I hit the redial button and I heard the phone ringing on the other end.
“Forest Glen Spa and Clinic,” said a female voice on the other end.
“Oh . . .” I said. “What sort of clinic?”
“We provide a variety of services,” said the woman in a cheerful voice. “How can I help you?”
“I’m trying to reach my sister,” I told her. “She just called me from your number.”
“I’m sorry, but we cannot give out any information about our guests.”
“Can you at least connect me to her room?”
“That depends. What is your sister’s name?”
“Teri,” I said. “Teri Sullivan.”
“Just a moment.” There was silence for a moment, and I was afraid we’d lost the connection. But the woman came back on the line. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but we do not have any guests registered by that name.”
“What?” I was stunned. “She just called me!”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Maybe you checked under ‘Terry.’ She spells her name with an ‘i.’ Try spelling it T-E-R-I.”
I don’t think she even checked this time. “I’m very sorry, ma’am, but there is no one here by that name under any spelling.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry I was unable to help you,” she told me. And then she hung up.
There was no use protesting any further. I put the phone down. Pepe was still watching me.
“This is terrible,” I told him. “I don’t know what to do.” My sister had disappeared twice in my life. Once when she was just a teenager and again during an earlier case I was working with Pepe. I was not going to let that happen again.
I looked at Pepe. Pepe looked at me. And suddenly, I knew. If he could speak, he would tell me we should go investigate. In fact, he would say, “Andale, Geri! There is not a moment to waste.”
I turned on my laptop, and got the address for the Forest Glen Spa and Clinic. The website showed photos of what looked like a sprawling resort and said it offered “Holistic Healing in a Tranquil Setting.” It seemed to be a treatment center for addictions and psychiatric illnesses disguised as a spa. Luckily it was located in the lush valley between Woodinville and Duvall, which was about an hour drive northeast of Seattle.
I took the quickest route to Forest Glen that I could think of: east across the Evergreen Point floating bridge, then north on the 405 freeway to the Woodinville exit. Once we had driven through that town, we continued east through the forested hills taking the highway toward Duvall.
It got more and more rural the farther we went. As soon as we dropped down into the valley, it was nothing but farmland as far as you could see: fields and pastures, all glowing a lush green on a grey day. I am always amazed that such pastoral settings still exist so close to Seattle and its urban sprawl.
Just before I crossed the Snoqualmie River, I saw a large wooden sign that read: FOREST GLEN SPA AND CLINIC—NEXT RIGHT. I turned and followed a narrow road that ran along the river, until it took a big bend to the right and my destination came into view. The buildings were hidden from the road by a long row of tall poplar trees that had probably been planted as a windbreak many years ago. Now the grounds had been landscaped with leafy, deciduous trees, rolling hills of closely mown grass, and flagstone paths that meandered between the main building and some smaller satellite buildings, all of them done in white stucco with red-tiled rooftops.
I parked in Visitor Parking, next to a large and graceful weeping willow tree. “This place is just gorgeous,” I told Pepe. “It looks more like a luxury resort than a treatment center.”
He didn’t respond. That was beginning to seem normal to me. Sort of like my ex-husband right before our divorce.
I put Pepe’s leash on him. He usually protests, but because he wasn’t talking all he could do was give me a baleful look. Then we headed toward the main entrance at a slow pace as Pepe had to stop to put his mark on various tree trunks and shrubs. The big Spanish-styled main building had baskets of fuchsias hanging on either side of its rounded, oak entry door, their splash of vibrant scarlet-pink flowers contrasting nicely with the white stucco.
The foyer was dramatic with oak beam ceilings crossing high overhead and tiled stairs sweeping up to the upper floors on either side of a reception area, which was dominated by an ornately carved oak desk. The young man seated at the reception desk was in his mid-twenties at most. He had closely cropped blond hair that seemed ultra-blond set off as it was against his deeply tanned face and vivid blue polo shirt. He smiled as I approached, his perfect teeth almost blindingly white.
