by Kim Alexis
“This was my sister, Valentine.”
“She’s beautiful.” Wait, did he say she was his sister? Oh no . . .
“She was also one of the most wonderful, amazing people in the whole world.” He turned the frame back around, his eyes filling with fresh tears. “She died, just last year. I thought I was doing better, but I guess today’s events brought it all back and then some.” He grunted and swiped away fresh tears, then he set the picture off to the side of the desk. “They say things get better with time, but right now it feels like it just happened.”
“It takes a long time to grieve the loss of a loved one, Greg,” What else could she say? There were no words for something so heartbreaking. “Give yourself a break. No wonder today was difficult for you. It was way too soon.”
“I guess.”
Unable to stop herself, Crystal reached out and took Greg’s hand, gently entangling her fingers with his. She met his tortured eyes. “I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t make things worse by marching in here and talking about the police and everything.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. If anything, I think it kind of helped distract me for a while.”
Greg gave her hand a firm squeeze then disentangled his fingers and moved his hands to his lap. Heat flooded her face. Did she do something wrong? Had she misread his signals?
Looking away, he continued. “You know, some days I don’t think about my sister all that much, but then there are other days when she’s on my mind a lot. Today, with all the stuff that happened . . .” He looked away. “Guess it just brought it all back, you know?”
“I can imagine.”
Returning his gaze to Crystal, he added, “You have to understand, my family wasn’t exactly like the ones you see on TV, if you know what I mean.”
“I always wanted a family like the one on Little Bear.”
Much to Crystal’s delight, her words brought a smile to Greg’s face.
“Yes! Like on Little Bear! Exactly! Or Full House, maybe.” His smile faded. “Trust me, we Overstreets were nothing like that. Things were pretty bad, but at least Valentine and I had each other. The way we survived was by sticking together. That’s why we were so close, there was no one else we could depend on.”
Crystal’s thoughts rearranged themselves in her mind. What Greg had said earlier about his mom loving quotes and making him earn his allowance had sounded so lovely, so normal, that she assumed he’d grown up in one of those perfect homes with a perfect family. Now it turned out that his family wasn’t so perfect after all.
Though she hated to admit it, a part of her was actually glad to hear that. Her own childhood had been so crazy, her mom’s dysfunction so extreme, she’d never really been able to connect with normal guys, at least not at a deeper level. Now that she knew Greg’s childhood had probably been a lot like hers—if not in the specifics, at least in the pain it had caused and the emotional scars it had left behind—that was even more reason they would be good together. Their parents may have messed things up royally, but perhaps the two of them could finally get it right.
Seeming to relax just a bit, Greg leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his thick, dark hair. “You know what? It’s because of Valentine that I work here at the spa—and that I live in this town, for that matter.”
“I thought you told me you grew up here in Cahuilla Springs.”
“I did, but only till I was seventeen. That’s when Val and I moved away, to live with our dad in Utah. I was so glad to get out I swore I’d never return, but Val always wanted to. Finally, a couple years ago, she got a job here and moved back. Things went so well for her, after a while she started trying to talk me into coming back too.”
“I guess your mom still lives in this area? She must’ve been happy about that.”
A hardness crossed Greg’s features, all traces of relaxation gone. “Put it this way, if my mother were still here, I wouldn’t have come at all.”
“Ah. Got it.”
“I hate to sound harsh, but she was mentally unstable, especially once our dad left. Totally off the deep end.”
“Believe it or not, Greg. I think our situations were probably a lot alike.”
“Oh yeah? Lucky us.”
They shared a sad smile of commiseration.
“Anyway,” Greg added, “this town isn’t exactly filled with happy memories, but I’m glad I came back, if for no other reason than it gave me a chance to spend more time with my sister before she died.”
Crystal wanted to learn more about that but knew she needed to tread lightly. “How did it happen? Was your sister ill? Was she in an accident of some kind?”
At her words, his eyes began to tear up again, but this time he responded by shaking his head and taking a few deep breaths, in and out. “I’m sorry. It’s just too hard to talk about right now.”
