Double

I dialed Nyland’s home on Coronado, and the housekeeper told me he would be at campaign headquarters from seven o’clock on. After I hung up, I looked at my watch. Ten after five. It would take me a while to get to downtown San Diego and Nyland’s headquarters, but not two hours. That left time for a stop at the House of Slenderizing and Massage, where Elaine presumably had met both the retired admiral and Woodall.

When I parked across the street from the renovated brick storefront, an enormously fat woman was going in. I crossed and followed her, but was forced aside by two even fatter women who were coming out, grumbling cheerfully about something called a Nautilus Machine.

Good Lord, I thought, the folks who run this place have their work cut out for them.

Directly inside the door was a lobby with muted lighting and mirrors all around. I glanced at my reflection and found myself possessed of a gazelle-like slimness I’d never noticed before. Trick mirrors, not as exaggerated as those in a funhouse, but enough to make a person look ten pounds lighter.

A young woman with dark hair piled high on her head sat behind a reception desk working on a bookkeeping ledger. I went up to her and asked to see the manager. She smiled cordially and said, “You’ve found her. Our regular receptionist is out sick today, so I’m wearing two hats. What can I do for you?”

“Do you have an employee named Rick?”

She sat up a little straighter and pursed her lips. “Mr. MacNelly is no longer with us.”

“How long has it been since he left?”

“More than two months.”

“Is there any way I can get in touch with him?”

She gave me a look as if I’d just committed an indecent act. “I’m afraid I can’t give out that information.”

Something was wrong here if the mere mention of the man’s name could make her freeze me out this way. I said, “Look, I’m a private investigator, trying to locate Mr. MacNelly in connection with a case.”

She relaxed slightly, and then her eyes took on a thoughtful look. “Do you have any identification?”

I got out the photostat of my license and showed it to her. She nodded, a nasty smile beginning to play on her lips. “I do hope Rick’s not in any trouble.”

Since she so obviously did hope so, I said, “Not yet. I take it he didn’t leave under pleasant circumstances.”

“I fired him.”

“Why?”

“Moral reasons. Rick had been soliciting some of the ladies for sexual favors — his favors, to be paid for by them. Apparently he had quite a bit of luck before anyone complained.”

“I see.” Had one of those ladies been Elaine? “Who was it that complained?”

“Mrs. Abbot.” She motioned at the door behind her. “She came in just before you did.”

The huge fat one. Good Lord.

The woman went on, “If she hadn’t complained, God knows what would have happened. We just opened six months ago, and we’re trying to build a reputation as a decent spa, a place where the ladies can go right downtown near their offices. We certainly don’t need a scandal. I put a lot of money into this franchise—”

“Do you know where I can reach Mr. MacNelly now?”

“In San Francisco. I have the address where I sent his final paycheck.”

I copied it down, an apartment house on Sanchez Street, not far from where I lived. I’d use it as a last resort, if all my leads here came to nothing. “You mentioned ladies a couple of times. Do you have male members as well?”

She shook her head. “Most of our ladies are quite heavy. They would be uncomfortable displaying their bodies in front of the opposite sex.”

I frowned. “But Rick MacNelly is a male.”

“A masseur. That’s different.”

This couldn’t be the place where Elaine had met Woodall or Nyland, then. “Does your club have a branch in Borrego Springs, by any chance?” I asked.

“No. This is the only branch in the San Diego area.” She paused. “It’s odd you should ask, though.”

“Why?”

“Rick apparently spent a good bit of time in Borrego Springs. He would mention going out there occasionally.”

“Why, do you know?”

She shrugged. “I’d always supposed he was into dune buggies or dirt bikes. They do a lot of that out there in the desert.”

Now I felt more at sea than before. “I’d like to run some names by you, if I might, to see if you recognize any of them.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

I did, mentioning Elaine, as well as all the principal figures in the case, male and female. She recognized Henry Nyland as running for city council, but to all the others she replied in the negative. I thanked her and started to leave.

“Hey,” she called after me, “aren’t you going to tell me what Rick’s done?”

“Sorry,” I said, “it’s confidential.” I gave my new, gazelle-like body a final look and went out into the street.

As I drove toward Henry Nyland’s campaign headquarters, I thought about Rick MacNelly, the man who sold himself to women. What on earth had Elaine been doing with the name of such a person in her address book? She hadn’t been a member of the club where MacNelly worked. And surely she hadn’t had to pay anyone for sex.