The Last Resort in Lost Haven

by Penny Plume

  “No one has touched anything in the secret library.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  Olson and Cabo stood together at the top of the stairs, watching her stride toward the library.

  Olson said, “She’s not messing around, is she?”

  “Nope. And we need to keep up, for real, or she’ll yell at us. It’s very unpleasant. Come on.”

  The library’s double pocket doors were fully open, sending a UFO-abduction level of light into the hallway.

  Jenna stood in the doorway and saw the crime scene crew had bright, portable lights set up around the library. The two technicians wore light blue Tyvek suits and booties, surgical gloves, clear safety glasses and some sort of filter masks over their mouths and noses.

  One knelt at the end of the bookcase pointing a camera around the corner, at Kavanaugh’s bashed skull, Jenna assumed.

  The other held a string from head-height to a splatter of blood on the bookshelf to the right of the secret library entrance.

  Jenna hadn’t noticed the blood there before, and if Olson had he’d left it unmentioned.

  Both technicians looked over when Jenna entered.

  In unison, they said, “You can’t come in here.”

  “I’m with Olson.”

  “He can’t come in here either,” they said.

  “Oh.” Jenna stepped back into the hallway.

  One of the voices was female, but Jenna couldn’t tell who it belonged to.

  “I’m Jenna. I, uh…can I ask a favor? Do you guys do favors?”

  The one with the string said, “We won’t destroy or plant evidence for you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” It was the female voice. “So you can go right ahead and forget that.”

  “What? Oh, no, I wouldn’t—”

  “I’m just messing with ya,” the woman said. “What do you want? A piece of skull?”

  “What?”

  The woman looked down at the other tech. “Olson said she could take a joke.”

  “Olson is a terrible detective,” the other tech said.

  “Hey,” Olson said. He arrived in the doorway and stood next to Jenna, with Cabo on the other side of him.

  Cabo was pale, looking everywhere but in the general direction of Kavanaugh’s body, even though it was hidden by the bookshelves.

  “You’ll have to forgive the crime scene crew,” Olson said. “The job requires a certain morbid humor, and they think everyone should join in.”

  “It’s just life and death,” the woman said. “What’s the big deal?”

  Olson pointed at her. “That’s Tina. The guy on the floor is Gino.”

  “Smile,” Gino said, and took a close-up photo of something on the carpet.

  Olson whispered to Jenna and Cabo, “Whatever you do, do not ask about their improv group.”

  “Improv group?” Jenna said, just a bit too loud.

  Olson winced.

  “You want tickets?” Tina said. “I have a bunch in the van.”

  Gino stared, his eyes hopeful behind the shield.

  “Uhh…” Jenna didn’t know what else to say. “What’s your group’s name?”

  Tina and Gino responded: “The Crime Scene Technicians.”

  A moment of silence passed.

  “Very creative,” Cabo offered.

  “It’s a disaster,” Olson said. “Don’t waste your time. You’ll have more fun doing your taxes in ice water.”

  Tina went back to her string. “You’re just mad because we won’t let you join. Anyway, sweetie, you asked for a favor. What’s up?”

  Jenna gripped the stack of photos.

  Please, please be what I think you are.

  Jenna said, “Inside the little room there, on the desk. Is the map still there?”

  Tina checked the secret library. “Map. Check.”

  “In the upper-right corner, is there a white sheet of paper sticking out?”

  Tina leaned in. “White sheet. Check.”

  “Can you pull that out and bring it over to us?”

  “What is it?” Olson asked.

  “I don’t want to get my hopes up until we know for sure,” Jenna said.

  But that was a lie. Her hopes were already soaring. She just needed the facts to match them.

  Tina asked Gino, “You get all the film you need for this area?”

  “All set.”

  Tina turned to Olson. “You okay with this?”

  “Looks like she’s running the show,” Olson said.

  “White sheet of paper, incoming.” Tina pulled a pair of tweezers and a large clear evidence bag from her kit. She stepped into Kavanaugh’s secret library, sending pangs of jealousy through Jenna’s waves of hope, and started working.

