Nevada Barr - Naked Came The Phoenix

Karen shook her head, appalled at the memory of what the other staff had told her about that poor, poor man who got strangled in that contraption, the one with the name that reminded her of melted cheese-fondue, that's what Momma called it, but it was just warm Cheez Whiz to Karen. No big shock there; Karen was only surprised accidents like that didn't happen more often.

"Oh, no," Ondine said. "No, of course not."

Eyes focused on her work, Karen couldn't see Ondine's face, but she sounded shook up, Karen thought, and no wonder. She frowned slightly, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration as she wrapped and shaped an artificial tip to repair the torn-off nail.

Momma had been on the phone every half hour since the news of Mrs. de Vries's death came out, wanting Karen to quit and come home. When Mr. Cheez Whiz got choked, Granny McElroy started in to calling, too. She'd finally unplugged the phone, so as she could get a little work done, but Karen would admit that she'd had her doubts about staying. She jumped whenever she heard a sound behind her, and she had a feeling all the time like mice were crawlin' up her spine.

But whatever in heck was going on at the spa, Karen couldn't see how it might have anything to do with her . And this was the best job she'd ever had; it paid like three times as much as doing nail-tech work in the city, and it wasn't but half the work, either. And besides, she'd told Momma and Granny both, the police were right there . That nice detective walked through her building now and then, and waved and smiled. He wouldn't be letting any killers bother her, she was sure.

"There." She admired her repair work; all the nails were once more long, smooth ovals, gently shaped and glossy. "You got such nice hands, honey. Those long fingers, and nice long nail beds, too-see, that's the part of the nail's attached to your hand, that's what you gotta have for elegant nails. Mine are so short." She waggled her free hand briefly in illustration. "Even if I put long tips on, they're never gonna look great, but yours… you know, I could swear I seen hands just like yours someplace lately. Not quite the same, but real close. Now, you want to pick you out a nice color? How 'bout I do you a pedicure, and we can put it on your toes, too?"

Leaving Ondine mesmerized in front of a wall rack filled with dozens of bottles of custom-blended Phoenix nail polish, Karen went into the small alcove where the thronelike pedi-spa, her pride and joy, sat in splendor under a cool blue light, designed to make the client feel as though she were a mermaid sitting at the bottom of the sea, with reef fish nibbling at her toes and the soothing scents of kelp and sea salt all around.

Caroline's long, thin, neatly manicured fingers twitched unconsciously against the leg of her jeans, her left hand fingering the reaches as she played the allegretto of Saint-Saëns's Danse Macabre in her mind. She was some way beyond the spa buildings now; the sea of leafy green had closed over the slate-tiled roofs like a cleansing flood, as though the place had sunk like Atlantis. Good riddance.

Her pace slowed, and she wandered aimlessly, summoning up bits of her long-neglected repertoire, pleased to find that the music came back effortlessly. She knew it wouldn't be that easy to reach performance level with the actual instrument, but it was both a thrill and a relief to find how much she remembered, how instinctively her fingers flexed and reached for the notes that thrummed in her inner ear.

She left the path, and her feet shuffled through layers of crumbling dead leaves, damp with the residue of summer rain. The light filtering through spruce and beech wood was a soft blue-green, and the susurrus of branches in the wind could have been the sound of distant surf. But these were quiet woods sounds and made no interference with the music in her head.

Dum, da-da-da-da dum, da-da-da-da dum, dum, dum, dum … The music conjured images, as it always did: imps, dancing with unholy glee, tossing things into a magic cauldron, leaping back as the contents erupted in a shower of firework sparks.

Dee, deedle-deedle dee-dee-dee, dee, deedle-deedle dee-dee-dee -She stopped abruptly, as she realized that the high-pitched violin part was not coming from her inner ear but from someone singing it, near at hand.

She swung around, hands half raised in instinctive defense.

"Deedle-deedle, dee-dee-dum!" Phyllis Talmadge finished and bowed, with a smile of fulfilled performance. "I knew you wouldn't forget," she said, straightening up. She was still smiling, though with a look of remoteness in the back of her eyes, as though she was looking at something beyond Caroline.

Caroline was at once startled and flustered by the intrusion. Finding no words to protest, she said rather weakly, "Forget what?"

"What?" Phyllis's wispy gray brow lifted. "Your music, of course. I used to watch you, you know, when you played with the symphony. Even as part of the orchestra, you played with such… such life! And in the solos, you were simply magnificent, my dear." She shook her head, sighing.

"You heard-oh." Caroline was still flustered but undeniably pleased at this echo from her past. "I didn't know you were a music aficionado. Do you play, yourself, or did you just know the violin part from performances?"

The older woman had started to walk, and Caroline fell into step naturally beside her.

"Oh, I play a bit, but I'm not up to your level, by any means." She flipped a dismissive hand.

"Neither am I, anymore," Caroline said, a little wistfully. "Maybe again, but not yet. Not until all this"-she waved a hand in the direction of the spa buildings-"is settled." She cleared her throat suddenly aware that Phyllis had herself been attacked, or evidently attacked.

It occurred to her that they were quite alone here. Caroline brushed a hand casually across her thigh, reassured by the weight of her cottage key with its heavy ornamental fob. It wasn't much of a weapon, but she was younger, taller, and stronger than the elderly psychic.

"Uh, are you sure you're feeling all right, Ms. Talmadge? Should you be out walking?"

Now that Caroline took time to notice, she saw that the older lady was in fact looking very pale and insubstantial, her skin nearly the same gray as her hair. Phyllis paid no attention to the question, though, instead focusing her eyes intently on Caroline. "It's very important that you play," she said. "That's what I came to tell you. Don't let anything that happens here stop you."

"What do you mean?" Caroline's initial startlement at the psychic's sudden appearance was rapidly giving way to distinct uneasiness. "What's going to happen?"

The psychic tilted her head to one side, almost as though she were listening to someone-or something.

"You don't need to know that," she said.

" What ? What do you mean, I don't need to know that?"

"Things will happen," Phyllis said mysteriously, "but you'll be all right. Some people close to you"-she turned her head, wearing the listening expression again-"people very close to you," she amended, "may suffer harm. But you'll be all right."

"Who? Who do you mean? My mother? Is something going to happen to my mother?"

This is ridiculous ! Caroline thought. Absurd ! If asked half an hour previously, Caroline would have expressed complete skepticism of the concept of psychic ability and profound disinterest in anything said by anyone professing to have any. Now, the first inkling of some personal relevance, and she was agog as any caller to the Psychic Hot Line.

On the other hand-a ripple of unease snaked down her spine-she knew she hadn't been humming aloud, and yet Phyllis Talmadge had come in with the violin part, precisely in the right spot. Danse Macabre , indeed!