Hot Flash Holidays (15 page)

After a while, she opened her eyes to see Ian smiling down at her.

“Okay?” he whispered.

She nodded. He moved again, quickly now, and she felt his own release inside her. When he fell against her, drained, she hugged him to her while tears tracked down her face.

“Do you know,” he whispered, stroking her hair away from her face, “we’re both still wearing our shoes.”

She laughed as she cried.

Over the next week, Marilyn made love more than she ever had in all her life. Even if she added together all the times she’d ever had sex with her husband or that cad Barton or Faraday, she thought the sheer quantity surpassed them—and the quality! My God! She’d never realized! They made love in her room and his, in his car and in hers, standing up in a forest, lying down in a valley, and every time she wept with joy. When they hiked, they held hands. When they drove to a restaurant, she kept her hand on his thigh. When they ate, they sat next to each other, or twined legs under the table. She was giddy with sensuality. She ate more than she’d ever eaten, she drank more wine, she sang when she showered, she laughed about nothing. She felt like a teenager—no, she felt like some kind of angel.

“Look,” Ian told her on the eighth night, “I’ve got to go back to Edinburgh tomorrow. I’ve got several professional matters to attend to.”

“I’m leaving for home in three days,” Marilyn told him. “Tomorrow night will be my last night here.”

“Do you fly out of Edinburgh?”

“Yes.”

“Then spend the last night with me at my house. I’ll take you to the plane.”

Marilyn began to cry. “Oh, damn, Ian. I don’t want to be away from you.”

“Can you rearrange your schedule? Stay a little longer?”

“I wish I could. But I’ve left my mother with friends, and I can’t impose on them any longer.”

“I understand. Well, look. I’ll come visit you, how’s that?”

“Oh, will you? When?”

“I’ll have to check my calendar. Perhaps sometime in early September.”

“That’s so far away!”

“We’ll e-mail every day,” he promised.

As Marilyn watched Ian drive away that sunny morning, she felt as if she were watching a lover go off to war or sail away to conquer new lands. She wanted to sob with grief. She felt as if her skin were being ripped from her body.

But the day was beautiful, and the hills surrounding the loch were filled with hikers who saluted her with good cheer as they stomped past. She couldn’t allow herself to stand weeping like an escapee from an institution for the demented, so she blew her nose, packed her backpack, and went out for a long hike around the lake.

That night she had dinner at the B&B, too weary to care about eating a gourmet meal. She couldn’t taste anything, anyway. She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, remembering every word Ian had said, every kiss he’d pressed against her. She cried some more.

Her mind was in turmoil. Was she in love? If she was, was Ian? Certainly he seemed to feel as strongly as she did.

Now
she wished her Hot Flash friends were here. She longed to talk all this over with them. Since she couldn’t, she tried to imagine what advice they’d give.

Faye and Polly and Shirley would all probably say,
Lovely, Marilyn, we’re so happy for you!
But level-headed Alice would give her a look.
Girl,
Alice would say,
I’m glad you had fun, but don’t try to make it into
more than it is. Anyone who wants to base her future on
sexual attraction is a fool.

Thinking of her friends calmed Marilyn’s nerves. She lay in the dark smiling, and her tears dried up and disappeared.

But her friends weren’t through talking to her yet. She couldn’t tell which one it was—maybe it was all of them—but a voice in her head said quite clearly,
We
thought you were on a pilgrimage, Marilyn. We thought
this trip was about making your childhood dream come
true, not about getting laid.

Although,
they continued,
getting laid is nothing to
sneeze at!

She was restless. Marilyn tied her sneakers, grabbed up her fanny pack and a sweater, and went back out into the Scottish night.

It had not rained all day, and it was not raining now. A moon, not quite full, rode high in the sky, the occasional cloud sailing slowly across its face. The air smelled fresh, of grass and wild garlic and clover, as Marilyn sauntered down the long bank toward the loch’s edge. There was no breeze. The deep waters of the loch slumbered, dark beneath the sky, dark to their depths.

It was midnight, but cars still passed on both sides of the loch, their lights flashing off and on like signals as they wound over the curves.

