Deadly Intent Page 7

They spent the next two hours watching all the tapes—fast-forwarding through the places where no one came on camera.

  The spa staff entered early that morning from the back entrance. So did Rachel and her research associates, who came through the back but would split off once they were inside to head to the laboratory. That area was sealed off with a sophisticated electronic card system to protect Rachel’s research, since the skin care products she developed were proprietary and exclusive to the spa.

  “I checked the card key logs,” Martin mentioned, “and only staff entered or exited the labs as far as I can tell.”

  Then came the stream of clients through the front door. Naomi and Aunt Becca made a list of patrons’ names and the time they entered or exited. Anyone Naomi didn’t recognize her aunt did, and vice versa.

  “There’s Jessica.”

  The platinum-blond curls were light gray in the tape, but Naomi couldn’t mistake Jessica’s bouncy walk, her confident stride. The morning sunlight sparkled off the wreath of diamonds around her neck.

  “She really had been wearing a diamond necklace,” Aunt Becca said.

  “And it was definitely gone by the time I found her.” Was that necklace at the root of all this? If so, once the murderer had the necklace, why try to harm Devon Knightley? Or maybe that accident was completely unrelated.

  “Eloise Fischer.” The woman walked into view with her head high and arrogant. Even from the video, Naomi could almost feel the cool glitter of her eyes. She noted the time—only a few minutes after Jessica. The two of them would have been together almost from the moment they checked in until Jessica had been called out of the Tamarind Lounge by the murderer, who had been dressed in a spa uniform.

  She had talked to several staff that day, asking if any of them had called for Jessica. She wasn’t surprised when none of them had. And she could eliminate the staff members who had been with clients at the time.

  A few more clients entered the spa. “Is that…Marissa Paige?” Naomi pointed to the screen.

  A short, quick-stepping woman darted into view like a sparrow. She even glanced over her shoulder and backed up a step in a random way like a skittish bird. But whatever was behind her must not have alarmed her because she continued into the spa.

  “The Paiges’ car was the one stolen last night?” Aunt Becca asked.

  “The white Lexus.”

  Was there a connection? Marissa Paige had been here the morning Jessica was killed, and then it was her car that was “stolen” by a woman who tried to run down Devon Knightley. Was Marissa Paige somehow involved in Jessica’s murder? Or was there another reason her car had been stolen for the hit-and-run?

  Or maybe Devon Knightley’s accident wasn’t connected to Jessica at all.

  But that just seemed like too much of a stretch. Devon was Jessica’s ex-husband. Marissa had been here at the spa when Jessica was killed. Then it was her car used to try to kill Devon.

  “I’ll have to find out what treatment Marissa had scheduled,” Naomi said.

  “She’s also probably still in Sonoma. The Paiges always take a couple weeks here, and Marissa Paige tends to schedule several different treatments while they’re here.”

  “So I could go to see her today maybe?” Naomi glanced at her aunt Becca. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to phrase my questions well enough…”

  She patted her hand. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. I’d offer to go with you, but one of us needs to be here to prepare for the reopening tomorrow. And the client visits we talked about really should be done today so that clients will be inclined to reschedule their canceled appointments for tomorrow or the next day.”

  Meaning, Naomi wasn’t just to probe for information. As the daughter of the owner of the spa, and acting manager, she was the face of Joy Luck Life, and first and foremost came her job—catering to their clients, apologizing for the inconvenience, encouraging them to continue their patronage.

  They continued to watch the security videotapes. Very few women exited the spa. Most of the morning’s clients remained for further treatments or simply relaxed and enjoyed the spa’s lounges after their massage, facial or pedicure.

  Then Devon Knightley walked into view. A strong, sure step. His head angled high, showing off the dark column of his throat. Naomi swallowed as she watched him cross the screen and enter the spa.

  No one left after Jessica was found.

  The tape ended. Martin reached for another tape shot from a different camera.

  “Martin, did anyone else exit after that?”

