The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (15 page)

I didn’t have the heart to do any more swimming after Haskell left. It suddenly seemed a very risky pastime. So easy to push down on someone’s shoulders…I didn’t even want to think about it.

I yoo-hooed Craig out of the water and told him I was going.

“What was the big secret?” he asked.

“None of your business,” I answered.

“Come on, Kate,” he cajoled. “This is me. Tell me what you talked about.”

“Nope,” I said.

“Suit yourself,” he retorted peevishly and dived back into the pool.

I sighed as I went to change my clothes. Two friends alienated in one day over one secret. Was it worth it?

I was still wondering as I walked back to Rose Court from the swimming pool. Then I heard footsteps. Barbara’s words of caution came back to me.

I paused to center myself, then whirled around to face whoever was following me.

ONCE AGAIN I looked into the startled faces of the twins. This time I glimpsed what might have inspired their nickname. Despite their widely differing physical features—Edna’s jowly and bulldog-like, Arletta’s frail and bespectacled—both faces wore identical slack-jawed expressions: classic cartoon surprise.

“All right. Stop right there,” I said, injecting a note of menace into my words. “Why are you following me?”

Arletta came alive first. She closed her jaw, smiled and turned to her friend. “I told you she was a real detective,” she chirped.

“Hmph,” grunted Edna. Her acute blue eyes were busy studying me.

“Look—” I began.

“Edna’s the name,” the bulldog twin interrupted gruffly. She thrust her beefy hand out for shaking.

I stepped forward and shook it warily.

“This is Arletta,” she announced with a thumb pointed in the chirper’s direction. Arletta smiled and gave me a two-fingered wave. “Arletta’s got some damn-fool idea that you’re like the lady on
Murder She Wrote
—”

“I love mysteries,” interrupted Arletta. Her voice was high and trembling. Whether from age or excitement, I couldn’t tell. “And when I found out that there was a real unsolved mystery here in Delores—”

Her friend grunted disparagingly and shook her head.

Arletta turned to her. “Now, don’t you go spoiling this for me, Edna. We talked it out. We’re old as Noah’s dogs—nothing to do—nothing to lose.”

“That’s a fact,” agreed Edna. “Anyone who wants to murder us is just saving Old Man Time the trouble.”

“Anyway,” continued Arletta, “we’d love to assist you”—she looked from side to side and lowered her voice before finishing—”in your detections.”

I was stunned. “Who told you I was a detective?” I finally asked.

“My nephew Vic,” Edna replied. “Kid always was a joker.”

Now I was completely confused. I looked into Edna’s blue eyes for the answer. Who did those eyes remind me of?

“Oh, dear,” chirped Arletta. “You don’t know who Vic is, do you?”

I shook my head.

“Vic Orlandi,” she informed me. “The police chief.” Now I recognized the eyes.

“Chief Orlandi told you I was a detective?” I couldn’t believe it. Why would he do that?

Arletta nodded enthusiastically. Her thick glasses bobbled on the bridge of her nose.

“Arletta wanted to follow him around—take notes—help out,” Edna explained. “Being it’s a real mystery and all. But Vic said it was against police department policy—as if he ever gave a damn about policy before—I can’t stand it when he gets cocky like that. Anyway, he told us you were a real detective. Said you’d appreciate the help.”

It was clear to me now. These two old women were Orlandi’s revenge for my laughing at him. I wondered what he planned for Jack and Nikki. Then I smiled. This game could go two ways.

“So how’s the Chief doing on his end?” I asked.

“Oh, dear.” said Arletta, shaking her head. “I don’t think he’s doing very well. He was awfully grouchy when we talked to him last.”

“But he won’t let go,” said Edna, her family loyalty kicking in. “He’s tenacious, if nothing else.”

“Did he mention who he suspects?” I inquired nonchalantly.

“To us?” Edna growled bitterly. “Forget it. He thinks we’re a couple of old ladies.” I squirmed guiltily, since that was how I thought of them, too.

