Eyeliner & Alibis Page 7

  I left the hallway and stepped into a spa room.

  A massage table was set up in the middle of the private room, which was purple and had a small half-bath tucked away in the corner. On the counter, a variety of sheets and blankets had been set out next to the towel warmer. A bottle of oil sat warming in the heater as well. There was even an iPod playing soft, soothing music—a combination of instrumental mixed with rolling waves. Mixed scents of lavender and chamomile infused my nose and I almost sneezed again. Why couldn’t I enjoy the beauty of nature just once?

  Everything seemed to be set for the next client when a petite, dark-haired, perfectly tanned woman entered the room and saw me. “You’re not Mr. Aldrich,” she said in a wary voice.”

  I played it casual and acted like I worked there. “Oh, yeah, he cancelled his appointment. The front desk wanted me to let you know. I’m a temporary filling in for…” I searched my brain and thought of a common name for a perky girl who might work in a place like this. Thankfully, I didn’t have to think long because the massage therapist filled in a name for me.

  “—Amber?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Amber.” Whew! Bullet dodged.

  Relief washed over her at that statement. “Oh, okay.” She seemed to want to be anywhere but there in that moment anyway, so I said, “If you want, you can leave everything set up here for your next appointment. Hey, I heard they are offering iced coffees for just ninety-nine cents in the café downstairs. You look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

  She didn’t waste any time on her escape as she gathered her purse and phone. “You have no idea. It’s been weird around here since the … you know.” Her eyes glanced sideways as if checking if anyone was listening. “Okay, nice meeting you. My next appointment’s not until noon. See you around.”

  Phase one was complete.

  I wasn’t a licensed or trained massage therapist, but Finn never seemed to complain. Speaking of the guy, I checked my phone and saw that he had called. Finally. I had mixed emotions about catching up with him, but I had cooled down enough to at least hear him out. If he had something to say. If not, I’d just be arranging a time to pick up my stuff from the hotel and be on my way. I could FedEx his toothbrush from my apartment back to him another day, or maybe keep it and use it to clean my toilet.

  I looked at my watch. Show time.

  “Who are you?” Mr. Aldrich asked in the same brash British voice that I had come to expect. I always thought British accents sounded very sophisticated, but coming out of Mr. CEO’s mouth, it was downright intimidating.

  “I’m sorry, I’m Amber. I’ll be doing your massage today. If you’d like, I’ll step out so you can get ready. Your sheet’s right here. Go ahead and get comfortable on the table and I’ll knock before I come back in.” I didn’t give the man much of a chance to protest as I made my way out of the room. When I reentered, I was shocked to see that he had opted to forgo the sheet. However, and thankfully, he hadn’t taken off all his clothing, now sporting a pair of cartoon-themed boxers. I guess the man had a sense of humor after all.

  Mr. Aldrich wasn’t very talkative, which I understood. I personally didn’t like it when the massage therapist talked my ears off during my massages. I was there to relax, not have a pow-wow session with a girlfriend. However, I wasn’t there rubbing warm oil on the old kook for fun. The man’s shoulders were like two giant knots. The tension was unbelievable and I told him, “Your shoulders are really stiff. Let me know if I go too deep in that area.” My comment was rewarded with a grunt. However, somewhere during the kneading and the rubbing, my magic fingers seemed to do the trick and Mr. Aldrich opened up to me as tension melted off his shoulders.

  “I tell you what, these murders are bad for business.” I started to sympathize, but before I could, he changed the direction of the conversation. “The ratings, though, are through the roof!” I could only imagine how important ratings were to a network’s CEO, but even I was shocked at the bluntness of his statement. “You know, Marissa was a firecracker. She was never going to get the prime-time gig. She wasn’t wholesome enough, and I told her that.”

  “Bet that went over really well.”

