Under My Skin Read Free

equipment.”
    G5. Must be pretty nice if the operators do it to themselves. I made a note to try it out sometime.
    “So, you think the equipment was tampered with during the night?”
    “I have no way of knowing. The treatment rooms are locked at night, but until recently there was always a key in the supervisor’s office. Anyone who knows the place could get hold of it. I’ve had it removed now.”
    “But when you found the nails, you knew you were in trouble. What did you do?”
    “I called Mrs. Marchant in London.”
    Ah, ah. The elusive client. “And what did she say?”
    “She gave me permission to close down the whole treatment area. I told the guests there was a fault in the heating system and did an inspection on my own. Since then I’ve double-checked everything in the building myself before it’s used. Which means I know for certain that it was between midnight last night and seven this morning that someone took the carp out of the fishpond in the garden and put them into the Jacuzzi, then switched the heating on. They were dead when I found them, oily, slimy, floating on the surface. That’s when Mrs. Marchant called you.”
    “She was still in London?”
    “Yes. She’ll be back tonight or tomorrow.”
    “Is that usual, her being away so much of the time?”
    “Yes … no … I mean Mr. Marchant works in London, so she spends some of the week up there with him and some down here.”
    “What does he do?”
    “He’s a consultant.”
    Isn’t everybody these days? “But from what you’re saying she’s not a particularly hands-on owner?”
    “It depends. We’ve only been open a few months. At the beginning she was very involved. But since I’ve come, she’s taken more of a back seat. Left it to me.” She paused. “She’s a good employer,” she added, as if I needed to know it.
    “And neither you nor she has had any contact with the saboteur?”
    “I don’t understand …”
    “No notes, no threats, no demands for money or anything like that?”
    “No. Nothing.”
    Either they were biding their time or we were looking at a malice over profit job. More interesting psychologically, but for that reason harder to crack.
    She picked up a pile of files from the desk in front of her. “Mrs. Marchant told me to give you a copy of the employees’ records. She said you’d probably want to see them. We have twenty-four girls altogether. Twenty live on the premises, the other four in the local village. Then there are two visiting nurses and a doctor, but they’re only part-time. I’ve included details of everyone’s work shifts over the last two weeks so you can see who was where at what time.”
    “Thanks. Yours are here, too, are they?” I said casually.
    “Of course. Right on top,” she said, her diction sharpening up again at the hint of trouble.
    “Good.” I paused in case the silence made her feel uncomfortable. It didn’t. “I’m assuming that none of the staff know who I am?”
    “Absolutely not. You’re booked in as a regular guest.”
    “Even though I’m here talking to you?”
    “It’s nothing out of the ordinary. I often make it my business to meet new guests.”
    “And if I need to contact you urgently …?”
    “You can dial me direct from your room. I’ve added both my office and room numbers to your notes.”
    “Fine. OK. Well, I’ll need a plan of the place, a list of the clients who have been here in the last two weeks, and someone to show me round. Oh, and I think I forgot to bring a swimsuit.”
    From under the desk she picked up a large bag with CASTLE DEAN written in big fluorescent letters. “I got you this in case you didn’t have time to pack. The suit is size ten, but it stretches. If it doesn’t fit, let me know. I’ve booked you in for a full day’s treatment starting tomorrow morning at eight-fifteen with water aerobics in the pool.”
    I could feel my muscles twitching in anticipation. I got up. “Anything else?”
    “Not really,”