Murder's Last Resort

by Marta Chausée

Somehow, we beat those guys. I managed to kick one of them in the shin, and I kneed another one in the groin, much to my satisfaction. Moans and grunts filled the air. I could hear Jake punching someone and Lily was spitting fire like a hell cat. The goons turned tail and ran almost as quickly as they had attacked us.

  We untangled ourselves from the net and heard the sound of sneakered feet pounding over the bermed landscaping and in the direction of the parking lot. Then, we heard a car peel out. Whoever they were and whatever their goal, they were gone now and their bizarre little ambush had not worked.

  Jake, Lily and I were all jabbering at the same time, checking each other out to make sure we were okay. I was unsteady on my feet and my nerves were shot. I felt as vulnerable as a blind man at the edge of the Grand Canyon. Once more, tears were springing to my eyes when Jake said, “Well, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Maya,” in his best Oliver Hardy voice.

  Lily started to giggle and Jake joined in. Before I knew it, I was laughing, too, and wiping away my tears at the same time. We were so upset, we had to laugh to keep from crumbling.

  Jake gathered the net in his hands and dragged it along for closer inspection at a later time. He wanted to call the Orlando PD, but I wanted to keep it quiet. They had failed to protect me when they were in place. Who needed them now?

  “Listen, Jake,” I said, “I think it’s a bad idea to call the police for many reasons, not the least of which is, I think this may have had something to do with these morons.”

  “What?” Jake said. I could feel his eyes flashing at me, despite the darkness. Lily echoed his incredulity.

  “Yes, that’s right. Wasn’t there an adolescent whiff about this escapade? Face it—this was almost a joke.”

  “You’re right about that,” Lily piped up. “If they meant to give us a scare, they succeeded, but that still won’t stop us, will it? We’re unstoppable.”

  “You got that right, sister,” Jake chimed in. “We scared them a lot more than they scared us. If we hadn’t been tangled up in that net, I know I could have taken them singlehanded.” He pounded on his chest with his free fist, à la Tarzan.

  “Absolutely, dear Jake. Absolutely,” I said. “Once again, you’re my hero.”

  Chapter 47

  I was one lucky duck! Several hours had passed and my two sidekicks were sprawled out in my family room on the cushy leather sofas in front of the TV. Jake had the net at his feet, as though it were a trophy. Lily was curled up on her side, with a throw pillow clutched to her chest. The excitement must have tuckered them out; they were down for the count. Of course, it helped that I had insisted we toast one another and our killer karate skills with a Jaegermeister or two. While they tossed theirs back, I dumped most of mine into the ficus planter next to my overstuffed chair.

  I wasn’t a big drinker and couldn’t even down a whole shot at one time. Sipping and flinging, I was able to outlast them both and now I sneaked to my boudoir. I took a quick shower, put a fresh bandage on my shoulder, took two Tylenol and ditched the sling. I didn't need it. My arm was just a little sore.

  I blew my hair dry and applied fresh make up. Everything had to be right. My heart pounded all the way to my ears as I dressed in the clothes I had selected earlier today for this secret meeting with French. It might seem silly to anyone else but I was wearing new, lacy, black underwear beneath my black, long sleeved top and jeans.

  I was crazy with excitement and my stomach was doing cartwheels at the thought of seeing French again. Typical me, my brain function was beginning to recede and my animal cravings were kicking in.

  Knowing him, he might be more business than pleasure, but I fully planned to insert some pleasure into the equation. Would he insert himself into me? No, not too likely. French was not a big one for public displays of affection and he didn’t have a daring streak in him like his crazy spouse. No way would he risk being caught in a compromising position on hotel property, not even with his wife. French was a keep-it-in-the-bedroom-behind-locked-doors kind of guy. I should probably try some Jaeger shots on him sometime.

  I slunk out the front door, quiet as a mime behind glass. I carried a tote with a pair of black sandals to change into but, on my feet, I wore a pair of rubber Wellies. There were several roundabout ways to get to the open air meeting space across the lake where French was waiting for me. They would take at least a half hour. If I took the kayak we kept tied to our deck, the trip would take five minutes from start to finish.

