The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (25 page)

“True.” I considered that fact for a moment. “And neither of their lovers was happy with them.”

“Yeah?” prodded Felix eagerly. Damn. I knew I shouldn’t have talked to him.

“All right,” I snapped, rising from my seat. “That’s enough.”

“Come on, Kate,” Felix said, tugging at my arm. “We’re getting some place.”

“What place?” I asked, plopping back down on the bench. “Felix, these guys were totally different! Jack was a sweet man with an alcohol problem. In the music world. Suzanne was a lawyer. An ambitious, insensitive…”

“Bitch?” offered Felix.

“I didn’t say that.” I had been seeking a euphemism.

“Did they know each other?” Felix asked, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

“I don’t think so,” I answered slowly. “But I don’t know. I don’t know much about Jack at all.”

“How about his girlfriend? I’d like to interview—”

“Don’t you dare!” I shouted, glaring at Felix. “She doesn’t need you bugging her after all she’s been through.”

“Jesus, Kate,” Felix objected. “I’m not a vampire! Give me credit for some sensitivity.”

I ignored him, thinking. “How about Jack’s brother?” I said finally. “Talk to him.”

“I might just do that,” Felix said. He winked at me as he rose from his seat. “Catch you later.”

“Felix!” I shouted as he walked down the stairs. “Tell me what you find out.”

“Sure,” he said, turning to me. “Just as soon as you tell me what you’ve found out.” His mustache twitched in a quick smile. Then he walked away.

I sat in the afternoon sun, thinking. Did Suzanne and Jack have something in common? Something worth murdering over? They were both white. They were both under fifty and over twenty. They were both single with significant others. If that was enough for the murderer, a good portion of the population was in trouble. I was still searching for further commonalities some fifteen minutes later when Craig came wandering out into the sunshine. He looked tired. I braced myself for conversation, but he clumped down the stairs without even noticing me.

Twenty minutes later still, I had come up with another earthshaking commonality. Jack and Suzanne both had light-colored hair. Great. I heard the door behind me swing open, and turned to look. Wayne stood silently, peering at me wistfully from beneath his low brows. I felt suddenly shy. We had not been alone together since he had spoken of marriage.

“Hi,” I greeted him softly.

“Hi,” Wayne replied, just as softly. Then he looked down at his feet, his face closing on the way.

I lurched out of my chair and across the porch, suddenly needing to touch him. I took his hand. “Wayne, I’m not sure about marriage,” I rattled off, speaking fast to get it out. “I’ve been married. It didn’t work.” Then I took a breath.

His face softened. He put his arms around me and held me tight, then released me and looked into my eyes.

“You need time to think,” he whispered.

I nodded, mesmerized.

“Right,” he said, his voice back to normal volume. “Meanwhile, I’m getting you out of here. Have a friend with a restaurant in Delores. Arnie’s. Let’s go.”

“But we just ate,” I objected. As much as I wanted to leave Spa Santé, something was holding me there, besides the fact that we’d been told not to leave.

“Food isn’t the point,” he said. “You need out.”

“But what about Paul? What about the police? What about Craig?”

Wayne winced when I said “Craig,” but he answered the rest of my questions. “I cleared the trip into town with Sergeant Alvarez. Orlandi’s still talking with Paul.” He paused and looked into my eyes again. “They’re not your responsibility,” he finished.

That was what was holding me. Responsibility. To Craig, to Nikki, to Paul, to my own need to know the truth. Who had elected me responsible?

“Let’s go,” I said.

During the short ride into Delores I watched Wayne’s serious face as he concentrated on driving, and I wondered. Did I really need time to think about marriage or had I already decided? Decided against marriage? Guiltily, I pushed away the thought.

Wayne was right about one thing. It was good to be out of Spa Santé. I could feel the miasma lift gradually. By the time we got to Delores it was almost gone, leaving me suddenly clear-headed. Downtown Delores wasn’t very big, but it looked good to me. A few blocks containing a 7-Eleven, a bar, a gas station, a hardware store, three antique shops and Arnie’s.

