The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (26 page)

He leaned forward to whisper again. “I’ve got this friend whose kid was selling a little grass here in Delores. No big thing. Just for his pals. Well, Orlandi hears about it and goes ape-shit. Not that Orlandi’s got any proof. The kid was too smart for that. But that didn’t stop Orlandi. He harassed that kid day and night, parking out in front of his house, talking to his pals, scaring off his sweetie pie. A couple of months of this shit and the kid finally gave it up. No more dealing for him. He’s afraid to smoke a Marlboro these days!”

Arnie leaned back and laughed again. “Got to admire a son of a bitch like Orlandi,” he finished, nodding emphatically.

I sat staring at Arnie, a polite smile on my face, hoping Orlandi hadn’t picked Craig to bite into. Or anyone else innocent for that matter.

“Eat, eat!” Arnie ordered.

We ate and Arnie regaled us with Orlandi stories. How Orlandi had worn down “the poor Smith girl” by knocking on her door with a red rose every day for six months until she agreed to marry him. They had three kids now. How Orlandi had busted a burglary ring, figured out who was spraying graffiti on the Meyers’ house, and terrorized the town drunk into A.A. meetings—all through pure force of character. How Orlandi was going to solve these murders.

I nodded agreement but my heart wasn’t in it. Maybe Orlandi could do it. But he’d need more than force of character.

“Hey, how about a beer?” Arnie asked as we were finishing up. “On the house.”

“Thanks anyway,” said Wayne, patting his stomach. “Too much good food. Got to go.”

Arnie followed us up to the register, where I paid the bill, waving away Wayne’s efforts to contribute. It was my turn, after all. As Arnie was making change, I heard the door open behind us.

Arnie whispered. “Must be Slim ‘n’ Fit Weekend again.” He gave a quick nod to the doorway. I turned and saw a heavyset woman in a tie-dye T-shirt approaching. She glanced nervously over her shoulder. “We’ve gotten a helluva lot of business from the new spa program,” Arnie continued with a wink. “This is where they come to blow their diets.”

The drive back to the spa was all too brief. As we drove through the gap in the trees that served as the entrance to Spa Santé, I heard B-movie prison doors clanking shut in my mind. Wayne looked over at me, his face full of concern. Maybe he had heard them too.

Wayne parked on the far side of the spa lot, as far away from the yellow-taped crime scene as he could. There was one lone sheriff’s deputy there now. He seemed to be guarding the area. Wayne and I sat in the car for a moment.

“Let’s see who’s left in the dining hall,” I suggested.

“Kate, are we investigating?” asked Wayne.

I shrugged my shoulders. Wayne sighed.

“I’ve got to know who killed them,” I answered finally.

“Okay,” he agreed quietly and opened his door. He turned to me before he got out. “I’ll do what I can to help,” he added.

We walked across the parking lot and up the stairs of the main building. Avery Haskell was sitting on the porch.

Wayne strolled over to Avery. “Police still here?” he asked.

“The two sheriff’s sergeants and Orlandi are still in there with Fran and Bradley. The rest are all gone, except for the Mexican woman, Guerrero, and the sheriff’s deputy,” Avery answered. His face was zombie-blank as usual. “For now, anyway,” he finished glumly.

“Terrible thing,” Wayne said. Suddenly I realized this was his help. He was pumping Avery Haskell. “What do you make of it?” he asked Avery.

“God’s will,” answered Avery shortly. Then he turned his head away.

“God’s will?” Wayne repeated softly.

Avery kept his head turned from us, but he finally spoke again. “Had to be God’s will,” he said softly. “But neither of those two had given their lives over to God.” He turned his head back slowly. “I still can’t figure why God wanted them.” A look of honest confusion broke through his zombie mask for a moment, but only a moment.

Then he shook his head and the mask became whole again. “It’s not my place to question. God works in mysterious ways,” he finished. He rose from his seat and moved quickly through the front door before Wayne could ask another question.

I walked up behind Wayne and put my arms around his waist. “Thanks for trying,” I said.