  Part of me was hesitant and squeamish. The kayak could be filled with black racer snakes or even water moccasins. I hated those slithering buggers, but I was desperate to get to French and I was not about to traipse all over the property. The kayak was the way to go.

  With my heart still racing and butterflies in my stomach, I made my way to the dark side of our deck. I had a tiny flashlight with me. No way was I getting into that kayak without checking it out first. If I actually found a water moc or a racer, I didn’t know what I’d do. Trudge back to the house, put on a pair of rubber gloves and bring out some barbeque tongs, I guessed.

  I looked in the kayak. Phew! No snakes—thank You, God. I untied it from the slip, pushed it through the muck and thought about our manmade lake. It wasn't super deep. Still, alligators often migrated to it from the nearby marshes. I had kayaked upon it dozens of times in the daytime, but never once at night. The thought of meeting one of our six foot, snaggle-toothed reptilian friends was terrifying. My mouth was dry and I trembled with nerves, but I jumped into the kayak anyway, and shoved off. It slid silently across the calm water. Nothing could stop me from taking the fastest way possible to seeing French, not even common sense.

  I paddled along with eyes only for the opposite shore. I was so intent on meeting French that I didn’t give the lake the attention it deserved and, in the pitch black night, I hit a bump. The kayak lurched and I, taken by surprise, overcorrected. The next thing I knew, I was submerged in the cold, murky water. Water filled my mouth and nostrils and I began to choke. Sputtering and coughing, I descended and the Wellies slid off my legs. My feet, now bare, sunk into the slimy, gooey mud on the bottom of the lake. Not a strong swimmer, panic hit me in the back of the neck like a two by four. I was going to drown.

  I pushed against the bottom and felt the silt sucking at my ankles and toes, as I tried to release myself from its grip. The water felt as thick and heavy as split pea soup against my now-heavy clothing. I struggled against the weight of it and, just when I thought I could hold my breath no longer, I made it to the top and drew a long, gasping breath. Shivering and with my teeth chattering, I felt for and found the overturned kayak in the dark. I clung to its side and swam toward the opposite shore. I was hyperventilating. I was a filthy mess. No one but me could have been that clumsy except maybe Inspector Clouseau, and he wasn’t real.

  I breathed in long sharp gasps, and I was too shook up to cry. I was off-balance and I felt humiliated. Now I would look like a drowned rat, as I emerged from the water to meet French. It wouldn’t exactly be Venus rising from the depths, fully formed, on the half shell.

  Chapter 48

  He had his back turned to me as I neared him, slosh-sloshing, at our meeting place.

  “French—” I said, “it's me!” as tears welled in my eyes. I felt ugly, stupid and embarrassed in my wet clothing, dripping onto the wooden deck, with my hair hanging down in limp, soggy ropes. And I had wanted to look so special for him!

  “Good God, Maya, you look a fright.” He started right in on me, after he turned and took a few steps toward me, then stopped. “What the hell have you done?”

  Before I could answer, “I did this all for you,” he was laughing. French was not a man who laughed easily or often but, my appearance tickled him, and he didn’t stop laughing for what seemed like a good three minutes. I stood there, at first happy that I had made him laugh, but then, he didn’t stop. He was on a jag and, as he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, I began to feel insulted and re
sentful.

  “Look, you ungrateful bastard, this is what you get for disappearing on me for days on end,” I spat at him, starting to work up a big head of steam.

  “Oh please, Maya,” he said. “If you could only see yourself, you’d understand.” This time he doubled over with laughter, his hands on his knees. I said nothing, just glared.

  A few seconds later, he pulled himself together, adding, “I’m just disappointed, that’s all. I had it in my mind that I was going to hug and kiss you as soon as I saw you and not let you out of my arms for a full five minutes before we even started to argue, but you managed to surprise me, as always,” he said.

  “Well,” I said, somewhat placated, “at least we had the same intentions.”

  “Sit down,” he said, pulling out a wrought iron patio chair for me and one for himself. “I want you to know that the past six days have been hell for me, literal hell.”

  “Oh really?” I answered, in disbelief. “They’ve been a picnic on the grass for me.”

