Three Strikes and You're Dead (14 page)

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Authors: Jessica Fletcher

BOOK: Three Strikes and You're Dead
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Lily became flushed. “Well, yes, actually, Steve isn’t
supposed
to have a girlfriend. The coach told them they aren’t allowed to. But, well, no one really knows.”
 
 
I thought she looked at me a little nervously, suddenly aware of how much she’d been chattering away. I put a finger over my lips. “I’ll never tell,” I said, smiling.
 
 
She seemed to relax. “Actually, everyone on the team has a girlfriend except for maybe a couple of them. Junior, the guy who was murdered, he always had a girlfriend, practically a different one every month. One of them was supposedly a drug dealer. Steve thought she also might be involved in his murder. She was always trying to sell stuff to the players. Steroids and other drugs.”
 
 
“My goodness. Do the police know this?”
 
 
“I don’t know, but she hasn’t been around for a couple of months.”
 
 
When we reached the lounge, Lily poured me a glass of icy water with several lemon wedges in it.
 
 
“Thank you, Lily.” I handed her a generous tip. “And good luck with your writing.” I sank into what was fast becoming my favorite chair.
 
 
“Gee. Thanks,” she said, pocketing the bill and disappearing behind a patterned magenta curtain that hung in a doorway in place of a door.
 
 
“Yes, very comfortable, thank you.”
 
 
The woman performing my facial introduced herself as Toni. She was perfect for a cosmetician. She had a peaches-and-cream complexion and not a visible permanent wrinkle on her oval face. Lines appeared when she laughed or frowned, but then seemed instantly erased. Of course, the fact that she was no more than thirty years old had something to do with it.
 
 
The same New Age music was piped into this room, which was a bit smaller and had a more clinical feel to it than the room in which I was given my massage, thanks to the bright light that shone on my face to expose my pores. Toni gently stroked the skin on my face, scrutinizing it with a “hmm,” and “uh-huh.”
 
 
“That bad?” I said and laughed.
 
 
“Oh, no, not at all. You have a lovely complexion, Mrs. Fletcher. I just needed to assess your skin to determine which facial would benefit you best. Now, I see here you signed up for our Turquoise Facial, but honestly, based on my examination, that might be too drying, thanks to the cornmeal we use in it. I recommend we do the facial to repair dry skin, with some jojoba, lavender, and aloe gel—all native Arizona plants, by the way.”
 
 
“Sounds good to me,” I said.
 
 
“I can also recommend some follow-up treatments you might want to consider, Mrs. Fletcher. There are some excellent Botox and laser treatments.”
 
 
“Thank you, but not for this Maine lady,” I said with a chuckle. “Nature as Nature intended, I’m afraid. That kind of thing isn’t for me.”
 
 
I could see now why Toni didn’t have any wrinkles. Her face didn’t express any emotion when she replied very seriously, “Okay, then, let’s get started.”
 
 
Thankfully, the bright light that had magnified every line in my face was turned off and several votive candles and a small lamp in the corner set a less sterile mood.
 
 
Toni’s hands were strong, and she rubbed my face and scalp assertively—but not too hard. I could practically feel the blood circulating in my face, guaranteeing a healthy glow. Like Lily, Toni didn’t pepper me with small-talk questions, and I surrendered to a relaxed state, visualizing myself on a small island in the Caribbean, with George Sutherland, a bottle of wine, two lobster dinners, and the lapping of the cerulean surf at our feet. But the vision was short-lived; as if I had a TV remote, that channel was changed to a channel in which my conversation with Lily was playing. She said that Junior had a drug-dealing ex-girlfriend. Had she come back? I wondered. I took heart from her comment that none of the other players thought Ty had murdered Junior. Should I tell Meg and Jack this? Should I tell Ty? Surely that would cheer him, at least for a while. I wondered if Ty had a girlfriend whom Jack and Meg didn’t know about. According to Lily, most of the players on the team did. I should have asked her. Maybe I could make a point of doing so before I left.
 
 
“I’m going to apply this gentle masque to your face and then leave you for about ten minutes to let the masque do its job. It’s
very
hydrating and soothing. Then we’ll just massage it into your skin. Don’t wash it off tonight. You’ll see a big difference tomorrow.”
 
 
“Okay,” I said sleepily.
 
 
Toni left the room. A minute or two later the door reopened. I was disappointed. Why had she returned so soon? I had looked forward to a ten-minute escape.
 
 
Thanks to the lavender-hued eye mask that blanketed my eyes, I couldn’t see who it was. Maybe it wasn’t Toni. About a minute passed and no one said a word, but I could sense someone in the room, although there was no discernible noise.
 
 
“Hello?” I finally said.
 
 
“Hi, Jess, it’s me,” Meg whispered.
 
 
“Meg?”
 
 
“Jess, I’m so sorry to barge in like this. They were kind enough to tell me which room you were in. But when I got in here I thought you were sleeping. You looked so relaxed, I didn’t want to say anything.”
 
 
I removed the eye mask, sat up, and looked at Meg, who hovered at the edge of the massage table. She was usually so well put together, but now her face was bare of makeup, and she was wearing clothing more suitable to gardening—a pair of navy cotton shorts and a white T-shirt that read, DON’T JUDGE ME, probably a souvenir Jack had brought back from one of his legal conferences. It wasn’t the kind of outfit Meg would ordinarily let anyone see her in.
 
