me do it.”
Her face seemed calm at first, but he noticed a wildness around the edges of her eyes as she peered into the darkness beyond the cracked door. “That’s my massage room.” Her voice was high and strangled.
Her massage room door was barely open, unlike the other doors along the corridor, which were either closed or at least halfway open to show the empty status of the room. He eased it open.
The soft light from the corridor fell on the edge of a dark pool.
His nerves fired like a popping spark plug. He grabbed Naomi’s arm and shoved her against the wall. She didn’t protest—she’d seen the blood.
Chattering voices suddenly tinkled from the other end of the corridor as a client in a bathrobe was escorted by a staff in uniform.
“Stop.” Naomi’s voice shot toward them. Her raised hand trembled. “Lavinia, please escort Ms. Everingham to the Tamarind Lounge.”
Lavinia halted, mouth open, but in the next second, she turned to her client with an overwide smile. “I don’t think you’ve ever been in the Tamarind Lounge, have you, Ms. Everingham? Follow me. It’s normally reserved for Tamarind members only, so you’re in for a treat today.” She continued to chatter as they turned the corner out of sight.
Now that was a well-trained staff. The Grants impressed him more and more.
A low moan issued from the room.
His heart pulsed hard. He pushed open the door.
Blood was everywhere. He’d seen lots of it in his surgeries, but the sight now made his throat tighten. Behind him, Naomi gagged.
A woman lay on the floor next to the massage table, and Devon’s breath stopped a moment at the sight of the platinum-blond corkscrew curls. Jessica.
He dropped to his knees to turn her over.
She gasped a spray of blood. What looked like a blunt-force trauma injury bled from her temple.
“Towels?” he asked.
Naomi darted toward the cabinet in the corner while he looked for anything lying near him. He grabbed the sheet covering the massage table and applied pressure to her wound. Warm liquid seeped through the fabric of his pants, pooling around his kneecaps. The room had a sickening, metallic, vanilla smell.
Naomi kneeled next to him, her arms full of towels. “It’s all right, Ms. Ortiz, you’ll be fine.”
He fumbled in his pants pocket and withdrew his cell phone, but she grabbed it from him. “Keep helping her. I’ll dial 911.”
“Put it on speakerphone so I can talk to the dispatcher. I’ll need to talk to the trauma team.”
Under the blood staining her face, Jessica’s skin was paler than her hair. Half-lidded dark eyes found his.
“Andrea,” she whispered.
And closed her eyes.
THREE
Naomi had never seen someone die before.
Even when her mother had died, she and her sisters had been forced to stay home with Aunt Becca while her father went to the hospital alone. Mom had been killed instantly by the drunk driver, and Dad hadn’t wanted them to see her.
Aunt Becca rubbed Naomi’s arms and patted her cheeks now, as she had done that night. “It’s all right, Naomi.”
“No, it’s not all right.” Naomi had to speak around her chattering teeth. She wore two of the spa bathrobes and still felt as if she’d taken an arctic swim. “Poor Jessica. I’ve been massaging her for years. And now she’s gone.” Her voice cracked.
Jessica had always been friendly, if a little ditzy. Always said something to make her laugh. Had such a sweet, airy smile when explaining why she had to stay in the room longer than she was scheduled for. Jessica had been self-centered, but pleasant about it so that Naomi almost didn’t mind that her client was trying to get away with something.
“How are we going to tell Dad? This is going to make him determined to come to the spa, despite his condition.”
Becca gave her a little shake. “Even though your father’s a stubborn old cuss, your sister Monica is even worse than he is, under all her sweet demeanor. She won’t let him do anything that would hurt himself.” A twinkle appeared in her eye. “Besides, he’s not cleared to drive yet, and I’m pretty sure Monica hid his car keys.”
Speaking of sisters…“Where’s Rachel?”
“She’s still in her lab. She’s in the middle of an experiment—you know how she gets—and she wouldn’t be much use here, so I told her to stay.”
“The detective isn’t going to want to speak to her?”
“Why should he? Even though she’s one of the owner’s daughters, she didn’t see anything because she was in the laboratory in back all morning.”
And Rachel’s rather spacey way of stating the bare, honest truth might get them in trouble somehow.
Aunt Becca pinched her elbow. “Calm down.”
She jerked her arm away. “I am calm.”
“You’re as calm as a wet cat. I thought you’d bite the detective’s head off earlier when he asked if the massage room was yours or not. You didn’t need to tell him he could expect to find your prints all over the room in quite the tone you used.”
Well, that might have been true. “He just seemed so…stern.”
“But he had kind eyes.” Becca smiled a bit dreamily at the thought of the detective.
Naomi didn’t see Detective Carter in such a rosy light. Earlier, he’d only asked her about the massage room, but she’d been blubbering in shock, so Aunt Becca had asked him to come back later. In fact, Devon had kindly stepped in and offered to be interviewed first. Detective Carter would be interviewing her next, she was sure.
Naomi’s attention was drawn to Dr. Knightley, standing with the detective near the receptionists’ desk. Poor man seemed really upset—and why not? He’d come to see Jessica.
And she’d been found dying.
A shadow settled over her. Why had he needed to see Jessica so insistently? She wished she were close enough to overhear his interview with the detective.
Maybe she could arrange to get close enough.
She started making her way toward the receptionists’ desk. Devon’s mouth stretched tight and his words seemed clipped.
A bony hand clawed at her arm. “What are you doing?” Aunt Becca hissed.
She pulled away. “I want to know why Devon Knightley wanted to see Jessica.”
“Leave them alone.” Her aunt’s hand clamped around her elbow this time.
