"Naked Came The Phoenix" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barr Nevada, Robb J.D., Pickard Nancy, Scottoline Lisa, O'Shaughnessy Perri,...)

Chapter Two

CAROLINE WOKE DREAMING OF pizza. She'd have sworn she could smell it-that first heady rush of spices and sauce and melted cheese.

It was a huge disappointment to wake in the dark, without the pie. The perfume of the hothouse roses that bloomed out of a crystal vase on her dresser was lovely, subtle, and sweet.

But she couldn't eat the damn roses.

Caroline rolled over in the huge bed and willed herself back to sleep. Hunger was a demon gnawing greedily at her insides, but she'd just have to wait until breakfast to satisfy him. Surely it was nearly time for breakfast by now. She opened one eye, looked at the bedside clock, and moaned. How could it only be two in the morning?

She flopped over on her back and stared at the ceiling. She'd think of something else. Of anything else. Food had never driven her life. Of course, food had always been easily available. It was the absence of it that had changed the complexion of things.

Would a cracker be too much to ask?

No, no, she was here on a program. It would be good for her to be more regimented about her diet and her health, those things she took entirely too much for granted. It would be good for her mother. More, it would be good for their relationship.

Maybe they'd actually have a relationship by the time they went home again.

Her mother was grieving, really grieving, and that was unexpected. It shouldn't have been, Caroline admitted. She hadn't given her mother-perhaps not even her father-enough credit. More than thirty-five years of marriage stood for something, and those outside of it-even a child born from it-didn't always understand what went on inside that intimate bubble.

She'd try to be more sensitive to her mother's feelings, more patient with her annoying habits. They'd bond over herbal wraps and mud baths.

She'd be a better daughter, a better wife, a better human being. If she just had a damn sandwich.

On a muttered oath, she switched on the light, rolled out of bed. When a desperate search of her purse, her bags, her pockets turned up nothing but half a tin of breath mints and one ancient piece of hard candy, she dropped into a chair, scowling at the walls.

It was a beautiful room, meticulously decorated with soothing pastels and gleaming wood with the added charm of original watercolors of the mountains and valley. She'd have traded it for a six-by-six concrete bunker, if the bunker came with a decent meal.

There was nothing to do but tough it out. She couldn't very well sneak out of the cottage and execute a quick sortie on the spa's kitchen.

Could she?

Of course not. That would be rude-and against the rules. She always followed the rules.

Yes, always, she thought. Always did what she was told, followed directions, behaved as expected. The only time she'd ever let herself follow her instincts and be swept along by feeling, she'd ended up with Douglas.

She'd ended up happy.

And when she started comparing her marriage to a middle-of-the-night snack, she was in trouble.

New life, she reminded herself and got to her feet. All right, then, she was going to take that seriously, take that literally. It was about time Caroline Blessing embraced her new life. If that meant sneaking a chicken leg at two in the morning, so be it.

She shrugged into the thick, soft folds of the spa's complimentary pale green robe, belted it like a woman girding herself for battle. Her heart was pumping fast as she tiptoed out of the room, crept down the spiral stairs to the main level. She could feel the edges of the panic attack scraping along her courage with sly fingers.

Go back to bed. Turn off the light. Be a good girl.

Be safe.

She nearly did. Pausing at the base of the stairs, she listened to the sound of her own labored breathing, felt the rise of that panic fighting to gush into her throat. It wasn't just the hunger that pushed her forward now. It was the need to prove that she could take the step, that she could risk doing something foolish. And fun.

Her first reward was stepping outside. The air was crisp and fresh. She could smell the lake and the woods, and could hear the quiet breathing of the night. Overhead the sky was clear as polished glass and alive with stars.

She was alone. Wonderfully alone and alive. The thrill of that had her standing a moment, eyes closed, while the light breeze fluttered over her face and hair.

She might have been content with that, if her stomach hadn't let out a rumble. Wincing, she pressed a hand to it and looked hastily, guiltily around. However loud the sound had seemed to her, it didn't appear to have disturbed the other guests.

