The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (33 page)

Damn. Maybe the murderer was safe after all. He—or she—had probably attacked Eli as he walked back from Ruth’s room at eleven o’clock—

“Craig was with us at eleven o’clock! He couldn’t have done it!” I burst out triumphantly.

“You sound surprised,” said Orlandi, raising his eyebrows. Renewed interest glimmered in his eyes.

“No, no. Not surprised at all,” I sought to assure him. I calmed my voice. “Just pleased that the evidence clears him.”

“Whoa,” Orlandi warned. “The evidence doesn’t clear Mr. Jasper.” Orlandi watched me intently as he spoke. “You’re assuming Rosen was attacked at eleven. Maybe he was. But maybe he wasn’t. He could have met his assailant after twelve, right before you and your boyfriend got to the mud bath. If he ran ahead, your ex-husband would have had enough time.”

I shook my head vigorously. “You don’t really believe that, do you?” I asked.

Orlandi stretched his lips back in his old grin for an answer. Damn.

“How about me?” I asked nervously. “Am I cleared?”

He shrugged his shoulders, still grinning.

“Can I at least wash the mud off?” I begged.

Orlandi lowered his gaze to the papers on Fran’s desk. Had he even heard my plea? He wrote something in a notebook. I told myself that the spa mud was healthy mud. It was probably good for my skin. But my clothes? Finally Orlandi raised his head again to look at me.

“I guess it can’t hurt,” he muttered dispiritedly. “You’ve already admitted being at the mud bath.”

I left Orlandi in Fran’s office after a few more halfhearted questions. He seemed to have lost interest in me. In fact, he seemed thoroughly depressed. I didn’t think he really suspected Craig any longer. But I wasn’t sure.

I marched straight to the restroom off the lobby to clean up. There is only so much you can do for caked mud with paper towels and water. I did it. If nothing else, the cold water on my face woke me up. Then I strolled out onto the lit porch to wait for Wayne. I certainly wasn’t walking back to my room without him.

I sat down on the porch bench and thought. Why had Eli Rosen been attacked? What did he have in common with Suzanne Sorenson and Jack Ireland? Questions I should have considered from the moment I saw Eli’s body in the mud bath.

The sound of movement in the nearby trees distracted me from my belated consideration. Suddenly, I felt vulnerable on this lit porch. I rose to go back inside. Then I heard a sharp, “Psst.”

Arletta and Edna hurried out from under an orange tree to stand at the foot of the stairs. I let out a relieved laugh. At that late hour, the twins—with their sharply contrasting faces and figures—seemed to me especially comical. Edna stared up at me, her jowly face set in an unappreciative frown. I tried to get serious. Arletta smiled at me serenely, as if sharing my amusement.

“Come on up,” I whispered.

Edna jerked her head over her shoulder just as I heard a new set of footsteps. Damn. Edna and Arletta scurried back into the grove of orange trees. My shoulders tensed.

“Howdy hi, Kate,” came the voice before I could see the body attached to it. I flopped back down on the bench. It was only Felix.

He danced up the stairs and sat down next to me. His eyes were glistening with excitement. “Who got it this time?” he asked, his voice low with pleasure.

“No one,” I answered. Technically, I was telling the truth. Eli was alive. And I wasn’t sure what I should tell Felix. Besides, Felix was fun to tease.

“Come on,” he whined, his eyes narrowing. He was not amused. “There’s a whole herd of crime-scene people down at the outdoor mud bath where Suzanne got it, and cops crawling all over the spa. Something’s happened. Something big. Something Craig needs an alibi for.”

He thrust his glaring face at me. “Tell me this, little Miss Wise-ass, if no one new got it, why is Orlandi so friggin’ interested in who I was with between eleven and twelve?”

“What’s the hurry?” I asked sweetly. “Got a story due?”

“Come on, Kate. I’m your friend.” He pulled his head back and softened his tone. “Don’t put my nuts through the wringer on this one, okay? Tell me what happened.” His mustache vibrated anxiously. He looked like an intellectual rabbit, I thought sleepily. I’ve always been a sucker for rabbits.

