Death of a Six-Foot Teddy Bear (26 page)

Mallory approached the man
with the shoulder-length hair and beaklike nose. Edward Mastive leaned against the police check-in counter and fluffed his mustache, which resembled a caterpillar on steroids. This was probably going to be another rabbit trail.

“I’m Detective Mallory.” She held out a hand. “Thank you for taking time out of your schedule.”

“This is a murder investigation. I just wanted to do my citizens duty.”

Mastive sounded so sincere that he had to be insincere. Besides, they had hunted him down. “How did you know Dustin?”

“I stayed at his hotel a couple times when I was working on a story.”

So Mastive was some kind of writer. “Dustin Clydell contacted you before he died?”

“He didn’t contact me after.” Mastive tossed his hair. “Now that would be a story.”

“According to what we just found out, he may have tried. He was working on freezing himself for later thawing. Was that what your meeting was about?”

“I canceled the meeting at the last minute, had another story I had to run down. He had only gotten hold of me a couple of hours earlier.” Edward massaged his pockmarked chin. “He didn’t say anything about being freeze-dried. This story gets juicier all the time. A guy who wants to be a human Popsicle gets bumped off … interesting.”

“So why did he call you?”

“In addition to the tabloid I work for, I’m an acquisitions editor for a publishing company. We do memoirs of the famous and the infamous. He said he had some dirt on Victoria Stone, and he thought it would be worth quite a bit of money. I think he was fishing for a book deal.”

“What kind of dirt?”

Edward tugged on his mustache. “That Victoria Stone wasn’t who she said she was.”

“Hey, Belgian chocolate is still on sale.” Kindra pulled Suzanne and Arleta toward the candy shop. “We can’t leave Calamity without some discounted European chocolate.”

Arleta slapped her thigh. “That sounds like a good way to celebrate the new me.”

Inside the shop, Kindra absorbed the sweet smell. Her mouth watered. Chocolate and coffee with friends would be a good way to end a trip that had been full of surprises. Maybe once they got into celebration mode, she wouldn’t think about Xabier so much.

“What do you say, ladies? Should we treat ourselves? The truffles look pretty good.” Suzanne wrapped her hands through the other two women’s elbows.

The clerk was a middle-aged woman with a round face, round body, and circular glasses. She pulled her straight, brown hair into a ponytail. Her white apron was stained with brush strokes of chocolate and red frosting.

“Is the Belgian chocolate still on sale?”

“I don’t have any left except—” She turned slightly and tapped her lips with her fingers. “The night Dustin Clydell died he put in a huge order for Belgian chocolate in a specially wrapped box. Never got picked up.”

Kindra bounced three times and tilted her head. “It’ll still taste fresh, right?”

The woman nodded. “I’ll even give it to you at a greater discount since it’s in Dustin’s customized box.” She raised a hand and then turned and disappeared through a door, returning a moment later with a huge, foil-wrapped box.

“Wow, Dustin really liked chocolate.”

“He wasn’t much of a sweet tooth.” The clerk set the box on the high counter. “It was a gift for someone. He had made arrangements to pick it up the night he met with his demise. He was very specific about it, supplied the card and the box that they were to be put in.”

Kindra stood on tiptoe to view the box. “Who was it for?”

Suzanne gave Kindra’s arm a warning squeeze. “I’m sure that’s private.”

“Yeah, but the guy’s dead, so private doesn’t count anymore.”

Arleta popped a sample candy in her mouth. “She has a point.”

“Wonder no more. I already checked the card after he died. I didn’t think privacy rules applied either.” The clerk shoved the box toward Arleta. “He had the chocolates made up for Victoria Stone.”

Ginger relaxed into the individual spa bath. Her tired muscles had turned to marshmallows. Herbal smells, the strongest of which was peppermint, swirled around her.

“How are you doing?” Victoria’s voice floated lazily over to her from the massage table a few feet away. Her words were smushed because her face was pressed against the table.

Ginger slipped deeper into the bath until her chin touched the water. “This makes it all seem so worth it. But I’m going to smell like a candy cane.”

Victoria laughed. “That’s the peppermint; it masks the bitter smell of the valerian in the bath, which relaxes your muscles.” Before she left, the massage therapist had placed scented towels over Victoria’s back and advised her to be still for twenty minutes.

Ginger sighed. “It’s making me kind of sleepy.”

“We can do a mud-pack treatment too. It’s on me.”

“I have to meet my husband for lunch around one.”

“Oh,” Victoria said. “I never had one of those.”

Ginger’s head jerked up. Something clicked in her brain. Her friend at the Southern Belle wedding chapel had said her husband had married Victoria and her third husband. Her body tensed. How could someone be married and not married?

“Something wrong?” Victoria turned her head sideways. Her face was flushed red from the heat in the room.

“No,” said Ginger.
Everyone has their twin
. The water seemed suddenly colder, the room drafty. Her thoughts jumbled and crashed into one another like socks in a dryer. Ginger cleared her throat. “So you never told me. Why were you waiting for Dustin the night he died?”

Three members of the
BHN swarmed toward Earl, nearly knocking Fiona Truman off her feet. Fiona braced a hand on the coffee shop window.

Kindra held a box of chocolates with no cover. She bounced as though she had springs in her tennis shoes. The chocolates jiggled. “Where is she? Where’s Ginger?”