“He wouldn’t even let Edna see the body,” Arletta squeaked indignantly. “As if she would be squeamish. Why, Edna was a nurse for forty-five years.”

“Couldn’t stop me from calling the coroner’s, though,” chuckled Edna. Her jowly face stretched into an attractive grin. “Told them I was calling for Chief Orlandi. Strange kinds of marks on the body.”

“What kind of marks?” I asked eagerly. Orlandi, I thought, you blew it when you sent me these women.

“Marks around her neck like she was strangled with a cord of some kind. All the cuts, abrasions and such on her legs and arms. Looked like she was dragged…” Edna paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said ‘strange.’ It’s just the variety of marks that’s so surprising. Blows to the back of the head. Probably with a large rock. And for all of that, it was the smothering in the mud that killed her.”

No, Edna wasn’t squeamish. But I was. I felt a little sick.

“
Murder on the Orient Express
?” mused Arletta. She smiled, thinking about it. I guess she wasn’t squeamish either. “Maybe there was more than one murderer. Maybe each one used a different weapon on the victim!” She turned to me, bursting with enthusiasm. “What do you think, Ms. Jasper?”

“Call me Kate,” I said absently. I was busy running her scenario in my head. A family murder? Pictures formed before my eyes. I could see Fran whipping a twisted scarf around Suzanne’s neck and tightening it. Meanwhile, Paul’s bashing Suzanne on the head with a rock. Then Bradley drags her to the mud bath, where they all push her under. I felt queasy again. Then I shook my head. It just didn’t wash. Even if they were all psychopaths, I couldn’t believe that the Beaumonts were capable of the kind of cooperation necessary to commit a team-effort murder.

But how about a loving couple committing the crime? Jack cuts a piece of cord from a curtain pull? He chokes Suzanne? Then Nikki—

“Kate?” prodded Edna. “Are you still with us?” She waved a beefy hand in front of my face.

“Shhh!” whispered Arletta. “Her little grey cells are working.”

“Hmph,” Edna grunted.

As the twins’ faces came back into focus I remembered how they had followed me earlier that day. “Why did you run when I tried to talk to you the first time?” I asked.

“You were working on a suspect,” answered Arletta.

A suspect? Then I realized she meant Craig. It was time to come clean.

“Listen, you guys,” I said. “That was my ex-husband. I’m not really a detective.”

“Don’t worry, dear,” trilled Arletta. “You don’t have to explain.” She reached out and patted my hand, then whispered, “We wouldn’t dream of blowing your cover.”

“But really, I—”

She put her finger to her lips. “Not another word,” she said, “Just remember, we’ll be nearby if you need any assistance.”

She exchanged a meaningful look with Edna. Then they turned and left, Arletta still taking two steps to her friend’s one.

“Uh, thanks,” I said to their retreating backs.

Arletta threw me a two-fingered wave over her shoulder and they continued on.

I walked back to my room quickly, feeling too exposed to stroll alone on the spa grounds. I trotted up the stairs and barricaded myself inside my paisley cell.

As I turned the lock on the door, a realization hit me. Two willing sources of information had offered me their assistance and I had let them walk off without asking the right questions. Damn. I dropped onto the orange leatherette chair, overwhelmed by all the questions I could have asked. Should have asked.

The twins lived in Delores. And Delores was a small town. The twins probably knew the Beaumonts. If not well, at least better than I did. Wasn’t it Arletta who was the librarian? She might be friendly with Paul’s teacher or his school friends or Paul himself. And Edna was a retired nurse. She might fraternize with Bradley’s doctor, or a fellow nurse from the doctor’s office. She might even be able to find out Bradley’s clinical diagnosis.

And there was still the possibility that the murderer had come from outside the spa, perhaps from the town of Delores. If there was a local psychopath in town, the twins probably knew about him too. Or her.

And they could pump Orlandi…. That train of thought was derailed by another alarming one. What if the twins had been sent by Orlandi to pump me?

