The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (32 page)

He looked at the rest of us on the porch and barked, “Stay here!”

Then he led Deputies Nerviani and Jordan down the stairs for a whispered consultation. While the police consulted, the Beaumonts stared at Wayne and me. We stared back at the Beaumonts. And Don Logan stared at all of us. After a few minutes Orlandi’s normal speaking voice came floating back up the stairs.

“Nerviani, you round up the ones who aren’t here.” Orlandi looked up at us on the porch. “Not too many left. Ruth Ziegler, Terry McPhail, Craig Jasper, Avery Haskell—”

“I’m here,” came a low voice from the shadows.

Orlandi’s head swiveled around, startled. Then he glared into the shadows where the voice had come from.

Avery Haskell emerged from behind an orange tree, his zombie mask intact. How long had he been there listening? Was he the watcher whose presence I had felt? He was dressed, but barely. He wore no shoes, no socks, only jeans and a sweatshirt.

Orlandi squinted at Haskell suspiciously, then turned back to Nerviani. “That leaves Jasper, Ziegler and McPhail,” he said. He motioned to Fran. “Can you give Deputy Nerviani their room numbers?”

“I’d be happy to,” replied Fran, her face brightening at the request. She led Nerviani into the lobby, chatting cheerfully. I wished I had something to do. I was exhausted, and sleepy, too, in the aftermath of the night’s events.

“Jordan,” Orlandi ordered, turning to the burly deputy. “Take the rest of them into the dining hall. Don’t let them talk. I’ll take them one by one for interviews.”

Jordan herded us into the building. Orlandi followed. We were halfway through the lobby when Avery Haskell spoke again.

“Correction is grievous unto him that forsaketh the way,” he declared.

Orlandi marched past Jordan and jerked Haskell away from the rest of us by his elbow. Haskell turned to face him slowly. “And he that hateth reproof shall die,” Haskell finished, his face still wooden.

“That’s very interesting,” said Orlandi, flashing his teeth in a brief crocodile grin. Then his voice hardened. “What does it mean?” he demanded.

“It’s the Lord’s word,” replied Haskell.

“It is, is it?” barked Orlandi.

“The Lord’s word is always of comfort to the saved,” Haskell explained slowly. The impact of the words might have been friendly, if only he had been smiling. But he wasn’t.

“Fine,” said Orlandi, baring his teeth again. “You’re first. Come with me.”

He led Haskell off to Fran’s office while the rest of us moved into the dining hall. We all sat down at the communal table as if we had been ordered to. Wayne and I took one side, Bradley and Paul Beaumont the other. And Don Logan wheeled up to the end.

A minute later Fran came in, still smiling after helping Deputy Nerviani. She sat down next to Bradley.

When Deputy Jordan began the “don’t speak among yourselves” spiel I tuned out. His voice became a warm buzz as I leaned against Wayne sleepily. All out of adrenalin, I thought. My eyes were refusing to focus properly. There seemed to be two sets of Beaumonts. With a blink they wavered into one set again, but then lazily separated once more into twins. I closed my eyes gently and wondered if I was sitting at the table with a murderer. Even if I was, I decided, I wanted a little nap.

A phone rang in the hall. My eyes popped open to see Bradley Beaumont’s eyes frankly studying my face. The phone rang again. Fran turned to Deputy Jordan. He nodded his permission to answer the phone. She went to the counter and picked it up, murmured a few words, covered the receiver and told him breathlessly that it was for Chief Orlandi.

I sat up straight in my chair. My foggy mind struggled for alertness. Was the phone call about Eli? Was he conscious? Or dead? I turned to Wayne. His brows were low on his worried face.

Deputy Jordan walked to the phone and grunted into it a few times. Then he hung up and trotted through the dining room doors to find Orlandi.

I looked across at Bradley. Why had he been staring at me? Was it the mud? His eyes were lowered now, shielded from mine. Then I heard the dining hall doors open again. I turned, expecting to see Deputy Jordan. But there were two people coming through the doors, Edna Grimshaw and Arletta Ainsley.

“Psst,” hissed Edna loudly. Everyone at the table turned to her. Her jowly face reddened. Arletta waved a frail hand at me and smiled.