  Olson muttered, “Not gonna tell me what it is, huh?”

  “She wouldn’t even tell me,” Cabo pouted.

  “We’ll all know soon,” Jenna said. She realized she was bouncing on the balls of her feet.

  “How did you know about it?” Olson asked.

  Jenna showed him the printed photo on top of the stack and pointed to the white paper peeking out.

  Olson looked at it. “Yeah. So?”

  “The first line, the salutation. It says ‘Greetings Lost Haven Historical Society.’”

  Olson blinked under the intensity of Jenna’s smile. He squinted at the peaks of letters peering out from beneath the map, just specks of black on the white paper. He turned to Cabo.

  “Did she hit her head or anything after you two left?”

  “Nope.”

  “Inhale any fumes? Take any schedule one narcotics?”

  “She was driving. I hope not.”

  “You’re both fired,” Jenna said.

  Tina emerged from the secret room with a letter-sized piece of paper sealed in the bag.

  “Who wants it?”

  Olson gestured to Jenna. “I think she deserves the honors. And the potential humiliation.”

  Tina carried the bag to Jenna like it held the Declaration of Independence. She dipped into a small bow and offered it.

  “M’lady.”

  Jenna took the evidence bag. Tina backed away, still in a bow, then turned to continue her string work.

  Olson and Cabo crowded behind Jenna, peering over her shoulders.

  She began to read.

  “‘Greetings Lost Haven Historical Society,’” Jenna read.

  She took a moment to look at both Olson and Cabo.

  “Told you.”

  She read on:

  It has come to my attention that the ground upon which I intend to build the luxurious Lost Haven Resort may contain historical items relevant to our town’s history.

  Because of this, I will halt the acquisition and demolition of Main Street and Lilac Park until further investigation can be completed.

  I will leave this in your less-than-capable hands for now. If the process becomes delayed by ineptitude or bureaucracy, I will commandeer the investigation and complete it to my own satisfaction.

  Good day.

  H. Kavanaugh

  Jenna pointed to the slashing signature below the typed name, and beneath that, the handwritten date.

  “He signed this today.”

  Olson chewed his gum slowly as he caught up. “So he wasn’t going to build.”

  “And somebody killed him for it,” Cabo added. “Has to be the same person who killed Ingrid. I mean…right?”

  “Yes,” Jenna said. “Kavanaugh saw the map, realized he was going to build right on top of the Sanctuary Cemetery, and had to call it off.”

  Cabo frowned. “So how did he get the map?”

  “From Ingrid,” Jenna said. “Before our meeting last night, she told Belma she had something that was going to stop Kavanaugh in his tracks. That we—meaning the Main Street shop owners—were all safe and should consider ourselves lucky to be her friends.”

  “Humble,” Olson said.

  Jenna rushed on. “I think Ingrid found the map and slapped it d
own in front of Kavanaugh. Told him there was no way he could build his hideous resort. Not on top of a graveyard.”

  “So he asked his engineers about the slab,” Cabo said. “He wanted to see if there was a way to build without digging down.”

  “Oh yeah,” Olson said. “I thought that was an odd way to go. Makes sense now. I guess. But if Ingrid brought him the map—where did she get it?”

  “Great question,” Jenna said. “I have no idea. But I wonder if there’s more information in Kavanaugh’s secret library. Something else she may have given him, or that he already had but wanted to keep…well…secret.”

  Olson glanced at Tina and Gino, now fully involved with a tangle of strings and numbered tags indicating blood spatter.

  He shook his head. “We’re not getting in there for a while, sorry. They’re working on a theory that the statue—”

  “Bust,” Tina corrected.

  “The bust,” Olson glared, “isn’t what killed Kavanaugh. They think somebody bashed him with something else, then tried to make it look like the bust fell on him.”

  “Something else?” Cabo said. “Like what?”