“Where do you know this guy from?” I whispered as we walked into Arnie’s. The restaurant was dark and smoky, illuminated by a TV at the bar, some backlit beer ads and flickering candles at the tables. The afternoon sunlight disappeared as the door slammed behind us.

“Met Arnie at a restaurant convention,” Wayne whispered back. I could just make out his embarrassed face in the dark. “Doubt that he’d remember me. Not exactly a friend.”

“Was this a ruse to kidnap me?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Thanks,” I said and gave him a quick hug. At least the darkness here was visible. The darkness at the spa hid in the sunlight.

A barely discernible young man seated us at a murky-red leatherette booth and handed us our menus.

“Steak, hamburger or steak,” I read aloud, bending over the table to catch the lettering in the candlelight.

“You could get a salad,” Wayne suggested sheepishly.

Wayne knew I ate for my health. At least I believed a vegetarian diet had saved my health when I was seriously ill. Maybe it was a faith-healing. And Wayne had wooed me with his own vegetarian cooking. Meatless lasagna, ratatouille, pine-nut dolmas, homemade pasta with eggplant-olive sauce. The man could cook! But he needed meat once in a while. At least he believed he did. Maybe that was a faith-healing too.

“Was the food that bad at the spa?” I asked softly, suddenly sympathetic.

“No,” he said. “But the company was.” He bent forward in the flickering candlelight. “There are some very sick people at your health spa.”

“Who?” I asked. I wanted his impressions.

“Bradley,” he answered. “A lot like my mother used to be.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Wayne’s mother was now completely mad. I had visited her once at the Shady Willows Mental Health Facility, where she sat drooling blankly in front of the TV in the patient’s recreation room.

“Worse than my mother in some ways,” Wayne continued. “Watched Bradley when his son ran today. Bradley got very excited. Not concerned, just excited. And when the deputy hauled Paul back, Bradley couldn’t stop laughing.”

I shivered. Spa Santé had seeped into Arnie’s.

“Probably his way of dealing with stress,” Wayne allowed. “Can’t do the boy any good, though. Then there’s the guy in the wheelchair.”

I looked across the table in surprise. Don Logan hadn’t been on my short list for crazy.

“Guy’s very angry,” Wayne said. “Doesn’t know how to deal with it. And Fran. In complete denial about her family. Let her son be interrogated without a peep of protest.”

“Did you see what happened with Orlandi and Paul?” I asked.

Wayne nodded solemnly. “First thing Orlandi did was have the deputy take the handcuffs off Paul. Then he asked Fran if he could question her son. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘We’re glad to cooperate.’” Wayne’s voice came out in a bitter falsetto as he imitated Fran. “When Orlandi asked if she wanted to be there, Fran said, ‘No, no. Of course not.’ Began babbling about how Paul was just in ‘one of those stages.’ How he was ‘really a good kid.’ Boy was crying the whole time. She just ignored him.” Wayne shook his head sadly before going on.

“When Orlandi took the boy away, Fran went right back to her lecture for the weight-watchers. Did her show. Lots of smiles for the crowd.”

Wayne shook his head again. I had never heard him so bitter. I reached out for his hand, seeing the empathy in his eyes. Was he reliving his own emotional desertion by a mad and uncaring mother? He took my hand and squeezed it.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“Sorry for what?” I asked.

But before he had a chance to answer, the young waiter was at our table again. He turned to me for my order.

“Salad, no dressing,” I said. “And a baked potato, no butter or sour cream.”

“Say,” said the waiter, with a friendly smile. “You ought to try that restaurant out at the spa. You’d like it a lot.”

“SORRY FOR WHAT?” I repeated once the waiter was gone.

Wayne looked up and answered. “Sorry for the gloom. Meant to take you away from it, not bring it here with me.”

“But I want to discuss the murders,” I insisted. He looked unconvinced. “It’s either you or Felix,” I said.

“Me or Felix?” He threw his hands in the air. “I’ll talk! I’ll talk!”

I chuckled. I loved his playful side, a side few people ever got to see. I wanted to tell him so. To tell him, marriage or not, I loved him. But he spoke first. And he was serious again.

“What happened with you and the boy?” he asked.