Crystal’s eyes filled, too. “I understand. I should get going now anyway.”
They parted without any further physical contact, no quick hug nor even a squeezed hand. No last, lingering looks.
Crystal stood to go. Relax. Stop trying so hard.
If things between her and Greg were meant to happen, they would. It was that simple.
Chapter Eleven
JULIETTE AND DIDI GOT to the conference center early and saw that the large hall was empty except for two men down at the podium: Andre Leveque, the spa manager, and a man Didi said was Reggie Roberts, the new general manager of the resort.
As the two women walked down the aisle to the front, Juliette couldn’t help but notice Reggie’s clothing. In his midforties, he had on the resort’s administrative uniform of polo shirt, khaki slacks, and brown loafers. But judging by the cut and fit of his neatly-pressed slacks, Juliette knew they were more likely Roberto Cavalli than JC Penney, his shoes Versace, not Sears. Compared to the other employees—most of them long-time locals who sported a far more “relaxed” version of the same look—the guy’s upgraded attire, Movado watch, and expensive haircut stuck out like a sore thumb. This was the California desert, after all, not Fifth Avenue.
Down front, Andre greeted them with cheek kisses, then Reggie introduced himself to Juliette and expressed condolences to both her and Didi about the loss of their former colleague.
Once they’d gotten the niceties out of the way, they quickly discussed the meeting’s agenda, then Andre propped open the doors and people began trickling in. Didi chose a pair of seats for them near the front while Juliette excused herself and headed to the lobby. She wanted to watch for Ty Kirkland, the spa aide in charge of inventory at Palm Grotto. She was hoping to catch him before the meeting started, pull him aside, and ask a few quick questions about inventory and procedures—information that would help them figure out if counterfeit products could have played into Raven’s death in any way.
For the next fifteen minutes Juliette watched as therapists, aestheticians, manicurists, technicians, assistants, schedulers, and more filed into the building and then the auditorium. It seemed everyone from the spa was there—everyone, that is, except for Ty. When it was nearly time for the meeting to begin, she decided to give up and try later. Maybe he was just running late. She returned to her seat in the small auditorium, which was nearly full and buzzing with conversation.
Juliette whispered an explanation to Didi about where she’d been. Then she tried to review her notes, but the various conversations going on around her were too distracting. Most of the talk was about Raven, no surprise there, but what Juliette found disturbing was that these people weren’t focusing on what had happened today or why. Instead, almost everyone seemed to be saying how hated Raven had been. Even Andre was talking about “that awful, awful woman,” telling a cluster of employees how she’d always mispronounced his last name on purpose, just to get in a little dig.
“She knew it’s pronounced Luh-veck, but whenever I corrected her, she’d say, ‘Sorry, I prefer Lev-a-cue, just like the cue ball that is your head.’”
They all
laughed, even Andre. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, and thanks to a smooth head and a well-chosen pair of designer glasses, the baldness thing actually worked in his favor. Though Raven could be cruel, Juliette had a feeling that in this case she’d meant it not so much as an insult as a joke.
Juliette tried to return her attention to her notes, but soon a new Raven-centric conversation started up in the row behind her. Unable to tune it out, she could feel her hands slowly tightening into fists as it continued. How dare all these people speak of the dead this way?
But then she heard one of them refer to Raven as a “fire-breathing dragon,” and her face flushed. Was she any better? So she wouldn’t malign the dead, but she and Didi certainly hadn’t held back while Raven was alive. After all, they had plenty of their own nicknames for the supermodel. Red Dragon. Tantrum Queen. She-Beast. How were those any different from this?
Juliette mulled these things over until Reggie took the podium and got the meeting underway. He started with an update on Brooke’s condition, saying that her status was currently listed as “stable,” though no specific information had yet been released. As for Raven, thus far the cause of death was undetermined. “There’s been a lot of gossip flying around, but there’s no reason to believe foul play was involved until after the autopsy.”
