The Last Resort in Lost Haven

by Penny Plume

  Wilford chuckled. “Oh my goodness, no I’m not. I’m just waiting here for you to come back.”

  “Me?”

  He checked the rows to make sure the others were still occupied, then crooked an arthritic but still very elegant finger at her. Jenna perched on the end of the love seat and leaned in.

  Wilford watched the front of the store and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “You know how Belma has been going to the café to get smoothies? Just about every day for a few months now?”

  “To lose weight,” Jenna said. Then, the automatic follow-up: “She looks great.”

  “No she doesn’t,” Wilford said. “She hasn’t lost an ounce. She isn’t drinking the smoothies.”

  “Then…”

  “She’s analyzing them,” Wilford said. “Oh, she’ll taste them, sure, to get the flavor combinations and the, what do they call it…mouth feel.” He briefly closed his eyes and grimaced. “But she’s doing research. Belma wants to open a smoothie bar here in Lost Haven, and Ingrid dying is very convenient for her. Drastic, no doubt, but convenient.”

  Jenna’s mind reeled. She was still processing what Lawrence had said about Sherri and Bart, and now this? “Wait, where would she have this smoothie bar? If the resort goes up, her shop is gone. And there aren’t any vacant businesses in town—she told Sherri that just this evening.”

  “And why would she say that?” Wilford asked. “She doesn’t want anyone else looking around for a new space. And, I’ve heard from more than a few owners, she’s quietly offering to buy them out once Kavanaugh’s resort check clears. She wants first dibs before the dust of Main Street even settles.”

  Jenna took a few moments to consider all of this. “But Ingrid? Belma wouldn’t…”

  Wilford’s bushy eyebrows went up. “Have you ever had an argument with the woman over pink Himalayan sea salt?”

  “No,” Jenna admitted, “but I’ve witnessed a few.”

  “What more proof do you need? If she gets that red in the face over mere salt… Now, I’m telling you this for two reasons. One, you need to be careful around these people. I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”

  Jenna flashed on Ingrid’s dead body and couldn’t help checking behind her. Just a glorious wall full of books, no slobbering murderer with a lead pipe, poised to strike.

  “The second reason,” Wilford said, “is that we need an honest record of this for the town’s posterity. Who knows what the ‘official’ investigation will say if it turns out the Kavanaughs are involved? I’m counting on you to make sure the truth comes out.”

  He sat back and folded his hands.

  “Now please, be an angel and pour me a half-cup of coffee, would you? With some cream? I’ll be running to the lavatory all night, but I’d hate to fall asleep amidst these jackals. I might not wake up.”

  Jenna left Wilford with his creamy coffee and walked through her shop toward the front door. Bart and Sherri were still whispering near the Lost Haven shot glasses, Belma was still murmuring on the phone among the nautical wind chimes, and Lawrence was back to texting by the checkout counter. He winked as she passed.

  Jenna thought: What am I getting myself into?

  She wanted to step outside, get a bit of fresh air and check on Garrett. She had her hand on the door handle when Belma called, “Jenna, can you come look at this? I don’t think the price tag is right.”

  Jenna frowned. Was one of the shop owners switching price tags again, trying to undercut the others? She found Belma holding one of the paper tags hanging from a wind chime shaped like an anchor, and when she leaned in to check it Belma whispered, “This isn’t about the price tag. Keep your voice down and don’t look around.”

  “Oh, come on,” Jenna whispered. “You too?”

  “Me too what?”

  “Never mind.” Jenna glanced at the cell phone. “Who are you talking to?”

  Belma grinned. “Nobody. It’s a ruse.”

  “A ruse?”

  “Yeah. So I can observe the others while they think I’m not paying attention.”

  “Ah,” Jenna said. “Why?”

  Belma checked the aisle, left and right, then peered through the racks to make sure no one was eavesdropping from the next lane. The shop wasn’t that big, so it was slightly ridiculous that Belma thought they were having a secret meeting.

  “I know you like Lawrence, but I have to tell you something about him.”

  Jenna waited.