She crossed the road, heading toward the loch, going slowly, for the land was boggy and uneven, perfect for turning ankles. As she walked away from her B&B and the road up the hill to other hotels, the civilized world retreated. Nature closed around her.

It felt good to walk. Concentrating on each step soothed her nerves. She came to a small, sheltered cove overhung with trees, dense with bushes, and settled into a gap just her size at the water’s edge. She could almost dangle her feet in the water. Instead, she drew her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and gazed out at the loch.

She thought:
Ian.

She shivered, remembering his touch, his breath, his body, his laughter.

Even if she never saw him again, the time she’d shared with him was a revelation. Love
did
exist.
Love at first
sight
did exist. Even for a woman in her fifties, miracles could happen.

She knew her Hot Flash friends would scoff. They’d tell her there are no such things as miracles. Life doesn’t give you miracles, they’d remind her. You’re a scientist, for heaven’s sake, they’d adjure. Be rational. Be skeptical. Be logical.

Her sensible side took over: Don’t dream of a future with this man, this Ian. He lives in Scotland, you live in the United States. The past week was lovely; be grateful for that much. Don’t expect anything more. For heaven’s sake, you know nothing about the man, really. For all you know, he has a wife tucked away back home, or a mistress or two.

Marilyn idly watched the sleeping dark water as her mind tempered the past week’s sensual richness with the astringency of common sense. In a lecturing way, her mind presented the facts: She’d been fortunate all her life. She had a healthy son, and now a healthy granddaughter. She had wonderful friends and work that fulfilled her. She was middle-aged, too old for miracles.

Why was she suddenly so greedy? She’d never been greedy before. She’d settled for a lackluster marriage, believing it was the best she could do. She’d accepted her junior position at the university with gratitude, not dreaming of anything more. Perhaps it was the influence of her Hot Flash friends, who got her to change her hair and clothing (when she remembered to), assuring her she could be more than plain, she could be actually
pretty.
Pretty, even at her age. Yes, it was her Hot Flash friends who caused her to be greedy—why, it was Shirley who said these should be the days of Dreams-Come-True.

But of course, they couldn’t really mean that. At their advanced years, they knew that life could disappoint as much as it could thrill, and they were lucky if life didn’t bring hurt or even grief.

But
still,
a small voice in Marilyn insisted, still good things can happen. We can change ourselves for the better. We can meet men and fall in love, and they can fall in love with us. We can—

Something moved in the water.

Marilyn blinked.

Perhaps twenty yards out, in the middle of the loch, the water stirred, sending concentric ripples with a shushing sound to the shore.

Above, a cloud passed over the moon, dimming the night, and then it floated off, and the loch stretched away, exposed in the clear air.

A swelling bulged from the surface of the water.

Marilyn held her breath.

Gradually, in a stately, steady manner, the shape broke through the water to reveal itself as a heavy, almost equine, arrow-shaped head supported by a narrow neck. Up it rose, one foot, two feet, three, four—

“Oh!” Marilyn whispered, trembling with excitement.

—ten, twelve feet at least, the neck extended from the long humped body that breached the water’s surface, sending waves rolling to the land. With infinite grace, the neck turned, dipping the head this way and that, as if the creature were scanning the area. For a moment, Marilyn saw the liquid gleam of an eye.

The creature tilted her head back, exposing her throat to the sky, bending slowly to the left and right like a sun-bather soaking in the rays. A low hum emanated from her, a satisfied sound, almost a purr. Then, in one sudden movement, like a duck or a bird, she bent her head to brush intently at her side, as if she were any kind of normal beast scratching an itch.

Tears streamed down Marilyn’s face.

The beast, at least forty feet long, slowly swam a few feet, stopped, and turned its neck warily. Again it navigated down the middle of the loch, as if out for a stroll.

I should do something! Marilyn thought. I should take a picture or call someone!

But she couldn’t take her eyes off the creature. She was paralyzed with awe.

Then, across the loch, the double lights of a moving car glittered, and with a smooth, fluid plunge, the creature dove, disappearing beneath the loch’s surface.

The car passed, its red taillights flickering, then vanishing. Marilyn waited, but the water was smooth now, as if a hand had passed over it, leveling all wrinkles.

Marilyn was trembling all over, and after a few moments, she realized she was freezing cold. The night air was cool, and she was, she knew, in shock.