She noted that a light still burned in the next cottage. King David either had insomnia, she thought, or a fear of the dark. The idea that he might be awake, could look out his window and spot her, sent her moving briskly down the path.

She backtracked, reversing the route she'd taken during the moonlight walk. A part of her wanted to stroll, to detour by the lake, to revel for just a little while in this exciting sense of freedom.

She looked toward the lake and was startled to see two figures at the far curve of it. One wore a spa robe, as she did, and looked so painfully thin Caroline assumed it was Ondine.

She heard a sound drift back to her over the water. Either laughter or weeping, and definitely a girl's. She couldn't be sure who it was the girl walked with, wasn't even sure if it was a man or a woman, though it seemed to her the shadow of shape was male. Then it occurred to her that if she stood there staring long enough to make out the identities, they were very likely to turn around and spot her.

The goal was to get into the kitchen, grab enough to sustain life until breakfast, and get back to the privacy of her room. Without getting caught.

She got moving.

Though most of the cottages she passed were dark, she noticed other lights here and there. Had she left the one burning beside her bed? She thought she had. Maybe when she got to the kitchen, she'd find all the other guests inside, wild-eyed and foraging.

The image amused her so much she began to chuckle as she passed the bathhouse. Tomorrow, she thought, she was going to make good use of those facilities. A long swim, a leisurely whirlpool. And that mud bath that seemed so decadent and fascinating.

She supposed Claudia kept it triple-locked so guests wouldn't be tempted to dive in after hours.

Which, Caroline thought, would be wonderfully exciting. Maybe if she got away with tonight's breaking and entering, she'd try her luck with the bathhouse.

She was becoming a real wild woman.

She stopped dead when she reached the doors of the main hall. What, the wild woman thought, if they were set to alarms? What if she tried to open the door, and sirens screamed, lights flashed, and the staff came bursting out of the night with guns? And snarling dogs.

She'd come this far, she thought, rubbing her suddenly damp palms on her robe. She wasn't going back without doing her best to get food.

Holding her breath, shoulders braced for attack, she pulled the door open.

Silence.

Of course, she thought as she crept inside, there could be a silent alarm. Even now police officers in two states were being deployed. She'd be arrested with a bowl of carrot pasta in her trembling hands. The media would salivate.

Congressman's Wife Arrested in Kitchen Raid!

The evening news would carry pictures of her being dragged off, handcuffed, with a dab of low-fat sauce on her chin.

But at least her stomach would be happy. She smiled to herself.

She tiptoed through the dining hall, heading for the doors where the wait staff had slipped in and out during dinner. Gathering her courage, she groped for the light switch, then blinked as the overheads flashed on.

Everything was blindingly white and silver. Gleaming acres of white counters, sparkling seas of chrome. She made the dash to the enormous subzero refrigerator, yanked open the door. Then nearly wept with joy.

It might have been health food, but it was food. And there was plenty of it. She snatched a bunch of gorgeous green grapes, snagged a small block of nondairy product masquerading as cheese, a carton of low-fat yogurt. Dumping them on the counter, she popped grapes into her mouth while she searched the cupboards.

Fat-free crackers, whole-wheat bread sticks. She stuffed some in her robe pockets for the stash she intended to build in her room.

Fifteen minutes later, she let out an enormous sigh. The hole in her belly was filled. Drunk with power, she selected a few more nonperishables, weighing down her pockets. When she was satisfied, she cleaned the counter, washed the utensils she'd used, and meticulously replaced them precisely as she'd found them. She hunted up crumbs and buried all evidence of her raid in the trash.

At the door, she scanned the kitchen one last time. The perfect crime, she decided. Maybe she had a talent for petty larceny. She switched off the light, then hastily switched it back on and used the sleeve of her robe to wipe down the plate. No point leaving fingerprints.

By the time she was outside again, she was euphoric. Not once during the actual deed had she panicked. She'd been cool-headed, focused, skilled, and successful.

She had the full stomach and bulging pockets to prove it.

