A Body to Die For (39 page)

The meal turned out to be more cheese and salami and olives. I wasn’t really in the mood for another European picnic–style
lunch, so I just picked at it and decided to concentrate on the wine. I needed something to calm me. My hands weren’t shaking
anymore, but it felt as if it were taking a force of will to keep them from doing so.

The only thing Danny knew by this point was that Beck was the killer, so as soon as I’d had a little bit to eat, I told her
the whole story, including how I had pieced together the Beck connection—and what Beck had revealed to me.

“So what was the Mylar paper all about?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. He’d already strangled Anna, so he didn’t use it to kill her. I think it might have been a symbol—of water,
of suffocation.”

“He must have been shocked when he ran into Anna this summer at the spa,” she said.

“I know. Of course, it wasn’t a
total
coincidence. It seems as if they were both drawn back to the same part of the world. You know, Matt Litchauer said something
to me about how the police hadn’t given a damn about his case, and yet you’d told me that Beck had been very conscientious.
Probably the reason Beck gave so much attention to the spa was Anna.”

“I can’t believe
she
didn’t recognize
him.
”

“He probably looks totally different now than he did at fourteen, especially with the gray hair. Besides, I’m sure she barely
gave him a second thought back then. For her it must have been all about the kick that came from seducing him. The fact that
his name isn’t the same practically guaranteed that she wouldn’t put two and two together.

“I just thought of something,” I added. “Beck didn’t interview Anna’s sister when she was here. He probably didn’t want to
take the chance that
she
might recognize him.”

“Why did he take so long to kill Anna? Why not do it last summer?”

“I think he felt that Anna would have been wary if the investigating cop asked her out on a date. So he waited a few months.
Maybe he found a way to bump into her. By then the Litchauer case was closed and there’d be no reason for her to be suspicious.
He also probably wanted to put some distance between the case and when he killed Anna—especially after having bumped into
Natalie that one night. That would reduce the chance of anyone connecting him to things.”

“Poor Natalie,” Danny said. “She was murdered simply because she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. If she hadn’t bumped
into him in the parking lot that night, she would still be alive.”

“It wasn’t just that,” I said. “It was because of what I said in the lobby. Natalie had obviously forgotten about the night
she’d seen Beck, but as soon as I made that remark about Anna thinking someone was watching her, Natalie flashed on it. It
could be that she’d always found Beck’s explanation for being on the property kind of odd, but she had no real reason not
to buy it. But as soon as she heard my comment, it clearly disturbed her. Maybe she would have ended up dismissing it, but
Beck couldn’t risk it.”

“What about Rich?” Danny asked. “You said he’d lied to you about knowing Anna. Does this mean he had nothing to do with her
death?”

“My guess is that he only lied about knowing Anna because he didn’t want the police breathing down his neck. The more of a
connection you have with someone, the greater your chance of being considered a suspect.”

“Does this mean that Eric will be released—and that they’ll leave George alone?”

“I assume so. They’re both totally in the clear now.”

She set her wineglass on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, frowning.

“There’s one thing I still can’t figure out. You said Cordelia came by to tell you that Josh had put the towels over your
head. If he didn’t kill Anna, why would he do something like that?”

It was finally time to tell Danny about the release massage. I confessed everything I knew, including Josh’s decision to deal
with the situation without letting her know. Her shock at the news quickly turned to anguish—and then dismay because I hadn’t
been forthcoming.

“Danny, I had to make a judgment call,” I said. “Initially you’d put a premium on finding out what had gone on at the spa,
but when I came
back
to Warren, it was to help prove George hadn’t murdered Anna. I got Piper to talk to me by convincing her she could trust
me, so for the time being, I just didn’t want to say anything. Plus, I was afraid that if you knew, you’d feel forced to tell
the police—and that would have certainly killed your business.”

“And do you think I should tell them now?” she asked, wringing her hands.

“Is there any point? The three women involved are all gone now. There’s nothing to report. So I’d say no, let it go, protect
your business. There are still plenty of their former clients out there, but my guess is that because of Anna’s murder, they’re
not going to come skulking around to see if you’re still open for that kind of business.”

What about Josh? she wanted to know.

I told her that it was up to her, but personally, I’d send him packing as fast as I could. He’d tried to deal with the crisis
at the spa without telling her, so she could never really trust him again. Besides, I thought he was dangerous. He’d not only
put those towels over my head, but he’d probably sent the mouse to me.
And
searched my room at the inn. Granted, he was trying to keep me away from the spa to protect it, but that was for his sake,
not hers.

Danny got up to refill our wineglasses and used the opportunity to call the hospital and check on Cordelia. It turned out
that she had been examined in the ER but was never admitted to the hospital. Danny found Cordelia’s cell phone number on a
card in her purse and tried that. Cordelia answered and explained that she had been released after the doctor had determined
that all she had sustained was a black eye. She was spending the night at a friend’s.

As much as I dreaded lying in bed alone in the dark, I couldn’t hold my head up any longer. I took one more sip of wine, hugged
Danny good night, and trudged down to the guest room. Thanks to pure exhaustion, I ended up falling asleep almost instantly.
I was out cold for the night and didn’t wake up until eight. Forget about hypnosis, I thought as I stirred in bed Sunday morning.
Being terrorized by a homicidal maniac had turned out to be the real cure for my insomnia.

I got my trip to the police station over as soon as I could. As I drove downtown I felt wired, anxious, but I wasn’t prepared
for my reaction when I stepped out of the Jeep. A wave of fear almost pulled my legs out from under me. I wondered where Beck
was. What if they had him locked up in a jail right on the premises? Would he know I was there? I gulped large breaths of
air, trying to make myself calm down.

