night, were all the doors locked?”
“Yes, yes. I told the police that. I would never be careless about something like that.”
“Danny told me that you were originally supposed to work last night, but Anna agreed to switch nights with you.”
“And your point is?”
“I’m not being accusatory. I’m just curious about what Anna’s plans might have been.”
“She’d told me she was planning on staying in Friday night. That’s why she was willing to switch nights with me.”
“I’d heard she’d been dating another therapist—Eric.”
“What? Oh, that was over weeks ago.”
“Was she seeing anyone new?”
“I have no idea,” she answered quickly. “We weren’t what you’d call buddy-buddy. In fact, I hardly knew her.” Another glance
over my shoulder. This time I didn’t turn to follow it. In the flat light of the day, I could see that her white skin was
marred slightly by tiny acne scars.
“You seem worried, Piper,” I said. “Do you think that the killer is someone who works here?”
She didn’t answer, just pulled a long breath and let it out anxiously in a gust.
“Can I help in any way, Piper?”
“No, no,” she said irritatedly. “There’s nothing anyone can do that will make it any better. Look, I’ve got to get over there.
I’ve got a client in a few minutes.”
I watched her head down the path to the inn, her ponytail swishing like a horse’s as she walked. What had caught her eye a
few minutes ago? I wondered. I remembered suddenly how she had frozen when she had seen the wedge of light under the door
to the treatment room last night. In some regards she had seemed more startled than you might expect over what could easily
have been nothing more than an act of forgetfulness. I flashed back too on how distracted she’d seemed when she’d massaged
me—pausing at odd moments. It was as if she’d been anticipating something, not danger necessarily, but
something.
Had Piper expected some kind of trouble last night?
I hurried back to the inn myself, keeping a distance from her. The lobby was empty, though a few people sat in the lounge,
chatting in hushed tones before the fire. As I approached Danny’s office, I caught the sound of her voice, raised slightly,
agitated. I picked up my pace, worried something was wrong. Not bothering to knock, I shoved open the half-shut door.
I knew instantly that the man Danny was talking to—or
had
been talking to, since she stopped in midsentence as I burst through the door—was George. At about six feet two, he towered
over Danny as she sat at her desk chair. He was fairly slim, though soft looking, and his face was jowly. He wore dark green
pants, a beige Banlon golf shirt, and dated, dark-framed glasses, kind of Austin Powers style. The one thing he’d done to
beat back the clock was dye his hair jet black.
“Sorry,” I blurted out. “I just wanted to be sure everything was okay.”
“Oh, Bailey, yes. Uh, everything is fine,” Danny said, fumbling. “We were just rehashing everything that’s happened. This
is George. George, this is Bailey, who I’ve told you so much about.”
“Of course,” he said, all debonair as he stepped out from behind the desk to take my hand. “I’m so sorry we have to meet this
way.”
His handshake was strong but clammy, as if his sweat glands had been keeping busy this morning. He also gave off a slightly
smarmy vibe. I had the distinct impression that if I didn’t keep my guard up, I’d end up buying a Honda from him or a time-share
for a south Florida condo with walls made of two-inch-thick particleboard. Danny had raved about George at our lunch in New
York, but my instant take on him wasn’t positive.
“Well, I’d better go over to the salon and see what I can do to help,” George volunteered. “I hope I get a chance to talk
to you later, Bailey.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” I said. “I’m here till Monday.”
He pecked Danny on
“Yes, yes. I told the police that. I would never be careless about something like that.”
“Danny told me that you were originally supposed to work last night, but Anna agreed to switch nights with you.”
“And your point is?”
“I’m not being accusatory. I’m just curious about what Anna’s plans might have been.”
“She’d told me she was planning on staying in Friday night. That’s why she was willing to switch nights with me.”
“I’d heard she’d been dating another therapist—Eric.”
“What? Oh, that was over weeks ago.”
“Was she seeing anyone new?”
“I have no idea,” she answered quickly. “We weren’t what you’d call buddy-buddy. In fact, I hardly knew her.” Another glance
over my shoulder. This time I didn’t turn to follow it. In the flat light of the day, I could see that her white skin was
marred slightly by tiny acne scars.
“You seem worried, Piper,” I said. “Do you think that the killer is someone who works here?”
She didn’t answer, just pulled a long breath and let it out anxiously in a gust.
“Can I help in any way, Piper?”
“No, no,” she said irritatedly. “There’s nothing anyone can do that will make it any better. Look, I’ve got to get over there.
I’ve got a client in a few minutes.”
I watched her head down the path to the inn, her ponytail swishing like a horse’s as she walked. What had caught her eye a
few minutes ago? I wondered. I remembered suddenly how she had frozen when she had seen the wedge of light under the door
to the treatment room last night. In some regards she had seemed more startled than you might expect over what could easily
have been nothing more than an act of forgetfulness. I flashed back too on how distracted she’d seemed when she’d massaged
me—pausing at odd moments. It was as if she’d been anticipating something, not danger necessarily, but
something.
Had Piper expected some kind of trouble last night?
I hurried back to the inn myself, keeping a distance from her. The lobby was empty, though a few people sat in the lounge,
chatting in hushed tones before the fire. As I approached Danny’s office, I caught the sound of her voice, raised slightly,
agitated. I picked up my pace, worried something was wrong. Not bothering to knock, I shoved open the half-shut door.
I knew instantly that the man Danny was talking to—or
had
been talking to, since she stopped in midsentence as I burst through the door—was George. At about six feet two, he towered
over Danny as she sat at her desk chair. He was fairly slim, though soft looking, and his face was jowly. He wore dark green
pants, a beige Banlon golf shirt, and dated, dark-framed glasses, kind of Austin Powers style. The one thing he’d done to
beat back the clock was dye his hair jet black.
“Sorry,” I blurted out. “I just wanted to be sure everything was okay.”
“Oh, Bailey, yes. Uh, everything is fine,” Danny said, fumbling. “We were just rehashing everything that’s happened. This
is George. George, this is Bailey, who I’ve told you so much about.”
“Of course,” he said, all debonair as he stepped out from behind the desk to take my hand. “I’m so sorry we have to meet this
way.”
His handshake was strong but clammy, as if his sweat glands had been keeping busy this morning. He also gave off a slightly
smarmy vibe. I had the distinct impression that if I didn’t keep my guard up, I’d end up buying a Honda from him or a time-share
for a south Florida condo with walls made of two-inch-thick particleboard. Danny had raved about George at our lunch in New
York, but my instant take on him wasn’t positive.
“Well, I’d better go over to the salon and see what I can do to help,” George volunteered. “I hope I get a chance to talk
to you later, Bailey.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” I said. “I’m here till Monday.”
He pecked Danny on
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