Voices in the Wardrobe Read Online Free PDF Page B

straw. She could almost feel the grit of residue from fresh-ground coffee in that hard place to get to between the fourth and little toe, the residue that leaves a stain in the sink when you rinse out your cup.
    And then she was trying to remember who Raoul reminded her of—some old actor or a combination. That’s the trouble with working in Hollywood, even on the fringes, your frame of reference sucks. Who …?
    â€œAhhh, Char-r-r-lemagne, you allow your butta to sink you will surely drown,” Ricardo Montalban crooned in her ear and ratcheted up her lower torso so suddenly she took in more lavender and chlorine at the top end. “You must concentrate anda relax at the same time. Nobody saida perfection of tranquility is easy.” He held her up so she could cough to the point of retching spit—even the bilge seeming to have moved on down her digestive tract. He wore lots of interesting hair on his chest, his arms looked shaved, his mustache quivered when he spoke. All of his hair was white.
    If the pool water didn’t wash out her contacts the tears just might.
    Ricardo Montalban and Mr. Rogers? Or Count Dracula—who was that guy—Vincent Price. Raoul kind of switched between the two—but Mr. Rogers was not entirely absent either.
    The pool was on the lowest level, the number of levels varying by the whim of changing designs and landscaping. It was ground level here and looked out on hillocks of rock formations instead of gardens. If Maggie got into one of her moods at the Sea Spa at the Marina del Sol, she could get real lost and right fast.
    Charlie had a room at the convention hotel. Could she possibly get back here after the dinner and take Maggie to her room there, bring her back the next morning? She couldn’t quite trust this place—maybe it was the murder, maybe it was Raoul.
    Sue had them back in their spa sweats and tank tops and off to the garden salad lunch, their hair still dripping, almost before Raoul had finished intoning. Did embarrassing people by forcing them to look horrible make it easier to convince them to take enemas? The garden salad was actually not too bad. Cup of soup, crusty bread, and a glass of wine would have helped. They actually served the ship bilge over ice—without lemon and sugar of course. Did the VanZants dine on this stuff? And Sue was their server. She kept track of what they ate on her clipboard.
    â€œSo, what did Dr. Judy say last night besides there’s orgasm after menopause?”
    â€œOh, things like, ‘excuse me, I’m just going to run out and fall face down in the second eddy pool from the left.’”
    â€œMaggie.”
    â€œThings like hormone therapy is the only thing that will save your sanity during menopause. I think Raoul’s a plant, don’t you?”
    â€œYou mean like a philodendron? With him, more like seaweed.”
    The blossoms in the stem vases today were blue. There were maybe half the people here now than last night. Unoccupied tables were not set up and had no blossoms. Perhaps the crowd that had been here for Dr. Judy left last night.
    â€œYou’re afraid to talk to me because you think I’m crazy, huh?”
    â€œNo, I’m afraid to talk to you because you think you’re crazy. Maggie, you are suffering from depression due to a screw-up in your chemicals. We just straighten out your chemicals and you’ll be fine.” And what the hell am I to do in the meantime? I’ve got a fancy dinner to go to tonight.
    â€œYou’ve got parsley stuck between your two front teeth, Greene. I think Raoul is a spy either for the psych squad or maybe the sheriff’s department.”
    Charlie washed her mouth out with iced ship bilge, speared a cucumber slice and thought better of it. “What makes you think that?”
    But their conversation was at an end. Apparently they were to be treated to a lecture rather than dessert. Well, this place was