Lure (17 page)

Shells bounded ahead, seemingly drawn by the smell of baked goods. The smell soon had Sam's stomach growling as well. Inside waited a quaint counter displaying pastries, cakes, pies, and other alluring bits, all of which seemed far too pretty to eat. That was one of the things that always amazed Sam about bakeries; the artistry of food. For a while she just looked at what these people created and wondered at how they did it. Cooking was, to her, something of a foreign concept.

"What can I get y'all," said a pretty brunette from behind the counter. The woman's big brown eyes and low neckline were probably popular with the male customers and perhaps some of the female as well. Shells quickly gravitated in her direction.

"What kind of cake is this?" Shells asked.

"Butter cream with vanilla icing."

"Aw, man. I gotta have some of that. Yeah, I'd like a piece," Shells said. "In fact a piece is sounding really good."

The woman beamed back, and Sam was fairly certain that she hadn't picked up on what Shells was saying. Sam just smiled and ordered a cheese danish. In the front of the bakery, near the front windows sat three tables; just enough seating for a few customers. Three ladies sat at one of the tables, and Sam couldn't help but stare for a moment. One woman looked like a middle-aged housewife, the next was younger and had tattoos covering both arms and up her neck. Her brown hair was pulled up to show as much of her body art as possible; the affect was alluring. Sam caught herself staring a little too long and averted her eyes; she never got a good look at the third woman. When she looked back, the women were staring at her and talking in low voices. Shells grabbed her cake and Sam's danish and moved to the table next to the three ladies. Shells stared a little too long as well.

Not long after they sat, the woman with the tattoos turned to Sam. "I just have to ask you," she said. "Are either of you psychic?"

"No," Shells answered for Sam, and it was probably best that she did. Sam was starting to wonder if some of her aunt's abilities had been passed down to her and it had just taken her this long to figure it out. One of the reasons she'd been good as a cop was that her instincts were very often right. Now she wondered if those instincts weren't truly outside the norm.

"Oh," the woman said, seeming disappointed.

"Are you in desperate need of a psychic? 'Cause I know this woods woman psychic chick, and she's scary good."

"No," the tattooed woman said. "It's not that at all. It's just that I'm a psychic, and these two are the fourth and fifth psychics I've run into today, and I thought that maybe you were as well. I get a vibe from you. Especially from
you
," she said pointing at Sam.

"OK. That's weird," Shells said. "Is there like a psychic convention going on or something? Maybe one that's not advertised and maybe all of you are just supposed to know to show up." Shells' smile made it very clear that she thought she was being clever.

The tattooed woman ignored the comment. "You have a strange look on your face," she said to Sam. "You know something don't you?"

"I think you're right," Sam said, and Shells turned to look at her, a somewhat shocked expression on her face. "There does seem to be something going on, but I don't know what it is."

"I told you," the tattooed woman said to her companions, and they returned to conversation amongst themselves.

"This is getting trippy," Shells said. "What the hell is going on around here? Everyone is either a psychic or a jarhead."

"You noticed," Sam said.

"How could I not notice? I'll admit that I thought you were crazy at first, but this is getting out of control," Shells said, looking more serious than Sam had seen her in a long time. "Do you think maybe we should bail?"

"No," Sam said. "We came here to do an investigation, and once the equipment arrives, we're gonna do just that. And we're going to find something, something that explains all of this; that I promise you. And I'm not sure who it is that doesn't want us to do that yet, but we're gonna find that out, too."

"Man, I didn't sign up for any G.I. Joe bullshit," Shells said. "I'm a lover, baby."

"I know," Sam said. "Let's get back to the Inn and see if the equipment has arrived yet. I want to make sure we are ready to investigate tonight."

"Alright, but let me get a slice of that cake to go," Shells strolled up to the counter and leaned in. "Pardon me, beautiful, but could I get another slice of that cake. I do believe it tastes about as good as you look."

