Murder at the Spa (26 page)

“Bitch,” she muttered under her breath.

She emerged from the Bath Pavilion into the light of midday feeling like a mole emerging from its burrow. With her jaw firmly set, she shrugged her broad shoulders in an insouciant gesture that was the product of her many years before the cameras. Oh, well, she thought. She was too wise to take offense at the insults of a minor-league martinet like Madeleine Murray. She had accomplished what she had set out to: she knew Sperry could have made it to the Bath Pavilion and back in the thirty minutes between patients. And she knew that the basement staircase in the women’s wing would have given him access to Adele’s cubicle. She wondered why the police hadn’t investigated the tunnels. There were no footprints on the Bath Pavilion side, or any other evidence that they had been down there. Probably sheer laziness. Finding the lights, out, they had probably decided to skip it. She had the feeling they were just going through the motions anyway.

Suddenly realizing that she was hungry, she set off across the quadrangle toward the Hall of Springs, her thoughts still on Sperry. How had he known which cubicle was Adele’s? she wondered. She supposed he could have checked the appointment book beforehand. He certainly hadn’t paraded out to the lobby to check it at the time of the murder. That is,
if
Sperry was the murderer. His guilt was far from a foregone conclusion. Anyone who knew about the tunnels might have come and gone without being seen, including the mysterious Mineral Man. The image of the corridor of offices in the basement of the Health Pavilion popped into her mind. For someone with an office there, for instance, it would have been a cinch to dash over and back. Like Jerry—not that he was a likely suspect. Or Frannie.

By now it was one-fifteen. The terrace was crowded with guests eating lunch. Charlotte threaded her way among the umbrella-capped tables to the bronze doors. She always dreaded crowds for fear of being approached by fans, but so far the guests had gone out of their way to respect her privacy. Such courtesy was one benefit of a place that attracted celebrities. Inside, she headed across the Pump Room to the High Rock fountain.

“The drink’s on the house,” said the young man who served up a fresh glass of the fizzing water. She drank, it down quickly. Her expedition had left her thirsty. As she drank, she imagined the path the water had taken to reach her glass: upward through a fissure in the earth’s crust to the spring on the esplanade. From there, through the pipes to the Pump Room, where it was served up to spa guests whose digestive systems had been brought to a standstill by too much rich food. The thought of the pipes brought her back to the problem at hand: after lunch, she would return to the tunnels to see if the staircase on the men’s side was a mirror image of that on the women’s. She would bet it was, given the spa’s symmetry. If so, it would have brought Sperry out next to Art’s bath cubicle. She also wanted to check out the tunnels on the southern side on the chance that Sperry had gone around that way.

Having finished her drink, she headed toward a table. She took a seat and studied the menu. She sighed. She wasn’t in the mood for zucchini pancakes. She settled on cucumber bisque (sixty-four calories), an
omelette au frontage garni
(two hundred calories), and whipped cauliflower (fifty calories). After giving the waitress her order, she took the flashlight out of her pocket and settled back, glad to be off her feet. In doing so, she felt the piece of mineral Otto had given her press uncomfortably into her side. Taking it out, she held it up to the light. Its reddish brown crystals shone like mica. Running a finger across the surface, she discovered that it was as rough as sandpaper. It would make a good paperweight, a souvenir of the spa.

A voice interrupted her thoughts: “Is that a piece of mineral?”

Charlotte looked up. Her exercise teacher, Claire, was standing at the side of her table. She was wearing a long skirt of an Indian cotton print and a full white peasant blouse over a lavender leotard. With her long, curly, reddish hair, she looked like a young woman from a Botticelli painting.

“Yes. It’s from one of the springs,” she lied. She didn’t want to confess to having explored the tunnels.

“You might get in trouble if they catch you chipping off pieces of the mineral,” said Claire with a gentle smile. “You’re not supposed to.”

Oh, damn, thought Charlotte. In hot water with the authorities again. “I just picked it up,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

“May I join you?” asked Claire. Sensing Charlotte’s puzzlement, she added: “I’d like to talk with you. About a private matter.”

“By all means,” said Charlotte. She gestured to the seat on the other side of the marble-topped table.

