Stella nodded, giving the woman a slight smile. Mattie knew what she was after.
“Did she and Deputy Brody seem to be getting along okay?” Stella asked.
“Yes. Their feelings were mutual.”
“Could they have had an argument?”
“Not to my knowledge, at least not as of Tuesday night. It would have had to occur Wednesday, and she was with clients all morning.”
They came to the doorway of a small yurt. Anya entered, flipping on an overhead electrical bulb to compensate for the lack of natural light through windows. The space was clean and neat with a wooden floor and canvas roof and walls. Twin beds sat across the room from each other covered with maroon comforters. Matching small chests of drawers acted as bedside tables, and a large wardrobe filled the center of the back wall. A space heater glowed, taking the chill off the room.
“That is Adrienne’s side of the room,” Anya said, gesturing. “But you’re welcome to search my space, too, though I’m aware of nothing I have that could be of help.”
“Thank you,” Stella said. “We’ll take a look at both.”
Mattie pulled a pair of latex gloves from a pocket on her belt and tugged them on while crossing the room. She inspected the items on top of the small chest. A stack of books sat by a reading light, and she sifted through them, revealing titles on massage therapy techniques for horses as well as humans.
One book stood out as different from the others. Moving On: Recovery from Childhood Abuse. Maybe this helped explain Adrienne’s estrangement from her mother. Mattie held the book out to show the title.
“For Adrienne or for a client?” Mattie asked Anya while Stella turned from her search to read the title.
“I cannot say.”
“Don’t know? Or won’t say?” Stella asked.
Anya remained silent.
“We’re not asking out of idle curiosity. If Adrienne has a history of childhood abuse, that’s something we should follow up,” Mattie said.
Anya looked down at the floor for a moment and then up at Mattie. “I am her therapist and healer. There is not much I can say.”
But her words spoke volumes. “I think we’d better follow up.”
“Yes.”
“I can get a warrant for her medical records,” Stella said.
“There is no written record.”
Stella shot a disbelieving glance at Mattie before looking back at Anya. “No record?”
“I’m a body worker. I use many modalities, assessing what the body needs each time I provide a treatment. I didn’t ask for payment from Adrienne, and I didn’t conduct a form of talk therapy in the traditional sense. There was no need to document our sessions.”
“Anya,” Mattie said. “It’s important we find leads so we can track down the person who killed your friend. You won’t be betraying her confidence by answering our questions.”
Anya stared at Mattie, her eyes reddened with unshed tears. She nodded in silent agreement.
“Can you confirm that Adrienne was abused as a child?” Mattie asked.
“Yes.”
“Was she at a point in her treatment where she might have pressed charges against her abuser?” Stella asked.
“If she was considering it, she didn’t tell me.”
“What do you know about her abuser?”
“Nothing specific. I believe it was parental.”
That struck a chord that resonated with Mattie’s own past. “Father? Mother?”
“Perhaps both.” Anya paused, her face drawn with sadness. “Adrienne shed her grief over her past in tears during our treatments and seemed to be gaining a new level of happiness. She said she felt better about it now than she’d felt her entire adult life.”
Mattie nodded, looking downward to search drawers that contained nothing but clothing while Stella searched the wardrobe.
Anya brushed her hand across an empty space on top of the chest. “There’s something missing right here.”
“What’s that?” Mattie asked.
“Her laptop.” Anya pointed to a power cord left plugged into the wall, as if its loose end proved the laptop’s absence. “It has a zebra-striped cover. It’s gone, and I haven’t been able to find it.”
“Would she have taken it with her on Wednesday?”
“I’ve wondered about that. She keeps her own treatment records in it, and she takes it with her when she goes to do massage for horses.” Anya looked troubled. “But I thought she went on a hike.”
Mattie looked across the room and met Stella’s gaze.
“Why did you think she went on a hike?” Stella asked.
“It’s what she usually does on her afternoons off.”
“Who keeps her horse appointment schedule?”
“She does.”
“Do you know where her schedule might be?”
Anya’s frown deepened. “On her laptop.”
“Did you look for it in these drawers?” Mattie asked, resuming her search.
“Yes. At first, I glanced into the bottom drawer to see if she’d taken her purse. When I saw it was still there, I decided to call the sheriff.”
Mattie opened the bottom drawer and found many things, none of which resembled a computer. It seemed to contain a veritable treasure trove: small rocks and crystals, a vial of something, a stack of brochures, a purse, a stack of opened envelopes addressed to Adrienne Howard, a small pair of ankle weights, a photo album.
Mattie picked up the vial and showed it to Anya. “Do you know what this is?”
Anya opened the vial, sniffed. “Peace and Harmony, an essential oil.”
She held it out for Mattie to smell. The scent contained a combination of citrus and patchouli. It made her nose twitch, and she suppressed a sneeze. A peaceful response to that odor might depend on the individual.
Mattie opened the purse and poured its contents on Adrienne’s bed. It contained the usual items carried by women: hairbrush, sunglasses, makeup bag, checkbook, and wallet. She looked through the wallet, but there was nothing inside other than a small amount of cash, a credit card, and a driver’s license. The makeup bag contained only the basics: mascara and several types of lip gloss.
Sorting through the brochures, she saw that most of them advertised massage therapy conferences, including one for horses, all sometime in the future. There were also a few travel brochures on Alaskan cruises and Yellowstone. These seemed to be consistent with what she already knew about the victim.
Stella picked up the photo album and started leafing through it. “Do you know any of these people in the pictures, Ms. Yamamoto?”
“You may call me Anya.” She moved near Stella to peer at the photographs. “I don’t know any of these people. The pictures look like they were taken some time ago. Before Adrienne moved here.”
Stella tapped a salmon-colored nail on a page near the end of the album. “What about this one?”
Mattie leaned near to look. It showed Adrienne and a good-looking man posed against a pine-forest background, their arms wrapped around each other, both smiling. The man had brown hair so dark it was nearly black, eyes the color of chocolate, and skin several shades darker than Adrienne’s. His skin tone and coloring reminded Mattie of her own, and she wondered if he was of Hispanic descent.
“I don’t know that man,” Anya said.
“Did Adrienne ever mention someone who might have fit this description?”
“Not that I recall.”
Mattie took the stack of opened envelopes out of the drawer and started looking through them. “We’ll need to take these with us. They’re probably from people we’ll need to contact.”
Most were greeting cards, postmarked around the same date in September. Birthday cards. There was also one from Brody, and she tried to ignore the mushy words, focusing instead on the intent of the message. He seemed to be truly in love with Adrienne, and it saddened her.