  “Big and heavy,” Tina said. “That’s what we know so far.”

  Olson snapped his gum. “Narrows it down to about half the things on earth, give or take.”

  “What about her house?” Jenna said. “Can we check there?”

  Another head shake. “It wasn’t part of any crime, as far as I know, so that’s not up to me. You’ll have to check with her next of kin.”

  The thought of tracking down more Gallaghers and asking if she could root through Ingrid’s things made Jenna wince. Uncomfortable, for sure, and a possible waste of time while Bart tried to move forward with the resort.

  Bart!

  “Ohhh,” she said. “I don’t think Bart knows about this letter. The last time I saw him, he vowed to keep the construction going.”

  Olson snapped his gum. “It ain’t gonna be pretty when he turns up and reads it.”

  “If he turns up,” Cabo said.

  Jenna scowled at him. “He’s not dead. Okay? He’s just not.”

  Cabo shrugged. “I figure it’s a coin toss at this point.”

  “That is enough of that, Jay Cabo. Talking about Bart being dead doesn’t get us anywhere except depressed, so let’s focus. If Ingrid had the map, where did she get it?”

  “Wilford?” Olson said. “They were hubba hubba, maybe he had it stashed in his art collection.”

  Jenna nodded. “That’s good. Now we just have to find Wilford and ask him.”

  Cabo opened his mouth.

  “Don’t you dare say it,” Jenna said.

  “I was going to offer to take my car and look for him, and for Bart. I wasn’t going to mention anything about the likelihood of Wilford being dead.”

  “Cabo.”

  “Just like Bart.”

  “Can you arrest him?” Jenna asked Olson.

  “My handcuffs won’t fit,” Olson said. He turned to Cabo. “But I do need to get that statement, so if I can steal you away from your sleuthing for a bit, let’s get it done.”

  “Cool with you?” Cabo asked Jenna.

  “Yes, go away. But give me your keys, I’ll get your car ready.”

  Cabo dropped them in her palm. “It’s in garage five, I think. Or six.”

  “Six garages?” Jenna said.

  “Out of ten.”

  “It’s enough to make you puke,” Olson said. He started down the hallway. “Come on, we’ll do this in the game room. I like the art in there.”

  Cabo touched Jenna’s arm. “You sure you’re good?”

  “I’m fine. Sorry I snapped. And thanks for offering to look for Wilford and Bart, that will be a big help.”

  “Sure thing.” He started to follow Olson, then turned back. “And hey, try not to drive my car through anyone’s house, okay?”

  Jenna watched Tina and Gino work for a few moments, until it felt too morbid—and before they could invite her to their improv show again—then went downstairs and cracked the front door.

  All quiet.

  No sign of Bart.

  No sign of anyone, actually.

  Jenna imagined spending winter nights here, when the world was frozen and the sun only emerged for a few hours before dropping back into hibernation. It would feel like she was the last person on earth.

  Some days, that wouldn’t be so bad…

  No! She pushed that away. There was zero time to fantasize about days, weeks, months spent here with the gate closed and the library open. There was serious work to be done.

  But maybe when it’s all over…

  She rolled her eyes at herself and closed the front door, walked halfway across the foyer and stopped. The light from the massive chandelier was just as bright as the hallway spillover from the crime scene lamps, and now she didn’t have Olson and Cabo muttering over her shoulders.

  Jenna examined Kavanaugh’s letter again, looking for anything she’d missed the first time. Some of the fine sand from Kavanaugh’s small desk had made the trip with the letter, and it was trickling off the paper and pooling at the bottom of the evidence bag.

  She read the letter, taking her time on each word choice.

  “…may contain historical items…”

  Why ‘historical items’?

  Why not ‘human remains’?

  “…complete it to my own satisfaction.”

  Did that mean he’d just written the letter as a formality, and had planned to quickly override the Historical Society and resume construction?

  Could he do that?

  The Historical Society of Lost Haven didn’t budge on which paint colors were acceptable on certain houses in town; Jenna couldn’t imagine them letting something like this slide.

