The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  • • •

  Taos, April

  Ella told herself she loved it here. She did. A week into a new job was nothing to judge it all on. So things were different here. There was still snow on the ground, for God’s sake. She wasn’t used to snow, but apparently it was the end of ski season.

  Focus!

  “And now, everyone’s favorite. Breath into child’s pose.” They had finished an hour of beginner to intermediate yoga class this evening and had moved fluidly through all the stretches.

  “Breathe in,” she said softly. “And out.” She glanced up to see and check postures, to make sure everyone was okay.

  A class this new, she still was working on getting to know everyone’s names. She had two older people, one of whom was a diabetic. She wanted to keep an eye on her.

  “Expel any negative thoughts and energies through your breathing.” She waited a moment. “Focus on all the positives in life.”

  She gave them a few more moments and then class was over.

  “Namaste.”

  The class went from still and tranquil to bustling, with people talking and laughing. She watched them, happy with the middle-aged couple that decided to try something new together. The single moms, the young gallery owner . . . all of them. They were strangers to her.

  Usually she connected to people, but as yet there wasn’t anyone other than her landlords, the Richardsons, whom she’d had any contact with.

  “Excuse me,” a woman’s voice pulled her attention back to the here and now.

  Single woman . . . mother? No, the nurse.

  “I’m Lisa and I wanted to say I love your class. Usually, I don’t want to stay after the first week. Some of these are like gurus of health and what all nots. I feel like a fake taking the class when all I want is a workout, ya know?” Lisa asked, opening a bottle of water and taking a drink.

  “Ummm. Yeah, I guess so. I figure I’m more like an intro into yoga, get people into fitness and healthier choices. If you want the cheesecake for dessert, that’s your choice.”

  Lisa laughed. “You get it.”

  Ella shrugged. “I don’t know if I get it exactly, but I’d rather turn people on with a lighter version of yoga than turn them off with an intense version of it.” She nodded over to another instructor coming in. “If intense is what you want, Mark’s your man.”

  Lisa snorted. “He’s not really my type. I’m more into the scruffier look.”

  Ella laughed. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Lisa. I’m Lisa Hammerstein.”

  “Ella Ferguson, but then I guess you already know that as you’ve been in my class three times this week.” She grinned and grabbed up her stuff, telling others bye and wondering what else she needed. She had a class at the assisted living home tomorrow before she came here. Talk about light yoga.

  Lisa was leaning beside the door tapping on the screen of her phone.

  “So you teach here three times a week?”

  “A few more classes,” she told the other woman. “And I give a few sessions out at the retirement homes a few times a week.”

  Lisa nodded. “Cool. How is that working out?”

  She grinned. “Well, you have to be really careful with elderly, they have lots of pride, so it’s a matter of making sure they don’t hurt themselves, ya know? Mostly, though, it looks like it’ll be a great fun group.”

  Lisa tilted her head. “Look, this might sound weird, but I’m an RN for this group and we’re looking for someone to implement an exercise program for a group or groups of pregnant women.”

  Bundling up, Ella wrapped her multicolored scarf around her neck. “I only teach yoga.”

  “Yes, but have you taught it to pregnant women before?”

  She nodded. “Yes. It’s perfectly safe. There are a few moves they shouldn’t do, but otherwise it’s mostly stretching, balance and, really, focus.” Another class? Did she want to teach another class or two? She didn’t need the money, but it wasn’t like she was doing anything else with her spare time. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m new here. I just moved here a little over a week ago and started work.”

  Lisa opened the door for them. “Tell ya what, I’m thirsty, and there’s a great place around the corner. If you’re not busy, we could grab a drink, I’ll tell you about the Nursery of Dreams and you can decide.”

  What the hell.

  Ella followed Lisa a couple of blocks down and across the main road to a little organic food store the other instructors had talked about. You could get some great smoothies and juices from here, or so she’d heard.

  “I recommend the super green with a shot of energy,” Lisa told her.

  Instead Ella went with the berry and they settled at an indoor table with a chess board for the top.

  Quinlan had mentioned he’d liked chess. She’d never played. She ran her finger over one square. God, she missed him.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “Okay, tell me why I should teach yoga to a bunch of pregnant women.”

  Lisa smiled and laughed and launched into her pitch.

  The next day Ella parked her car in the gravel parking lot. It had taken almost forty-five minutes to drive up here from Taos. In the mountains, though not near the ski runs, the Nursery of Dreams, or the Retreat, as Lisa called it, sat nestled back in a meadow of pines. Well, there were pines on one side, scrub brush opening up to the plains on the other side to the valley below. A sprawling one-story adobe structure sat against the pines. There was even a stucco wall around part of the structure. Probably making a nice courtyard.

  She climbed out and breathed deep. One thing about this place, the air was so clean up here. Not like back in New Orleans, where the air was thick with the slow-churning Mississippi and the ever-present Gulf of Mexico. The air in New Orleans was . . . sluggish, slow. Here, though, it was bright, crisp, full of pine, and tickled her nose.

