Last Resort (10 page)

SEVENTEEN

The next morning, Jake went for a run and I took the car back into town to load up on groceries. If the other restaurants in town were anything like The Landing, I didn't want to visit them. I preferred to stay in and make food, anyway. It was cheaper, it was quicker and I didn't have to put on makeup to go out.

Win-win.

I found the little convenience store near the lake that masqueraded as a grocery store, and after about forty-five minutes, I had a trunk full of food that I was confident would last us through the week. I took an extra few minutes to drive through the small lakeside village, which consisted of a couple of T-shirt shops, a shoe store, a bait shop and a small A-frame cabin with a big sign that read “Davis Ellington Real Estate.”

I rolled to a stop at the stop sign and stared at the office. I could see some movement behind the large glass window in the front, so they were apparently open. I knew that if Jake was with me, he would've told me to move my eyes back to the road and head back to Windy Vista, that there was nothing to be gained by sticking my nose further into something that wasn't really any of my business.

A car behind me honked and I made my decision.

I turned left into the parking lot.

The cold, hard truth was that Jake wasn't with me and maybe, just maybe I might see some vacation property that we might be interested in buying the day we won the Powerball.

A tiny bell jingled against the door as I stepped into the office. The interior matched the exterior, with exposed, knotted logs making up the walls. A large mounted moose head stared serenely at me and a bearskin rug was positioned right in front of a small wood stove that, thankfully, was not lit. There were two desks occupying the cozy space along with several cushioned chairs for guests. The desk to my left, a neat work space, was unoccupied. The one to my right was not.

A short, round man was stuffing his face with an enormous sandwich. It smelled like sauerkraut and meat. His yellow golf shirt was open at the neck, providing an unappetizing view of a rug of chest hair. Wisps of blond hair combed straight back on his round head were held in place by some sort of pomade that made the hair shine like new shoes. Reading glasses were perched on the end of his pointed nose and a small dollop of mayo dotted the center of the left lens.

He pulled the sandwich from his mouth as soon as I walked in and set it down on the white paper on his desk top. He grabbed a napkin, wiped hard at his hands and mouth, then cleaned the condiment-heavy lens. He pushed back from the desk and stood up.

“Morning, ma'am,” he said, smiling, still licking his lips. “What brings you in here this fine summer morning?”

A murder
, I thought.

His eyes roved over me, taking stock of my net worth as he mentally calculated the cost of my outfit and the simple black purse I was carrying. They lingered on my left hand, flickering over the diamond wedding ring I wore.

“Uh, well my husband and I are here on vacation and we were thinking about maybe purchasing something permanently,” I said quickly, which I thought was pretty good for having to come up with something on the fly.

He lifted his eyes back to mine. “Then you've come to the right place,” he said, his smile widening. He offered his hand. “I'm Davis Ellington and I can find you your lake home.”

I shook his hand and took in his words, which sounded like they were coming right off the radio. Actually, I was sure I'd heard a commercial for his business on our drive from the airport. “Daisy Savage.”

“Miss Savage, a pleasure.” He waved a hand theatrically over the chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat and let's see what we can find for you.”

“Thank you,” I said. I held up the hand he'd been openly staring at only a minute earlier. “And it's Mrs.”

He raised an eyebrow as he returned to his own seat. “Mrs., you say? And where is the mister?”

“Taking a nap, would be my guess,” I said. “I was just in town shopping and stopped in on a lark.”

He fitted himself into his chair. “Well, naps are a great thing. Wish I got more of them.” He winked. “So are you here on vacation?”

“We are,” I said, deliberately not naming our place of stay as he'd undoubtedly heard about Harvey. “Just for a few days.”

“Couldn't pick a nicer place in Minnesota,” he said, still smiling. “So tell me. What exactly might you and your husband be looking for?”

I was a terrible liar. My stomach was in knots and beads of sweat dotted the back of my neck. “Well, we have four kids. They aren't here this week, but they'd be with us. If we had a vacation home, I mean.”