That last comment generated a murmur through the crowd. Though the thought had crossed Juliette’s mind, she was surprised to hear it articulated.
Before Juliette could think about that any further, however, Reggie was finished and calling her up to the podium for her turn.
Keeping her voice light, Juliette gave a quick greeting, then launched into the main points she needed to cover, starting with JT Lady’s new product design, moving on to their enhanced sales incentive program. She ended with a quick explanation of this weekend’s “spa retreat” and how it would differ from the usual Juliette Taylor Event.
Beyond the obvious—that the point of this retreat was spiritual, not financial, and that it was for the general public, not industry professionals—she wanted the staff to understand what kind of people would be coming here to participate. “The theme for the weekend is ‘Serving While Preserving: Helping Others without Ignoring Ourselves.’ As you can imagine, this one is always especially popular with doers. Volunteers, church workers, employees at faith-based charities, people like that.”
Juliette looked out at the audience. “You therapists and manicurists and aestheticians, you may find that these women are somewhat resistant to pampering. That’s because they are by their very nature givers, not receivers. I’m sure you’ve encountered this type before.” Heads nodded with understanding. “But they do deserve pampering, to be sure. Our goal is to provide them with a time of rest, relaxation, and rejuvenation. With the help of a group of volunteers from Cahuilla Springs Community Church, we’re also giving them a time of worship and fellowship and spiritual encouragement. By the end of the weekend, our hope is that each of these women will head home filled with peace and health, reinforced faith, and enthusiasm for what they do. By blessing them with your own expertise, you will be a very big part of making that happen.”
Juliette suddenly thought of Brooke, who was one of the best therapists at Palm Grotto. She was also a Christian—the only one on staff here as far as Juliette knew—which made her absence from this particular event even more disheartening. At least Andre would supply someone to fill in for her.
Moving into her conclusion, Juliette took the microphone from its stand and stepped out from behind the podium. “Next year will be the tenth year that JT Lady and Palm Grotto Spa have been doing business together. We value that relationship.”
Glancing toward Andre and Reggie, she wondered if they, too, valued it or if they’d been in secret discussions with Raven about a possible change in suppliers. She continued.
“You guys here at Palm Grotto are the very best at what you do. Thank you for a wonderful and rewarding ten years. Thank you, also, in advance, for coming alongside us this weekend and helping to make a difference in the lives of these women. Please feel free to join any of our worship services, sunrise or sunset hikes, or game nights if you’d like. I know you’ll find this to be a delightful group of people, and that they would love the opportunity to get to know each of you as well. Thank you for your time.”
The audience applauded as Juliette returned the mic to the stand and gave a nod to Andre, who came up to take her place at the podium. As she walked back toward her seat, she searched the crowd for the sight of Ty’s face, but he was nowhere to be seen.
MARCUS NOTICED HIS MOTHER yawning as they waited in the gate area. He felt bad dragging her out on a night flight like this, but when he’d booked their trip, the 9:00 p.m. had been the only one still available. It would take a total of six and a half hours and a change of planes in Phoenix to get from Atlanta to Cahuilla Springs, which meant they wouldn’t reach their destination until almost 3:30 in the morning. But because they were moving backwards across the time zones, it would be just 12:30 am out there. That was no problem for him, but his mom might not fare so well.
“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep on the plane?” he asked after catching her in another yawn.
“I hope so. I brought an eye mask and a neck pillow so I could give it a try.”
Marcus smiled. “Look at you, Miss World Traveler.”
“Compliments of the Brood.” She used the nickname he’d given her little group of neighborhood friends who were always cackling around each other like a brood of hens. “I do believe they thought of everything.”
He nodded, expecting her to return her attentions to the book in her lap. Instead, she shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. “Listen, son, I know I’ve been pretty resistant about everything, but now that our trip is underway, I have to admit I’m excited. The girls pulled up Palm Grotto’s website and showed me some pictures, ones that weren’t in the brochure. Such gorgeous flowers and trees! Besides the spa and the mineral pools, there’s also a lake and lots of olive trees and even a small grapefruit orchard.”
