Текст книги "Last Resort"

Автор книги: Jeff Shelby

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NINE

Jake collapsed on the couch when we got back to the cabin. “This is utterly ridiculous.”

“Which part?” I asked, sitting down next to him. I tried to ignore the mosquito bites and scratches covering my legs and tucked them underneath me.

“All parts,” he said. “But the part about not being able to leave, mainly.”

“You want to leave?”

He raised his eyebrows, his expression incredulous. “Yes, I want to leave! This isn't a vacation. This isn't a resort. This isn't what we were promised. And apparently we can't go six months without finding a dead guy.” He held up his index finger. “I have one absolute rule for our vacations. No dead bodies. That's it. That's my only rule.” He folded the finger down and made a fist. “And that rule has been broken.”

He was exaggerating, of course. He was overreacting and freaking out a little, which was usually my department. But he was taking the helm on this one.

“We can leave,” I told him.

“No, we can't,” he said, frowning. “Sheriff Larra-whatever said we can't.”

“That isn't what he said at all,” I explained. “He said we could leave.”

“He didn't mean it, though.”

“Of course he did.”

“Daisy.” His voice was stern. “We told him about dead Olaf in the coal chute. Pretty sure he's looking for a way to tie us to dead Harvey in the woods.”

“No, he isn't,” I insisted. “Because we aren't murderers! We didn't kill Olaf—and that's public record—and there's no way we could have killed Harvey. We didn't even know him!”

“Still. These small town sheriffs and law enforcement seem to have a way of inventing evidence and irrational theories.”

“The only one being irrational is you.” The frown on his face deepened and I repositioned my leg so I could reach one of the bites. I scratched at it. “Besides, you seem to be overlooking something.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“That I don't want to leave.”

He threw his head back dramatically and stared up at the ceiling. “Of course not. Who would want to leave all this?”

“Is that rhetorical?”

“I genuinely don't know.”

I grabbed his legs and pulled them across my lap. “I'll assume it wasn't rhetorical and answer it seriously.”

He grunted, but kept his eyes on the ceiling.

“I have two reasons why I don't want to leave,” I said.

“Two?”

“Yes. Two.” He didn't say anything, just continued staring upward, so I continued. “One, if we leave now, it makes us look bad. Like we had something to do with that guy's death. The sheriff seems fairly sane, so I don't think he'd give us too much trouble if we went home. But, honestly? If we leave now, it looks like we're leaving because we found that guy.”

He didn't say anything, but his eyes were open so I knew he hadn't gone to sleep and was most likely still listening to me.

“And reason number two is that I don't want to give up my vacation,” I said.

“We can go somewhere else,” Jake offered. “Anywhere else. Sky's the limit.”

I gently squeezed his ankles. They were covered with red welts, too. “But we're already here. I don't want to go anywhere else. We don't have another place to go to and if we did pack up and leave, it would take us half a day to get to anywhere. And then we'd be tired and we'd lose another day. I don't want to lose a day.” I squeezed his ankles again. “I want my vacation. With you.”

“Oh my God,” he moaned. “You're playing the I-want-to-spend-time-with-you card. You know I cave to that every time.”

I bit back a smile. “I'm aware of that, yes. But it's true. I do want to spend time with you and I don't want it interrupted and if we leave now, it won't feel like a vacation.”

“We could drive to the airport and hop a flight to Hawaii,” he said. “We could be lying on a beach and sipping a drink with an umbrella in it by midnight.”

“And you'd have to get a second job to pay for it,” I countered.

“You could get a job.”

I waited for a moment. “Okay. You call the airlines and see if we can get to Hawaii tonight. I'll start looking for a job when we get back. I'm sure I could find something—when I'm not homeschooling the kids, of course. It would be nights, so we probably wouldn't ever see each other. Maybe I could find something waitressing or tending bar. Not terribly fulfilling and I'd have to deal with a lot of drunk men but the tips would be good, so we could pay off the trip to Hawaii faster. Or maybe—”

Jake held up a hand. “Alright. Point taken.”

I raised my eyebrows. “So now you don't want to go to Hawaii? I'm confused.”

He sighed, his entire body sinking further into the couch. “What I want is a stress-free vacation with my wife and I'm questioning whether we can have that here.” He shot me a look. “And before you open your mouth again, I get it. We're staying.”

I wiggled out from under his legs and crawled on top of him, laying my head on his chest. “We're here. We didn't kill anyone. And I don't really want to leave.”

He wrapped his arms around me and I snuggled into him. “I know, I know.”

