Last Resort (13 page)

Wayne Hackerman was red-faced, sweaty and seething. “You know what the score is, pal.”

“I just want to make sure so there's no confusion,” Jake said innocently. “Twelve to two, right?”

“Eleven!” Hackerman snarled. The volunteer keeping score, an elderly man who looked ready to pass out from the heat, nodded weakly. “Eleven to two. Now serve the damn ball.”

Jake chuckled.

And promptly lost the next five points.

The mood had shifted on both sides of the table.

“What's the score?” Hackerman asked in a high falsetto voice. “I forget.”

Jake grimaced. “Eleven to seven. I'm still up.”

“Not for long,” Hackerman promised, bouncing on his feet.

Most of the Olympic attendees had wandered over to the table, forming a large circle around it to watch.

They traded points until Jake was up seventeen to twelve. Then Hackerman won four in a row to close to within a single point. He was practically dancing around on the other side of the table.

All I could think of was how unbearable my husband would be if he lost. He hated losing to anyone, but losing to someone he couldn't stand would upset him to no end.

Fortunately, Jake took the next three points to get to game point. Then Hackerman won two more points so it was twenty to eighteen.

“Choking a little bit there, pal?” Hackerman asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Can't close it out?”

Jake started to say something, then took a deep breath and muttered something to himself that I couldn't understand. He served the little white ball over the tiny net and they volleyed back and forth for what seemed like an eternity, the crowd oohing and aahing at the appropriate times. Jake finally stepped in close to the table and smashed the ball down on Hackerman's side. The ball ricocheted off the table and popped up and smacked Hackerman right in the mouth before he could get his paddle up.

Jake dropped his paddle and raised his hands in the air like he'd just won a gold medal. The crowd erupted in applause. And Hackerman seethed.

“Guess I was able to close it out, wasn't I?” Jake said across the table. “Pal.”

“You got lucky,” Hackerman muttered.

“Right. Luck was what put that last ball in your mouth.”

There was nothing like seeing two grown men act like fourteen year olds.

Twice.

I took Jake by the elbow. “Congrats, killer. Now behave yourself.”

“I'm fine,” Jake said. “I'm fine.”

“No fighting,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “And be gracious in victory.”

He snorted. “He's lucky I didn't make him eat the paddle.”

Rhonda Hackerman materialized on the other side of Jake, clad in an electric blue tube top and denim shorts. “That was just...wonderful. No one ever beats Wayne.”

Even beneath the heat and sweat, I could see Jake's cheeks redden.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“The way you handled that paddle,” she said, placing a hand over one of her massive boobs. “That was just...incredible. You have tremendous...hands.”

“Yeah, he really does,” I said, irritated. “And you might need to go comfort your own husband.”

She made a face like I'd suggested dog poop for lunch. “Wayne's fine. He's going to need to cool off anyway. First loss I can remember in a long time for him.” She touched Jake's elbow. “But he's never played anyone as good as you.”

“Rhonda!” Wayne screamed. “Get over here!”

Rhonda frowned, then gave Jake one more smile before sauntering away.

“I might drown her,” I said.

“You were the one telling me to play nice. That only applies to me?”

“It does not apply in any way when some shrew is hitting on my husband.”

“Shrew?”

“Shrew.”

The crowd around the table dispersed and I lost sight of the Hackermans in the throng of people. We found bottles of water in the cooler and then headed into the clubhouse to get out of the sun. Jake went to use the bathroom when Wayne Hackerman stormed into the clubhouse, mumbling to himself.

He stopped abruptly when he saw me and his face contorted into a sneer.

“My husband is in the bathroom,” I said, hoping to hold him up. “He'll be out in a minute.”

He stared at the bathroom door, then shook his head, visibly disgusted. “Fine. I'll wait for him to come out before I go in.”

I didn't say anything and we sat there in awkward silence, the only noise the ceiling fan buzzing above our heads. I stole a glance at him. He looked upset and exhausted. I squinted, trying to picture him crouched down by our car, stabbing a knife into the tire. Surprisingly, I had a hard time visualizing it.

