Eye of the Storm - By Hannah Alexander Page 0,14

Kirstie had been found.

FOUR

Kirstie Marshal no longer held out hope of regaining her dignity anytime soon, especially not in Jolly Mill. She had mud up her nose, silt between her teeth and fish eggs in her hair. When she caught a reflection of herself in the glass entryway to the clinic, a leaf appeared to be sticking out of her right ear—or was that part of her hair? If Lynley’s hands weren’t already trembling so badly she’d barely been able to steer the car to the clinic, Kirstie would have goosed her.

“I can’t believe you’d allow me to appear in public like this,” she muttered, fighting Lynley’s attempts to hold on to her arm from the car to the clinic.

“I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Kirstie pulled away long enough to tug the leaf from her hair. “I’m fine except for the public humiliation.”

“And bloody feet.” Lynley’s serious coal-brown eyes, lustrous from recent tears, narrowed slightly. She blinked as if seeing her mother’s face for the first time. Her hair, dark as twilight, the way Kirstie’s once was, stood out in odd directions, proving she’d plunged from bedclothes to search clothes without a glance in the mirror. No toothbrush had touched those pretty white teeth this morning, that was for sure.

“How did you discover I was gone?” Kirstie didn’t want her kid doing bed checks at thirty-minute intervals.

“Your bedroom door was open and the light was still on. The light woke me up.”

“You fell asleep studying again?”

Lynley nodded. “You sleep with the door closed, not to mention the lights out.”

Kirstie sighed. “Sorry again, sweetie. You’re not old enough to be part of the sandwich generation. You don’t even have kids. And I’m not an old moldy piece of bread.”

“No, you’re not, so stop expecting me to throw you away like one.”

“That isn’t what I’m doing.”

Carmen Delaney, clinic director and a stalwart member of Kirstie’s shrinking band of trusted friends, opened the inner door and held it for them, keys still jingling in her hands. She had her silvery-blond hair pulled straight back from her face in a severe ponytail.

Carmen was the only forty-eight-year-old Kirstie knew who had a face pretty enough—and taut enough—to support such severity. Kirstie knew, however, that Carmen kept that rubber band tight to smooth out the lines that had begun to form. Soon she’d be bald, what with the bleaching and the tugging. Then what would she use to keep those wrinkles stretched?

Oh, that’s right, menopause time. Soon the fat will fill those wrinkled places quite nicely. Poor Carmen was in for the shock of her life anytime now, if she hadn’t already learned something from Kirstie’s and Nora’s shared experiences.

“Kirstie, honey, you gave us all a scare and a half!” Carmen said. “Lynley, how’s she doing?”

“I can answer that question for myself, thank you very much.” Kirstie limped, barefoot and still dripping leaves and mud, onto the smooth wooden floor of the waiting room. “I’m not elderly yet. I can swim, apparently, even when I’m out of my mind.”

“You mean you found a place along Capps Creek deep enough for swimming in this drought?” Carmen asked.

“I found her at the edge of the mill pond,” Lynley said.

Kirstie held her arms out and looked at the mud. “Don’t ask me how it happened. I came to myself up on a cliff somewhere just before the ground gave way.”

“Did you get hurt?” Carmen asked.

“No. I’m fine. It’s just a little blood.”

“We’ll find out as soon as we get her into the exam room,” Lynley said. “I expect Megan’ll come racing up any moment.”

“Why bother Megan for a few cuts and bruises?” Kirstie said the words, feeling like a fraud. She wanted Megan here more than Lynley did, though at the same time, she hesitated to consider dragging Megan into this mess more deeply than she already was. Something was going on with her, and she didn’t seem able to talk about it to her closest friends. Although Megan was one of the strongest and most resilient young women Kirstie had ever known, this kind of pressure might overwhelm even her.

“I could just wander back to an exam room and take a look at these feet myself,” Kirstie said. “Then I can walk home if someone will loan me some shoes.” She knew that would never go over, even if it was only a few blocks away. “Then you can all get to work on the real patients.”

“No real patients for an hour,” Carmen said. “Megan won’t want