because of the murder, the only thing he was doing tonight was working on the case.
I hoped that because I was totally exhausted I’d be able to fall asleep easily, but within minutes of being between the sheets
I could tell my brain wasn’t going to cooperate. Last month I’d gone to see a hypnotist, part of my endless and apparently
hopeless quest to deal with my insomnia. He’d told me that I should lie in bed and pretend I was riding down an escalator,
getting sleepier with each floor. I tried it now, but it made me hyper and anxious. I felt as though I were trapped between
floors at Bloomingdales.
So instead I just let my mind run wild. As the wind moaned outside my window, I replayed the same old questions. Who had chased
me through the woods? What had Josh been up to at the spa? Who had killed Anna? I thought, too, of Beck’s insistent question:
Could I have seen something significant last night and not remembered it? I climbed out of bed to check that the door was
locked.
As I tested the dead bolt, another question suddenly formed in my mind, one that hadn’t wormed its way into my thoughts until
this point. Could the killer have seen
me
that night? The lights in the spa had been off when I’d scurried across the parking lot, but someone might have been standing
inside the dark, preparing to sneak away—and watching me from the window. Did he, like Beck, think that I’d seen something?
Was
he
the one who had chased me through the woods today?
CHAPTER 9
T HE DINING ROOM was nearly empty when I arrived at eight-twenty on Sunday morning, though Danny was already there, staring forlornly into
a cup of green tea. She was wearing a pretty ice blue blouse, and though she generally looked great in pastels, today the
lack of color emphasized how drawn and pale she was.
“Oh, Danny,” I said as I slid into a chair across from her. “Tell me how I can cheer you up.” I’d already made a decision
not
to tell her about being chased in the woods. I was afraid if I did, she’d be reluctant to let me help anymore.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said, flashing a pale imitation of her usual cheery smile. “I was just taking a minute
to try to gain some clarity.”
“How’s business?” I asked.
“The cancellations have begun—as well as some early checkouts,” she said, sighing. “It’s partly because of the murder and
partly because the spa schedule is so messed up. We’ve had to shift people around and cancel appointments, and folks aren’t
happy.”
“I’m sure it’s just a temporary thing. You’ll have the spa back open in just a few days.”
“Thank you, Bailey. You know, one of my favorite affirmations is ‘I look to the future because that’s where I plan to spend
my life.’ I just keep repeating that to myself.”
God, I thought, I wish affirmations worked for me. The only thing I ever repeated to myself on a regular basis was, Bailey,
just don’t fuck up.
The waitress arrived for my order, and once she was out of earshot I asked Danny if there was anything new on the case. She
reported that the police had shared practically nothing with her, though she’d heard through the grapevine that Josh didn’t
have an alibi—he was supposedly home watching a ball game on Friday night—and though people apparently saw Eric at the birthday
party, he didn’t show until after eleven. She also revealed that Detective Beck had called late in the afternoon yesterday,
asking for her to put together a list of Anna’s regular clients.
“Ahh, interesting,” I said. “I wondered myself if a male client could have developed some weird fixation on her. I take it
you keep track of all the clients and what therapist works on them each time.”
“Yes, it’s all in the computer. That way, if a client forgets the name of a therapist, we’ve got a record of it. We have all
sorts of ways to cross-check information.”
“Now tell me about
I hoped that because I was totally exhausted I’d be able to fall asleep easily, but within minutes of being between the sheets
I could tell my brain wasn’t going to cooperate. Last month I’d gone to see a hypnotist, part of my endless and apparently
hopeless quest to deal with my insomnia. He’d told me that I should lie in bed and pretend I was riding down an escalator,
getting sleepier with each floor. I tried it now, but it made me hyper and anxious. I felt as though I were trapped between
floors at Bloomingdales.
So instead I just let my mind run wild. As the wind moaned outside my window, I replayed the same old questions. Who had chased
me through the woods? What had Josh been up to at the spa? Who had killed Anna? I thought, too, of Beck’s insistent question:
Could I have seen something significant last night and not remembered it? I climbed out of bed to check that the door was
locked.
As I tested the dead bolt, another question suddenly formed in my mind, one that hadn’t wormed its way into my thoughts until
this point. Could the killer have seen
me
that night? The lights in the spa had been off when I’d scurried across the parking lot, but someone might have been standing
inside the dark, preparing to sneak away—and watching me from the window. Did he, like Beck, think that I’d seen something?
Was
he
the one who had chased me through the woods today?
CHAPTER 9
T HE DINING ROOM was nearly empty when I arrived at eight-twenty on Sunday morning, though Danny was already there, staring forlornly into
a cup of green tea. She was wearing a pretty ice blue blouse, and though she generally looked great in pastels, today the
lack of color emphasized how drawn and pale she was.
“Oh, Danny,” I said as I slid into a chair across from her. “Tell me how I can cheer you up.” I’d already made a decision
not
to tell her about being chased in the woods. I was afraid if I did, she’d be reluctant to let me help anymore.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said, flashing a pale imitation of her usual cheery smile. “I was just taking a minute
to try to gain some clarity.”
“How’s business?” I asked.
“The cancellations have begun—as well as some early checkouts,” she said, sighing. “It’s partly because of the murder and
partly because the spa schedule is so messed up. We’ve had to shift people around and cancel appointments, and folks aren’t
happy.”
“I’m sure it’s just a temporary thing. You’ll have the spa back open in just a few days.”
“Thank you, Bailey. You know, one of my favorite affirmations is ‘I look to the future because that’s where I plan to spend
my life.’ I just keep repeating that to myself.”
God, I thought, I wish affirmations worked for me. The only thing I ever repeated to myself on a regular basis was, Bailey,
just don’t fuck up.
The waitress arrived for my order, and once she was out of earshot I asked Danny if there was anything new on the case. She
reported that the police had shared practically nothing with her, though she’d heard through the grapevine that Josh didn’t
have an alibi—he was supposedly home watching a ball game on Friday night—and though people apparently saw Eric at the birthday
party, he didn’t show until after eleven. She also revealed that Detective Beck had called late in the afternoon yesterday,
asking for her to put together a list of Anna’s regular clients.
“Ahh, interesting,” I said. “I wondered myself if a male client could have developed some weird fixation on her. I take it
you keep track of all the clients and what therapist works on them each time.”
“Yes, it’s all in the computer. That way, if a client forgets the name of a therapist, we’ve got a record of it. We have all
sorts of ways to cross-check information.”
“Now tell me about
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