“Our car was vandalized last night,” I blurted out, waiting to see his reaction.

“Vandalized?” he repeated.

I nodded. “Someone slashed one of the tires.”

I didn't think he could fake the shock that appeared on his face. “Did you call the cops? Tell Delilah?”

“Not yet,” I said, shaking my head. “We just want it fixed.”

“You need to report stuff like that,” he told me. “We don't need any more trouble up here.”

“Any more?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

He stared at me like I was an idiot. “Harvey?” he said, his eyebrows raised. “Finding a dead body on the property isn't trouble enough?”

“Oh,” I said, nodding. “Yeah, that just seems different than having your tire slashed.”

He untied his bandana and mopped his forehead. “Trouble is trouble,” he said. “And we don't need none of it.”

“You've been coming here for a long time, right?” I asked.

He eyed me suspiciously, then nodded. “Yeah. Long time.”

“Do you know anything about a development nearby?” I asked. “Like condos or homes or something?”

He stared at me, trying to process my rapid change of subject. I didn't even know what I was doing but Wayne Hackerman seemed like someone who might know things. And I was desperate for information, especially when my husband wasn't around to prevent me from doing a little digging.

“Here?” he said. “No.”

“Were you friends with Harvey?”

He wiped at his forehead again. “What's up with all these questions, little lady?”

“I don't know,” I said. I decided to play to his ego. “I'm just curious. And you seem to know a lot.”

He nodded, as if this was the absolute truth. “I knew him, if that's what you're asking.”

“But were you friends?”

He scowled at me and I saw visions of his son making that same face. “I don't even know what that means.”

I hesitated, then said, “I'm just curious why you would've been arguing with him.”

His mouth puckered up. “What the hell are you even talking about?”

Jake emerged from the bathroom and stopped short of the sofa I was sitting on. He folded his arms across his chest and stared down Hackerman.

“I was just waiting to use the restroom,” Hackerman said. “Don't get your panties in a wad.”

“Panties. Little lady,” Jake said, repeating some of Hackerman's favorite words. He tossed a crumpled paper towel into the waste basket. “I feel like you may have some masculinity issues.”

Hackerman's face flushed. While I agreed with my husband, I was a little tired of seeing them fight.

“I heard that you were fighting with Harvey,” I said, ignoring Jake. Then I held up my hand. “Sorry. Not fighting. Arguing with him.”

The corners of Hackerman's mouth twitched. “Harvey and I got along just fine.”

“But were you arguing with him?” I asked. “Recently?”

“Listen, little lady, I don't have to tell you anything.”

“The sheriff thinks Delilah might have had something to do with Harvey's death.”

Hackerman froze and there was no mistaking the surprise on his face was genuine. “What? That's a load of crap!”

“I know,” I said. “So I'm just trying to figure out what was going on with Harvey before he died. For Delilah.”

“She ask you to do this?” His voice was gruff.

“No,” I admitted. “But I consider her my friend. And I'd like to help her.”

Hackerman stuffed his bandana in his pocket and cleared his throat. “Harvey and I, we ran into each other around the campground. I helped him out sometimes, moving stuff, setting things up. We watched a couple of ballgames together.” He shrugged. “I guess we were friends.”

“And friends sometimes argue,” I said.

His eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you getting at? If you've got something to say, then say it.”

“Were you arguing with Harvey recently about money?” Jake asked before I could.

The color returned to his face and his hands started fidgeting. “Where'd you hear that?”

We both shrugged.

“I didn't do anything to Harvey,” he growled.

“We didn't say you did,” I said.

He made a face. “That's exactly what you're asking me. If I killed him. You're trying to pin his death on me so the sheriff can look at me instead of Delilah. Well, I'm telling you I didn't do it! I didn't do anything!”

“But you still didn't answer the question,” Jake pointed out.

Hackerman stiffened. “Because I don't need to. What was between me and Harvey was between me and him and none of your business.” His scowl deepened. “And last time I checked, neither of you was wearing a badge. So maybe you need to keep your nose out of business that doesn't concern you.”

