Authors: Stefanie Matteson

Murder at the Spa (35 page)

BOOK: Murder at the Spa

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“I’ve already talked with him about it.” She took Claire’s hand. “Oh, I’ll provide for him. I intend to reinstate him in my will. He’ll control a large block of stock. He’ll be rich, he’ll be doing the creative things he likes to do. But he won’t have the day-to-day responsibility of running the company, which he didn’t want anyway. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Claire nodded. “I think he’s always thought of it as a burden, the idea that he was expected to take over someday.”

“He’ll be very happy. He’s going to be married to this lovely young woman and he’s going to have a son, who
will
be interested in running the company.” She pinched Claire’s cheek. “Did you get the freckle cream I sent?”

Claire nodded.

“Use it twice a day. You have to be very careful with your skin.”

“Yes, Mrs. Langenberg.”

“Paulina, call me Paulina,” she said. She fingered Claire’s white peasant blouse. “You shouldn’t wear white. You’re too pale for white. It makes you look washed-out. You should always wear clear colors; clear colors will enhance your beautiful coloring. She has beautiful coloring, my daughter-in-law.”

Claire laughed. She had a laugh like a clear brook.

The phone rang.

“Can you please answer it, dear?”

Claire did. “There are two reporters downstairs,” she said, placing a hand over the receiver. “They want to interview you about the merger of Paulina Langenberg and High Rock Waters.”

“Good, tell them I’ll be right down.” She addressed Gary: “I had the PR people in New York send them up. I thought we might have something to announce. You talk to them too—you’re good at that. The press always makes me nervous.” Reaching into her bosom, she withdrew a key, which she handed to Anne-Marie. “Anne-Marie, could you please get me some vodka? In the bedroom.”

Anne-Marie left to fetch the bottle.

“Mrs. Stockholder! Thank you for filling in as my secretary. And thank you for everything else. I have a lot to thank you for, don’t I?” Turning, she opened a drawer in the end table. “Here,” she said. She pressed a lipstick into Charlotte’s hand. “From the Body Spa line,” she said proudly.

“Thank you,” said Charlotte.

Anne-Marie returned with the bottle.

Grabbing it by the neck, Paulina tilted it skyward and swallowed a belt that would have made a Russian gasp. “For courage,” she said. Then she put on her shoes, checked her makeup in a hand mirror, and stood up. “Okay,” she said as she rose to her full height of four feet ten. “Let’s go.”

Charlotte returned to her room to finish packing. Into her suitcase went her collection of souvenirs from High Rock Spa: the chunk of mineral, the prescription booklet with her shoulder exercises and walking regimen, the farewell package of California dates, the sample bag of Body Spa products, and … the lipstick. At ten of one, she called a bellman and headed downstairs. In a corner of the lobby, she spotted Gary and Paulina talking with the reporters. Or rather, Gary was talking. Charlotte could hear him mixing his metaphors: he was saying something about the many rows that needed to be hoed before the final details could be nailed down. Paulina was leaving all the talking up to him; she was passing on the scepter. At the desk, Charlotte picked up the low-calorie box lunch that the spa provided for departing guests. Then she headed outside to wait for the limo. Under the columned portico, she came across Regie Cobb sitting next to a tall, gangly young man.

“Are you leaving?” he asked.

“In a few minutes.”

“I’d like you to meet my son, Doug. He wants to be an actor. He’s studying acting at High Rock State. He’s also a fan—he’s seen all your movies.”

“Well, almost all,” corrected Doug.

“There are some I hope you were lucky enough to miss,” she said. The young man looked familiar, she thought as she shook his hand. She glanced down at his feet. They were very long and very narrow.

“You’re the Mineral Man!” she said.

“Yes. It was Dad’s idea. Something to do during summer vacation, to keep me in front of the public. I work nights at the hospital too. You know, you were the first to guess. How did you know?”

“By your height.” Her glance flew to the red knapsack on the bench behind him. “And by your knapsack. Besides, you were very important to me in solving a difficult puzzle, one that involved the tunnels.”

“What?” he said.

The limousine had arrived. “Your father will explain. I have to get going. It was very nice meeting you. Good luck in your acting career.” She said good-bye and then headed over toward the group that was emerging from the hotel.

In the lead was Paulina, wearing a black gaucho hat decorated with a star-shaped pin of glittering pavé diamonds. Behind her came Claire, who carried the train case in which Paulina stored her jewelry. She held it out in front of her ceremoniously, as if it contained the relics of a saint.

Gary and Anne-Marie and a couple of photographers brought up the rear.

“I want you to take a picture of us in front of the hotel,” Paulina ordered the photographers. Grabbing Gary’s arm, she struck a pose.

But their attention had been captured by a bigger fish. “There’s Charlotte Graham!” said the one.

Deserting Paulina, they came over to Charlotte, circling her with their cameras like a boxer circling his opponent. “Look this way, Miss Graham.” “A big smile, Miss Graham.” “Chin up, Miss Graham—let’s see that beautiful jawline.” All the while, the shutters were clicking, clicking, clicking.

Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte had registered the look of annoyance that crossed Paulina’s face as she was upstaged. Now she watched as Paulina relaxed her expression and threw up her hands as if to say, “Life’s too short for such worries.”

As the photographers continued to click away, Paulina marched over to the limo, whose liveried driver stood at attention at a rear door.

“The front door, please,” she said.

“Yes, madam,” he replied. Moving up to the front of the long black car, he ceremoniously opened the door on the passenger side.

“I always sit in front,” she explained. She slid onto the seat, her hat barely visible above the dashboard, and settled back against the cushion.

“I always like to see where I’m going.”

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Drew Padrutt

ISBN: 978-1-5040-3711-2

This edition published in 2016 by
MysteriousPress.com
/Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

180 Maiden Lane

New York, NY 10038

www.openroadmedia.com