An Appointment With Murder

by

Jennifer L. Jennings

Copyright © 2011 by Query Publishing, LLC

An Appointment With Murder is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Query Publishing, LLC.

Cover art by Jennifer L. Jennings

Edited by John Simon, Portsmouth, NH

This book is dedicated to Mamasita for always believing in me.

I double-checked my massage room. Everything seemed ready. The lights were dimmed, sheets warm, Native American flutes softly playing on the stereo.

“Hey, Sarah,” Beth said, looking up from the appointment book on her desk, “Jeff called and said he’s running a few minutes late.”

Jeff Gardner was to be my last client of the day.

“That’s fine,” I replied. “By the way, thanks for staying late. I hope your fiancée won’t be too upset with me for keeping you here on a Friday night.”

It had been six weeks since I’d hired Beth Stevens as my receptionist. She helped manage the office, took phone calls, scheduled clients, dealt with insurance companies, and, most important to me personally, intercepted the “undesirables,” the guys who’d call looking for a “full body treatment,” which was code for a hand job.

“No problem. I think Jacob had other plans tonight anyway.” Beth’s strawberry blonde hair was styled in a cute bob that accentuated her dimples when she smiled. Only twenty-six, she seemed wise beyond her years.

“How’s Jacob doing with the wedding plans?” I asked, yawning and glancing at my watch.

“Oh,” she flicked a strand of hair behind her ear, “he’s leaving most of the details to me. You know, men usually can’t be bothered with color schemes or flower arrangements. If he had his way, we’d be getting married by an Elvis impersonator at some dive in Vegas.” She smiled as she held up the pink cell phone displaying a photo of a wedding dress.

“Gorgeous,” I said. “Is that the one you’re getting?”

“Yep. Put a deposit on it yesterday. Isn’t it just perfect?”

“I‘m sure you’ll look dazzling, Beth. Has Jacob seen it yet?”

“No way. That would be bad luck.” She slid the cell phone into her purse.

“Oh, by the way,” I added, “Daniel will be out of town on business so won’t be able to come with me to the wedding. I’ll bring Brian as my date if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay. Your son’s a doll. But tell your husband he’s going to miss a good time.”

Before I could reply, the front door opened and Jeff walked in, set his briefcase on a chair, and removed his wool jacket.

“Really appreciate you taking me so late. If I had to leave on this business trip in the state I’m in now, well, it wouldn’t be pretty.”

Beth and I giggled in unison as he lumbered towards the coat rack as if performing a Quasimodo impersonation. He smiled, smoothed his dark wavy hair with one hand, and slung his coat over a hook with the other.

“Where are you off to this time?” I asked, watching him remove his shoes.

“Dallas, Texas,” he said, feigning a southern drawl. “Maybe I’ll just blow off my business meetings and eat barbecued ribs instead.”

“At least it will be warm. Why I decided to live in Bridgeport, New Hampshire is beyond me. It’s cold here ten months out of the year.”

“True. But the other two months are beautiful. Maybe you just need a vacation."

“Maybe I do. Anyway, the room is ready, cowboy. The towel is hanging on the door with the robe.”

“Okay. I’ll hop in the shower and be ready in a minute.” He disappeared down the hallway towards the bathroom.

It was only because Jeff had been a regular for years that I had decided to stay late. I was adamant about not scheduling appointments after seven.

“Jacob and I are planning our honeymoon for the end of next month,” Beth said, flipping through the calendar on her desk. “Is it okay if I take a week off?”

“Take as much time as you need,” I said, responding to the controlled excitement in her voice and thinking back to my own honeymoon.

“You know Beth, I have to admit I’m a little envious of you and Jacob. After 16 years of marriage, I can tell you the honeymoon is long over. Our idea of a romantic evening is sharing a bottle of wine in front of the TV completely immersed in anything but each other.”

Immediately regretting my cynicism, I changed my tone and sat on the edge of her desk. “Sorry,” I said, smiling and patting her on the shoulder. “I don’t mean to be negative. I’m sure you and Jacob will live happily ever after.”

“By the way, Sarah,” Beth had slipped her cell phone out of her purse again, “there’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Maybe next week we could have lunch at the café. I’d rather not discuss it here at the office.” She shot me an odd glance and smiled. “Does that work for you?”

“Sure. Is everything okay?” When she didn’t reply, I began to fish for an explanation. “Are you happy here?” was the first thing that came to mind.

“Everything is fine,” she reassured me. “I love working here, and I don’t plan on leaving.”

“Good,” I said, checking my watch, “because hiring you was the best decision I’ve made in a long time.”

She nodded, smiled, poked my knee, and said, “Your client is waiting.”

I got up and looked down the hallway. Jeff seemed to still be in the bathroom. For someone who was usually on my table within two minutes, he was taking his sweet time in that shower.

“You know, Beth, you really don’t need to hang around if you don’t want to. I’ll be fine if you want to head home now.”

“Okay. I’ll just file these client forms,” she said, shuffling some papers on the desk. Then she dialed a number on her cell phone.

Assuming she was calling her future husband to let him know she was on her way home, I said quickly, before he picked up, “Thanks Beth, I guess I’ll see you on Monday,” and started down the hall.

