“I couldn’t decide whether or not to approach her. To tell her what she’d done. So I went for a little wheelchair ride.” Logan’s eyes were out of focus again, lost in the memory. “I had found some rope lying on the ground and I was fooling around with it—I can still do a lot of trick-roping even from this chair—when the bitch came jogging by. I waved at her but she didn’t stop. She just kept running on those long healthy legs. So I got her! Around the neck.”
He looked up at me, eyes focused now. “The bitch struggled against the rope, fighting me. And losing. That felt good. She might have been a winner in court, but she was a loser against my rope.” He smiled triumphantly. “She won’t help kill anyone else.”
Then he dropped his eyes to the ground and scowled. “I blew it on the old man, though. Who knows how many people have died because of him? Goddamn lawyer!” He spit the last words out.
I heard another rustle. This time I was sure of it. I just hoped it was human. Logan lifted his head and glanced at the trees.
“Why Jack?” I asked quickly.
“Why Jack?” he snapped, jerking his head back. “You heard him. ‘Get high and fly!’ Who was he going to kill, out there stoned on his motorcycle? Who was he going to cripple? I could give a shit if he killed himself. But what about the others?”
Logan made a fist of his rope-wrapped hand and banged it down on his knee. The loop tugged on the back of my neck, nearly pulling me off my feet. I scuffled my feet forward a few inches, hoping Logan wouldn’t notice.
“I ought to get an award,” he muttered, unseeing. “Wheelchair Avenger, clearing the state of scum!” He took a breath.
I heard something scuff the gravel on my right. But Logan didn’t seem to hear it. He was too wrapped up in his own words. I kept my eyes on him. He smiled again.
“I covered myself well. No one will ever find my bloody jeans. I even erased my wheelchair tracks with a branch, Indian style.”
Logan gave the loop around my neck a friendly tug. I took a full step forward. He didn’t object. I was within two yards of him now, and there was a little slack in the rope again.
“But you,” he whispered. “You had to figure out that it was one of her cases. Why didn’t you leave it alone?”
Good question, I thought. A drop of sweat trickled into my eye. I didn’t reach up to wipe it. I blinked. And heard the crunch of gravel on my left. Logan kept his eyes on me. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard the sound.
“Listen,” I said loudly. “I don’t drink. I don’t defend drunk drivers. I’m as innocent as your wife was.”
“My wife was no whore!” he shouted at me. Damn. He hadn’t been this angry at me a minute before. Was this what it took to work himself up to kill me?
“You and all your ‘friends,’” he snarled. “Don’t compare yourself to my wife!”
I breathed deeply and centered myself. I took a slow step toward him, to put more slack into the rope.
“You—” he began.
“Hold it right there,” a gruff voice warned at my left.
“We’ve got you covered,” another voice chirped at my right.
The twins. I glanced quickly to my left. Edna had something clenched in her upraised fist, but it didn’t look like a gun. I looked back at Logan. He had turned his head away from me to stare at Edna. I inched my hands toward the loop around my neck.
Logan turned to Arletta next. After one look at her frail form, he leaned his head back and roared with laughter.
His mouth was still open when Edna drew back her arm and heaved the contents of her fist at him. Her aim was good. Gravel bounced off his hat and face, some of it even making it into his mouth. Startled, Logan spit and pulled up his arm to shield his eyes, jerking the loop of rope taut around my neck again. I stepped toward him quickly, slipping my hands into the taut loop as I did.
Arletta fired her handful.
I yanked at the rope, loosening it as her load of gravel peppered Don Logan’s head and body, and mine. I was two feet away from him now. I looked into his eyes and saw resignation there. Or was it relief?
Edna was scooping up another handful when I pulled the loose rope over my head and tossed it away from my body.
As Edna took aim I began to scream.
TWENTY-FIVE
BY THE NEXT afternoon I was pretty embarrassed about all the screaming I had done the night before. The minute I had let out the first shriek Don Logan had whirred away, trailing rope behind him. But that hadn’t been enough to ease my fear. I had kept on screaming, unable to stop.
The screaming had brought Wayne, so it had served a purpose. He had been on his way down the stairs, wondering why I was taking so long, when he had heard the first shriek. Poor guy. He had thought that shriek was my death cry. It was the sight of Wayne’s frightened face as he came running toward me that had shut my mouth. I don’t know which of us was comforted more when I wrapped my arms around him.
By that time, everyone was streaming into the parking lot. Felix had followed Wayne down the stairs. Chief Orlandi and the two sheriff’s deputies were next. The two deputies, with a lot of yelling and pointing assistance from the twins, had apprehended Don Logan as he tried to maneuver into his van. Craig, Terry, Avery Haskell and all the Beaumonts had come down the stairs in a group. Then miscellaneous police officers, technicians and sleepless Slim ‘n’ Fitters had swarmed over the parking lot.