  “Let me tell you, she didn’t like to hear it, but it was true. I thought she’d make a good executive, though, and I told her that too. We have a tough job, living and dying by the ratings. One bad season is all it takes for the board to consider replacing you. It’s a lot of stress, a lot of pressure. Takes a certain personality. Marissa had it. She didn’t take that as a compliment; she wanted to be on camera. There was nothing I could do. She was just too harsh for camera work. Bottom line: You could see right through her pretty face.”

  Ouch.

  “People would beg me for the type of opportunity I was willing to give her, but she didn’t want it. She took it as an insult.”

  I had moved on to massaging Mr. Aldrich’s forearms and hands. It seemed the more he loosened up, the more he was willing to say.

  “So, what happened?” I asked.

  “She went nuts, that’s what! Took out her anger by snapping my putter in half. I thought she was going to chuck the club at my head.” Mr. Aldrich gave an amused chuckle and I could tell that he really did find it quite humorous. “I know it sounds wrong, but I appreciated her enthusiasm.”

  I thought to myself that if Detective Blackwell had heard half of this story, she would request a private audience with the CEO. Of course, he would never let that happen without his lawyers present, and I highly doubted he was about to willingly give up any information. The CEO must’ve sensed my thoughts when he said, “Don’t go thinking I had anything to do with that poor girl’s demise. I thought she was talented. In any light, it doesn’t matter, even if the police did find out about our little confrontation. My alibi’s as tight as The Queen’s purse, with business meetings all afternoon and the gala in the evening. Several people can attest to that. I didn’t have a moment’s peace.”

  “I highly doubt anyone would suspect you.” Okay, so I was totally brown-nosing here, but maybe I’d get a good tip. My hands were aching. Surely the hour had to be about up?

  “It’s a shame she was murdered though. She would’ve made one heck of an executive. Now we just need to get this mess quickly cleaned up for the network’s rating tank. It’s always about the ratings.”

  “And Sterling?” I asked. “Wasn’t that his name?” I moved down to the man’s legs and wasn’t even sure what muscles I was kneading, but I just kept working.

  “Sterling thought with his Johnson, and I bet that’s why he’s dead. You can mark my words on that. I tried to warn him, but the man never listened.”

  Someone knocked on the door and my heart jumped into my throat. I thought about ignoring it, but the person knocked again, louder this time. “Excuse me.” I wiped my hands on a towel and partially slid across the floor to the door (apparently, I had been a little overzealous with the oil), and opened it a crack, peering out. The light seemed so bright compared to the dim room I was in.

  “Yes?” I said, blinking a few times to help my eyes adjust. I found myself answering a professional-looking woman in a black pencil skirt and white shirt. She was all-business with her dark hair pulled back into a perfect bun.

  “Who are you?” The woman asked.

  “I’m—” Shoot, what name had I given Mr. Aldrich?

  “Mrs. Peters, what do you need?” Mr. Aldrich barked from the table. I stepped partially behind the door to give him a clear line to the woman.

  “Sorry, sir, but there’s a detective here to see you.”

  Eep! I kept that interjection to myself, or at least I hoped I did.

  Mr. Aldrich grunted. I would’ve liked to take that as a compliment to my massage technique, but it was probably more that he really didn’t want to talk with the woman. Me? I was trying to not pee my pants as I thought of how I would escape.

  “If you would, give us a few minutes to just wrap up here and then maybe have the detective meet Mr.
Aldrich in his office?” I said the last part to Mr. Aldrich to see what he thought of it.

  “Yes, do that.”

  “Will do,” the woman replied.

  I nodded my head at the woman and shut the door behind her, trying not to panic. I couldn’t hide out in the massage room all morning—the real therapist would be back soon—but I didn’t want Detective Blackwell to see me either.

  “Well sir, I guess that about wraps it up for us today,” I said, walking back toward the table and grabbing a towel to wipe my hands off some more.

  Mr. Aldrich slowly sat up and looked at me expectantly. I was a little slow on the uptake, wondering what in the world he was waiting for.

