Voices in the Wardrobe Read Online Free PDF Page A

Victorian excess at the windows couldn’t block out the California sun.
    â€œDid you know you snore, Greene?” Fresh and dewy from the shower, you’d never guess Maggie Stutzman had found a dead doctor in the ebony eddy pool the night before.
    â€œI do not snore. What time is it?”
    â€œTen something. You even slept through wake-up call.” She pointed at the round thing in the ceiling over the door. “We missed the enema and the Rolfing.”
    â€œOh damn.” Charlie almost broke her neck falling off the bed and missing the stool. “I thought the Rolfing was the cucumber yesterday.”
    â€œIt wasn’t a cucumber—it just looked like one.”
    â€œFelt like two.”
    They actually both laughed at the same time—at the same thing. That hadn’t happened in months. “The cucumber we get in the garden salad for lunch. Shower’s all yours.”
    According to the abundant literature deposited about the place, the Sea Spa at the Marina del Sol had been built originally as a private home, bankrupted the owners before it was finished, became a rambling hotel which didn’t make it either, and had been turned into a spa. With the change in direction, concepts, architects, owners, contractors and fortunes the end result was a warren of cottages, footpaths, and gardens outside—different uses than intended inside. The parts were generally lovely, the whole confusing.
    An example was their bathroom. It would have been a triangle but for one corner which was elongated for no discernable purpose. Quality tile and ornate appointments, an overlarge shower, marble pedestal sink, tiered rack for towels and makeup kits, pedestal stool, and this oblong end that held an out-of-place full length wood-framed mirror on a platform and uprights and trunnions so it could tilt. So you could watch yourself do things you seriously did not want to see yourself doing, but couldn’t get away far enough to see things you might like to check out—such as what your hair and outfit might look like to those behind you.
    Basking under the hot pelt of the water and the aroma of lavender shower gel dispensed from a purple thing attached to the tile, Charlie considered the fact that one of the reasons her friendship with Maggie had been so successful was that they both seemed to sense how hard to push and when to back off. And they rarely had to say “I’m sorry,” an inbred female habit. So, when she was toweled and dressed, she didn’t ask all the questions trying to burst her brain, just followed Maggie down to the dining room for a cup of hot ship bilge which they carried out onto the deck and the crime scene. The tape was down, the eddies stilled, and out the window—the surf was up.
    â€œDo you remember last night?”
    â€œSome of it. Dr. Judy’s skirt sort of ballooned like air had gotten trapped under it in back. Her hair floated higher than she did. Probably the Jacuzzi bubbles. I don’t remember blood but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t any. I slept so good last night. Charlie, I’m not even hungry.”
    â€œYou don’t crave anything?”
    â€œOnly one. Chocolate.”
    â€œHave you had your pills?”
    â€œCaroline VanZant took the whole sack of them with her. And I slept so good.” Maggie’s tears ran down her face anyway.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI don’t know. I’m not even sad. I’m glad I’m here. I think I’ll get help here, Charlie.”
    Charlie sure hoped so. How could life get so bad you wanted to be deprived? Dead maybe, but—“Maybe you can get your enema this afternoon.”

Five
    Caroline VanZant bustled out with her own cup of bilge and two pills for Maggie. “Now listen, I’ve talked to three doctors, one of them yours, listed the medications you’ve been taking and the problems you’re having. The only thing all agreed on was the