She was so proud of her triumph that she didn't hear the voices until it was nearly too late. Instant and full-blown panic froze her to the spot. Self-preservation, a stronger instinct than she'd realized, uprooted her and had her bolting off the path and all but diving into the perfectly trimmed shrubbery.

"Do you think that matters to me?"

Recognizing Claudia's voice, Caroline tried to sink into the ground behind the weeping yews. The idea of being caught crouched behind a shrub, pockets crammed with pilfered food, had her covering her mouth with her hands to quell a burst of laughter.

"Do you honestly think that's going to make a difference as to what I do and how I do it?" The laughter that followed the statement was scalpel sharp, the kind that flayed to the bone. No longer amused, Caroline stopped breathing and willed Claudia and her companion to move away.

Had it been Claudia with Ondine down at the lake? What the hell were they doing out at nearly three in the morning? Which, of course, was exactly what Claudia would ask her, if she was discovered squatting in the evergreens.

"I've given you all I can, for as long as I can." The second voice was no more than a whisper, harsh but colored with a great deal of passion.

Caroline strained to identify the speaker but couldn't be sure if it was a man or woman. Her curiosity piqued, she tried to shift, just a little. But even the slight movement caused the bushes-and the stolen goods in her pockets-to rustle.

"You'll find more, and for as long as I say." Claudia didn't bother to keep her voice down, so it rang out. Clear and vicious. "Really, darling, you can't afford not to. And we both know it. So let's not play this game anymore."

"If you keep pushing me-"

"What?" There was challenge in the single word Claudia spat out. Challenge, Caroline thought uneasily, and a great deal of ugly amusement. "You'd best remember who's in charge here. Our relationship remains as it is. You should relax. Temper and stress are death on the system and begin to show, all too soon, on the face. I suggest some meditation and a nice aromatherapy massage. I'll put them on your schedule for tomorrow."

"Bitch." It was no more than a hiss. "I could kill you."

"So you've said before. Really." Claudia let out a heavy sigh as the footsteps passed just on the other side of the bushes. "Redundancy is so tedious. I have things to do. Ciao, darling. Sleep well."

"At least give me more time."

"I already have." Claudia's voice faded as she moved down the bricked path. "Time's up."

Caroline listened to the footsteps recede. Nasty business, she thought. Nasty, personal business she wished she hadn't overheard. She didn't know what Claudia was talking about, but it had sounded uncomfortably like blackmail of some kind. She gave a little shudder and wondered if there would have been more than a little embarrassment to face if either Claudia or her companion had discovered her eavesdropping.

Cautious, she stayed exactly where she was, counted slowly to twenty, then eased to her feet. She could see no one and let out a long breath of relief. They'd obviously rounded the curve to the bathhouse.

Which was, of course, exactly the path she needed to take to get back to her cottage. She'd have to detour, then, go around the back of that facility and make a dash for her own front door.

With one eye on the path, Caroline bolted to the left, swung into one of the manicured garden areas. Mums were a blaze of color in the shadowy light, and red salvia speared up with its blood-red blooms. She caught a scent in the air.

Flowers and… other. Tobacco, she thought. Someone had passed this way not long before and had been smoking.

Wasn't anyone tucked into bed where he or she belonged?

Praying she'd picked the right direction, and that whoever else was awake and about in the night had chosen another one, she hurried along the meandering path.

She heard a door slam, sharp as a gun shot, and had to lean over and put her head between her knees to get the blood back in her own head.

Now panic came as a giggle that wanted to bubble and burst out of her throat. She tried to swallow it, told herself firmly it was inappropriate, even dangerous. But it trickled out of her as she fled, her rich brown hair flying, her robe flapping cheerfully around her legs.

The bathhouse stood, a majestic shadow under starry skies. She heard nothing from it, saw no figures as she streaked to her front door. She slipped inside, then peeked out through the crack.

King's light was still on, a single beacon in the dark. Hers, she thought, was going out. As soon as she hid her stash.

As she climbed the stairs toward her room, she was grinning.

