Last Resort (9 page)

FIFTEEN

Jake and I tried to remove ourselves from the crazy for a little while.

He was up when I got back to the cabin and, after I filled him in on my conversation with Delilah, we put on our swimsuits and spent the better part of the morning and afternoon lying around the pool, reading and talking. We were both keenly aware of the sheriff's vehicles coming and going on the trail, but we did our best to ignore them and concentrate on one another. We talked about what we were reading and the news and anything else that came to mind. I'd even managed a call to the kids and Jake hadn't frowned or reprimanded me. Instead, he'd waited impatiently for his chance to talk to each of them, teasing and joking separately with all four.

“Thought we shouldn't be focused on the kids,” I said lightly after hanging up.

“We shouldn't be,” he said. “But that doesn't mean we should ignore them, either.”

I chuckled and picked up my book.

“I can't believe Grace sprained her ankle,” he said, shaking his head. “You think she's okay, right?”

“It's the fourth time she's done it,” I reminded him. “She'll be fine.”

“And Emily? She said she might be going to a bonfire tomorrow night. I think there might be boys there.”

“I would hope there'd be boys there.”

He made a face.

“Jake. She's fifteen. She's going to hang out with boys. And like them.”

He held up his hand. “Stop. I don't wanna talk about it.”

“About boys? Why? You're one,” I pointed out.

“Precisely,” he said grimly. “And I know what fifteen year old boys are like.”

I opened my book to the page I'd been reading. “Should we go home?” I asked. “Leave early and tend to ankles and boys?”

He shot me a look.

“Well?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I wasn't sure. I mean, I'd like to continue my vacation with you but if you're concerned about the kids...”

He nudged me with his elbow. “Fine. You've made your point.”

I chuckled and he picked up his book, too, and we went right back to what we'd been doing before: relaxing and enjoying each other's company. As much as I missed the kids, I did appreciate the fact that we were lounging alone by a pool, with adult books in our hands, and with no kids interrupting us or climbing on us or screaming bloody murder. It was exactly what I'd envisioned for our vacation.

After another hour or so, we went back to the cabin, showered (together) and made even better use of our kid-free afternoon. Instead of passing out, Jake immediately announced he was starving and I hopped out of bed to grab the binder Delilah had left for us. I remembered seeing ads for several restaurants in town and, sure enough, there was a pizza place that looked promising. So we dressed and  got into the rental car and drove into the town closest to Windy Vista.

The drive only took about ten minutes. We didn't go back the way we'd come but pointed the car in the other direction, maneuvering down a long hilly road that bisected a golf course. The course was in good shape—the grass was green and well-groomed, and there were several homes that dotted the course. I was surprised, mostly because Windy Vista felt like it was in the middle of nowhere. It was hard to imagine that people lived in the vicinity year-round, in homes that ranged from quaint A-frames to brick ramblers to brand-new log mansions. It was possible that all of the houses were vacation homes but I had my doubts. A quick glance into an open garage confirmed my thoughts: a snowmobile was parked inside, next to a red snowblower and a stack of snow shovels. Unless it started snowing here in August—not outside the realm of possibility in Minnesota—I was pretty sure there were year-round residents up there.

Golf carts zipped along the road and Jake pressed on the brake to slow down as he drew closer to a blue one driving in the middle of the road.

“We should have taken the cart,” he said.

“It would have taken forever to get here.”

“It goes twenty miles an hour. We would've gotten to town eventually.”

“But I'm hungry now.”

He waited until we crested a small hill, then gunned the engine so we could pass the golf cart. Five minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot for The Landing. It was a large rectangular brown building on a hill that looked back toward the golf course and the lake. It had advertised lake views, but as I got out of the car, I was pretty sure the only way you could see the water was if you climbed up on the roof and stood on your tiptoes.

We walked inside and were greeted with a blast of cool air. A very bored teenage hostess tried to smile at us before leading us to a booth. The table was still damp and she told us she'd send someone over to wipe it down. She dropped the menus in front of us and disappeared back toward her hostess station.

