The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (23 page)

“First off,” I said. “I don’t even know if they’ll let me leave—”

“Kate will do what she needs to do,” announced Wayne in a low, menacing voice.

“Well, that’s up to her,” Craig retorted. “Not you.”

The two men faced each other like gunfighters.

“Stop it, you two!” I ordered. Both turned to look at me with identical startled looks on their dissimilar faces. “We’re not going anywhere anyhow,” I continued. “Not until the Sheriff’s Department is finished with us.”

Wayne looked at me sheepishly. “On point as usual,” he murmured. I flashed him a quick smile. The smile he gave me back was full of such sweetness that marriage seemed possible to me for an instant.

Craig wasn’t finished, though. “But—” he began.

“March!” I ordered, exasperated.

Wayne and I marched forward in step. Caught unawares, Craig didn’t follow us immediately. Then I heard his footsteps catching up behind us, pattering like a frantic sheepdog’s.

We were almost to the main building when Wayne touched my arm. Felix was standing on the porch chatting with a blond woman dressed in a Lakeside Sheriff’s Department uniform.

The three of us clattered up the stairs. Felix looked at us quickly, then turned away. Should we pass him by without comment? Leave his low profile intact? I looked at Wayne. His eyes were straight ahead now, ignoring Felix. Maybe Felix would get something useful from the woman. Something to help us resolve this mess. I turned to Craig.
His
eyes were fastened morosely on Wayne. Had he even noticed our friendly reporter in action? We walked by Felix as if he were a stranger, and entered the main building.

Before we were halfway through the lobby, I was straining my eyes to peer through the glass doors into the dining hall. There, standing before the assembled suspects, were Chief Orlandi, the two men who had spoken with him earlier, a deputy in a county sheriff’s uniform, and a distinguished, silver-haired gentleman in a well-cut navy blue suit. The distinguished gentleman was busily straightening his silk burgundy necktie with one hand and gesturing toward the men with the other.

The two men I had seen earlier with Orlandi nodded, never changing expression. Though one of these men was blond and fair, the other black-haired and dark-skinned, their expressions were identically grim. The deputy in uniform had a more easygoing, freckled face. He spotted us through the glass.

“Ms. Jasper and Mr. Caruso?” he inquired, pushing open one of the doors.

“That’s us,” I replied. Wayne merely nodded.

“Have a seat with the others,” he ordered in a friendly voice. He looked past us at Craig. “And thank you for finding them, Mr. Jasper,” he added.

I looked at Craig. He smiled tentatively, a dog who thinks he’s been praised but isn’t quite sure.

The suspects were sitting at the long communal dining table, facing the police. Fran was in the center, flanked by her husband, Bradley, on the left and Avery Haskell on the right. Don Logan was wheeled up next to Haskell. And Ruth and Terry sat on the far left by Bradley. I sat down next to Terry. Wayne and Craig both hustled to fill the seat nearest to mine, but Wayne was quicker to get his bottom down. With a martyred sigh, Craig settled into the remaining chair by Wayne’s side.

“Is this all of them?” the distinguished gentleman asked Chief Orlandi.

“All but Ms. Martin,” Orlandi replied, his voice uncharacteristically subdued.

“Well, let’s begin then,” the gentleman said. He cleared his throat and smiled with all the warmth of a politician.

“I am Chief Deputy Sheriff Yeager of the Lakeside County Sheriff’s Department,” he said, and paused as if for applause. After a moment of silence he continued. “This is Sheriff’s Sergeant Kelly.” He indicated the blond man who nodded briefly. “And Sheriff’s Sergeant Alvarez, also of the Lakeside County Sheriff’s Department.” The dark-haired man nodded in turn. Neither of the sergeants smiled.

I fidgeted in my chair. At this rate, we could be here all day.

“Chief Orlandi of the Delores Police Department has asked for our assistance,” Yeager went on. He beamed a smile at Orlandi. Orlandi smiled wanly in return. “Please note, Chief Orlandi will continue to have primary responsibility for this case. But, of course, we are only too glad to help.” Another smile at Orlandi. This time, Orlandi couldn’t dredge up a return smile. He looked down at the tops of his shoes.

