Deadly Intent

The detective turned to Aunt Becca. “Ms. Itoh—”

“Call me Becca, Detective,” she said, smiling.

He smiled back—faintly, responding to her charm, but not unreservedly. He consulted his notes. “You are a hostess for the spa?”

“Yes. We have two receptionists for here in the lobby area—” she nodded toward Sarah and Iona, who stood wide-eyed and stiff against the far wall “—but for the entire back area of the spa, I am general hostess to see to the clients’ needs.”

“And you’re also related to the Grants?”

“I’m their mother’s sister. I came to live with them after she died many years ago. It’s been so wonderful to raise my nieces. But I think sometimes Augustus is a little overwhelmed by having four women in the house.”

Aunt Becca must have been more nervous than she let on, because she was certainly running off at the mouth. The detective’s soft gray eyes seemed to smile at Aunt Becca’s rambling, but they were probing at the same time.

“Miss Grant?” a nervous voice whispered.

Naomi turned. Sarah and Iona stood at her shoulder, hunched over as if that would make the detective notice them less. “Yes?” she whispered back.

Iona cast a glance at Detective Carter. “Sarah and I were talking…We caught a glimpse of Ms. Ortiz when…well, when you first found her and before the police came. And we were both just noticing—”

“It’s so strange,” Sarah said, nodding. “We figured you wouldn’t mind if we mentioned it.”

“Mentioned what?” Naomi asked.

“Well, when Ms. Ortiz came in this morning, we both noticed her necklace.” Iona’s voice, already low-pitched, dropped even lower. “And when we saw her—you know, in the massage room—she wasn’t wearing it.”

“What necklace?” Detective Carter asked.

Iona started and Sarah turned pale as the detective’s eyes turned on them. Iona licked her lips. “Well…it might not be anything…”

Sarah shrugged. “It might just be in her locker, because who wears jewelry when they get a massage?”

“But we noticed she didn’t have on her Tiffany diamond necklace.”

“Did Ms. Ortiz have a locker?”

“Yes.” Aunt Becca dipped a hand into her silk pants pocket. “I have the master key. Sarah, will you find out Ms. Ortiz’s locker number on the computer, please?”

Sarah was off in a flash, her slender heels clicking smartly on the lobby’s tile floor as she headed to the receptionists’ desk. She hustled back with a breathless, “Number twenty-one.”

Naomi led the way back toward the women’s locker room, stepping under the yellow police tape, and Aunt Becca gave the key to Detective Carter. He opened cabinet twenty-one, and all three of them peeked inside.

There was a cream suit that looked expensive, hanging from the clothes bar. Salvatore Ferragamo shoes casually tossed on the floor. A minuscule Chanel clutch purse.

The detective rummaged in the purse but shook his head. No necklace. “We need to search the other lockers.” He raised eyes that were no longer soft gray, but steely.

Naomi glanced at Aunt Becca.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but we’ll need to insist on a warrant.” Aunt Becca’s voice was low but firm.

His mouth tightened. “You do realize we’re trying to solve a murder.” While his tone remained light and slightly gravelly, there was a frustrated edge to his words.

Aunt Becca licked her lips. “I do realize that, Detective, but you also have to realize that clients come to the Joy Luck Life Spa specifically for privacy and anonymity. We had a starlet in room thirty, a movie producer in room forty-five, and the CEO of a Fortune 500 company in room twelve.”

The detective’s cheek twitched, but otherwise he didn’t react to the impressive list.

“If we allowed you to search the lockers without a warrant, we’d lose our reputation and our clients. I’m afraid I must stand firm on this, sir.” Aunt Becca’s eyes narrowed at the same moment Detective Carter’s did, and they glared at each other with similar bulldog expressions. It was almost comical. Except for the fact he was a policeman.

Naomi’s stomach lurched. How could Aunt Becca have the backbone to stand up to him?

Detective Carter’s expression faded slowly. He straightened. “I’ll be back with that warrant, Ms. Itoh.” His low voice made it sound like a threat.

Aunt Becca nodded and gave a faint smile. “You do that.”

Naomi’s stomach didn’t settle, even when the detective followed them out of the locker room. They had to do this to protect the spa, but were they allowing the murderer to go free?

FOUR

Devon had already checked into his hotel in downtown Sonoma when he noticed that his cell phone was missing.

That alarmed him more than usual, simply because it had been such a bad day.

Where had he last used it? He didn’t remember using it any time today. He hadn’t called his sister or his admin, who had the day off since he wasn’t taking appointments today.

He didn’t remember dialing anyone for any reason. He’d avoided calling his sister to tell her what happened. Rayna disliked Jessica with a passion, but the news would still shock her. Plus, Jessica’s death meant it would be next to impossible to recover their mother’s Tiffany necklace now. It was probably lost somewhere in Jessica’s apartment, and he’d certainly never be able to show up and look for it.

He reined in his mercenary thoughts. Jessica was dead, and he could only think about his mother’s necklace? Maybe the years since their divorce had made him harder than he thought.

But today, seeing Naomi Grant again, something inside him had shifted…

For the past three years at the annual Zoe International dinner, he’d enjoyed talking with Naomi. He’d actually spent too much time talking with her. But the first time he’d met her, he was going through the divorce, and the other two times, he’d been trying to rebuild his business and finances. He hadn’t acted on his attraction because he’d been too distracted by other things. Plus, Naomi’s personality reminded him too much of Jessica’s—both bouncy and cheerful, although he sensed that Naomi had a more serious, responsible core.

Or maybe he just didn’t want Naomi to be too much like Jessica.

Logically, he knew that Naomi Grant was not Jessica Ortiz. Jessica’s family did have something in common with Naomi’s—they were both local but successful business owners. The Ortizes owned an exclusive clothing boutique with only one physical store in San Francisco, adding to the clothing’s appeal, allure and prices. Jessica had worked for her family, just as Naomi did—she’d been public relations manager for the store until she married him.

And then it had all changed.

She had spent all his money. Started running up huge bills and charging on credit.

And it was usually jewelry. Always jewelry.

And then came the divorce, when she’d taken him for everything that wasn’t nailed down.

Two years later, and he was finally starting to rebuild his finances. Luckily, his reputation hadn’t suffered; he’d continued to have a steady stream of patients in addition to his work with the Oakland Raiders.

He’d vowed he wouldn’t be betrayed by a woman again.

It wasn’t just the money—he’d truly loved Jessica for several years. But her personality had changed, and she’d hurt him in ways he hadn’t even admitted to his therapist.