“It was work,” Felice said, dropping down onto the sofa and kicking off her Crocs.
Livvy patted her own lap. “Here. Put your feet up and I’ll rub them like my mom used to do for me before I moved in here and she disowned me.”
“And why would you do that?” Felice asked, her suspicious nature taking over.
“Because I have something I need to talk to you about. And also, I’m a nice person.”
“I’m not that nice a person,” Felice said, but she swung her legs up onto the sofa.
“Be right back.” Livvy went to her room, and when she returned she carried a bottle of scented lotion and a towel. She went into the kitchen and ran hot tap water over the towel.
Back on the sofa, she wrapped the towel around Felice’s feet. “Close your eyes.”
Her coworker did as she was directed. Livvy removed the towel, squeezed a dollop of lotion into her hands, and went to work, rubbing and kneading Felice’s feet, cracking her toe joints one by one, and massaging the lotion into the skin.
“Oh God, that’s nice,” Felice croaked, keeping her eyes shut.
She opened one eye and fixed it on Livvy. “Now. What’s so important you think you have to bribe me with a foot massage?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Yeah. Sure. Spill it, girl, ’cause I gotta get to bed pretty soon.”
Livvy took a deep breath. “I want you to help me figure out who killed Parrish.”
“You don’t know shewaskilled. Maybe she had a heart attack or something.”
“Come on. The cops obviously think there was foul play. We wouldn’t do anything illegal. Just, you know, look around, ask some questions. Observe.”
“No way,” Felice said, swinging her legs back down onto the floor. “You do you, Livvy, but I am out. Ask one of the guys if you wanna go playing detective. Where are those two clowns, anyway?”
“It’s hospitality night tonight at Pour Willy’s. Two-buck beers,” Livvy said. “And just between the two of us, I think KJ and Garrett are okay, and I don’t really think they would have done anything to purposely hurt Parrish. But I also don’t totally trust them.”
“The answer is still no,” Felice said.
Livvy wasn’t so easily deterred. Her mother used to compare her to a rat terrier when she was after something she wanted. “Hey. Remember that blue composition book Parrish used to carry around with her?”
“I guess.”
“She called it her little blue bitch book. She kept notes in it about all the guest complaints and requests she dealt with. Mrs. E wants to find it. And so do I.”
Felice’s expression remained stony. “I got no idea where something like that would be.”
“But you could help me look for it,” Livvy suggested. She turned and pointed toward the door to Parrish’s room, where the yellow crime scene tape had finally been removed.
“The cops must have finished looking in there while we were out today. So, what would it hurt if we went in there—just to look for the bitch book, which Mrs. E wants.”
“You already said the part about Mrs. E, and I keep telling you, there’s no ‘we,’” Felice repeated. “I am not fixing to become your sidekick, accomplice, or coconspirator.”
“But you could be my lookout, right?”
Felice gave a martyred sigh. “All right. But you’re gonna owe me another foot rub when I get off work tomorrow.”
“You got it.”
Livvy winced when she saw the room’s state of disrepair. Parrish had furnished the room with gorgeous designer linens, monogrammed bedding, even a slipcovered chair that matched the bed’s dust ruffle. The inexpensive dresser held a silver-framed photograph of Parrish, in pigtails, her arms around a brown-and-white dog.
The police search had been thorough; all the drawers in the dresser had been pulled out, their contents tossed onto the thick rug. The tiny closet had been emptied and the mattress pulled off the box spring. Suitcases had been pulled out and sat on top of the bed frame, exposing dozens of pairs of expensive designer shoes.
