The male receptionist smiled at her, showing perfect white teeth. “May I help you?”
“We’re the Smiths,” Clare said smoothly, moving toward the granite desk. “We have an appointment.”
“Smith?” Jake muttered in a voice that did not reach beyond Clare’s ear. “That’s the best you could come up with?”
She ignored him and came to a halt in front of the desk. Something about the extraordinarily warm, welcoming smile the female receptionist was bestowing upon Jake irritated her. The name on the little bronze and black tag pinned to the woman’s obviously enhanced chest was Tiffany.
“I have you right here, Mrs. Smith,” the male receptionist said. His name tag read Harris. “You’re booked for the Ritual of Renewal treatment, and Mr. Smith will be enjoying the Ritual of Relaxation Massage.” Harris paused briefly, checking his computer screen. “It says here that you requested a female therapist, Mrs. Smith.”
“That’s right,” she said.
Tiffany brightened her smile for Jake. “Do you have a preference, Mr. Smith?”
“Well—” Jake began.
“Mr. Smith wants a masseur,” Clare said quickly. She frowned at Tiffany. “I made that request when I booked the appointment today. I was told that a male therapist would be available.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jake smile benignly. He was enjoying this, she realized.
He looked at Tiffany. “Whatever Mrs. Smith says.”
Tiffany did a little eye-rolling, signaling her sympathy for his plight as a henpecked husband. Clare gave serious consideration to climbing over the granite counter and throttling her.
“I’ll have someone show you both to the dressing rooms,” Harris said. “You will begin your rituals by changing into robes and slippers.”
He pressed a button behind the counter. A few seconds later an attendant appeared.
“Please follow me, Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” the attendant said.
Chapter Thirty-two
The therapist’s name was Anya. She was built like a Viking goddess. Her English was accented with traces of a language that had its roots in a country that had once taken directions from Moscow. She was very powerful.
“Easy,” Clare gasped, sucking in her breath as the woman leaned into her work. “Not so hard, please.”
“Perhaps madam is not accustomed to exfoliating treatments.” Anya stroked heavily down Clare’s right leg. “It is necessary to use force if one wishes to obtain the greatest benefit.”
“I think you may be removing an entire layer of my skin.”
“That is the whole point, madam.”
“It feels like you’re scrubbing me with sandpaper.”
“When I am finished, you will feel like a new woman,” Anya promised. “Your skin will glow.”
“In the dark?”
“Hah, hah. Madam has a sense of humor.”
Anya went to work on Clare’s other leg, lathering on the salt rub mixture before massaging it heavily into the skin. Clare gritted her teeth and tried to focus on the reason she was subjecting herself to the torture.
“Have you, uh, been at this spa long, Anya?”
“Five years, madam.” Anya’s voice rang with pride. She scraped the salt concoction off the back of Clare’s calf. “I was among the first therapists hired.”
“Really? Impressive. I have always heard that there is a high turnover in your profession.”
“That is true but I am happy here. This spa has an excellent reputation.”
“I know all about the spa’s reputation. In fact, I’ve been looking forward to this experience for months, ever since I made plans to come to Phoenix.”
“Madam is not from around here?”
“No. I’m visiting from San Francisco.”
“You have picked the wrong time of the year. It is very hot now.”
“I noticed.”
She felt Anya take hold of her right foot. She cringed.
“You should come back in the winter or early spring,” Anya said, kneading the sole of Clare’s bare foot with her knuckles. “The climate is much better then. Perfect, in fact.”
Clare inhaled sharply, wondering if Anya had broken something in her foot. When the pain eased she tried to get back on track.
“But during the high season it would probably be very difficult to get into this spa, let alone book the services of an expert such as yourself,” she said. It wasn’t easy staying chatty through the pain.
“This is true,” Anya said, pulling hard on a toe. “Madam’s feet require much treatment. I recommend that you purchase some of our excellent foot rejuvenation cream before you leave today.”
“Thanks.” Clare gripped the edges of the bed, hanging on for dear life as Anya went to work on the other foot. “I got the name of this spa from a man I met at a business conference several months ago. He said he came here frequently. Once a week, in fact.”
“We do have many regular clients here in the Phoenix area. I told you, this is a very well-respected spa.”
“Maybe you know the man I’m talking about. His name was McAllister.”
Anya’s hands stilled on Clare’s foot. “Mr. McAllister? That does not sound familiar.”
“I’ve got a picture.” Clare had left her spa robe within reach. She dug the photo of Brad out of one of the pockets. “This is him.”
Anya peered at the photograph. “Ah, that is Mr. Stowe.”
Disapproval rang in the words.
“Was he a client of yours?” Clare asked.
“No. He always requested another masseuse.” Anya went back to work on Clare’s foot. “I did not care for that man. He was a terrible womanizer.”
“Did he hit on you?”
“Absolutely not.” Indignation flared in Anya’s face. “I do not allow my male clients to hit me.”
“I mean, did he take liberties with your person? Did he insult you with sexual advances?”
“Ah yes, I understand now,” Anya said. “As I told you, I never had him for a client so there was never an opportunity for him to ‘hit on’ me. But I promise you that if he had tried such a thing I would have gone straight to my manager. I am a professional. I do not tolerate professional insults.”
Clare did not doubt that for a moment. “If he was the type to insult professional therapists, it’s a wonder he was allowed to come here on a regular basis. Or was the management always careful to make certain that he had a male therapist?”