for business.
Sheena still lived at home, at the age of twenty-two, and seemed content to stay in Hideaway the rest of her life, living with her parents and working here at the spa. Jill felt for the girl, since she, too, had stayed home out of necessity for several years after graduating from high school.
Sheena needed to get out of this place for a while and learn a little more about the world. Mary and Jed were keeping too tight a leash on her.
Jill shifted on the massage table. “I think I heard Noelle come back from her errands a few minutes ago—can’t she see to Edith while you’re finishing here? I hate to think of Edith waiting over there all by herself.”
“I’ll be…fine,” Edith called to her.
With a frown, Jill glanced at Sheena. Edith sounded less peaceful and relaxed than she had moments ago.
“We won’t be much longer,” Sheena assured Jill. “Noelle warned me not to take too long the first time.”
First time? Like this was going to happen again? What did Noelle need with moral support, anyway? Though the business was new, it was doing well.
Was that laughter she heard in the next room?
Jill gave a sigh, forcing herself to relax again. Edith had a sense of humor that had brought healing light to some of the darkest moments in Jill’s life. Let her laugh.
Yet even as Jill listened to that laughter, it didn’t sound quite right….
Sheena’s movements slowed, as if she, too, noticed a change.
That wasn’t laughter. “Edith, you okay in there?” Jill asked. It sounded as if Edith was coughing.
For several long seconds there was no answer, then came a muffled thump.
Jill lunged up from the massage bed and scrambled out, stumbling against the tray table beside her. Bottles and jars crashed to the wooden floor. She swept past Sheena and raced into the hallway, then into the next cubicle, her loose gown billowing around her.
She thrust the door open to find Edith lying on the floor, gnarled hands grasping her throat, eyes bulging with terror. Her face was still half covered with the mask of herbs, and her white hair tufted over the mask in sticky strands. The half of her face that was bare was nearly purple.
“Call for help!” Jill dropped to her knees beside her friend and wiped the green mask of goo from her face with a towel. “Edith, it’s okay. We’re going to take care of you.”
The lady’s fear-stricken gaze caught and held Jill’s, begging for help. Her mouth worked silently.
“Who do I call?” Sheena cried.
“Get Noelle,” Jill said, grasping Edith’s hand. “I think she came back in. If not, call her on her cell. The clinic’s closed today.” In a more populated place, they would call 911. Here in Hideaway, that wasn’t a good option.
As Sheena rushed from the room, Edith’s grasp tightened in Jill’s. “S…c-cool,” she rasped.
“You’re cool? I’ll get a blanket for—”
The hand tightened further. “N-no.” She closed her eyes, and her grip weakened.
“No. Edith! Stay with me. Help is on the way.”
Those eyes opened again. “S…cool…” Her voice barely reached Jill, and her mouth worked as if with great effort. “Re…cords…jet…”
“Edith, just hold on. We’ll take good care of you.”
Edith shook her head, obviously agitated. “Jet…bomber.”
Jet bomber? “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say. Just hold on and concentrate—”
Edith’s hand relaxed from Jill’s grip. Her eyes closed. She stopped breathing.
“No. Edith! Don’t give up now. Edith!”
Chapter Two
Dr. Rex Fairfield seldom felt ill at ease with colleagues, whether they were strangers, friends or even antagonists. He felt perfectly comfortable presiding over large meetings, which was good, considering the requirements of his present career choice.
Today was different, however, as he sat in the tastefully decorated conference room of the Hideaway Clinic, deep in conversation with two other doctors.
His tension didn’t stem from the suspicious glint in Dr. Karah Lee Fletcher’s gaze or from the quiet expectancy in Dr. Cheyenne Gideon’s dark eyes.
“If we can bring the clinic up to code in, say, three weeks, the timing would be perfect for an announcement at Hideaway’s September festival,” he said. “You’ve already done a lot more than I’d have expected.”
“So why all the secrecy?” Dr. Fletcher asked him.
He frowned at her. “Secrecy?”
The statuesque redhead, second in command of this clinic, leaned forward, spreading her hands. “Yeah, the secrecy. The whole town supports what we’re doing here. They want the clinic to become a hospital. The community’s growing, we need these improvements. There’s no reason to keep it a secret.”
“Maybe not everyone wants it,” corrected Dr. Gideon, the clinic director, “but the detractors are few in number, and they aren’t adamant, they just want to have something to complain about.”
“I didn’t ask for complete secrecy,” Rex told them, “I only asked for discretion.”
“You asked us to keep your name out of our discussions with everyone, including our own staff,” Dr. Fletcher reminded him.
He nodded. Aha. That was the reason for the small flicker of wariness he had detected in the demeanor of this tall woman with the commanding presence. “Please understand I’m not calling your staff’s integrity into question, but there is one particular person with whom I’ve had…um…previous experience.” He hesitated, unwilling to share all to these virtual strangers. This was intensely personal.
“I assure you, Rex, that you can trust all of our staff members,” the director said. “I have found them to have the utmost integrity.”
“I wouldn’t dream of calling any of your staff’s integrity into question, Dr. Gideon.”
The dark-haired, dark-eyed woman rolled her eyes. “Please, I asked you to call me Cheyenne. We keep everything very casual around here.” The woman reached up and tucked a strand of her short, shaggy black hair behind her ear. She did, indeed, appear to have some Native American blood in her lineage.
“I’m sorry—Cheyenne.”
“And I’m Karah Lee,” insisted the tall redhead. “Now, are you going to tell us why all the mystery?”
Rex had become acquainted with Cheyenne, the clinic’s founder and director, and he felt confident in the abilities
