“I told you, Mr. Stowe always requested one particular therapist. He took his treatments from her and no one else. And if you ask me, what went on during those sessions was not at all professional.”
“So, what are you?” Rodney studied the photo that Jake had handed to him. “Some kind of private investigator?”
Rodney was a pro, Jake concluded. The masseur was in his late thirties. His thinning hair was shaved very close to his skull and the arms that extended beneath the sleeves of his crew-necked T-shirt rippled with the kind of muscles that come from endless bodybuilding. When Jake made it clear that there was some serious tip money in the offing, he had proved ready, willing and eager to talk.
“Not exactly,” Jake said. He got up from the massage table and pulled on the spa robe. “I’m an heir tracer.”
“What’s that?”
“Law firms representing large estates hire me to track down lost heirs. If this guy is the one I’m looking for he’s got some money coming from a recently deceased relative he probably never met and may not even know existed.”
Rodney snorted. “If you ask me, the last thing Stowe needs is more money. You should have seen the guy’s clothes. Those jackets had to come from Italy. Shirts and shoes, too, probably. He drove a Porsche.”
“That’s how it goes. The rich get richer, usually because of inheritances. You said the man’s name is Stowe?”
“Yeah.” Rodney gave him an odd look. “Why?”
“There seems to be some confusion,” Jake said. “The name on the paperwork I was given is McAllister.”
“Well, all I can tell you is that the guy in that photo is Stowe. No mistaking that jacket. I lusted after that jacket.”
“Maybe he changed his name for some reason,” Jake said easily. “People do that sometimes. Is Stowe a regular here?”
“Used to be. But he stopped coming around about six months back.” Rodney chuckled. “No coincidence there.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Stowe always requested Kimberley Todd. The two of them went at it like bunnies back there in the Ocean Garden Room. Everyone on the staff knew what was going on. After she left, he never returned.”
“People in your line get hit on a lot?”
“Hazard of the trade.” Rodney assumed a philosophical air. “But it’s not so bad here at Secret Springs. It was a lot worse at the spa where I worked in Vegas. You wouldn’t believe some of the things the clients did there.”
“Vegas is Vegas. Some people think anything goes.”
“Tell me about it.” Rodney looked knowing. “Here in Arizona, people tend to be better behaved. Most of the time, that is.”
“You say Stowe stopped coming here about six months back?”
Rodney nodded. “Didn’t see him again after Kimberley quit. My guess is he followed her to wherever she went after she left this place.”
“Todd moved to another spa?”
“We all assumed that’s why she quit. It’s the usual reason. Massage therapists move around a lot. Here in the Valley there’s always a new high-end spa opening up, often in conjunction with a new resort. First thing a new operation does is lure away the top therapists from other spas.”
“Better money?”
“The more upscale the spa, the bigger the tips. In this business, that’s what it’s all about.”
Rodney watched the Smiths drive out of the parking lot. After a few minutes he went back into the empty therapy room, took out his personal phone and called the number he had been given.
“Is the offer still good?” he said.
“Someone asked about Kimberley Todd?”
“Not more than twenty minutes ago. Two people. A man and a woman.”
“Did you get a description?”
The curt question was laced with tension.
“Sure,” Rodney said. “And a license plate.”
“The money will be waiting for you in an envelope that will be left at the front desk in the morning.”
“Five hundred?”
“As promised.”
Rodney gave the descriptions and the license plate and ended the call.
In this business, it was all about the tips.
Chapter Thirty-three
Clare picked up the notepad and pen and settled deeper into the pool lounger. The blast furnace the locals fondly referred to as the sun had finally been extinguished for the day. The seductive desert night had descended. She could get used to being able to wear sandals and a T-shirt after dark, she thought.
“All right, let’s see what we’ve got.” She tapped the notepad with the tip of the pen. “For starters, we have a name for the woman Brad was seeing on a regular basis while he was married to Elizabeth. Kimberley Todd.”
“Who just happens to have quit her job at the Secret Springs Day Spa right around the time Brad got killed,” Jake said.
“Convenient.”
She watched him put a tray down on the patio table. Arranged on the tray were a bottle of chilled Chardonnay, two glasses and several small dishes containing a variety of interesting tidbits. The selection included three kinds of olives, crackers, some artichoke and Parmesan dip that Jake had made the day before, a hunk of rich, crumbly English cheddar, radishes, raw snow peas and some crusty sourdough bread.
The one thing that all the items had in common was that none of them had required cooking. Neither she nor Jake had felt like going to the trouble of preparing a meal after returning from the spa, so they raided the refrigerator and the pantry together.
“I dunno.” Jake poured wine into the glasses. “Some might see Kimberley leaving her job as a reasonable response under the circumstances.”
“Brokenhearted lover plunges into despair upon learning of the death of her boyfriend, quits job and goes back to wherever she came from? Maybe. But my instincts tell me there’s more to the story.”
“So do mine.” Jake handed her one of the glasses of wine.
“We really need to find Kimberley Todd,” Clare said.
“It shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Unless she’s trying to hide because she is a potential witness or maybe even a suspect in an unsolved murder.”
“That could complicate things,” Jake agreed. “But I know someone who is very good at tracking people online. I’ll give him a call tonight.”
“Someone back at your home office?”
“Sort of.”