The Last Resort in Lost Haven

by Penny Plume

  Jenna set her food plate on top of her car and helped Wilford to his door. He opened it halfway and paused.

  “I suppose you’ve heard a few things about Ingrid and me.”

  “Oh, no, I—”

  “It’s fine, Jenna. And it’s true. I’m not ashamed or prudish about it—I just wasn’t sure what you would think.”

  Jenna patted his arm. “I think if it made you two happy, it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks.”

  He put his hand over hers and winked. “Thank you. We were very happy, among several other less appropriate emotions…”

  Jenna blushed and tried to say something to tilt the conversation toward less awkward. Her jaw decided to just hang there.

  Wilford chuckled and eased into his Mercedes, the smell of oiled leather floating from the interior. Jenna watched him back out and roll toward the exit. She considered going back inside the mansion and confronting Kavanaugh to find out what he knew, but what was her leverage? Her right as town historian?

  Would Garrett tell her anything?

  Maybe, but there was a good chance Kavanaugh wouldn’t tell the police everything.

  What about Cabo?

  Hm. He’d wanted to tell her something, she was almost certain of it.

  About Kavanaugh?

  Someone else?

  Or just more disapproval of her reading list…

  There was, of course, the possibility she was assuming way too much. Maybe Kavanaugh just had to use the restroom, the stress causing a flare-up of some digestive issue.

  Or was she trying to figure out the wrong person? Kavanaugh had practically run up the stairs after he came out of the den with Bart and Sherri, so what did that mean? Did those two know something that implicated the millionaire?

  Jenna began to weave an intricate web of deceit in which Bart and Sherri knew Kavanaugh murdered Ingrid and were trying to blackmail him in return for their silence.

  Was he rushing upstairs to pull stacks of cash out of a secret safe? Fat bundles of money for Bart and Sherri. Maybe even Olson and Garrett, to make them forget what they knew.

  Jenna shook her head.

  That was slightly crazy, wasn’t it?

  But if Bart and Sherri suddenly left town, or Garrett started wearing jeans without holes in the butt…no, scratch that. He could win the lottery and his jeans would still be a mess.

  She slid the plate off her roof and nestled it in the passenger seat on a semi-dirty beach towel that smelled like sunblock with a subtle hint of dead fish. She could stand there all day concocting possible scenarios and it would get her just about halfway to nowhere.

  She checked the mansion’s windows once more, hoping to see someone—maybe Cabo—waving her inside or flashing a secret message.

  Empty.

  Jenna idled toward the edge of the plateau, enjoying the stunning view from Horizon House. She might never get a chance to see it again from this spot. She put her sunglasses on and plugged her phone into the line-in cord, hit Shuffle.

  My Sharona by The Knack. A good sign.

  She coasted down and around the curve and saw the gate was open—a relief, she admitted—and was thinking about savoring her giant sandwich in the reading nook before unlocking the shop’s front door when she tapped her brakes and the pedal resisted slightly before it went all the way to the floor, useless.

  The car picked up speed and rolled through the gate, the brush-covered hill on Jenna’s right and the severe drop-off into grassy dunes on her left.

  Jenna tried to pump the brakes. The pedal wiggled but stayed against the floorboard. The road dropped into a steeper angle and curved to the right. The speedometer swept past forty and rushed toward fifty.

  The car swerved across the center line and Jenna tried to crank it back into the right but the tires squawked and she felt the car tilt, just a bit. She took the curve at over fifty, knowing the car was going to roll over the edge and tumble into the dunes below.

  She could be down there, hurt and bleeding in the shifting sands, for hours—it was impossible to see the bottom of the gulley from the road unless you stood on the edge and looked straight down.

  Hours? Maybe days.

  The Knack kept singing.

  The curve straightened out and Jenna shot down the road. She had about two hundred yards of asphalt before the road took a severe curve to the left, almost a ninety-degree turn. Jenna saw Belma’s van taking the turn at about five miles an hour, her brake lights flaring, taunting.