So I told him. After fifteen minutes he had squeezed all the details from me and chewed them over thoroughly. I told him he’d better not write anything about Eli’s memory lapse. If the murderer hadn’t figured it out yet, I wanted to keep it that way. Felix assured me he wasn’t entirely stupid. That’s good to know, I thought and yawned. Then I came up with my own question for Felix.

“How’d you know you were an alibi?” I asked.

He smiled smugly before answering. “I moseyed on back to Craig’s room about fifteen minutes after you guys left. I wanted to throw around a few more ideas.” Poor Craig. Alone at Felix’s mercy. But at least Felix’s presence strengthened Craig’s alibi.

“I was still with him when the deputy came to take him in,” Felix continued. “So I did the right thing. I told that deputy that I’d been with Craig most of the night.”

“Congratulations,” I said. “A real coup.”

Felix nodded complacently, then frowned. “Only Orlandi threw me out as soon as he sucked the details out of me. Wouldn’t answer
my
questions. Noooo!” He drew out the word in disgust. “Friggin’ vampire!” he concluded, shaking his head angrily.

I chuckled. The pot was calling the kettle black. Felix settled back on the bench and looked out into the darkness of the spa.

“Who did it, Kate?” he asked suddenly.

I jumped a little, startled out of my chuckle. Damn. That was still the question, wasn’t it? Eli might be safe, but the murderer was too.

“I wish I knew,” I answered slowly. Suzanne, Jack, Eli. If only Jack had been a lawyer, it might have made more sense.

“What if Jack was incidental—” I began. Then I heard the door open behind us.

I turned and saw Wayne walk through. Most of the mud was gone from his face and hands. I guessed that he had made a trip to the restroom, too. I stood up to go to him. But he hung his head the instant he saw me.

“Wayne?” I inquired anxiously. What was wrong with the man? Had Eli died after all?

He looked down miserably at me, his sorrowful eyes not even halfway visible below his brows. I closed the distance between us in a few urgent steps.

“Been thinking,” he growled softly. “About Craig, me, you.”

I nodded my head cautiously, feeling a chill that didn’t come from the night air. This was about us, not murder. Had I finally lost him?

“Been a real jerk,” he finished glumly. He shook his head. “Sorry.”

“That’s all?” I burst out. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my cheek to his still muddy chest. “I love you, you…you big jerk,” I said.

He raised my chin and looked me in the eye. “Really?” he asked.

“Really,” I answered. I put my arms around his neck and kissed him gently.

“Jeez, you guys!” whined Felix.

Wayne returned my kiss with passion. I held on tight.

“We’ve got a murderer to catch!” Felix reminded us impatiently. “Break it up, okay?”

Wayne removed his lips from mine slowly. I gave him one more quick kiss on his cauliflower nose, for luck. Then we joined Felix on the redwood bench.

The three of us sat there and talked in the cool night air. About the spa people. Then we talked some more. About motives. And more. About backgrounds. And still nothing clicked. I was getting sleepy again. But it felt safe and comfortable there on the porch, so I just leaned against Wayne and listened to Felix spin bizarre scenarios.

Felix had almost convinced himself that Suzanne was Avery Haskell’s illegitimate daughter, when Don Logan came wheeling by. Felix lifted his hand in greeting. But Logan rolled down the ramp without returning the gesture.

I sat up abruptly, remembering the thought that had tickled my mind earlier.

“Eli and Suzanne,” I said. “They had a law practice in common!”

Felix turned to me. “So?” he asked sourly.

“What if the murders have to do with one of Suzanne’s cases? All Suzanne’s cases were Eli’s cases too. He was her boss. So what if one of those cases—”

“What about Jack Ireland?” Felix interrupted. He could rattle on indefinitely about his own theories, I thought angrily, but I mention one of mine and he torpedoes it.

“I don’t know about Jack,” I snapped. “Maybe he saw the murderer do it or something. But the point is Suzanne and Eli.”