Claire sat down. The waitress reappeared and took Claire’s order—for an iced herb tea and a bowl of yogurt with fruit topping.

For a few minutes, they chatted about exercise class. With the arrival of their orders, Claire’s tone turned more serious. “I have a favor to ask,” she announced. “I’m sorry to intrude on you like this, but I didn’t know who else to go to.” She paused for a moment, picking up her spoon with slim, white fingers sprinkled with freckles the color of the mineral.

As she dipped the spoon into the yogurt, Charlotte noticed a small diamond on her left ring finger, an emerald cut, simple and neat like its wearer. The gold band was still shiny. She suddenly had an intimation of what Claire was about to tell her.

Noticing the direction of Charlotte’s glance, Claire held up her left hand to display the ring and smiled. “Yes, I’m engaged to be married,” she said. “To Elliot Langenberg.”

“Congratulations!” said Charlotte. She didn’t know what Elliot’s last wife, the fashion model, or the one before her had been like, but she was sure he couldn’t go wrong with Claire. And she suspected that Claire would be happy with him as well. She had the feeling he was a kind and gentle man.

Claire continued: “That’s what I wanted to talk with you about. Elliot feels terrible about this rift with his mother. I didn’t know anything about it—the scheme to sell his Langenberg stock to High Rock Waters. But even if I had, I don’t think I would have discouraged it. It’s been a good experience for him. He didn’t want to go behind his mother’s back, but he had to demonstrate that he’s capable of running his own life. I know that sounds strange to say of a forty-seven-year-old man, but he’s a forty-seven-year-old man who’s never stood up to his mother. Don’t misunderstand me, I have great respect for her—she can be very kind—but she can also be very domineering.”

“I would say that’s putting it tactfully,” said Charlotte. “Most people make no bones about calling her a tyrant.”

“Okay, she’s a tyrant,” said Claire with a reluctant smile. “If Elliot had let her, she would have gone on bullying him forever. Anyway, he doesn’t want the rift to go on and I don’t either. It’s eating him up. He really loves her very much.” She paused, her slim fingers toying with her spoon. “It’s especially important that relations be patched up now …” The next words came out in a rush: “Now that the baby’s coming.” She looked up with the smile of someone who’s just completed a difficult task.

Charlotte felt a thrill of delight rush over her: for Claire, for Elliot, and most of all for Paulina. Paulina, who at long last would be a grandmother. Her glance drifted down to Claire’s abdomen, where she could just discern a slight curve beneath her loose white blouse.

“I’m due in November. I know it’s putting the cart before the horse, but”—she smiled engagingly—“that’s the way it is.” She continued: “We were planning to get married anyway. This just means moving the date up a bit. It was a big surprise to me too. I’m no spring chicken myself.”

Charlotte reached out for Claire’s hand. “I’m very happy for you,” she said. “How does Elliot feel about it?”

“He’s on cloud nine. We just found out yesterday that it’s going to be a boy—the wonders of modern science and all that.”

“Paulina will be delighted. Someone to carry on the family name.”

“I hope so. That’s what I’m concerned about. Elliot’s stubborn—he won’t be the first to seek a reconciliation. But I know it would mean a lot to him if his mother came to the wedding. What I’m asking is this: I wonder if you would do us the favor of telling her—you know, that I’m pregnant—and of trying to patch things up. I’d just hate for this to go on …”

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. I can’t make any promises …”

“That’s okay. It would mean a lot just to know you’ve tried. I would have asked Anne-Marie, but she’s on the outs with Mrs. Langenberg now too. You were the only one I could think of. It’s very important, especially now. You see, she might not be around much longer.”

“What?”

She sighed. “Elliot found out from her doctor this morning that she had a tumor on her ovary. There’s a good chance it’s cancerous. Apparently it turned up during the routine physical she had on Saturday.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. Very sorry. Are they going to operate?”

Claire nodded. “Her doctor’s making the arrangements now. He said he’d have a better idea of the situation after the operation.”

Charlotte nodded.

The waitress reappeared and took Charlotte’s dessert order: an apricot mousse at thirty-seven calories and a cup of espresso.

“Have you made any plans for the wedding yet?” Charlotte asked.