  The drop-off on her left became a gentle slope and then a manicured lawn as she careened into the neighborhood of mansions gathered at the base of Horizon House. One of those houses was straight ahead, looming on the far side of the curve. If Jenna kept going she’d rocket through the front door.

  With the straight road, Jenna risked steering with one hand and reached down, yanked the parking brake. It nearly came off in her hand—totally useless.

  “Oh, come on!” she yelled, followed by some words she’d only muttered once before while cleaning out her shower drain.

  She eased the car to the right shoulder, hoping the gravel and grass would slow her down. If she could get over onto the lawns and roll through a few shrubberies she’d owe some people a landscaping bill, but that was better than coming to a sudden and full stop in the front room of the house below.

  In an instant she realized something she’d admired before and despised now—all of these houses had some kind of brick or stone or concrete posts and walls in the front yard. For decoration, security, and status, no doubt, and they all prevented her from escaping the road.

  The speedometer crept toward sixty.

  The house beyond the curve loomed.

  Please, don’t let anyone be home…

  And there it was, on her left, one of the newer mansions built by a Chicago family. They had a wide driveway between two brick columns, an entrance that opened onto a wide circle drive and Jenna could see the angle coming up like an off-ramp.

  She plowed over some lovely flowers and clipped a basket hanging from the left-side column, shot across the circular drive, past the house and garage—with a glimpse of a very surprised man inside—toward a privacy hedge along the back of the yard. The thick, manicured lawn slowed her down a bit, but not much.

  The hill up to Horizon House had been terraced for these mansions, and above the hedge Jenna could see the rooflines of the lower tier. She tried to point the car between them, hoped the owners didn’t have a playground or dog run set up in the gap, and crashed through the hedge—onto the roof of a large one-story garage.

  She rocketed off of that, bounced hard on the concrete and fought the steering wheel to keep from bashing into the houses.

  A terrible scraping noise filled the car, drowning out The Knack, and the entire vehicle shuddered. A closed gate made of dull black metal spanned the end of the driveway with tall, thick stone columns at both ends. The columns were attached to shorter, thinner stone walls that were meant to be decorative but looked like highway barriers to Jenna.

  She chose the gate.

  Maybe it was cheap aluminum, meant to look expensive but wasn’t actually very sturdy. Or maybe the gate wasn’t designed to take an impact from the inside. Either way, when Jenna’s Accord hit, the entire gate popped off and stuck to her front bumper like a massive grille.

  She plunged into the street, sparks and more noise screaming from the dragging gate, and slewed to a stop a few inches from another gated driveway.

  Jenna blinked in the smoke and sudden silence.

  Did that just happen?

  She could see a few expensive, black cars in the circular drive beyond the gate (well, two gates, technically), and realized she was in front of Ingrid Gallagher’s house.

  The sound of an engine slowly crept into her awareness. Jenna turned to the right and saw Belma’s van idling toward her, Belma’s eyes and mouth a perfect series of “O” shapes through the windshield. The van creaked to a halt and Belma stared.


  Jenna stared back, still not sure what had happened or what to do now.

  Lawrence popped up from the back of the van and scowled through the windshield, his hair jutting at odd angles. He pulled himself to the dashboard and surveyed the catastrophe in the road, his eyes pinched together.

  He leaned toward the van’s open passenger window and yelled, “Jenna, quit screwing around.”

  Then he staggered into the back and disappeared, leaving Jenna and Belma to stare at each other some more.

  Jenna sat in The Welcome Shoppe’s reading nook, on the small couch with her feet tucked under, and sipped tea. She expected her hands to shake and spill some of the hot cinnamon spice, but they didn’t. Detective Olson and Garrett watched her from chairs.

  “I’ll have the techs look at your car,” Olson said. “There’s quite a bit of damage, so I don’t know what they’ll be able to find, but we’ll try.”

  Garrett said, “They’re gonna find somebody cut her brake cables.”

  “Right,” Olson said, “I’m talking tool marks, maybe figure out what they used to cut them. Then if we can find the tool, hopefully we get some prints.”

  “Lot of maybes and hopefullys in there,” Garrett said.

  Olson shrugged.

