The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [134]
“Have you seen this . . . cabin?”
Her mother laughed. “One man’s cabin is another man’s—”
“Castle?”
“I was going to say palace.”
“Close enough. And what’s with the lap pool? The lake isn’t long enough?”
“The cliffs, dear. The Rossinis are seriously fitness oriented and they love to swim, but with no beach there on the cliffs, they have to get in the car and drive to one to swim in the lake. As it is, they have to drive to the marina to use their boat, since there’s no place to put a private dock. Which reminds me . . . Grace said they store their boat in the winter, but if you’d like to use it, all you have to do is talk to anyone at the marina and they’ll put it, in the Rossinis’ . . . um . . .”
“Slip?”
“Yes, that’s it. There’s a sailboat, too, but I said I didn’t think you knew anything about sailing.”
“I don’t know anything about rowing a boat, much less sailing one. I think I’ll leave them both in storage. Besides, I have a book to write, and I’m going to finish at least the first draft before I leave here.” She pushed open the heavy sliding glass door and her eyelids slid slowly over brown-hazel eyes as a gentle breeze brushed across her cheeks, barely disturbing the wisps of golden brown hair that curled close to her face. The air was a pleasant mix of water and rich earth, lush vegetation and . . . whatever the cleaning crew used to prepare the house for her. Watching the late-afternoon sunlight sparkle and dance across the surface of the water and listening to the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the cliffs about forty yards away, she attempted to force open a can of relaxation—and failed. “Even if it kills me, I’ll finish it.”
“Try to get some rest, honey. You’ve been so tense lately that it’s no wonder your imagination’s stifled. Take the next couple of days off. Put ten drops of the California poppy extract I sent in water and drink it three times a day to help you relax. Drink as much as you can of the valerian root tea during the day—it takes a while to build up in your system, but the calming effects are fabulous. Then, before bed, make a nice cup of chamomile tea with just a few drops of the hops extract—be sure to keep that in the fridge, now, because heat and light will destroy it. Sip that in a nice warm bath with the lavender and almond bath oil. That should do it. But if it doesn’t, then take one of the 450mg passionflower capsules and that will. Get some good sleep. Soak up a little sun and you’ll be your old self in no time. Just wait and see.”
Sleep again. What wouldn’t she give for one whole night of dreamless sleep?
“I’ll try . . . And, Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for setting—” Ivy broke off at the sound of a knock on the front door.
“What is it?” Her mother went to DEFCON 1.
Ivy chuckled. “Nothing. Who needs to relax here, you or me? It’s just someone at the door.”
“Peek to see who it is . . . before you open the door.”
This time she laughed. “You mean through the long glass panels in the door? The ones whoever-it-is can see me coming all the way from the kitchen through? Press my nose up against one of those and peek . . . before I open the door? Way to make a great first impression on the neighborhood, Mom.”
“Don’t be flip, young lady. I’m serious.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, her tone indulgent as she frowned at the empty panels of etched glass in the oversized door. A child standing between the panels, maybe? A wood sprite from the forest beyond, perhaps? A severely emaciated serial killer standing sideways preparing to pounce, she guessed, peeking, looking, searching through the glass as far as she could in both directions. “Huh.”