I laughed at that as I zipped up my hoodie. Today, I’d settle for staying out of prison.
Sam, my mother, Vero, and I sat in recliners in the waiting area of the Villagio’s spa. Aromatherapy candles flickered on every surface. Soothing wind chimes and pan flutes piped through speakers, and a fountain bubbled down a mosaic of polished stones on the wall. I tugged my plush robe closed around my legs, concealing the yoga pants I’d hiked over my knees underneath it. Vero and I had had no choice but to leave our shoes in our lockers in the changing room, but at least we could grab them quickly once we managed to sneak out.
A woman in scrubs peeled back the curtain. Another followed her in, carrying a tray of mimosas, cheese, and fruit. “Good morning,” she said, handing us each a glass. “We’re going to start our treatments today with ninety-minute couples’ massages and hot towel facials.”
“Finlay and I can go together,” my mother said. “A mother and daughter massage sounds like fun!”
Sam didn’t look so sure. “Maybe I should go with Finlay.”
“You promised, no Big D energy,” Vero reminded her. “You and Susan should spend some time together anyway. You can share embarrassing stories about Georgia and plan the wedding behind her back.”
Sam choked on her mimosa.
The attendants led us all down the hall, a parade of slippers and robes, into two dimly lit rooms, each containing a set of massage tables. Vero waved jauntily at my mother and Sam across the hall as the doors closed. “Ta-ta! See you in a few hours.”
Our attendant scrutinized her clipboard. She looked up and smiled, her voice low and soothing. “You’re in for a treat, ladies! The Johanssonswill be doing your massages today. They’re twins, and they’re absolutely amazing,” she said, looking a bit starstruck. “I’ll give you a few minutes to disrobe. When you’re ready, lie facedown on the tables. Your masseuses will be with you momentarily.” As soon as she was gone, Vero and I shook off our robes.
“How long should we wait before we sneak out of here?” she asked, checking the clock above the door.
“Just long enough for their massages to start.” Once Sam and my mother were facedown on the table, we’d have ninety minutes before either of them noticed we were gone.
The door to our massage room swung open as Vero reached for the knob. A large woman in a white smock filled the doorframe, her hair tied back in what should have been a headache-inducing bun. Agnes—according to the name badge pinned to the front of her apron— stepped into the small room. Another woman followed, nearly identical in appearance and attire, only Ingrid wore her own bun slightly higher.
Ingrid frowned at my clothes. “There is no reason to be shy here,” she said, turning me around and patting the top of the table. “In our line of work, we see all kinds of bodies.”
A nervous laugh burst out of me. “I’m sure all of us would rather not see any more.”
“Don’t be silly.” She lifted my feet out from under me and swung me onto the massage table, pushing my face into a headrest shaped like a donut. “We will start with clothes on. You will see, after a bit of lavender and rosehip oil, you will be ready to try without the clothes.”
“No rosehip!” I lifted my head, but Ingrid pushed it back down.
Vero whispered sharply from the table beside me. “I’ve fantasized about being naked with Swedish twins, but this is not what I had in mind! What do we do?”
“We’ll just tell them we have to go. I’m sure they’ll understand if we…” Ingrid’s hand slid under my sweatshirt and began kneading my lower back. “Oh,” I said languidly as my body turned to Jell-O. “Maybe five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.”
“Finlay!” My head jolted out of the donut. “We need to get out of here.”
“Right!” We both sat up, apologies pouring from our mouths as we climbed down from the tables.
Vero pulled a bankroll of cash from the waistband of her yoga pants as Agnes and Ingrid watched, their eyes growing wide.
“This is not necessary,” Agnes insisted. “Your services were paid in full when the appointments were scheduled.”
“Consider it a tip,” Vero said, counting out a stack of hundred-dollar bills into her oil-slicked hand. “My friend and I have somewhere we really need to be, but this spa day means a lot to those two ladies across the hall, and we don’t want to disappoint them. How much will it cost for you to pretend we’re in here for the next ninety minutes, having a wonderful time?”
Agnes stared at the cash as if she were having a moral crisis.
“What if they ask where you are when it’s time for your pedicures?” Ingrid asked.
Vero passed her a stack of bills to ease her guilt. “Just tell them we had one too many mimosas and we’re sleeping them off.”
The women stared open-mouthed at us as Vero and I snuck out of the room.
We tiptoed down the hall and hurried to the locker room. I pushed the door open and jolted to a stop.
A woman with a sleek silver bob stood in the changing area beside our lockers. She glanced up at us as she stepped into a pair of Louis Vuittons. Her nostrils flared and she paused, giving us an odd look. I stared back, unable to move as Marco’s wife sniffed the air, a dark voice inside my head wondering if she could somehow smell the stench of her husband’s corpse on our clothes.
I swallowed as she reached into her handbag, her fingers grazing the pearlescent handle of the smallest pistol I had ever seen. She pushed it aside, withdrawing a pair of designer sunglasses that probably cost more than my house. Not a single hair dared to fall out of place as she placed them on her head.