“How did you—” I began.

“Shhh,” Edna warned. She put her finger to her lips and motioned me over.

What the hell, I thought. Deputy Jordan was gone. I got up, feeling the curious eyes of everyone present, including Wayne. I gave his shoulder a quick squeeze and walked over to the twins.

As soon as I reached them, Arletta chirped, “We heard it on the radio.”

“Police band,” explained Edna in a curt whisper. Her eyes traveled down my body. “Why are you covered in mud?”

I sighed. I was so tired. It was easier to explain truthfully than to hold out on them.

“We found another body,” I whispered back. “In the mud bath. But he’s alive—”

“Out!” boomed a voice from behind the twins.

I jumped, then looked up into Chief Orlandi’s angry face. I had been so intent on my explanation that I hadn’t heard his approach. Deputy Jordan trotted up behind him.

Edna Grimshaw was not intimidated. “Vic Orlandi,” she growled, pointing a beefy finger in his face. “Don’t you ever speak to me that way.”

Orlandi rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. When he brought them back down he turned on Deputy Jordan.

“Don’t leave these people alone again,” he snapped.

Deputy Jordan flinched but managed a quick nod.

Then Orlandi turned back to Edna and Arletta. He drew back his lips and grinned. “Would you ladies be so kind as to accompany me?” he asked, sweeping his hand toward the lobby.

Edna narrowed her eyes. Arletta giggled. Orlandi drew his lips back even further, straining his face into a grinning skull. Finally Edna hunched her shoulders forward and marched into the lobby as requested. Arletta bobbed dutifully behind her.

I watched them all disappear out the front doors. Then I heard Orlandi bellow, “And stay out!” After the echoes died down, he stomped back through the lobby and into Fran’s office.

Deputy Nerviani brought in the rest of the crew as Jordan was steering me back to the communal table. Ruth, Terry, Craig and Felix came through the dining room doors. Felix?

Craig rushed over to me. “You’re okay!” he exclaimed. Then he took a better look at me. “How’d you get that mud all over—”

“That’s enough,” warned Jordan. After Orlandi’s reprimand he wasn’t going to allow any loose lips to flap. That was clear.

I took my seat next to Wayne. Craig flopped down beside me and Felix next to him. Felix had a big grin on his face, having infiltrated the inner circle of suspects. I wished he could have taken my place. All I wanted was to take that little nap I deserved. Jordan was reciting his speech again to the newcomers. I dropped my eyelids as Terry and Ruth took seats across the table.

“We have a right to know what’s going on here!” Terry shouted. I opened my eyes again to look at him. He must have dressed in a hurry. His T-shirt didn’t have any words printed on it.

Jordan opened his mouth to respond. But Orlandi beat him to it as he walked through the door. He must have finished with Haskell.

“Keep quiet,” he snapped at Terry. “We can discuss your rights later.”

“But—” insisted Terry.

“Enough!” bellowed Orlandi.

Volume triumphed over free speech once more. Terry slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms angrily. But he kept quiet. Ruth looked around the room anxiously. Had she noticed that Eli was missing? I wanted to reassure her, to tell her that Eli wasn’t dead. But Orlandi’s surly presence was enough to keep my mouth shut, even if common sense wouldn’t have been.

Orlandi pointed at Felix, who was still grinning. Was Felix already composing his story about Orlandi’s tactics?

“Who’s he?” Orlandi demanded. Felix’s grin flickered.

“He claims he’s a witness,” answered Nerviani.

“To what?” demanded Orlandi with a scowl. “This man’s a reporter.”

Felix winced and gave up on his grin altogether. Nerviani led Orlandi over to the corner of the dining hall, where they conversed in muted grunts and whispers. I wondered what it was that Felix claimed to have witnessed. I let my eyes close. He probably just wanted a chance to talk to Orlandi. But I was curious enough to push my eyes back open when Orlandi returned to our table.

“Mr. Byrne, come with me,” he ordered Felix. His face was serious.

As Felix followed Orlandi out into the lobby I wondered if he really had seen something. And, if so, what was it?