Both eyebrows went up this time. “Four children? My goodness. I guess he does a little more in the bedroom than take naps. If you know what I mean.” He chuckled at his own inappropriate joke. “Well. So you'll be needing some significant square footage. At least five bedrooms.”

We didn't even have five bedrooms in the house in Moose River. “Well, I don't know—”

“Probably something with a large deck,” he continued, licking his finger and paging through something that looked like a small phone book next to his half-eaten sandwich. “And you'd want it close to the lake so everyone could walk as opposed to loading up a vehicle.” He cut his eyes from the phone book thing to me. “And what line of work are you and your husband in?”

“I stay at home with our kids,” I said. “Jake works for the recycling plant in our town.”

Ellington licked his lips and some of his enthusiasm deflated. “I see. And do you own your primary residence?”

“We do,” I said.

“How long have you been there?”

“A little over a year.”

His fingers slowed through the pages. “So perhaps something a bit...smaller.”

I could tell I was losing him. He'd been hoping I was some big spender and I'd suddenly turned into nothing more than a lookie-loo, the scourge of realtors everywhere. I needed to get his attention again.

“We're actually staying up at Windy Vista,” I said.

He paused for just a moment, then kept flipping the pages. “Is that right? I heard about all the trouble up there. A shame about Harvey.”

“Did you know him?”

“I did,” he said, again licking the tip of his index finger. “A genuinely nice young man with his heart in the right place. His brain, however, wasn't always along for the ride.”

“What do you mean?”

Ellington folded his hands together and gave me a tight smile. “The boy had big visions of trying to help Delilah. But he really had no idea about how to get it done. Or that it would be virtually impossible.”

“Impossible?” I asked. “Why's that?”

His smile was condescending. “It's...complicated.”

I bristled a little at his suggestion that I wouldn't be capable of wrapping my tiny, female brain around his big words.

“Try me,” I suggested.

He cleared his throat. “Money makes the world go 'round, Mrs. Savage,” he said, as if this was some big revelation. “And both Harvey and Delilah were in short supply of it, unfortunately. Their dreams were bigger than their bank accounts and they had a...difficult time acknowledging that.”

He couldn't have been any more vague. He cocked his head to one side, studying me. “Are you enjoying Windy Vista?” Ellington asked. “I mean, with the exception of all the excitement this week.”

“We are,” I said. “It's a very nice place.”

“It is indeed,” Ellington said. He leaned back in his chair and lifted his hands off the desk, folding them across his paunch. “Let me ask you this, then. Would it be a place you'd be interested in purchasing a second home?”

“I thought the lots were for rent, not for sale.”

“I'll get to that,” he said.

I thought for a moment, unsure of how to answer. “I'm not sure. The mobile home we're staying in is very nice but we might be interested in something a little more permanent. Like, a real house.”

He smiled. “I understand that. But let's say there was the chance to buy some permanent property there near the resort. Would that be of interest to you?”

I wasn't sure where he was going, but I played along. “I think so, yes. We'd be looking at this house as an investment as well.”

It was almost as if I could see his ears lift at the word investment. His eyes lit up from behind his glasses and I felt a little guilty for spinning our conversation in a direction that was decidedly untrue.

“So then perhaps something larger might be appropriate?” he said, as much to himself as to me. “You know, for grandkids and family gatherings and such. The community does stay open even in winter, so it would be available to you year-round.”

“The community? Is there something like that near Windy Vista?” I asked, not recalling seeing anything remotely like that.

He fiddled with his hands. “There could be,” he finally said. “Very soon.”

“Do you have the land?” I asked. I thought about what Kat had said, that she'd heard rumors of Harvey talking to Davis. Maybe, for once, the rumor mill has been right.  “Would it be possible to go see it?”

“Well, right now, we are still in the...development stage,” he said, emphasizing the syllables of the last two words. “And I'm not at liberty to disclose the exact locale. I could, however, put you on a contact list when the project comes to fruition.” He smiled. “And a down payment would most certainly guarantee you a lot when that time comes.”

It almost felt like he wanted to grab my purse and see how much cash I had on me.

