“Which led them here,” I guessed.
She nodded. “Turns out it was Andrea. She worked here. Poor thing.” She sighed.
I clucked sympathetically. “That’s so sad. Where did she work? Maybe we met her.”
“I doubt it. Andrea works in the spa. She’s a massage therapist, but she was off most of this week. It’s just terrible. And after Kyle dumping her and everything.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I feel badly for her family.”
“Well, in this case I guess it’s a good thing she doesn’t have any. She was raised in foster care, I guess. No relatives to speak of.” Becky shook her head, her face hardening in anger. “She was so young. So sweet. Nobody deserves to die that way.”
“What way?” Of course, I’d already guessed, but I needed confirmation.
Becky leaned across the bar. “We’re not supposed to talk about it, but it’s just so shocking, you know?”
I nodded. “I get it. I promise, my lips are sealed.”
“Well, according to Lyn, our assistant manager, the police say somebody hit her over the head and then pushed her down the stairs over at the Don CeSar. Isn’t that awful? Poor kid.” She shook her head.
“That’s dreadful,” I murmured. Maybe I shouldn’t have been, but inside I was dancing. Because I now had confirmation that Kyle’s ex-girlfriend, Andrea, was the murder victim at the Don CeSar. What she’d been doing there and why she’d been killed were questions that still needed answering, but I’d no doubt that somehow or other, Andrea’s and Natasha’s deaths were somehow related, and I was going to find out how.
I HALF EXPECTED COSTA to show up at my room that night, pounding on the door and accusing me of murdering poor Andrea. That seemed to be his general modus operandi. After all, I was pretty certain I was still on his list of suspects for Natasha’s death, and Costa wasn’t a stupid man. He’d no doubt already figured out the two killings were related.
Instead, I had a rather rocky night’s sleep, followed by a peaceful morning cup of coffee. I even made it to the first lecture of the day: The Future of Historical Fiction.
I know. Scintillating, right? And it was actually interesting, the little bits I heard as my mind wandered to other things. Like murder.
I’d already more or less cleared Kyle of Natasha’s murder. That meant he was probably innocent of Andrea’s, as well—if the murders were connected, as I believed. Still, I made a mental note to check if he had an alibi.
I was also certain that Jason and Piper were innocent of Natasha’s murder, and they had zero reason to kill this Andrea girl. I’d need to check their alibis, too, though. Had to be thorough.
I still needed to talk to the other three suspects in Natasha’s death: Yvonne, Greta, and Avery. Though I couldn’t imagine why any of them would kill Andrea, a woman they didn’t know. Unless Andrea knew something about Natasha’s murder, of course. But what? Had she witnessed it? Or had someone told her something? I needed to find out more about this Andrea.
I decided the best way to find out more about the victim was to speak to her coworkers. So I promptly made myself an appointment at the spa for a massage. All in the name of research.
The resort spa was one of those soothing, Zen places with world music—the kind with pan flutes and whatnot— playing softly over the sound system and scented candles burning in every nook and cranny. The decorator was inordinately fond of seagrass baskets and blue paint. Everywhere I looked, things were painted in varying shades of blue, mostly of the sky and seafoam variety. Even the artwork—which was modern in the extreme—consisted of slashes and splashes of cerulean and sapphire.
I was greeted by a young woman wearing a baby-blue smock and a serene smile, who showed me to a curtained alcove where I could undress. I was given a matching powder-blue robe and a pair of spa slippers and paraded down a wide corridor into a treatment room with a massage table and more scented candles that were probably supposed to smell of the ocean, but really smelled like bathroom spray. And, you guessed it, blue everywhere.
The woman said in a soothing manner that I should disrobe and climb onto the table face down and that my therapist, Rose, would be with me in a moment. I nodded agreeably and, once she left the room, disrobed and climbed on the table. I was determined to enjoy this to the fullest. A massage while interrogating? Best multi-tasking ever.
The door opened, and I turned my head to watch Rose pad in. She was dressed in a blue smock like the first girl and had her sunset-red hair up in a sloppy bun. The kind that always looked so cute on someone like Rose, but made me look like a homeless person with bad fashion sense.
“And how are we today?” she asked in well-modulated tones. The sort of tones that made me want to ring a person’s neck. Maybe Andrea had been killed by a client for being annoying. I smirked and told myself not to be an idiot.
“A little tense,” I admitted. “It’s been a long week. This spa comes highly recommended.”
“Oh, that’s lovely. By whom?”
“Someone who works here. Andrea something?”
Her face fell. “Oh, that’s so sad.”
“Sad?”
Her blue eyes widened innocently. “Didn’t you hear? Andrea has passed.”
I frowned and played dumb. “Passed what?”
“Into the Great Beyond.”
I widened my eyes as if in surprise. “You mean she’s dead?”
“Shhh. We don’t like to use words of negativity here,” she said serenely. “This is a happy place.”
Actually, it was one step up from a mortuary, but to each her own. “Sorry.”
“Now, why don’t you relax so we can
