The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (20 page)

Wayne lifted his eyes to me and saluted. I could see worry in those eyes now that they were visible. I resisted the urge to hug him. I was sure Orlandi would appear like a bad genie if I did. So I waved goodbye and left.

I crossed the lobby and stepped out into the midday sunshine. I blinked for a moment, blinded. Then the spa came back into focus. The stucco buildings and colorful landscaping shimmered in the light invitingly. I had forgotten the physical beauty of Spa Santé. I breathed in the clean air gratefully and deeply. If I could have gulped down extra portions, I would have. Freedom feels good. Even the illusion of freedom feels good.

But my eyes betrayed me. They moved involuntarily from the soothing beauty in front of me to the activity in the parking lot on the side of the building. I walked across the porch slowly, irresistibly drawn to look at the spot where Jack’s body had been. Or might still be. But I couldn’t see the space over the cars. I could tell the location would be invisible from the parking lot as well. There were wooden police barriers in front of the gap between the cars, and yellow tape encircling the whole area now. I breathed a sigh of relief, wondering why I had even wanted to look.

People in and out of uniform buzzed around the yellow tape. Busy bees taking notes, taking measurements, taking pictures.

A blue Toyota rolled into the far end of the lot and stopped. Two men got out. The smaller man looked familiar, even at a distance. He trotted over to the crime scene, where he was waved away by one of the worker bees. He shrugged and returned to join the larger man again. Together, they walked toward the main building.

The larger man was tall and skinny. He looked about sixty or so, with a good-natured face given character by grizzled grey eyebrows over Coke-bottle glasses and a long nose. He was tall enough to block the smaller man from my sight as they walked.

When they reached the stairs, the smaller man came into view. No wonder his lean, small-boned body had looked familiar. It was Felix, sometimes friend and all-the-time reporter. Damn.

“Howdy hi, Kate,” he greeted me as they came up the stairs. He wiggled his shaggy mustache in a smile. “This is Eli Rosen,” he said, pointing at the lanky man by his side. Then he watched my eyes.

Eli Rosen? I knew that name. I looked at the lanky man climbing up the stairs, hand extended to be shaken. Then I remembered. Suzanne’s Uncle Eli.

“Kate Jasper,” I said as I shook Eli Rosen’s hand. Now his grizzled eyebrows rose in recognition. They ought to. He had acted as Craig’s attorney in our divorce.

“I am pleased to meet you,” Uncle Eli said. He had the careful pronunciation of someone to whom English is a second language. And the graciousness not to mention our connection. “Your friend Felix and I met on the airplane.”

“Hey, Kate,” said Felix eagerly, nodding at the parking lot. “What’s with the police? New evidence?”

I ignored Felix’s question. I had a question of my own for Uncle Eli. “Did Felix tell you he was a reporter?” I asked. Felix may have been my friend, but grilling an unsuspecting, probably grieving, relative was too much.

Eli raised his eyebrows again, this time in surprise. “No, he did not.” The stare he turned on Felix was no longer good-natured. “So, this is the reason behind the many questions about Suzanne. A reporter.”

Felix’s face reddened. He flashed me a dirty look, then turned back to Eli. “Just doing my job,” he muttered.

“Ah, yes,” said Uncle Eli. “I too have made enemies doing my job well.”

Felix rubbed his chin, considering the last comment. Did this mean he had made an enemy of Eli Rosen? Felix looked the question at me. I shrugged my shoulders. Eli’s face was bland once more, giving away nothing. Time to change the subject?

Felix pointed at the parking lot again. “So what’s up?” he asked.

I didn’t want to talk about it. Especially in front of Uncle Eli. Let someone else tell him that his niece’s murder was merely the first of two. Or more. My stomach tightened. Then another question occurred to me.

“Who the hell is feeding C.C.?” I asked Felix. “C.C.’s my cat,” I explained for Uncle Eli’s benefit. Eli nodded wisely.

“I gave her to Barbara,” Felix answered peevishly. “I wouldn’t let her starve, you know.”

I shook my head, wondering if this series of abandonments would make C.C. neurotic. More neurotic, I corrected myself.

