If yoga's so good for the body and surfing's so much fun, why are people dying?! |
FATAL STRETCH. A Nick and Sarah Mystery |
An active vacation from a pleasant retirement? That's how Nick and Sarah pictured their friend Rita's yoga retreat on Maui--until a fellow-student suffers a cruel death while helpless in an extreme stretch, and Rita, accused of criminal negligence, suddenly becomes deeply withdrawn and...well, downright spooky! Back home on the casual coast of Northern California's Monterey Bay, the pace heats up quickly as Rita is attacked, Sarah feels compelled to help, and bizarre stories of a brutal act and deadly vengeance surface unexpectedly to complicate the equation. Trouble enough for an ex-teacher and a nurse, but throw in a wannabe hitman with a sexy girlfriend who's stoked on surfers and dreams of shooting documentary videos, a grief-crazed widower, a mysterious attorney, a greedy yogi, an opportunistic surfer, and a German Shepard, and you've got a nasty stew that's about to boil over into murderous action. Danger prowls Santa Cruz County and the quiet streets of Aptos, but before they can save Rita, they'll first have to answer the big one: How crazy is she?! And if yoga's so good for the body and surfing's so much fun, why are people dying? Why are Nick and Sarah so stressed-out? And why does this stuff keep happening to them?! Who says life's fair or retirement's easy?--No wimps allowed! |
Reader reaction: "A plot that is as full of unexpected turns as the spectacular California coast where the action takes place..." Palo Alto, CA. |
Trade paperback...Publication date: March 2002...ISBN 0-595-21826-1...241 Pages |
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Chapter 1 begins... She stumbled in her frantic rush as she reached 202, falling against the door with an awkward thud as shocks of sudden pain at right wrist and shoulder surprised her. In near hysteria, she denied injury: spent, powerless, out of breath from running and sobbing simultaneously. Then, gulping for air, she raised both fists and pounded on the door, a slim brunette in loose white exercise pants over an electric-blue leotard, barefoot, brown eyes wide in panic, tears wetting her cheeks. "Sarah!" she screamed. "Sarah--Help!" Startled by the assault on her door, Sarah Worther was instantly torn from the weary contentment of a warm shower with her hard-earned tranquillity rudely shattered and an eerie sense of dawning dread. She was alone in the room until Nick returned, and now wondered if her husband had been hurt. Twinges of conscience. He'd only come to humor her, and she'd thought he was in shape for this retreat--at least for the beginner program--but you can't make safe assumptions when ageing bodies and stretching are involved. And now that she'd finally convinced him to give it a try, she hated the thought that he might have overdone it. The pounding continued: trouble calling. This shouldn't be happening--not here, of all places! "Please, Sarah! It's Rita! There's been an accident, and I need your help! Please, answer!" Still wet from the shower, Sarah threw off her surprise and shook the moisture from her black shoulder-length curls. Grabbing one of the green terry cloth bathrobes that the lodge provided, she wrapped it around her dripping body and ran to the door. "I'm coming" she yelled. "Hurry!" Rita was obviously shocked, and Sarah would have been astounded by her yoga instructor's distraught appearance if she hadn't been a Registered Nurse and quite familiar with people in crisis. Her friend's usually-serene face was twisted with worry, her body attitude tense and expectant--a radical change from her confident demeanor when they'd parted company twenty minutes earlier, right after returning to Greenoast Lodge from the sunrise session at Seven Sacred Pools. "Of course, I'll help." Sarah reached a supportive hand towards Rita's shoulder, but she was already turning away. "What's happened?" Sarah asked. "Who's hurt?" "Thank you. Please, let's go!" Ignoring the questions, Rita beckoned nervously as she started back down the hall towards the stairs in a fast jog. Sarah, no stranger to emergencies, followed automatically. It's not Nick, thank God! she thought. She would've told me first. As they reached the stairway and started down the single flight, Rita spoke over her shoulder in a sudden burst of explanation. "It's Jeanine Poletti--something awful in the small studio! I think she's dead!" "Oh, no! Are you sure?" "Yes...no...oh, I don't know. Please, Sarah, you're a medical person. You'll know what to do!" "You called a doctor, right?" "Sure, but it'll be a while." Of course, it will, Sarah realized. They were on an island, and medical personal weren't plentiful on the Hana coast. "The pose..." Rita added. "It's not right...her legs...Oh, you'll see what I mean!" Hurrying along the hall's mango-colored carpet towards the lobby, Rita abruptly turned