I began to pace. I hadn’t bothered to question their story. I had even filled most of it in with my own imagination. Orlandi’s revenge or Orlandi’s cunning? Beyond my tendency to attribute the elderly with honorable intentions, there was no real reason to believe the twins had necessarily told the truth. I reached one psychedelic wall and turned to pace the other way.

All right, so they might have lied. So what? I didn’t have any guilty secrets to share. And I still might be able to get information from them. I would endeavor to keep my mouth shut and ask questions only.

I finished my trip to the other wall and pulled another sheet of Spa Santé writing paper from the neat stack on the desk. I took this to my bed, along with the tray the water glasses had sat on. I used the tray as a writing table, propped myself up on pillows and began my list of questions for the twins. First question. How did I contact them? Damn. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t asked.

The directory assistance operator had a phone number for Arletta Ainsley and one for Edna Grimshaw. The same one. I dialed the number but there was no answer. Just for consistency’s sake I dialed Wayne’s number once more. There was no answer there either.

Sighing, I returned to my list.

By six o’clock I had filled both sides of two sheets of writing paper with questions. I had done a little work on my suspect list too, adding the hypothetical Delores psychopath and Edna and Arletta to the ranks. I hadn’t reached any logical conclusions as to whodunit, however. All my intuition had to tell me was that I was hungry. And afraid. Barbara’s warnings had settled into my unconscious.

I waited a little while longer before setting out for dinner, hoping for Craig’s knock on the door. An escort to the dining hall might have been nice in my jittery state, but no knock came. Finally, I walked over by myself, listening for footsteps all the way along the old dirt path.

I was glad to see Bradley at the front counter. But then, I would have been glad to see any human being, along with the comforting sound of other voices nearby. I looked up at the blackboard behind the counter. The movie title for the night was
Yoga, What’s It All About
?. The evening buffet included Brazilian black beans and greens and curried tofu-nut loaf. Those were Bradley’s specialities, according to Craig.

“Are you tonight’s cook?” I asked him.

“
Mais oui
!” he replied with an expansive bow. Ah. The charming side emerges.

“Would you like to know the secret?” he whispered. His eyes were glowing.

I forced myself to smile and nod. This guy was spookier in his charming incarnation than in the others.

He bent forward, locking his luminous eyes onto mine.

“Bananas,” he said in a low voice.

I stared at him, trying to make sense of the word. Was this an effort at self-diagnosis?

“The magic ingredient in my beans and greens,” he explained. “Bananas.”

“Oh!” I let out a snort of relieved laughter.

He joined in, his laughter high and disjointed.

“I’ll have the buffet, then,” I said.

“Mr. Jasper’s bill?” he asked.

I nodded and scurried to the buffet as Bradley broke into another bout of discordant laughter.

How crazy was the man? Was he merely acting? Bradley reminded me of a woman I’d known a few years back. She was an artist and had enjoyed pretending to be crazier than she really was. On the other hand, her enjoyment of the role hadn’t changed the underlying fact of her basic madness. I shrugged away the thought and surveyed the dining hall.

The hall was filled with people. Some were recognizable to me. Others were newcomers. I saw the twins seated at a corner table across the room. I smiled in their direction, but they ignored me. Protecting my cover, no doubt. Terry McPhail was topping off his plate at the buffet. Once he had finished, he went to the table where Don Logan sat.

“Mind if I join you?” I heard Terry ask.

Don shook his head and grunted an invitation to sit down. There was no accompanying warmth in his voice or his eyes, however.

Terry sat, then nodded at Logan’s legs. “Vietnam?” he asked.

“No,” responded Logan curtly.

So much for conversation at that table. I averted my eyes and ears, and concentrated on filling my own plate high with brown rice, vegetables and a healthy serving of both the Brazilian beans and the tofu-nut loaf. I hoped Bradley’s cooking was better than his state of mental health.

I sat down alone at one of the smaller tables and dipped into the Brazilian beans and greens. Delicious. The banana complemented the garlic-and vinegar-flavored beans and greens perfectly. As I took a bite of tofu-nut loaf I heard the noisy arrival of Jack Ireland.