We rarely got time for just us. With the four kids and his job and the house and everything else going on in our lives, we never found ourselves alone. Even when we went to bed, it seemed like we were joined by one of the kids at some point in the night. Sometimes all three of the younger ones wormed their way in with us. So our time together was at a premium and I didn't want anything to get in the way of our vacation. Even a misrepresented resort. Even a pompous, egotistical jerk of a resort dweller.

And even a dead body.

“So we can stay?” I asked, listening to his heart thump against his chest.

“I think you made that decision for us, Madame President,” Jake answered. “Remember, I'm only the vice president of this family.”

I pressed my head closer, inhaling the scent of his aftershave. “I'm glad we're on the same ticket.”

“Yes. For sure.”

“But seriously.” I lifted my head up and looked at him. “You're okay staying here? If you really want to leave, we can. I won't make you stay.”

He tucked his chin to his chest and smiled at me. “I'm okay staying here, yeah. But can we try not to find any more dead bodies?”

I laid my head back down on his chest and scratched my mosquito bites and smiled. “I will stay out of the bushes.”

TEN

“There's only one thing I hate more than karaoke,” Jake said, tilting a beer bottle in my direction. “And that's bad karaoke.”

We were down at the pavilion near the pool, a large covered area with about twenty picnic tables and a couple of barbeque pits. We'd showered and dressed and I suggested we walk down to the pavilion because they were offering up free hamburgers on the barbecue, as well as coolers full of cheaply priced soda and beer. We'd chosen to walk down, enjoying the cool, crisp air as the sun sank for the day. The bugs weren't too bad and the birds were chirping as we strolled down the hill. Chipmunks and squirrels scampered across well-manicured lawns and up trees and I smiled. I was happy we'd stayed.

“What about my parents? You don't hate my parents more?” I said.

He grinned. “I like your parents just fine. I think you are the one having issues...”

I picked up my own bottle of beer and took a sip. “They lost Grace and Sophie at the park!”

“They did not lose them,” he said patiently. “They...misplaced them.”

I rolled my eyes. “What's the difference?”

We'd talked to the kids before heading down to the pavilion. Grace had wasted no time letting us know that Grandma and Grandpa had let the two younger girls go for a walk in the wooded section of the park—which would have been fine if they'd stayed put on the bench where they told the girls they'd be waiting. Instead, my dad had freaked out about poison ivy and bears—even though there were no bears in Moose River—and decided to go in after them. My mom followed, which meant the girls emerged from the woods ten minutes later and discovered an empty bench where their grandparents should have been waiting.

“They're fine,” Jake said. “That's all that matters.”

“I probably should have just left Emily in charge,” I said, referring to our fifteen year-old. “She would have done a better job.”

“Except they would have all starved,” Jake commented. Emily's culinary expertise consisted of pouring cereal into a bowl. “Speaking of, I'm starving. Let's get some food.”

We left our beers on the table and made our way to the front of the pavilion. There was no line at the barbeque and an older man wearing a John Deere hat plucked two burgers off the grill and plopped them on to our plates. We loaded our buns with ketchup and pickles, then found a spot at one of the tables. Jake paid a couple bucks and grabbed two more bottles of beer.

“This alone might be worth staying,” he said, cracking the new one open and taking a long swig. “One buck each. Just wish I would have brought ear plugs.”

I was still working on my first bottle. I took a sip and looked around. The pavilion was filled with families and other campground denizens—some chatting and laughing together, some sitting alone like me and Jake. While we caught a few people looking in our direction, there didn't seem to be a whole of whispering or staring. Even the Hackermans seemed oblivious to our presence. Wayne held court at a table with several other families, waving his beer in the air and loudly boasting about some fish he'd managed to catch earlier in the week.

I'd mentally congratulated myself for scouring the schedule of events and knowing about the free barbecue. But what I'd missed on that very same calendar was the announcement that karaoke would accompany the barbecue.

At the front of the pavilion, they'd arranged several picnic tables side by side and a computer was set up along with a couple of old and battered house speakers. A pleasant-looking guy in a bucket hat, tank top and denim shorts got up while we were finishing our burgers and started tapped away at the computer. A few seconds later, the speakers pounded to life with a little Michael Jackson.

“Please don't tell me people are going to try to sing Michael Jackson,” Jake moaned.

I popped the last of my burger into my mouth. “I thought you liked Michael Jackson.”

“I do,” he said. His eyes narrowed as he studied the people seated at the tables. “And he's not here.”

“Well, that's because he's dead...”

His gaze shifted to me. “I think the idea of karaoke should die.”

No one else agreed with him because people scurried toward the DJ table, chattering about the songs they were going to attempt to sing. Within minutes, hits from the 60s and 70s were being mangled by Windy Vista campers. When a woman in her sixties wearing an oversized Minnesota sweatshirt screeched out a particularly awful rendition of Mustang Sally, I glanced at Jake. His pained expression told me he was probably ready to saw his ears off.