  Belma checked the perimeter again. “I happen to know he’s been talking to Kavanaugh about being the official dessert chef for the new resort. And he’ll get the job, if the resort gets built.”

  “How do you know this?” Jenna asked.

  “I just do.”

  Jenna wanted to ask if she knew because she’d been talking to other business owners about buying their properties for her smoothie bar. But then Belma might know Wilford had told her, and…it was just too much to deal with.

  “So I’m keeping an eye on him,” Belma said, “and you should too. I saw him go into the back to help with the coffee and thought, ohmygosh, he killed Ingrid and now he’s going to kill Jenna.”

  “What? Why would he kill me? Why would anyone kill me?”

  “You seem a little determined to find out who the murderer is, and—”

  “If there is one,” Jenna interrupted.

  Belma’s eyes widened. “Oh, there is. And if it isn’t Mr. Kavanaugh, who is it? If it’s Lawrence, he’ll try to stop you before you figure that out. Honey, I seriously thought he was going to brain you with the coffee pot or strangle you with the power cord.”

  Jenna flashed back on the little meeting with Lawrence. She’d never had the feeling he was a danger to her. Then again, Ingrid probably hadn’t either…

  “Hold on,” she said. “If you thought he was going to kill me, why didn’t you come back there and stop him?”

  Belma blinked. “Oh, you can handle yourself, sweetie. And if he had tried to kill you, at least we’d be sure, you know.”

  “That he’s a crazy murderer.”

  “Right.”

  “Thanks Belma.”

  Belma nodded sagely and put the phone back to her cheek. She turned away, saying, “Yes, that’s right. Oh, you don’t say? How about that.”

  Jenna stepped onto the sidewalk and looked toward the café. Garrett’s patrol car was still there, and now a state police van with its side doors open was parked in front of it. The crime scene crew. Maybe they already knew if Ingrid had died from an accident or not.

  If she’d been murdered, everyone in the Welcome Shoppe was now a suspect along with the Kavanaughs. Jenna was beginning to think Main Street was actually a pit of vipers, each one coiled and waiting to strike.

  Then it dawned on her that she might even be a suspect. She had a key to the café and she’d found the body—which could be considered very convenient to an investigator.

  But why would she want Ingrid dead?

  No, she couldn’t possibly be a suspect.

  Probably.

  Right?

  She was deep in thought, trying to find any perceived motive she might have other than a vague dislike for Ingrid’s laugh, when someone grabbed her left arm.

  Jenna whirled, her right arm flailing, and socked Bart in the stomach. He doubled over, coughing and wheezing with spit flying out of his mouth.

  Sherri, one step behind Bart, jumped back two more steps and let out a whispery “Peep!”

  Mr. Wolfie trembled in her arms but seemed pleased with the whole scenario.

  Jenna grabbed Bart’s shoulder. “Oh my goodness, Bart, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

  He coughed and stayed bent at the waist. “Jesus, Jenna, what was that for?”

  “You startled me. It’s not a good night to startle people.”

  Bart straightened and winced as he prodded his soft belly. “I think you popped something.”

  “Hopefully just a shirt button?” Jenna said. She fough
t to keep from smiling and glanced at the café to make sure no law enforcement had seen her devastating assault. The sidewalk was empty.

  Sherri put a hand on Bart’s back. “Do you want me to call your dad?”

  “What? No,” Bart said, then stopped to consider it for a moment. “No. I’m fine. Just…take it easy, Jenna.”

  “Don’t sneak up on me and grab my arm the night someone was murdered, Bart.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, about that. Is it for sure? She was murdered? She didn’t just fall or something?”

  “I was just about to walk down and see if Garrett knows that yet.”

  “But you saw the body, right?”

  Jenna nodded. “I found her.”

  Bart said, “Was she…naked?”

  Sherri gasped and covered Mr. Wolfie’s ears. “Bartholomew!”

  “What?”

  “She had clothes on,” Jenna said. “Why does that matter? Or are you just being disgusting?”

  Bart checked the front door of the Welcome Shoppe. It was open a crack, but no one was standing near the other side of it. He looked at Sherri, who gave a quick nod.

