Read Online Voices in the Wardrobe by Marlys Millhiser - Free Book Online Page A

Caroline VanZant was still torturing her neck looking up at Kenny. “Kenneth Cooper? The author?”
    â€œNever heard of him,” Solomon said. “Now if we can get past the celebrity thing here, I want to know again exactly who was where when Judith Judd died. Not the clientele, I’m talking staff, you, your son.”
    â€œSorry, talk to you later,” and Charlie motioned the author out of the room and down the hall to the eddy-pool deck where every pool was filled with Jacuzzi bubbles, suffering cucumbers, bubbling brooks, and thunder in the distance. Charlie finally recognized what was so strange about Solomon’s appearance: he had no eyebrows.
    Dashiell squinted suspicion from the palms at the head of the pools. Charlie ignored him and walked to the windows, looking for Luella among the paths and plantings and cottages below. There was a long sweep of sea and she even got a glimpse of an edge of the famous marina. She didn’t know “sea talk” but there was apparently an inlet or something at the north side of this promontory or point, whatever, that allowed the gentling of the swells that crashed against its end.
    â€œYou got a problem with that?” Kenny Cowper said behind her and she turned to see him leaning over Dashiell.
    Charlie caught herself before she said, “Kenny, leave it.”
    She’d watched this dog food commercial one of her clients had snared, too many times. It was about training dogs to stop inappropriate behavior of all sorts apparently but when used to keep a dog from Pooch Svelte, it elicited a snarl from a Chihuahua, a Doberman, and something shaggy in between.
    She led her author off by the arm, but the bald jerk brought them both up short. “He’s a sex addict. Be careful, Miss Greene.”
    And good old Kenny had to turn around and retort, “Oh yeah? Well, she’s a pervert.”
    And several sufferers made the mistake of trying to sit up and bend tight seaweed wraps and cucumbers to get a look at such an extraordinary couple and the eddy pools were much disturbed.
    â€œI can’t take you anywhere,” Charlie groused when they walked outside among the sheds and paths and cottages. She’d seen some people wandering out here when she’d slipped upstairs to check Maggie’s room. Luella’s bag was still there and her Lexus in the parking lot.
    â€œWait a minute—is this the spa where that lady doctor was murdered?” Kenny asked now.
    â€œYeah, and my friend Maggie found her and when I got back she said she did it because she wanted to die. She’s gone wacko on us.”
    â€œDid she kill the doctor?”
    â€œShe’s suicidal, not homicidal. And on and off. Depression and prescription drugs. Screwed-up hormones.”
    â€œRough.”
    â€œI was going to take her back to the Islandia with me, but now I don’t know.”
    â€œI’ve heard women are pretty much ruled by their hormones. Must be really rough for women like you.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    Kenny started off down a path to a row of small, mostly one-room cottages with porches. He looked in windows, tried some doors—the investigative reporter in him perking up. Most of the cottages appeared empty of furnishings. Two had wicker chairs on the porch that the wind had blown over. The sea breeze smelled wet and salty, tried to tug her hair from its navy blue tie down. The sun was dry and hot and forced Charlie to unbutton her tuxedo jacket. That reminded her of the other Tuxedo in her life and in her house and the effects of Science Diet mixed with Diazepam.
    â€œYou know that blouse is illegal?”
    â€œBe careful, it’s easy to get lost out here.”
    â€œTell me about it. There’s not a straight path to anywhere, inside or out. Is there a point to that, I wonder? This sure isn’t Iowa.”
    â€œTell me about it.”
    â€œYou know you send mixed