  Grinning, she grabbed her yoga mat and walked up the stone-paved walk, the gardens a mixture of stone, cacti, sculpture and some sort of plants, their brittle shoots stunted in the still snow-splotched ground.

  She saw pregnant women everywhere she looked. Most were young, her age or younger. Some teens. A couple older. Several asked her where she was heading, what she needed, how they could help her.

  Nice place. The inside was like most places in Taos. Clean, almost bare, woven rugs, big windows to enjoy the views, latilla ceilings, kiva fireplaces in the corners. There was one great room, she noticed, where a couple of people, very pregnant from the looks of it, were sprawled reading. One was knitting.

  Knitting?

  She’d strangle herself. Though she’d always wanted to learn, there was something about those long needles that just confused the hell out of her.

  “You made it!” Lisa said, coming from a hallway that led off the central desk. Sort of like spokes on a wheel, she thought.

  “I did.”

  “Any trouble?” Lisa asked her, shaking her hand and motioning her to follow.

  “No. Drove slow enough a couple of locals in their trucks blew by me and yelled, I’m sure.”

  Lisa laughed. “Locals drive like bats outta hell around here. And if you don’t know the road, go slow.”

  “I figure I was helping them work on their daily dose of patience.”

  “Most aren’t so bad. We’re sort of laid-back around here, unless it’s right before the first snowfall or hard freeze, and then everyone everywhere is scrambling it seems like.”

  She followed Lisa down the hallway, past several rooms, two courtyards, other hallways that branched off.

  “What exactly is this place?” she finally asked.

  “The Retreat. It’s sort of like a weekend spa for expectant mothers. That’s our main source of income, frankly, but we’re also a live-in community for other expectant mothers that want, or in some cases need, a slower, more unplugged way of life.”

  “Unplugged?”

  Lisa nodded as they walked down the h
allway, sun bathing the tiled floors and walls in warmth that she felt every time she walked through a patch of sunlight.

  “Yes. We encourage limited use of computers, cell phones, television. Organic foods you take the time to cook, or learn to cook in some cases.” Lisa grinned. “I know, it would drive me bonkers as well, but it works. Some that come in with blood pressure issues relax enough that it’s not so much of an issue. Still needs monitoring but not, usually, a trip to the hospital.”

  Unplugging. “And they live here? Sort of like assisted living but for the pregnant woman, not the geriatric.”

  “Yep. Not all of them, though most you see today are here for the long haul, at least until they deliver.”

  She looked around and wondered what the cost was to stay in a facility like this.

  It wouldn’t be cheap, she knew.

  “So who am I meeting again?”

  Lisa stopped in front of a door. “A couple of our doctors, Dr. Radcliffe and Dr. Merchant.”

  Ella took a deep breath and followed her new friend into the room. Dr. Radcliffe was older, and reminded her of an older Mister Rogers for some reason. Or Ichabod Crane in a cartoon she’d seen once when she was little. He was nice enough, polite and jovial, but something about him just sat wrong with her. Dr. Merchant, on the other hand, offered her water or coffee or tea. He was a bit younger than the other doctor. Handsome with salt-and-pepper hair. She wasn’t sure if he was in his late forties or early sixties—one of those guys who could be any age and you couldn’t really pin it down.

  The interview consisted of mostly questions about her classes, her form, her yoga practice and her experience.

  “Are you married, Ms. Ferguson?”

  She lifted the cup of coffee and blew on it. “Umm . . .” Taking a deep breath, she finally said, “No. We’re separated.”

  “Ah. Then if we wanted you to teach a sunrise yoga class, you could possibly stay the evening before, or if a session ran late you could stay overnight?” Dr. Merchant asked, making notes on a pad.

  She just looked at him.

  “We ask because for those that have families at home, we like to make sure schedules allow them the most time with their families except in extreme cases. If you have a family, spouse, children, whatever, we like to work with our employees to ensure a good work fit with their home life,” he told her over the top of his black-rimmed glasses.

  Dr. Radcliffe leaned up and laced his fingers together. “We don’t believe in jobs creating more strife in lives any more than they normally would.” He raised his hands, motioning around him. “Family is the bedrock of our practice. And happy families make happy people and happy people create wonderful successful work environments.”

  She could only blink. Were they for real? Who spouted that? For a girl who’d cut her teeth in the Quarter of New Orleans, waiting tables, dodging grab-happy co-eds and would-be drunkards, she knew how to work for a paycheck.

  “Umm. No, no children.”

  He nodded and went back to scribbling.

  The interview didn’t take long, not even half an hour. She wondered about some of their questions. But they always explained their reasons behind them.

  The pay was great, and if she got hired on later for more classes, they could discuss benefits.

  Before she really thought it through—though what was there really to consider?—she’d agreed to teach a practice session in about an hour to those here to see how it went.

  The session went really well.

  For the first time since moving, she’d had fun. Really had fun and had laughed. The women were open and loved the yoga session, begging her to come again tomorrow. By the time she’d climbed back in her car, she was scheduled to teach two sunrise classes a week, two evening classes and both every other weekend.

  On the way back down to Taos Valley, she cranked the radio and sang along, happier than she’d been in a long time.

