Felix peered up at Wayne. Hurt entered his eyes once more.
“But—” he began.
Terry McPhail had been watching us in confusion. Now a look of comprehension crossed his face. “What are you, some kind of narc?” he asked Felix. He didn’t bother to mask the hostility in his voice.
“Huh?” replied Felix, turning to him in bewilderment.
“An undercover cop. I should have guessed.” Terry shook his head in disgust. “And I suppose Kate reports to you.”
“He’s not a cop,” I said.
“FBI? CIA? What?” demanded Terry.
“He’s a reporter,” I answered. I glanced at Felix’s hurt face, remembered his past kindnesses and added softly, “A friend too.”
Felix blushed when I said “friend.” Maybe he was remembering my past kindnesses. “Sorry, Kate,” he apologized.
Terry, however, was not to be placated. “A reporter,” he said. “Shit.” Then he turned and jumped back in the pool. It was hard to tell if he thought a reporter was worse or better than a cop.
“Terry,” I shouted. If his head was under water, so be it. “Fran’s got a lunch buffet ready.”
That duty done, I turned and led the silent march back to the dining hall.
Felix broke the silence once the swimming pool was out of sight.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Ireland’s murder?” he asked. This time his tone was reasonable, gently inquiring.
“Because I was too shook up,” I explained. I turned to face him. “Have you ever stumbled over a dead body?” I asked.
“I’ve seen some,” he said slowly. Understanding softened his eyes for a moment. “Must have been terrible.”
I nodded, glad he understood.
“What did it look like, exactly?” he asked slyly.
“Felix!” I yelped.
“Just kidding,” said Felix. I smiled in spite of myself. Can’t blame a guy for trying.
We walked a few more steps. I looked over at Wayne. He was smiling too.
To Felix, the smiles were a green light.
“Seriously, Kate,” he said. “Did it look like the same M.O. as Suzanne’s murder?”
“Yes,” I answered curtly.
“Come on, Kate,” Felix begged, his mustache twitching eagerly. “Give.”
I sighed one more, mammoth sigh. Then I gave. The whole story of the morning’s events. We kept walking while I rattled off the story as fast as I could move my mouth, not allowing Felix an edgewise moment to interrupt. I wanted this story over with in time for lunch.
By the time the main building came into view, I had finished my monologue with a description of my last interrogation by Chief Orlandi.
“That’s all?” asked Felix.
“Isn’t that enough?” I responded.
Felix ignored me. He was thinking as he walked. He gazed upwards into nothingness, lost in some inner scenario. If there had been a brick wall in front of him, he would have walked into it. Unfortunately, there was no brick wall.
“So it was Craig who actually found Jack Ireland’s body first?” he asked softly, eyes still unseeing.
I nodded.
“And Suzanne’s too?” He stroked his chin.
I nodded again. Damn. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him about Craig.
He brought his eyes back to earth abruptly as we came to the stairs of the main building. Then he lifted them to my face. “Who do you think did it?” he asked.
“I told you,” I snapped. “I don’t know. I don’t even have a guess.”
We had started up the stairs when I heard the sound of footsteps on the path behind us. I turned and saw the twins, Arletta and Edna. They both averted their glances, as if suddenly interested in the landscape.
“Who are they?” asked Felix, nudging my ribs. I shrugged my shoulders.
I wasn’t going to tell. I preferred the twins’ tailing me to Felix’s questions. I only wished they had been the ones to discover Jack’s body. Arletta and Edna would have handled the discovery better.
As we walked up the stairs and through the lobby, I told Wayne and Felix about the great vegetarian buffet the Beaumonts put on. Neither one seemed impressed. In the middle of my description of scrambled tofu, Felix went so far as to stick his finger down his throat as if to vomit. Wayne plopped a hand over his mouth to muffle his snicker, but I heard it anyway. Boys!
Bradley was at the front counter in the dining hall. He watched our approach with luminous eyes, a smile fluttering on his lips. Felix nudged me. He didn’t even have to ask who Bradley was. I had become conditioned, not to mention bruised, by Felix’s inquiring nudges.
“Bradley Beaumont,” I whispered. Then I ducked around to Wayne’s other side. Let Felix nudge Wayne for information.