Still, she waited, watching.

She waited over an hour, hugging herself while her teeth chattered, but the creature did not return. Finally, reluctantly, she went back to the hotel.

In her room, her mirror reflected her face, flushed with excitement. Using the little in-room service, she brewed a cup of hot tea and drank it down without tasting it. The tea warmed her and brought her to her senses. She looked at her watch. It was almost four in the morning. She felt as exhausted as she had just after giving birth to her son. She fell on her bed, pulled the spread over her, and sank into a dreamless sleep.

16

ON A STEAMY AFTERNOON AT THE END OF AUGUST, the Hot Flash Club, plus Marilyn’s mother Ruth, gathered at Polly’s house. Polly handed out glasses of iced tea sprigged with mint, then asked, “Is everyone ready?”

“Ready!” Marilyn, Ruth, Alice, and Shirley chorused.

“Behind door number one!” Polly waved her arms like Vanna White. “Our first design!”

The double doors between the living and dining rooms flew open. Faye stepped out. She posed, one hand on her hip, the other at the base of her neck. Her thigh-length russet jacket covered a pumpkin shirt over a tank top inset with leaves embroidered in emerald and garnet.

“Oh, my God! It’s gorgeous!” Shirley cried.

Alice applauded. “Double wow.”

Ruth held out her hand. “Let me feel that material. Is it Velveeta?”

“Washable velour.” Faye walked around the room so everyone could feel the fabric.

Polly hurried into the dining room. She returned, pulling a rack of clothing.

The others jumped up and sorted through the selection.

“The colors are all autumnal because they’ll go on sale in September,” Faye explained. “If they sell well, we’ll start on Christmas and winter colors right away.”

“How many sizes did you make?” Marilyn asked.

Polly answered. “We’ve got twenty finished, in all. Three each of size twenty down to size ten, and one each of size twenty-two and twenty-four.”

“Hey,” Shirley protested. “Then they’re all too big for me!”

“You don’t need to wear this style,” Alice told her. “You don’t have any bouncing blubber to cover up.”

Faye and Polly signaled each other with their eyes. Faye whisked into the dining room.

“But you
should
wear one of these ensembles,” Polly said, “because you’re the director of The Haven, and it would be great advertising, so—”

“TA—DA!” Faye came out with her arms full. “We’ve made one for each of you.”

Polly lifted two of the garments from Faye and helped distribute them to each woman.

“Oh!” Shirley clapped her hands in delight. “You made mine purple!”

“It’s Panting Pansy, actually,” Faye told her. “We’re naming each color. With a Hot Flash Hyacinth shirt and a Melted Mallow tank top.”

“Here, Ruth.” Polly approached the older woman. “This is yours.”

Ruth tottered to her feet, beaming. “You girls didn’t have to make one for me. I’m past the hot flash stage, after all.”

“But of course we had to make one for you! You’re the one who came up with the idea!” Polly reminded her.

“Let’s just try the jacket on for now.” Marilyn helped Ruth slide her arms in.

“This is just
lovely.
” Ruth smoothed the sea green material over her hips. “This Friday I’m going to a lecher. I’ll wear it then.”

“Lecture,”
Marilyn enunciated in a whisper over Ruth’s head.

Alice slipped into her jacket. “Feels like butter. And the color’s delicious.”

“Mad Marigold jacket,” Polly announced. “With Sizzling Scarlet shirt and Crazy Carrot tank.”

Alice went out into the hall to check herself in the long mirror. “Good grief, Gertrude, this flows like water!”

“That’s because we made a yoke across the shoulders and lots of little tucks.” Faye ran her hands along the back stitching.

“I predict these will be a raging success!” Alice said.

Polly disappeared, returning with a chocolate cake. “
Now
we have to make a few business decisions. We thought we should have a little nourishment to help our brains.”

“What a beautiful cake!” Ruth said. “Did you make it, Polly?”

“Oh, no. Haven’t had time to bake, with all the sewing. I bought it at The Haven’s bakery.” Polly and Faye bustled around, bringing out teacups, coffee cups, spoons, and napkins.

Marilyn reached out for a plate. “Alice, your party for Jennifer and Alan was a great success.”

