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“People do unexpected things all the time in the heat of a moment.”
“I know Devon Knightley. Besides, I’m a very good judge of character.”
Naomi pressed her mouth closed, because she couldn’t really argue when Aunt Becca’s track record on who and who not to hire for the spa had been one hundred percent so far. What if she was right about Devon?
Naomi shook her head. “I can’t just stand here waiting.”
“You’re going to get in trouble.”
“I’m the acting manager of the spa. I can go wherever I please, which includes near the receptionists’ desk.”
Aunt Becca sighed and released her elbow. “You were never this stubborn when you were just head massage therapist.”
“I didn’t have to be this stubborn before Dad had a stroke and put me in charge.”
With that parting shot, Naomi tried to nonchalantly make her way toward the receptionists’ desk. It was a massive marble affair, but hopefully she could stand at one end and still overhear the conversation at the other end.
Detective Carter glanced her way as she approached, but she nodded professionally and then bent her head to fiddle with the appointments computer at the far end of the desk. He turned back to Dr. Knightley without hesitation, so he must not have been upset at her being nearby.
Good.
Except she couldn’t hear a thing.
She stared at the computer screen intently, as if that would make her ears work better. All she could make out were a few random words: “Jessica,” “talk,” “known.” Devon’s voice was louder than the detective’s, so she mostly heard his answers to questions.
How could she get closer without attracting notice?
“I didn’t like her, but I didn’t kill her!”
Devon’s exclamation made her jump. Her hand knocked the computer mouse askew.
Which gave her an idea…
She glanced at Devon and Detective Carter, but neither seemed to notice. Devon’s face had turned a motley shade of red, while the detective coolly surveyed his notebook.
She casually knocked her hand into a holder of pens and sent them scattering across the desk. Immediately she bent to pick up the one pen that fell onto the floor.
She slowly slid her hand with the pen toward her left, closer to the two men. If anyone saw her slithering along on the floor, she could show the pen as her excuse, and the pens strewn across the desk would explain the rest.
She inched her body closer to them and strained her ears. The voices sounded even more muffled because of the desk. Why hadn’t she thought of that? If she got closer…
If she got caught…
Her heart pounded, and she closed her eyes for a brief moment. This wasn’t a smart move, but she didn’t care. She had to find out why Devon had so conveniently showed up, asking for a woman who was already bleeding to death in her massage room.
She crawled as quietly as she could toward the other end of the desk. Devon and Detective Carter’s voices grew louder, but not just from her proximity. It sounded like tempers were rising and they couldn’t keep their conversation low-pitched.
“I told you, Detective, I haven’t seen her in—”
“Then how did you know she’d be here this weekend?”
A minuscule pause. “I spoke to her personal assistant and found out.”
“And why did you speak to her assistant instead of Ms. Ortiz directly?”
“Jessica’s impossible to talk to on the phone, and I didn’t have half an hour to spare to try to keep her focused enough to answer my questions.”
That sounded like Jessica. She loved rambling during her sessions, telling Naomi things she probably shouldn’t know. But Jessica did that same rambling when Naomi had to settle her spa account, too, which had annoyed her.
Naomi bit the inside of her lip. It seemed wrong to remember being annoyed at her. Jessica hadn’t been a bad person. Naomi had even liked her, in a way.
“Detective, you have to understand this is just a coincidence.”
“And you have to understand, Dr. Knightley, that in my business, coincidences don’t happen very often.” The detective’s voice had deepened, grown more gravelly.
“I had nothing to do with her death.”
“Why did you need to speak to her now?”
“My sister’s wedding is in six weeks.”
“Why didn’t you try to contact Ms. Ortiz before this?”
“I did, but she wouldn’t take my calls.”
“And so you decided to force a confrontation in a public place.”
“I hoped she would be reasonable in public.”
“Any particular reason you picked this place?”
“I thought she’d be in a better mood here. She’s always happy to come here.”
“But she’s not happy, Dr. Knightley. She’s dead. Your ex-wife is dead.”
“What do you mean, you knew?” Naomi stared at her aunt as they stood on the other side of the foyer.
“Of course, I knew. I wouldn’t be a very good hostess if I didn’t know things about my clients’ personal lives.”
“Why would you need to know that?”
Aunt Becca gave her a hard stare. “Think about it. I might stick two mortal enemies in sessions at the same time so they’d meet in the common lounge, or in session rooms next to each other. The spa prides itself on giving high-profile clients a relaxing experience. Meeting someone you don’t like is not a relaxing experience.”
“But knowing things like that…Isn’t that gossip?” She had a hard time believing her religious aunt would stoop to something like that.
“It’s not gossip. I get my information from the clients themselves or the people involved.”
As acting manager, maybe Naomi ought to know these things as well. “Am I the only one who didn’t know he’s her ex-husband?”
“No, I doubt it’s common knowledge. I found out from Devon’s mother at a charity event we attended together last year.”
“How long have they been divorced?”
“At least two years. Before Jessica started coming to our spa.”
“Ahem.”
Detective Carter stood in front of her. Her heart slammed into gear like a revving truck engine.
“Miss Grant, could I speak to you alone?”