 
“Meg, is everything okay?”
 
 
She slumped into a chair near the door and raked her fingers through her hair. Her hands were trembling. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She dropped her hands to her lap. “Oh, Jessica. It’s just awful. The preliminary DNA report came back. The blood on Ty’s shirt. It belongs to Junior.”
 
 
“But Meg, Ty already told us that he punched Junior in the nose. That would certainly explain why his blood was on Ty’s shirt,” I said, hoping to reassure her.
 
 
“But the police said they haven’t been able to find anyone who witnessed that punch. And one of the television reports said that it was unlikely that story would hold up because Ty’s Breathalyzer test indicated he was so out of it he never would have been able to land a punch hard enough to make Junior bleed.”
 
 
“That’s pure speculation on the part of the reporter,” I said. “I wouldn’t give it any credence.”
 
 
There was a knock on the door. “Mrs. Fletcher, is it okay to come in now?” It was Toni’s voice.
 
 
Meg nodded.
 
 
“Yes,” I said, hopping down from the table and tightening the belt of my robe.
 
 
“Are we stopping the facial?” Toni asked when she saw Meg.
 
 
“I think it’s enough,” I said.
 
 
“We were close to the end, anyway,” she said. “Don’t forget. Don’t wash your face tonight.”
 
 
“I won’t forget.”
 
 
Toni escorted us down a narrow hallway, with soft lighting that came from strategically placed sconces, and into the equally muted lighting of the lounge. I tipped her and expressed my thanks, and she left.
 
 
I poured Meg a cup of ginger tea. “Try this. It will help you to relax. I think you could use some of the services of this spa.”
 
 
“I wish! I’ve been such a wreck since Ty was arrested. I can’t seem to find a comfortable place for myself.”
 
 
“Wait here,” I said. I approached the pretty young woman who stood behind a blond wooden desk just off the lounge.
 
 
“Hello, Mrs. Fletcher,” she said. “Did your friend find you? I hope it was all right to tell her where you were. We usually don’t do that, but she seemed so upset.”
 
 
“You did exactly the right thing,” I said. “Thank you. Now, I have a favor to ask. Is it possible to transfer my next treatment to my friend? I’d like her to get the treatment instead of me.”
 
 
“Sure, Mrs. Fletcher. No problem at all. Let’s see,” she said, scanning the appointment book. “Your next treatment is the Sonora Stone massage at noon. It’s wonderful.” She looked at her watch. “That’s in fifteen minutes.”
 
 
“Terrific,” I said.
 
 
“I’ll let Lily know.”
 
 
I began to walk back to the lounge and then remembered that Lily’s boyfriend was on the Rattlers. I hastily returned to the counter. “Lily is the woman who gave me my first massage?”
 
 
“Yes, that’s right.”
 
 
“Lovely girl,” I said with a smile. “But do you suppose another masseuse would be available?”
 
 
“Was there a problem with Lily, Mrs. Fletcher? She’s one of our most popular and most requested staff members.”
 
 
“Not at all. She’s a sweet girl and very good at what she does. I’ll tell you what. How about I keep that massage with Lily, and my friend over there in the lounge can have another massage.”
 
 
She scanned the appointment book once again, shaking her head. “We are so booked, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” She ran her perfectly manicured fingers down the page and stopped. “Wait a minute. Hmm, I think it’s your lucky day, Mrs. Fletcher. About ten minutes ago we got a cancellation for a Swedish Massage with Bethanne. Shall I schedule that for your friend?”
 
 
“That would be wonderful.”
 
 
“May I have her name?”
 
 
I was loath to give Meg’s real name, in the event someone would recognize it and make a comment that would make her uncomfortable. She was tense enough as it was.
 
 
“Your friend’s name, Mrs. Fletcher?”
 
 
“Of course. It’s, uh, Malorie.”
 
 
“And her last name?”
 
 
“Muffet.”
 
 
“Malorie Muffet?” the woman repeated, incredulous.
 
 
“Yes, Malorie Muffet,” I said stiffly, and escaped back to the lounge.
 
 
“Jessica, you didn’t,” Meg said, totally surprised and, I could tell, equally pleased when I told her about the appointment.
 
 
“Meg, you’re a poster child for a massage candidate. Think of it as a medical necessity. If Seth were here,” I said, raising the image of my good friend and Cabot Cove’s favorite doctor, “he would prescribe it for you.”
 
 
“If Dr. Hazlitt prescribes it, then I guess I’d better take my medicine.”
 
 
“That’s being a good patient.”
 
 
“But if the press gets wind of this—that I was out getting a massage while my foster son stays home waiting to be indicted—they’ll have a field day.”
 
 
“Precisely why I made your appointment under a fictitious name,” I said, revealing her
nom de massage
.
 
 
“You told them I was Malorie Muffet?” Meg said, and started to giggle. I was glad to see her mood lighten.
 
 
“It was the best I could do under pressure,” I said, chagrined.
 
 
A cell phone rang, and it took us a moment to realize the sound was coming from Meg’s purse. The looks of disdain from several of the women seated in the lounge told us that a ringing cell phone was a big faux pas in a spa. Meg hurried to dig it out, pushing aside packets of tissues, an address book, a makeup bag, and a paperback novel, but by the fourth ring, it stopped.

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