“Let me talk to my husband,” I said. “And see what he thinks.”

His shoulders drooped a bit and he sighed. But he quickly recovered. “Certainly, yes. Talk to your husband and then stop back by before you leave town. Let's see what we can come up with.”

“I'll do that.”

He nodded. “Good, good.” He paused. “When do you think that will be?”

He was like a used car salesman and I'd suddenly had enough. I didn't want to commit to anything and I didn't want to continue the farce of being interested in something I most definitely was not.

“Soon,” I lied. “We're only in town for the week.” I stood up and thanked him for his time and we shook hands.

“Excellent,” he said. He handed me his business card. “I'll look forward to seeing you and your husband.”

I pocketed the card. I turned to go, then stopped. I looked back at him. “Was Harvey aware of this new development?”

Ellington had already picked up his sandwich and the bread missile was halfway to his mouth. His arm froze in mid-air and he looked at me over his half-eaten mess of a lunch.

“No,” Ellington said. “I don't believe he was.”

EIGHTEEN

“Hackerman is down there,” Jake said, stretched out on a lounge chair next to the pool. “Giving me the evil eye. So far, I've resisted the urge to drown him.”

I'd gone back to Windy Vista after meeting Davis Ellington and Jake had left me a note in the cabin, saying he was down at the pool. So I'd put the groceries away, changed into my swimsuit, grabbed a towel and walked down to find him.

I spread my towel out on the chair next to him and glanced down at the far end of the pool. Hackerman was ensconced in a corner of the deep end, his sunglasses on, a Twins cap pulled down tight on his head and a can of Miller Light in his hand. His mouth twitched when he saw me looking his way and he busied himself by tipping his beer back and taking a long gulp.

“Thank goodness for your patience,” I said. “Two dead bodies at this place in one week might be a bit much.”

Jake adjusted his sunglasses. “Yeah, well, if he keeps staring, someone's going to have to fish him out of the bottom of the pool.”

I sank down in the chair next to him. “You and your big talk.”

“I do not like that guy.”

“I know. I think everyone knows.”

He frowned at me. “Where were you?”

“I told you,” I said. “I went into town. For food. So we don't have to visit any more fine eating establishments around here.”

He eyed me from behind the sunglasses. “You took longer than you said you would. You never do that.”

He knew me too well. “What's too long?” I said instead of admitting to what I'd really been doing. “When was the last time you shopped for groceries at a convenience store?”

“You shopped for groceries at the gas station?” he asked..

“No,” I admitted. “But it might as well have been. They had one kind of marinara sauce. One. And two kinds of orange juice—one with pulp and one without.”

“Seems to me the lack of choices would have made your trip shorter, not longer,” Jake said.

“No, it took longer because I had to deliberate. Duh.”

“Over what?

I watched some kids play in the pool. There was a girl about Grace's age, diving under the water over and over, her sparkling purple swimsuit glittering in the sun each time she popped up. I felt a little twinge of homesickness. Kidsickness, actually.

“Over specifically what I wanted to buy,” I said.

“Hmm,” Jake said. “That still doesn't sound like you.”

I glanced down at the far end of the pool. Hackerman was pushing himself out of the water. He tossed his empty can into a trash bin and it clanged when it hit the bottom. He grabbed his towel, wrapped it around his shoulders, then walked around the opposite side of the pool, his eyes on Jake.

“Your friend is leaving,” I said.

Jake shifted his gaze and smiled thinly at him. Hackerman grimaced and pushed open the gate to the parking lot.

“I think you're trying to distract me,” Jake said.

“From what?”

“From where you were.”

I didn't want to out and out lie to him. But I didn't want to explain about my side trip, either, because I knew he'd tell me to keep my nose out of it. Not that he'd be wrong to tell me that, but I just wasn't in the mood to hear it quite yet.

“I'm doing no such thing,” I said. I stood up and repositioned my towel. “And I'm getting in the water because I'm hot and sweaty from all your questioning.”

“That's not even possible,” he said.