All in all, it had been one of the most exciting hours of her life.

Her mother's voice sliced through her sleep like a laser. Caroline groped for the duvet, was about to drag it over her head, when Hilda tugged it away.

"No, you don't, lazybones. This is our first full day at the spa. We don't want to waste it sleeping."

"I'm not wasting it. I'm wallowing in it. Go away, Mom."

"Up! Up and out. We're going for a walk. I signed us up for a sunrise stretch class. Didn't I tell you?"

"No. If you'd told me, I'd have killed you."

Hilda let out a bright laugh-reason enough for murder-and patted Caroline's head. "Douglas is paying good money for us to be here, Caroline. We're going to make sure he gets his money's worth."

That was exactly the right weapon out of her mother's considerable arsenal. Heavy eyed, Caroline sat up. Her little nighttime adventure had cost her nearly two hours' sleep. If she was foggy and out of sorts this morning, she had no one to blame but herself.

She focused on her mother's face, then angled her head in consideration. Hilda might have been in full makeup, her hair ruthlessly styled, but the softening Caroline had noticed the night before was still there. "You look rested."

"I am. I'd say that crying jag last night did me a lot of good. Sweetheart, I'm so glad you're here with me. I-no," she said and shook her head briskly. "I'm not going to start that again. No tears today. We're in this fabulous place, and we're going to have a wonderful time."

Because there was something almost desperate in the declaration, Caroline got quickly out of bed. "You're absolutely right. We're going to get oiled and polished and pampered and stretched. We're going home new women."

"And thinner ones. Caroline, if I don't eat soon, I'm going to die."

"Well…" Fighting to keep her face composed, Caroline opened her lingerie drawer and slid her hand under a neat stack of bras and panties. "Want a bread stick?"

Hilda gaped, blinked, then grabbed the treasure her daughter offered. "How did you get this?"

"Don't ask." Caroline waved her away. "Go, enjoy. I'll toss on my exercise gear, pack up my bathing suit, and be ready to stretch in five minutes." She was already pulling her hair back into a ponytail. "I want a long swim, too-and a look at the much-lauded mud baths."

True to her word, Caroline came down the stairs five minutes later. Only to find her mother back in her room engaged in a bitter self-debate over which bathing suit to take.

"Presentation is vital," Hilda explained after the royal blue tank scattered with red poppies had been selected. "Everyone here is somebody. Even my daughter," she added, hooking an arm through Caroline's. Hilda wore hot pink designer sweats. Caroline wore faded and baggy gray. "I want to create the right impression. I mean, honestly, sweetheart, did you see that psychic creature's outfit last night? Horrid. I don't want to end up like that."

"Not a chance. You're beautiful, Mom. You've always been beautiful."

"I've always needed to be. And what's wrong with that?" She laughed, threw back her head. The mountains were jewels of colors in the pink dawn light. The day was just beginning. "You were always beautiful. A beautiful baby, beautiful child, beautiful woman. But you never needed it. Maybe it was because you had your music."

"I never felt beautiful." She hadn't meant to say it. Wasn't sure why she had. And would have shrugged it off if her mother hadn't stopped, turned.

"Caroline." Hilda took her daughter's face in her hands. She realized as she did so that it was a gesture she'd denied both of them. "You are beautiful. And if you don't feel it every time Douglas looks at you, you're not paying attention."

"I love him so much."

"I know. I'm happy for you. I should have told you that before. I should have told you a lot of things before. I'll probably forget to once we're back to our own lives again."

"You told me now."

"I-" Hilda glanced over as the door to the next cottage opened. She saw King briefly as he poked his head out of the door. He wore sunglasses, jeans, and a black leather vest over a bare chest.

He did not look rested.

He slammed the door shut again even as she started to wave.

"How odd."

"Plenty of odd around here," Caroline murmured. She began to walk again. "These people might be rich, but they still make a motley crew."

"Think of all the wonderful gossip we'll have to take home."

"Gossip isn't… well, look at that." Using the toe of her shoe, Caroline prodded the empty pint bottle of Jack Daniel's lying beside the pristine path. "I don't think this is on the spa's menu."

