by Sara Daniel
“Wiccan Haus Resort and Spa,” the woman on the other end of the line greeted her. “I’m Myron, and I’m ready to start you down the path to spiritual and emotional healing.”
The unique introduction tempted her to snatch up the offer, no questions asked about the too-good-to-be-true impossibility of delivering on the marketing premise. She shook her head. She would create her own healing by hashing out the breakup with Justin, the last guy who would go for such a touchy-feely approach. “I’m calling to speak to a guest at your establishment, Sergeant Justin Lawson.”
“Our guests come to the Wiccan Haus to get away from the outside world. I can’t put you through to anyone.”
She understood the need to protect the guests’ privacy, but the woman didn’t even offer to let her leave a message. “Can you at least tell me if he’s a current guest?”
“The only thing I can confirm is the cards tell me you need to be here.”
“Excuse me? The cards?”
“Yes. What’s your name?”
“Holly Walters.” Switching the phone to speaker, she pulled her laptop closer and googled the Wiccan Haus. The place existed, and was apparently an island accessible solely by ferry boat.
“The fates are with you, Holly. We have a week at the main house available starting tomorrow. You’ll need to be at the ferry dock at—”
“Wait a minute. I can’t drop everything and take an impromptu vacation for a week.” But she could squeeze in a day off to visit Justin. Observing his body language would be as telling as the words he spoke. “What time is the latest return boat?”
“The ferry makes one trip.”
Sadie’s issues needed to be addressed before they turned into a publicity crisis, but they could wait a day. Considering the emotional energy she’d wasted over the past three weeks, losing a day to work him out of her system would make her more productive overall.
Her hope of winning him back or discovering the text had been a mistake had faded. Answers and closure would allow her to create a happily ever after without him. “Okay, I’ll make a reservation for a night.”
“The ferry makes one trip a week,” Myron emphasized.
“A week?” The man she thought she’d known wouldn’t have spent a full day at a spa, much less a week. What about the practical implications of such an inaccessible establishment? Although she wasn’t likely to have a medical or family emergency, chances were high she’d need to leave early for a client emergency.
“You must come this week. It will make a difference in the rest of your life.”
Despite the saleswoman overselling the place, Holly agreed with the sentiment. She needed to go. With her laptop and a wireless Internet connection, she could send press releases, review security concerns, counsel clients, and speak to media outlets. She’d barely notice the inconvenience of not being in the office. “Make my reservation.”