I related the story of Paul’s unfortunate leap one more time. By now it seemed trivial, even ludicrous. But Wayne didn’t agree.

“Boy’s got real problems,” he growled. “Could be dangerous.” All of my original fear of Paul Beaumont welled up again, clutching my chest. Kid that he was, and as absurd as it seemed, he had attacked me. And there was no way of knowing how it would have gone if I hadn’t pushed him away.

“Damn it!” Wayne exploded, hitting the table with his fist. “Parents ought to take care of him.”

The blow scattered silverware, and set the candle to swaying, casting dizzying shadows across Wayne’s angry face. I was stunned. I had never seen this gentle man so upset before. Suddenly I wondered if there was more going on than just empathy with Paul. Other anger that needed channeling.

“Wayne,” I asked softly. “Are you mad at me?”

He raised his head to disagree, then stopped to consider the idea. Slowly a flush crept up his neck and over his pitted face. “Guess I am,” he whispered, a tone of astonishment flavoring the shame in his words. He lowered his eyes to the table, nervously rearranging the scattered silverware.

“It’s all right,” I said, putting my hand on top of his. “All right for me to need time. All right for you to be angry.”

His hand stopped moving. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even raise his eyes. My heart speeded up. Had I lost him?

“Friends?” I asked. My voice shook.

“And lovers,” he agreed, but he still didn’t lift his eyes to mine.

I stood up and leaned over the table to kiss him.

“One green salad, one baked potato and one steak sandwich,” came the waiter’s voice at my side.

Damn. Do waiters time their entrances to interrupt? To ask how everything is when your mouth is full? I sat back down.

Wayne was quiet as he ate his steak sandwich. Too quiet. He kept his eyes down as he chewed. I felt lonely, far distant across the table. He took a big bite. Catsup and shredded lettuce poured out the other end of his sandwich.

“Moooo,” I lowed plaintively as he chewed. Vegetarian humor.

His eyebrows twitched but he didn’t look up. He took another bite. I mooed again. No reaction. I sighed and took a bite of my potato.

“Ow, my eyes!” Wayne yelped in a falsetto.

I jumped.

“Potatoes have feelings, too,” he said, looking at me finally, with a grin on his homely face. “And eyes.”

Carnivorous humor. I fell back in my seat and laughed loudly. Laughing away Spa Santé. Laughing away murder. And, most of all, laughing away the fear that I had lost Wayne. Finally, I reached across the table to him. He grasped my hand firmly.

“Don’t worry—” he began.

“Wayne Caruso?” a voice boomed, moving in our direction. “Am I right?”

Wayne turned to the voice. I turned too and saw a stocky balding man in jeans and a cowboy shirt.

“Arnie,” said Wayne, standing up, hand outstretched.

“Thought it was you,” Arnie said, shaking Wayne’s hand. “Never forget a pretty face.” He guffawed. I winced looking at Wayne’s nonstandard-issue features. But Wayne was smiling. “Sit, sit!” ordered Arnie.

Wayne slid back into the booth. Arnie pulled a chair up to the end of our table. “So introduce me,” he said with a faint leer in my direction.

“Kate Jasper,” Wayne said. Then he paused. “A friend,” he finished. An inadequate description, I thought guiltily. And I had denied him the use of “fiancée.”

“So, what the hell are you two doing down here?” Arnie asked, all set to gossip. I had a feeling Arnie’s restaurant wasn’t keeping him busy enough in the late afternoon.

“Friend of Kate’s is caught up in this murder business at the spa,” Wayne answered, his face serious once more.

“Is that right?” exclaimed Arnie, his eyes lighting up. “Orlandi’s big case?”

Wayne and I both nodded.

“Well, he’ll sure as hell take care of it,” said Arnie in a confidential whisper. “We call him Bulldog Orlandi here in Delores.”

“Bulldog?” I asked.

“Never gives up,” explained Arnie. He leaned back in his chair and laughed. “He’s one mean son of a bitch. Once he’s got a bite on you, he won’t let go. Rather chew off your leg first. Got the name playing football originally. But he earned it as a cop.”