  “Well, aren’t you going to leave so I can get dressed?” he said after a minute.

  “Yes, of course. Oh my goodness, sorry.” In my panic, I had totally forgotten spa etiquette. I guess I had been hoping he would just go to the bathroom and get dressed, so I could’ve hidden out in the room until I knew he was in a meeting with the detective.

  I looked around for my purse. “Let me just grab something and I’ll be right out of your way.” I walked behind the table and grabbed my purse off the counter. There was no way I was hanging out in the hallway or coming back in to reset the room.

  I mumbled something lame about hoping he had enjoyed the massage, said a quick prayer, and opened the door. Detective Blackwell was standing right at the end of the hallway in front of the elevators. Mrs. Peters was talking to her while the detective looked around, examining every detail.

  “Sugar,” I said under my breath. I turned and headed in the opposite direction, reminding myself not to run. Soon I could disappear around the corner and maybe hide out in a bathroom or something for a while. I rounded the corner and thankfully spotted a stairwell up ahead. Without looking back, I swung the door open and smacked it right into Skip the Producer’s face.

  “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.”

  Skip the Producer took a step back and covered his face. “Am I bleeding?” he asked, although I couldn’t tell because his hand was covering his nose.

  “Let me see.” He lowered his hand and everything looked okay, well that is, if his nose had always curved a little to the right.

  “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Again.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t coming back?” He rubbed his nose.

  “Change in plans, but I’m taking off now. I swear.”

  He looked at me like he didn’t believe me for a second. He was probably right.

  12

  My heart hammered in my chest, even when I was safely back in my truck. My phone rang and I slapped my hand over my chest. “Sweet sugar!” It was my mom. I sent that call right to voicemail. Sorry, Mom. I needed to calm myself before I talked to her. However, holding my phone reminded me that Finn had called. Did I want to talk to him? I supposed there was no time like the present to get this over with.

  I took a deep breath and chickened out, sending Finn a text instead. A simple one that said: “Hey, where are you?”

  The little bubble below his text message indicated he was replying, but then nothing. I waited, thinking maybe he had to reorganize his thoughts, but two minutes went by and still nothing. The only thing that came across my screen was the time stamp that showed he had read my message. I sat back and thought about what that meant. It was clear to me that he had changed his mind and he didn’t want to talk to me, or he couldn’t at that moment, for whatever reason. It was ridiculous and I didn’t have time to deal with it.

  I moved on to my next order of business.

  I thought back to the case. I wasn’t sure what to make of Mr. Aldrich. He seemed to appreciate the characteristics in people that others tried to discourage: ruthlessness, aggression, a thirst for success. I got the feeling he’d respected Marissa. Obviously, he wouldn’t have offered to mentor her if not. Sterling? Not so much. Mr. Aldrich said it was always all about the ratings and Sterling constantly delivered. I would bet any money that’s why he was going to still be part of the network and Tess was on her way out. If anything, the CEO’s warning to Sterling was a reminder not to screw up the status quo.

  Having vetted Mr. Aldrich, I next wanted to speak with Marissa’s husband. I tried to see the case from his perspective. What were his motives? First, his wife was having an affair, a high-profile one, and she didn’t even try to be inconspicuous. I wondered why. What had been her end-game? And then I thought again about how Marissa had been murdered. Dr. Stewart, being a surgeon, would surely know where to stab a person for maximum impact. Like I said, I did think this was a crime of passion, a split-second decision, considering how she was murdered. No one in their right mind would’ve murdered someone on-set. For all the murderer knew, there were security cameras or a private camera hidden somewhere. This murder hadn’t been thought through. Toss in Dr. Stewart’s argument with his wife the day before, and he definitely had enough anger to commit the crime. One question remained: Had he been at the gala?