“So,” Felix said, pointing for a third time at the parking lot. “What—”

“Who’s feeding C.C.?” came Wayne’s concerned voice from behind me.

I turned and reached for Wayne, as Felix muttered “Barbara,” in exasperation.

Public or not, I needed a hug. Wayne crouched down and embraced me solidly. I held on to him, my face pressed tightly against his chest. Trying to hide from the memory of finding Jack’s body. Trying to blot out the whole morning of sadness and distrust. Trying to erase the murky aura of Spa Santé itself.

“Jeez, you guys,” said Felix. “How long has it been since you saw each other? Five minutes?”

I held on for a moment longer of safety.

“Give it a break,” said Felix.

We gave it a break.

Coming out of the clinch, I saw Uncle Eli’s good-humored face beaming at us. At least he enjoyed the spectacle. I introduced Eli to Wayne by name only. I didn’t mention that Eli was Suzanne’s uncle. Or Craig’s lawyer.

Then the four of us stood on the porch awkwardly, not making conversation. Too many subjects were taboo. Suzanne’s murder. Jack’s murder. Divorce. The nosiness of reporters. The abdication of cat-care.

“You have reservations?” asked Wayne finally.

Eli nodded. “In the Orange Blossom Building,” he said.

“I’ve got Rose Court,” said Felix.

“Ah, Rose Court,” I said wickedly. “You’ll love the decor.”

I peeked at Wayne. His face was deadpan, but I knew that paisley wallpaper had crossed his mind and that he was chuckling inside.

I was suppressing my own urge to giggle when I heard clattering footsteps from behind. I turned to see Fran scurrying in our direction.

“Oh, Kate,” she said breathlessly. “I’m glad I caught you and your…” She darted a quick glance at Wayne. He still made her nervous.

“My friend,” I finished for her.

“The lunch buffet is almost ready, in spite of all the…the fuss,” she twittered on. “I wasn’t sure people would realize. I called some of the guests. But I couldn’t get Don. Or Terry. And Nikki’s line was busy. If you see them will you tell them—”

She stopped midstream and stared at Eli and Felix. Had she only now noticed them? Not unless she was blind. Or completely rattled.

“Eli Rosen and Felix Byrne, your new guests,” I said, making the introductions brief. I was tired of being social director. And now that Fran had mentioned the buffet, I was hungry.

“Oh, dear,” she said, goggling at Eli. She twisted her hands together. “I’m not sure if your rooms are ready. I’m so sorry. But if you’d like to eat first—”

“I would be pleased to sample your luncheon buffet,” interrupted Uncle Eli. But he interrupted her so graciously that Fran didn’t know she had been cut off.

She looked up at him with a genuine smile on her face. “Well, aren’t you a nice man,” she said.

“Let’s go find the others,” I said impatiently to Wayne. “And tell them that lunch is on.”

Wayne nodded.

We didn’t have to look far for Ruth. She was climbing the stairs, her face gloomy. When she reached the top stair, however, the gloom lifted.

“Eli Rosen?” she said, squinting smiling eyes at him. “Is that you?”

Eli fastened his eyes on her and beamed. “Ruth Ziegler! It has been years. Are you vacationing here?”

Ruth nodded eagerly. “And you?” she asked.

“I have just arrived,” Eli said. His features clouded momentarily. Remembering Suzanne? Remembering why he was here? But he went on. “Is your husband with you?” he asked.

“No,” Ruth replied. Pink colored her cheeks. “He passed away three years ago.”

“Ah,” Eli said. “I must offer my sympathy.” But he didn’t look sad. He looked pleased. “Emma too is gone. It’s been a little over one year.”

Ruth’s black button-eyes sparkled like wet marbles as she gazed at him. Was she smitten? Eli offered her his arm.

“May I buy you lunch?” he asked.

Ruth placed her hand on his arm with a high-pitched giggle. If I hadn’t heard it myself I wouldn’t have believed it possible. She
was
smitten! They walked into the lobby together. Fran trailed after them.

I turned to Wayne. He had a big goofy smile on his face as he watched them go. I was glad to see it.