  “No. At this point, after we found out about Ms. Ortiz, we had stopped the tape so we could make copies, and we put in a fresh tape for the video surveillance. We were watching the live feed carefully. Police came, but no one else arrived, and no one else exited until the detectives cleared everyone to go a couple hours later.”

  They watched the videos of the parking lots—both the staff lot and the valet lot—and the view from the valet station, which was a wide-angle camera that also caught some of the area to the side of the building.

  No one snuck into the spa through the back entrance after the early morning staff had come in to work. No clients entered the spa from any entrance other than the front. No one broke into a side window or did anything else unorthodox.

  After finishing the last video, Naomi sat back in her seat and rubbed her eyes. A knot had been forming in her stomach since she saw the video of the back entrance. The knot tangled and tightened as she watched the other videos.

  This was not good.

  Aunt Becca voiced her thoughts. “No one entered the building except staff and clients.”

  “Which means the murderer is one of them.”

  EIGHT

  Someone had tried to get into her car.

  Naomi glanced around the empty parking lot of the Valencia Hotel, then back to the mangled metal of her passenger-side door lock. How long had it been like that? She hardly ever opened this door from the outside. If she hadn’t happened to get out of the car and forgotten to grab her purse from the seat beside her, she would have never gone around to open her passenger-side door from the outside—and discovered the torn-up lock.

  She glanced around the hotel parking lot. There wasn’t anyone around. Her heart picked up.

  She was being silly. No one had threatened her life.

  Yet.

  She went back to the driver’s-side door to get in and grab her purse. Her breathing quickened as she hurried out of the empty lot into the cool, air-conditioned foyer of the Valencia Hotel.

  She stood near the entrance, trying to get her breath back. The handful of guests and staff milling around calmed her.

  She was probably worrying about something that might have happened weeks ago. After all, she never turned on her car alarm when she parked at the spa because once, the alarm had gone off and guests had complained about the noise. She also trusted the valets to watch over the other cars in the parking lot as well as the clients’ cars.

  Except…no. It couldn’t have happened weeks ago. She and Aunt Becca had carpooled to the evening service at church last Sunday. Aunt Becca hadn’t mentioned the broken lock when she got into the car, and that was something her aunt would definitely have mentioned.

  She’d have to ask Aunt Becca the next time she saw her. She considered calling her, but her nerves were too raw to talk about it right now.

  She focused on her task ahead—to talk to Marissa Paige.

  Who might or might not have killed Jessica Ortiz.

  What was she thinking? Visiting a client alone when they knew the murderer was either a client or one of the spa staff? But who could she call?

  She dialed Aunt Becca anyway.

  “What is it, dear? I’m a little busy.”

  Naomi bit her lip. “Um…”

  “What’s wrong?” Gone was her aunt’s brisk tone, replaced by a softer voice.

  “I think…my car was broken into.”

  A sharp intake of breath
. “Are you sure?”

  “Did you notice the lock on my passenger side was broken when you got in my car Sunday night?”

  “No, definitely not.”

  “So it happened sometime between Sunday and today.”

  Naomi tried to allay her rising panic by watching the guests in the hotel lobby—the elegantly coiffed woman sitting in a leather couch, the businessman at the counter, the pair of casually dressed tourists poring over a brochure of wine country.

  “Where—no, over there, Sarah, and make sure it’s stable.” Naomi heard a gentle thud in the background. “Naomi, sorry about that. Where are you?”

  “I’m at the Valencia Hotel.”

  “I could have believed that your spa room and the white Lexus were coincidences, but this has gone beyond coincidence. You shouldn’t talk to Marissa Paige alone.”

  Good, at least she wasn’t the only one being cautious. She refused to admit she was bordering on paranoid. “But you’re busy.”

  As if to prove it, Aunt Becca fired off a few more requests to Iona and Sarah. “Iona, can you pull up these files for me? Thanks. Naomi?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Call Devon Knightley.”