Yeager turned his benevolent gaze back to the audience of suspects. Then his tone became stern. “Sergeants Alvarez and Kelly will question each of you. You will be asked to answer many of the same questions again. And I am sure you will all cooperate.”

I looked down the table to my left, checking for signs of assent. Fran was the model of cooperation. She was nodding attentively, her head thrust forward with the eagerness of a good citizen. But that was about the extent of it. Bradley was watching something invisible move in the space between the rafters. Terry glared at Yeager defiantly. Ruth was frowning, lost in thought. And Don Logan had caught Avery Haskell’s expression. They both stared through the Chief Deputy Sheriff with blank zombie eyes.

“Thank you,” Yeager said, with a repeat smile, as if we had all pledged our cooperation. “We also request that you stay in Delores until this matter is resolved—”

“Well I’m not staying!” came Nikki’s voice from the door. She marched into the dining hall, trailed by Officers Guerrero and Dempster. Her cocoa-colored skin had turned to ash, and her large eyes were red and circled by dark rings. But she stood up straight as she spoke. “I’ve lost enough here!” Her voice thickened. “Everything, do you hear! Everything! Jack was…” She put her hands over her face and began sobbing.

“We will take Ms. Martin first for questioning,” announced Chief Yeager brightly. He nodded at the two sergeants.

“I’m not going to stay!” Nikki screeched. Sergeants Alvarez and Kelly moved in on her, one to each side, guiding her gently back to the door.

“Right on!” Terry shouted from his seat. “Remember your rights!”

Chief Orlandi quietly followed Nikki and the two sergeants out the door.

Chief Yeager turned back to us with his smile in place. “So, please be patient,” he continued. “And thank you once more for your generous cooperation.”

With his last thank-you he turned and left the room.

Once Chief Yeager was out the door, everyone had something to say.

“Listen up, folks,” began Terry. “We’ve got to stick together, protect our rights—”

“I hope they don’t further traumatize poor Nikki,” said Ruth, the brows above her black button-eyes pinched together with concern. “She shouldn’t stay here—”

“That guy Yeager makes Orlandi look good,” whispered Craig. The whisper carried. “I hope—”

“I liked him,” confided Fran. “He’s so…so…”

“Presidential,” I offered.

“That’s it,” agreed Fran. “Presidential. He’ll be able to take care of—”

Officer Guerrero stepped forward. “Keep it down, you guys,” she ordered. Behind her, Officer Dempster patted the butt of his gun nervously.

The table went silent. Even Terry stopped his tirade, limiting himself to a muttered “goddamn Gestapo” under his breath. Once satisfied by our silence, Officers Guerrero and Dempster walked over to join the freckled deputy at one of the corner tables.

I let out a long sigh and turned to see how Wayne was handling the whole thing. His face was expressionless when I turned to him. But then his eyebrows twitched. Silently he nodded at the doors to the dining hall. I swiveled my head around in time to see Eli Rosen enter. Eli scanned the hall quickly through his thick glasses, located the officials and walked over to their table.

“May I be permitted to sit with the others?” he asked.

“Who are you again?” queried Officer Guerrero, looking up.

“I am Elias Rosen. Suzanne Sorenson’s uncle.”

“The dead woman’s uncle?” Guerrero’s brows rose in surprise. “Why didn’t you mention that before?”

“No one asked,” said Uncle Eli with a gentle smile. “I would be glad to offer my assistance. Perhaps there are some questions I might answer.”

“Have a seat,” Guerrero said as she stood up. “If you’re her uncle, they’ll want to talk to you.” She walked briskly from the dining hall to knock on Fran’s office door.

Uncle Eli walked just as briskly over to our long table and took a seat across from the rest of us. One against nine. I wouldn’t be comfortable in that position. But Eli was an attorney, I reminded myself, who was used to facing juries. He was interested in one juror in particular, I noticed. He had chosen a seat directly across from Ruth Ziegler.