“I’ll do better next time,” he promised. Then he turned to me. “Have I earned a break?” he asked.

Before I could reply, I heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. I swiveled my head and saw Paul Beaumont approaching.

He shuffled forward, head down and mumbled, “Can I talk to you?”

I hid my surprise. “Sure,” I answered. “What’s up?”

“Avery said I should apologize to you,” he said. He kept his eyes lowered as he spoke. He took a big breath. “I’m sorry I called you a liar,” he recited.

“That’s all right,” I answered, magnanimous now with Wayne at my side for a bodyguard.

“Orlandi said you didn’t tell on me.” Paul’s words tumbled out quickly now. “Not till I told them myself.” He finally brought his eyes up to mine. “I didn’t know, or I wouldn’t have yelled at you,” he explained.

I nodded my understanding.

He lowered his eyes again. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

Wayne put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. The kid jerked his head up, startled.

“You okay?” asked Wayne. Paul nodded.

“Need to talk?” Wayne prodded.

Paul squirmed a little, then shot a nervous glance in my direction. Wayne saw the glance and mouthed “see you later,” to me. I got the message. Time for a man-to-boy talk.

“I need something in my room,” I fabricated quickly. “A…a book.”

Sure enough, Paul looked relieved at my prospective absence. I scurried down the stairs, glad that Wayne was questioning the kid. Maybe he could get further than I had. It took me all of three steps up the dirt path to begin worrying. Could Paul be dangerous to Wayne? What if Wayne was hurt while doing my dirty work? I turned and looked behind me as I walked. Paul and Wayne were sitting on the redwood bench side by side. It certainly didn’t look like a dangerous situation. I swiveled my head back. And came face to face with the twins bearing down on me.

“Psst,” hissed Arletta theatrically, beaming at me through her thick glasses. Edna stood behind Arletta. With her bulldog scowl, she looked very much like her nephew Vic Orlandi.

“Hi—” I began.

“Shhh,” warned Arletta, bringing a thin finger to her lips. She pointed with studied nonchalance over her shoulder, to a bench behind a nearby orange tree. Then she strolled over to the bench. Edna rolled her eyes, but followed behind Arletta.

I scanned the area for a moment, looking to see if anyone was nearby on the path. The only people in sight were Paul and Wayne on the porch. Just as nonchalantly as Arletta before me, I sauntered over to the bench.

“Another murder!” chirped Arletta once I had seated myself in the space left for me between the two women. No greeting. No small talk. “A man named Jack Ireland,” Arletta nodded.

“Kate knows
that
,” growled Edna.

Arletta ignored her friend. “Have you learned anything new?” she asked eagerly, her wispy white head trembling with excitement.

I sat for a moment, considering. What had I learned?

“I saw the second body,” I said finally.

“Oh, my,” Arletta breathed, squeezing her hands together in apparent delight.

Edna patted my shoulder sympathetically. “Was it a mess like the other one?” she asked. Her intense stare belied her casual tone.

“Yes,” I said briefly, the memory of Jack’s body manifesting itself before my eyes. Arletta and Edna watched me closely as I tried to shake off the gruesome image. “There was a mark around his neck. Like Suzanne’s,” I told them.

Edna nodded in satisfaction. This fact seemed to confirm something for her. But Arletta wanted more.

“What else?” she asked.

“Not much,” I said, feeling inadequate. “Suzanne’s uncle flew down.”

“Before the second murder?” asked Edna sharply.

I shook my head. Edna frowned in disappointment.

“And?” prodded Arletta.

What could I say? “Jack Ireland was full of life. He was playful. Kind. And probably an alcoholic. Now he’s dead.” Arletta continued to look at me expectantly. “His girlfriend seems to be completely broken up over it,” I finished.

“What about the others?” Arletta asked.

Bits and pieces of the morning and afternoon flashed through my mind. Bradley Beaumont’s shrill giggles. Ruth’s flirtation with Eli. Paul Beaumont’s flight. But none of these pieces had any true evidentiary value.