“Hey, Jeff, almost ready?” I called out softly, tapping gently on the door and trying not to sound too annoyed. It was now quarter past and I felt I had already been sufficiently accommodating. A somewhat more audible “Hello?” still brought no response. My patience rapidly dwindling, I continued on to the laundry room and spent a few minutes rearranging towels, putting wet laundry in the dryer, and organizing sheets.

Feeling my lower back beginning to tense up, I bent over and stretched, heard a few cracks, and winced at the tightness in my muscles. Returning to a standing position, I reached my arms high over my head and bent my head back. My forty-two year old body was still amazingly lithe. Then again, it had to be. Massaging people six hours a day, five days a week was a workout unto itself. And the physical aspect was just part of it. Clients could be extremely needy and demanding, and dealing with the emotional stuff took a lot of mental energy as well. Although I still loved my work, I was beginning to think it might be time for a change.

I headed back to the bathroom, hoping to find Jeff already on the table so we could start the session. But hearing the shower still running as I approached the door, I whispered “What the hell?” and knocked again, this time harder. Still getting no response, I pressed my ear to the door, but all I could hear was running water. “Everything okay in there, Jeff?” I practically shouted.

What could have happened? My mind was racing with visions of Jeff collapsed in the shower stall having suffered a heart attack or brain aneurism. I waited another 20 seconds.

Whatever had happened, I was in full-blown panic mode and did the first thing my instincts told me to do, I tried the doorknob. I didn’t really expect it to be unlocked, so was astonished when the door swung open and I staggered gracelessly into the room. The shower curtain billowed out from the pressure of the air from the opened door. I saw Jeff standing under the running water, eyes closed and head tilted back, his right hand stroking his penis. The blissful look on his face abruptly changed to shock when he opened his eyes and saw me standing there, the steam dampening my hair.

“Oh shit!” he said, grabbing the towel as he shut off the water, his face an exquisite shade of crimson.

“Really!” I seethed. “I thought maybe you’d had a heart attack or something. Didn’t you hear me calling?” I stood with my arms crossed, glaring at him.

“Damn it! I guess I was lost in my own little world there for a minute,” he offered lamely, trying to hide behind the safety of the towel.

“A minute? Try ten minutes. I’ll see you back in the room,” I said, shaking my head as I left him to dry off.

I knew I had a right to be pissed, but laughed to myself as I walked back towards the reception area. I knew the proper thing would be to keep this little incident to myself, but how could I resist telling Beth? It was just too sweet to keep secret.

I rounded the corner expecting to see Beth getting ready to leave, but instead saw something that made my knees buckle. “Beth?” I said hesitantly, hoping she was playing a very nasty trick on me. I walked around the desk. She was slumped in her chair, head tilted to one side, eyes wide open. Her lips were slightly parted, her face a pasty pale blue. A trickle of blood was seeping out of one of her nostrils onto her upper lip. She did not appear to be breathing.

“Beth?” I said with a nervous laugh, walking slowly towards her. As I leaned over to take her limp wrist and feel for a pulse, an intense, sharp crack reverberated through my skull and everything went black.

* * *

I heard voices murmuring, and opened my eyes to bright light. As the light moved from eye to eye, I was able to get my bearings and realized that I was lying on my back on the floor. Then I registered the two paramedics kneeling over me, one poking with his instruments, the other holding the tiny flashlight that was blinding me.

“Ma’am, can you hear me?” asked one. I felt the pressure of two fingers on the inside of my wrist.

“Yes,” I said, my senses gradually returning.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“My name is . . . Sarah. Sarah Woods. Where’s Beth?” An attempt to lift my head was thwarted by excruciating pain.

“Just try to relax, Sarah. How many fingers am I holding up?”

He showed me three, and I told him so.

“Can you move your hands and feet?” I could, so I tried to sit up again.

“Take it easy, Sarah. Don’t move too fast.”

“Look, I’m fine, really,” I insisted, even as I abandoned the effort to rise.

The paramedic with the flashlight had wrapped a blood pressure monitor around my bare arm. He pumped it up, glanced at that gauge, and pursed his lips. I took this to be an indication that he was satisfied, but he said: “Just to be safe, do you want to go to the hospital?”

“Really not necessary. I’ll be fine,” I replied, trying to convince myself I was.

“Do you know why you passed out?” the other paramedic asked.

“Uh,” I said, reaching my arm around and touching the back of my head, “blunt force trauma.”

He smiled as he leaned over and reached around behind my head to feel the contusion.

“You must watch CSI,” he said as he retrieved something from his bag. “Keep this ice pack on the back of your head. It will help reduce the swelling.”

I rolled onto my side and, heeding the advice to move slowly, was able to ease myself up to a sitting position. Whatever my attacker had hit me with must have been solid.

The paramedics began to disperse, gathering their instruments and bags. A movement to my right caught my eye. Someone was taking photographs of the empty chair. The bright flash from the camera startled me.

Where was Beth? As I slowly turned my still aching head, my eyes fell on Jeff, who was talking with someone near the door. He was wearing the business suit he’d been wearing when he’d come in, but his hair was still wet and disheveled. Catching sight of me sitting up and looking in his direction, he excused himself and came over. Dropping onto one knee, he rested his hand on my shoulder.