Killers of a Certain Age(57)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR



The clock showed five minutes to five when Mary Alice and I headed out. We were both dressed in the plain black scrubs of the spa staff. Mary Alice’s wig was a severe ice-white geometric bob, and her face had been carefully contoured, the shading making her cheekbones high and angular. Her breasts were strapped down and she was wearing steel-rimmed glasses. The effect was severe in a Scandi-chic way. I had opted for a low dark brown bun threaded with silver and cheek pads to make my face fuller. A dusting of pale powder gave me a washed-out, fatigued look. The fact that I was lugging a collapsible treatment table helped sell the impression I was giving of a tired older woman just waiting for the end of her shift. Mary Alice carried a tote with our supplies. We paused in front of Günther’s door and rapped softly.

He opened the door at once, and I ducked my head to hide my surprise. I wouldn’t have known him if he’d walked up and slapped me on the street. It had been more than fifteen years since our paths had crossed, and in spite of his obsession with his health, he looked like shit. He was carrying extra weight, which might have suited someone cheerier, but he looked bloated. His skin was splotchy and there were heavy bags under his eyes. He was wearing one of the spa robes and it gapped a little, showing a chest furry with white hair. His feet were bare, the toenails thick and yellow, and when he smiled, I saw that his teeth were the same.

“Good afternoon, I am Annike,” Mary Alice said in a clipped voice. “You are ready for treatment?”

“Yes, yes,” he said, stepping back and waving us in. “And this is complimentary, correct?”

“Except for the tip,” I said. Mary Alice would have kicked me if she’d been closer, but she merely signaled for me to set up the table. “My assistant will help me to set up. You are being naked?” she asked with a finger pointing at his midsection.

“Yes,” he told her, holding the belt of his robe.

“When the table is ready, you will lie under the sheet facedown,” she told him. “We will prepare the muds in the bathroom.”

He nodded and I hurried to lock the legs of the treatment table, spreading it with a folded blanket and a sheet. Then I laid out layers of plastic wrap, the kind caterers use for food. I ducked into the bathroom after Mary Alice and we pulled a bucket out of the tote bag. It was full of dark green spa mud, powdered and ready to mix. I turned on the tap so he would hear water running while we snapped on gloves and the small noseclips swimmers wear. They weren’t as good as respirators, but they would keep us from inhaling the worst of the nicotine. I poured the poison in slowly, letting Mary Alice mix it with a wooden spoon until it made a thick, gloppy paste. I dumped in half a bottle of lavender oil to mask any odor, and we were ready.

We pulled off the noseclips and carried the bucket out to the bedroom, where Günther was relaxing under the sheet. We could see the back of his head, and when Mary Alice pulled the cover back, there he was in all his dimply, mottled glory. Some men age well, but Günther wasn’t one of them. We started scooping up the mud and slapping it on his back, larding him up like we were glazing a Sunday ham.

“That smells unusual,” he said, his voice muffled by the treatment table.

“A new blend,” Mary Alice said smoothly.

“Only for VIPs. Perhaps we will put it on the menu for the spa, perhaps not,” I added.

We worked fast, layering on more and more mud until the back of his body was coated with it from neck to feet. “Turn over,” Mary Alice instructed. He struggled to flip but Mary Alice gave him a hand. She tucked the sheet discreetly around his crotch as we worked, mudding up his legs and torso, finishing with his arms. When the last of the mud had been packed onto him, we folded the plastic wrap around and drew the sheet up over his feet at the bottom, then wrapped each side tightly across, tucking it under him to make a sort of burrito.

He opened his eyes. “How long is the treatment?”

Mary Alice consulted her watch. “Thirty minutes. We will return to check on you then.”

But we didn’t make any move to leave, and he turned his head, his eyes blinking in confusion. “Wait, I don’t feel good. My heart,” he said. “It is beating very fast.”

“That’s the nicotine,” Mary Alice said in her own voice.

He blinked several times more. “Wha—what?” His voice was thick and slurred. Recognition flickered in his eyes and he groaned, understanding at last what was happening.

“The nicotine,” I told him. “It’s in the mud and we’ve slathered your entire body in it. It’s one of the transdermal poisons, you know. I mean, the buccal mucosa or the rectum is the best way to administer it, but why would you even bother when the average adult has twenty-one square feet of skin and every pore is right there, just waiting to be used? You’re probably already getting queasy. Don’t worry. That just means it’s working.”

He opened his mouth—to yell at us, I think—but all he managed was a gurgled shriek. I went to the desk, where a bowl of apples was sitting, and stripped off my glove to choose one. I polished it on my uniform and took a bite. Fresh and crisp as new snow. I ate it down to the core as Günther continued to struggle for breath.

“Why?” he managed to pant once.

“You know why,” Mary Alice told him. “You ordered our termination.”