I was wide awake now, excited. I stood up and wagged my finger at Felix. “And this is a theory we can check,” I told him. Then I began to pace. “If we can get Eli’s permission, we can call his secretary. Have her go through all the cases Suzanne has handled. Find the link—”

This time it was Wayne who interrupted me. “Won’t work,” he said softly. “Case files are confidential.”

Damn. I stopped in my tracks. But I wasn’t finished with the idea yet. “How about Eli?” I proposed. “We could tell him the theory and have
him
go through his cases.”

Wayne shook his head gently. “You heard how Eli feels about his clients. Man’s not going to give out incriminating information—”

“And anyway,” Felix broke in. “If the murderer is one of Suzanne’s clients, don’t you think Eli would have realized it by now? He knows the names of all the people at the spa. He’s got a functioning brain. Don’t you think he would have checked them out against his files?”

“Not necessarily,” I answered defensively. “And maybe the murderer isn’t a client! Maybe the murderer’s a friend of a client, a child of a client, maybe even someone on the other side—”

As the door behind us opened I realized I had been shouting. I snapped my mouth shut and turned to the door.

Ruth sprang toward me, her gypsy face now wizened with distress. “They told me Eli was assaulted!” she cried. “But they wouldn’t tell me his condition.” She twisted her hands together as she spoke.

I wanted to comfort her. To tell her Eli was conscious and well. She may be the murderer, I reminded myself. I shouldn’t tell her anything. I looked into her anxious eyes. Did she know I knew Eli’s condition?

Finally, I compromised. “I’m sure he’ll be all right,” I murmured gently.

“But I’ve got to
know
,” she insisted. “I have to face whatever’s happened.” Her voice grew calmer as she said this, as if she’d been hypnotized by her own words. Her eyes lost focus. “I’ve figured out where he is. I called the hospitals. He’s at Lakeside General. I’m going to see him there.”

“Will they let you see him?” I asked.

“I’ll find a way,” she answered, her voice regaining determination. She was a formidable woman. She probably would find a way.

She grabbed my hands and sandwiched them between her own. “Wish me luck,” she ordered, smiling.

I smiled back. “Good luck,” I whispered, and hoped she wasn’t the murderer.

She dropped my hands and rushed across the porch to the stairs, a hurricane in a purple caftan.

“Ruth, hold on a minute,” I called, remembering Eli’s first words in the mud bath. “I want to ask you something.”

“Walk me to my car,” she shouted over her shoulder.

I shot Wayne a quick glance. He stood up, but I motioned him back down. I would have better rapport with Ruth alone. And the parking lot wasn’t far.

I trotted down the stairs in her wake and caught up with her at the edge of the graveled lot. I could still hear Felix’s voice expounding a new theory from the porch. I could even hear the whir of Don Logan’s wheelchair, sounding only yards away. It’s strange how sound travels in the silence of the night.

“My car’s at the far end,” Ruth said. She kept on walking as she pointed into the darkness of the parking lot. “What did you want to know?”

“Do you know if Eli speaks German?” I asked. I thought that was the language he’d spoken when he first awakened in the mud bath, but I wasn’t sure.

“German?” was Ruth’s distracted reply. She shot me a quick glance. Admittedly, it was an odd question.

“I have a reason for asking,” I assured her. And I did. What if Eli was part of a Nazi spy ring? I can only blame Felix’s influence and the hour for my flight of imagination. It had to be past three o’clock in the morning.

“German,” Ruth repeated, scrunching up her face in thought. “Now I remember,” she said finally. Her face relaxed. “Eli was born in Germany, I think. His father was German. It seems to me he was a boy when he and his mother escaped the country. They got out before the worst of it. But his father died in the camps.”

“Then Eli is Jewish?” I asked stupidly.

“Is the Pope Catholic?” she returned my question. I took that for a confirmation. So much for my Nazi spy theory, I thought, now embarrassed by my own imaginings.

“Here’s my car,” Ruth said, pointing to her ancient Volvo looming menacingly before us. I wished she hadn’t parked so far away. It was dark out here, with only the moon for light. And quiet. I couldn’t hear Felix anymore.

She opened her door and hopped in. Then she rolled down her window. “Thanks,” she said.

“For what?” I asked.