I grabbed the menu and looked around. The booths were worn, most of them with cracked leather seats attached to tables that didn't look terribly sturdy. The carpet was thin and, while not exactly dirty, could've benefited from a good cleaning. Several of the booths were occupied with other sunburnt tourists but for the most part, the restaurant was empty.

Jake scanned the menu. “Let's hope the pizza is better than the rest of the place.”

“It's just...old.”

He snorted. “I'm old. This place is one bad week away from closure.” He smiled at me over the menu. “But I just want a big beer and some mediocre pizza and I'll be fine.”

“I'll bet we can get both of those here,” I said, winking at him.

Ten minutes later, the hostess showed back up, a pad of paper in her hand. “I guess I'm gonna be your server. You want something to drink?”

We both ordered beers and before we could tell her that we were also ready to order our food, she vanished again.

“Over-under on how long the beers take?” Jake asked, leaning back in the booth.

“I'm going to be optimistic,” I said. “I'll say four minutes.”

“Wow. That's half my guess.”

He won.

Our hostess/server set them on the edge of the table nine minutes later, then looked at us. “You know what you want?”

“Your pizza's good?” Jake asked. The menu had other options listed, too—burgers and chicken and fish—but he knew I had my heart set on pizza.

She shrugged. “It's pizza.”

“Excellent,” he said. “We were hoping for something that tasted like pizza.”

She looked at him like he was insane.

“Pepperoni and sausage,” I said. “The biggest you have.”

She left without saying a word.

We both downed half our beers. And then we finished them.

And then we sat there.

And sat there.

And sat there.

I tried to make conversation but all I could think about was the fact that my stomach walls were touching. And that our server was nowhere to be found. In fact, there didn't seem to be a single employee working. I glanced at the other tables; one family was finishing up their pizza and two other tables were in the same boat we were, waiting for their food to be delivered.

Jake's good humor was gone at forty five minutes. “You wanna go?”

“Yes, because I'm going to eat my hand,” I said.

“I'm not paying for the beers,” he said.

“You have to.”

He raised his eyebrows. “She won't even know we've left.”

On cue, the hostess/waitress showed up with a pizza. I stared at the steaming pie in her hands. It wasn't very big. And I didn't see a single slice of pepperoni on it.

She set it on the table. “Here you go.”

“This is the largest you have?” I asked. “We ordered a large.”

She looked at it, then shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

“And there's no pepperoni,” Jake noted. “Are you sure this is ours and not someone else's order?”

She studied the pizza for a moment. “It's probably under the cheese. Yeah.”

I looked at the pizza again. A meager amount of sausage dotted the surface and the cheese didn't look lumpy enough to be hiding pepperoni slices.

The waitress yawned. “Need anything else?”

“Yes,” Jake said calmly. A muscle in his temple throbbed. “The manager. Now.”

She looked like he'd tried to pee on her leg, then sighed and disappeared.

“I'm eating this,” I said, ripping a piece off the tray. I bit into it. “I don't care what's on it and I don't care that we don't have plates. I'm so hungry and I have to eat.”

Jake folded his arms across his chest, refusing to give in.

I wolfed down another bite. “It's actually not bad. For a small, non-pepperoni pizza, I mean,” I said. I licked my lips and glanced at my empty glass. Something to drink would have been nice but I was too happy to finally have food to complain.

A woman in her fifties meandered through the dining room toward us. Her dark, graying hair was bundled on top of her head and she had a pen tucked behind her ear. Her red polo had the restaurant logo printed over her right breast and her khaki pants were dotted with grease stains. She moved slowly and I wondered if it was because she was tired or because she knew what was coming.

“Good evening, folks,” she said, forcing a smile. “Amy said that you asked for me.”

Jake launched into all of the issues since we'd arrived. The woman nodded, looked concerned, then nodded some more.

“I do apologize,” she said when he'd finished. “I'm sorry for the experience. How can I make it better?”

“I'm not really sure at this point,” Jake said. “This isn't the pizza we ordered, but since we've been here over an hour, waiting, we decided to eat it, anyway. But it's not what we ordered and it took forty-five minutes to get it and I'm really not exactly sure as to why.”

