Free A Killer Retreat by Tracy Weber Page B

other woman in your party collapsed. We’ve taken her to the office.”
    Sam leaped up from the table, fresh-baked bread and spreadable garlic completely forgotten. Michael and I ran close on his heels. We found Rene in the center’s main office, seated strategically close to an empty wastebasket. Bruce held Rene’s forearm, pressed his fingers against her wrist, and looked at his watch. Emmy hovered beside them, looking concerned.
    Sam rushed up to Rene and knelt down beside her. “Honey, what’s going on? The hostess said you collapsed!”
    â€œI’m fine, Sam, really. I didn’t collapse. I threw up in the bathroom, and when I stood up, I got a little dizzy, that’s all. Honestly, I don’t know what all the fuss is about. It’s just this stupid stomach bug.”
    She sagged back in her chair. “I haven’t eaten since that pie after lunch. I probably have low blood sugar.” She swallowed hard. “But the thought of eating …” She shuddered. “Please, everyone. Let’s call it a night. I’d like to go back to the cabin and lie down.”
    â€œIn a minute,” Emmy replied. “Let Dad take a look at you first.”
    Rene made eye contact with me, pointed at Sam under the table, then gestured with her eyes to the door.
    Message received.
    â€œCome on guys,” I said. “Let’s wait outside and give them some space.” Sam didn’t move. “You too, Sam,” I added.
    He placed his hand protectively on Rene’s back. “I’m not going anywhere.”
    Rene sat up straighter and smiled at him encouragingly. “Please Sam, I’m feeling a little claustrophobic. Give me a few minutes.” She gently nudged him toward the door. “I’m OK. I promise.”
    Sam followed us out to the hallway, but he remained huddled near the closed door, looking significantly less than happy. I filled the silence with louder-than-normal conversation, hoping to prevent him from eavesdropping.
    â€œYou must be Emmy. I’m Kate.” I reached out my hand.
    Emmy took it. “I’m sorry we had to meet this way.”
    â€œMe too,” I replied. “I meant to stop by the office earlier today, but I got sidetracked.”
    Michael, Emmy, and I continued exchanging meaningless pleas antries while Sam paced back and forth, checking and rechecking his watch.
    Finally, I asked her, “Your father’s a doctor?”
    â€œYes, a pediatrician. I’m not sure he can help your friend, but he can at least tell us if we need to get her to a hospital.”
    At the mention of the word “hospital,” Sam stopped pacing. He looked at the door knob, ready to pounce.
    I needed to distract him, and quick, so I said the first inane thing that popped into my head.
    â€œHey Sam, I think there’s a party later on tonight. Want to go?”
    I was pretty sure the obscenity Sam grunted meant no, but at least he stepped away from the door.
    Emmy leaned against the wall and groaned. “Oh lord, the open house. I forgot all about the open house.” She rubbed her eyes. “Seems like this god-awful night will never end. I’ve been looking forward to this weekend for months. Now I just wish it was over.” She sighed and stared pensively at the restaurant. “Maybe Monica will be satisfied now that she got her way. Maybe she’ll give us some peace …” Her voice trailed off.
    She raised her hand as if about to say something important, then let it drop to her side. “Ah, what the hell.” She smiled at me. “We can always get drunk. At least there’ll be no shortage of liquor. Dad’s making his famous Manhattans.”
    My stomach clenched. We? Did she say we ?
    I’d obviously made a critical error. I should have distracted Sam by suggesting a different activity. Something less odious than spending more time in the same room as Monica—like tap