  A few tourists wandered through the aisles trying on Lost Haven boat-shaped sunglasses, picking through the free samples, and completely ignoring the nook. Wendy stood behind the counter and ignored everything but the nook, though she was too far away to hear anything.

  Jenna asked, “Does Kavanaugh have security cameras on the driveway?”

  It seemed like her voice should come out hoarse, tired, but it was fine. She was fine, which was a bit odd.

  “He does,” Olson said, “but they aren’t on during the day. 8 PM to 8 AM, motion-activated.”

  “How did he seem when he found out about my car?”

  Olson smiled and shook his head. “He said it was probably the foreign manufacturing. But he was surprised, if that’s what you’re asking. Genuinely surprised, from what I could tell. And the bodyguard, Cabo? Man, he looked like he wanted to run down the hill and check on you.”

  Garrett frowned. “He did?”

  Jenna had the same thought but kept it to herself and sipped more tea. “What kind of damage did I do?”

  “Oh, let’s not worry about that right now,” Olson said. “Nobody was hurt, which is kind of a miracle.”

  Garrett said, “Jenna, did the evasive driving I taught you kick in?”

  He’d gone down to North Carolina the year before and taken a course for high-speed law enforcement tactics, then come back and shown her what he’d learned. It seemed like a bunch of peeling out and doing donuts in a dirt parking lot.

  “Absolutely,” she said.

  He relaxed a bit.

  Olson leaned forward, serious now. “I want to focus on who’s running around Lost Haven trying to kill you. And why. Now, until I see evidence to the contrary, I’m going to assume this is the same person who killed Ingrid Gallagher. Sound fair to you?”

  Jenna nodded.

  Olson said, “Jenna, do you know something you haven’t told us? Something the killer doesn’t want you to share?”

  “No,” Jenna said. Then: “Well, if I do, I have no idea what it is.”

  Olson made a quick note. “Okay, so if you don’t know anything, would the killer come after you because you’re trying to know something?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you snooping around, asking questions, trying to figure out who killed Ingrid?”

  Jenna blinked. “Is that bad?”

  “Jenna!” Garrett said. “Of course it’s bad, it nearly got you splattered all over some rich jerk’s driveway.”

  “And it’s interfering with an ongoing investigation,” Olson said, “which I could arrest you for.”

  “I’m just trying to find out who killed our friend,” Jenna said.

  And prove Kavanaugh did it (if he did).

  And keep me and my friends from getting framed.

  And record the facts for the town’s historical records.

  And save Main Street.

  No big deal.

  “I can appreciate that,” Olson said. “But that’s my job. I carry a badge and a large gun—probably bigger than it needs to be—and they let me do a lot of things you can’t do. Shouldn’t do. Most of all, they protect me if somebody decides this investigation should end immediately. For example, oh, I don’t know. You may have noticed nobody cut my brake cables.”

  “Or mine,” Garrett said.

  Jenna nodded again, thinking that might be because Olson had incentive to not find the killer.

  For example, oh, I don’t know, a cushy job as head of security at the Lost Haven Resort.

  And Garrett…well, she felt bad for thinking it, but nobody expected him to crack the case. He was great at making sure people didn’t roll through town with a loud radio, but this was beyond his abilities. Maybe if it came down to a car chase…

  Olson said, “So if you are poking around, you need to stop. Hopefully we can take something good out of this busted brakes thing and keep you safer.”

  “And find the killer,” Jenna said.

  “Hm?”

  “From whatever you find on my car, the tool marks, maybe some fingerprints.”

  “Oh, right,” Olson said. “Yeah, that goes without saying.”

  Jenna thought, Does it?

  Jenna stood in the Welcome Shoppe’s doorway with her arms crossed and watched Olson and Garrett get into their cars.

  Garrett paused and looked at her over the roof of his. “Be careful, Jenna. If you need anything, or if you think you’re in danger, call me.”

  She pulled a hand out and gave him a small wave.

  The two cars rolled away.

  Wendy sidled toward the door. “Everything okay?”

  “Just fine,” Jenna said. “Thanks for taking care of the shop this morning.”

