some men here—mostly husbands whose wives asked them along—but the majority of our clientele is female. They can hang out without feeling that some guy is going to hit on them.”
“That how Ms. Betham felt?”
“I knew you were going to bring that up,” Ness said. “You ever meet Miz Betham?”
“No.”
“She’s around fifty and has a face like a pineapple. Now I have nothing against ugly people except when they give me troubles. I don’t know what her problem is, but she isn’t going to bring me down. I hope the garbage she’s saying isn’t giving you funny ideas about me. I don’t hit on women. And I certainly wouldn’t ever do anything to Lilah. You haven’t told me too much about that.”
“Lilah will be okay,” Marge said. “If she wants to tell you about it in detail, I’m sure she will.”
“She know who attacked her?”
Marge was silent.
“Probably not,” Ness said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be questioning me. Ask me anything you want. I’ll do anything to help you find the bastard who hurt her.”
“You like her a lot.”
“I told you, I adore her.”
“But just as a friend.”
“Yep.”
“Was there ever anything sexual between you and her?”
“No. Not that I’d mind, but …”
Marge waited.
“I guess I’m not her type.”
“Who’s her type?”
“Lilah’s?” Ness paused. “Wouldn’t know. I once heard she’d been married. I try not to delve too deeply into my boss’s affairs. I think that makes a lot of sense.”
“Were you here at the spa yesterday, Mike?”
“Yesterday was what? Sunday? Yep, I was here. I attended the seven o’clock lecture. Honestly, I don’t even remember what it was on. They blur. Afterward, I worked out for an hour by myself. Then I drank a little herbal tea with some of the ladies.” He smiled. “You know, trying to drum up a little business. I went to bed around eleven, maybe it was closer to twelve.”
“Did you see Lilah anytime during the evening?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Was she at the lecture?”
“Was she? I don’t remember. My sister, Kelley, might know. She’s the one who’s good with details.”
“So no one can verify where you were between the hours of twelve and seven.”
“Nope. No one. ’Cause I was sleeping by my little lonesome.” Ness shrugged. “Is Lilah unconscious or something? Otherwise, why are you questioning me? She could tell you I didn’t do anything to her.”
“She’s conscious.”
Ness nodded. “That’s good. So just ask her—”
“We intend to question her extensively when she’s feeling better. In the meantime, we haven’t ruled anyone out. You know anyone who might have a bone to pick with Lilah? A disgruntled employee, maybe?”
Ness shook his head. “Everyone loves her. Never heard anyone say a bad word … except … well, he didn’t say anything bad about her. He didn’t say anything about her … which was odd.”
Marge looked at him.
“About two, three months ago, a guy claiming to be Lilah’s brother came here,” Ness said. “Actually he wanted to see Davida because it was her birthday. He had a gift. No one was around. He left the present at reception and split.”
“That was it?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t know,” Ness said. “I’d never seen the guy before. He hasn’t been back since. I know how close Lilah is to Freddy. It just struck me as odd that this ‘brother’ would be such a mystery man. He was quite a bit older than her or Freddy. Looked to be in his middle forties. Strange.”
“What was his name?”
“I don’t remember it. I do remember it was a blueblood name, though—like Thurston Howell the Third or something.”
“Does the name King ring a bell?”
He paused, then shook his head. “That wasn’t his name.”
There had been something in Ness’s eyes—a glint of recognition. Marge said, “You’re sure his name wasn’t King something or something King?”
“No, that wasn’t the name on the card.”
“You peeked at the birthday card?”
Ness smiled. “He left his business card along with the present, too. Weird. You ever hear of someone leaving their business card with a present? Especially a family member?”
Marge didn’t answer.
“I figure he’s not a close family member,” Ness said. “He was a doctor, by the way. I saw M.D. after his name on his card.”
“You saw his card but don’t remember his name.”
“Sorry, no.”
“What’d you do with the card?”
“I gave it to Kelley. She probably still has it unless she threw it away. I doubt she did. She’s compulsive. Ask her.”
“I will.” Marge planted a large hand on his bony shoulder. “In the meantime, Mr. Ness, you stay close.”
“No problem, Detective, I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
Marge stood, flipped the cover over her notepad, and toed the tip of the video camera. “What do you do with this?”
Ness picked up the camera. “I tape myself working. To see how I move. I take my job seriously and don’t want to look like an ass in front of the women. You want a peek?”
Marge looked at her watch. “Sure.”
Ness got up. Marge followed him to the back of the Jazzarena. He opened a cupboard. Inside was a thirteen-inch TV attached to ancillary equipment. Ness opened the camera and slid the tape into a video machine. His image filled the monitor, shots of him moving with the grace of a ballet dancer. Marge asked him if he had had lessons.
“Long ago.” Ness’s eyes were fixed to the monitor.
“Unusual