“It is for me,” I said. I put my hands on my hips. “These are hard questions.”

He shook his head and leaned back into the chair.

I walked toward the stairs and stepped gingerly into the cool water, staying on my tiptoes as I waded in deeper. I smiled at the girl in purple and she flashed me a gap-toothed smile. I navigated around her as she dove under again, her feet kicking up a spray of cool water. Her dad was in the pool with her and he offered a smile of apology.

“I have four of my own,” I told him. “There's usually more splashing than swimming going on when I take them to a pool.”

He chuckled.

The water lapped against my stomach and I tried to go higher on my toes. Jake always dove right in and I always took my time, trying to adjust to the water. It never worked and I'd eventually decide to just lower myself into the water and get it over with. But it was like I had amnesia because each time I hit the water, I'd do the tiptoe dance, as if this time I would somehow adjust better.

I made my way toward the deep end, where the water was out from the shadow of the clubhouse. It was a little warmer and, after taking a deep breath and mentally counting to three, I sank my shoulders into the water, biting back a squeal. One more quick breath and I went all the way under, the water like ice on my sun-warmed hair.

I slicked back my hair, cool and refreshed, and hung on to the side of the pool. Jake was still lounging back on his chair and I imagined he was probably napping. Again. Most of the other chairs on the deck were occupied and there were about a dozen people in the pool. A toddler tooling around in an inflatable duck, his mom steering it expertly in the shallow end, and a pair of elderly women doing what looked like water aerobics. I wondered if it was Water Aerobics day but couldn't remember the details of the activity. A few teens were huddled by the rope that separated the shallow end from the deep end, hanging on to the thick cording and talking animatedly. I was wondering what they were talking about when movement on the deck caught my eye.

Two girls walked in unison, which was the reason I noticed them. It was almost like they were robots synched together, their arms and legs swinging in perfect time as they crossed the pool deck. They wore matching orange bikinis that fit their bodies the exact same way—perfectly. They kicked off their sandals at the same moment and walked single file to the steps into the pool. I stared with unabashed fascination.

They moved through the water, side by side, their long blond hair clinging to their shoulders as they whispered to one another, even adjusting their sunglasses at the exact same moment. It was like something out of a creepy science fiction movie. They were clearly identical twins with one of those weird connections. But they still looked robotic, like they were not quite human.

They settled on the opposite side of the pool from me, resting their elbows on the deck. They dipped their heads back into the water, then pulled their long, wet locks over their shoulders. The one on the right tilted her head to the side and seemed to be looking at me from behind her sunglasses. She turned and whispered to her sister. The sister's gaze locked on me and then she nodded and whispered back.

They glided across the deep end toward me.

Somewhere in my head, the theme from “Jaws” played.

They separated in the water, each gracefully pulling themselves across the deep end with smooth movements, both of their heads above the surface of the water. They came up on either side of me and reached for the wall at the same time.

“I'm Mary Cole,” the one on my left said. She pushed her glasses on top of her head and revealed bright green eyes.

“I'm Carrie Cole,” the one on my right said, mirroring her sister's movements.

My head swiveled back and forth. How had I missed seeing these two yesterday? I'd walked the entire resort with Jake on the first day and we'd gone to the barbecue the night before. If these twins had been there, I would have definitely noticed.

“Uh, hello,” I said.

“We're sisters,” they said together.

I bit back a smile. “You don't say.”

“You're new here,” Carrie said, eyeing me.

Mary squinted at me. “You're in Delilah's place.”

I was completely unnerved. “Yes. My husband and I are staying there.” I pointed to him on the chair. “That's him right there.”

They both rotated their heads in his direction.

“He's hot,” Carrie said.

“For an old guy,” Mary said.

“Yeah, for an old guy,” Carrie said.

I bristled a little at their frank assessment. “I'll let him know,” I said cooly. “Can I help you with something?”

They both peered around me to look at each other, then leaned back.

“You found Harvey,” Carrie said.

“On the trail,” Mary added.

They weren't asking questions; they were making statements.