  “Ugh,” he said. “Going for sarcasm, are we? Sarcasm is the defense of the weak. You taught me that, remember?”

  “I am weak,” I said. “I’m weak and I’m exhausted. It’s been complete insanity here since Friday night. You have no idea since you haven’t been around for any of it.” I could feel hot dark clouds of resentment gathered in the back of my throat.

  “Are we going to get into a competition now, Maya? Am I going to have to tell you each lousy thing that happened to me and then you’re going to top that each time with one of your own tales of tragedy and drama? I have never known a woman as competitive as you,” he frowned.

  “Oh, never mind,” I said, giving him a raspberry. “I’m sure you didn’t come here to pick a fight with me.”

  “No, I didn’t. I’ve been trying to track down some leads I got through Ted Rains. Someone left him a recorded message about Torrey’s murder, saying he knew it was Alana and giving the reasons why. Then, he got a letter the next day, telling him I was involved and the sender claimed to have proof that could put me away forever.”

  “What?” I said. “That’s ridiculous on both counts. What did you do then?”

  “I tried to lay low and figure out who was behind this. It didn’t help that the cops were crawling all over Church Lane, looking for me. I’m beginning to feel like a runaway slave on the underground railroad. Rains has passed me from one safe house to another from Maitland to Ocala to Longwood and back.”

  “Aw, honey,” I said, my voice and my heart beginning to soften. “It hasn’t been easy for you, has it? I had no idea.”

  “No, Maya, it has not. I’m about to turn myself in to the cops. I might be safer in their custody. I have the uneasy sense someone is watching my every move, just waiting to pounce when the time is right.”

  “No, French, no,” I protested. “Please don’t do that. I don’t trust them. They’re either inept or else something more disturbing is going on behind the scenes.

  “Honey, keep flying under the radar for another day or two. I’m sure I can get this thing figured out. I’ve got Jake and Lily helping me. We’re going to shake everyone down and gather clues until we find the killer.” What would be the point in telling him about Luzi, that a bullet had nipped my shoulder or that Jake, Lily and I had round housed our way out of a net only a few hours ago, like something from a Three Stooges comedy?

  “Maya, I hate to do this,” he said, standing, “but I have to get out of here. I can’t risk security or anyone else finding us here like this.”

  “I know,” I said, getting up, with sadness in my voice. “This interview is over.”

  He grabbed me then and gave me a hefty, full-frontal hug. Not long enough to get all the juices flowing, but long enough to take me by surprise with a long, deep kiss that made me buckle in the knees.

  He pulled away from my wet and shivering body, looked down at me and said, “Maya, sweetheart, you’re beautiful. Wet, dirty, frightened, angry, it doesn’t matter. You’re a sight for sore eyes and I love you.” He hugged me till I thought he might crush me. Then one more quick kiss and he disappeared into the night.

  Chapter 49

  I was still plenty wet but at least my spirits weren’t as damp as they had been for the past week. Just one good kiss from French had made me feel alive and given me a new zest for finding the murderer. I was ready to roll.

  I knew something was wrong the moment I tied up the kayak, so I edged back to the house with misgivings. The place was lit up like Christmas. I had noticed the lights go on while I paddled back toward home. It was sure to be one kind of trouble or another.

  If it were Jake and Lily, they would have my head for sneaking out on them. If it were other people, they had to be bearing grim news. No bad guys would turn the rheostats to high in order to advertise themselves.

  I looked through my front door and saw Rick Wells and Tom Koenig standing in my living room, with Jake and Lily seated in the oversized club chairs in front of them.

  “To quote Yogi Berra, ‘It’s deja vu all over again,’” I said, as I entered. “Didn’t I walk into this very same tableau 36 hours ago?”

  “It’s hardly the same scene,” Rick said, squinting at me as though someone had just let in a skunk. “Have you been out for a swim in your clothes?”

  “I felt like running through the sprinklers, so I did,” I answered.

  “Tell it to the judge, Maya. We’re booking you and you’re coming with us. We’re asking you some questions at the station.” Rick drew out my name so it sounded like someone had stepped on a cat’s tail. “Linda Messina was just found, face down, at the far end of the lake. Someone shot her clean, at the base of her skull.”

