a note.”
Andy’s fingers gripped her fork. Good God. It was true. Mac had really disappeared.
“We thought she must have gotten bad news from home,” said Loubelle, frowning. “She seemed preoccupied the last day she was here.”
“Preoccupied?” said Andy, her pulse starting to race. “About what?”
“She didn’t say.”
“No one saw her leave?” Dread made it hard for Andy to even form the words. She had scoffed at the idea that the goddess doctor was offing her clients to get at their money. Maybe her family wasn’t as hysterical as she thought.
Mac had a substantial portfolio. Years in the business as a stuntwoman and then as a stunt agent had left her comfortably well off. But not in the millions or billions like Imogene Southwaite. Not enough to kill for.
It was too absurd. Besides, Mac could take care of herself.
“We stopped by her cabin to get her for breakfast the next morning, but she was gone. The place was cleaned out. Lock, stock, and barrel.” Jeannie chuckled. “Even took the toilet paper. I mean, the little bottles of shampoo and conditioner are one thing, but toilet paper?”
Andy felt a ray of hope. If Mac had taken all that stuff, surely she’d left under her own steam, But why? Where was she? Why hadn’t she come home?
“Hmm,” said Andy. “You’d think she’d call to let you know she was okay. I mean, it’s been several weeks, right?”
“Three,” said Loubelle. “But we hadn’t gotten around to exchanging phone numbers, and our cells are useless here.”
“But there are land lines.”
“Oh, sure. But only for emergencies.”
“What constitutes an emergency?” Maybe Mac had gotten home by now. Andy had to find out.
“Death in the family. Illness.” Evelyn pointed past the amphitheater to a sloping hill of perfectly manicured grass. “Behind that rise is a helipad. They keep two helicopters there, but we didn’t hear one take off in the night, did we, girls?”
Jeannie and Loubelle shook their heads.
“And I would have heard,” said Loubelle. “Those darn diuretics keep me up all night.”
“Well, I hope she’s okay,” said Jeannie. “I thought sure she’d come back for the second session. We were on the waiting list for the Eternal Orgasm class.”
Andy heard the rattle of china and looked up to see Dillon juggling a tray of coffee cups.
Jeannie sputtered and said under her breath, “He’s getting an earful today.”
He set the tray down.
“You know,” said Andy, reaching up to take a cup from him. “I read in the newspaper about a woman who died recently. A Ms. Southwaite.” She took the cup and waited for Dillon to let go, which he did, but reluctantly.
And Andy realized that she probably shouldn’t be talking in front of the staff. If there was something sinister going on at the retreat, any of them could be part of it. She glanced over at Dillon. His expression was so bland that she knew he had been listening.
She waited until he’d passed around the other cups, dawdled over the tray, and finally moved away.
“Sugah, if you don’t do something about that man…Ooheee. Drop the poor soul a morsel, how ’bout it?” Jeannie raised her thinly tweezed eyebrows and nodded sagely. “Or I promise you, someone else will.”
Dillon walked slowly away from the group, his ears tuned to catch whatever snatches of the conversation he could. First Imogene Southwaite and now this Miranda person, who disappeared during the last session. Why hadn’t he been briefed about her?
It could be coincidental, but Dillon didn’t believe in coincidence. Not anymore. Even his goddess had been pretty quick to make the connection to Imogene Southwaite. Not bad for an amateur.
The thought stopped him midstep.
Why would a shy, retiring spinster come here if she knew about Imogene Southwaite. Even if her death was an accident, wouldn’t she be afraid to come? And it was becoming increasingly clear to Dillon that it had been no accident.
And to think, the agency hadn’t even wanted to put anyone on the investigation. The authorities had dismissed it as a tragic accident.
The Southwaite family had pulled some upper echelon strings. And since Dillon had just come off sick leave, his superiors gave the assignment to him. It was about all he was good for.
So far, he hadn’t discovered much. He planned to break into the business office and take some digital pictures of their files. But he hadn’t had a spare minute since the goddess bus had arrived. Between wait duties and debriefing meetings, and trying to keep his goddess from falling down and knocking herself out, he hadn’t had time to get inside.
He looked across the pool. The four women were getting up. The afternoon session would be starting in a few minutes, and there was a general migration toward the main building. Ariadne had kept the sunglasses on. They were expensive and must be the correct prescription, because for the first time since arriving she wasn’t walking into the furniture.
The back of his neck prickled as his intuition overrode his logic. Something about his mousy goddess was not adding up. Was she actually what she appeared to be? Or something else entirely. And if something else…What? Why the makeup, the glasses, the baggy clothes? What was she hiding? And why?
Chapter 5
Andy stood in the hallway, her course booklet open, as women scurried past her into classrooms. It seemed as though she was the only one who didn’t have a plan. Not one that included learning to be a goddess. Though with everyone in class, it wasn’t likely that she’d glean any more information about Mac’s sudden departure. And she’d learned all she could from the girls at the pool.
She walked past the auditorium and dining room and paused at the next door, where the second session of Knowing What You Want was being held. She had no desire to deal with Carmen and her pointed questions this afternoon.
She stopped outside the next door to read the scrolled sign there: Getting Rid Of Your Inhibitions. Not exactly her problem. The next was Training Your Man.
Andy grimaced. She didn’t have one, and she certainly wouldn’t want to train him if she did. What if she trained him wrong and was stuck with the results, ’til death did them part? She’d just keep to the Hollywood shuffle. Less work, more fun—no messy endings, just a “it’s been swell.”
Who was she kidding? Most of the time, it was just empty lust gratification. And it was the only fulfillment that she and half the women in HW were getting. She wanted more.
She stomped down on the thought. She didn’t have time for more. She was too busy to put someone else first, didn’t have the attention span to develop a relationship. Nor the allure to keep a man once he was in her bed. Stuntwomen were in demand, but they were nameless, faceless stand-ins. How many times did someone leave a theater saying, “Andy McAllister was great, wasn’t she? I’ve seen all her movies.”
Never.
No, better she should find Mac and leave goddess-ness to the others. Though she wouldn’t mind getting to know Dillon better, a lot better.
If she just knew that Mac was okay, she might stay. Let Jeannie fix her hair and slowly transform back to herself. At least then, the money her family had forked out for her tuition wouldn’t be totally wasted.
She turned away from the sign. First things first. She needed to call home—now. There must be a phone in the business office. Even with the retreat’s philosophy of no distractions, they must make allowances for the real world. There were food orders and advertising to coordinate.