I stood from the sofa. Hackerman was pissed and he was right. We weren't police. He didn't have to answer our questions. And I'd sort of tricked him into answering them. I felt a twinge of guilt.

Jake, however, did not. “Good point,” he said, nodding. “We'll let the sheriff know that you and Harvey were having a fight. Because he does have a badge.”

Hackerman's jaw locked and for a moment, I thought he might charge Jake and we'd be right back to square one. But then he seemed to think better of it, whether it was because he didn't think he could take Jake or because he didn't want to fight.

“You do that,” he said, stomping past us toward the bathroom. “You just go right ahead and do that.”

TWENTY TWO

“I will not sell!” Delilah yelled.

After our run-in with Hackerman, Jake went back to the cabin to shower and I went to check on Delilah. I knew she'd been rattled by the sheriff's visit but I also wanted to ask her about Copper's comments regarding Harvey and Hackerman. If there had been bad blood between the two of them, she would have known about it.

So I walked down the hill toward the main office and right before I reached the screen door, I heard her yelling.

I stopped in my tracks, unsure what to do. There was an old red pick-up truck that I didn't recognize parked in the small lot next to the office.

“So you can just forget it,” she said, her voice still raised. “I'm not selling.”

“Delilah, be sensible,” a familiar voice said.

“I am not in the mood to be sensible right now,” she said. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Feet shuffled against the floor and the screen door swung open. Davis Ellington came out, his hands in his pockets, a sad expression on his face. He stopped when he saw me, then nodded in my direction.

“Ms. Savage,” he said. “Nice to see you.”

“Hello,” I said, unsure of what else to say.

His shoulders were slumped forward, almost rounded, like someone had kicked his dog.

“Should I not go in there?” I said, pointing at the office.

He looked over his shoulder at the office, like he'd forgotten it was there. “I'm probably the wrong person to ask. But if you do go in, try and talk some sense into her.” He shook his head. “Have a good day.”

He trudged toward the pick-up, lumbered into it and drove away.

I waited a moment, then knocked on the screen door. “Delilah?”

“I'm here,” she huffed.

I pulled the door open and stepped inside of the cramped office. She was behind her desk, leaning back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest, staring straight ahead. Her gray hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, wisps of hair framing her face like a tarnished, old crown.

“Am I interrupting?” I asked.

She looked toward me as if she'd just realized I was there. “Oh. No. I'm sorry. Just...a little out of it today.”

“That's okay,” I said. “Everything alright?”

She sighed and set her elbows on the desk, placing her forehead into her palms. “Dandy. Just dandy.”

I sat down in the chair across from her. The ancient window AC unit was plugged in now and a faint blast of cool air trickled out of it. “I saw Mr. Ellington leaving. And I couldn't help but overhear part of your conversation.”

She pulled her head up. “I'm sorry. I was a little loud.”

“That's okay. You've got a lot to deal with.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I do.” She glanced to the door. “Davis means well, but it was just not what I wanted this afternoon.”

I thought back to our earlier conversation with the sheriff. She was right; she had enough on her plate with his visit without throwing a real estate agent panting after her land into the mix.

“Is he trying to help?” I asked.

She shrugged. “In his own way, yes. He thinks I should sell Windy Vista now before it gets worse.”

“But you don't want to.”

“But I don't want to,” she repeated. “I really don't. And I know what he's saying. If I sold it now before I really go under, there would probably be some profit in it for me and I wouldn't walk away with nothing. But...” She shook her head. “I just keep thinking something will happen to turn it around. And I'm not ready to give it up. Yet.”

“Could he find someone to buy it?” Her eyes clouded and I quickly added, “I don't mean that you should. Just curious if he could find a buyer right away.”

“Probably,” she said. “Davis seems to know everyone. But it wouldn't be Windy Vista anymore. They'd tear it down, raze everything and probably build McMansions on the land.” She pursed her lips. “And me going into bankruptcy seems better than that.”