  “What? Are you out of your mind?”

  “What do you mean? We know that whoever attacked Jessica was either a staff member or a client. He’s neither, plus he never entered the spa before we saw him.”

  “We don’t know that the murderer worked alone in this.”

  “Someone tried to kill him. Isn’t that enough for you?”

  “We still don’t know for sure if that was staged or not.”

  Aunt Becca huffed. “You are paranoid. And you need to ’fess up. Why are you so skittish around Devon Knightley?”

  “I’m not skittish.” I just think he’s the most attractive man I know. And he’s hiding something. Bad combination.

  “He’s never been rude to you or anything like that?”

  “No. But why do you trust him so implicitly?”

  Aunt Becca sighed. “I don’t really know. It’s just a feeling I have. And when I prayed this morning, I felt God nudging me to pray for him.”

  “Pray for what?”

  “He’s searching, Naomi. Even if he doesn’t know it. And wouldn’t it be good for him to have a Christian showing him the love of Christ?”

  Everything had been so crazy lately—and even before then, with Dad training her to take over the spa. She wished she could be a massage therapist again, not acting manager and the one responsible in the face of all these troublesome events. But she wasn’t about to disappoint her father, and she was very glad she had Aunt Becca to help her.

  Aunt Becca was still directing the staff around her. “Thanks for coming in, Haley. There’s plenty to do. You can start by helping Iona with the reservations.”

  “Why don’t I call Rachel and ask her to come with me instead?”

  “You know your sister won’t leave her experiments. And don’t even think about Monica, because she’s taking care of your father.”

  And Aunt Becca was taking care of things at the spa. “Fine. I’ll call him.”

  “Just think of it this way. Who do you trust more—Marissa Paige or Devon Knightley?”

  With her life?

  Devon.

  But she didn’t trust him with her heart.

  Naomi knocked on the hotel room door of a possible murderer, while Devon stood at her side.

  He’d been a little surprised but gratified that she’d called him to accompany her—after all, this was the woman whose car almost hit him.

  The door opened.

  “Mrs. Paige? It’s Naomi Grant.”

  “Come in, come in,” the woman said, swinging open the door.

  “This is…” Naomi stared at Devon a second. “Devon Knightley, a friend of my family.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked.

  “So pleased to meet you.” Marissa’s hand drew his attention from Naomi and erased the quirk.

  Marissa beckoned them to the apricot-and-cherry striped couch in the suite’s living area. “I was so surprised when you called and wanted to see me.”

  “I just wanted to extend Joy Luck Life Spa’s personal apology for the events that happened a few days ago.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t hold the spa responsible for something someone else did.” Marissa sat in an overstuffed armchair in a peach floral design that was adjacent to the couch. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Nothing, thanks.” Naomi stared at her folded hands. “Um…the spa is reopening tomorrow.”

  “Oh, how wonderful.” Marissa’s eyes glittered, tiny and black.

  “I’d like to personally offer to reschedule your canceled facial.”

  Marissa flitted to the sideboard so fast, Naomi blinked and she was suddenly across the room. She rummaged in her purse, pulling out half its contents until she found her appointment book. Typical of her—at the spa, she always spread her things all over the receptionists’ counter when trying to find her wallet. Marissa darted back to her chair with her appointment book.

  “Donald and I are going wine tasting tomorrow. We have an appointment to do a food and wine pairing at Kendall-Jackson. But maybe the day after?”

  “Three o’clock?” Marissa usually scheduled her appointments for midafternoon, and Naomi had called Sarah to keep facial appointments free from two o’clock to four o’clock specifically for Marissa.

  “That would be perfect.” Marissa wrote the time down in her appointment book.

  “As I understand it, you were in the Tamarind Lounge with Jessica Ortiz that morning. How…um…shocking for you.” She hoped she instilled the right amount of concern in her voice.

  Next to her, Devon cleared his throat.