Uncle Eli smiled softly at Ruth, apparently oblivious to the rest of us. When Ruth saw his smile, the troubled look on her own face melted away, leaving a goofy grin in its place. She reached her hand across the table to him. He took the hand she offered and held it, his eyes misting up under his glasses. Romance. It brought a smile to my face, too. In fact, there were quite a few smiles at the table.

To think that after all these years they would find each other. And both unencumbered by spouses. What luck! But what if it was all an act? The question poked at my mind unexpectedly as Eli gently patted Ruth’s hand. What if the two were not the strangers they pretended to be? What if they were already lovers, but needed to hide their relationship? What if they were conspirators?

It was easy to think of the motives Eli might have had to murder Suzanne. The inheritance for one. Maybe there was more to Suzanne’s estate than the secretary had known. Or blackmail. Suzanne could have dug up any number of sleazy secrets while working for Uncle Eli. I looked at his lovelorn face. What memories lurked behind those Coke-bottle glasses, under those grizzled grey brows? All he lacked was opportunity.

I glanced at Ruth’s adoring face. Ruth hadn’t lacked opportunity. She had been right here at Spa Santé when Suzanne was killed. And all she lacked was motive.

Ruth and Eli slowly released each other’s hands, then looked around as if only now noticing the rest of us at the table.

But why would Eli show up at Spa Santé if they were hiding their relationship? All he had to do was stay put in Marin. The theory began to crumble. If only I could discuss it with Wayne. I turned to him. His face was crumpled in misery. In the second it took me to ask myself what could have upset him, I remembered his words about marriage. I felt the
clunk
as my heart instantly gained ten pounds of guilt.

“Where is Nikki Martin?” a loud voice demanded from the doorway. A young black man in a grey pinstripe suit stood there, clutching a briefcase. His large, wide-set eyes were beautiful. And very angry.

Officer Guerrero stood up. “She’s being interviewed by the Sheriff’s Department,” she answered coolly.

“Here?” asked the man.

Guerrero nodded reluctantly.

“Without benefit of counsel?”

“Well…” Guerrero mumbled.

The man glared.

“I’ll go check,” she said quickly. “You wait here.”

As she passed him in the doorway, he said, “Tell Ms. Martin her attorney has arrived.” He made no move to seat himself, but stood resolutely where he was.

“Right on,” Terry whispered.

I nodded agreement.

Softly spoken comments traveled around the table. “I hope she’s okay.” “God will watch over her.” “As if she hasn’t been through enough.”

Officer Dempster approached our table nervously, his hand inching toward his gun once more. “You’re not supposed to talk—” he began.

A bloodcurdling yowl behind him cut off his warning. Dempster whirled around, drawing his gun as he did. Roseanne yowled again, then sauntered past him, past all of us, into the kitchen, her tail straight with dignity.

After a few startled gasps, people began to laugh. It felt good to let loose. Dempster even offered an embarrassed chuckle before holstering his gun and returning to his seat. But our laughter was cut short when we saw Officer Guerrero lead Nikki back through the doorway.

As soon as Nikki saw the man in the pinstripe suit, she threw her arms around him and pressed her face to his chest, weeping loudly. Guerrero tiptoed off quietly to her table. The man stroked Nikki’s hair ineffectually with one hand for a few moments, then dropped his briefcase and put both his arms around her. He held her tight until her weeping dissolved into a random series of whimpers and sniffles. Finally, she brought her head up.

“Nikki?” the man inquired, releasing her from his arms. “Have they hurt you?” He looked into her eyes.

She shook her head and sniffed. He handed her his handkerchief. She buried her face in it.

“Do you want to go now?” he asked.

“I…I want to talk to Kate first,” she murmured through the handkerchief.

My body stiffened when I heard my name.

“Who is Kate?” the man asked gently.

Nikki lowered the handkerchief and pointed at me. “Kate,” she called, her voice growing stronger. “Come here.”

I looked at Officer Guerrero for permission. Guerrero shrugged her shoulders and sighed. Permission granted? I walked stiffly over to Nikki, feeling the combined weight of all of the eyes in the room upon me.