  She pondered all of this, her finger and thumb squeezing and rolling the tiny pouch of sand in the bottom corner of the bag. It had probably driven Kavanaugh crazy having the fine grit scattering everywhere in his precious little space. Would he ask McTavish to clean it up, or was the room secret from even him?

  Jenna grinned at the thought of Kavanaugh trying to figure out how to use a broom, slapping himself in the face and cracking the handle into a lamp while he—

  The broom!

  The sand!

  The map!

  If Ingrid brought the map to Kavanaugh with sand all over it, she must have kept it one place:

  The Sanctuary Café.

  Jenna ran down the first floor hallway to the game room, the thrill of her discovery rushing through her body. She would tell Cabo and Olson, they would go to the café and find something—she didn’t know what yet, but something—that would tie everything together and bring peace and order back to Lost Haven.

  Simple!

  Except the game room door was locked.

  Jenna frowned at the ornate knob, the solid door, the lack of any alternative entry. She pressed her ear to the door and could hear Cabo’s voice but not what he was actually saying.

  She thought: Is it rude to interrupt an official statement?

  Probably.

  What if it’s for a break in the case?

  Jenna lifted a hand to knock but a muffled sound from within the room made her hesitate.

  Was that…a sob?

  She pressed her ear to the door again.

  Yes. Cabo was talking, but his voice hitched with sobs. When he paused, Jenna could hear Olson talking softly, probably consoling him.

  Jenna stepped back from the door, suddenly embarrassed for intruding upon the private conversation. She needed to get away. If Cabo wanted to tell her about how the statement went, that was fine, but she didn’t want him to know she’d eavesdropped.

  She turned down the hallway and ran smack into McTavish with a knife in his hand.

  “Oh!”

  Jenna leapt back and covered her mouth to keep from hollering again and broadcasting to Cabo and Olson she was right outside the door.

  Then she s
aw the knife in McTavish’s hand and uncovered her mouth in case she had to holler again.

  “McTavish,” she whispered.

  “Miss Hooper,” he whispered back.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Preparing some coffee and sandwiches. It’s been a long day, and you folks need some nourishment if you’re to keep going.”

  “Why do you have a knife?”

  He glanced down at the blade, which was dull and rounded at the end.

  “It’s for spreading mayonnaise.”

  “Okay, that sounds about right.”

  “May I inquire about something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why are we whispering?”

  Jenna checked the game room door: Still closed, voices still murmuring within. She turned McTavish and led him down the hallway to the end, where the space widened a bit to allow for several doors, all closed, and the open stairway to the lower levels.

  She kept her voice low, but didn’t quite whisper. “Cabo is in there with Olson giving his official statement about—well, you know.”

  “Yes. Master Kavanaugh.”

  “Right. I wanted to check in on them, but it sounds pretty intense. I was trying to sneak away when you caught me.”

  “Ah. The proverbial red hand.”

  Jenna smiled. “Busted.”

  “If you’ll forgive me for being so bold, it appears that your red hands are holding official evidence.”

  “Oh, this.” Jenna examined the front and back of the paper inside the plastic bag, like she’d never seen it before. “I’m just holding it for Detective Olson.”

  “Do I recognize Master Kavanaugh’s letterhead?”

  “Hm. Yeah, I think so. But you’re right, I shouldn’t be carrying this around. I’ll take it back right away.”

  “Very good,” McTavish said. He gave a brief smile, but his eyes were locked on the letter.

  “And I need to get Cabo’s car out of the garage,” Jenna said, changing subjects as smoothly as sandpaper on gravel. “Can you point me in the right direction? I’d probably wander around here for days without some help.”

  McTavish reached past her and opened one of the doors. Cool air flowed in, carrying the unmistakable smells of gasoline, oil, and new tires. He hit a light switch, but all Jenna saw was a few steps leading down into a long, off-white hallway with about twelve doors along the right wall.