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Authors: Kate White

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BOOK: A Body to Die For
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George?
You think Anna would have dated
him?
Look, I know you only saw her when she was lying there dead, but she was a very attractive chick. She wouldn’t have looked
twice at him if she didn’t have to. He called her a few times about some project he was working on and it drove her nuts.”

“And as far as you knew, she wasn’t dating anyone new?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. What I told you the other day was true. Anna and I weren’t buddy-buddy. If she had some big new relationship
happening, I probably would have gotten wind of it. But it’s not like she’d confide intimate details to me. Look, I’ve got
to get going. I want to be out of here by tomorrow.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“As far away from here as possible.”

She rose again, to encourage my departure. I said goodbye, and she watched sullenly as I stepped over a mound of bras and
underpants and let myself out.

I walked back toward the inn slowly, a million thoughts bounding around in my brain. Piper had confirmed what I had suspected.
The spa had indeed been used by some of the therapists for release massage. The mere thought of it made me cringe. But there
was another revelation that had interested me almost as much: Anna had been eager to change her departure date. Maybe she’d
called Josh’s bluff, announcing suddenly that she wasn’t leaving after all because she knew that if he reported her, he’d
bring the spa down, too. And he’d killed her because of that. But as Piper had pointed out, murdering Anna would only make
things worse for Josh in the long run. Or maybe her murder had nothing whatsoever to do with the release massage business.
Eric had apparently still been stewing over his rejection. And there was still George to consider, of course—though nothing
Piper had said made him any more of a suspect.

Regardless of who had killed Anna, sooner or later I was going to have to fess up to Danny about the spa. I should also tell
the police. But that would be disastrous for Danny, and at this point there didn’t seem to be any clear reason to. The murder
might
not
have anything to do with the X-rated spa options. I wanted to continue my research until I had something concrete. Besides,
the police were working the case, and there was every chance they’d stumble on it themselves as they went through Anna’s client
list.

Thinking of Danny stirred something in me. Ever since George had confessed his indiscretion on the path to the barn, my mind
had been working over that information—and now a weird feeling gnawed at my stomach like a gypsy moth. It wasn’t simply due
to the fact that Danny’s second husband, the man she’d forged a new beginning with, had been unfaithful to her fairly soon
into the marriage. I felt weird because Danny hadn’t been forthcoming with me. When I’d asked her yesterday if she’d ever
had any reason not to trust George, she’d quickly cut me off with an emphatic no. Maybe she was just embarrassed to admit
that her husband had strayed. But the bottom line was that for some reason, she’d chosen to mislead me. And I needed to know
why.

CHAPTER 17

M
Y FIRST STOP
was Danny’s office—but she wasn’t there. The desk clerk, the guy who seemed to work early mornings, lifted his head up long
enough from the morning paper to announce that he had no idea where she was.

My talk with her would have to wait. I announced that I was going to use Danny’s office, and the clerk distractedly nodded
his approval. The first thing I did was go on the Internet and call up a map that showed the best route to Wallingford, Connecticut,
from Warren. The trip from Warren would take about two and a half hours. Not bad, but still longer than I’d hoped. I’d more
or less decided that I’d go tomorrow, setting out early so that I’d be back by midafternoon.

The greater challenge would be digging up the information I needed. Anna’s family was long gone from Wallingford, and there
was no easy way to find out where she’d lived so I could connect with her former neighbors. There was a chance that the traumatic
event in Anna’s past—if there actually was one—had been covered by the local newspaper. But since I didn’t know when it had
occurred, researching it that way would entail spending three days looking at microfilm and ending up with a headache that
throbbed more than a stereo speaker. Police records were also out. If Anna had done anything illegal back then, she’d been
underage and the records would have been sealed.

The most logical place to begin, then, was the school. According to Danny, Anna had been in her late thirties, and I’d have
to find someone to talk to who’d been at the school for over twenty years. And I was going to have to make my inquiry sound
as innocuous as possible or I’d find myself being passed up the chain of command.

I started with a call to City Hall to inquire if there was a Catholic school in Wallingford. Anna was from an Italian family,
and there was a chance she’d gone to parochial school rather than public. There was none, and I decided to bet on the fact
that she hadn’t taken a bus to another town. Then I called the public high school. A woman answered, friendly, but no-nonsense
sounding. I figured that I’d probably reached a principal’s assistant.

“Hi, my name is Bailey Weggins, and I’m with the
Connecticut Teachers Association
magazine,” I said. “We’re doing a story on teacher commitment and we’re profiling teachers who’ve been with a particular
school system for over twenty years. I’d love to include a teacher from your school. Is there anyone there who’s been at the
school for that long?”

“Oh, we’ve got a bunch,” she said.

“Wonderful. I’m especially looking for… how should I say this? People who are very positive about their experience and very
committed to what they do. Could you suggest anyone?”

“Could you hold for a sec?”

Damn, I thought, she was going to clear it with someone higher up, but then she was back in a second.

“I’m sorry about that—someone needed a pass. Well, Anne Haggerty, our math teacher. She’s won all sorts of awards. And Don
Schwenk. He’s history and very articulate.” She went through a roll call of names, admitting that there were a few people
she wasn’t sure were over twenty years or just shy of it. I jotted down all the names, along with the subjects each taught.

“How about the guidance counselor?” I asked. They tended to be easier to track down during the day because they didn’t teach
classes and they had offices.

