Nevada Barr - Naked Came The Phoenix

"And?" Toscana led.

"Nothing." Phyllis opened her eyes and stared defiantly at the detective. "I told you. I felt a blow and then blackness." The psychic's blue-veined hand raised around to the back of her head as she felt for the egg-shaped bump that throbbed there. Toscana almost felt sorry for her as he saw her wince. But his sympathy was replaced by contempt as he watched her turn toward Raoul de Vries, her voice dripping with sweetness.

"The first thing I remembered afterward was the concerned face of Dr. de Vries here." She smiled in a pathetic attempt at flirtation with the man who stood beside her bed. "What a dear man, taking such good care of me when he's just suffered his own deep and devastating loss!"

Toscana felt his gag reflex rising. Thank God, Phyllis Talmadge didn't remember being pulled from the lake. If she did, he, not de Vries, might be the uncomfortable recipient of the aging psychic's affections. Toscana glanced over at the gallant Raoul de Vries. The good doctor didn't look any too grief stricken to him. He noticed that Caroline Blessing, who had been standing just behind de Vries during the earlier questioning, had already slipped away-an important engagement, she had said. In the sauna. It was a tough life. Though he would be all too happy to leave Phyllis alone with her Sir Galahad, Toscana decided to give it one last try.

"Think, Ms. Talmadge. Think, please. Is there anything at all you can remember that could help us find the person who attacked you? Is there anything that you heard before you were hit? Anything you felt or sensed?"

Phyllis closed her eyes again, pausing dramatically before she spoke again.

"Actually something is coming back to me now. I do remember something," she answered with surprise in her voice. She opened her bloodshot eyes and stared up at Detective Toscana. "Cigarettes!" she declared triumphantly. "I smelled cigarette smoke just before I got clobbered!"

In a private treatment room, safely away from Caroline Blessing, Lauren handed her robe carelessly to the attendant and climbed onto the sheet-draped massage table. As she lay prone on the padded slab, her mind was not on the mineral salt scrub she was about to receive at the strong hands of the hefty Marguerite. Instead she wondered how she was going to get away from Phoenix Spa.

If she had thought she would get rest, relaxation, and privacy here, she had been sadly mistaken. The atmosphere at Phoenix was not what the glossy brochures promised. Phoenix was far from serene, what with the police patrolling around the grounds and the media trawling outside the gates.

Lauren closed her eyes and sighed deeply as Marguerite's muscled hands swirled the warm lavender oil laced with coarse salt across her back. She tried to relax, but the abrasive rubbing felt like sandpaper being pulled across her skin. Lauren had to concentrate on keeping still.

Her mind raced. If she tried to leave now, the press would swarm down on her. Vultures. They would salivate to have a new angle for their "death at the spa" stories. She could see and hear the headlines now: Lauren Sullivan, Top Box-Office Draw, Involved in Real-Life Murder Mystery !

Just what she needed. More publicity.

Of course her agent and publicist would not be unhappy. As far as they were concerned, any mention of Lauren in the media was a plus, as long as they spelled her name right. They said so frequently and worked hard to ensure that Lauren's lovely face often stared hauntingly from the pages of People or smiled for the Entertainment Tonight cameras, dazzling the viewing audience. With yet another new Lauren Sullivan film set to be released next month, they and the movie studio would relish all the publicity she could draw.

Marguerite's sturdy fingers were kneading the backs of Lauren's slim calves when the door to the treatment room opened quietly. Lauren heard the soft squish of rubber-soled shoes as they crossed the terra-cotta floor. She opened her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Miss Sullivan," apologized the young woman Lauren recognized as the keeper of the appointment book at the reception area.

"What is it?" Lauren tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. Naked and covered with the gooey salt mixture, she was annoyed at having her precious privacy interrupted. Not to mention the constant awareness that how she looked would be reported to God knew how many other people by the person who saw her in her messy, vulnerable condition. That was just the way it was. People were fascinated with her, but Lauren never really got used to it. It left her feeling very exposed.

"Excuse me, Miss Sullivan," the receptionist said softly. "But Detective Toscana is on the phone. He's ready to speak with you now."

"Oh he is, is he? That's great." Lauren sighed deeply. "Well, all right. I've had enough here. Tell him I'll be ready to talk to him in fifteen minutes."

Moments later, she stood in the Swiss shower and felt her body cleansed by the warm water that sprayed from a dozen jet needle valves. As the oil and mineral salt slid from her exfoliated skin, Lauren planned what she would tell the detective.

Those Chinese healers had it right when they came up with this , thought Howard Fondulac as he lay on his back in the darkened room and enjoyed his reflexology treatment. The Chinese thought all the energy paths that ran throughout the body converged in the feet. That each organ of the body was represented by a corresponding reflex point in the foot.

The fifty-five-year-old movie producer lay on the table while the tiny blonde reflexologist slowly worked over muscles that he didn't even know were there. Howard liked the feeling of the young woman rubbing and kneading his feet. There was something decadent about it. He felt like a king being pampered by a maiden slave. It had been a long time since he'd felt like royalty.

Now the golden-haired servant was rubbing each toe.

"What part of the body does the toe correspond to?" he asked.

"The sinus. I push here to release blockages and help reestablish energy flow." The woman continued her gentle pressure on the pad of his middle toe.

"Ahhhh." Howard sighed deeply and tried to envision his sinuses clearing. This was just what he needed. He was always getting sinus headaches. His doctor said he should cut out the liquor and quit the cigarettes. But maybe if he had this reflexology bit done on a regular basis when he got back to LA, it would take care of the headaches. He didn't want to give up the booze and the butts, his two favorite vices. There was little enough he enjoyed these days, and a man was entitled to some fun.

He lay in the darkened room and listened to the taped sounds of flute music and ocean waves crashing on the seashore. He tried to relax and clear his mind. That was what he had come for. Partially.

He'd also come to Phoenix Spa because Claudia had told him that Lauren Sullivan would be here.

He needed something, and he prayed that Lauren Sullivan would be it. His career was on the skids. He had been unable to raise the money to produce a film in years and, though he hated to admit it even to himself, the Hollywood powers that be thought Howard Fondulac was a has-been. He couldn't get anyone to take his telephone calls, much less set up a face-to-face meeting with him. But if he could get Lauren Sullivan interested in his project, those studio snobs would take his calls, all right. They'd be falling all over themselves as they lined up to kiss his massaged feet.

The blonde was firmly pushing her thumb up and down Howard's arch, and he smiled in pleasure as he imagined producing a Lauren Sullivan film. That would make him a player again. He had to get Lauren alone somehow. If he could just talk to her, he knew he'd be able to sell her on his project.