Alice smiled. “Thanks. I enjoyed meeting their friends.”

Faye spoke around a mouthful of cake. “And Alan and Jennifer look so happy!”

Polly turned to Shirley. “How’s Justin’s book coming?”

Shirley lit up. “It will be published in October. Speaking of parties, we’re planning a
huge
event.”

Alice cast a worried glance Shirley’s way. “Have you read his manuscript yet?”

Shirley bristled. “Not a single word. Justin says he wants it to be a surprise.” Defiantly, she added, “The publishers swear it’s going to be a bestseller.”

“Lovely,” Polly smoothly interposed.
“Now.”
She set her empty plate on the table and clapped once, briskly. “Time for business. We agree these outfits are fabulous, right? Show of hands? Okay, we want to have these outfits in The Haven’s gift shop in September. First, we have to have a name for our business.”

“So we can sew in the labels,” Faye explained.

“What are the possibilities?” Alice asked.

Shirley waved an enthusiastic hand. “Havenly Yours! Heavenly, Havenly, get it?”

“I was thinking Wisely Woven,” Polly suggested.

“But they aren’t
woven,
” Marilyn pointed out.

“Hot Flash Fashions?” offered Alice.

“Mmm . . .” Faye tilted her hand back and forth in a so-so response.

Marilyn had an inspiration. “What about Crones’ Crafts?”

“No!” Polly objected immediately. “
Crone
has too much of a negative connotation.”

“So does ‘hag,’ ” Shirley reminded them. “And ‘hag’ comes from the early Greek phrase ‘Haggia Sophia,’ meaning goddess of spiritual wisdom.”

“What does ‘crone’ come from?” Faye asked.

Ruth spoke up. “It’s from the Scottish for ‘withered old ewe.’ ”

“Eeeuuwe!” cried Polly.

“Ancient wisdom has divided the life cycle of a woman into three parts: Maiden, Mother, Crone. Crone’s wise, and possesses knowledge of ancient secrets.” Shirley stirred sugar into her tea as she spoke. “Crone is definitely associated with old age and death. The crone’s colors are black. She’s sometimes called ‘The Dark Mother,’ because she knows the secrets of passing over into death.”

For a moment, everyone in the room was quiet.

Faye said, thoughtfully, “We’re all going to be crones someday.”

“With all the advances in technology and medicine,” Marilyn added, “we’ll probably live different lives from the older women before us.”

“True,” Alice said, “but still, if we’re lucky, we’re going to get really old.”

“And not necessarily really wise,” Shirley added, with a grin.

Faye turned to Ruth, clearly the oldest among them. “What do you think?”

Ruth deliberated. “I think ‘Crones’ Crafts’ is cute.” As she spoke, she turned the rings on her liver-spotted, wrinkled, bony old hands. “But technically, girls, you’re none of you crones, not yet.
I’m
a crone.” She held up her hand in a “stop” sign. “
Please.
I’m eighty-three! It’s been a couple of decades since I’ve had hot flesh. I’m not sad, scared, or embarrassed, so please don’t you be. I’m just saying, I vote for ‘Hot Flash Fashions,’ not ‘Crones’ Crafts.’ ”

“But I’d like to get the word ‘crone’ back into our vernacular. If we
use
it, it will become something people won’t dread,” Shirley protested. “I mean, look at you, Ruth. You’re old, as you said, but you’re not shriveled, toothless, and scary.”

Ruth laughed. “You haven’t seen me naked!”

Shirley continued, “I think part of the mission of The Haven is to present new ways of looking at all the ages of womanhood.”

“Well put,” Alice said. “I’m impressed by your argument, Shirley.”

Shirley blinked, thrilled to have Alice compliment her.

“And,” Alice continued, “I still think your suggestion, Havenly Yours, is the best. It’s clever, and it advertises The Haven.”

“Let’s take a vote,” Polly decided. “All in favor of Hot Flash Fashions, raise your hands.”

Ruth raised her hand.

“Crones’ Crafts?”

Shirley raised her hand.

“Havenly Yours?”

Marilyn, Polly, Faye, and Alice raised their hands, and then Ruth said, “Can I change my boat? I choose Havenly Yours, too.”