But all that was history. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. It was Saturday afternoon and I still felt pretty shaky. Wayne and I had slept through the remaining morning hours huddled in each other’s arms. Now we were back in the dining hall, picking over the remnants of our final vegetarian feast.
“Don’t you see?” Ruth was saying. She bent across the communal table, her gypsy eyes sparkling. “Your screams were the perfect feeling response.” She took my hand and squeezed. “You did great!” she congratulated me.
Terry McPhail sat at Ruth’s side, unimpressed by her words. He crossed his arms over his “Split Wood Not Atoms” T-shirt and rolled his eyes toward the beamed ceiling.
“Well, I won’t need psychotherapy for a few years,” I muttered quickly. I could feel my face burning with embarrassment. “I think I got all my feelings out until 2016.”
“Won’t need to buy a primal box either,” Wayne teased gently. His voice was soft and low. A voice you could climb into. I squeezed his knee gratefully.
“‘Feeling response,’” snorted Terry, ignoring our comments. “Screaming isn’t action. It doesn’t do anything constructive.”
“It brought the police,” Craig pointed out. He sat on Wayne’s other side, looking amazingly fit. He had jogged five miles that morning. There was new color in his bony face. And light in his eyes. The light beamed in my direction. Damn.
“No, no. I didn’t mean Kate’s screaming for help,” Terry corrected Craig impatiently. “I meant all this garbage about screaming to get your feelings out. It’s Pablum,” he finished. “A substitute for action.”
“Feelings are not garbage,” Ruth snapped. “If Don Logan had screamed a little more, he might not have needed revenge. But he couldn’t let go of what he’d lost. He couldn’t get beyond his anger.”
“Spare me the psychological analysis,” Terry drawled. “The man’s a psychopath! Sure he suffered a tragedy that put him in a wheelchair. But did he do anything constructive? Did he work on legislation against drunk driving? Did he work for the rights of the disabled? No, he went around killing people!”
Terry shook his head in disgust. His sympathy for the accused obviously didn’t extend to Don Logan. “You’d think the man would have been sensitized by the experience,” he finished.
Ruth hit the table with the palm of her hand. And she hit it hard. If she had wanted attention, she got it. I sat up straight. Terry blinked nervously. Ruth turned her fierce glare on him.
“Why is it that people expect someone to suddenly become a saint when they’re put in a wheelchair?” she deman
ded. “Would you?”
Terry lowered his eyes. “I guess I wouldn’t,” he mumbled. “But—”
“Well, nor would I,” Ruth assured him. She softened her tone as she continued. “I’ve talked to Don Logan. He was a man who was used to having things his way. I’ll bet that he was an angry and violent man before he was crippled. And his losses just made him even angrier and more violent. He didn’t know how to pass through the anger. He couldn’t complete his mourning. So that’s where he got stuck. In a morass of rage and hatred.”
I shivered, remembering that rage only too well.
The swinging doors of the kitchen opened before Ruth could say anything more. Fran trotted to our table, wiping her hands on her apron as she came. Her soft face was shadowed with fatigue, but she was smiling.
“Oh, Kate,” she bubbled. “I knew you could do it. I’m so impressed that you found our murderer. Bradley says—”
“I didn’t exactly find the murderer,” I interrupted, feeling my face flush again. “He found me.”
“Well, anyway,” Fran chattered on happily. “We’re so grateful. We have a little surprise for you. So don’t you go anywhere.” She rushed on to the next subject without taking a breath. “Nikki called again for you this morning. Did you get a chance to talk to her?”
“Yes,” I answered briefly. I had called Nikki back the first thing after kissing Wayne good morning. Wayne and I were going to drive out to talk to her before we went to the airport. I wasn’t looking forward to it. My stomach tightened. Would she ever be able to get over losing Jack? I moved closer to Wayne, touching my arm to his, assuring myself he was still there.
Fran warbled a few more cheery words of thanks, then walked around the table to give Ruth a big hug before returning to the kitchen. The moment the swinging doors closed behind Fran, Ruth reached across the table to put her hand on top of mine. As I looked at her, I felt myself being sucked into her intense gaze.
“Nikki will get through it,” Ruth pronounced slowly and clearly. “She is a survivor. She knows there is more to look forward to in her life. Her mourning will be brief.” I found myself nodding, convinced by Ruth’s certainty.
“Thank you,” I whispered. She patted my hand, then released it.
“And Eli,” she continued, her black button-eyes softening into those of a moonstruck teenager. “He’ll be fine too. I’m going to stay down here until he gets out of the hospital.” She sighed. Then her face became a wise gypsy’s again. “Craig’s already on the road to recovery,” she added briskly.