“Ah, Ms. Jasper,” Bradley greeted me. “Your essence multiplies each time I see you.” He giggled at his own sally. I wasn’t sure what the joke was. Was he referring to Wayne and Felix? I smiled as if I understood.
“Three buffets,” I said.
“All on Mr. Jasper’s bill?” asked Bradley, cocking an eyebrow.
Damn. I hadn’t thought this out. Craig certainly owed nothing to Felix. But to Wayne? And what about the room? I was here for Craig, and Wayne was here to help me be here for Craig. But did that mean Craig was paying Wayne to sleep with me? Was there an ethicist in the house?
“On me,” growled Wayne, cutting short my ethical struggle. I felt oddly disappointed. It was so much easier to obsess about a minor moral issue than to consider the more critical, and brutal, facts of murder.
Bradley looked disappointed, too, as he took the cash from Wayne. Had Wayne ruined his joke? Felix, however, looked smug, having snagged a free lunch, even if it was vegetarian.
I heard the sound of Fran’s office door opening into the lobby behind us, then the low rumble of male voices emerging. Chief Orlandi and two grim-faced men walked out.
“You’re giving it your best shot,” said one of the men to Chief Orlandi. “That’s all you can do,” added the other man.
The Chief shook his head, looking very tired. “Well, anyway,” he said, “thanks for the assist. I can sure use it.”
The two men left through the front doors. The Chief stood with bent head and drooping shoulders as he watched them go. Poor guy—
Felix’s elbow was in my ribs again. He must have followed me around Wayne.
“Who’s that?” he whispered.
“The big guy is Chief Orlandi,” I told him, keeping my voice down. “I don’t know who the other two were.”
“Lakeside County sheriffs,” he whispered.
I turned to him, impressed. “How’d you figure that out?” I asked. Maybe he was assimilating some of Barbara’s psychic powers.
“It said ‘Lakeside County Sheriff’s Department’ on their car,” he answered. So much for psychic powers.
After a long sigh, Chief Orlandi turned back to Fran’s office. But as he did, the twins came marching through the front doors. Orlandi saw them, groaned and retreated to the office, slamming the door behind him.
Edna flung open the office door and strode in, undeterred. Arletta fluttered in behind her. Felix’s eyes were bulging with curiosity. He tiptoed up to the closed door to better hear the rumbles and twitters that filtered through.
I turned to Wayne. “Ready for a vegetarian feast?” I asked, pumping enthusiasm into my voice.
He nodded his head glumly. I led the way into the dining hall, quickly surveying the diners. Uncle Eli sat next to Craig at the communal table. And Ruth sat across from Eli, her face sparkling with pleasure. Don Logan sat by himself at the window.
I turned my eyes to the buffet. I was ready for food. Fasting has never appealed to me for either spiritual or health purposes. I tend to see angels after a day without food, angel food cake after two days. At half a day, I was shaky and my head ached. My vision was beginning to waver, too, but I could still see the buffet.
Right off, I noticed the carrot sti
cks I had sculpted, two kinds of bread (probably leftover from breakfast), hummus, vegetable soup, steamed corn-on-the-cob and new potatoes. My mouth watered. I picked up a cube of marinated tofu and popped it into my mouth. It was tangy and sweet at the same time. I grabbed a piece of oatmeal-raisin bread and bit a chunk out of it. Heaven. Thus fortified, I took a plate and began piling it high.
“Isn’t this great?” I mumbled to Wayne through another bite of oatmeal-raisin bread. “All you can eat.”
Wayne was poking at the tofu cubes with a fork, as if searching for meat. His eyebrows were lowered so far I couldn’t see his eyes at all.
“Great,” he murmured. He tasted a tofu cube experimentally, and shuddered. He prodded a cob of corn suspiciously. I repressed the urge to remind him that vegetarian corn tasted just like ordinary corn.
“Couldn’t hear much,” came Felix’s voice from behind me. “Sounds like the police chief is pissed at the two old ladies, though.”
“Fine,” I said curtly. “Let’s just eat.”
Felix picked up a plate and came over to my side.
“That guy Bradley,” he whispered. “Watching me the whole time. He kept giggling. It was really weird.”
