Nevada Barr - Naked Came The Phoenix

"Funny you should mention that," Vince said casually, tapping the stack of file folders he had laid out on the tabletop in front of him. "I've pulled everyone's folders, yours included. My plan is to take them back to the department to go over them one at a time. I would imagine they'll turn out to be some pretty interesting reading, wouldn't you?"

For the first time, Hilda Finch seemed to falter. Her eyes darted from Vince's face to the stack of folders and back again.

"Aren't you interested to see what is in your folder?" Vince asked.

"I have no interest whatsoever. I suppose it's all about what treatments are used and what kinds of results the client has over the course of a stay here."

"You might say that," Vince agreed. "So as a partner, even as a silent partner, you'd be aware of monies paid out over the course of time."

"I receive quarterly reports, if that's what you mean," Hilda replied. "At least, my attorney receives them, and he forwards them to me."

Vince thumbed through the folders and picked up Ondine's. "Would you happen to know why Claudia de Vries gave Ondine over a million bucks the last time she was here?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Maybe it was just a trick-or-treat gimmick, since Ondine checked in on October thirty-first. She received a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars that day and another hundred thousand every day for the remainder of her ten-day stay. You know anything about that, Madame Silent Partner?"

"Why that low-down bitch! You mean to tell me she was skimming that much off the top and giving it to somebody else? If I'd known that, I really would have killed her-with my own bare hands."

"But you didn't."

"No," Hilda admitted. "I suppose not."

"So what's all this charade, then? What's with this I want him to arrest me crap?"

"I did want you to," Hilda told him. "I still do. So I'd be safe."

"Safe from what? What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid that now, as the new owner, I may become a target, too. I thought the best way to be protected would be for you to put me in jail."

"Sorry," Vince told her. "No can do."

"Well, then," Hilda said with a sigh, "I suppose I could just as well go back to my cabin and change into my sweat suit since there won't be any photographers after all."

Just then, they heard a scream. Vince Toscana leaped from his chair and ran to the back door. He pulled it open just as Marsha Rollins came careening up onto the deck. "Come quick," she yelped. "I can't swim, and somebody's got to help her."

"What is it?" Vince demanded. "What's wrong?"

"It's Phyllis," Marsha answered, gasping for breath. "I came back from using the rest room and found her floating facedown in the lake. I think she's dead!"

THE DETECTIVE HAD TURNED THE conference area into a makeshift squad room. Several maps of the spa had been tacked onto the back wall, along with a half dozen postmortem photographs of poor Claudia. Loose scraps of paper had been posted scattershot, certain items underlined in red, but Caroline couldn't read the words from where she was standing. Mounds of what looked to be notes and official documents hid the top of the circular black table he was working on. He smiled at her with watery eyes, pointed to an empty chair. But Caroline elected to stand.

"You actually revived her," Caroline stated. She was in awe. He had shown himself to be a man of action. Passivity, the mainstay of her personality, was probably not in his vocabulary.

Toscana shrugged. Revived her? Not exactly. But he did get the old lady breathing. The psychic was still unconscious.

Caroline said, "Do you think she'll make it?"

Again, Toscana was less than forthcoming. "I'm not a doctor, so I can't answer that. Is something on your mind, Mrs. Blessing?"

Caroline couldn't get the words out. Her eyes were fixed on the grisly photos of Claudia, face caked in mud, a sick parody of a vaudeville minstrel.

Toscana blew out air. "Your mother isn't here, if that's what you wanted to know."

"Did you arrest her?"

The detective tried to keep his face flat, but it didn't work. He must have thrown her a highly nasty look because the young woman recoiled, taking several steps backward and bumping into the wall. He said, "No, I did not arrest her. I detained her. I took her down to the precinct to have her questioned officially. Which is what I should have done with the lot of you when I was originally called down."

"Why didn't you?"

"The spa's a cash cow. Our city's revenue base is limited, if you haven't noticed. But I can't operate like this, tippy-toeing around a bunch of…" He caught himself, bit his lip to hold back venom. Not good to lose it in front of a suspect. "What can I do for you?"

"Does my mother have a lawyer?" Caroline asked.

"Several of them."

"Your lawyers or her lawyers?"

"I think she has both."

Caroline tapped her toe. "Can I talk to you, Detective Toscana?"

Again, he pointed to the empty chair. She sat down on the opposite side of the table, taking him in. No-nonsense eyes peered out of a weathered face. Stubby fingers. She noticed them when he lit a cigarette. He saw her staring at him.

"What?"

"Smoking isn't allowed here," Caroline said weakly.

He took in a deep drag, then blew it out, away from her face. "If it bothers you, I'll put it out. But if you're afraid of my breaking some rule, don't worry about it."

"It doesn't bother me."

Vince was surprised. "No?"

"No." Caroline looked at her lap. "My father… he used to smoke cigars until my mother finally won that battle. Even so, every time she went away, he used to sneak a few. Before she came home, we'd spend hours trying to fan out the smell." She chuckled as her eyes swelled up with water. "It never worked. Mom always knew."

"I can believe that." He raised his brow. "You talk about your dad like he's…"

"He is."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

A voice with a drawl interjected. "Where should I put this, sir?"

Caroline looked up. A handsome man in his thirties was carrying a coffee maker, a can of MJB coffee, a jar of coffee whitener, a box of sugar, and some thermal cups. He had dark hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a wedding ring. She twirled her own band around her finger, playing with the mockery.

Toscana said, "Anywhere you can plug it in, Mikey." He looked at Caroline, then at his man. "Officer LeMat, this is Caroline Blessing, wife of Douglas Blessing."

"The congressman?"

"The congressman," Toscana confirmed. "That means we gotta be nice to her."

Caroline said, "You're being condescending."

"Not possible," Toscana replied. "You folks own the monopoly on condescension. If it weren't for that woman over there"-he pointed to the photos of Claudia-"I'd say you all were funnin' with me. You know, let's have some yucks over the Southern crackers out here."

"You're not from the South."

"No, I'm not." He tossed her a bitter smile. "I'm from Philly, Mrs. Blessing. But I can assure you and your gang of high rollers that Virginia takes murder very seriously."

"No one thinks this is funny," Caroline said.

"Coulda fooled me," Vince said. "Mikey, you mind making up a pot of coffee?" He paused. "You want a cup, Mrs. Blessing? Or is caffeine against the rules, too?"

"Probably."

"Would you like a cup? Yes or no?"

"Yes."

"Make the entire pot, Mikey."

LeMat put on the pot and left. The room fell quiet, the only sounds coming from the gurgle of the coffee maker. Caroline licked her lips. "Any idea who pushed poor Ms. Talmadge into the pond?"

"Who said she was pushed?" Toscana answered.

"I just assumed…" Caroline stared at him. "Are you saying she tripped and fell in?"