“I'm not either,” she said, wincing. She glanced at our empty beer glasses. “How about if I comp the beers?”

Jake frowned. “I was kind of thinking you might comp the entire meal.”

She winced again, then nodded slowly. “Yes. I suppose you're right. I'll comp the entire thing. Can I get you anything else?”

Jake didn't look entirely satisfied but he nodded. “Plates, maybe? And something else to wash down the pizza we didn't order?”

Her eyes flitted across the table and she sighed. “I'll be right back.”

“I love it when you're all calm and tough,” I said, shoving another piece of pizza into my mouth.

“No way I'm leaving a cent in this place,” he told me. “How is the pizza?”

I smiled. “I seriously don't care how it is.”

“Clearly.”

The woman returned with the plates and two glasses of ice water. I smothered a giggle, noting that she didn't want to comp us another penny by bringing more beer or soda to the table. She set them down with a flourish. “I'll take care of your ticket,” she said. “If you need anything else, my name is Kat.”

I froze in mid-bite and looked at her. She did, indeed, have a name badge pinned to her chest. And it said Kat.

“Your name is Kat?” I asked.

Her face expressed both puzzlement and annoyance. So did Jake's.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Have we met?”

I set the slice of pizza down and wiped my mouth with the paper napkin. “Um, no. I'm sorry, we haven't. But...are you Kat Fremont?”

She was still puzzled, but then she nodded. “Yes.”

I glanced at Jake, then back at her. “You're Harvey's mother.”

Something flashed through her eyes. She stood up a little straighter and swallowed hard.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.”

SIXTEEN

“We're staying at Windy Vista,” I said. “I was the one...that found him.” It sounded lame and terrible but I didn't know how else to introduce myself.

Kat Fremont set her hands on the table. Her knuckles were white. “I see.”

“I'm sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn't mean to catch you off-guard. I just...I recognized your name.”

“How did you know my name?

I hesitated for a moment. “Delilah mentioned it.”

Jake's eyes widened and he opened his mouth, then closed it. I knew what he was thinking: why on earth was I bringing this up?

She stiffened and the expression on her face soured. “I'll bet she did.”

“It wasn't in a bad way,” I said quickly. “I just didn't know anything about your son and—”

“She kept him there,” Kat said, seething. “She kept him at Windy Vista.”

Jake stared into his empty beer, almost as if he'd been hypnotized.

“I specifically asked her to help me get him out of this place.” Kat's jaw quivered. “So he wouldn't be stuck here like the rest of us. But she wouldn't listen to me. She hired him and he never left. And look where it got him.” Tears bloomed in her eyes. “Look where it got him.”

I caught Jake's almost imperceptible nod and nudged him under the table. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything.”

If she heard me, she didn't indicate it. A rush of words escaped her, like a dam that had burst. “I hadn't spoken to my son in a couple of years,” she said, wiping hard at her eyes. “Sure, I saw him at the gas station and around town, but we never talked.” She stifled a sob. “He wouldn't talk to me anymore.”

Jake was still staring into his empty glass, but his expression had changed. He was probably wishing we were anywhere else. Or maybe he was just wishing he was somewhere else. Maybe he'd be content to leave me behind.

“And it was all her fault,” she said, tears streaming freely down her face. “All Delilah's fault. She  wouldn't listen to me and she just used him for her stupid resort.”

“Did he want to be there?” I asked, remembering what Delilah had told me.

Jake shot me a look over the glass, like he was wondering why I was encouraging her. Or sticking my nose where it didn't belong. Or a combination of those two things.

I chose to ignore him and focused on Kat.

“Of course he wanted to be there,” she snapped. “She paid him well. She let him act like he ran the place. My God, he was trying to save her from going under.” She shook her head. “He did everything there for her. Everything.” She paused, took a deep breath, then exhaled. “I always knew that if he had a job here, he'd never leave. And end up just like me.” She glanced at the table. “I should probably have brought you a couple more beers instead of water.”

