Perish By Pedicure Page 12

  “Do what you want, but I’m going inside,” Marla said, plunking her cell phone and other important items into the lockbox. In exchange, the man gave her a wristband.

  “It sounds like fun to me,” Georgia said, following suit. When Larry had cast his lot with them as well, Justine gave in.

  “I’m not going to sit out here all by myself. Who knows what sort of undesirables frequent this place?” With a disapproving frown, she joined the gang.

  Pushing through the inner door, Marla led the way into a curved corridor lined with oil paintings that depicted plump ladies in colorful scenes from days of old. Onion-shaped frames made of twisted rope reminded her of mosques in the Middle East One picture showed a lady in a rose gown about to kiss a bearded man, a table laden with food behind them. Other tableaux showed elegantly dressed couples picnicking by a lake, a family at dinner, and a naked woman reclining on a couch. They all seemed to feature a more realistic view of women, one in which a rail-thin model like Heather wouldn’t be worshiped as the feminine ideal. She wondered how the girl had come to find this place.

  They split up at the locker rooms, Larry heading into the men’s area and Marla with her companions into the women’s. It was a small space, with a row of lockers, mirrored marble sinks, a single shower, and a toilet stall. A wave-shaped painted bench faced the lockers. On the counter stood another bouquet of coral, amber, and jade gemstone flowers. The tile floor had a drain in its center, and rivulets of water flowed into it. A set of double glass doors moist with condensation led to the Jacuzzi.

  Marla found the number assigned her on the wooden locker door and opened it with her key. “I don’t know where Heather’s gone, but I suppose I’ll have to hunt for her,” she said, noting a sign saying HAVE A HAMAM WASH, TRADITIONAL TURKISH SOAP, TWENTY MINUTRS FOR $35. After pulling a swimsuit from her bag, she stuffed her belongings into the locker.

  “Where are we supposed to change?” Justine asked, wrinkling her nose.

  Just then a brunette entered the room, opened her locker, and stripped right in front of them. Oblivious to their shocked stares, she donned a bikini and trotted out to the Jacuzzi, carrying the towel provided with their entry fee.

  “That answers your question,” Georgia said, giggling. Turning her back to them, she pulled off her shirt.

  “You can wait for us if you want,” Marla told the older woman, “but I don’t know how long this will take. Heather has to be somewhere inside.” She managed to don her two-piece swimsuit with a modicum of modesty. Dipping her fingers into a square red vat leaning against the wall, she withdrew a pair of plastic slippers for her feet. All the comforts of home, she thought, adjusting her wristband.

  “I’m going ahead,” Georgia said. “We don’t have much time, and I want to make the best of it. See you inside.” She pushed open one of the doors to the Jacuzzi, letting in a cloud of steam. “Whoa, Marla. Get a load of these hunks.”

  Marla peeked over her shoulder, her jaw dropping. She’d expected stooped old men to come to a place like this, not beefy young athletes. These guys weren’t gay, either, judging from the fellow sitting under the waterfall and smooching the bikini-clad gal. They kissed in plain sight of three muscular guys in the tile-lined pool.

  Justine had ducked into the toilet stall to change clothes. When she stepped inside the Jacuzzi room with Marla, she gasped.

  “Good gracious, this place is a cesspool for hedonism.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Marla said, remembering the Perfect Fit Sports Club where Jolene Myer’s body had been discovered in the whirlpool. “It looks quite relaxing.”

  A large pipe shot heated seawater from a well seventy-five feet below the ground into the Jacuzzi, creating a pillar of steam and a steady roar. Marla padded carefully along, aware that it would be easy to slip on the wet ceramic tiles. The cave like walls made her feel as though she were in a grotto, and the mist added to the effect. Blue tiles ringed the ceiling, but she focused on the man emerging with a towel around his waist from the men’s locker room. Larry grasped the metal rail at the mouth of the pool and lowered himself into the frothing water.

  “I’ll just wait for you here,” he said with a sigh of pleasure. He tossed his towel onto a ledge and submerged up to his neck, his folds of flesh disappearing beneath the surface.

  “I thought you wanted to try the shvitz,” Marla said, peering at the bubbles with apprehension. A weighted body could vanish in there and no one would notice.