"If Claudia finds out which one of the staff's been drinking, she'll fire him or her on the spot."

"I'd say guest rather than staff. And," Caroline added when the bottle rolled and uncovered a cigarette butt smeared with lipstick, "maybe more than one guest."

"She'll still have a fit. Believe me, I know her. When Claudia says no alcohol, no tobacco, no drugs, no cell phones, she means it. Claudia has a vicious temper. Vicious and cold."

"I believe it," Caroline mused, remembering the barbs in Claudia's voice early that morning. "You never told me how you convinced her to find spots for us here."

Hilda flushed a little, avoiding Caroline's eyes by staring out at the lake. "Let's keep that my little secret. Look, who's that?" Grateful for the distraction, she gestured toward the figure standing on the shore of the lake.

"I couldn't say." Caroline blocked the strengthening sun from her eyes with the flat of her hand and studied the slim redhead dressed in sweater and slacks. Like King, she wore dark glasses and had added a pale green scarf over her tumbled hair.

"Oh my God! Caroline, that's Lauren Sullivan." Hilda let out a muffled squeal and dug her fingers into Caroline's arm. "The Lauren Sullivan."

"Oh, it can't be. Hollywood queens don't come all the way to a little hollow in Virginia for a spa. California has plenty of them."

"I'm telling you, that's Lauren Sullivan. Why wouldn't she come here? It's one of the top spas in the country and probably more private than any in California. Sometimes a person wants to be three thousand miles away from where she lives. Look at that profile. That's her."

There was no mistaking it, not when the woman turned her head. The mass of flame-colored hair under the gauzy scarf, the trademark chin coming to that foxy little point below a full, wide mouth. "You're right again, Mother. But it's just so odd seeing her here instead of on the movie screen."

"She looks so romantic," Hilda said with a sigh.

"Lonely," Caroline disagreed. "She looks lonely to me, and sad. Mom, there are bruises on her face. You can see them, just under the sunglasses."

"Face-lift." Hilda whispered it and couldn't prevent the zing of excitement from jumping out. "She's had a face-lift. That must be why she's here. Recovering. Hiding out. And why we didn't see her at dinner last night. She wouldn't want to let it get out she's had plastic surgery."

"But she's young and beautiful. Why would she want-"

"Let's go talk to her. We'll just stroll down to the lake."

"No." Caroline gripped her mother's arm. "We will not."

"But, sweetheart…"

"She's entitled to her privacy." And, Caroline thought as she dragged her mother down the path, she would get it. That lone and lonely figure on the beach had struck a chord with her.

"It's not as if I was going to ask her for an autograph," Hilda complained. "Right this minute."

"Making a good impression means being much too cool to accost a movie star at dawn. You'll see her later and smile breezily and ask her how she's enjoying her stay."

"That's good. Very good." Impressed, Hilda studied her daughter. "How did you think of that?"

"You learn a lot being a politician's wife. The bathhouse is unlocked," she announced. The door to it, triple-bolted the night before, now stood partially open. "Let's go in."

"Now?"

"I'm dying to see it. And I'd much rather have a swim than stand and stretch with a bunch of other yawning guests. It'll be fun. Just you and me splashing around in the pool."

It was so unusual for Caroline to suggest doing something on impulse, or for fun, that Hilda let herself be pulled inside.

The fountain was on, spewing up its crystal water. The room echoed with the music of it. The early sunlight sprinkled through the jewel tones of the skylights and sparkled on the polished tiles.

Fresh flowers stood on the low tables near the deep-cushioned sofas and lounge chairs of the waiting area. Pillows were plumped and glossy magazines artistically fanned.

Luxury, waiting.

A wide glass display across the room held the many products, all in the spa's trademark silver packaging, that were available for sale. Scattered among the boxes were spears of dried herbs and flower petals and bits of polished stone.

