TWO

I managed to replace the receiver before it slipped from my fingers, and I felt my world closing in on me like a cast net closing on a school of pinfish. The feeling that an intruder lurked nearby rattled me. But how impossible! I’d yet to open my office for the business day. True, I’d unlocked the front door and stepped outdoors onto the sidewalk, but I’d been no more than twenty feet from my doorway even during the time I talked to Gram and helped her in her shop. The phone call could have come from next door, from across the island, from anywhere. I saw nobody nearby.

With belated presence of mind, I grabbed the phone again and punched “0” on the keypad.

“How may I help you?” the operator asked.

“Can you trace a call for me—the call I received at this number only a few seconds ago?”

“No, Ma’am. I’m not authorized to trace calls. That might be possible if you have a police order, if I have permission from an authority.”

“Thank you.” I slammed the receiver down. I wasn’t about to instigate any action that involved the police. The next time I saw Punt I’d tell him about the call, show him the note—maybe. I’ve learned from experience that once a person tells another person secret information, she loses ownership of that information. Maybe for the time being I’d keep the threats to myself. Maybe. I felt too shaken to decide on that right now, but I was determined to calm myself and stop shaking. I couldn’t expect Maxine to relax for her treatment if I came on like a basket case. I clamped my teeth together and they stopped chattering. But my hands still trembled.

I stood for several moments staring into the street. Nothing unusual there. Three teens drove past in a convertible, their boom box sending vibrations pulsing against my eardrums. A man and woman dressed in identical Hawaiian shirts and white slacks passed along the sidewalk and peered into my window, but the two men who were smiling at each other and holding hands as they walked along never looked my way. I knew people could see no farther inside my office than my desk and swivel chair. They couldn’t see the patron’s foam-padded bench, the small whirlpool footbath, or the adjustable chair that sat farther back in the patient-treatment area.

Turning from the window, I appraised my office, making sure everything was in order. Behind the treatment chair, bolted to one wall hung shelves that held towels and pillows along with the lotions I used during treatments—lemon, orange, jasmine. I inhaled deeply, still trying to calm myself. The only smells I found as soothing as those in my office were those common to the backcountry flats, the scent of the tradewind, the salt water, and the living-fish aroma of the sea.

Maxine showed for her first appointment early. No surprise there. People scheduled for first reflexology treatments seldom arrive on time. They either appear early in nervous anticipation, or they arrive late, reluctant to face a new experience.

“Good morning, Maxine.” I put on a smile as I stepped forward to greet her, and once she stepped inside, I closed the door that opened onto the sidewalk.

“Morning, Keely.”

Maxine’s gold front tooth gleamed like a jewel when she smiled at me. Her body reminded me of a child’s playground ball—firm, round, and fast moving. Today she wore blue polka dot bloomers—knee length—with a white tee shirt along with Nikes and red-and-white-striped athletic sox. I doubt that she realized how picturesque she must appear to others. She eyed my treatment chair with doubt.

“You sure this reflexology thing won’t hurt me none?”

“That’s a promise. If you experience any twinges of pain, you let me know and I’ll stop the treatment.”

“Then it might hurt? Right?”

“You may experience a slight discomfort at times. Maybe. But no pain. Why don’t we get started? If you’ll sit down and remove your shoes and stockings, we’ll begin your treatment with a warm footbath.”

Maxine backed from the padded bench and the footbath like a child trying to escape punishment. “Keely, ’splain me again about this here foot reflexology thing. Maybe better I should clean your place as always—for money instead of as a trade for treatments.”

I sighed and smiled, and at last Maxine sat on the padded bench while I gave her my short information dump about the age-old practice of foot massage. She’d heard it in great detail before, but now she sat leaning forward and listening intently—her way of stalling, I guessed.

“Reflexology’s an ancient form of pressure therapy, Maxine. The Egyptians knew about it and used it thousands of years ago. It involves applying focused pressure to certain known reflex points located in the foot. These points correspond to certain areas in the body.” I pulled out a chart, again showing her the connections of foot parts to body parts, but she shook her head and handed the chart back to me as if it might burn her fingers.

“Don’t want no truck with no charts.”

I laid the chart aside. “The massage therapy promotes increased blood circulation to the affected body areas, relaxation in those areas, and a release of tensions. Reflexology has helped curtail pain for many sufferers. When doctors can’t relieve a patient’s pain many of those patients give foot reflexology a chance.”