“Hello! I’m Justin,” he said, rising from his seat. “How can I assist you?” His crisply pressed slacks were also white. He looked like he’d be more at home at a tennis club than at a clinic.
I hesitated. I had not come up with a story yet. I looked at Pepe, wishing he would help me. The receptionist saw my gaze.
“Unfortunately, we don’t allow dogs in our facility,” he said.
“But this is my therapy dog,” I said. “I need him because of my”—I lowered my voice—“disability.” I knew that according to law they could not ask the nature of my disability. But they could ask to see the dog’s certification. And he did.
“Can I see your paperwork, then?” Justin’s voice was cool.
“I left it in the car,” I said. But that gave me an idea. “I just came out here to check out the facility because my therapist recommended it. She thought if I saw it for myself, I would be more likely to check myself in. But I can’t deal with any more stress. I guess I’ll just leave . . .” I turned as if to go.
I thought I saw Pepe give me an approving nod. Perhaps I had learned a little bit about acting from watching Pepe’s favorite telenovela, Paraiso Perdido. Although his favorite actress would have pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead while uttering those words.
“Oh no, that’s not necessary,” Justin said quickly. “We can arrange a brief tour. I’ll just keep your little dog back here behind the desk with me.”
“Or maybe we could just walk around by ourselves?” I suggested hopefully.
“Oh, no,” Justin said. “We don’t want to disturb our clients. Their privacy is very important to us. Our tours are comprehensive and well worth your time. Just a moment.”
He put out his hands for Pepe, who backed away. I bent down to pick him up. “Now, don’t bite the nice man,” I said, hoisting him into the air. I hoped that would make Justin reconsider, but he didn’t. He just picked up Pepe, holding him away from his body like people do when they don’t want to touch something, and set him down on the floor behind the desk.
Then he hit a button for a walkie-talkie device that was pinned to his lapel. “Carlos,” he said, “are you free to come to reception and guide a tour? Good.” He turned to me. “You’ll like Carlos. He is highly knowledgeable of our program, but quite respectful and discreet regarding individual needs.”
As if by magic, Carlos appeared, emerging from a hallway off to my right. He was accompanied by a striking, raven-haired young woman. Both were dressed in the same blue polo-shirts and white slacks as the receptionist.
Carlos, who had caramel-colored skin and dark eyes, came up and offered me his hand.
“I am Carlos,” he said, gazing deep into my eyes. “I’ll be your guide today.”
His grip was firm and he smelled like a warm, tropical night.
“And this is Lacey,” he told me, introducing his female companion. “Lacey is one of our newer associates—she’s in training to be one of our guides. I hope you don’t mind if she accompanies us on the tour.”
I nodded, although I was thinking it would be even harder to break away and do any investigating. Pepe would be disappointed in me.
“Shall we?” said Carlos, waving at the door.
“Enjoy your tour,” Justin told me.
Pepe gave a muffled bark from behind the heavy
oak desk.
After mentioning that the upper floors of the main building were devoted to office space for the fourteen doctors and twenty-two therapists on staff, Carlos explained that the west wing of the main building contained the spa whereas the east wing offered a pool and complete gym. “We can’t disturb the people using the spa,” he said, as he opened the glass door to the west wing to reveal a gleaming corridor. At the far end, a woman in a plush white bathrobe and fluffy slippers was just turning into a doorway, accompanied by an attendant, also in a blue polo shirt and white pants. I could see, even from a distance, that she was not Teri. She had the hunched back and shuffling gait of an older person.
“That guest is entering our salt scrub room,” Carlos said. “We also have a mud room, a steam room, a sauna, several hot pools, a float chamber and, of course, as you would expect, rooms for massage and facials, waxing and mani-pedis.”
“Of course,” I said, weakly, having never had a mani-pedi. Maybe it was time.
Carlos swept back across the foyer to the other wing and ushered me into the large glassed-in room that contained a huge indoor pool. The pool was empty. The water glowed with a blue-green color, lit by underwater lights. The scent of chlorine filled the air.
