The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (14 page)

“Thank you for sharing,” I joked, but I couldn’t keep the bitter fear out of my tone.

She chuckled, then grew serious again. “Kate, please. Watch out. This is a nasty one.”

My goose bumps came back. “All right,” I answered shortly. I didn’t want to hear any more warnings.

“Good.” She paused. “I’ll keep a third eye out for you, kiddo. Do what I can. But you take care. Now, hold on while I get Felix for you.”

I could hear Barbara cajoling Felix into talking to me as I waited on the line. I stared at black paisley squiggles as the phone charges mounted. I worked on calming my churning stomach and wondered if “psychic friend” might be an oxymoron in some cases.

Then the receiver was picked up again. “So what the hell happened?” demanded Felix peevishly. I assumed this was his way of asking why I hung up on him.

“I saw someone I needed to talk to,” I explained lamely. I looked out the window across Rose Court again. But Paul was gone. The orange tree stood alone.

“Who?” asked Felix.

“Just a kid,” I said. There was an unforgiving silence on the other end of the line. “I thought he might have seen something,” I lied. “And I hadn’t been able to get near enough to talk to him before.” At least I finished with the truth.

“You’re a lunatic,” said Felix. But his voice was friendlier. “So did he see anything?”

“Uh, no,” I answered.

“Are you being straight with me?” he asked.

“Felix, I’ll tell you everything when I figure out who killed Suzanne,” I offered. I shouldn’t have reverted to honesty.

“Aha!” he shouted. “You are holding back. What?”

“Nothing important,” I said. “So, did you come across anything about Ruth Ziegler’s son in your research?” I asked, to change the subject.

“Yes,” he said.

“Well?”

“I’ll share what I know when you share what you know,” he answered.

The conversation descended further into puerility from that point on. By the time Felix had hung up, I was reduced to sticking my tongue out at the silent receiver.

Fully discouraged, I took off my shoes and curled up under the salmon bedspread. Wayne wasn’t there when I needed him. Barbara was playing Cassandra. I knew she was trying to help, but I didn’t need any more fear, thank you. And Felix was no longer speaking to me. So much for friends.

A thudding on my door punctuated my last thought. Barbara’s warnings reverberated in my mind.

“Who is it?” I called out.

“Not Jack the Ripper,” came Craig’s voice, as if through a megaphone. “I repeat. This is not Jack the Ripper.”

I opened the door to him happily. Craig was indeed a friend. I had almost forgotten.

“Anyone for tennis?” asked Craig, waving an invisible tennis racket. His tone was light, but the stiff smile on his gaunt face hadn’t erased the ravages of recent events.

“Seriously,” he said, letting the smile go. “How about a swim. I could use one. And I could use some company too.”

“I didn’t pack a suit,” I objected. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go swimming. It might be dangerous at Spa Santé.

“I bet Fran will lend you one,” he said.

I thought about the offer for all of fifteen seconds. I had spent too much time mulling over murder, misery and violence. If I pretended I was merely on vacation and forgot it all for a while, maybe something would come to me. This was my version of the unwatched pot theory.

“You’re on,” I agreed.

Craig’s face brightened. That felt good to me. I realized just how tired I was of arguing.

Craig sat on the orange leatherette chair while I put my shoes on. He told me about the yoga movie scheduled for the evening.

As we walked to the dining hall I responded in kind, telling him about the fourth wedding of an old friend (maybe this one would take), a good movie I had seen and a new recipe for black bean soup. Anything but murder.

We had almost reached the main building when we saw a beige Volkswagen bug pull into the parking lot. Two elderly women emerged. Their age and sex were all they appeared to have in common.

The driver was a rock of a woman, a study in earth. Her large, solid backside was packed into heavy blue jeans. Her shoulders were large, and hunched forward under her flannel shirt like a bulldog’s. Her jowly face brought to mind a bulldog’s too, except for the piercing blue eyes. She shoved a bobby pin into the uncompromising grey braid that was wrapped around her head, and in a low voice said something to her companion, which I couldn’t hear.