into the large meeting room, and as Sarah followed, she saw that the reed blinds were all open on the rear wall of floor-to-ceiling glass to display the bright green tree ferns, golden ginger, and spectacular orchids of the building's interior garden, the Rainforest Glen, as the lodge brochure proclaimed. To the left, a tight knot of uniformed lodge staff in purple and gold aloha shirts and khaki walking shorts crowded around the single door to the exercise studio, the small room where they were headed. "She's here!" Rita announced, prompting everyone to turn and look, then move aside so they could pass. A very worried-looking Hawaiian man rushed up as they entered the room: Mr Keohella, Sarah knew. Judging by his aghast aspect, the lodge manager would have more gray streaks in his straight black hair when this was over. "Mrs. Worther?" he said hurriedly, flashing an automatic smile. "Please, take a look." Stepping back, he motioned towards the center of the room, where a middle-aged blonde woman in hot pink leotard and black bike shorts lay face up on an exercise mat, both legs pulled up behind her shoulders and head and crossed at the ankles in what appeared to be an extreme stretch and was now a most unseemly posture for public viewing. Her arms flopped loosely across her abdomen, and her eyes were closed as if resting. And Sarah knew instantly that this pose was wrong, that the legs should have come uncrossed and fallen if the student was unconscious. She moved forward and knelt, thinking Inverted Tortoise..Dwipada Sirasana, with inadvertent admiration. They all knew Jeanine had been working up to this. She'd really made tremendous progress in the last two months, since she'd decided to commit to a regular practice. Quickly feeling for a pulse, just to follow standard procedure, Sarah already knew this was only a necessary formality. Death was evident to a practiced eye from the purplish lividity of the facial skin around the mouth and the general flaccidity of the muscles. She'd seen this before--the primary cause--but the additional signs of trauma caused her to frown. Now, in respectful silence, she shook her head No for the gathering's benefit, hearing several sharp gasps in response and a new flurry of whispers. "Sarah...?" Rita said in a quivering voice. "No, wait. Just give me a moment." As bizarre as Jeanine's final pose might appear to those unfamiliar with Hatha Yoga, Sarah knew that the extreme stretch was superficially masking the truth. Both of the wrists were bruised, suggestive of a powerful restraint, and her lips showed signs of fresh injury, as well. Glancing behind the head, she saw a red and blue silk scarf patterned with hibiscus blossoms looped around the crossing ankles and tied with a square knot to hold them in place, and felt sudden emotional revulsion at what she thought she was seeing. Gingerly, she carefully raised the body's right eyelid, noted the burst capillaries, and verified her suspicions again. Closing the eye gently, she sighed audibly, then plunged ahead. "Everyone, please, stay back!" she said in a firm voice, looking up into Rita's dismayed eyes and trembling lips. "Leave Mrs. Poletti undisturbed and don't move anything. We mustn't contaminate the scene. Mr. Keohella, please, call the police immediately." "Yes, of course," said the manager "but what happened?" "She didn't die of natural causes," Sarah answered quietly. "What?!" cried Rita. "What are you saying?" Sighing heavily, Sarah spoke with careful deliberation and deep self-consciousness: "I mean that this is no accident." "Mrs. Worther? You're certain?" asked Keohella in a voice tight with strain. "It's tragic, of course, but it must be accidental. Just look at her!" "No way is this an accident. I'm no cop, but I know what we're looking at. This poor woman suffocated." "From the effects of this difficult position?" asked Keohella. "You mean, she tied herself in a knot and couldn't breathe? Isn't that unfortunate, but accidental?" "Let's be clear," said Sarah. "I'll re-phrase my statement: This woman--our companion in this beautiful place--was suffocated." "Murder?!" Keohella winced with the statement. "Omigod!" Rita wailed and fainted, dropping to the hardwood floor before anyone could grab her. Everyone froze in surprise, so Nick's entry from the hall seemed unusually loud, causing them to turn and look. They saw a gray-haired man in a faded blue henley, turquoise swim trunks, and rubber sandals, a tourist with the fit look of an ageing athlete, clear blue eyes and an embarrassed smile. He paused, too, suddenly intensely self-aware due to his inadvertent interruption. The staring group of lodge staff was noticeably silent, all apparently gathered around something on the floor. "Sorry for the intrusion," Sarah's husband apologized awkwardly. "What's everyone looking at?" |
Trade Paperback...Publication Date: March, 2002...ISBN 0-595-21826-1...241 Pages |