At the far end of the pool, through a glass window, I could see a room full of exercise equipment. Carlos ticked off their various purposes as my mind wandered. I didn’t think Teri would be working out, but what did I know about her life? She had run away from home when she was only seventeen and disappeared altogether when she was twenty. I had only seen her once in the intervening ten years, and then only briefly.
We left the main building by a back door and went out into the misty day. Carlos led me down a meandering path, pointing out the various buildings. “That one is Tranquility,” he said, pointing to a two-story stucco building to our right. “And over there by the lily pond, you will find Harmony. Each is set up like a family home, with a dedicated kitchen and dining area, a lounge and separate bedrooms for the guests. And, of course, each is fully staffed at the appropriate level.”
“Appropriate level.” I seized on that phrase. “What does that mean?”
“Well,” said Carlos, smiling happily, “our doctors do an assessment of your needs when you first enter the facility and decide what level of treatment and medication you might benefit from. Then we assign you to a residence.”
I was wishing I had Pepe with me. He would be able to sniff Teri out and tell me if she was living in Peace or in Contentment. There was no one visible on any of the paths. When I asked about that, Carlos told me it was lunch time and no doubt all the guests were enjoying the fabulous gourmet meals prepared from fresh, organic ingredients that were purchased from local farms.
We had almost completed our circle of the grounds when the walkie-talkie pinned to Carlos’s collar squawked. “Code Red in Serenity. Code Red in Serenity.”
Carlos looked startled. “Oh!” he said. He turned to Lacey. “Can you take her back to the front desk?”
“I can find my way there on my own,” I said. I could see the back of the main building. I could also see several blue-and-white clad employees running toward one particular building, set back in the woods.
“Oh, no!” said Carlos. “Lacey doesn’t have the proper level of training to respond to this situation anyway. She’ll go with you.” He hurried off down the path.
“What does he mean by proper level of training?” I asked Lacey, who was staring after Carlos with a wistful look on her face.
“Oh, that’s the most locked-down of the cottages,” said Lacey. “Definitely the craziest people are in that one. So you need some special classes to know how to handle them.” Then she stopped and looked at me, stricken. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that!” She clamped her hand over her mouth. Too late. The words were already out.
“So there are crazy people here?” I asked. I could see, even from this distance that the windows of Serenity were covered with wrought-iron grates. And I thought, as the door opened to admit the employees, that I heard muffled screams from inside.
“No, only guests,” she stammered. “We’re not allowed to use the term ‘crazy,’ even in jest. I could be fired.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone,” I said as we turned away and headed back toward the main building. But I shuddered. Would I be locked up in Serenity if I told them I heard my dog speaking to me?
We were quickly back at the front desk where Justin looked harried. “Your dog ran off as soon as my back was turned,” he said, looking at me accusingly.
“That’s terrible,” I said, but knowing Pepe it was to be expected. “I’ll go look for him.”
“No, you can’t be out on the grounds right now,” Justin said with tight lips. “We’ve got a bit of a situation. An unauthorized person tried to enter one of the cottages and we need to remove them.” He looked at me sternly. “You see how hard we work to protect our guests. Once that situation is under control, I will send someone out to look for your dog.”
But there was no need to do that, as within a few minutes, Pepe came trotting into the hallway. It was impossible to know where he had been. Had he been taking a swim in the pool? No, he hates water. Was he having a mani-pedi in the spa? No, it was clear he still needed to have his nails trimmed. Perhaps he was the cause of the disturbance in Serenity. I wouldn’t put it past him.
“So where were you?” I asked as I carried him back to my car in the parking lot.
Unfortunately, he remained silent.