Naomi glanced at Aunt Becca, but her darling aunt, the woman who had protected and raised her since Mom died, threw her to the wolves. “Why certainly, Detective. I’ll just be over there.” Aunt Becca pointed to the receptionists’ desk several yards away. And then she was gone.
Could the detective smell fear? His “kind eyes” penetrated her sharply. Did he know she’d overhead part of his conversation with Dr. Knightley? His penetrating gaze made her struggle not to look away guiltily.
“Your father is the owner of this spa, but where is he?”
“At home, recovering from a small stroke he suffered a few months ago.”
“By himself?”
“My younger sister, Monica, is a registered nurse, and she left her hospital in San José to come home to nurse him.” And wasn’t too happy about it, either, but Naomi had to give Monica credit for making the sacrifice.
“Your mother is…?”
“She passed away when I was in junior high school.”
“I’m truly sorry.”
His sympathy made her blink harder. Mom’s death still felt like pinpricks in her heart, and Jessica’s death revived the old ache. She missed her mother’s murmuring endearments to her in Japanese, softly so Dad wouldn’t hear and complain he couldn’t understand.
“Do you have any other siblings?”
“My older sister, Rachel, is a dermatologist who does research in a laboratory facility built into the back of the spa. She develops the skin treatments we use. She was in her lab all morning and didn’t know about any of this, so we didn’t ask her to come out here. Did you need to see her?”
“Probably not.” He consulted his notes. “So Ms. Ortiz was a regular client of yours?”
“Yes, she came to the spa every few months. Her last visit was about four months ago.”
“Your staff mentioned that she always requested you for her massage.”
The way he said it was almost as if he’d caught her in a deliberate omission. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“You were with Dr. Knightley when you found Ms. Ortiz?”
“Yes.” Images of poor Jessica, weak and dying, made her press her lips together.
“Describe what happened for me.”
She told him in a low voice. She didn’t really want to go over it again.
“You mentioned that the massage room is yours. Do all the objects inside the room belong to the spa, or are some of them your personal items?”
“Well, yes. I have my own aromatherapy oils, some knickknacks—”
“A bear statue?”
The way he said it made her start to shiver again. “Yes, a teddy bear statue. It was a birthday present from Aunt Becca.”
“It’s larger and heavier than most of the other statues in the room.”
“It was a special commission from the artist who did the small stone statues in all the rooms—he usually does larger pieces. The teddy bear one was very expensive.”
The detective stared at his notebook, but she got the impression he wasn’t really reading it. His eyes lifted to hers. “The statue has a lot of fingerprints on it, Miss Grant.”
“I…I touch it all the time.” Her breath came in gasps. “It has that big round tummy. I rub it all the time. Because it’s cute.”
Detective Carter looked like the word cute wasn’t even in his vocabulary.
Her heart grew heavy. “Are you saying it was…the murder weapon? My teddy bear statue?”
Her statue. Her room. Her client.
Naomi pressed her hand to her mouth, only then aware of how badly she was shaking. She pressed the other hand to her stomach, to stop the roiling there.
“Several of your staff members mentioned that you had an argument with Ms. Ortiz this morning?” The detective’s mild tone had an edge to it.
“Not an argument,” she said hastily. “She…The last time she was here, her credit card had been declined. She gave us a second one, and that was fine. But because of that, this time I asked her to run her card through before her treatment.” She’d thought she was being a good manager-in-training and that Dad would be proud of her for her initiative. “Jessica wasn’t upset, really, more like…confused. She has a lighthearted way of saying things that makes you think it’s not a big deal.”
She’d just referred to Jessica in the present tense. The thought made her nose stuff up and a tremor run across her bottom lip. “She gave us her card and it went through fine. Everything was resolved.” Her voice broke on the last word.
The detective’s neutral expression gave nothing away, but Naomi thought she sensed a coolness in his manner. Why didn’t he believe her?
“Did you have any other problems with Ms. Ortiz?”
“No, not at all.” True, Jessica had always been a bit demanding and self-centered, but always so sweet-natured about it, even when Naomi told her no.
The detective paused a long moment. Could he read her not-quite-kind thoughts about Jessica? Naomi folded her hands in front of her to prevent herself from fidgeting. She swallowed. When would this be over?
“Can you think of any reason why someone would want to hurt Ms. Ortiz?”
She shook her head. “Jessica is—was so nice.” She took a deep breath. Calm down. “She was gorgeous, and that made some clients jealous of her.” She remembered Ms. Cormorand and Ms. Fischer. “And she talked a lot about herself, so that annoyed a few clients. But nothing that would make someone want to kill her.”
Detective Carter nodded as he took notes in his notebook. “I’ll speak to Ms. Itoh now. I might have more questions for you later. You also might not want to leave Sonoma anytime soon.”
This wasn’t happening to her. This couldn’t be happening. Jessica dead and herself a suspect! She couldn’t breathe. She was going to faint. No, she shouldn’t faint—she wouldn’t.
Naomi beckoned to Aunt Becca, who walked over. The detective hadn’t mentioned wanting to speak to her aunt alone, but Naomi backed up a few steps, enough to give them the semblance of privacy.
