A Vacation of Mischief: A Cozy Mystery Tribe Anthology, #4

COPYRIGHT

A Vacation of Mischief

Published by Aconite Cafe

P.O. Box 63

Marble Falls, TX 78654

www.AconiteCafe.com

© 2022 Aconite Cafe

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:

[email protected]

Cover by Aconite Cafe

Pedicures and Perpetrators © 2022 Sue Hollowell

Hitchcock's Perfect Murder © 2022 Brittany E. Brinegar

Azure and the Case of the Rogue Ride © 2022 Verena DeLuca

Beaches and Bloody Hands © 2022 Rune Stroud

Murder Glazed Over © 2022 Kathryn Mykel

Flint and Steal © 2022 Patty Joy

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PEDICURES AND PERPETRATORS

BY SUE HOLLOWELL

1

The slight squeak of the door interrupted the serenity of the spa. My bestie Fiona and I had escaped to Diamond Hills for a world of bliss. The towel wrap ensconced our bodies while the citrus mixture polished our skin. The soothing music provided a calming ambiance as I tried to forget the reason we were here. This treatment and the cost were never something I would have done, but Fiona insisted she would pay for it if I would come. Who could say no to a couple of days away from the hustle of my thriving bakery? And the experience would allow me to return refreshed and ready to tackle another amazing year.

During our check in, Fiona elbowed me as we stood at the counter, gesturing to a celebrity in the distance. The spa was in the Diamond Hills Hotel where the rich and famous frequented for various reasons. The distraction had already eased my stress.

The hostess at the reception desk had escorted us to a sitting area where we would wait for our aesthetician to arrive and invite us back for our appointment. A plush, cobalt blue rug under a glass-topped table accented the muted cream color of the leather seating area. They trimmed most every part of the spa in gold, amplifying the elegance of the space and welcoming the high society.

I shifted my legs to a more comfortable position as I estimated how much time remained for our first treatment. The brochure said ninety minutes. Fiona had booked everything she could for our two days here, including an overnight in a luxury suite. Her generosity was unbounded, and I vowed to return the gesture. My thoughts drifted to the menu for dinner and savoring a good wine on the terrace of the restaurant to catch a beautiful Diamond Hills sunset and perhaps a glimpse of another celebrity.

Tilly, Fiona whispered. We were the only two in the room for our treatment. Our aesthetician said he would leave us alone until five minutes before the end of our time and return to remove the wraps.

I suspected Fiona would tackle the conversation head on, never one to dance around the subject or mince words. Yes? I braced myself.

Just look at this as a permanent closing of that door so another one can open for you, she whispered.

She was right. Doors had already opened, leading me to the most joyous life I could have wished for. Landing in the quaint beach town of Belle Harbor, taken in by my Uncle Jack, I felt more love than I had in a long time. My dream of opening a bakery came true, I had a new relationship that felt just right, and I had great friends surrounding me.

This day was bound to happen. Still rough, bringing the wound to the surface, I replied, fidgeting on the table. My sense of time had evaporated, but I was certain we were near the end of our treatment. It’s not like I ever thought I could go back. And we certainly never had a fairy-tale marriage. In a million years, the thought never occurred to me I wouldn’t be married to my ex anymore. I could accept that it was over, and it took both to work at the relationship. But for him to marry the culinary school instructor? That hurt deep in my heart and felt like spite for my choice to pursue that career direction. I have to be happy for them. If I’m not, there will always be anger festering, and I don’t want to live my life that way.

You’re a better person than me, Fiona said. No doubt she would handle it differently. But for me, I owned my part, hoping that I could learn from the experience for the best relationship possible with Justin.

I just keep wracking my brain to figure out where I went wrong, and what did I miss, I said, scratching the edge of the facial mask. By now, it was firmly in place, drawing out the toxins from my body.

Stop it. Sometimes two people are just not meant for each other, Fiona said.

Now listening for the door squeak to indicate our aesthetician had returned, my relaxation phase was complete, prompting my thoughts to consider the next activities on the docket for our stay.

As if on the same wavelength, Fiona said, I’m looking forward to dinner on the terrace. I feel like I should bring a notebook to see how they do it.

What have you got percolating? I asked. She was an incredible businesswoman who owned a thriving bar that had become a destination for Belle Harbor visitors and residents alike. Her mentoring for business matters was invaluable to me.

The outdoor seating. I’ve been thinking and planning for it for a long time. I think with my location I could do the front and side of the building, almost doubling my capacity.

Yes! I’d love to strategize with you during dinner. The restaurant is supposed to have an incredible view of the sunset. Fiona would roll in the dough with her expansion. There wasn’t much more that people loved when at the beach than to be as close to the water as possible.

The gentle music of the timer began, notifying us of the end of our session. We waited for the voice of Cameron to explain the next steps for completion of the treatment. The timer continued uninterrupted. Had he miscalculated his return time? Sure that it wouldn’t be long, I inhaled deeply and focused on releasing the tension from every muscle in my body.

Tilly? Fiona said as I expected more conversation about planning her business expansion. Where is he? This thing has me itching like crazy. The opposite of relaxing.

Me too, I said. If Cameron was in the room, certainly he would say something. How long was an appropriate amount of time to wait until we took matters into our own hands? I estimated in my head it had been at least five minutes since the timer had started, plenty of time for him to come back and finish the process. Cameron? I called out, just in case he was here. Nothing.

I can’t take this anymore. The management is going to hear about this, Fiona said. She began rustling on the table next to me as she worked to sit up. Tilly! Fiona yelled.

Pushing myself up I removed the cloth from my eyes to see the subject of Fiona’s outburst, expecting to see her skin covered in red irritation. I swung my legs to the side of the table as I stared at the aesthetician slumped in the overstuffed chair in the corner. Oh my God. What happened? I rushed over to Cameron to investigate.

