Issue link: http://papercitymagazine.uberflip.com/i/1542301
L I V I N G D I N I N G L I B R A RY B E D K I TC H E N G A R D E N AT EXACTLY 4:17 P.M., THE TRANQUILITY OF THE ALPENLICHT SPA SHATTERED— RATHER LIKE THE HIMALAYAN SALT LAMP THAT TOPPLED OFF ITS PEDESTAL WHEN SOMEONE LET OUT A PIERCING SHRIEK FROM THE VERY MARBLE AROMATHERAPY LOUNGE. LADY DAMASK, WRAPPED IN A BAINA ROBE FAR MORE ELEGANT THAN THE SPA-ISSUED VARIETY, FROZE MID–CUCUMBER-WATER SIP AS FLUFFY SLIPPERS SKIDDED ACROSS THE MARBLE. BESIDE HER, THE ETERNALLY JUMPY MR. AUBERGINE NEARLY DROPPED HIS FLAMINGO ESTATE EXFOLIATING PEPPERMINT SOAP BRICK. THERE, SLUMPED ACROSS A PERFECTLY ARRANGED STACK OF EGYPTIAN COTTON ABYSS & HABIDECOR TOWELS, LAY MADAME BERGAMOT—WELLNESS GURU, CHAMPION OF DUBIOUS DETOXES, AND A SWORN ENEMY OF ANY DÉCOR NOT DESCRIBED AS "ORGANIC MINIMALISM"—APPARENTLY DONE IN WITH A JADE ROLLER. THE SOOTHING FOUNTAIN BURBLED ON, THE DIFFUSERS MISTED SERENITY INTO THE AIR, AND YET CHAOS SPREAD LIKE SPILLED LAVENDER BATH OIL. MURDER, IT SEEMED, HAD CHECKED IN FOR A FULL-SERVICE STAY. 1 3 1 6 S LO C U M ST R E E T DA L L A S K D B I E L . C O M RO O M S W I T H A P O I N T O F V I E W