Merry obliged, joining her in the hallway and forgetting about her question from a moment earlier. Hannah had been literally saved by the bell, at least for now
.
CHAPTER TEN
Jessie couldn’t hide her disappointment.
She met Ryan by the mini-croquet court, which was currently unoccupied. After she told him about her mostly unproductive interview with Malcolm and Abby Andrews, he filled her in on his chat with Matt and Ellie Darcy. He’d come up empty too. Apparently all four of them seemed to think suicide was possible. And all of them remained credible suspects without strong alibis. None of them could absolve Bridget Newhouse either, although at least her whereabouts at the time her husband died—in a massage room at the spa—were verifiable.
“There wasn’t anything suspicious about the Darcys?” she pressed.
“Sure. But nothing that had me pulling out my handcuffs,” he said. “The biggest thing was that there seemed to be some unspoken tension between them, both before and after I told them about Scott Newhouse’s death. They were dealing with something major. Whether that was secret knowledge about a murder or just residual resentment after an uncomfortable ‘session’ with Dr. Honey Potter, I have no idea.”
“Is she really a doctor?” Jessie couldn’t stop herself from asking.
“I was being sarcastic. To be honest, I didn’t ask,” he said. “Maybe you can follow up on her credentials if you run into her. What about you? No strong vibes from the Andrews?”
“Nothing definitive,” she replied. “They’re pretty extreme opposites. He’s incredibly dour and she’s a firecracker of fun. I can’t help but wonder if part of her livewire energy is an act.”
“You think she’s secretly some Machiavellian gold-digger?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Jessie admitted. “The problem is that even if she is, I’m not sure that helps with the case we’re trying to solve. To be honest, I still think that Bridget Newhouse is the clubhouse favorite until proven otherwise. I just don’t have anything firm to base that on.”
“I was going to check in with Hugo from security,” Ryan said before adding, “But if you feel that strongly, maybe you should see if you can find anything firm to tie her to this.”
Jessie nodded in agreement.
“That’s not a bad idea. I think I’ll go back to the spa and try to verify or disprove her alibi.”
“While you do that, I’ll see if Hugo sent that spa camera footage to Jamil by now,” he said. “I’ll also see if I can find any other video recordings that corroborate the other guests’ statements. I know he said they intentionally avoid having cameras everywhere but maybe we’ll get lucky. And maybe the medical examiner will have something for us as well. You know we’re going to get a call from Chief Laird at some point soon. I want to be ready.”
“Sounds good,” Jessie said. “Shall we check back in a half-hour from now?”
“Sure,” he answered. “And all this spa talk has me thinking—how about if one of us solves this case in that time window, the other one owes them a bedtime neck massage?”
Jessie smiled at that idea.
“Not fair,” she teased. “You barely have to expend any effort if you lose. You can use one hand to get in some quality rubbing. For me, it’s a whole production. Your neck’s like a tree trunk.”
“I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or not,” he replied.
“Good.”
*
The spa was empty.
All treatments had been postponed for the day so Jessie was able to look around without distractions. The spa manager assigned Kree, the same attendant that Tony Dante mentioned running into while re-stocking towels, to guide her around. Other than the sheriff’s deputies, the two of them were the only ones left in the building.
Kree, small and quiet, with auburn skin and a shy smile, looked like she was afraid she was about to be arrested.
“Don’t worry,” Jessie said, trying to calm her down, “I just need you to show me a few different places.”
“Okay,” Kree said, “Where exactly?”
“I want to look in the women’s locker room and lounge area, then massage room six, and finally the women’s quiet room.”
Kree nodded and led her down the darkened hallway to the oak doors leading to the women’s lounge and locker room.
“Should I guide you?” Kree asked, “Or would you rather look around yourself?”
“If you turn on the lights, I think I’m good on my own,” Jessie told her. “You can just wait outside. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
Even with the lights on, the lounge, which mirrored the men’s almost exactly, was creepily silent. Jessie walked around with her cell phone out, ready to take photos of anything that seemed unusual. But that was difficult, as she didn’t really know what she was looking for.
She hadn’t expected to see blood on a towel or a rag doused in chloroform—which doesn’t actually work anyway— lying in a trash can. But there was nothing at all. It appeared that, despite instructions to leave everything untouched, the lounge had been cleaned. Either that or it was always this pristine.
After a fruitless five minutes, she left. Kree was standing outside, scrolling absently through her phone.
“Was the lounge cleaned after the police arrived?” she asked.
“No ma’am,” Kree told her. “But it’s kept tidy all the time, so it’s not like there would have been anything lying around. The managers get touchy if a towel is lying on the floor for more than a minute or two.”
Jessie nodded, unsurprised.
“Why don’t you take me to massage room six?”
They rounded the corner and Kree pointed to a door in the middle of the next hallway.
“It’s been locked since Mrs. Newhouse left, just as we were told to keep it,” she said. “But I have the key. Should I open it?”
“Please,” Jessie replied.
Kree unlocked the door and turned on the light. Jessie stood at the entrance and took it in. It was clear that the session had ended in a hurry. The blankets and sheets were messy and someone had forgotten to turn off the steamer for the heated washcloths. But none of that was unexpected under the circumstances.
“Where’s the quiet room?” Jessie asked.
Kree led her down a third hallway to a room with a sign that read simply, “Quiet Please.” She pushed the door open and saw that it was just as Bridget Newhouse had described. In the dim light of the room, she could see three easy chairs lined up against the wall. Black curtains, all currently open, could be pulled around each chair to offer some privacy. The chairs all had small tables beside them with steamers holding more heated washcloths, along with pairs of noise-canceling headphones.
Jessie walked to the last chair, where Newhouse had spent her time. She didn’t know what she expected to find—maybe a pair of latex gloves in the tiny trash can by the chair—but nothing leapt out at her. The leaves of a large Ficus plant in the corner swayed slightly from the breeze coming from the air conditioner. A wall covering behind it, intended to further soothe guests, showed an ocean sunset. To her frustration, there was nothing that indicated that the quiet room was anything more than its title suggested. She turned back to Kree, who was standing in the doorway, looking perplexed.