Detective Davis took my statement, but several detectives gathered around as he did. I guess everyone was anxious to hear
the Beck story, to learn about the secret, murderous side of the guy they had worked with for years. I almost had a heart
attack when someone said something about talking to me again tomorrow. I explained that I had to get back to New York and
that I would be glad to speak at length to anyone by phone. They didn’t fight me on it—though they reminded me that when Beck’s
trial got under way, I would have to come back to testify.

Danny was waiting for me with homemade muffins. I devoured two of them along with a huge cup of coffee. She had changed into
a white blouse topped with a velvet, plum-colored jacket that played off her gray eyes. She looked tired but spunky, like
the Danny I’d always known. Last night I’d done all the talking. Now I was anxious to hear what was going on in her mind.

“It may be a totally uphill battle, but I’ve decided I’m going to reopen the inn next week,” she announced. “There’s no danger
to anyone. So hopefully over time, the guests will return. I’ll run the spa until I find someone who can replace Josh.”

“Oh, Danny, that’s the right decision, it really is. And what about George?”

She looked off to the side, gathering her thoughts from someplace unknown, and I was fearful that she was about to proclaim
that she was giving him the proverbial one more chance.

“I can’t take him back, Bailey,” she said resolutely. “I just can’t. I should have broken things off after the other incident.
Thank God the inn is all in my name.”

I left for New York around noon. I drove most of the way on automatic pilot, my brain buzzing with thoughts like an overturned
beehive. My feelings were just as wacky. Some moments I would feel flushed with pride for having solved the crime all by my
lonesome. At one point I think I even got this goofy, “my mommy is gonna be so pleased with me” grin on my face. I felt relieved,
too, that Danny was safe—and that I was finally going home. But then periodically I’d slip into a funk: about Anna, about
Natalie, and of course about Beck. There was no way to rewrite history. I’d been infatuated with him, and he’d been a murderer.
He would have killed
me.

And what about Jack? I wondered as I barreled down the New York State Thruway, the Catskill Mountains rising in all their
glorious colors along my right. I was yearning to see him, yet I felt hopelessly confused. Had I mistaken gratitude for desire?
Had I talked myself into being happy with the consolation prize? Oops, potential boyfriend number one turned out to be a psychopath,
so let’s call in backup Jack.

I had planned to leave my bags off at my apartment and then hightail it to the fish market to pick up some clams. After all,
I had promised spaghetti Vongole. But as soon as I threw my bags on my living room floor, I realized I was too mentally fried
even to boil water. I ordered roast chicken and salad from a restaurant on University Place. Maybe Jack would think I’d made
it all myself if I served it on cute place mats—and didn’t put out the packets of premoistened towelettes.

I straightened up my place, fluffing the pillows and turning the lights on low. What I
didn’t
do was light any scented candles. I figured I’d dry-heave if I smelled anything made with green tea, frankincense, or something
else Marco Polo had lugged home with him.

Jack showed up exactly at six, a bottle of Châteaux Beychevelle in hand. He looked good, so good. His brown hair looked silky,
as if he’d just showered and his cheeks were a little bit red from the cold. He was wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and a
navy V-necked cashmere sweater, a bit more relaxed than I usually saw him. It felt delicious when he folded his arms around
me.

“God, Bailey,” he said, pulling back and staring into my eyes. “You scared me to death yesterday.”

“Well, I
would
be dead if it weren’t for you. How did you explain it all to the police? Tell me what happened.”

“I could only hear bits and pieces of your conversation with that guy, but I didn’t like his tone. There was an edge to it.
Then I lost you. I couldn’t tell whether your phone had just died or he’d done something. I had no way of tracking you down,
so I called the police and I told them just what you’d told me. That you were worried the cop might be the murderer. I was
afraid they would just blow me off—he was one of them, after all. But they seemed to take me seriously.”

“From what I’ve picked up,” I explained, “they had started to find his behavior a little irrational lately.”

“And what about you? What made you suspect him?”

There was a hint of something in the way he asked it, that perhaps his curiosity had been aroused about my connection to Beck.

“I
didn’t
suspect him,” I said. “At least not until four minutes before I called you. Why don’t I tell you the whole story before we
eat.”

We opened the wine and sat on the couch, where I told him the horrible tale. Except I left out the part about my lusting after
Beck. For one second I considered confessing and getting it off my chest, just the way Jack had gotten his little fling with
Miss Pittsburgh off
his
chest, but I knew that it might spoil the mood, and I didn’t want to do that.

First of all, it felt too good to be sitting there next to him. And it felt even better when he kissed me, tenderly at first
and then hard and urgently. I’d had a hellacious weekend, and I was looking forward to the kind of sex that would make me
forget everything for a while—including my own name.

Besides, on the drive home, I’d sort of figured some things out. Yes, I’d had a strong physical attraction to Beck, but what
helped sustain it, I suspected, really
was
the resentment I’d been harboring toward Jack. For his not calling me during the summer, for his sleeping with that other
chick. Yet I also realized that I had to finally accept part of the blame. I
had
been emotionally aloof with Jack, and I couldn’t fault him for being drawn to someone else when he’d felt needy. Hell, I’d
just done the same thing with Beck.

In the car I’d also thought a lot about what Cat had said earlier in the week—about leaving the past in the past, like a pair
of last year’s Jimmy Choo shoes. Sometimes that makes perfect sense. In fact, if Beck had done it, the whole horrible nightmare
would never have unfolded. But sometimes what’s in the past is a good thing, and you shouldn’t move on just for the sake of
the new. Jack was worth going back for, I decided—and I was going to give it one more try with an open mind and heart.

Besides, I can’t even afford Jimmy Choo shoes.