Last Resort of Murder (A Lacy Steele Mystery Book 9) (8 page)

It had been a good day, Jason
thought. The one sport Tosh was good at was skiing, so he had no trouble
keeping up with Jason, Michael, and Clint. The four of them worked their way up
to the hardest course. It wasn’t on par with an Olympic course, but it was
fairly challenging for a health resort. They skipped lunch in favor of skiing,
and now Jason was famished. He and the other men sat at a table in a private
room, awaiting the ladies. The Underwoods were there, the three B’s, as Jason
had come to think of them. But the Steele women and Kimber were missing.

“It’s probably Frannie,” Clint
said. “She’s never been early a day in our lives.”

“It could be Riley,” Tosh added
helpfully. “She’s been running on turtle speed since the baby arrived. Not that
I’m complaining.” He dodged a glance at his sisters, not willing to give them
any more ammunition.

Jason didn’t say so, but he had the
nagging worry that Lacy was the reason the women were late. For most of the
day, he had turned off his brain and concentrated on skiing, but in those
moments when his mind turned to Lacy, he couldn’t shake the feeling of
foreboding. He shouldn’t have left her alone on the bunny hill. Things had gone
wrong somewhere in her day; he couldn’t say how he knew, but he knew. The
thought that things always went wrong in her day popped up, but he pushed it
back down. It wasn’t her fault that calamities found her like ants at a picnic.

“There they are,” Michael said, and
Jason breathed a sigh of relief. Then he saw her waddling from side to side
without bending her knees and knew he was right; something had gone horribly
wrong.

He stood. “What happened? Was it
skiing? Did you sprain something?”

“No, this is from the post-skiing
massage. I’m fine. It’s just sore muscles,” she said, but she didn’t bend her
knees when she sat, either. They stuck out in front of her like a toddler whose
legs were too short to reach the floor. And she made a sound when she picked up
her napkin, one that told him she was in no small amount of pain.

“Who gave you a massage? The Hulk?”
he asked.

“You would think so,” she said. She
glanced dismally at her plate. “I don’t know why I have this. I’m still on
liquids.” As if to prove it, a waiter set a chalky looking drink concoction in
front of her.

“Lacy, stop it. Eat food. Leave the
dark side and come back to me.”

“I have to make it through the
weekend. It’s almost over.”

“You really don’t. You’ve punished
yourself enough. Look at you, you can barely move. Where are these drinks
coming from, anyway?”

“Sven.”

“Sven?” Jason hissed. He leaned closer
and lowered his voice. “He’s the prime suspect in Jill’s murder, and you’re
drinking his swill?”

“He didn’t kill Jill,” Lacy said.

“The detective on the case told me
he admitted to giving her strychnine.”

“A tiny amount, not enough to kill
her,” she said.

“Lacy, come on. You’re talking
about poison like it’s a normal thing to pass around. You barely know this man.
Do you really trust him with your life?”

“He didn’t do it,” she stubbornly
insisted, and Jason became aware that everyone had come to a stop and was
listening to them argue.

“Are you talking about the dead
woman?” Riley asked.

“Jill,” Lacy supplied.

“I still can’t believe you found a
dead body. That’s so cool,” Belle said. “Was it like in the movies?”

Lacy shook her head. “She didn’t
look as pretty as people look in the movies.” She thought of Jill’s loose,
bright red skin and grimacing death stare and shuddered.

“Girls, please, let’s not talk
about unpleasantness at the table,” Frannie said.

Clint made a sound somewhere
between a cough and a laugh.

“Something to say, Clint?” Frannie
asked with ice in her tone.

“I don’t know. Is anyone allowed to
talk, or do we have to run it by you for approval first?” Clint said.

Lacy picked up her chalk drink and
guzzled. It left a white stain on her lips. “I’ve lost five pounds,” she
announced, slamming the empty glass on the table like a cowboy in an old
western.

Frannie tore her gaze away from her
husband to turn smiling eyes on Lacy. “That’s good, honey.”

“No, it’s not. She doesn’t need to
lose weight,” Clint said. “Tell her, Jason.”

Jason wasn’t sure which woman he
was supposed to tell, but it didn’t matter because neither seemed to listen to
him.

Michael pulled out a deck of cards
and swiveled toward Betsy. “Pick a card.” Everyone turned relieved eyes to him
to watch the trick. Lacy still seemed anxious and tense.

“I hate when they argue,” she
whispered.

“I know,” Jason said. He patted her
leg and she winced.

“That’s amazing. How did you do
that?” Betsy asked Michael.

“I know how,” Riley said.

“Shh, the grownups are talking,”
Betsy said.

“Bets,” Tosh admonished.

“What? It’s not my fault you
married a child, Tosh,” Betsy said.

“It’s okay, Tosh. She’s jealous
because I don’t have to dye the gray out of my hair or use Botox yet,” Riley
said. She held up the corners of her eyes to indicate what Botox overuse might
look like. Jason couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Betsy to see if her
eyes actually looked that way. She was a good seven years older than Riley. Did
women use that kind of stuff so early? What was it with women and their
relentless pursuit of perfection?

“I wonder if I’m allowed to have
broth,” Lacy mused as she stared longingly at her menu, oblivious to the
growing tension at the other end of the table.

“Get the broth. And have them put
meat and vegetables in it,” he said.

“I’m definitely not allowed to have
that,” Lacy said.

“Your lips are white. You look like
you made out with Casper,” Jason said. “Stop drinking chalk and start eating
real food.”

She touched her fingers to her
lips. “It’s not chalk. I think it’s clay.”