  “Later,” he replied, closing his eyes.

  They had to speak in loud voices to be heard over the rushing water. Justine and Georgia traipsed behind as Marla entered another section, calling Heather’s name. She closed her mouth as soon as she realized the girl wasn’t there. On her left was a waterfall cascading over a stone ledge where another couple sat entwined, their passion evident. Sulfur emanating from the minerals added to the mystical swirl of steam from an aromatherapy room, heat from a sauna, and vapors from the Jacuzzi. Dim overhead lighting reminded Marla of a subterranean setting: oblong bulbs protruding into cage like fixtures.

  In the corner rose a stone-rimmed pool of ice water with buckets stacked alongside. Patrons who got overheated were supposed to dump the frigid water over their heads. More closed doors faced off this little nook, which also held a stall shower and a rack for towels. Gargoyles decorated the far wall, while a marble sculpture of a winged creature dominated the center of the gray tile floor.

  Marla couldn’t understand where Heather would be hiding, or why she’d chosen this place to meet her. Did she come here regularly and feel that sticking to her routine would avert suspicions? If so, who had made her so afraid?

  “I can’t take the heat,” Justine complained, wiping her flushed face with her towel.

  “Sweating is good for you,” Georgia stated in a bubbly tone. “It gets rid of your toxins. Look at this sign for the Finnish sauna. It says the dry heat stimulates blood circulation and induces perspiration, leading to a thorough cleansing of the skin and relaxing muscles and joints.”

  Marla could feel the heat radiating from the glass door. She peered inside the sauna, which was lined with cherrywood paneling. Brightly lit, it showed one long wood bench on the left side and a double decker on the right. There was nowhere for anyone to hide, and the room was empty. Disappointed, she turned to the aromatherapy room, where eucalyptus-scented steam billowed out when she opened the door.

  “Ooh,” Georgia yelped, “I bet that will open my sinuses. I’m going in there.” The door slapped shut behind her.

  “And I’m leaving,” Justine said, turning on her heel. Her foot slipped, shooting out from under her. She flailed her arms, tumbling backward. Marla caught her, and they fell together. Marla’s rump hit the tiles but at least she cushioned the blow for the older woman. Spray from the waterfall wet their bodies while Marla disentangled herself.

  “Are you all right?” The young couple parted and sprang to their assistance.

  Justine waved them off. “Well, I never. It’s a good thing I’m not injured, or I’d have cause for a lawsuit.” After adjusting the strap on her one-piece swimsuit with its matronly skirt, she regained her feet. “If this is how you spend your spare time, Marla, I can’t say that it’s the proper environment for my granddaughter. We’ll discuss this later.” Placing one foot carefully in front of the other, she departed.

  Rubbing her lower back, Marla asked the young man and woman if they had seen Heather.

  “I think she was heading for the Radiant Room,” said the guy, a broad-shouldered fellow with slicked-back ebony hair. He could have passed for a college football star.

  “What’s that?”

  “You know, the shvitz. If you want to get cooked, that’s the place to go. It’s got fifteen tons of rocks sitting on brick arches, and they’re heated all night. You sit on a bench on a wood slat, and when you feel as though you’re about to pass out, you dump cold water on yourself. There’s an ice-water pool with buckets to fill in
the anteroom. I recommend the platza.”

  At her confused look, he explained. ‘The platza specialist beats you with a broom made of fresh oak leaves, sopping with olive-oil soap. It opens your pores, removes toxins, along with layers of dead skin, and is incredibly relaxing.”

  “Sounds like something I’d send my enemies to do,” Marla muttered. Aloud, she thanked them and passed through another door, feeling as though she were in a weird underground maze on a steamy planet. A dingy corridor stretched in front of her, heavy wooden doors leading to individual massage rooms. Crossing the intricately tiled floor, she noticed a massive door with a porthole at the far end. She figured that must be the famed Russian shvitz.

  The anteroom, with its stone walls and single tiny window located high up, near the ceiling, appeared much like a dungeon. On one side, a raised stone pool held ice water that trickled from an overhead pipe. Was this medieval, or what?

  No sign of Heather.