  Marissa’s eyes flashed up at her, wide and startled. “Oh, it was so horrible to hear what happened!”

  “Did you speak to Jessica while you were with her?”

  “A little…” Marissa bit the inside of her lip. “We weren’t…friends, exactly.”

  “Did she seem to be acting strangely at all?”

  Marissa blinked rapidly. “How funny. That’s what the detective asked me that morning.”

  Naomi hadn’t meant to sound like an interrogator.

  Devon slid into the conversation. “Just think, you could have been one of the last people to speak to her.” His voice resonated with empathy.

  Now it was Naomi’s turn to clear her throat.

  Marissa’s shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh. “How awful. How tragic.”

  “Did she say anything to you?” Devon’s expression radiated compassion.

  “Not really. She was so full of joy—you know how she is.” Marissa flashed a smile at Naomi. “She kept fingering that diamond necklace—”

  “Necklace?” Devon’s voice cut through the reminiscent atmosphere. “What kind of necklace?” His eyes had started to burn with intensity.

  What was the significance of Jessica’s necklace to him? Naomi wondered.

  She realized that he hadn’t even been aware that Jessica had been wearing a necklace until now. He also didn’t know that Jessica’s necklace had been stolen. After all, the detective had learned about it after he spoke to Devon, and it wasn’t something he would have even mentioned to the victim’s ex-husband unless he were going to accuse Devon of something.

  Was it something she ought to tell him about?

  But he was keeping secrets, too. She’d keep this bit of information to herself, just in case.

  “She had a beautiful necklace,” Marissa was saying. “But I don’t really remember it well. She always had on some type of lovely jewelry. I think it was diamonds and pearls.”

  Naomi almost corrected her that it was a Tiffany diamond necklace, but stopped herself just in time.

  Devon seemed to deflate. While he still looked at Marissa, his gaze was unfocused. “It’s true, she loved jewelry. She always had on something beautiful and expensive.” His tone was low, neu
tral, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

  Marissa jumped to her feet. “I’m sorry to rush you off, but I’m supposed to meet my husband…”

  “Oh, I’m sorry for keeping you,” Naomi said, standing. “Thank you for agreeing to see me for a few minutes.” As she followed Marissa to the door, she remembered to say, “Mrs. Paige, I heard about your car. Did you ever recover it?”

  She held her breath. It was a gamble, but hopefully Marissa wouldn’t have heard about who the car almost ran down—just that it had been stolen. And hopefully she wouldn’t ask how Naomi knew about it.

  “Oh! It was so awful!” Marissa shrieked. “The restaurant manager came to our table to tell us that our car had been stolen. And the keys were still in valet, isn’t that strange?”

  Marissa’s face then glowed a rosy hue. “We did find the car, abandoned a few blocks away. And my keys were inside.”

  “Your keys? No one broke into it?” Now that Naomi thought about it, if someone had broken a window, the car’s alarm would have sounded and alerted the valet.

  “I don’t know how, but someone stole my keys from my purse. I was all over Sonoma, so it could have been taken anytime. And then they followed us to take the car while we were in the restaurant.” She sighed. “I suppose it was just a few kids out for a joyride. Nothing was taken, and there wasn’t even a ding on it.” Marissa squeezed Naomi’s arm. “You’re so kind to ask about it.”

  “When I found out, I knew you’d be concerned and…I’m glad it turned out to be nothing serious.”

  They said their goodbyes and by mutual consent paused a moment out in the hallway after she’d closed the door.

  “Mrs. Paige had her keys the day before because she drove to the spa,” Naomi said.

  “I’m thinking the keys were stolen while they were at the restaurant,” Devon replied.

  “Anyone could have taken them—someone could have passed behind her chair and slipped a hand in her purse,” she said, starting off down the hallway toward the elevator.

  Devon kept pace with her. “There’s a possibility she gave her key to whoever tried to run me down.”

  “But what would be her motive? She didn’t even know you when you walked in. You didn’t recognize her, did you?”