“It’s hard to tell,” I answered finally. “No one acted like an obvious murderer.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m afraid I haven’t detected much,” I admitted.

“We have,” Arletta whispered.

Edna rolled here eyes once more.

“Well, we
have
,” Arletta insisted. She looked around us for nosy ears, and finding none, began to speak in a low whisper:

“We’ve researched the Beaumonts,” she said. “Bradley’s doctor told Edna that Bradley is close to another breakdown. He’s been institutionalized before.” She looked at me to see if I was impressed. I nodded her on impatiently. I didn’t need her to tell me that Bradley was near a breakdown.

Arletta went on. “And the child, Paul. He’s a problem student in school. Poor dear. He doesn’t have any friends in school except for the Sullivan boy, and God knows that child’s no role model. Poor thing can barely read—”

“Arletta,” Edna interrupted. “Kate doesn’t care about the Sullivan boy.”

Arletta blinked for a moment, said “Sorry, dear,” to Edna and continued. “Paul is failing most of his courses and plays hooky two days out of five. Miss Nagel—that’s his teacher—is worried to death about him.”

“Tell her about Fran,” Edna prompted.

Arletta’s face lit up. “I had a little talk with Charlotte Ortega, the teller at Fran Beaumont’s bank. Charlotte’s a good girl, used to visit the library every week when she was in school. She was only too happy to share what she knew about Fran. She told me that Fran was quite wealthy when she first came to Delores, but now she’s nearly down to her last penny. Fran asked the bank for a loan earlier this year, but they refused her.”

“I didn’t know that,” I whispered. No wonder my room was covered in psychedelic wallpaper. Fran couldn’t afford to replace it, or finish the work on the dilapidated buildings that dotted Spa Santé’s grounds.

Arletta looked gratified. “There isn’t any way you could know, dear,” she said smugly. “And there’s no way you could find out the state of Avery Haskell’s account either,” she added enticingly.

“Tell me,” I ordered. I would have to be careful with this woman. If she could pry confidential information from bank employees, who knows what she could wheedle out of me.

“Mr. Haskell’s bank account is another matter entirely. He also came to Delores with a small fortune. And it would appear that he has invested his fortune wisely. He banks his dividends regularly. He told the people at the bank that he received the money as an inheritance.” Arletta cocked her head in a knowing look. “I wonder if the young man was telling the truth.”

“Where do
you
think he got the money?” I asked.

But Arletta’s frail body had gone rigid. So had Edna’s sturdy one. I followed their gaze to the dirt path. Wayne stood there, peering quizzically around the orange tree that stood in front of our bench. I rose to greet him.

In the time it took me to walk the few steps to Wayne, the twins disappeared. I turned to introduce them, but they were gone, invisible.

“Who were those women?” Wayne asked.

“The twins—” I began, but stopped short as I heard new voices coming down the dirt path. A quick glance confirmed that the voices belonged to Ruth and Eli. The twins’ spy routine had rubbed off on me. I put my finger to my lips and pulled Wayne behind the tree onto the bench.

“Let’s listen,” I whispered.

“And then?” we heard Eli ask.

“And then I decided I had wallowed in self-pity long enough,” Ruth replied. “I turned my back on the past and began to write.”

“Ah,” said Eli. “
The Things We Do For Love
. I read this book, you know. I thought you must have been the Ruth Ziegler who wrote it, although there was no picture of your lovely face on its cover.”

Ruth giggled. “You’re incorrigible, Eli Rosen,” she admonished, then went on in a low voice. I couldn’t hear the rest of her words as she and Eli moved away from us down the path.

“They certainly sound like they’re meeting each other after a long separation,” I said to Wayne as I rose from the bench.

“You wondered?” he asked as he stood up himself.

I turned to him. “They might have been conspirators—” I began.

“His motive, her opportunity,” he finished with a frown.

“You thought of it too!” I said in excitement. “Well?”

Wayne’s brows were so low I couldn’t see his eyes as he thought it over. “Probably the first stages of romance and nothing more,” he said finally. But his face was still troubled.