  Sterling’s murder, on the other hand? That one I wasn’t so sure about. It wouldn’t be the first time a husband killed his wife and her lover. So, that theory wasn’t totally out of left field, but I didn’t know enough about Sterling’s death to make that claim. I wished I knew how he died. The cause of death would’ve added credibility to the whole suicide angle, or maybe steer the police toward Dr. Stewart. What I needed now was a private audience with the MD. How was I going to work that out?

  I was done pretending to be a massage therapist. That had worked once, but I wasn’t taking any chances. A new strategy was in order. I could’ve crashed the funeral, but I did have some respect for the dead, so that was below my standards. I could’ve stopped by their house with a covered dish, but that seemed too cliché. I reminded myself of the KISS method (Keep It Simple, Stupid). I called the office to make an appointment, even though I had no idea how long it would take to get in. Most plastic surgeons, especially the ones in high demand, often had extensive waiting lists. But it was a place to start.

  When I called the office, I explained to the receptionist my dilemma, sort of. “Hi, my name’s Ziva Diaz. I actually live out of town, but my friend gave me Dr. Stewart’s name and told me he was the best in the business. Anyway, I’m only in town for a couple of days and I would love to get in for a consultation with him if that’s possible?”

  I was waiting for her to say no, but she was quite accommodating. “You know, I did have a cancellation for tomorrow morning at 10 A.M. Would something like that work for you?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll take it.”

  “Okay, and what would you like to see the doctor for?”

  “Um…” What did I want to see him for? Ugh… I may not have a smoking-hot body, but I’d never really considered going under the knife before.

  “It’s okay, honey, this is a judgement-free zone.”

  “It’s not that, sorry, I was just distracted for a minute. I’d like to see him for a breast augmentation.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. Truth? My boobs were a little pathetic. I thought I had gotten over it. Apparently, I hadn’t. It was probably the most believable cover anyway, so I ran with it. Besides, I would’ve sounded like a total nut case if I switched it to something else.

  “Wonderful. Well, Dr. Stewart is the best. I’m so happy that we’re able to fit you in. If you could just provide me with your email address, I’ll go ahead and send you a link for a little pre-appointment questionnaire and get you registered for tomorrow.”

  I stared at my phone and a bubble formed in my stomach. What the heck did I just get myself into?

  My morning had been quite productive and I deserved a little bit of me time, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax until I connected with Finn. I drove past the hotel where we’d stayed, but he would’ve been checked out by now, so I wasn’t surprised this time to see his truck was no longer parked there. If I didn’t track him down, I’d have to stop
back there and see if he had left my belongings behind. That would’ve been cold, but not as shocking as it would’ve been a couple of days ago.

  I checked my phone and he still hadn’t called or texted back.

  I called once, spinning a silver band on my finger with every unanswered ring, until his voicemail came on and I hung up. And then I did what any psychotic person would do. I called back. Again, and again, and again. When that didn’t work, I tried texting. Not once or twice, but half a dozen messages ranging from “Hello?” to “What the heck, yo?” Still no response. Well, until Finn turned off his phone.

  “Oh no he didn’t!” I gave my phone attitude when I tried calling Finn again and it went straight to voicemail—a clear indication it had been powered off. I knew Finn had seen my calls and purposely ignored them, which made me go from zero to psycho in a flash. It was one of my pet peeves and he knew that. I was seeing red, ready to hunt him down. This man was about to experience the full wrath of my mad investigating skills.

  I tried to think back if he had given me any details about the person he was meeting and where they’d planned to meet. I had to admit I hadn’t paid much attention—a bit too preoccupied with my national television debut. For all I knew, he could’ve told me the name of the marina his buddy worked at, but I couldn’t recall. It was time I took off my girlfriend hat and put on my detective one to look at the clues. Think, Ziva, think. I recalled bits and pieces of our conversation on the car ride down here. Finn was excited, I realized that now. I thought, at first, he was just feeding off my jitters, but it turned out he had a big deal in the works. The guy’s name is Kevin. I remembered Finn telling me stories about this guy on Instagram who moved down to Tampa and was killing it with charter business. But that was all I got.