Marcus smiled, sorry he’d never thought to treat her to something like this before.
“I wonder if they’d mind if I took a cutting or two,” she added. “We’re not in the best zone for it, but I always wanted to try my hand at growing grapefruit.”
Marcus resisted the urge to groan. He could just picture it now, little old Beverly Stone making her way into this fancy resort’s orchard with a pair of clippers, snipping off a limb from some exotic tree.
“You’ll probably be so busy with all of the scheduled activities that you won’t have time to glance at the orchard, much less go at it with a pair of scissors, Mom.”
She didn’t reply.
“Mother?” He recognized that faraway look in her eyes, the one that told him her mind was off and running with a plan, one that could not be contained. “Promise me you won’t single-handedly deface any of the trees in Palm Grotto’s orchard.”
“Of course not, dear. I would never do that.”
“Good.”
“If I’m as busy with the retreat as you think I’ll be, I’ll probably need you to get those cuttings for me.”
AFTER THE MEETING, JULIETTE once again looked for Ty but eventually gave up and headed with Didi to the resort’s five-star restaurant for dinner. Soon they were settled at a window table and quietly rehashing the day’s events. They tossed around various theories about what might’ve happened to Raven and Brooke, but until they had more information, there wasn’t much to go on.
They agreed to put the topic to rest once the waiter showed up with their entrees—sautéed summer vegetable crepes for Juliette and herb-crusted rack of lamb with roasted potatoes in a garlic mustard sauce for Didi. Inhaling the delicious aroma of both dishes, they said a discreet blessing and dug in, their delicious meal punctuated by the soft clink of glasses and the low murmur of conversation all around them. Lunch for Juliette had been a bag of pretzels on the plane,
so she was quite hungry.
Outside the sun slowly set behind the mountains in a magnificent orange and gold display of God’s creation. Juliette was admiring the view when she glanced toward a group seated out on the balcony and did a double take. Eyes wide, she leaned in to Didi and whispered, “Don’t look now, but there’s a big celebrity at five o’clock.”
“What kind? Movie star? Rock star? Politician?” Didi set down her fork.
“Director. Outside, to your right, one table back.”
Faking a stretch, Didi took a discreet look around then turned toward Juliette. “You’re right. That’s Quentin VonTassel.”
“I know. He’s smaller than he looks on the Oscars, isn’t he?”
Didi leaned closer. “Forget smaller, how ’bout those hair plugs? With all his money, you’d think he could’ve gotten better ones than that.”
“Shush.”
“Hey, I just call ’em like I see ’em. And with plugs that bad, I can see ’em from all the way in here!”
ONCE MARCUS'S MOM RETURNED her attentions to the book she was reading, he allowed his eyes to roam over the waiting passengers. An edge of apprehension nagged at him, but that was probably thanks to his recent work on the task force. He had terrorism on the brain, and everywhere he looked he saw something that could be construed as suspicious . . .
The man with the sweaty forehead whose eyes had been darting about nervously for the past half hour.
The couple huddled together by the window, whispering, as they looked out at the plane.
The guy hunched protectively over his laptop, typing in a frenzy.
If Marcus had learned anything lately, it was that you never knew. You never knew. The family next door could be part of a support cell. The paperboy could be in a sleeper cell. That guy at work could be in an execution cell.
The cell structure favored by terrorists worked on several levels. For starters, it provided a way to limit the damage done when one was exposed and its members captured. Except for the person acting as liaison, cell members rarely knew anything about the other cells in the organization. After all, what they didn’t know, they couldn’t confess. The cell structure also kept the overall organization strong, since the destruction of a single cell couldn’t wipe out the entire effort. Theoretically, even if nine cells out of ten were taken down, that one remaining cell—like a speck of cancer that missed the cut of the surgeon’s knife—could regenerate and multiply for the cause, eventually building itself back up into one just as strong as before.