Before we could object, she left the table and headed for the bar.

“Here's where I remind you that you are not a private eye,” Jake said pointedly.

“Here's where I remind you that I'm well aware of that.”

“Then why are you questioning her?” he asked. The half-eaten slice of pizza he was holding hung limply from his fingertips. “Why are you digging?”

“I'm making conversation,” I argued.

He snorted. “Please. You're interrogating.”

“I'm curious,” I said firmly. “And friendly.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don't I know it.”

“Hey. That doesn't sound like a compliment. At all.”

“You have a guilty conscience.”

“You just want me stop talking.”

“That might be a good idea right about now.”

Before I could argue further, Kat returned with two beers. They were darker than what we'd ordered earlier. She ran a hand over her hair, adjusted the pseudo-bun on the top of her head and exhaled again.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to stand here and just rant at you. Your experience here hasn't been the greatest.”

“It's okay,” I said. And I meant it. “We're fine. And I'm sorry for bringing it up.”

Jake said nothing and grabbed his beer.

Kat nodded. “I'm just...I'm just out of sorts.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. I thought she had every reason to be out of sorts. Thinking of any child of mine dying brought an overwhelming surge of grief and panic. I couldn't believe she was actually at work, going through the motions so soon after her son's death. Even though they'd been estranged and even though they apparently hadn't spoken in years. Harvey was still her son. “I'm very sorry.”

The tears blossomed again. “Thank you. Me, too. I hate that he's gone and we never...we just never got it figured out between us.” She sniffed and took another deep breath. “And if I wasn't so damn broke, I sure wouldn't be here working the day after my son died.” She shook her head. “But I don't have any choice. I'm sure everyone thinks I'm some heartless old lady, but they don't know my life. I can't afford to stay home and grieve.”

I nodded. I wasn't sure what I expected Kat to be like after talking with Delilah, but this wasn't it. She was a sad woman who'd lost her son and didn't seem to be catching many breaks in life. I felt for her.

“You know, even though I didn't like him working there, I was proud of what he was trying to do,” she said, wiping again at her eyes. “I was proud of him trying to help. That probably doesn't make much sense.”

I offered her a smile. “I think it makes a lot of sense.”

She nodded, like she appreciated hearing it. “He had a good heart, Harvey did. And as much as I look at that place and hate it, he loved it. I know he was doing everything he could to save it. He even went and met with ol' Davis to try and work something out. I doubt anything came of it, but he was looking everywhere he could.”

I took a sip from the beer. “Who's Davis?”

Jake made a loud coughing sound that sounded a lot like “detective.” I glared at him over the beer.

He pointed at his throat. “Choking,” he gasped.

I narrowed my eyes at him and said nothing.

“Davis Ellington,” Kat said. She pulled a rag from her pocket and rubbed at a spot on the table. “He's kind of the big, local wheeler and dealer in real estate. I don't know if Harvey wanted him to invest or buy or what. But I don't know much more than that.” She pocketed the rag and stared at the table. “Like I said, Harvey and I hadn't spoken in a long time.”

I nodded again, thinking about how hard it must've been to have been in such close proximity to her son and not be a part of his life. I was suddenly overwhelmed with missing the kids and wished we'd brought them. I knew it would pass, but in the moment, I missed them terribly and regretted leaving them at home.

“I'm going to let you finish your meal and drinks,” Kat said, lifting her hand from the table. “Again. I do apologize for earlier and if I can get you anything else before you leave, please let me know. I'll be your server for the rest of the night.” She excused herself and walked away.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, finishing our beers and the pizza. The dark beer tasted surprisingly good, the pizza was more than big enough for the both of us and the poor service we'd received seemed like it had occurred days ago. Kat had provided a little bit of perspective on a less than perfect restaurant experience.

“You ready?” Jake asked, tossing his napkin on the table.

“Yeah,” I said, doing the same. “But, hey. Will you—”

“Already on it,” he said, pulling out his wallet. He opened it and dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table. “Even I'm not that heartless.”