  She glanced at the clock: nearly three.

  “And this afternoon, wow, sorry about that. I’m sure you have stuff you’d rather be doing on a summer day like this.”

  Wendy shrugged and held up her phone, which she was texting on while talking. “Me and my friends are all going nuts about Ms. Gallagher. And now your car? It’s so crazy…”

  “Completely,” Jenna said, ignoring the bait. Wendy wanted gossip, but if the killer was going after anyone who might know something—whatever that something was—Jenna wasn’t about to put Wendy on that list.

  “I got it from here, girlie. Thanks again. I’ll clock you out at three, and take some of the samples to your friends.”

  Wendy’s eyes got big. “Those macaroons…”

  She skimmed past the counter, slid a medium-sized bag out and started dropping Lawrence’s macaroons into it. They were probably a day old, dropped off by one of the assistant bakers before the shops opened. Jenna made plans to test the quality before they were all gone.

  “Text me if you need any help,” Wendy said around a mouthful. She crossed a quiet Main Street and headed into Lilac Park, probably on her way to the beach.

  Jenna was a bit jealous of the carefree day Wendy had in front of her. She didn’t have to worry about Kavanaugh, figuring out which one of her friends might be a killer, or keeping Main Street from turning into a monstrosity.

  Or someone trying to murder her for the second time in one day.

  Shoot, or getting arrested by Olson for trying to figure out who was behind all of it.

  Man, Wendy had it easy.

  Jenna stood in the doorway, watching Main Street and realizing: She wouldn’t trade places with her for anything.

  Jenna was in the back area refilling the cucumber mint ice water she kept near the free samples when the shop’s door chime sounded. She came out to find Bart and Sherri standing by the counter, looking around.

  “Hey guys.”

  Toenails skittered on the wood floor and Mr. Wolfie tore around
the end of the aisle, rushed toward her and slid to a stop, sitting perfectly between her feet. Jenna looked down and smiled at his panting doggy face, then knelt and scratched his tiny furry ears.

  “Jenna, oh my goodness,” Sherri said. “We heard about your car, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, which is still kind of a surprise. Every time I think about it…”

  “Oh, don’t do that,” Sherri said. “Whenever I get upset about something, Bart tells me to stop thinking about it. And you know what? It works.”

  “Meditation,” Bart said.

  Jenna nodded, as if any of it made sense. Bart checked his phone and Sherri nodded and smiled. She and Jenna stared at each other until Sherri nudged Bart and tipped her head toward Jenna.

  “Ah, right,” Bart said. “So, we heard about your car, and thought it would be nice to offer you one from the garage. You know, while yours gets fixed. Or totaled, whatever they decide to do.”

  “Well, that’s awful nice of you,” Jenna said.

  Bart grunted and went back to his phone.

  Sherri beamed. “I know, right? Actually, it was Harry’s idea.”

  That made even less sense than Bart’s meditation, so Jenna said, “Harry, as in Harrison Kavanaugh?”

  “He’s such a sweetie,” Sherri said. “Though it might have been Jay who suggested it first, let me think…Mr. Wolfie, I need to think.” The tiny dog wiggled across the floor and Sherri scooped him up, then got into her thinking stance, staring out the front windows and idly scratching Mr. Wolfie’s head. His tongue poked out the side of his mouth.

  Jay, Jenna thought.

  Jay Cabo, the bodyguard?

  She thought about Garrett’s thundercloud face when Olson mentioned Cabo wanting to rush out to make sure she was okay after the accident. All of which was ridiculous—Garrett’s jealousy and Cabo’s concern. Why would he care about her?

  Bart looked up from his phone. “Anyway, we drove the car down. It’s a junker, good for getting to the store and back but that’s about it.”

  Jenna went to the front windows and looked out. Bart’s convertible BMW was there, and Jenna scanned the other vehicles for a beat-up rust bucket. There was an Audi, a Jeep Wrangler with oversized tires, a Volkswagen bug, and a Prius, which she was pretty sure belonged to one of Wilford’s assistants and shouldn’t be taking up a Main Street parking spot.