  The move was the right thing to do.

  And if she sang loud enough, believed hard enough, it would be true.

  • • •

  Six weeks later

  New Mexico is wonderful! Land of enchantment! Love it!

  Ella stood in the pharmacy section of the local store. Holy hell.

  She’d called Quin the night she moved here, letting him know she’d arrived safely. She’d even drafted several emails but never sent them.

  He hadn’t called her back. Before, when she’d been in New Orleans, he’d call just to call. Send her a text just to say he missed her. Email her stupid funny jokes or cartoons.

  Nothing. She changed her phone to a carrier that got better service up here in the mountains. She could send him her number. Or was that just a pathetic, please call me? Then again, maybe she should send him something. What? Text him a photo of the mountains?

  No, they were over. She’d wanted it over, or she’d thought she had. Would he really want her back? She’d ended it, and if she missed them, then . . . then what?

  Work it out?

  No, they were over. He hadn’t even mentioned to anyone in his family about their marriage. Did she need more proof than that?

  But he’d come to her, how many times? Had tried to talk her into coming to D.C. a couple of times, but so what?

  No, they were over. She’d made that decision. As her mother used to say, she’d made her bed, so she had to lie in it.

  God, it hurt more than she thought it would. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? She’d been down that road and there was no way she was going to go down it again, wanting a man, a life, while he hid that life they were building from a prominent family.

  Her sessions at the Retreat were working out great. Weather was perfect. Her new house was just her size, her landlords were wonderful.

  And her realtor from New Orleans had called to tell her someone wanted her house for the asking price.

  She’d be dumb not to take it, so she’d told the man to sell it and gave him her lawyer’s contact information to finish the sale. She didn’t want to mess with any of it.

  One more stress to worry about.

  One more.

  The house.

  Her failed marriage—again.

  And now?

  Now she’d passed out during the evening session of yoga. One of the girls had hurried to get a nurse—Lisa.

  Lisa’s questions had tumbled over each other as she’d helped Ella to a chair. The women had all been worried. Ella had a time of it convincing them she was okay. They’d all wanted her to stay tonight.

  But one question Lisa had asked her rolled in her brain, over and over.

  “Are you pregnant?”

  “Of course not!” she’d told Lisa.

  “Dr. Radcliffe can run a blood test tomorrow if you want.”

  She’d shaken her head. “My eating habits have been off. Stress.” She’d waved them all off and apologized for having to cut the class short. Laughing, she’d told them, “And that’s why it’s very, very important that your head is the last thing to come up. If you stand too quickly from a couple of the poses, you could end up sprawled on the ground like me.”

  Several of the women laughed. Lisa merely leveled a look at her and walked her to her car.

  “I’m staying out here tonight. Call me if you need anything. And I’m telling the docs on you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “We take care of our own. We all like you, Ella. Call me when you get home.”

  Just as she’d climbed into her car, Lisa added, “Go buy a pregnancy test. If you’ve had sex in the last couple of months you could be pregnant. Nothing is one hundred percent, you know, says so on all the damned boxes.”

  She’d rolled her eyes.

  She wasn’t rolling them now.

  Now she was standing in the aisle of the local Albertsons Market in Taos wondering what to do.

  Could she be?

  No.

  They’d used protection just about every time they’d made love—well, ther
e were those totally blank hours of Vegas.

  Just about were probably the operative words here.

  Her appetite had been all over the board, hungry and starving or just flat-out sick to her stomach. But mostly, she was hungry. She turned down another aisle. Feminine products lined the shelves. Ella jerked. When was the last time . . . ?

  She hadn’t felt very good for weeks but figured it was stress. It had to be stress. Just stress. Stress of her and Quinlan, not sleeping well, being tired anyway, moving, a new job, selling the house . . .

  But then last week she started to get her appetite back without the nausea so much, which made no sense, but she felt like she was eating all the time. At least when she wasn’t working. She made a tub of trail mix earlier in the week and it was almost gone. She normally only had to make it a couple of times a month.

  When was the last time . . .

  Really? Before Vegas . . . Before Quin. And her doctor had started her on those new pills, which she hadn’t refilled right away. So her periods were a bit stretched and off, so what? That was nothing new and the whole reason she’d gotten on the things to begin with years ago.

  She wasn’t . . .

  She couldn’t be . . .

  Stress. It was just stress. Her hands shook.

  She stood there staring at tampons and pads, her heart thundering in her ears. Slowly, she pushed the cart farther down the aisle. Condoms.

  Yeah, hadn’t used those a couple of times.

  Oh no, her pills would be fine.

  She should have started soon after Vegas like the next week or so. She had spotted, she remembered that, but nothing major, and she wrote it off as the new pills. The doctor had even warned her that the switch in pills could lead to irregular periods the first few months. She’d started the new pack the next month. God knew her and Quin did it enough when he came to see her. And she didn’t remember what all they did in Vegas. That weekend was still a blur.

  Oh God.

  And then she’d taken this job and moved and . . .

  And . . .

  There wasn’t anything else.

  Oh God.

  Pregnancy tests seemed to wave at her from the shelf.