  Bart lowered his voice. “There’s a little rumor that Ingrid and Wilford were, uh, grinding coffee together. If you know what I mean.”

  Jenna didn’t, then she did. Her mouth fell open. “What?”

  “Shh,” Bart said.

  “Impossible. Wilford is too…sweet.”

  Bart’s face split into a wide grin. “Oh, he’s sweet all right.”

  Sherri giggled. “I think it’s adorable.”

  “Well, it would be,” Bart said, “as long as he isn’t the one who killed her.”

  Jenna held her hands up, pushing the air away.

  “You can’t be serious. I’m having a hard enough time with Wilford and Ingrid messing around. That’s…shocking. If you think he killed her, my head will explode.”

  “Sorry about your head,” Bart said, “but we need to know if she was murdered or not. If she was, I’m turning him in.”

  Jenna shook her head. “But if they were, ah jeez, doing what you say they were, why would he kill her?”

  “Lover’s quarrel?” Sherri offered. “That would be kind of romantic.”

  Bart’s eyebrows went up at that.

  Jenna said, “Wait, if they were in bed together, shouldn’t Wilford be more upset about her death? Even if he—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—is the one who killed her?”

  “A crime of passion,” Sherri whispered.

  “Wrong,” Bart said. “It was a crime of business. Dad told me Wilford is ready to sell his gallery and retire, head down to Florida or wherever codgers like him go. Dad says he’s a pain in the butt to negotiate with too. Wouldn’t budge on his price.”

  “No,” Jenna said. “That can’t be right. Wilford loves Lost Haven. He loves Main Street, and especially his gallery. He loves…that big soft chair in the nook.”

  Bart shrugged. “Yeah, well, he may have loved Ingrid too, and look what happened. She was the one thing holding up the resort, so he got rid of her.”

  Jenna almost said, I could say the same thing about your father. Or you.

  But she held her tongue. Things were happening way too fast, and she didn’t want to upset anyone who might be a killer.

  She said, “How was Ingrid holding up the resort? She called tonight’s meeting tonight to talk about that, but nobody knows the details.”

  “Oh, some people do,” Bart said.

  “Are you one of those people?”

  “Nope,” Bart said, “and I don’t want to be. As soon as people start getting knocked off, that’s when I’m officially out of the negotiations.”

  “Be careful, Jenna,” Sherri said. “If Wilford is desperate enough to kill his intimate, tender lover, any one of us could be next if we cause trouble.”

  Jenna shuddered at the mental image, then asked Bart, “So who does know?”

  He tilted his head toward the Welcome Shoppe. “I betcha Wilford does. And my old man, of course, but he’s safe. We have gates, security cameras, and a couple panic rooms up at the estate.”

  “Ooo, don’t forget the hunk,” Sherri breathed.

  “Oh, right,” Bart said.

  “Hunk?” Jenna said. “Hunk of what?”

  Sherri’s eyes flashed. “Of man.”

  “Dad’s had a bodyguard following him around for the last week or so. Gotta give him credit, maybe he saw this kind of trouble coming.”

  Or he caused it, Jenna thought. But one thing was certain: If Harrison Kavanaugh had been in a meeting with lawyers and planners all evening, with a personal bodyguard next to him the whole time, he had plenty of witnesses to say he didn’t rush down to Main Street, kill Ingrid, and return to talk about sewage lines and valet parking areas.

  That would be what Kavanaugh said, anyway.

  But how could she find out for sure?

  Bart’s pocket chirped. He pulled out his cell phone, checked the screen, and said, “Speak of the devil.” He swiped the screen and put the phone to his ear. “Hey, Dad. Yeah. It’s true, yeah, cops are all over the café.”

  Bart listened, then glanced at Jenna, a quick there-and-gone look that made her want to lean in and catch what was being said.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll call you back.”

  He put the phone away and stood there with his hands in his pockets.

  Jenna gave it two seconds. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “What did your dad say?”