I wasn't sure that was true, but I could see what she meant. She didn't want to see her life's work bulldozed and turned into something soulless and generic. It would be gone and there'd be no way to hang onto it and that had to be an incredibly difficult future to contemplate.

“Anyway,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “Enough about that. Davis has always been after something of mine. At least that's the way it seems.”

I glanced at her, curious, and she offered a tired smile.

“I know it's hard to imagine, but I was quite a looker back in the day,” she said.

My cheeks reddened. “I'm sure you were.”

“He's been trying to woo me for years.” She rolled her eyes and offered a rueful smile. “We tried being a couple but it just didn't work.”

I had a hard time picturing her with the man who ate meat and sauerkraut sandwiches for lunch and who tried to talk me into putting a down payment on a lot for a development he was still finalizing. He seemed completely disingenuous and Delilah was the most down-to-earth person on the planet.

“I'm glad you aren't a couple,” I told her.

“Me, too,” she said, nodding. “Davis is harmless as a fly but he's about as persistent as one, too. Still asks me out every once in a while.” She chuckled, then pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “Anyway, I'm tired of thinking about all of it. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I'm not sure you can,” I said, now feeling a little guilty about why I was there. “But I wanted to ask you a question.”

She opened her eyes and waited.

“Were Harvey and Wayne Hackerman friends?”

Delilah thought for a moment. “I'm not sure Wayne has what you and I might consider friends, but he and Harvey seemed to get along well enough, I guess. Why?”

“Would there have been any reason they would've been arguing about money?” I asked.

“None that I can think of,” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “Why are you asking?”

“I heard that they were,” I said. “Arguing about money. A few days before he died.”

Delilah frowned. “Like Harvey owed him money or something?”

“I don't know,” I answered truthfully. “Just that someone saw them arguing, that it wasn't particularly pleasant and that it was about money.”

She gazed out the window, lost in thought. “I honestly have no idea. Wayne is like a volunteer assistant manager around here sometimes. He can be a genuine pain in the rear, but he's also been coming here for years and knows the ins and outs of the place. And he's pretty good with a toolbox, so he'll help out his fellow campers if they need a hand.” She paused. “As far as I know, he and Harvey never had a problem. Wayne's a blowhard and Harvey knew that, but Harvey was also incredibly patient and willing to look for the good in most folks. So I think he preferred to see Wayne as helpful rather than a problem.” She shrugged. “So you got me.”

I nodded. So maybe it had been nothing. Maybe it had been a simple misunderstanding or maybe Copper had gotten it all wrong. I felt very foolish for having brought it to her attention when she had bigger worries on her plate. I didn't want to be starting trouble where it didn't need to be started.

“It was probably a misunderstanding,” I said, standing up. “Probably nothing.”

“Yeah, Copper likes to make mountains out of molehills sometimes,” she said, chuckling and shaking her head.

I didn't bother hiding my surprise. “How did you know it was Copper who told me?”

“Because it sounds like something Copper would say,” she answered. “And because she's been doing the same thing as long as I've known her. Makes everyone's business her own and thinks it's her job to stir the pot. Don't get me wrong. She's not trying to do any harm.” Delilah smiled. “But Copper has been known to get a few things wrong in the name of turning a good tale.”

I held up my hand. “Enough said. I'm sorry for coming to you with something silly.”

“Oh, it's fine,” she said, waving her hand in the air again. “And she probably did hear something like that. But I'd bet it isn't nearly as dramatic as she made it out to be.”

“You're probably right,” I said. “And now I'll stop bothering you and let you get back to work.”

Delilah's smiled faded and she nodded slowly. “Yes. Work. I should probably try and do some of that.” She picked up a pencil from her desk, then thought better of it and set it back down. “Speaking of work, I haven't been a very good hostess. Everything okay for you and the mister?”

I immediately thought of the slashed tire and the fact that a tow truck would be arriving at the resort sooner rather than later. I knew I should tell her but I didn't want to add one more worry to her growing list.

“Better than okay,” I said brightly.

She nodded, relieved. “Good. At least there's one thing going right around here.”