Sam shook her head.

When they returned to the Inn, Shells said, "I am ready for that massage now."

Sam was glad that she remembered. Time had flown past, and she would have missed the appointment completely. "Let's go."

Shells walked a brisk pace, and Sam took a couple faster steps to catch up.

"There is nothing better than a good massage," Shells said.

Sam wasn't as certain about the whole thing. Spas and beauty parlors had never been her thing. She was more likely to go hang out in a bar or at the shooting range or riding motorcycles.

"Once you're naked," Shells said without looking back, "just get under the sheets and then close your eyes and relax. Don't think about stressful stuff, just go to a happy place and let your body relax. I'm telling you, dude. I'm a pro at this and you won't regret it."

Remaining silent, Sam walked beside her, wondering if she would have a male or female massage therapist, and trying to decide if it mattered or if she had a preference, when they entered the lobby. Standing at the reception desk and talking to Michael was the tattooed woman, and she waved when she saw them. Sam and Shells waved back, and Sam guessed it would not be the last time they crossed paths.

Lori waited in the spa area, and Shells strutted up to her. "Hey good looking," she said.

"I hope y'all are good today," Lori said. "I'll just need you to fill out these forms since it is your first time here."

Sam looked at the form with suspicion at first, but the questions would be mostly useless to anyone but a doctor or massage therapist. Her address wasn't really her address any more, so what did it matter?

"Your therapists will be right with you," Lori said when Shells handed her the completed form. Sam glanced up to see Shells reviewing the menu of services provided by the spa, and she wondered how Shells would manage to convince Michael to comp whatever it was she wanted next.

"I don't like the sound of that," Shells said.

"What's that, dear?" Lori asked.

Shells perked up at being called 'dear', but she still sounded concerned when she said, "Coffee enema."

"Very cleansing and stimulating," Lori said.

"Man, that's gotta make the coffee taste like shit."

Nearly falling on the floor with laughter, Sam stifled her chuckling when she saw that Lori did not find the humor in it. Fortunately, two women emerged from doors on opposite sides of the hallway and made their way to the front desk. One was petite and slender with a shy and alluring smile. The other was a voluptuous woman with liquid brown eyes and curly brown hair. Shells looked as if her eyes would pop out of her head, and Sam hoped she would behave herself, yet she highly doubted it. If there was anything that Shells had proven incapable of, it was behaving herself. Sam thought that was probably why they got along so well. Behaving meant relinquishing control of your life to the will of others, and that was the thing that frightened Sam most; giving someone else control. Thus it was somewhat difficult to think about getting naked in a strange place and letting someone she didn't know touch her. For a moment she considered backing out.

"Hi, I'm Stephanie," the petite woman said, and she reached her hand out to Sam. Shaking it more firmly than perhaps was called for, Sam found herself instantly at ease with Stephanie. "What kind of massage are you looking for?"

"Um. I don't know," Sam admitted. "This is my first massage."

"A mixture of Swedish with some deep tissue worked in as needed, and maybe finish with some heat," Shells said, and both therapists gave her knowing nods.

"Yeah. What she said," Sam said.

"Right this way," Stephanie said, and Sam did as she was told.

"I'm going to start you face down. Just go ahead and get yourself ready and I'll be back in a couple minutes," Stephanie said before walking out and closing the door. Soft music played from speakers that Sam couldn't find, and a light mist rolled from a babbling fountain. Still, Sam felt exposed as she undressed and stashed her clothes under the chair that sat next to the fountain. Sliding beneath the sheet and light blanket, Sam did her best to follow Shells' instructions. With a deep breath, she tried to relax.

A moment later came a light tap at the door.

"I'm ready," Sam said, and her voice seemed far too loud in the quiet peacefulness the therapists obviously worked hard to create.

"If the pressure is too much or if you need anything, you just let me know. What's important is that you feel comfortable. This is your space."