Pepe’s Blog: Working with a Human Partner
My partner, Geri Sullivan, is a human and so she does not have the same skills I do. Her sense of smell is weak and she rarely gets down on the ground to investigate the plethora of clues to be found there. Yes, plethora. Just because I am a dog does not mean I have a meager vocabulary. Geri has not memorized, as have I, the various brands of tobacco products. She cannot tell from sniffing the pores of a perpetrator what they ate for breakfast. I can. But in the past Geri has been able to relay my findings to those in authority. Unfortunately, her insistence that I talk has landed her in a world of trouble. Several people were threatening to lock her up in a psychiatric facility, including her so-called counselor, Susanna. So I have taken a vow of silence in order to protect her. Which means I must watch helpless as she bungles along, trying to figure things out on her own. Just today we went to visit a fancy facility where she thought she might find her sister. She left discouraged.
But I know for certain that her sister is there. I managed to make contact with her and reassured her that Geri and I were going to rescue her. Unfortunately, my talking seemed to confuse her and she became quite agitated. Not only that, I happen to know there is a delectable smelling poodle bitch who accompanies one of the doctors to work. And I also know that a beet and bacon salad was served for lunch in Contentment. I sampled it and it met with my approval.
Chapter 3
When I got back home, there was a message on my home phone from Jay, Brad’s partner. He said he was really worried by a message he had received from Brad and would I come right over.
So I got back in my little green Toyota with Pepe and raced right over to Jay’s house. And it is Jay’s house. He’s the one who pays the mortgage. Brad has never made a profit in his interior decorating business. Brad is good at getting clients—better than I was—and his clients are pretty wealthy, though eccentric. But he buys extravagantly too. He’s always snapping up deals at estate sales or prowling around second-hand stores. He’ll plunk down one thousand dollars for a Victorian sofa, then let it sit in the back of his shop for years.
Brad’s partner, Jay, on the other hand, runs a successful, high-end catering business, with more than forty employees on his payroll, and he’s the one paying off the mortgage on the house they share on Queen Anne Hill. It’s an old Victorian mansion decorated in Brad’s favorite style: I’d call it baroque Victoriana: red damask walls, gold tassels on the curtain tie-backs, gilde
d chairs, and lots of porcelain figures of birds. Jay, has a thing for birds. One room is a dedicated aviary where his pets—mostly parrots and cockatoos—fly around freely.
Jay came to the door with his favorite bird on his shoulder, a bad-tempered Quaker gray parrot. I flinched. My skin had been punctured by this creature’s sharp beak more than once. I looked down at Pepe, who should have promised to protect me, but he had already trotted into the hallway and was sniffing around the edges of a wrought-iron umbrella stand that was shaped like an umbrella. An umbrella would have helped me defend myself against that parrot, but no one in Seattle ever uses an umbrella. We view it as a sign of weakness. But it helps us identify the out-of-towners.
“Geri! I’m so glad to see you! Come in! Come in!” said Jay, waving me off the front porch and into the crowded living room. I could see Brad’s influence everywhere: the green Morris wallpaper, the gilt chairs striped in gold and green, the glittering gold lamé curtains, and the green velvet pelmet above them. Brad’s style is way over the top, but it’s recognizable and I suddenly missed my friend more than ever.
“What’s going on, Jay?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Jay said. “That’s why I called you.” He waved me to a seat on the mustard yellow velvet sofa and settled down opposite me in an armchair covered in green leather. Whereas Brad is blond and willowy, Jay has the bulk of someone who loves food and the reddish complexion of someone who loves wine. They couldn’t look more unalike, but they’ve been together for over ten years. They fight all the time, but they love each other fiercely.
Pepe jumped up on the sofa beside me and stared at the bird on Jay’s shoulder as if warning it that he would bite it if it came anywhere near me.
“Thanks, Pepe!” I said, patting him on the head.
“Your dog still talking to you?” asked Jay with a bit of a sarcastic twist in his voice.
“Ironically, no,” I said. I was surprised and a little hurt that Brad had discussed my talking dog with his partner, but hey, that’s what partners are for. I had discussed Brad’s disappearance with my boyfriend, Felix. Felix told me to give him some time. Sometimes good friends, old friends, need a break, he said. I wondered if that was code and Felix needed a break.
The Silence of the Chihuahuas Page 2