A cathedral to that luxury, Caroline thought as she crossed the tiles and opened one of the doors. Inside was a changing area, complete with lounge, generous closet, and thick white towels. A small counter held a mirror and a supply of spa products.

"I found the pool," Hilda announced.

Caroline wandered back out and joined her mother in front of wide glass doors. Through them was a beautiful stretch of blue water under high white ceilings. The walls were covered with colorful mosaics depicting mythical scenes. Gods and goddesses frolicked in naked abandon.

And a man, very much flesh and blood, walked around the skirt of the pool laying fresh silver cushions on the lounge chairs. He wore nothing but a minuscule electric blue triangle, low on his hips.

"Oh my," Hilda managed. "Oh my goodness."

He was tall, muscled, and tan with a mane of black hair that spilled nearly to his shoulders. Caroline's mouth fell open when he turned his back to them and she saw that the triangle was a very thin thong.

"I guess we skip the swim."

Hilda purred. "And I was just thinking what a terrific idea you'd had."

"We can't go in there now. He's practically… he's really built well, isn't he?"

As if he'd heard her, the man turned. He had a face that belonged carved on a coin and eyes both bold and black. He skimmed them over her, smiled lazily.

"We're going," Caroline announced and, mortified, turned the wrong way. She shoved through another door. And into the mud baths.

It was everything it had been hyped to be. And standing there, studying the stone troughs and black mud, gave her the time to regain her composure. The smell was… thick, she decided. Thick and rich and secret.

There were four of them, each mounted on its own individual platform and tucked into a corner where seeded glass doors could be closed for privacy. The curved stone was long enough for a grown man to sink into.

High padded tables stood beside them. Sparkling chrome-and-glass shelves held still more products she imagined were used during the treatment.

Music was playing softly, something with lots of strings and pipes. The lights were turned low and carried a faint amber hue. It was a quiet, relaxing glow she imagined was part of the sensuous experience offered here. In the center of the room another fountain bubbled, a charming counterpoint to the music. Warm, slippery mud, perfumed air, music, soft light, and the relaxing notes of water striking water.

Yes, she'd very much like to try it.

She stepped to a trough, dipped a finger in. "You'd feel like Cleopatra, wouldn't you?" she mused. "But once you get in, how do you get out? Much less get the mud off."

She walked around the tub, saw the stone steps built into the far side of the trough. "Well, that solves the in and out part, I suppose. They must have showers or scrub rooms or something."

"We'll make sure we get in on this right away," Hilda began. "I want a full paraffin, too. And the deep-pore facial. No, the collagen facial. Hell, I want everything."

"Someone forgot to clean this one up," Caroline said absently as she wandered toward another trough. Ribbons of mud ran down its sides and into untidy pools on the floor.

"Claudia'll have someone's head for that. We'd better get going if we want to make that class. Unless you change your mind and we go for that swim with that Adonis. You know, Caroline, it's all right to look at gorgeous male specimens, even after marriage."

All Caroline heard was a buzz in her head. Her mother's words had turned into a messy tumble of sound. She stared down at the trough. And at the mud-streaked hand that dangled from its lip.

The hand wore a ring. A square diamond caked with drying mud.

She screamed. In her head, she screamed-one long, loud shriek. But her mother's voice continued, cheerful nonsense, babbling nothing. Caroline stumbled forward, plunged her arms into the trough. And met cold flesh.

"Help me. Oh, God, Mom, help me!" The flesh slithered through her hands. Panting, she fought for purchase even as Hilda ran over.

"Honey, what in the world are you…"

Out of the sucking mud came a head, a face. Grotesque as a gargoyle with its coating of black.

Now it was Hilda who screamed. Her screams cannoned off the walls, careened from floor to ceiling while Caroline struggled to hold on.

"Get help!" she ordered, righting to clear her own vision as it threatened to gray. "Hurry. Get help now!"

"It's… It's…"

"I know." Caroline's arms were trembling, with both effort and fear. "Hurry, Mom. Please."

While Hilda fled, screaming still, Caroline braced herself and stared down in horror at Claudia de Vries's mud-bathed and very dead face.