“Then Havenly Yours it is,” Polly told them.

17

“IT’S AMAZING,” SHIRLEY SAID TO JUSTIN ON LABOR Day as she looked out the kitchen window at the green grounds of The Haven. “Sometimes I actually believe there’s hope for humanity.”

Justin plunged a corkscrew into a bottle of wine. “And that would be because . . .”

“Well, look.” Shirley waved her hands toward the window. “Alice has made Jennifer sit on the recliner, while she and Gideon help Alan set up the tables. Not to mention that everyone decided to make this a potluck, so I wouldn’t have so much work to do.”

“Doesn’t take much to thrill you, does it?” Justin smiled to take the edge off his words. He’d had his teeth whitened, and he was tan from playing tennis, so his smile was like a million watts.

Shirley was too happy to let the tone of his voice bring her down. As the publication day of his book drew near, Justin was becoming nervous, short-tempered, and cranky. She didn’t blame him. He was, after all, an artist, naturally sensitive, and worried about the event of a lifetime.

“Here come Carolyn and Hank and their baby. I know Carolyn’s father is bringing Faye! I just wish Carolyn would
get
it, that Faye and Aubrey are a couple. Faye and Polly spent all summer sewing together. They’re such good friends now. Polly—”

“
Your
name should be Polly,” Justin growled. “Pollyanna.” Carrying the wine bottle and his glass, he went through the door.

Poor Justin,
Shirley thought. Then she brightened. “Oh, my gosh! Here’s Marilyn with her Scottish lover!” She raced outside.

The summer heat lay heavily across the day, frizzing hair, driving everyone into the shade of the patio where the tables were set out. Shirley fluttered from person to person, kissing, hugging, loving them all.

She wondered, just a
little,
in her secret and critical mind, just what it was Marilyn saw in this Ian fellow who had come to visit her for a couple of weeks. He was bound to be brilliant, but gee, he was a funny-looking guy, all elbows and knees and Adam’s apple. Shirley thought Faraday had been much handsomer, and sexier, too.

“I’m verra pleased to meet you,” Ian told Shirley. “I apologize for not shaking your hand, but as you can see, both hands are full.” With his chin, he motioned to the large bowl he carried.

“Mother made her famous hot potato salad.” Marilyn was absolutely glowing with happiness. And she wore a darling frou-frou filmy yellow dress that made her look divinely feminine. “And I made curried chicken salad.”

“I’ll take your bowl,” Shirley told Ian, “and you can help Ruth get settled.”

Ruth chuckled. “I like the division of labor. You girls take the food, I’ll take the man.” She fluttered her eyelashes flirtatiously, looking adorable in a dress covered with hummingbirds, with a hummingbird hairclip in her white curls.

“Madam.” Ian held out his arm. “May I?”

Ruth clutched it and winked at Shirley. “Little does he know, I’m as stable as a horse.”

“Your mother looks good,” Shirley whispered to Marilyn as they carried the food to the long table.

“She has good days and bad,” Marilyn said. “Some days she’s really foggy and forgetful. Today she’s in great shape.”

Polly and Hugh appeared with plates in their arms.

“Cold paella salad,” Polly announced.

“Tuna tonnato,” Hugh told Shirley, setting a brightly colored dish on the table. “We’ve got an apple pie in the car. I’ll just fetch it.”

Faye strolled up. “My gosh, look at all the food! No dieting today.”

“It’s a holiday,” Shirley reminded her. “It’s illegal to diet on holidays.”

“Is that a Hot Flash Club rule?” Polly asked. “If not, I move that we vote it in!”

It was too hot to play badminton or even croquet, so everyone lolled around chatting until Shirley announced that all the food and guests were there. Alice told Alan to move the sun umbrella to the left, so it would more completely shade Jennifer, and Jennifer told Alice to put her feet up on the end of her recliner.

We’re a lucky group, Alice thought now, surveying her friends over the rim of her gin and tonic. We’re an unusual group—five women of a certain age, each with her own beau. Polly and Hugh. Faye and Aubrey. Alice and Gideon. Marilyn and Ian.

Shirley and Justin.

