you know she’d be here this weekend?”
A minuscule pause. “I spoke to her personal assistant and found out.”
“And why did you speak to her assistant instead of Ms. Ortiz directly?”
“Jessica’s impossible to talk to on the phone, and I didn’t have half an hour to spare to try to keep her focused enough to answer my questions.”
That sounded like Jessica. She loved rambling during her sessions, telling Naomi things she probably shouldn’t know. But Jessica did that same rambling when Naomi had to settle her spa account, too, which had annoyed her.
Naomi bit the inside of her lip. It seemed wrong to remember being annoyed at her. Jessica hadn’t been a bad person. Naomi had even liked her, in a way.
“Detective, you have to understand this is just a coincidence.”
“And you have to understand, Dr. Knightley, that in my business, coincidences don’t happen very often.” The detective’s voice had deepened, grown more gravelly.
“I had nothing to do with her death.”
“Why did you need to speak to her now?”
“My sister’s wedding is in six weeks.”
“Why didn’t you try to contact Ms. Ortiz before this?”
“I did, but she wouldn’t take my calls.”
“And so you decided to force a confrontation in a public place.”
“I hoped she would be reasonable in public.”
“Any particular reason you picked this place?”
“I thought she’d be in a better mood here. She’s always happy to come here.”
“But she’s not happy, Dr. Knightley. She’s dead. Your ex-wife is dead.”
“What do you mean, you knew?” Naomi stared at her aunt as they stood on the other side of the foyer.
“Of course, I knew. I wouldn’t be a very good hostess if I didn’t know things about my clients’ personal lives.”
“Why would you need to know that?”
Aunt Becca gave her a hard stare. “Think about it. I might stick two mortal enemies in sessions at the same time so they’d meet in the common lounge, or in session rooms next to each other. The spa prides itself on giving high-profile clients a relaxing experience. Meeting someone you don’t like is not a relaxing experience.”
“But knowing things like that…Isn’t that gossip?” She had a hard time believing her religious aunt would stoop to something like that.
“It’s not gossip. I get my information from the clients themselves or the people involved.”
As acting manager, maybe Naomi ought to know these things as well. “Am I the only one who didn’t know he’s her ex-husband?”
“No, I doubt it’s common knowledge. I found out from Devon’s mother at a charity event we attended together last year.”
“How long have they been divorced?”
“At least two years. Before Jessica started coming to our spa.”
“Ahem.”
Detective Carter stood in front of her. Her heart slammed into gear like a revving truck engine.
“Miss Grant, could I speak to you alone?”
Naomi glanced at Aunt Becca, but her darling aunt, the woman who had protected and raised her since Mom died, threw her to the wolves. “Why certainly, Detective. I’ll just be over there.” Aunt Becca pointed to the receptionists’ desk several yards away. And then she was gone.
Could the detective smell fear? His “kind eyes” penetrated her sharply. Did he know she’d overhead part of his conversation with Dr. Knightley? His penetrating gaze made her struggle not to look away guiltily.
“Your father is the owner of this spa, but where is he?”
“At home, recovering from a small stroke he suffered a few months ago.”
“By himself?”
“My younger sister, Monica, is a registered nurse, and she left her hospital in San José to come home to nurse him.” And wasn’t too happy about it, either, but Naomi had to give Monica credit for making the sacrifice.
“Your mother is…?”
“She passed away when I was in junior high school.”
“I’m truly sorry.”
His sympathy made her blink harder. Mom’s death still felt like pinpricks in her heart, and Jessica’s death revived the old ache. She missed her mother’s murmuring endearments to her in Japanese, softly so Dad wouldn’t hear and complain he couldn’t understand.
“Do you have any other siblings?”
“My older sister, Rachel, is a dermatologist who does research in a laboratory facility built into the back of the spa. She develops the skin treatments we use. She was in her lab all morning and didn’t know about any of this, so we didn’t ask her to come out here. Did you need to see her?”
“Probably not.” He consulted his notes. “So Ms. Ortiz was a regular client of yours?”
“Yes, she came to the spa every few months. Her last visit was about four months ago.”
“Your staff mentioned that she always requested you for her massage.”
The way he said it was almost as if he’d caught her in a deliberate omission. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“You were with Dr. Knightley when you found Ms. Ortiz?”
“Yes.” Images of poor Jessica, weak and dying, made her press her lips together.
“Describe what happened for me.”
She told him in a low voice. She didn’t really want to go over it again.
“You mentioned that the massage room is yours. Do all the objects inside the room belong to the spa, or are some of them your personal items?”
“Well, yes. I have my own aromatherapy oils, some knickknacks—”
“A bear statue?”
The way he said it made her start to shiver again. “Yes, a teddy bear statue. It was a birthday present from Aunt Becca.”
“It’s larger and heavier than most of the other statues in the room.”
“It was a special commission from the artist who did the small stone statues in all the rooms—he usually does larger pieces. The teddy bear one was very expensive.”
The detective stared at his notebook, but she got the impression he wasn’t really reading it. His eyes lifted to hers. “The statue has a lot of fingerprints on it, Miss Grant.”
“I…I touch it all the time.” Her breath came in gasps. “It has that big round tummy. I rub it all the time. Because it’s cute.”
Detective Carter looked like the word cute wasn’t even in his vocabulary.
Her heart grew heavy. “Are you saying it was…the murder weapon? My teddy bear statue?”
Her statue. Her room. Her client.
Naomi pressed her hand to her mouth, only then aware of how badly she was shaking. She pressed the other hand to her stomach, to stop the roiling there.
“Several of your staff members mentioned that you had an argument with Ms. Ortiz this morning?” The detective’s mild tone had an edge to it.
“Not an argument,” she said