  Jake and Lily looked at me with bug eyes.

  “Oh my God,” I said, a stab of horror hitting me in the solar plexus.

  “Do you remember telling us, just a few days ago, that you didn’t like her one bit and, if it were up to you, she’d be sleeping with the fishies?”

  “That slipped my mind,” I answered, though it was the first thing that had come to my mind, as soon as Rick mentioned Linda’s murder.

  “Is that a fact?” Rick said.

  “I didn’t mean it,” I said. “I was just upset about that bullet whizzing past me. I had the sense that she or Frankie or one of their Mafioso type buddies was behind it. Why aren’t you out, rounding up Frankie? He’s a snake. He’d ax his own mother if he thought he might win a Cracker Jack ring for doing it.”

  Rick interrupted me. “We’re on it, Maya. That’s none of your concern.”

  “And what about Alana Torrey?” I asked. “I saw her having a little tête a tête with David Enderly and Linda Messina yesterday afternoon in the gift shop.”

  “We’ll be running her in for questioning, too. Don’t you worry your little head about that, sweetheart,” Koenig added.

  Sweetheart? I wanted to put him in his place but now was not the time. I zipped my lip.

  Jake and Lily sat mute, looking like See No Evil and Hear No Evil. I asked Rick if I could at least put on some shoes. He nodded and asked Lily to get them from the closet for me.

  Lily rushed to get the shoes. “While you’re back there, Lily darlin’,” Fatman Koenig shouted toward the master bedroom, “bring a bath towel with you, would ya, please? I don’t want yer fancy friend, Mrs. French, drippin’ water or leavin’ mud all over our cruiser. We just had it detailed.” I wanted to deck him.

  Before I left with Rick and Tom, I turned to Jake. “Call Doug Reed for me and tell him to get me out of jail. His private number’s on the rolodex in the den.” Jake nodded.

  Rick led the way. I followed him and Tom brought up the rear. That’s where he belonged. I sort of thought of him as one great big rear.

  Chapter 50

  “If this were official police business, could you accommodate me?” I asked into the phone, sitting at my desk. From here, I could see the lake and the white winged bandshell on the far shore. A slight sh
udder passed through my body at the memory of being there in French’s arms not eight hours ago.

  Doug Reed had gotten me out of the clink first thing in the morning. Since Rick and Tom were coming to our property anyway, they gave me a ride. I had been with them more lately than with anyone else. Maybe we were going to be the new three musketeers.

  I had slept a few hours, cleaned up and was sipping a strong, hot cup of tea while I made a call. Elevator music grated through the phone. I was on perma-hold. My welts were acting up. I scratched my tummy, as the Musak played.

  I had to figure this sucker out before French caved and turned himself in. He was tired of running. He wasn’t the fugitive type. He was the grown up boy scout type, a straight shooter. He didn’t believe in hiding from anything or anyone. I knew, if he turned himself in, it was as good as saying, “Hey, look at me. I’m a murderer.”

  Rick and Tom were single minded. To them, it was either 1. Hubert French, 2. Maya French, or 3. some shady underground type who had killed Linda Messina. I kept telling them that I was innocent and that French was, too. He was at the right place at the right time last night to have killed Linda. They didn’t know that, though, and I wasn’t about to tell them.

  I told them that Linda’s death was not related to the other two, but they didn’t believe me. That husband of hers had never been up to any good. He radiated phony—his suits too expensive, his jewelry too garish, his gifts to Linda over-the-top. He often bragged that his people came from Sicily. Trite as it sounded, he probably was connected to the mob.

  I was certain of it—Linda’s death had nothing to do with the others. Her death was unlike the other two, but it ran even deeper than that. I also had the sense there’d be another death soon, I just didn’t know who would be getting their wind cut off this time.

  The outline of a murderer was beginning to emerge from behind the left anterior cortex of my right-sided brain. Trouble was, I needed facts to back up my hunch. Rick and Tom would never listen to me, unless I could shower them with indisputable facts.