“I thought of that. I knocked on the door to wake him up. I was hiding in the stairwell when I heard his door open.” She turned to me. “Billie, you’re up.”
I picked up the phone and punched in his room number. When he answered, I spoke quickly and brightly, putting an accent on my English that was vague enough to have been anything from South African to Latvian. “Mr. Paar? This is Elsa with Spa Services. I am calling to confirm your appointment at five pm today with Annike for a mud wrap. Yes, it is complimentary, courtesy of Ji-Woo at the front desk. The mud wrap is one of our superior services, a value of two hundred seventy-five euros. No, Annike will bring everything with her. Thank you, sir. Your service is confirmed.”
I looked to Mary Alice. “Showtime.”
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.