“And you’re one of them people?”

“Yes. At one time I suffered from severe back pain. Pills helped, but the pain always returned. When doctors started talking to me about surgery, serious no-guarantees-promised surgery, I gave them the old cliché, ‘Don’t call me. I’ll call you.’ I backed off. Then I happened to read a magazine article about reflexology, and the information grabbed my attention. It didn’t take much persuasion to get me to try this alternative to surgery. I signed up for a series of treatments in Miami.”

“And they helped? How’d you happen to hurt your back?”

“Yes, the treatments helped.” I ignored her second question. No need for Maxine to know my ex had inflicted my back injuries as well as many others that had healed. It embarrassed me to admit I’d put up with Jude’s abuse for so long. I still had to find my way through admitting I’d been the wife of an abuser for years before I found the courage to face the danger of taking action on my own behalf.

“Reflexology offered no quick fix, though, Maxine. I stuck with the Miami practitioner for weeks, only seeing gradual improvement. Guess that was my way of avoiding the surgery. But after a while I knew the treatments were worth the time it took to drive to Miami as well as the expense. Today I’m pain free. Foot reflexology gave me my life back again, and the experience inspired me to use reflexology to help others.”

I assisted Maxine in removing her shoes and stockings and then I snapped on the small whirlpool footbath.

“Hmmm.” Maxine said no more, but she sat smiling as she breathed in the lemon-scented water and felt it swirl around her feet. When she’s making up her mind about something, Maxine has a way of rolling her tongue up over her gold tooth and peering into the distance as if deep in thought. Finally she spoke. “So far, I like it, Keely. Like it a dadburned lot.”

I didn’t point out that we hadn’t started the treatment yet, and I kept the mood light. “You’d be surprised at the sight of the feet that I’ve worked with, Maxine. Callused. Misshapen. And yes, just plain ugly and smelly. You have wonderful feet. They’re firm and sturdy and I can tell you care for them well and wear shoes that give them the proper support.”

“Got to take good care of my feet. You might say my feet are my bread and butter. Once those dogs begin barking, I’m through for the day.”

After a few minutes in the footbath, I dried Maxine’s feet on a soft towel, eased them into disposable slippers, and led her to the treatment chair that I lowered until her feet were in a position that allowed me to massage them.

“Want a pillow?” I asked. When she nodded, I placed a pillow under her head so she could look at me and we could talk during her treatment.

The moments I’d spent assisting Gram and preparing Maxine for her massage had helped take my mind off the threat in my pocket and the phone call. Now I wondered if Maxine had received such warnings, too, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask her. Not now. Not yet. I lacked the courage to share my feelings. Maybe I needed to talk to Punt first—in private. Maybe.

Moistening my hands with mint-scented oil, I began massaging Maxine’s left foot. She relaxed almost immediately, but when I concentrated pressure on her toes, she pulled her foot from my grasp and rolled her eyes.

“Hurt?” I asked.

“No,” she lied. “No pain. Just a smidgen of pressure.”

I eased the pressure and massaged her instep before I returned to working on her toes again.

“’Splain what you’re doing, please.” She raised her head from the pillow to look at her foot, and I wondered if she might get up and leave before I’d had a chance to do her any good.

“I’m breaking up tiny crystalline and calcium deposits in your toes, and that will help your blood circulate to the nerve endings in your sinuses and your pituitary gland. Those are the places where lots of headaches begin. You did tell me you suffered from headaches along with backaches, right?”

Maxine nodded and lowered her head onto the pillow again. I felt her relax and wiggle her toes. I knew additional crystals were beginning to break up. Now that she was more at ease, I massaged the sides of her feet in a way that could relieve sciatic pain. For a moment, Maxine closed her eyes and I hoped she might drift into a light sleep, but no. She began talking.

“Keely, we’re friends, right? We’re tighter than employer/employee, right?”

“Right. We sure are.” I could guess what was coming next, but I saw no way to avoid it.

“Please help me help my Randy. That’s all I’m asking. I’ve asked you before. Now I’m asking again. Just listen and give me some advice. I don’t know how to fancy talk with the police and I don’t want to say the wrong thing to them. Don’t want to privy them that I know they did a rotten job.”

“Rotten job of what?”

“A rotten job of finding Dyanne Darby’s true killer. My Randy didn’t murder that girl, but someone did, and me and Randy, we wants to know who.”