Camy Tang - Deadly Intent

“Good morning, ladies. I apologize for the intrusion.”

“Is it already time for my facial?” The elderly woman gathered her Egyptian cotton robe around her and prepared to stand.

“No, not yet, Ms. Cormorand. I’ve come to ask if either of you have seen Ms. Ortiz.”

An inscrutable look passed between them. What had Jessica done to offend these clients in only the couple of hours she’d been at the spa? Jessica seemed to be causing the spa more and more trouble recently.

The other woman finally answered, “No, she left about a half hour ago for her massage. I thought she was with you.”

Naomi cleared her throat to hide her start. Jessica’s appointment was at eleven, in fifteen minutes, not now.

“Yes, doesn’t she always ask for you when she comes?” Ms. Cormorand blinked faded blue eyes at her.

Naomi shoved aside a brief frisson of unease. Jessica should be easy to find. “Which massage therapist called for her?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Ms. Cormorand waved a pudgy hand beringed with rubies and diamonds. “Someone in a blue uniform.”

Only one of almost a hundred staff workers at the spa.

“Thank you, ladies. Ms. Cormorand, Haley will call you for your facial in fifteen minutes.” Naomi inclined her head and left the room, trying to let the sounds of running water from the fountain in the corner calm her growing sense of unease.

Where could Jessica have gone? And an even juicier question: Why did Devon Knightley need to speak to her?

She peeked into the larger Rosemary lounge, which was for the use of spa clients who were not Tamarind members. Several women chatted in small groups, but no Jessica Ortiz. Naomi hadn’t really expected Jessica to forgo the more comfortable elite lounge, but the only other option was checking each of the treatment rooms individually.

She headed into the back area where the therapy rooms were located, navigating the hallway scattered with teak and bamboo furniture, each sporting East Asian cushions and throws, artfully arranged by Aunt Becca. Had Jessica switched to a different massage therapist? And had someone forgotten to tell Naomi in the excitement of Sarah’s new engagement?

As she moved down the hallway, she started noticing a strange, harsh scent suffusing the mingled smells of sandalwood and vanilla. Not quite as harsh as chemicals, but not a familiar aromatherapy fragrance, a slightly discordant counterpoint to the spa’s relaxing perfume.

She knew that smell, but couldn’t place it. And it didn’t conjure up pleasant associations. She started to hurry.

She first looked into the women’s restroom, her steps echoing against the Italian tile. No sound of running water, but she peeked into the shower area. A few women were in the rooms with the claw-foot bathtubs, and a couple more in the whirlpool room, but no Jessica. No one using the toilets.

The mirrored makeup area had a handful of women, but again no Jessica. Naomi smiled at the clients to hide her disappointment and growing anxiety as she entered. She noticed some towels on the floor, a vase of orchids a little askew, and some lotions out of place on the marble counter running the length of the room, so she tidied up as if she had intended to do so, although the staff assigned to restroom duty typically kept things spic and span.

She peeked into the sauna. A rather loud ring of laughing women, but no Jessica.

Back out in the central fountain area, the harsh smell seemed stronger, but she couldn’t pinpoint where it came from. Had a sewage pipe burst? No, it wasn’t that sort of smell. It didn’t smell rotten, just…had an edge to it.

She entered the locker area, although the Joy Luck Life Spa “lockers” were all carved teakwood cabinets, individually locked with keys. The smell jumped tenfold. Naomi scoured the room. Maybe it came from a client’s locker? No. Maybe the dirty laundry hamper?

Bingo.

She flipped open the basketweave lid.

And screamed.

The scream pierced Devon’s eardrums. Beside him, Becca Itoh started. The heavy wooden double doors she’d just opened, leading to the men’s lounge, clunked closed again as she turned and headed back down the corridor they’d walked.

“Where—?” He kept up with her, but not easily—for a woman in her fifties, she could book it.

“The women’s lounge area.” She pointed ahead as she hustled closer. “Those mahogany double doors at the end.”

Devon sprinted ahead and yanked open the doors. “Stay behind me.”

Becca ignored him, thrusting ahead and shouting, “Naomi!” as they entered a large circular entry area with more corridors leading from it. “Naomi!”

A door to their right burst open and Naomi Grant spilled into the entry room. “Aunt Becca!” Her face was the same shade as the cream-colored walls. “There’s blood in the women’s locker room.”

“Blood?” Becca reached for her as Devon pushed past her into the room she’d just exited.

Despite the urgency, he couldn’t help but be awed by the fountain in the center of a vast chamber with a veined-tile floor. Scrollwork signs on the walls pointed to “sauna” and “whirlpool” and “locker room.” Luckily, no women appeared. He veered right.

He almost wasn’t sure he’d actually arrived in the right place, but the carpeted room lined with teakwood locking cabinets was in line with the luxurious entry hall of what he realized was the women’s bathroom.

The metallic smell of blood reached him. He followed his nose to the basket hamper in the corner, filled with bloody towels. It reminded him of the discarded gauzes from his orthopedic surgeries, bright red and a lot more than the average person saw.

This was not good.

He returned to the two women. Naomi’s hands were visibly shaking, although her voice remained low and calm. “And I couldn’t find Ms. Ortiz.”

Jessica’s name still caused the reflexive crunching of his jaw. But he’d never wanted any harm to come to her—she wasn’t a bad person, they had just clashed too much on personal matters. And now she was missing, and there was an immense amount of blood in the bathroom. Devon’s heart beat in a light staccato against his throat. She had to be okay.

“Where else have you looked?” He scanned the other corridors leading from the fountain entryway. He’d need guidance or he’d get lost in this labyrinth.

“I haven’t checked the therapy rooms yet.” Naomi nodded toward the larger central corridor, which ended at another set of double doors.

He headed toward them when Becca reached out to grab his arm in a bony but strong grip. “You can’t just barge into private sessions.”

“Why not?” He turned to face the two women. “There’s blood in your bathroom and Jessica Ortiz is missing.”

Naomi’s light brown eyes skewered him. “Do you really think it’s wise to cause a panic?”

“And I suppose you have another option?”

“Sessions don’t last more than an hour or ninety minutes. We’ll wait for those to finish—if Jessica’s just in one of those, there’s nothing to worry about. In the meantime, we’ll check all the empty session rooms,” Naomi said.

Becca turned to leave and said over her shoulder, “I’ll check on the schedule at the receptionists’ desk to find out which rooms have clients and when the sessions end. I’ll call you on your cell.”

Naomi turned down a corridor in the opposite direction, this one lined with bamboo tables draped with shimmery, lavender-colored fabric so light that it swayed as they moved past.

It reminded Devon of the papery silks he’d seen in Thailand, giving the spa a soothing and very Asian atmosphere. His heartbeat slowed. Jessica was probably fine and had accidentally taken someone else’s session in her artless, friendly way. She’d emerge from a facial or a manicure in a few minutes and wonder what all the fuss was about.