Nevada Barr - Naked Came The Phoenix

"That," said Phyllis enigmatically, "is up to you. But you must play your cello. It's very important."

Caroline closed her eyes in momentary frustration and drew in a deep breath through her nose. "Now, look," she began, in a determined tone of voice, opening her eyes, "you can't-"

But she stood alone in the middle of a small grove of oaks. The glossy leaves rattled faintly in the breeze, and an acorn tumbled down through the branches, rolling to a stop at her feet. Nothing else stirred.

"Ms. Talmadge?" she said, and her voice sounded weak to her ears. She cleared her throat and called again, louder. "Ms. Talmadge!"

No one answered. The wood stirred gently around her, but the solitude was no longer soothing. It was only as she turned to make her way back toward the spa that she recalled. Hadn't they said that Phyllis Talmadge had been taken to the hospital following her attack? Had she been released, or had Caroline just met a…

"Nonsense!" she said aloud and, turning on her heel, strode determinedly back toward the spa.

Karen turned on the taps of the pedi-spa and dumped a handful of sea lavender-scented bath salts into the swirling water. Leaving the basin of the footbath to fill, she went back toward the door to the studio, pausing on her way to pick up a cuticle nipper that had fallen to the floor when she'd been startled earlier.

"Forget it!"

She was startled again, this time by Ondine's voice, pitched low but furious. A male voice answered, also low, and grimly commanding.

"Oh, no, baby. I'm not about to forget it. And neither are you. Where is it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" There was a scuffling sound, then a sharp intake of breath from the girl. "Let go! Howard had it. Now he's dead, and it's gone. Somebody took it."

"Yeah? Well, if 'it' is what I think you mean, then you're the most likely person to have taken it! Ow!"

Holy shit , Karen mouthed silently to herself. What was "it"? Drugs, maybe. Mr. Cheez Whiz sure looked like he was taking something . And if he had enough for somebody to kill him for, he was maybe a pusher, not just a user. If it was Ondine, a coke habit would sure explain how she kept so skinny!

She craned her neck to one side, trying to see the man who was talking to Ondine, but couldn't see anything save a few wisps of the model's hair against the curtain of ivy, as she tossed her head, hissing at her companion.

"Let go! I'll call for help!"

"No, I don't think so. You can't afford to do that." The man's voice was low and self-assured but not loud enough for Karen to say for sure who it was.

Call for help . Karen licked her lips and glanced into the shadowy blue alcove. There was a phone there, back around the corner where she kept the canisters of sea salt scrub and peppermint lotion. Wiping her sweaty hands on her pale-blue uniform, she took one stealthy step toward the phone. One more, careful not to let her gum-soled shoes squeak on the white marble floor.

She could call the main office. If the man heard her talking, he'd be scared off, but that was okay. Ondine could tell the detective who he was, and then…

Her hand closed over the receiver. She held it to her ear for a long, heart-stopping moment of silence before she remembered that she'd unplugged the phone earlier. Fingers trembling, she fumbled for the phone jack, her hands sweaty with fear. The voices had gone silent for a moment. Was the man gone?

Someone else spoke, a different voice, one she knew, but-The dial tone sounded loud in her ear. It was a cordless phone; she huddled as far as she could get into the cupboard alcove, close to the wall, back turned to the studio. She punched the three-digit number for the office and pressed the receiver tightly against her head to muffle the sound of ringing. Ring … Ring… Ri-

A white light bloomed inside her eyes, and the receiver fell from her hand, bouncing and clattering off the slick white marble. There was a sound of dragging, a splash, and Karen McElroy's blonde ponytail fanned out waving gently in the blue-green water of the footbath like some exotic seaweed.

"Hello?" said a tinny voice from the fallen receiver. " Phoenix Spa. Hello?"

A finger poked the Off button on the phone, and it fell silent. Then the switch for the pedi-spa. The whirling water spun slowly to a stop, a few final bubbles of lavender scent bursting to the surface. Tiny tendrils of crimson unfurled in the silent water, but the surface lay still and blue over the manicurist's submerged face.

On the white tile by her hand, a small gray stone gargoyle grinned through jagged teeth.

The congressman's aide was a mosquito, Toscana decided, and just as hard to swat. She kept insisting that she had to be with the congressman, she must sit in on the interview, after all, this wasn't really official, was it? And the congressman would need advice, she'd call his attorney…

Toscana thought he maybe should have asked Constanza to bring a can of Raid, instead of the pitcher of Phoenix sun tea, but he succeeded at last in keeping the pesky aide out and the congressman in.

"Sit, sit," he said, waving Blessing to a seat. He picked up his glass and gestured invitingly at the sweating pitcher. "A little tea?"

Blessing waved away the tea impatiently. From his earlier behavior, Toscana expected him to start cutting up rough again, but no, not a bit of it. To his surprise, the congressman sat down, leaned across the table, and said, "Detective, you have to help me! Please!"

Sheer astonishment prevented Toscana from saying that no, the congressman hadn't quite grasped the situation here- he was the one supposed to be helping. Instead, he set down his glass of tea, carefully, to avoid splashing any on the polished granite, and sat down at the table across from Blessing.

"Help you, huh? What with?"

"With my… with my wife." Blessing was looking pretty strange. Red one minute, white the next. His hands were clenched into fists on the desk, and the knuckles stood out like the joint on a drumstick.

"Your wife," Toscana repeated carefully. "Well, see, Congressman, it's like I told you. Nobody can leave here until-"

"That's not what I mean!" Blessing's features contorted, his teeth gritted, his eyes squeezed into slits. He looked like a politician who'd taken the lid off his garbage can and found a National Enquirer reporter nestling inside.

Toscana stole a look at the pitcher; it looked like a big chunk of glass, heavy enough to conk somebody. Was it, though, or was it some of that plastic stuff that just looked like glass?

Before he could put a casual hand on the pitcher to check, Blessing got control of himself. He breathed like a marathon runner coming down the stretch, and his face went from red back to white, but at least he'd quit shaking.

"I'm sorry," he said, and his voice was so quiet Toscana had to strain to hear it. "I didn't think it would be this hard."

"Don't you worry," Toscana assured him, with one eye on the pitcher, just in case. "Police officers hear all sortsa stuff."

A ghost of a smile crossed Blessing's face. "You aren't going to tell me it goes in one ear and out the other, are you, Detective?"

Toscana contented himself with a shrug and a noncommittal murmur, but it seemed to help. Blessing sat slumped in his chair, exhausted. Toscana-who really had heard almost everything imaginable in his career-knew when to talk and when to listen. This was a time to keep still and wait. At last, Blessing nodded, like a man making up his mind.

"I'm being blackmailed," he said.

At this point, the news came as no big hairy surprise to Toscana, but he felt his heart jolt in his chest anyway. A break! Goddamn, was he finally going to get a solid break in this case? "Yes, sir?" he said politely. "What about?"