“I used to go out with him,” Carrie said, her voice lowering a notch.

“Me, too,” Mary said.

I looked at each of them. “You both dated him?”

They nodded in unison.

Well, then.

Carrie flipped her hair off her shoulder. The first non-synchronized move. “He liked me better.”

“Yeah, right,” Mary said, her eyes narrowing.

“No, really.” Carrie's voice was indignant. “He told me so.”

Mary sniffed. “He told me the same thing.”

They glared at one another and I felt decidedly uncomfortable and out of place. I looked in Jake's direction. He was out cold.

“Why are you here, anyway?” Carrie asked.

I glanced at her and she was staring at me, her green eyes practically glowing in the afternoon sun.

“Me?” I asked. “We won a trip to stay here at Windy Vista.”

“I've never won anything,” Mary pouted. She ran a hand over her damp locks. “I came in third in the seventh grade talent show.”

Carrie mirrored her movement, her fingers caressing her own wet hair. “I came in second.”

“That was only because Jimmy Jones was the judge and liked you,” Mary said.

Carrie shrugged, then looked at me again. “How did you win it?”

I stared at her blankly for a minute, wondering if she was asking me about winning a seventh grade talent show. Which I most definitely had not. But then I remembered. Windy Vista. I'd just told them about winning a trip here when they'd gone off about the talent show.

“Oh,” I said. “We entered a contest.”

Carrie looked at me. “We? You mean you and the hot guy?”

“The hot, old guy,” Mary clarified.

“My husband, yes.”

“So, Harvey was all, like, dead and stuff when you found him?” Carrie asked, her eyes clouding just a little.

My brain was threatening to explode. “Uh, yes. Unfortunately.”

“What did he look like?” Mary asked.

“Excuse me?” She'd just said she'd dated him. That she and her sister had apparently both dated him. I wondered if it was simultaneously. Twins shared things, didn't they?

“I've never seen a dead person before,” Mary explained.

Carrie shot her an annoyed look. “He probably still looked like Harvey.”

“Shut up.”

They both waited for me to answer, their green eyes like lasers aimed at my face.

“He looked like...a person,” I finally said. I didn't want to remember the lifeless eyes staring skyward, his mouth slightly open, the lips pale, almost colorless, or the tone of his skin that had already started to shift from rosy to lifeless. “If you'll excuse me, I'm going to get out now.”

“I'll bet if he hadn't broken up with me, he'd still be alive,” Carrie said.

“Me, too,” Mary said. “I mean, if he hadn't broken up with
me
.”

“He broke up with you first.”

Mary snickered. “He broke up with you last.”

I felt like I was caught in the crossfire between two warring sides. Except they looked exactly alike. And were completely insane.

“Yeah, but he didn't want to,” Carrie said. “It was only because you set his pants on fire.”

I looked at Mary. I didn't want to keep engaging her or her psychotic twin but I had to know. “You set his pants on fire?”

Mary shrugged. “It was an accident. We were making s'mores.”

“It wasn't an accident,” Carrie said. She frowned at her sister. “She probably killed him.”

“You threw a hammer at him,” Mary said, her voice high and squeaky. “And hit him in the head.”

Carrie rolled her eyes. “Not hard.”

“
She
probably killed him,” Mary said.

My impression of Harvey was changing by the moment. If he'd been dumb enough to date both of these girls, then he wasn't nearly as smart as everyone made him out to be.

I stared at Carrie. “Wait. Why would he still be alive if he hadn't broken up with you?”

Carrie's face colored just a bit and she reached for her sunglasses. “Just because,” she said evasively.

Her sister positioned her own glasses over her eyes. “Oh, just spill it. Since you think you know everything about him. Which you don't...”

Carrie leaned close and I shrank away. But she wasn't talking to me any more. She was talking to her sister. “We would've been too busy having sex,” she hissed. “Because Harvey loved having sex with me.”

Mary laughed and shook her head. “He loved it with me more,” she said smugly. “We probably would've been in the camper when the killer was looking to...to kill him. It would've been like I'd saved him.”