  “Jenna, that was a private conversation. It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

  She resisted the urge to pop him in the gut again, then took a moment to realize she’d never hit anyone before, let alone twice in one night. She’d typically be curled up with one of her books and a cup of tea by now (and maybe a few leftover samples from the bakeries—no sense letting them get stale), and here she was smacking people around while she tried to unravel a possible murder.

  Even more surprising: she was loving it.

  Things were getting weird in Lost Haven.

  A man’s voice carried down Main Street and Jenna turned, saw Garrett standing among the tables and chairs outside the café talking to a man in white coveralls.

  “Oo, CSI Lost Haven,” Sherri said. Her eyes widened at the possibilities. “Starring, um, Kirk Cameron!”

  Bart stuck his bottom lip out and nodded, impressed.

  “I’ll be right back,” Jenna said. She started toward the café, taking her time in case Ingrid’s body suddenly appeared on a gurney or swinging inside a bodybag, like a bulging black hammock. She could do without that vision on top of everything else tonight.

  The breeze out of Lilac Park was there, as always, and she wrapped her arms across her stomach, cupping her elbows with her hands. The shops stretching along Main Street looked exactly as they had before, when she’d gone down to get Ingrid for the meeting, but now each one seemed to be hiding something just inside their brightly painted doors and carefully lit display windows.

  Winkle’s Fine Chocolates & Sweets, hiding Belma’s ambitions to open a new business that would have been a direct competitor with Ingrid’s Sanctuary Café.

  The Lost Haven Art Gallery, with the possibility that Wilford had been having an intimate relationship with Ingrid, yet wanted to sell to Mr. Kavanaugh and retire.

  Elegant Confections, and Lawrence’s hidden agenda to become the baker for Kavanaugh’s Lost Haven Resort, a new career built upon the rubble of Main Street.

  And the Beach Life Fashion Boutique, with Sherri and Bart already designing her new store within the resort’s shopping hub.

  Each one of them knew Ingrid wanted to stop the development of the resort, and some of them might even know how she was going to do it. Had one of them killed Ingrid to keep her from sharing it at the meeting?

  Or had Kavanaugh murdered her before she could tell them?

  Jenna stopped at the edge of the café tables and waited for Garrett to
finish with the state investigator. Their heads were close together, looking at the screen on the investigator’s large digital camera.

  Jenna glanced back at the row of shops along Main Street. Each one belonged to a friend—at least she thought so—and if she continued to dig into what happened in the Sanctuary Café, she risked losing one or all of those friendships.

  And if that digging revealed the Kavanaughs were involved, especially Harrison, her life in Lost Haven would be over. Even if her Welcome Shoppe remained, it would only be a matter of time before she had to close. Her taxes would suddenly double, her electricity would go out at peak shopping moments, and the other owners, terrified of sharing her fate, would stop piling her shelves and tables with free samples.

  That was how Harrison Kavanaugh did business.

  The crime scene investigator walked back into the café. Jenna stared across the street to avoid any chance of seeing Ingrid’s body, wherever it was now, and hoped poor Ingrid had fallen off a chair and cracked her head on the edge of a table.

  It would be boring, yes, but it would also mean Jenna could keep her friends and her life in Lost Haven, even if that included a massive, gaudy resort where her precious Main Street was now.

  Garrett stepped over to her, his thumbs hooked over his gun belt. “Welp, she was murdered.”

  Jenna closed her eyes.

  “Darndest thing,” Garrett said, looking through the cafe’s front windows. The techs had the lights on, along with some powerful lamps of their own, and were taking measurements and photographs. “These guys say somebody bonked her on the head with something heavy. One shot, pow.”

  “That’s awful,” Jenna said.

  Garrett turned to her. For a moment Jenna thought he was going to put his arm around her shoulders and pull her in, ruffle her up like he used to. But he didn’t. “You’re sure the place was locked up when you came to get her for that meeting?”

  “I had to use my key to get in,” Jenna said. “Why?”

  Garrett frowned. “I checked the back door, and it’s locked too. So whoever killed her either has a key, or they’re a freaking ghost.”

  “Who else has a key?”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Besides you?”