  Moving forward, she yanked open the sauna door. A wave of heat hit her face, but not before she glimpsed two men lounging on a bench, pipes crisscrossing the ceiling, and a drain sucking water from the floor. Slamming the shvitz door shut, she retreated, perspiration drenching her body.

  Sweat and moisture permeated the air in the anteroom along with something else. She could almost taste the metallic scent on her tongue.

  Dread prickled the hairs on her nape. Recessed in the gloom, two Swedish shower stalls were barely visible on the right. Should she look in there?

  She’d barely cracked the first frosted-glass door when a glance inside chilled her blood.

  She screamed, shattering the silence.

  Chapter Eleven

  Heather’s body lay twisted in the shower stall, sightless eyes staring upward. Water dripped onto her skin and the knife that protruded from her midsection. She wore a bikini, and the hot pink fabric seemed to leach into a growing red tide on the floor. Even in the dim light, Marla could discern the stain.

  She clapped a hand to her mouth. Think rationally. What would Dalton do?

  See if the girl has a pulse.

  Crouching, she gritted her teeth and forced herself to touch Heather’s clammy wrist. No pulse. Not surprising.

  Jerking backward, she inadvertently jostled Heather’s hand, and a piece of paper slipped out Not wanting this possible clue to get wet, Marla was in the process of gingerly lifting it when the door to the shvitz crashed open. Without thinking, she tucked the paper into her swimsuit. The two men from the Russian sauna rushed toward her. Clutching her stomach, she pointed to the stall.

  “Are you okay?” one man asked while the other ran for help. Gripping her elbow, the fellow assisted her to her feet. “Come away from there. You can’t do anything for the poor soul.”

  “I…I opened the shower stall, and…” Compelled to explain, she couldn’t continue. Her voice choked, and a wave of light-headedness made her vision swim.

  “Put your head down,” the man’s voice said from afar.

  He pushed her to her knees and bent her neck forward. While she struggled to regain equilibrium, other bystanders arrived. Someone dumped a bucket of ice water on her head. The shock jolted her, but it cleared her mind. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself.

  “I’m fine,” she said, scooting onto the stone ledge that served as a bench.

  “The cops are on their way,” said a bare-chested young man with soft brown eyes. “They said for everybody to stay put.” He studied her with alarm, as though afraid she’d be the next victim to need resuscitation.

  No one would be able to revive Heather. Had one of the people in this room killed her?

  Marla’s gaze darted from face to face. Goosebumps covered her flesh. Most of them had left their belongings in a safety deposit box at the entrance. Their skimpy swimwear might not accommodate a weapon, but a rolled-up towel could.

  She wasn’t safe. Better go get dressed.

  “I don’t feel well,” she mumbled. “I need to get cooled off. I’m getting changed, and then I’ll be in the lobby.”

  Rising, she stumbled her way through the gathering throng. Where was Georgia? Scanning the people in the hallway, she didn’t see her friend. Could Georgia be oblivious to what was going on?

  Sure enough, Marla discovered her soaking in the fragrant steam of the aromatherapy room. She hadn’t heard anything through its thick walls.

  Sticking her head inside while vaporous clouds exuded into the anteroom, Marla called to her, “Come on, we have to leave.” Immediately she felt her sinuses clear from the eucalyptus scent. Breathing in the mist, she filled her lungs, hoping to calm her nerves.

  “What’s wrong?” Georgia asked, wrapping a towel around her body as she emerged. Her hair hung in damp ringlets about her head. Moisture beaded the skin above her upper lip.

  Marla had to raise her voice. The roar from the waterfall and bubbling Jacuzzi combined with the hiss of water hitting hot stones made hearing difficult.. “Headier is dead. Someone stabbed her, and I suspect it happened not too long ago. She was in the shower, so she might have just come from the shvitz.”

  Ushering Georgia into the women’s dressing room, she surveyed the small space. Fortunately, they were alone, everyone else having gone to play witness.

  “You mean the killer may still be here?” Georgia’s eyes bulged.

