Free Voices in the Wardrobe by Marlys Millhiser Page A

other and then on top where the view is worth zillions—there’s all this unused,” said the boy from Myrtle, Iowa.
    â€œAccording to the VanZants, the state is trying to put a stop to shore developments cutting off public access, wants eventually to bring this cliff top into the park system. Right now there’s no money for such a project, but they’ve been able to hold off developers so far.”
    Charlie followed the fissure to its end, maybe ten feet short of the cliff edge, and then continued on to peer over the rim, where there was no discernable beach but her acrophobia was relieved the drop was not as far as it had looked to be from the eddy-pool deck. Still, she moved well away from the precipice before turning around to look up at the Sea Spa’s main building.
    The fissure snaked jagged but true as far as her eye could see. So she followed it back again through the ruins, up slope until she reached a high point from which she could see matching tiled rooftops all in a row below on the other side. Those apartment houses must have been built after the earthquake that caused the fissure. And below them rooftops and commercial areas extended beyond the ribbons of the 101 and the 5 after that and into a mist of pollution obscuring less populated regions of the county inland.
    She didn’t realize her companions had joined her until they turned together to view the magic of the ruins and the unrealized promise of splendor offered by the Sea Spa against the backdrop of unending ocean and sky.
    â€œThe public would just ruin this,” Kenny said. “There’s too much of it—the public, I mean.”
    â€œIf I were Arab-oil-filthy-rich, I’d buy it to protect it and to enjoy it all by myself.” Luella Ridgeway took in such a deep breath she had to cough some of it back. “What would you do, Charlie?”
    â€œI’d worry myself sick this sizable crack would open up and tumble me and all that’s here into the sea.”
    â€œYou ever consider Prozac or Zoloft or Paxil or Euphoria III?” Luella asked as they headed back to the Spa and the tinkle of wind chimes. “You’re carrying too much stress, babe.”
    Two men stood in earnest conversation in the shade of one of the cottages, Warren VanZant and a shorter man who resembled the ferret. Had he followed them or was he just continuing his investigations for the Union-Tribune?
    â€œEuphoria III?” Charlie came back to her own conversation, glad to see both men disappear before she reached them. “Is that a legal substance or something teenies think it’s cool to take before dancing?”
    But in the suffocating Victorian suite, Maggie refused to leave and the voice in the wardrobe swept away what little reality remained in San Diego County.
    Charlie lost it this time and flounced out to find someone in this place who had retained an ounce of sanity. Instead, she found women with hair wrapped in towels, euphoric faces red from granite rubs, filing out the door to the parking lot with Sea Spa bags probably full of clay, cucumbers, packets of ship-bilge tea, and what all else Charlie did not wish to contemplate. But she did try to envision what an enema pack might look like.
    Her cell tweedle-dee-deed in her purse and she was so stressed she answered it. Mitch was down at the Marina del Sol, thinking she must be at the Islandia in town. “No, I’m up at the Spa about ready to slit a throat, possibly mine. Maggie will not listen to reason.”
    â€œThat’s why she’s there, right? I’ve got something you might like to see. And you can take a breath of fresh air, settle down.”
    She hated when he did that. But it would be good to get away for a bit. She explained she was without a car and Mitch would have to come get her, persuaded Kenny to go back to the conference and Luella to hang in for a while longer. Caroline VanZant assured her that her best friend