Grave Risk

“It’s our most popular. We mix it here ourselves.”

“I’d like a jar of that, if it’s for sale.” Still, if she came away with scars on her face from an over-eager masseuse, Jill would hold Edith and Noelle personally responsible.

In spite of her intentions to remain vigilant, her muscles seemed to liquefy of their own volition. She could feel her body merging with the soft sheets on the massage table until she wasn’t sure where the padding ended and her flesh began. Moreover, she didn’t care.

Jill seldom relaxed. She had been accused of being one of the most uptight, untouchable single women in Hideaway and the surrounding area. Most of the townsfolk made such comments out of her earshot—or so they thought—but Edith never hesitated to speak her mind, and neither did Noelle.

As Jill thought about it, she had recently found herself blessed—if that could be the term for it—by associates at work who never minced words with her.

They understood the term for her condition. Thanks to recent popular television shows, who didn’t know what the letters OCD stood for? Yet they wouldn’t let her get away with the typical behavior of someone with obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Blessed…yes. That was it. She was truly blessed by people who loved her in spite—

“Your brows could use a good plucking.” Sheena’s soft voice interrupted Jill’s reverie.

“What?” Jill opened her eyes to see the young woman hovering over her, wielding a pair of tweezers far too close. Now what tortures was she expected to endure for the sake of moral support?

“I want to shape your eyebrows. I can take ten years off your face with a few good jerks.”

Jill’s loose muscles suddenly tightened again. “Look, Sheena Marshall,” she said, keeping her voice low in deference to Edith, “I didn’t come here to be plucked or jerked or tweezed, I just came for a simple massage with this green stuff you smeared all over my face. Are you finished?”

“Not yet. There are just so many things you need to have done. With your great bone structure—”

“Shouldn’t someone be tending to Edith?”

“She knows how to relax, unlike you.”

“Where’d your mother go? I’d be perfectly willing to let her finish this massage so you can see to Edith.” At least Mary would complete the job without trying to do a total makeover in the process.

“She was only scheduled to work this morning,” Sheena said, “and she wasn’t too happy about having to do that.”

Sheena’s mom, Mary Marshall, had reluctantly agreed to come to work at the spa on an as-needed basis until Noelle could determine for sure how many full-time staff members she would require.

Not only was Mary an accomplished massage therapist who had worked for years in surrounding resorts, she was also a cosmetologist, with a good head 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.