  “It’s possible. I didn’t recognize anyone, if that helps.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Marla toweled herself dry. “Heather had something to tell me, and I presume it related to Chris’s death. That means someone from Luxor might be involved…or not. Like the cops, I’ve been assuming it must be one of us, but maybe we’re wrong. Goat suggested we trace Chris’s movements since her arrival, in case somebody else in her life held a grudge.”

  Stripping naked without any show of modesty, Georgia nodded at her. “I agree Heather may have been killed because she knew something about Chris’s murder. Omigosh, Marla. That makes you a target, too. And me, by association.”

  Quickly changing into her street clothes, Marla glanced at the scrap of paper she’d salvaged from the dead girl’s hand. Bell Farms. Those two words scrawled in hasty handwriting meant nothing to Marla. She’d have to decipher them later.

  “Since I’m the one who discovered Heather’s body, I’ll be under suspicion until the police examine the evidence,” she said, folding the paper into her pants pocket. “I’m damned if I’ll ask Dalton to intervene on my behalf again. If we’re lucky, the detective in charge of this case will get answers faster than Sergeant Masterson.”

  Grabbing her belongings, she pulled on Georgia’s elbow. “Justine and Larry must be having a fit,” she said and then gasped. “Oh no, I forgot about Larry. Is he still in the Jacuzzi?” She hadn’t even looked at the pool in her haste to depart.

  Georgia’s grin lifted her spirits. “Nah, he peeked his head inside the sauna earlier and told me he was calling it quits.”

  Exiting the locker room, they entered the corridor where uniformed police officers tramped past the walls lined with onion-shaped paintings. The well-endowed painted ladies seemed to stare at Marla, their eyes shifting to follow along.

  “Go through that door,” Marla told the cops, pointing to the men’s locker room.

  “Thanks, miss,” one of them said, hesitating.

  “I’ll be outside if you need me,” she replied, moving forward before his questions impeded her progress.

  Relief settled over her when she and Georgia reached the lobby. Her shoulders sagged, and her knees wobbled. It took all her strength to remain upright and appear calm. Justine and Larry, seated on one of the carved wooden benches, rose to greet them. The older couple looked weary.

  “Marla, what’s going on? Why are the police here?” Justine demanded. Her concerned eyes belied her terse voice.

  “I found a dead woman in the shower stall.”

  “Good gracious, how shocking.”

  “Yeah, well, those thi
ngs kinda happen around me.” Lacking the energy for a full explanation, she approached the front desk. A stout woman had taken over for the man with the mustache.

  “Who’s the police officer in charge?” Marla asked the lady, whose purple hair color could only have come from a home dye job. “I’d like to give my statement and leave.”

  The woman summoned the proper authority, who patiently questioned each one of them before getting their contact info for follow-up. After Marla paid their bill and retrieved their valuables, they left.

  “Where to?” Marla said to her companions once they were on the road. Her watch indicated it was just past one o’clock.

  “Can we still go to Bal Harbour?” Georgia asked in a meek voice from the passenger seat. “I know you’re upset and shaky from what happened, but it would do you good to get your mind off it. There’s nothing more you can do for Heather now, and you’ll be able to think better after lunch.”

  Marla gave an inward sigh. The last thing she needed was food. She felt gritty, tired, and badly in need of a rest, but going home wouldn’t be any fun for her visitors.

  “Justine, what would you like to do?” Gazing into the rearview mirror, she gulped at Justine’s sad expression, and a wave of guilt slammed her. Brianna’s grandmother must be remembering her dead daughter. Instead of going out of her way to make the woman feel at home, Marla had dragged her along on a dangerous venture that merely reinforced the memory of a premature loss of life. She kept making things worse.

  “I don’t care, dear,” Justine replied in a listless tone.

  Marla put on her turn signal. “Shopping will lift our spirits,” she said, although her last word conjured the image of Heather’s body and made her want to gag. “Besides, I could use a strong cup of coffee right about now.”

  Stopping at a traffic signal, she waited until the light changed to steer into the shopping mall parking lot. The air outside had warmed considerably, and the bright sun cheered her. After locking her car, she guided her company to Carpaccio. They got a table outdoors in the pleasant tropical setting and ordered salads. Well, except for Larry, who tried the linguine with lobster in a spicy tomato sauce. To her surprise, he snatched the bill when they’d finished.