I leaned my head against Wayne’s shoulder, catching a glimpse of a frown on Craig’s face as my eyes closed again. I didn’t fall asleep right away. I could hear the rustling of bodies shifting in their chairs and Terry’s muttered “storm-troopers” as an image of Eli Rosen’s muddy body floated into my mind. I tried to summon up a picture of a flowery meadow instead, but that vision came complete with Jack Ireland’s bloody head, floating over my meadow like an angry sun. Then his head smiled and I drifted away.

I awoke to my name being called. I blinked and saw Chief Orlandi before me. It seemed to me that I had been dreaming about him too. But the dream was gone.

“Your turn, Mrs. Jasper,” Orlandi said softly. At least he wasn’t shouting. Or grinning. His face held a natural smile. Something must have improved his temper. I stifled a yawn and returned his smile as I rose to follow him to Fran’s office.

Orlandi began his interrogation as soon as I was seated across from him at Fran’s desk. He wasn’t posturing this time. Just asking straightforward questions. Maybe he was as tired as I was. It was nearly two in the morning by the clock behind him. On the other hand, maybe this was a new trick to gain my confidence.

We went over what I had told him at the mud bath earlier. Then he asked me where I had been previous to finding Eli. The tension in his face told me that this was an important question.

“We were walking,” I answered hesitantly. From the look on Orlandi’s face that wasn’t the right answer.

“Where were you walking from?” he asked patiently. A forty-watt bulb turned on in my tired brain.

“From Craig’s room,” I answered eagerly. “Wayne and I were with Craig and Felix until we left!” An alibi. All four of us had an alibi! “Felix left about a minute before we did,” I added.

I frowned at a sudden thought. Could Craig have attacked Eli in the few minutes that Wayne and I wandered around the spa. Not likely, I assured myself. A sixty-watt bulb turned on. This is what Felix had witnessed. Our alibis.

“What time did you leave?” asked Orlandi.

“Somewhere after twelve,” I guessed, looking at my lap and figuring. “Just a little while before we found Eli.”

With a jolt I remembered actually finding Eli. I sucked in my breath, seeing his twisted legs on the edge of the mud bath once more, and his still body being carried away on the stretcher. I lifted my face to Orlandi’s.

“Was that phone call about Eli?” I asked. I didn’t expect Orlandi to answer, but I had to ask the question.

He nodded, surprising me.

“And?” I asked as meekly as possible.

“Rosen’s regained consciousness,” Orlandi replied. His eyes were intent on my face as he spoke. Looking for a guilty twitch of surprise?

I sat back in my chair and let my breath out in relief. Eli was alive. Warmth came into my cold hands.

“Will he be all right?” I asked quickly. Consciousness was not necessarily good health.

“Probably,” answered Orlandi softly. Then suddenly his face turned angry. He bent forward and slammed his fist on the desk. “Rosen’s been through too much for an old man! Hit over the head. Strangled. And his legs are all bashed up! Whoever tossed him in that mud bath didn’t even bother to throw him far enough to clear the edge.”

ORLANDI SAT BACK in his chair, his sudden anger dissipated. “The doctors say Rosen will survive,” he finished softly. “Most likely, he won’t be permanently injured.”

I clapped my hands together in an instant of celebration. Then I slumped in my own chair, exhausted by relief. The strings of tension holding me up like a puppet had been cut. I could relax now. The murderer had failed. And Eli Rosen would live.

But would Eli be able to identify his attacker? Tension pulled me up straight in my chair again.

“What does Eli remember?” I asked quickly, taking advantage of Orlandi’s talkative mood.

Orlandi shook his head in disgust. “Eli Rosen remembers walking Ruth Ziegler to her room around eleven o’clock,” he recited, “then starting back to his own room.”

Orlandi bent forward again, peering into my eyes. Finally, he nodded his head as if having made a decision. “That’s all he remembers,” he finished brusquely.

“That’s all?” I repeated, unbelieving. “Doesn’t he even remember Wayne and I talking to him?”

Orlandi shook his head. “Concussions can do that,” he told me. “Maybe he’ll remember more later. But for now, that’s all we’ve got.”