“Was the first woman Fran Beaumont?” asked Felix. Damn. I had almost forgotten Felix.

“That was Fran,” I agreed. “Your host.”

“And murder suspect,” he whispered. I looked at the eager smile on his face and sighed.

“Can’t we just forget murder for a little while?” I asked.

“No way—” he began. And then he stopped short.

Fran had raced out the door again, dangling a key in front of her. “Mr. Byrne,” she called. “Your room
is
ready. Here’s the key. If you’ll just sign the register.”

“Wait for me, you guys,” Felix shouted over his shoulder as he followed her into the building.

Wayne and I were finally alone on the porch.

“Are you all right?” I asked at the same time that Wayne said, “You’re okay, aren’t you?”

We both laughed, but then Wayne’s face grew serious again. “Now where were we?” I asked in mock innocence, my finger under my chin. “It seems to me your arms were around me—”

Wayne scooped me up for another hug, this time lifting me off the ground. I held on, legs dangling. I could just see over his shoulder. Unfortunately, what I could see over his shoulder was Craig shuffling up the path to the dining hall. Craig looked up at us as he came to the stairs. He winced. Damn.

“Put me down,” I whispered to Wayne.

Wayne sighed deeply and set me back on my feet. I turned to face Craig.

“Lunch is almost ready,” I told him, forcing a cheerful note into my voice.

Craig stretched a tired smile across his face in response. He climbed the stairs like an old man.

“Craig,” I said softly. “You’re off the hook. Whoever murdered Jack murdered Suzanne. Orlandi has got to realize it wasn’t you.”

“Does he?” asked Craig, his voice brittle with exhaustion. “What if I murdered Jack because he saw me kill Suzanne?”

“No,” I said, ignoring the way my pulse was racing. “It doesn’t wash.”

“It’s the current theory,” he responded. Then he sighed. Spa Santé, the Spa of Sighs.

“What’s the current theory?” asked Felix, walking up behind me. He held his room key in his hand.

“Never mind,” I said quickly. “Say hello to Craig. Then Wayne and I will walk you to your room.” This was not a good time to leave Felix to interrogate Craig. The current theory might become the current headline.

“So, Craig—” began Felix.

I grabbed Felix’s arm and began walking. He pulled back, stopping me in my tracks. “Don’t you want to meet some more suspects?” I whispered in his ear.

His mustache twitched with anticipation.

“Suspects?” he breathed.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Wayne walked around to Felix’s other side and we marched him down the stairs. On the last step, Felix turned and shot Craig one more hungry look, but only Craig’s backside was visible as it disappeared through the doorway.

Halfway down the dirt pathway to Rose Court, we saw Don Logan. He sat in his wheelchair, face blank as he watched our approach.

“Mr. Logan,” I said with false heartiness. “Fran says to tell you the lunch buffet is on.”

“Thanks,” he replied brusquely.

Felix nudged me, none too gently.

“This is my friend Wayne,” I said. “My friend Felix Byrne. And,” I finished with a smile in Logan’s direction, “this is Don Logan.” One suspect introduction down.

Felix put out his hand. Logan shook it without enthusiasm. Then he whirred and clicked his wheelchair around to face me.

“You have a lot of
friends
, don’t you?” he said in a low, insinuating voice.

I could feel my face go red. Had I been insulted? Before I got a chance to ask, Logan whirred away down the dirt path.

“Whoa,” said Felix, watching him go. “He’s not too friendly.”

“Maybe he’s publicity shy,” Wayne commented.

I gazed at Wayne’s thoughtful face absently and wondered. Had Logan overheard me telling Eli Rosen that Felix was a reporter? Or was he just tired of people intruding on his solitude? Or did he think that “friend” was a code word for “lover” and therefore he should take offense at my having three? I shook my head. It wasn’t worth worrying about. Especially when compared to two murders.

Wayne seemed to share my thought. He began walking up the dirt path again in silence. Felix and I followed.

“So when am I going to meet the rest of them?” Felix asked.

“After we show you your room,” I answered. I winked at Wayne, hoping to lighten his mood.