“You think she was that bad?” I asked.

“I think the coyotes that howl in the woods at night think she was bad,” he answered. “Atrocious.”

“Well, maybe someone will surprise us,” I said. “In a good way.”

But there were no immediate surprises. A tone deaf woman got up and mumbled and grunted her way through some country song I'd never heard. A guy around our age in a Twins hat and sweatpants screamed his way through AC/DC. Another guy got up and did Johnny Cash, but with a Canadian accent.

It was like all of the rejects from American Idol had converged on Windy Vista.

Jake stuck his index fingers in his ears. “This is horrific.”

It was. And I was loving every minute of it.

Delilah marched up to the DJ table and teetered a bit to her right, then caught herself on the table. I was surprised to see her at the event considering the discovery made earlier that day. Her gray hair was down but pinned back with glittery barrettes. She stumbled, trying to maintain her balance, and it became apparent that she was either experiencing her own mini earthquake or she was a little drunk. She laughed loudly at something the DJ said, teetered again, and I decided to go with a lot drunk.

She grabbed the mic from the last performed and smiled out at the crowd. Her red-rimmed eyes were wide. “A goodie, but oldie.” She paused. “I mean, an oldie, but an oldie.” She paused again, then waved a hand in the air. “Oh, hell. You know what I mean. This one is for Harvey. Because he just wanted to make the world a better place.” Her voice cracked and she held her hand to her mouth and hiccuped. “Hit it, Stan.”

Stan the DJ nodded and the opening notes of the Beatles “Hey, Jude” blasted through the speakers. Delilah's drunken squealing came through the speakers, too, except the words were nearly a full beat behind the song and it sounded like she was saying, “Hey, dude.”

There were murmurs and whispers and a couple of campers held up lighters and flashlights as she struggled through the last half of the song.

“Ol' Delilah's having a rough night,” a voice said off to my right.

I turned from my sitting position at the picnic table. The voice belonged to a woman in a wheelchair that was outfitted with tires that looked more appropriate for a BMX bike. I placed her in her eighties, with silvery white hair beneath a purple kerchief and long, bony fingers that rested on the arms of the wheelchair. She wore a white crewneck sweatshirt and denim jeans, along with bright white shoes that looked like they'd just left the rack that evening. Gold hoops hung from droopy ear lobes and my hands immediately flew to mine, wondering if that was a sign of old age I'd never thought of.

I wasn't sure what she was referring to. Did she mean she usually sang better or was she referencing the fact that Delilah had lost her business partner? I decided to stick with the more benign reason. “Singing in front of an audience is hard.”

She waved a hand in the air. “Bah. She can sing pretty well, but she's off tonight. Guess I can't blame her, what with everything that happened today.” She eyed me carefully. “You were the ones that found Harvey?”

I glanced at Jake. He shrugged and went back to watching the DJ.

“We were, yes,” I said reluctantly.

She nodded like she already knew this. “Yes, yes. And you're still here.” She cut her gray eyes to me. “Interesting.”

“Is it?” I asked.

“I'd think something like that might scare you off,” she said.

She had a point. But she also didn't have my experience with dead bodies. Not that I was going to recount that for her.

“We didn't want to give up our vacation,” I said instead.

“Not worried about more bodies in the bushes?” she asked with a smile.

“Not really,” I said. “I have a feeling it might be a one time thing.”

She eyed me again, then pointed a long, gnarled finger in Delilah's direction, who was still slurring her way through the song. “Speaking of one-time things, you know about Delilah, right?”

I frowned. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to know about Delilah. “I've met her, yes. We're staying in her cabin. We won our trip here to Windy Vista.”

She smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Yes, dear. I'm well aware of why you're here and where you're staying. I'm usually aware of everything that goes on here.” She gave me a pitying look. “When you've been coming here as long as I have, not much gets by you.”

“How long is that?”

She took a moment to look around before settling her gaze back on me. “Since this place wasn't much more than a weed patch. My father first brought me up here when I was ten. It was just a patch of land back then, with people parking wherever they wanted. When the land was bought and lots became available for rent, he grabbed the first two.” She smiled. “Been here ever since. Even before Delilah.”

It sounded to me like she had some sort of competition going with Delilah; maybe not one that mattered, but there was some sort of proprietary contest to see who was more Windy Vista than the other. I wondered if Delilah was aware of the competition.

She shifted in her chair and reached her hand toward me. “I'm sorry. I'm Copper Marchand.”

