Kristin told Zach Saturday morning as they pulled into a parking place in front of the Gold Creek Ledger. Their excursion had been delayed because Lillian Carswell, retired librarian and one of Ida Jane’s closest friends, had arrived late for her massage. The dear woman’s profuse apology had tacked another ten minutes on the clock, but Kristin still gave her a full hour as scheduled. “You have the hands of an angel,” Lillian told her as she paid her bill. “I’ve passed out your cards to all my friends, but they’re foolish tightwads. I can’t get it through their heads that forty dollars’ worth of prevention could avoid thousands of dollars in doctor bills.” Kristin wished all her clients were so appreciative of her work. Most exclaimed about how good they felt once the massage was over, but only a committed few scheduled follow-up visits. So, Kris went out of her way to keep good clients—like Lillian—happy. Even if it meant ignoring Zach, who’d spent the whole time lurking on the bordello’s porch like a gargoyle.