Justin was the youngest, and by far the handsomest. He had all his hair, and no belly sagged over his belt. Alice looked around the party for him and spotted him in fervent conversation with Carolyn. Carolyn’s husband Hank, who was pretty cute himself, was busy taking their daughter for a toddle on the grass, and Justin had pulled his chair so close to Carolyn’s that their knees were just an inch away from touching. As Alice watched, Carolyn smiled, blushed, and shook her hair away from her face demurely, as if Justin had just paid her a compliment. Which, no doubt, he had. Justin knew Carolyn was wealthy. He was probably buttering her up. But Carolyn was a businesswoman, not an easy mark. Alice wasn’t worried about Carolyn.

Alice looked around for Shirley. Dusk was just beginning to fall, softening the light and moderating the heat. Shirley was with Marilyn and Ian.

“Let me show you the walking paths before it gets dark,” she said. Shirley escorted them toward the woods.

Alice watched the three stroll away. Gideon and Hugh were engaged in a fierce discussion of the Red Sox.

Alice stood up. She was half-surprised by the direction her thoughts were carrying her legs, but as she strolled unnoticed into the kitchen of The Haven, she decided that somewhere in her unconscious mind she’d been plotting this all along.

Just waiting for the right opportunity.

Alice wanted a peek at Justin’s novel. Shirley might be shy about reading it, but Alice wasn’t.

In the kitchen, Alice took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the different light. Then she hurried.

She knew the layout of The Haven well. She’d examined every inch when Shirley was considering buying it, and during the past two years, Alice had made her way countless times past the back corridor leading to all the offices, into the great foyer, and up the handsome staircase to the second floor where the private condos were. She’d been in Shirley’s condo often, although not since Justin had moved in.

Shirley’s condo was at the end of the building. The door was open. Not just unlocked, but wide open. Good.

Alice stepped inside. Quickly she scanned the place. It was so very
Shirley,
with lavender walls hung with paintings of nude goddesses. Batik cushions spilled across the sofa. Candles and incense holders sat on every table.

A short hallway led to the bathroom and two bedrooms. Alice peeked in. On the left, a violet paisley duvet covered a bed. A man’s robe was tossed over a chair.

Alice went into the other bedroom. Aha! This was clearly Justin’s study, where he was writing his purportedly brilliant novel.

Two walls were lined with shelves filled with books. A handsome desk sat in front of the window, a computer humming on top of it. Filing cabinets stood in front of the fourth wall.

Quickly, Alice surveyed Justin’s desk. Well, well, he was a very tidy boy. She saw a calendar blotter, blank note-pad, pens, tape dispenser, stapler, paperweight, Post-its, and telephone, but that was all. No sign of the precious novel.

She crossed the room, stuck her head around the corner into the hall, and listened carefully. No sounds on the stairs. Good.

Approaching the filing cabinets, she yanked open a drawer, swiftly flipping through the files, which had been carefully labeled in a firm hand:
Correspondence/
Agents. Correspondence/Publishers.
Those held only polite letters of rejection. Files of newspaper and magazine clippings and online essays about how to get published or how to survive the trials of refusals filled the rest of the drawer. Alice felt a twinge of sympathy for Justin.

It didn’t last long.

She opened the next file drawer. It was crammed with lesson plans, sample tests, essays, and handouts from his days of teaching English. Another drawer held the boring paperwork of everyday life: a car insurance folder, passport information, receipts for tax purposes.

One more drawer. Alice pulled.

It wouldn’t open.

Ha!
This drawer, no doubt, held the priceless manuscript.

She tried gently enticing the drawer open. It didn’t work. She yanked hard. It wouldn’t open.

Her heart was pounding. How long had she been away from the party? She should have noticed the time when she came in. She hurried to the window and looked out—everyone was occupied, talking and laughing; no one was looking around for her. Justin was still smarming around Carolyn.

Okay. Alice forced herself to take a deep breath. Plunking down in Justin’s office chair, she wiggled the mouse. The computer brightened and came to life.

She took a moment to study the icons on the screen, then opened the word-processing program. Clicking on the folder “C,” she learned it contained correspondence. Appropriate.

Could the folder named “N” possibly contain the novel?

Only one way to find out.