It sounded like a regal name, like something an East Coast gentry family might name their daughter, not the Scandinavian-sounding names I was used to encountering in Central Minnesota.

I shook and, despite its delicate appearance, her hand gripped mine with a fair amount of strength. “Daisy Savage,” I told her. “And this is my husband Jake.”

Jake waved a hand from the other side of the table, his eyes still on Delilah and the DJ table.

Copper nodded like she already knew our names. “Of course. A pleasure.” She paused for a moment. “But did you know about Delilah? And Harvey?”

I thought about our conversation with Delilah when we'd first arrived. “I know they ran Windy Vista together.”

She gave me the pitying look again. I half-expected an Emily-worthy eyeroll. “That's a little charitable, but I suppose it's true enough. Delilah runs this place, but Harvey was the one really keeping it afloat.”

Delilah screeched something and I looked up. She did a spin move and stumbled to the side, her hand still tightly wrapped around the mic.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Copper rotated her wheelchair so she was facing me now. “Delilah's the face of Windy Vista, but Harvey was the body and the guts, to put it rather crudely. He did everything around here. Fixed things. Tossed people out who were misbehaving. Constructed the website. Was working hard to expand it. He had a greater vision for this place.”

I thought of the website and the pictures Jake and I had seen. If those were Harvey's ideas, they were certainly grand in comparison to what we'd experienced so far at the campground resort. It was like comparing a cat to a lion. Windy Vista was the cat and Harvey's dream resort was the lion.

“So Harvey just worked here?” I asked. “He wasn't a co-owner or anything like that?” I'd been under the impression that he and Delilah were co-owners.

She gave me a sly smile. “He was something in between, I guess you could say.”

Delilah finished her drunken caterwauling and there was generous applause. She said something to the DJ guy and he smiled and took the mic from her. Delilah waved at the crowed and shuffled to a picnic table.

Jake stood. “Be right back.”

I wasn't convinced. “You will?”

“Yes.” He gave me a small smile and leaned down so he could whisper in my ear. “I might not want to if more people sing like Delilah, but I'll be back. I promise.” He dropped a kiss on my head.

I turned my attention back to Copper. “What do you mean something in between?”

The sly smile stayed on her cracked lips. “Delilah and Harvey had something...a little extra going on.”

The way she said it, there was no mistaking her meaning. “They were a...couple?”

Copper pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side. “I wouldn't say a couple, no. They weren't open about it and to be a couple, I'd think you'd need to publicly acknowledge that you were together. Which they certainly did not.” Something sparked in her eyes. “But they had something going on. For a long time.”

I though about the face I'd seen in the bushes. The young, unwrinkled face I'd seen in the bushes. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Harvey—”

“Younger?” Copper said, chuckling. “Oh my goodness, yes. Delilah wasn't just robbing the cradle. She'd stolen it and was holding it for ransom, dear.”

I wasn't sure that was an exact analogy, but I understood what she was aiming for. Harvey was significantly younger than Delilah. If I'd had to guess, I would've put the age difference at maybe thirty years, based on looking at both of them. Of course, Harvey was already dead when I saw him, but I didn't think he'd aged much in those bushes.

“How long were they together?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the idea.

She held a finger to her lips and thought. “I honestly don't know. But...awhile. I can tell you that for sure.”

I glanced up at the DJ booth. Jake was standing there and, for a split second, I thought maybe he'd downed a few extra beers and was going to do something he'd never done before: sing karaoke. Wayne Hackerman strolled up next to him. Jake glanced at him, then spoke to the DJ, and Hackerman frowned. Maybe he was just as territorial about the music played at the campground as he was the medallion hunt.

I turned back to Copper. “Did everyone know they were together? I mean, if they weren't open about it...”

“Oh, I'd have to think so,” Copper said, tilting her head down, like it was obvious. “They were together all the time. I think there were fewer people who didn't know about them. It's been the talk of this place for quite a few summers.”

I could imagine. I'd seen the type of mentality that small towns could foster and it seemed perfectly plausible that gossip would be the primary news source for a summer resort, as well. Especially a resort that some people called home for the duration of the season.

“Did you see them together?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“As a couple?”

She smiled at me and the look changed from pity to just plain condescending. “Dear, I know what I know. I saw them together. They were a couple.” Her smile dimmed. “And it had caused a little trouble for both of them.”

“How so?” I asked.

She started to say something, then her expression changed. To one of concern.

She brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh dear. Oh no.”

I sat up straighter. “Are you alright?” I wondered if they had AED devices anywhere nearby.

She removed her hand from her mouth, revealing a hint of a smile, and I breathed a small sigh of relief. “Yes, dear. I'm fine. But it appears Wayne Hackerman and your husband are wrestling.”