Faye Kellerman - False Prophet

The hearth was set into the rear wall, the carved mantel curved to hug the circumference of the room. Against the left wall was a highly polished mahogany staircase that ended at a second-story landing. The reception desk—done in more peach-veined marble—was to the right.

A tuxedoed waiter, carrying a tray of something flesh-colored in highball glasses, walked up to Marge, eyes heavy with disapproval. But he kept a stiff upper lip.

“Your guava-passion-fruit refresher, ma’am?”

His accent was affected-English.

“Any of them laced with Stolichnaya?”

“Pardon?”

“Or just plain bar vodka will do.”

“No alcohol is allowed—”

“Forget it, Jeeves.”

She patted his back and strolled over to the reception desk. A bespectacled young woman—also in leotards—looked up from the cashier’s desk. Her initial smile dimmed when she saw Marge.

“May I help you, madame?”

Not madam, mind you, ma-dame. Another little taut body with big boobs. This one had short short hair and features sharp enough to cut meat. Her name tag identified her as Ms. F. Purcel.

“It’s mademoiselle if you want to be technical,” said Marge, “and yes you can help me. I’m Detective Dunn from the LAPD. I’d like to speak with Kelley Ness.”

Moving her lips, Purcel studied the ID card. “May I ask what this is about?”

“Why don’t you let me talk to Kelley Ness. Then if she wants you to know, she can tell you herself.”

Purcel sighed. “One moment. Have a seat—No … maybe you could just wait in the corner.”

Marge smiled but didn’t move. The clerk gave up and went to the switchboard, back turned as she talked into the phone. It took about a minute before she hung up.

“I’m unable to locate Ms. Ness. May I take a message?”

Marge leaned over the desk. “Why don’t you call again, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Call again.”

Ms. Purcel opened and closed her mouth, then about-faced and picked up the phone. Another minute passed before she returned.

“I’ve located Ms. Ness.”

“The phantom returneth.”

“Excuse me?”

“Where is she?”

Purcel became very official. “Take the staircase on the left to the second floor. Ms. Ness is in office B on the right side.” Then she added, “She’s very busy.”

Marge said, “Well, aren’t we all, ma-dame.”

The office was wedge-shaped. Austere-looking, especially when compared to the ornate lobby. Its walls were hung with cheap poster art. Small windows looked out to an Olympic-sized pool. The desk, piled high with loose papers, was functional and nothing more. The woman in the secretary’s chair looked to be around twenty-five. Her face was pretty but angry, brown eyes smoldering. She tossed poker-straight hair over her shoulders and shuffled some papers.

Marge waited until Little Miss Irate had the decency to acknowledge her. The squaring off took about a half minute. Irate raised her eyes and waited for Marge to speak.

“You’re Kelley Ness?”

“You’ve found me.”

Marge started to pull up a chair.

“You needn’t bother to sit, Detective. The civil suit was frivolous enough. Ms. Betham is just furthering her troubles by going to the police. Miss Brecht is not expected in today, but if you give me your card, I’ll give it to her and she can forward your name to our lawyers. I’m sure they will educate you.”

Marge sat, thought a moment before she spoke. “Do you know where Miss Brecht is?”

“She checks in with us frequently. I assure you she’ll get the card.”

“Did she check in with you today?”

Kelley hesitated, her eyes suddenly thoughtful. “I’ll forward your card. Now if you’ll excuse—”

“Was Miss Brecht expected to come in today?”

“What difference does it make? She won’t talk to you without advice of an attorney—”

“I’m not interested in talking to Miss Brecht, Kelley. I only want to know if Miss Brecht was expected to come in today. Or did she take the day off?”

Kelley bit her lip. “You’re asking strange questions.”

“On the contrary, they’re not strange questions. They’re just not the ones you expected. So keep things simple and answer them.”

Kelley paused. “Miss Brecht took the day off.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Not at all. She frequently takes Wednesdays off. She experiments with new recipes for the kitchen. What’s this all about, anyway?”

“She hasn’t called in, has she?”

“No, she hasn’t.”

“Then you probably don’t know.”

“Know what?”

“Miss Brecht was attacked last night—”

“My God!” Kelley’s hand went to her throat. “Who … Is she all right?”

“She’s going to be okay. She was beaten. She’s in the hospital now, but she’s conscious. I need a guest and employee list—everyone who was on the grounds last night. Especially the men.”

Kelley covered her mouth and shook her head. “This is outrag … God, I’m shocked. This is horrible. Does her mother—?”

“We’ll take care of her mother, Kelley. I’m requesting that you don’t talk to anyone about it.”

“Of course. How about Frederick? Does he know? Frederick’s her brother.”

“He’s being contacted.”

“I don’t know what to say …” Kelley said. “I’m …”

“Were you here last night?”

“Of course. I live on the premises.”

“Then you know who else was here last night. I’ll need that list as soon as possible.”

“You don’t suspect any of the guests—”

“We’ll be as discreet as we possibly can.”

“Where is Miss Brecht?” Kelley said. “Can I call her?”

“My partner is going to talk to her soon. I’ll tell him you’d like to speak with Miss Brecht. Back to the list, Kelley. I’m especially interested in the men who work here—cooks, janitors, handymen, teachers. Do you have male instructors?”

“Just Eubie Jeffers and my broth—Oh, you can’t possibly think they had anything to do with Lilah.”

“What kind of suit is this Ms. Betham involved with?”

Kelley wrinkled her forehead. “Ms. Betham is a psychotic old witch. She actually had the audacity to claim that … that one of the men who works here made a pass at her.”

“Which one?”

“The whole suit is ridicu—”

“Which man?” Marge pushed.

Kelley hesitated, then said, “My brother, Mike. If you knew my brother, you’d know how inane the suit is. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but since you’re not investigating that … she was the one who made a pass at my brother. And when he refused, she became vicious. We have none of that kind of nonsense in Valley Canyon Spa. Most of our clients have been referred to us by former clients. She was what we call a ‘walk-in.’ They’re always the ones who give us the most problems.”

“Was your brother, Mike, here last night?” Marge asked.

Kelley’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not saying anything. I’m not even suggesting anything, Kelley, I’m simply asking. Was your brother on the premises last night?”

“He lives here.”

“Your brother often visits Miss Brecht’s house, doesn’t he?”

“No, he doesn’t often visit Miss Brecht’s house!”

“I mean to pick vegetables from the garden, maybe fix the sink … that kind of thing.”

“Oh …” Kelley relaxed her shoulders. “Yes. Lilah does send him on errands for her. That should show you how much she trusts him.”

Marge remained casual. “You want to start compiling that list, I’ll look around the grounds, get my bearings. You don’t mind, do you?”

Kelley had turned pale. “I’m not sure I should do anything without Ms. Brecht’s say-so.”