Craig blushed and lowered his puppy-dog eyes for a moment. Then he turned his eyes back to me.
“How about Fran?” I asked quickly, avoiding his gaze. “What’s with the big hug? Has she forgiven you for lecturing her?”
Ruth pulled herself erect in her chair, her mouth curved in a smug smile. “She has not only forgiven me, she’s going into family counseling with her husband and son.” She bent forward and whispered, “And guess who’s going to pay for the therapy?”
“Avery Haskell?” I ventured.
Ruth’s smug smile faltered.
Terry chuckled. “You’re not the only mind reader around here, you know,” he told her.
Ruth leaned back in her chair and laughed. “Yes, Avery Haskell,” she confirmed. “And he’s investing in Spa Santé too—”
“He’s confessed!” came Felix’s shout from the dining room door, cutting off Ruth’s sentence. He raced to our table. “Don Logan’s confessed to everything! And I got my story in first!”
“Logan’s going to need one of those lawyers he hates,” commented Terry dryly.
“He’s already got one,” Felix answered, pulling out a chair on Ruth’s other side. “Looks like they’re going to go for an insanity plea.”
There was an uncomfortable silence around the table as Felix sat down. Insanity? Was Logan insane? For all his rage, he had seemed calm and methodical to me. But to kill two strangers? Weren’t his actions intrinsically insane? Then I remembered his look of resignation. Or had it been relief? Maybe he had been glad to have been stopped. I hoped so.
The sound of the kitchen doors swinging open once more came as a welcome interruption to my thoughts. Fran marched to our table holding a layer cake out in front of her. Bradley and Paul Beaumont followed her through the doors. And Roseanne brought up the rear, tail high, eyes on the cake.
“For Kate Jasper, our own detective,” Fran announced formally. I stood up and opened my mouth to object to “detective” but Fran wasn’t finished yet.
“It’s applesauce oatmeal with a tofu-cream frosting,” she stage-whispered. “A new recipe. Bradley made it up this morning—”
“We wanted to express our thanks,” said Bradley. His eyes were clear today. And somber. “All of us appreciate what you did.”
Avery Haskell came through the kitchen door and handed a piece of paper to Paul as Fran set down the cake. Avery nudged the boy.
“And a certificate for two weeks free stay at Spa Santé,” Paul recited, his eyes on the paper. “Any time you want to use it.” He lifted his eyes to mine and smiled uncertainly.
Two weeks at the Spa of Sighs. Damn. Roseanne yowled plaintively. My sentiments exactly. But I made the effort and stretched my face into what I hoped was an appreciative smile.
“I—” I began.
“Psst,” I heard from the dining hall doors.
Edna and Arletta stood in the doorway, gazing at me furtively. Edna’s shoulders were hunched forward defensively. Arletta fidgeted behind her.
“Wanted to say goodbye,” Edna growled.
“We don’t want to intrude though,” chirped Arletta from behind her.
“Intrude?” I asked loudly, striding toward them. “Like you intruded last night?”
Edna and Arletta exchanged puzzled glances.
“You guys,” I sighed affectionately as I reached them. “You saved my life last night. You have my permission to intrude whenever you want to!”
Arletta’s face lit up. I gave her a quick hug, not wanting to damage her frail bones. Then I squeezed the stuffing out of Edna. She was solid enough to withstand it. Both women were blushing by the time I led them over to the rest of the group.
“These are the real heroes,” I announced, introducing the twins. They shook hands all around, first with Ruth and Terry, then with Wayne and Craig, and finally with Avery Haskell and the Beaumonts.
“Arletta Ainsley and Edna Grimshaw,” I proclaimed. “True detectives.”
They blushed even more deeply. Edna sputtered out disclaimers while Arletta giggled.
Craig rose from his seat and beamed his chairman-of-the-board smile down at the twins. “If there is ever anything you need,” he said, “feel free to ask. I can’t thank you enough for what you did last night.”
The man has charm. I can’t deny it. Arletta simpered becomingly and Edna let out a girlish snort of pleasure.
“Listen,” I said to them, not to be outdone. “Why don’t you come visit me up in Marin? I’d love to see you again.”
“Oh, that would be lovely,” Arletta chirped. “But we couldn’t impose.”
“No problem,” I assured them. “We’ll get you a motel nearby. I know just the one. All the amenities. A private whirlpool tub, in-room movies, the works.” I turned and locked eyes with my ex-husband. “And I’m sure Craig will be only too glad to treat you,” I finished.
Craig’s mouth dropped open. As I winked at Wayne, the dining hall filled with laughter.
Table of Contents
Kate Jasper Mysteries
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Cha
pter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Page 26
