Holiday in Death (In Death #7)(62)

“You could say that. But he won’t be doing it again. Simon around?”

“He’s back in Studio Three. You don’t want to go back there,” she began when Eve turned.

“Yes, I do.”

Eve walked down a short hallway and through frosted glass doors etched with silhouettes of perfect human forms.

There were muted voices and music, the sounds of water splashing tunefully, birds chirping, breezes blowing. She could smell eucalyptus, rose, musk.

Pastel-colored doors lined both sides. Through an open one she could see a long padded table and complicated equipment, tubes, mirrors, a small computer station. All of which reminded her uncomfortably of a health center.

As she continued down, another door opened and a consultant in a white uniform led a woman covered from head to toe in green glop toward another area.

“Studio Three?”

“Corridor to the left, the door’s marked.”

“Uh-huh.” Eve watched while the consultant drew her client away, telling her that ten minutes in the Desert Room would make her a new woman.

It took all Eve’s willpower not to shudder.

When the corridor forked, she saw the large bubbling spa framed with miniature weeping cherry trees. Three women were already relaxing in it, br**sts bobbing cheerfully on the surface of the sugar-pink froth.

Another woman drifted alone, submerged to the chin in the thickened green fluid of a sensory tube. Just beyond it, in what Eve supposed was the wet area, was a narrow pool called the Plunge, where the sharply blue water was held at a temperature of thirty-six degrees. Even looking at it made her teeth chatter.

She turned left. After a quick knock on the Easter-egg-blue door marked Three, she stepped in. It was a toss-up who was more surprised, herself, Simon, or McNab, who reclined in a relaxation chair with his face coated with what appeared to be black mud.

“This is a treatment area.” Hands flapping, Simon rushed to block her way. “You’re not allowed in here while I’m consulting. Out, out, out.”

“I need to talk to you. It’ll only take a couple minutes.”

“I’m working here.” Simon spread his hands, sending a few blobs of mud sailing.

“Two minutes,” she said and had to clamp down on the urge to laugh as McNab rolled his eyes dramatically behind Simon’s back.

“Out, out,” he said again, snagging a towel. “I do apologize,” he said to McNab. “Your slather needs to set in any case. Please, just relax, let your mind rest. I’ll just be a moment.”

“No problem,” McNab muttered.

“No, no, shh!” With a benign smile, Simon tapped a finger to his lips. “No talking. Let your face relax completely, let your mind empty. This is your time. Now, close your eyes, imagine all impurities flowing out. I’ll be just outside.”

His smile fell away the minute he shut the door and looked at Eve. “I won’t have you disturbing my clients.”

“Sorry. But one of your clients was really disturbed last night. He won’t be coming in for his standing monthly anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Holloway. Brent Holloway. He’s dead.”

“Dead? Brent?” Simon leaned back against the glossy wall. The hand he hadn’t quite wiped clean pressed against his heart. “But I saw him only a few days ago. There must be a mistake.”

“I saw him this morning, in a drawer at the morgue. There’s no mistake.”

“I can’t… breathe.” Cape fluttering, Simon dashed down the hall. Eve found him in a plush waiting area, collapsed on a silk settee, his head between his knees.

“I didn’t know you were that close.”

“I’m his — was his consultant. No one, not even a spouse, is more intimate.”

She tried to think of intimacy with Trina and had to block off another shudder. “I’m sorry for your loss, Simon. You want something. Water?”

“Yes, no. Oh dear God.” He lifted his head and reached out with a trembling hand to engage the pop-up refreshment screen on the table beside him. His face was a sickly gray framed by the brilliant red of his hair. “I need a soother. Camomile, chilled.” Then he leaned back, shut his eyes. “How did it happen?”

“We’re investigating. Tell me about him, tell me who he was involved with.”

“He was a very exacting man. I respected that. He knew precisely how he wanted to appear, and was dedicated to maintaining his face, his body. Oh God.” He snagged the tall, slim glass from the server droid the minute it scooted in. “I’m sorry, dear heart. Give me just a moment.”

He drank deeply, taking slow, even breaths between sips. Some of the color that had washed away from his face came back. “He never missed an appointment, and sent me many referrals. He appreciated my work.”

“Did he hook up with anyone around here on a personal level? Stylists, consultants, other clients?”

“Our staff isn’t permitted to date the clientele. As to other clients, I don’t recall him mentioning any. He enjoyed women. He had a varied and satisfying sexual life.”

“He told you about that?”

“What is discussed between consultant and client is absolutely sacred.” Simon sniffed once, then set his empty glass aside.