I had had enough of Bradley Beaumont. Enough of Felix Byrne, for that matter. “Eat,” I ordered.
“Isn’t there anyone normal in this place?” Felix asked.
I quelled him with a glare, but the question reverberated in my aching head. I took another bite of bread. Were the inhabitants of Spa Santé all off balance? Or was it just the murders that made everyone behave that way?
Felix’s gaze lit on Craig and he began filling his plate helter-skelter. A potato, a slice of melon, a dollop of hummus, a handful of carrot sticks, all the time peering at Craig. Once his plate was full, he hoofed it over to the communal table to take a seat next to Craig.
“Oh-oh,” I said, nudging Wayne.
Wayne turned my way, and I nodded at Felix.
I peeked under Wayne’s eyebrows and saw a flicker of annoyance as he gazed at Craig. Guilt pressed on my chest. I took another bite of bread. How did Wayne feel about protecting Craig? Helping my ex-husband? I had seen genuine sympathy on Wayne’s face when Craig found Jack’s body, but the sympathy of the moment had probably worn off. Maybe I was asking too much of Wayne.
Whatever he felt, Wayne finished filling his plate quickly and led the way over to the communal table, where he took a seat next to Felix. I pulled out a chair next to Ruth, across from Craig.
“She did not bear easily her mother’s death or forget her father’s abandonment,” Eli was saying. I slurped vegetable soup and listened. “I tried to make it up to her but she was…she was difficult.” Eli smiled wanly. Ruth reached across the table and patted his hand.
“Such a waste,” said Eli, shaking his head sadly, “her short life spent mostly in anger.” Ruth shook her head with him, her eyes knowing.
Eli rested his eyes on Ruth’s face, drinking in her understanding.
“Suzanne was an excellent attorney. Her work reflected well upon our law firm,” he continued. “I only wish she had been a happier person.”
Next to Eli, Craig hung his head. Ruth gave a quick nod in Craig’s direction. Eli caught the signal and turned to him.
“Craig, do not blame yourself,” Eli said gently. “It was not your fault. You were a good influence on my Suzanne. She was happy with you, happier than she had been before you.”
Craig’s head popped up. “Really?” he asked, his voice full of the need to believe Eli’s words.
“Really,” Eli confirmed. His eyes were moist beneath his Coke-bottle glasses. He laid a gnarled hand on Craig’s shoulder. “You gave her great joy.”
Craig straightened his shoulders under Eli’s hand.
“This is too much sadness for someone of your age,” Eli said to him.
Ruth nodded. “Too much sadness for anyone of any age,” she said. She focused her intense eyes on Craig’s. “But death is a fact of life. You’ll always remember. But, in your own way, in your own time, you will feel better.”
Craig regarded her hopefully, cocking his head to better absorb her words. “When my son died,” Ruth continued, “and when my husband died, I thought I would never heal, but I did. The trick is not to get stuck. To move through the pain, the sorrow, the rage.” Now she turned her eyes back to Eli. “To move on with life.”
“To move on with life,” Uncle Eli repeated thoughtfully. “You are a very wise woman, Ruth.”
The table was silent as Eli and Ruth stared into each other’s eyes, as if each was seeing the life they wished to move toward in the other. We all basked in the warmth of their mutual enchantment. All except Felix.
Felix took the silence as an opportunity to speak to Craig. In a low, sympathetic voice he said, “It must have been really terrible for you to find those bodies.”
Craig slumped back in his chair. His face lost the little color it had gained. “You don’t know how terrible—” he began.
“I think now is not the time to speak, my young friend,” Eli interrupted. He put his hand on Craig’s shoulder once more, this time in warning.
Craig turned to Eli, startled by the interruption.
“This man is a reporter,” Eli explained.
“Oh, I know that,” said Craig. “I know Felix. He wouldn’t use anything I say….” Craig’s sentence petered out. He turned back to look at Felix.
Felix blushed. I wondered how he could do a good job as an investigative reporter when he blushed all the time. Maybe he only blushed when he felt guilty. And maybe he only felt guilty when he pumped his own friends.
“Never mind,” said Felix. He turned his face away from Craig. “I was just curious.”