“Bob? Bob Kass? Oh, yes, he’s been here thirty, I believe. Do you want me to put you through to anyone?”

“Not today,” I told her. I explained that I was just collecting names and that I’d call next week to set up interviews. I
signed off with a big thank-you.

My treatment with Eric was in ten minutes. Before walking over to the salon, I used Danny’s phone to check my voice mail in
New York. There were a few return calls from feelers I’d put out for my next
Gloss
story and a message from Jack. He was looking forward to Saturday night, he said. Where could he take me for dinner that
would be special? How would I feel about hopping into the sack with Jack on Saturday night now that I’d been French-kissed
by the fetching Detective Beck? Was there a chance that my flirtation with Beck was my way of acting out my ambivalence toward
Jack and my mistrust of him—because he’d behaved poorly? Could it even be
revenge?
Jack had a fling, and now I was going to have one, too?

The salon had a whole different feeling today. Whereas on the weekend it had been as chaotic as an airline gate when they’ve
just announced they’re awaiting the arrival of a plane part before they can begin boarding, today it was absolutely still.
As far as I could tell, I was the only customer there. The person at the front desk, a woman with an Eastern European accent,
checked me in and told me to change into a robe. Josh was nowhere in sight—but then no one else was, either.

I’d been sitting back in the waiting area for about ten minutes when Eric emerged and shook my hand. He led me back to the
small room I’d been in before, though there weren’t so many boxes against the wall. Things were obviously in the process of
returning to their normal state here as the spa was readied for reopening.

“Do you know anything about Shirodhara massage?” he asked as we stood face-to-face in the pale glow of the room. There was
a preternatural calmness about him that made you want to scream, “Look out for that falling boulder!” just to see how he’d
react.


Shirodhara?
” I exclaimed. “No, I didn’t even know that was what I was having.”

“Danny obviously wanted to surprise you,” he said with a wan smile. “It’s a treatment with Indian roots. You lie face up on
the table and I give you a light massage all over, just really the front part of your body and your scalp. Then a stream of
warm herbal oil is poured in the center of your forehead—on what’s considered the third eye. It’s very soothing.”

“My
third eye?

“It’s a window to your mind.”

“Good to know. Perhaps you could explain more about it when we talk later.”

When Eric massaged me, his hands were firm and certain in their movements. When he worked over my scalp, his fingers tangled
in my hair, and I had to resist the urge to moan out loud. Yet as he had predicted, it wasn’t a full massage, and it was over
all too soon. After he adjusted the towel around me, I could hear him behind me, fiddling with some sort of equipment in that
unhurried way of his. He placed another towel under my head and tilted my head back slightly. Then the stream of oil began
to drip on my forehead.

It was a kind of weird sensation, almost hypnotic. After a few minutes I felt myself drifting off to sleep. I figured I would
wake up either totally relaxed or fully programmed to be a presidential assassin.

I’m not sure how long I dozed for. When I came to, Eric was standing by my side announcing that I could get dressed now and
that we would be meeting in the office. I put on my robe in the changing room and with a towel tried to sop some of the greasiness
out of my hair. Glancing in the mirror, I saw that I looked as if I’d fallen headfirst into a vat of olive oil. When I stepped
outside the room, Eric was waiting.

“That was… well, interesting,” I said as we sat down together in a tiny office off the reception area. He took the chair behind
the desk, leaving me with the one on the other side. It was slightly discomfiting—as if I were on a job interview but decked
out in only a robe.

“I’m glad you liked it,” was all he said. Going out on a date with him would necessitate periodically taking his pulse.

“How many Shirodhara massages do you do here?” I asked. “Are people really interested in having them?”

He cocked his head and forced a polite smile, caught, I suspected, between the truth and the need to “sell” the spa.

“We don’t do a
huge
amount of them,” he admitted, “but if someone stays here for a few days and runs through most of the basic treatments, they’ll
try one. And it’s good for us just to have them on the menu of services. It shows we offer a lot of variety.”

I asked that he explain the point again, and he went through it, including some general information about Ayurveda, what he
called the ancient Indian science of health and healing. His voice was as monotonous as the dripping oil had been. I supposed
some people would find his placid manner relaxing, but to me it was totally disconcerting, almost unnatural—like genetically
engineered food.

“So you’re moving back into the spa today?” I asked when he’d finished his spiel.

“Yes, this afternoon.”

“Are you dreading it?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his face expressionless.

“Having to work in the same space where someone was killed.”

He stared at me, and I felt myself shift slightly in my seat against my will.

“It’s not going to be pleasant,” he said finally. “But it will be good to get out of the salon.”

“I know you said the other day that you hadn’t been close to Anna, but you used to date her, right?”

For the first time, I saw something register in his face. I could see his mind working, measuring my words, trying to assess
my motive.

“We only dated for a very brief time,” he said. Back to the inscrutable face.

“Sorry to pry. I discovered her body that night, and it’s been weighing on me. It’s made me want to know more about her. I
hear she was a… well, complicated person.”

“Not really,” he said coldly. “She was actually quite
simple
to understand—once you got to know her.” They were innocuous words, but the icy tone in which he spoke them carried meaning,
suggesting that what
he’d
come to understand about her wasn’t very nice.

“Any theories on what might have happened that night?” I asked.

“None at all. She was standing in front of one of the treatment rooms when I left.”

“Was she dating anyone else?”

“I wouldn’t have any idea. Can I answer any—”

BOOK: A Body to Die For
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