She’d barely been able to swallow, much less drink anything, during Dr. Parthen’s lengthy explanation of everything that had…happened…in that garage. All three of them, Faith, Kacie, and Dr. Tonĩ Parthen, were currently gathered in the sitting area of a well-appointed bedroom located on the third floor of some glorious mansion. The door to the room was decorated with an opulently painted mural of a Flamenco dancer in traditional Spanish dress, her skirts flared out in swirl of color against the backdrop of a soaring cathedral. Inside, the décor was equally dramatic. The walls were covered with dark red velvet wallpaper inlaid with golden whorls, a huge four-poster bed had swags of gold cloth draping the canopy, and over in the sitting area, where they were now, a three-foot-tall earthenware urn was filled with bright silk flowers of the type a Flamenco dancer might wear in her hair. The three of them were seated on iron-framed, black-cloth-upholstered furniture, Dr. Parthen in an armchair, Faith and Kacie on a couch.