“No, but we’d like to keep it small. Immediate family maybe.”

“If Paulina has anything to do with it, you won’t be keeping it small.”

Claire smiled. “Yes, I guess you’re right. Well, if she agrees to come, we’ll put on any kind of wedding she wants.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” said Charlotte. She squeezed Claire’s hand with affection.

Claire smiled and returned her squeeze. “I’d really appreciate it. Well, I’d better be getting back to class.”

After signing her bill, Claire stood up and glided out, her long skirt swaying gently. Her erect carriage and athletic grace gave her a sense of quiet dignity that was elegant and womanly. Elliot had made a good choice. Charlotte doubted she would have any difficulty convincing Paulina of that.

But she wondered if by announcing their engagement, Elliot and Claire might be opening themselves up to trouble from another source.

13

It was with a light heart that Charlotte left. If there was anything she hated, it was a family row. The stubborn pride of people who love one another was the cause of so much unhappiness. And weddings often brought out the worst of it. How many weddings there were in which a pall was cast over the festivities by the absence of a relative who refused to attend. A marriage is hard enough to keep going, let alone one whose beginnings are clouded by disapproval. In many families, the bride’s being pregnant would be the cause of just such a furor, but Charlotte suspected it would be just the opposite in this case. What Paulina wanted more than anything was an heir. For despite appearances to the contrary, she was still an Old World peasant at heart. And now she would have an heir—a male heir. No, the trouble wouldn’t be with Paulina, but with Leon. Charlotte doubted that he would remain Paulina’s heir, and being disinherited was not apt to sit well with someone who’d had time to accustom himself to the idea of becoming one of the world’s richest men.

For the moment Charlotte put aside the idea of returning to the tunnels. After dropping off the flashlight at Jerry’s office, she headed over to Paulina’s. She was met at the elevator by Jack, who looked haggard. The blue eyes under his long, curly lashes were hung with deep, violet shadows and his perennial golden tan had taken on a sallow cast.

“How’s she doing?” asked Charlotte, adding, “I heard.”

Jack was surprised. “How?”

“From Claire.”

He nodded in acknowledgment of the connection with Elliot. “Pretty well, actually. She’s treating this like a business problem: acknowledge it, learn everything you can about it, and find a way to solve it. Only you can’t beat cancer the way you can the competition.” He paused. “I don’t think she fully realizes what she’s up against.”

Charlotte doubted that. There was little that escaped Paulina. “What
is
she up against? Claire wasn’t too specific.”

Jack closed the door to the apartment behind him to avoid being overheard. “She has tumors in both ovaries.”

“Both ovaries! Claire only mentioned one.”

“No, both. Bilateral. That’s what makes Dr. Castelli pretty sure it’s cancer. She doesn’t have any symptoms. Which is why I don’t think it’s really hit her yet. She’ll have to have surgery, of course. If it’s cancer, they’ll take out both ovaries and the uterus and part of the omentum.”

“Omentum?”

“The fat around the intestines. It’s standard for this kind of surgery. The operation’s scheduled for next week.”

“Then what?” asked Charlotte.

Jack shrugged. “Chemotherapy, I would imagine. If it’s cancer. My mother went through this: the operations, the chemotherapy.”

“For how long?”

“Twelve to eighteen months.”

“Oh, God.”

“I know. That’s one reason why this is really getting to me. My mother died four years ago, just before I came to work for Paulina.” He sighed, and then went on: “She suffered terribly. She lived from one pain shot to the next. That was the worst—waiting with her for those shots.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“I was the one who took care of her,” he went on. “My father was dead; my sister was living out in California. When she finally died, she weighed fifty-two pounds. She was a living skeleton.” He blinked away the tears that had welled up in his bright blue eyes.

Charlotte touched a sympathetic hand to his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I’m kind of emotional this morning.” He smiled ruefully. “Not enough sleep, I guess. This has brought it all back. But I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe it won’t be the same for Paulina. If it is, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t think I could go through it again.”

“I hope you won’t have to. Did Dr. Castelli say what her chances are? If it does turn out to be cancer, I mean.”

“Yes.” He gathered himself together. “Not good. First she has to get through the operation, which is no small feat for someone her age.”