Fiona joined me as she bent to check for a pulse, a futile effort as Cameron had obviously been stabbed and was dead. We stepped back, briefly contemplating our options. How had that happened without us hearing anything? Who else would be in here with us? Fiona began unwrapping the towel and quickly wiping the scrub from her face and body. We need to report this to the front desk, she said.

I mimicked her movements, in a trance. Would they think we had something to do with this? The scrub wiped from my body, I grabbed a robe, glancing toward Cameron. Fiona, is that— I pointed to a small tool protruding from Cameron’s chest, his long wavy hair almost obscuring it. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was just napping, slightly leaning, his head on the back of the chair.

Bending over him, inches from his body, she replied, They look like nail scissors.

Did that give us a clue to the suspect? There were no other nail tools in this room, the manicures performed in a different part of the salon. That was last on our list of pampering before we headed home. We had been unable to get an appointment and now likely wouldn’t get our nails done on this trip. Who would want to hurt him? From just our short time with him, Cameron was a relaxed, funny guy. His expert explanation of the treatment provided us with confidence that he knew his stuff. He had quizzed us about the stress we had in our lives before he offered the citrus treatment as the best solution for our ails.

We stepped away from Cameron as Fiona moved to the timer, gently pressing the off button to silence the music. She grabbed a fresh towel and handed one to me. We wiped our skin as much as we could to ease further irritation from the scrub. Too much of a good thing would leave a lingering impression we didn’t want. We cinched our robes, and I slowly opened the door, hearing that squeak we had been expecting long ago.

* * *

We emerged from the former sanctuary to the open lobby. I glanced around and wrapped my arms around the plushness of the robe. Thankfully, only one other person was present as Fiona led the way to the front desk.

The receptionist stepped back as we approached, her hand over her mouth and shaking her head. No, no, no, she said and pointed in the direction we had just come from. You are supposed to wait for your aesthetician to return and complete the treatment. She rounded the end of the counter to join us and waved us to follow her.

No, wait, Fiona said, looking at me. How do you break it to someone that there was a dead body inside the room they were about to enter?

I knew you guys didn’t belong here, the receptionist said, waving her arm up and down. To her point, we looked a mess. I hadn’t glanced in the mirror before I left the room, but I could feel the scrub cracking on my face in the places I had missed cleaning off. It was likely my hair was the style of Phyllis Diller, but I didn’t care. This couldn’t have been less about me.

Listen, lady, we’re trying to tell you something happened to the aesthetician. Fiona stepped to within inches of the receptionist.

Her eyes widening, and her demeanor relaxing her shoulders, she looked between Fiona and me. What happened to Cameron? Her admonition of our breach of etiquette now took a back seat.

Is there a problem here? The woman from across the room joined us. I had recognized her from a highly popular TV show called Besties. Courtney’s long, dark hair flowed behind her as she glided toward us. Her casual yoga tights and top revealed a very fit figure as she carried her corgi in her arms. Every photo I had seen of her in real life had her dogs present. Whether it was at home on the couch or strolling on the beach.

I was speechless, but Fiona barreled along. We’ve been trying to tell her that there’s a problem with Cameron, Fiona repeated.

Oh, he’s one of my favorites, Courtney said. What’s wrong?

Jumping in, I started, We were waiting for him to return at the end of our treatment.

But the timer went off and he didn’t show, Fiona continued. I suspected neither of us wanted to utter the words Cameron’s dead. Who would?

The receptionist stepped between Courtney and us. Miss Cross, I’m so sorry for this interruption. I’ll have it taken care of right away, she said and whispered into her lapel, just loud enough to hear she had summoned security. I told you to wait.

Appearing from the hallway, the uniformed security person strode toward us, determined to right any wrongs. He had an earpiece like a secret service agent and muttered something as he stood next to Courtney. Are these two bothering you, Miss Cross? he asked as he reached for both Fiona and my arms, ready to move us along.

Wait, Courtney said. They have done nothing wrong. They’ve been trying to tell Gina something, but she won’t listen. Courtney’s buff and white corgi fidgeted in her arms as if ready to break free. She gently placed the dog on the floor, clipping a leash onto its fuchsia collar.

OK. What is it? the security guard said, puffing his chest out and pulling his shoulders back.

Cameron’s dead, Fiona blurted, matching the body language of the guard. She was never one to be intimidated and gave as good as she got.

Courtney squealed, and her dog began jumping on her leg. What? she said, looking around.

You two are so outta here, the receptionist said and stormed off to the treatment room. Did she think we were making this up to escape the bill? Soon enough, the evidence would prove otherwise.

Gina! the security guy hollered. Let me go first.

Stepping aside, Gina held out her arm so he could pass by, glaring back at us to stay put. No way was I not following them, and I was certain Fiona would be front and center as well.

Maybe you should wait here, I suggested to Courtney. It’s not pretty.

She squeaked again, tears forming in her eyes. Are you sure he’s dead? she whispered.

Fiona nodded as we trailed the guard and receptionist into the room. I wondered if we would be allowed to retrieve our clothes, which were stored in a locker in the room.

Swinging the door open and prompting the squeak, the guard stopped just inside the room and shook his head. Oh boy, he said. Everyone, wait out here, he ordered, stepping closer to Cameron slumped in the corner chair. He walked around the body, bending to examine the murder weapon. Turning back, he found all four of us right behind him. Scoot, he said as he ushered us with his arms farther away from the body.

That’s it! The receptionist stomped toward the door. You two are banned for life!

The security guard spoke rapidly into the microphone on his lapel, summoning others and requesting the police. He continued to edge us