Camy Tang - Deadly Intent

Jessica was gone before the paramedics arrived only minutes later.

Witness to it all, Naomi was dangerously pale, and he’d forced her out of the room.

He’d never retrieved his phone. There hadn’t been time. He’d spoken more to the paramedics as they tried to save Jessica. When they finally called the time of death, he’d left the room, but Naomi was gone.

He grabbed the hotel phone and called his cell. No answer. He called the spa, but again, no answer. Well, it was nine o’clock—the spa was probably empty except for the security guards left on the premises to monitor Dr. Rachel Grant’s research labs built into the backside of the spa building. He remembered Becca Itoh telling him about them a few years ago when he first met the Grants.

Wait, Becca would be able to help him. She liked him—or at least, she did before it seemed as if he were mixed up in his ex-wife’s murder.

He had her business card somewhere…No, he had her private number in his cell phone. But Martha would have that number, too. He called his admin.

“Have you forgotten you gave me the day off?” No hello. Typical Martha.

“Hello to you, too. Would you please get me the private number for Becca Itoh. I-t-o-h.”

“You’re assuming I have my computer with me.”

“You always have your computer with you. Don’t think I don’t know about the eBay stuff you do.”

She hmphed, but he also heard the clicking of computer keys. She rattled off the number and he copied it onto a piece of paper.

“Are you going to tell me why you needed me to look it up instead of dialing it yourself on your cell phone?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You lost it, didn’t you?”

“There were extenuating circumstances. Speaking of which, something has come up and I have to stay in Sonoma for a few days longer.” Hopefully not in a jail cell. Just the thought made his stomach coil tighter.

“A few days? How many days?”

“You’ll need to clear my schedule for the next week.”

“The next week?” Her screech made the telephone vibrate.

“Martha, it has to do with Jessica.”

She immediately quieted. “I’m sorry. That woman has caused you more hurt and headache—”

“She’s dead. Murdered.”

“What?”

“And I’m the prime suspect.”

Silence.

“Martha?”

“This is awful. Just awful. Oh, God…”

“Your God isn’t going to help me now.” Why should He? He hadn’t done anything about the torrential divorce, what Jessica had done to his finances, what she’d nearly done to his reputation.

Martha didn’t tsk, but he heard it in her voice. “You’re not in a position to thumb your nose at Him.”

She was right. “Well, right now I need to recover my cell phone. I’ll keep you posted about how long I need to stay in Sonoma.”

“I’ll be praying for you, Devon.”

Her soft voice made the worry in his gut boil harder. “Pray I get my phone soon. Bye.”

He called his cell phone again, and the spa again, both with no answer, again. Then he dialed Becca Itoh.

“Dr. Knightley. What can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Becca, but I think Naomi has my cell phone.”

“Your cell phone?”

“She used it to call 911 earlier today.”

A brief pause. “Oh.”

“I called my cell and the spa, but there’s no answer. Is she with you?”

“No, she’s not home yet.”

“Not home?” It was full dark. And Jessica had been murdered in Naomi’s massage room. The killer was still out there…

“She was determined to take a late client at the spa tonight.”

“I thought the spa was closed.”

“We canceled all our other appointments, but Penelope Olson asked for a special session and Naomi agreed.”

“I realize she’s the senator’s wife, but isn’t it dangerous for Naomi to be there so late?”

“Don’t worry, we hired an extra night guard at the spa, and they’re looking out for her. I know she’s still there, and you’re in the Cronby Hotel, right?”

“Yes.”

“You can get there in only a few minutes. She should be finishing her session in about forty minutes, so why not meet her out at the spa to get your phone? I’ll call the security desk to let them know you’re on your way.”

“Thanks, Becca.”

“In exchange, you can follow her home to make sure she’s okay.”

She trusted him? When he’d shown up asking for his ex-wife?

She must have read his mind. “I trust you, Devon. I know you and your family. And I think God brought you here for a reason.”

God again. How odd for Him to be mentioned by both Martha and Becca, the only two women he knew who were such strong religious types.

But Becca’s trust made his heart feel lighter as he hung up.

“Thanks so much for taking me, dahling,” Penelope Olson cooed over her shoulder as she followed the security guard out the front door.

Naomi leaned against the receptionists’ desk, but jumped when the main phone line rang. Caller ID told her it wasn’t a client. “Hi, Dad.”

“I just heard you’re still at the spa. Why did you agree to Penelope’s special appointment after everything that’s happened today?”

“Well, we had to cancel all our other appointments today and Penelope didn’t know—”

“Is she still there?”

“Martin’s walking her out to her car, then he’ll come back to walk me to mine.”

“Good. You’re being safe anyway. I tried calling your cell phone but you didn’t pick up.”

She patted down her cotton uniform. “It must still be in my office.” She always emptied her pockets before taking a client.

“Did the police come back?”

“Yes, they came back this afternoon with a warrant to search everything. But I’m not sure what they found. They didn’t tell us.”

“I wish Jessica Ortiz hadn’t always asked for you whenever she came in,” her father said.

“There’s nothing suspicious in that, Dad. Lots of people are loyal to their favorite massage therapists.”

“Still…the police took the videotapes from the outside cameras, right?”

“They took those this morning.” In fact, Detective Carter had seemed a little annoyed that Joy Luck Life had such extensive outside video coverage and absolutely no inside coverage of the treatment and lounge areas. But he seemed to grudgingly calm down when Becca reminded him of the bankrolls of the spa’s clientele, and how those bankrolls paid for the privacy of the spa.

The door swung open.

“Martin’s here, Dad, I’ll be home soon.” She hung up.

Except it wasn’t Martin, her security guard. It was a stranger.

Devon drove from downtown Sonoma out to the spa, which stood in the middle of a vineyard deeper in the valley. It was too isolated. What was Naomi thinking to stay late at the spa alone?

There were two cars in the parking lot, one of them a very nice convertible. Was one of them Naomi’s car? Wouldn’t she park in the employee parking lot next to the valet parking?

As he eased into a stall, one of the cars—not the convertible—came to life and backed out. The security guard—visible in the summer dusk—waved at the driver as the car pulled away, then came to Devon’s vehicle.

“Good evening, sir.” Respectful but firm. “The spa is closed.”

“Naomi Grant has my cell phone and I need to get it back from her.”

The guard frowned. “Miss Grant didn’t mention you’d be coming by.”

“Becca Itoh told me she’d be here.”

“Ms. Itoh didn’t mention it to me, either.”

“If I could just speak to Naomi—”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you into the spa, sir. Especially in light of what happened today.”