Her companion chirped something back, equally inaudible. She was air to the first woman’s earth. She looked like a geriatric schoolgirl, her frail body clothed in periwinkle blue culottes, white knee-socks and a white sweatshirt with a red and black logo. Thin white hair wisped out from her head and played in the breeze. Her eyes were hidden under thick glasses, but her hands fluttered expressively as she chirped. I wondered what they were discussing with such animation.

The earth woman walked to the main building with long, determined strides. Her companion took two hopping steps to each stride to keep up, all the while fluttering her hands and speaking words I could not make out. They moved up the stairs and disappeared through the doors.

I looked at Craig curiously. “Do you know those two?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Never saw them before.”

I sped up my pace a little. We went through the doors into the dining room just in time to hear Fran say to the two women, “Why, that’s Kate Jasper, right there. Coming in the door.” She pointed in my direction and the two women turned to look.

The bulldog woman frowned. It didn’t improve her looks. Her companion goggled at me through her thick glasses. I walked up close enough to read the PBS
Mystery
! logo on her sweatshirt and held out my hand for shaking. I assumed introductions were in order.

I assumed wrongly. Neither of them took my hand. They moved swiftly past me, their steps still out of style. I turned to watch them go and caught a quick double backward glance. It was instantly retracted. Then they pushed through the glass doors and out the lobby.

“Who were those two?” I asked Fran.

“Edna Grimshaw and Arletta Ainsley,” she replied cheerfully. “People in Delores call them the twins. They’ve been here forever. Miss Grimshaw was a nurse for the old doctor here. Miss Ainsley used to be a librarian. They come here to eat sometimes. But today they just wanted to ask…” Fran’s words drifted off.

“They asked you to point me out,” I finished for her.

Her eyes widened, and she nodded.

“Why?” I asked. Fran’s eyes widened further.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice rising in pitch. “I’m sorry. I’ve done it again. I shouldn’t have told them, but I thought—”

“It’s all right,” I cut her off. But it wasn’t really. What did the twins want from me? I glanced the question at Craig. He shrugged and turned to Fran.

“I told Kate I bet you’d have a swimsuit for her,” he said, his voice a hearty invitation to a new subject.

Fran stared at him for a moment, her eyes blank, lost in anxiety. Finally, her belated response came. “Oh, swimsuits. Of course. There ought to be some extras in the changing rooms at the pool. Just take your pick.”

“Fran,” I asked carefully, not wanting to upset her further, “did the twins ever ask anything about Suzanne?”

“No,” she breathed. “Do you think—?”

“No, I don’t,” I answered emphatically.

Craig and I made chitchat with Fran until she was smiling again. Then Craig led me through the grounds of the spa toward the swimming pool. Unfortunately the dirt path he chose led past the outdoor mud bath where Suzanne had received her final facial. My stomach tightened as the yellow tape came into view. It made even the pretense of a carefree vacation spirit difficult. Then I heard footsteps behind us.

I turned quickly in the direction of the footsteps and found myself looking into the startled faces of the twins.

“Hey,” I shouted. “What…?”

Before I could say more, they bolted down a branching path. Craig put a restraining hand on my arm just as I had decided to give chase.

“Wait,” he said. “You’ll give them heart attacks.”

I pushed his arm away. “Goddammit!” I shouted. “How am I supposed to find out anything if people keep running away and no one will let me chase them?” Mid-sentence, I realized that Craig had no idea of the incidents my complaint encompassed. I hadn’t told him about Paul.

He stepped back, shocked. “I’m sorry, Kate. But they’re old ladies. What could they have to do with anything?”

I pondered that question silently as we continued on to the pool. It was large, empty and sparkling blue in the sunlight. A paradise of a pool in any other place. At Spa Santé its very perfection managed to look sinister to my eyes.

