The Lady Has a Past (Burning Cove #5) - Amanda Quick Page 0,65
it. The case didn’t move. “This weighs a ton.”
“The case is lined with a steel plate,” Simon said. “Can you manage it?”
She leaned down and used both hands to lift the briefcase.
“No problem,” she gasped.
She staggered into the room and kicked the door shut behind her. “What are we looking for?”
“Anything that might tell us where they are holding Raina. The only other alternative we’ve got is to visit every building, house, shed, or barn within a two-hour radius of the pickup location. It’s not as if we’ve got a handy road map of all the abandoned cabins scattered around this desert. We need a starting point.” Simon paused. “What is that smell?”
“It’s Violet perfume,” Lyra said. “Guppy’s signature scent. I told you it was a bit heavy.”
“Heavy is right. A man could choke on it.”
“Brace yourself. The entire spa smells like this.”
There was enough moonlight seeping through the half-closed blinds to reveal shelves filled with Guppy’s House of Beauty products. Stacks of neatly folded sheets and towels were piled high in one corner. Robes hung from hooks on the wall.
“Don’t switch on your flashlight,” Simon said. “There are windows in here. I doubt if there is anyone around outside at this hour of the night, but you never know.”
“There aren’t any windows in the central hallway,” Lyra said. “Guppy’s office is at the far end, just off the lobby. There is a window in that room, but there are also blinds and drapes.”
“That should work.”
Simon started down the hall.
Lyra hurried after him, lugging the briefcase.
The doors of all of the treatment rooms were closed.
“I hope Luther Pell gets some useful information out of Angela Merryweather,” she said.
“Luther is very good at interrogation. He takes a different approach than you do but he knows how to get people to talk.”
“In other words, he’ll scare the daylights out of poor Mrs. Merryweather?”
“Only if it’s absolutely necessary.”
“She was kidnapped. She is probably still traumatized.”
“Luther will understand that.”
They reached the end of the hall and stopped in front of the door marked office. It was locked.
Simon made short work of the lock, switched off his flashlight, and opened the door, gun in hand.
There was no one inside. The curtains were tightly pulled across the single window.
“You take the file cabinet,” Simon said. He switched on his flashlight. “I’ll check the desk and the safe.”
“You can crack a safe?” Lyra asked, impressed.
He glanced at the imposing steel safe in the corner and shrugged. “It looks like a standard combination lock. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Lyra set the briefcase down with a small sigh of relief. “So many things for me to learn.”
“I wouldn’t put safecracking at the top of your list of priorities.”
“Why not?”
“It’s illegal, for one thing.”
“Details.”
She opened the first drawer of the cabinet and started flipping quickly through the file folders. Most were clearly labeled with names.
“Client files,” she announced. “Names. Dates. Services purchased and how much was spent on products.”
Simon looked up from a desk drawer. “Is there a file for Granville or Angela Merryweather?”
“Good question.” Lyra swept the flashlight beam across the neatly labeled tabs. “No.”
“Is there a file on you?”
“That,” she said, “is also an interesting question. Yes, here I am.” She plucked the folder out of the drawer and flipped it open. “Looks like the others. My name, the services I received, and the products I bought. There is also a note that I requested Miss Frampton for my facial. It’s underlined.”
“Anything else?”
“Such as the fact that I was scheduled to be steamed to death? Nope.”
“Locking you in the steam chamber was a last-minute impulse on someone’s part. There wasn’t time to come up with a smart plan.” Simon paused. “Huh.”
Lyra glanced at him and saw that he was using his flashlight to study the desk calendar. “Find something interesting?”
“Maybe. There’s a note here about ordering supplies for tea.”
“Madam Guppy brews her own special teas for clients. I was given some to drink shortly before I went into the steam chamber. I didn’t like it, so I tossed most of it into a potted plant. There was another pitcher of the stuff in the chamber, but I didn’t drink any.”
“Who gave you the tea?”
There was a sharp edge to the question.
“Miss Frampton, the facial treatment lady. Why?”
“A few months back I had a case involving a chemist who was obsessed with ancient herbals. He was dealing his own homemade tonics to a select clientele. They all died what appeared to be natural deaths.”