“Why are you down here?” asked Craig, sudden apprehension tightening his face and his voice.
“For the story,” Felix admitted shrilly. “I’m a reporter, for God’s sake.” He paused to glare past Craig at Uncle Eli. “A better question might be why Suzanne’s uncle and only heir is here.”
Everyone’s eyes moved to Eli’s face. Why was he here? I hadn’t thought to wonder.
Uncle Eli bowed his head to Felix, then replied. “I must discover what happened to my niece,” he said, his voice deep and grave. “I accepted the responsibility for her care. That responsibility did not end with her death.”
It was a hell of a good answer. I felt like applauding, but took another bite of corn instead. Ruth’s eyes shone with admiration as she watched Eli.
I heard footsteps and looked up from my corn to see Terry McPhail approaching with his own plate heaped high. He scrutinized Ruth’s face as he stepped up to the table, then sat down next to her and examined the object of her admiration with a critical air.
“Who are you?” he asked Eli finally. His tone was not polite.
“This is Eli Rosen, Terry McPhail,” Ruth said, introducing them. The tone of her voice told Terry he should be honored to meet Eli. “Eli is Suzanne’s uncle,” she added.
“Oh,” Terry said, still eyeing him suspiciously. “What do you do?”
“I am an attorney,” Eli answered, unperturbed by this second cross-examination.
Terry’s face wrinkled in disgust, but before he had a chance to verbalize his disgust, Ruth spoke.
“Be nice,” she said, shaking an admonitory finger at him.
Terry deflated visibly as the breath he had stored up for a good tirade left his body harmlessly. He even managed a small smile.
“Nice,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m being nice. Have to be, seeing as I’m surrounded by cops and attorneys and reporters.” He shot a nasty look in Felix’s direction.
Felix looked away. His eyes traveled around the hall, looking for someone new to alienate. They lighted on Don Logan but moved away, probably remembering the last encounter. Then he saw Avery Haskell inspecting the buffet.
Felix would have jabbed me in the ribs again, but I was across the table from him. Inste
ad he nudged Wayne.
“Avery Haskell,” I heard Wayne whisper. I was surprised that Wayne knew Haskell’s name. I shouldn’t have been. Wayne was quiet, but he didn’t miss much.
Felix turned to look at Haskell again. Haskell looked back, treating Felix to his zombie stare. Felix averted his own eyes quickly. He surveyed the room once more, then whispered to Wayne, loud enough for my ears, probably loud enough for the whole table.
“Are you sure this place isn’t a lunatic asylum?”
That was enough for me. I had finished the food on my plate. Even Wayne had done justice to his vegetarian plateful. It was time to go.
“Wayne, ready for that walk I promised you?” I asked pointedly.
Wayne rose from his seat on cue. Felix rose too, but Wayne pushed him gently back into his seat with one large hand.
The two of us left quickly, passing Fran and Bradley at the counter.
“Please, honey—” I heard her say.
Bradley let out a piercing laugh.
I pushed the glass doors open frantically. What if Felix was right? What if Spa Santé was a lunatic asylum? And the staff were the lunatics? What if the Beaumonts and Avery Haskell belonged to some kind of cult that lured visitors down and then—
Wayne’s gentle voice interrupted my what-ifs as we walked out onto the porch. “It’s okay,” he said.
He put his hands on my shoulders and bent down to look into my eyes. “Kate?” he asked softly.
“I’m all right,” I answered. And suddenly I was. The idea of a lunatic cult seemed absurd in the sunlight. I kissed Wayne lightly; then we walked down the stairs into the bright afternoon.
We wandered without a destination, following the dirt paths as they led through and around the spa. We stopped occasionally to admire Fran’s landscaping and restoration efforts, or sometimes to squint at dilapidated buildings in the sunlight. The contrast of the beauty and the deterioration was disturbing. The more we walked, the more I began to wonder if my what-ifs had been so farfetched. Two people had been brutally murdered. That was real. I stopped walking and turned to Wayne.
“I’m scared,” I admitted softly. “It’s too damn spooky here. If it weren’t for Craig, I’d be out of here in a shot,” I reached for Wayne’s hand. “Do you think I’m crazy to stay?”
The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Page 16