With a trembling hand, Alice clicked. Dozens of files marched down the screen. She moved the cursor to “Title” and clicked again. Her heart drummed in her ears.

Spa Spy,
a novel by Justin Quale.

The words leapt out at her so fast, Alice gasped. She’d found it! She’d found his novel! Her heart went pit-a-pat.

Hang on now! It was called
Spa Spy
? That didn’t sound good.

She closed that file and opened the one labeled “Chapter One.”

She read the first page. He wrote well. It read fast. But . . . Alice was literally on the edge of her seat as she scrolled hurriedly down to the middle of the chapter.

“Oh, no,” she whispered. Stunned, she clicked and tugged the mouse, speeding the cursor through succeeding chapters.

Spa Spy
seemed to be about a group of women who ran a wellness retreat for wealthy older women. Everything was rosy—until the second chapter, when it was revealed that spy holes had been placed in strategic spots in the walls of the locker room, Jacuzzi room, and massage therapy rooms. The managing group were using the spy holes to photograph and tape-record certain of their wealthiest clients, with blackmail plans in mind. The director’s lover, a handsome man who bore a remarkable resemblance to Justin, was trying to foil their scheme.

“Oh, no!” Alice cried again.

Her heart contracted fiercely as the full horror of it hit her. Justin had appropriated details of The Haven. Anyone reading this trash would immediately withdraw their membership. Even if there was the standard disclaimer about this being a work of fiction bearing no relation to any living person, it would still kill The Haven’s business. Shirley would be devastated.

And heartbroken. When Shirley realized what Justin had done, she would know the truth about the man she believed loved her . . . Alice’s own heart cracked at the thought.

A searing pain shot from Alice’s chest into her left arm. She clutched her arm, groaning.

What—?

What was happening?

She couldn’t get her breath. An immense pressure weighed against her chest—dear God! She was having a heart attack!

She tried to reach for the telephone, but only managed to knock the handset off before crumpling to the floor. She was aware of a suffocating pressure and a burning pain—and then it all went black.

“So that’s the main walking path,” Shirley told Ian as they came out of the shadowy forest onto the grassy lawn.

“It’s wonderful,” Ian said. “So many varieties of deciduous trees!”

Ian and Marilyn were holding hands and lingering in the shelter of the woods, as if the tree bark were amazingly interesting, which, Shirley thought, it just might be to this pair of scientific brains. Probably they wanted to press their noses up against the tree trunks, searching for bugs.

More likely, they wanted to remain hidden in the woods so they could kiss.

“I’ve got to run into the kitchen and get some candles,” Shirley told them.

“Need help?” Marilyn called dutifully.

“No, thanks!” Shirley grinned as she fairly skipped across the lawn.

Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Gideon and Hugh were still deep in discussion, probably solving the Red Sox pitching problems. Jennifer, Alan, and Ruth were sitting with Carolyn and Hank, who bounced his daughter on his knee. No doubt they were talking about babies. Faye and Aubrey were at the far end of the grounds, playing croquet.

Where was Alice?

She spotted Justin slinking into the kitchen.

Something about the way he moved worried her. He looked so . . .
furtive.

She hurried onto the patio. “Just getting some candles,” she tossed over her shoulder.

The kitchen was dark, cool—and empty. Shirley went through into the foyer just in time to see Justin’s feet disappearing up the great front staircase.

She followed.

Where was he going? Why did she feel so nervous? Her palms were sweaty! Her heart was pounding! This was ridiculous! The poor man probably just wanted to take a pee.

But there were restrooms on the first floor, close to the kitchen.

Well, then, maybe he’d spilled something on his shirt and went to change it. Or something,
anything
—why was she so spooked?

She flew up the stairs after him.

At the end of the hall, the door to her condo was open, providing a direct shot into the foyer and down the little hall leading to the bedrooms.

Justin was standing in the hall. He was just standing there, staring. Staring into his own study. Not moving. Why would he do that? He looked oddly
satisfied.

“Justin?” Shirley called.

He turned his head and saw her coming toward him. In a flash, he disappeared into his study.

“What’s going on, Hon?” Shirley asked, hurrying into the condo and down the hall.

She turned into Justin’s study. Justin was hurriedly moving the computer mouse—and Alice was collapsed on the floor!