Voices in the Wardrobe Read Online Free PDF

hormone therapy. Knock ’em down and we’ll work with the rest. Glad you both slept in this morning. You needed it.”
    â€œCome on, Maggie,” Charlie urged. “It’s not for the rest of your life. Just to get you through a rough time.” This medication had finally proved dangerous if taken far into post-menopause as had been prescribed for years and as many breast-cancer patients had suspected for years too. They were still considered helpful for women at the onset of this wonderful time in their lives if their hot flashes were unbearable and there was no family history of breast cancer. But the jury was still out and enthusiasts for hormone replacement therapy questioned the stats on this one. And no, natural or phyto estrogens didn’t really cut it.
    â€œWe’ve lightened up on her regimen,” Caroline said in that soft, sweet voice you wished your mother had. “I’ve got police and press downstairs to deal with. Could you stay with her through lunch, Ms. Greene? We’ll try to work out something later.”
    Charlie rather thought she could leave Maggie with anyone but Dashiell until she met Sue who apparently had not received word of the lightening up of Maggie’s regimen.
    Sue, according to her name badge, had a ponytail and a clipboard like the female sheriff’s deputy and the snappy number. “Are you Charlie and Maggie? What are you doing dressed like that? You should have reported to the pool half an hour ago.”
    They were wearing spa sweats and tank tops. Without much hope, Charlie tried, “We didn’t bring our suits.”
    â€œYour suits are down at the pool. Come along, ladies.”
    â€œDon’t leave me again, Charlie,” Maggie pleaded with a look that tore at Charlie’s gut far worse than any enema could have, not that she’d ever had one.
    â€œIf that damn flute from the eddy-pool deck starts up down here, I’m going to drown that dork,” Charlie whispered and narrowly escaped a lung or two full of chlorinated lavender water. The pool, very large and very warm, was empty except for her, Maggie, and Raoul—their hydro-hypno-aroma-dream-therapy specialist. Not that anybody asked, but Charlie would have preferred a dolphin. The lavender was for aroma, the chlorine for burning your eyes. Raoul was for irritation.
    â€œButt up, Marg-a-r-r-retta. Breathe more deeply. Char-r-r-lemagne, head back, chin up, deeper breathing for you also. Arms out. Now flooooaat, gently. The water is your frienda, remember.” Seemed like he rolled the wrong “r’s” or something. One thing was certain, he thought he was a stud. Charlie, which was actually short for Charlemagne but only irritating people called her that, could not fathom why.
    What gives here? On the way down, the elevator and halls were as empty of others as the pool. Were Charlie and Maggie simply so out of sync in the “regimen,” having skipped earlier tortures, that they had the facilities to themselves? Were there different stages of spa treatments so that no one had the same schedule unless they arrived together? Had the murder of Dr. Judy Judd made everyone but them check out early? Or was everyone else up in the lobby waiting to be questioned in the office by Detective Solomon?
    â€œNowww, allowww the dreams of wondrous, peaceful places to washa over you, seep inside your heads. Looooz yourselves in what you desire most at the momennnnto—if you could have anything at this momennnnto—let it be so in your minds—and then flooooat off deeper into the real you, you have just begun to discover.” Somebody Charlie’s mother’s age might find his voice sexy.
    It was like church, a leap of faith sort of thing, with an ancient hippie-like cast to it. Was Charlie being baptized without knowing it? She had a headache again. She dreamed of floating in a pool of caffeinated espresso while sipping a latte from a