The words sounded strange to Sam. No one had ever told her before that this was her space, and she found it comforting and liberating. When Stephanie's soft touch ran up her now exposed back, Sam nearly moaned. Stephanie's touch felt wonderful, sensual without being sexual; however, Sam found she had to redirect her wandering thoughts a number of times. The fact that her thoughts could wander was a freeing experience. The massage released stress from muscles that Sam hadn't even realized were sore. When Stephanie found a knot, Sam learned the difference between Swedish massage and deep tissue. With a surprising amount of strength, Stephanie pressed down hard on the knot and Sam felt as if she were being stabbed.

"Take a deep breath and let it relax," Stephanie said. "Imagine it gradually dissolving into nothing."

Under most other circumstances, Sam would have laughed at those instructions, but all she could do at that moment was draw a shuddering breath and try her best to imagine it dissolving. After what seemed an agonizingly long time, Sam's arm began to move of its own volition, jumping and twitching, and then her shoulder felt as if it were unfolding itself. The pain was nearly gone, and Stephanie just said, "Good," before smoothing out the muscles with long strokes and moving on to other knotted parts of Sam's body.

"You're a mess," Stephanie said after the sixth knot. "You should consider getting a massage more regularly."

Sam just groaned in response, and added regular massage to the list of things to set aside money for. First, she would have to find a way to make more money.

"Relax," Stephanie said. "You just stiffened up like a board. Try to let it go."

With Stephanie's warm hands gently shaking her torso back and forth, Sam did what she could to let the tension and anxiety go. It was more difficult than she would have imagined, but it was worth it in the end. The latter part of the massage seemed more like a dream, and when Stephanie used long strokes with some sort of hot stones, Sam thought she might be in heaven. Shells had a point. This was magical. It was as if she was more in touch with herself and more in touch with the world around her in the silence of her mind. Perhaps it was the Native American drums and chant that played from the hidden speakers or maybe it was the nurturing of human contact for no other purpose than to make her feel good, but she felt more whole than she had in years. With a deep breath, she tried in earnest to let everything go.

"Good." Stephanie said, and Sam felt her body relax even further. She thought she even felt bones sliding back into place.

It was then, when she had reached absolute bliss that something began to pull at her. It started softly at first, but then it became almost a physical tug. In the silence it was like an insistent whisper. Something else had changed as well and it took Sam a minute to figure out what it was. Stephanie's hands had stopped moving for the first time since the beginning of the massage; not even her breathing could be heard. It seemed like it lasted for minutes.

"Is everything alright?" Sam asked, partly to find out what was wrong with Stephanie, and part to drown out the yearning call that insisted she should get up and follow this urging.

"Oh," Stephanie said, sounding flustered. "I'm sorry. That's been happening to me lately."

The pulling eased, gradually fading in a way that made Sam wonder if it had ever really existed or if it was just her imagination playing games with her. She'd always had a very active imagination, which had somehow managed to damage her credibility at times in her life, and she did what she could to keep reality and imagination very separate.

"You're here to investigate the ghosts, right?" Stephanie asked.

Surprised by the question, Sam reluctantly shook some of the dopamine-induced fog from her mind. "Yeah," she finally said.

"I'm sorry. I should just let you enjoy your massage, but I just have to ask you: Before you asked if I was alright, did you . . . sense any thing? I mean, did you feel anything strange? Oh . . . never mind. I shouldn't have asked you that."

"It's OK," Sam said, never taking her face out of the cradle, her voice was muffled so she spoke a little louder. "And I did feel something." Stephanie's sharp intake of breath interrupted her for a moment. "It was like something was pulling me, like there was a thread attached to the skin on my forehead and someone was tugging on it, trying to get me to go . . . that way." Sam pointed without raising her head. Stephanie was silent, so Sam picked up her seemingly heavy head and turned to look. With blurred eyes, she saw Stephanie leaning against the wall with her hand over her mouth.