I changed into the promised swimsuit quickly, a navy blue no-frills racing suit. As I pulled it up over my cellulite, I thought about the twins. Could they have murdered Suzanne for some unknown motive? Edna looked strong enough. But where was the hatred? Goose bumps reappeared on my arms as I remembered Barbara’s words. I shook the thoughts away. The only reason I was even considering them was because of their interest in me. But, dammit, what was their interest in me?

I stuck my head out the changing-room door and scanned the horizon. No one was anywhere in sight, except for Craig.

“Race ya!” he shouted and dived into the pool before I even got out of the changing room. What a competitive s.o.b. No wonder he and Suzanne had been drawn to each other.

I jumped into the deep end, sinking into the shock of cold and delicious isolation, grateful for the silence. Then I popped to the surface, inhaled and began a fast crawl to the other side. I pulled at the water with my hands and tried to rid my mind of fear. It was easier here, with my face in the water, the only sound my own breathing and the water around me.

I reached the other end of the pool, grabbed the edge, turned and pushed off. I asked myself what I had learned. Nothing, came the answer. As I turned my head to the side to breathe, I saw the blur of Craig whipping past me. I kept on swimming.

After a few laps I began to feel warm and relaxed. I swam in rhythm and let my thoughts float to Wayne. The water’s friendly nudging made me think of Wayne’s touch. So gentle for such a fierce-looking man. My body moved sensuously in the water, remembering the last time we had made love. I reached the end of the pool and lifted my hand up to its edge. But the edge of the pool felt wrong.

I blinked the water out of my eyes and saw why. My hand had landed on a shoe. A hiking boot actually. My heart hiccupped in my chest.

I shielded my eyes against the glare of the sun and let them travel up the elongated jean-clad legs, past the chest and then to face that looked down at me. I expected Edna, the bulldog twin. But the face surprised me. It was Avery Haskell’s. It wore no expression.

I jerked my hand back from his shoe.

“Sorry,” I murmured. His face remained blank.

I turned to look for Craig. But he was underwater. Or gone. My heart began to thud. How much hatred was hidden behind Haskell’s blank face?

I floated my feet to the pool floor and stood up cautiously. Then I heard Craig break the surface of the water behind me, panting. The fear drained from my body, leaving me cold and shivering.

“May I speak to you in private, Mrs. Jasper?” Haskell asked quietly.

“What for?” demanded Craig, his tone hostile.

“It’s private,” answered Haskell, his voice as devoid of expression as his face.

Craig looked a question at me.

“It’s all right,” I told him, pointing to a group of lawn chairs nearby. My heart-pounding fear seemed foolish now. “Avery and I can talk over there while you swim.”

I ascended the pool stairs with all the dignity a thirty-nine-year-old woman in a no-frills bathing suit can muster. Avery Haskell handed me a fluffy white towel. I accepted it gratefully and began toweling myself dry as we walked to the chairs.

I sat down. Haskell remained standing. A good move. The plastic webbing of the lawn chair bit into my thighs.

“Well?” I prodded him.

He cleared his throat. I saw a trace of emotion in his eyes. It took me a second to identify it. The flush of his skin gave me a clue. It was embarrassment.

“I want to thank you for the way you’ve dealt with Paul,” he finally mumbled. For that moment Avery Haskell looked like a teenager himself, gawky and shy. Then he seemed to straighten himself internally.

“Paul told me what he did,” Haskell said, his tone now firm. “Can’t excuse him, but he promised he won’t ever do it again. He’ll keep that promise.”

I felt a release inside of me. The release of the burden of responsibility. “Thank you for telling me,” I said.

He nodded acknowledgment of my thanks. “Anyway, I thought you’d want to know,” he said brusquely. “Goodbye.”

He turned and marched away before I could say anything in return.

Avery Haskell, all-around handyman. Part-time carpenter, part-time gardener, part-time cook and part-time substitute parent.