Earl placed a calming hand on Kindra’s shoulder. What was all the hoopla about? You’d think Ginger’s friends were thundering toward a half-price sale. “She’s working out with Victoria Stone. Why?”

Suzanne slapped her forehead with the papers she held in her hand. Arleta gasped and Kindra shook her head and repeated, “Oh no.”

“What are you worried about? I’m meeting her for lunch”—he checked his watch—“in half an hour.” The talk with Fiona had taken longer than he expected. Letting go of a dream had not been easy, but Fiona had been moved by his apology.

Arleta crossed her thin arms. “I don’t think we should wait.”

Their cryptic panic made his own fear meter rise. “What are you talking about?”

Suzanne shoved the papers toward Earl. “Look what we found in a box of candy meant for Victoria Stone.”

The first piece of paper was an article from a 1968 Nevada newspaper. It featured a picture of a teen girl in a swimsuit with the headline “Veronica Stone Wins Local Meet.” “Veronica?” The other two papers were birth certificates for two babies, Veronica and Victoria, both born on June 7, 1950. “Twins?”

“We think Victoria is really Veronica. Dustin was going to give these things to her the night he died. Maybe in exchange for money. But something must have happened.”

“Ginger did say that she met Victoria when she was waiting to meet with Dustin … the night he died. But why would she.

“What if Dustin upped the price and it made her mad, or what if he got a better offer for the secret from someone else?” Kindra flapped her hands and bounced.

Arleta pressed her face close to Earl’s. “What part of the spa is Ginger in?”

“She said she was going to work out, and then they were going to do a massage or something.”

Fiona nodded. “I bet Victoria took her to the executive rooms. You pay extra for exclusive access.” She snapped open her purse. “I have a card key.”

Earl held up a hand. “Lets not jump to conclusions.” Who was he kidding? His mind was already racing with the possibilities of what could happen to his sweet Ginger. The woman had a gift for getting herself into danger. “Were not going to accuse. Lets just go over there and make sure she’s okay.” He waved the papers. “We can turn these over to the police.”

Five minutes later, they stood at the greeters counter of the spa. A woman in a tight-fitting pink smock crossed her arms over her chest, where a name tag identified her as Pauline. “I’m sorry, but Ms. Stone and her friend requested that they not be disturbed.”

“I just need to talk to my wife,” Earl said. The urgency in his voice betrayed him. His wife was in danger. A low-level tensing at the core of his being told him it was true.

“Our clients pay a great deal of money for their privacy.” Pauline’s expression was unflinching stone.

Earl stepped past the counter. “I just need to make sure she’s okay.”

Pauline clamped a hand on Earl’s biceps and squeezed. A tinge of pain shot up his arm.
The lady has some strength in her fingers
. “They asked not to be disturbed.”

Right now, he didn’t like Pauline very much. Her voice had echoes of Mrs. Huntguard, his third grade teacher, a woman who was fond of rulers and the phrase “Discipline is the key to learning.”

Behind him, Fiona whispered something to Kindra.

Kindra touched his back. “Earl, how about we just wait until Ginger comes out?”

Earl swung around. “What?”

“I think she’s right.” Arleta raised her eyebrows in some sort of microscopic signal that he was supposed to understand.

These women and their signals. What did she mean with that little spasm of her brows? Why were they giving up so easily? They’d just been in a panic five minutes ago.

Suzanne did the thing where she made her eyes bigger and her lips flat. “Why don’t we do that?”

She squeezed out her words like toothpaste through a tube. They were all signaling him. He had no idea what was going on, but he was outnumbered.

Fiona slipped between Earl and the pink lady. “Thanks, Pauline.”

Pauline lit up like a light bulb when Fiona noticed her. “No problem, Miss Truman.”

Suzanne and Arleta took positions on either side of Earl and wrapped their arms through his.

“Lets just wait.” Kindra trailed behind them while Fiona hung back.

What choice did he have? They escorted him out of the spa back into the hallway.

When he was sure that Pauline couldn’t hear them, he demanded, “What?”

“We can’t force our way in.” Kindra peered up at him. “Pauline will just call security. Fiona’s going to let us know when the coast is clear.”

“Okay.” The plan made sense, but he couldn’t let go of the feeling that the clock was ticking.

Earl paced the carpet. His wife needed his help. The tightness in his chest told him that. The women leaned against the wall and stared at the floor. He appreciated Fiona’s assistance, though her commitment to give this much help to people she didn’t know perplexed him.

Fiona poked her head out into the hallway. “Now.”

They raced back into the spa. Pauline was across the room and behind glass where she was busy helping a client with a weight machine.

“This way.” Fiona led them down a tiled hallway. They turned a corner and faced a closed door. Fiona swiped her card and pushed the door open. They entered a hallway that featured a series of chrome doors. Fiona pointed up. “The amber light above the door indicates the room is occupied.”

Two of the bulbs glowed.

Fiona swiped the card over the first door and eased it open. A woman mumbled a protest. Fiona’s shoulders jerked up. “Oh, sorry.”

Earl took two big strides to the last door. “She’s got to be in here.”

Fiona swiped the card. “I’m anxious to meet your wife, this Ginger Salinski.”

What an odd thing to say
.

Fiona pushed the door open. Earl peeked in.

The room contained two padded, bed-sized tables, a table with candles, and two bathtubs. Soft instrumental music piped in from some unseen speaker. Towels were neatly folded on one table along with an assortment of massage oils and lotions … and no Ginger.