“If people were meant to eat clay,
they wouldn’t bake dishes in a kiln before we used them,” he said.

“I think they would. Otherwise, how
would they hold up?” she asked.

“I wasn’t being literal. I was
making a point, which is that this diet is crazy. And you’re taking food from a
murder suspect.”

“Sven didn’t do it.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m a good judge of character,”
she said.

“You’re a terrible judge of
character. What you are is soft-hearted,” Jason said.

“Maybe you could talk to the
detective in charge of the case and point out that a lot of people hated Jill.
In fact, Snaps saw her arguing with Uma last night.”

“Who is Uma?” Jason asked.

“She’s the man-handed masseuse who
demolished Lacy’s muscles,” Kimber said.

“Lacy, did you purposely get a
massage with her to try and pump her for information?” Jason asked.

“Fat lot of good it did me. I was
in too much pain to even ask any of my prepared questions,” Lacy said.

“You shouldn’t have any prepared
questions,” Jason said.

“If I didn’t prepare questions, how
would I know what to ask her?” Lacy said.

“You’re not supposed to ask
her—or anyone—anything. This is not my case, and it’s definitely
not your case.”

Everyone was quiet and looking at
them again.

“Do they always argue this much?”
Belle asked in a stage whisper. Jason was beginning to grow weary of the
Underwood women.

“They don’t argue. They discuss
things.” This surprising defense came from Riley, although Jason thought it
probably had more to do with her ongoing war with the three B’s.

“Usually they tend the other
way—so lovey it’s vomit inducing,” Michael said.

“No one who isn’t Thurston Howell
should ever say ‘lovey.’” Lacy said.

Michael reached across the table
and rapped her knuckles with his spoon.

“Thanks, that was the only part of
my body that didn’t hurt,” Lacy said.

A waiter arrived. For a while,
everyone was busy giving an order, everyone except Lacy who tried to busy
herself by squeezing a lemon wedge into her water. Jason had never sat through
a meal with her when she didn’t eat something. By now they had settled into a
happy routine where she ate most of the bread and butter and he ate whatever
vegetables came with her meal. They were the high carb/low carb version of Jack
Sprat and his wife. Now there was bread on the table, and she didn’t even reach
for it. Granted it was made from spelt, but still, he missed the non-dieting
version of her.

He rested his hand lightly on her
back and felt some of the tension ease out of her. She even managed a smile
before her parents started to quibble again.

“So, you went skiing today,”
Frannie said to Clint as if lobbing the first canon.

“Did I need your permission for
that, too?” he said.

“Would it have made a difference if
you did? You’re in your own world half the time anyway,” Frannie said.

“Guys,” Riley said. Lucy gave a
tiny wail and she began to bounce her. “Supper table. Public place. Seriously.”

“All I’m saying is that a little
consideration would be nice now and then,” Frannie said.

“When have I ever considered
anything but you?” Clint demanded.

Lacy stood—with difficulty
and the assistance of the table. “I’m going to go take another bath and see if
it helps my muscles. I’ll catch up with you later,” she added to Jason.
Everyone watched her hobble sadly away.

“I think she’s mad at you,” Frannie
said, and Jason resisted the urge to check his ears. Was she serious? Did she
not know Lacy at all? Could she not tell she was upset over the bickering
between her parents?

“I don’t think so,” Jason refuted
as politely as he could.

Frannie nodded. “She wants you to
look into things for her friend, Sven. You know how Lacy is, always taking up
for the little guy. And really, Jason, you’re a police officer. How hard could
it be to make a few inquiries?”

“Frannie,” he said on a sigh. He
didn’t want to have it out with her in front of everyone, to list for her all
the reasons he didn’t want to get involved in a case that wasn’t his. If he
were being honest, he couldn’t care less about the case. He was sad a woman was
dead, but he was certain the local police could handle it. What he cared about
at the moment was Lacy. He wanted to see her smile again. He wanted to see her
eat again. In her world, the two went hand in hand. But she wouldn’t get off
her diet kick as long as her parents were at war. Suddenly, he had a brilliant
idea.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he
said.

Her eyes were instantly guarded.
“What kind of deal?”

“I’ll ask a few questions for Lacy
to try and help her friend, if you let me ask you a few questions, too.”

“About what?” she asked, fully wary
now.

“This and that,” he said vaguely.

“You can ask whatever you want, but
there’s no guarantee I’ll answer,” Frannie said.

All he needed was a foothold, and
he was sure he could find the answers he was looking for. He was a detective,
after all. “Good, then it’s a deal.”

Lacy took a long warm bath that did
little to alleviate her muscle pain and spasms.

“I need you to do something for
me,” she said after finally levering herself out of the tub and struggling into
some clothes.

“Order you a Percocet, full body
cast, and a helper monkey?” Kimber guessed.

“I need you to come with me to talk
to Uma. I want to ask her some questions about Jill.”

“You want me to talk to a murder
suspect who has already taken out her anger on your body? What could possibly
go wrong?”

“It’s not like Jill was bludgeoned.
She was poisoned—double poisoned. That’s not a crime of passion; that’s a
crime of forethought. Poison is the coward’s weapon of choice.”

“Maybe, but it still gets the job
done,” Kimber said. “Fine. I’ll talk to the woman, if for no other reason than
that I know you’ll do it anyway without me. How do you know she’s still here?
It’s after eight.”

“She’s working the night shift. I
checked.” The resort offered round-the-clock massages, just one of many
pampering services they provided on demand. It occurred to Lacy that for all
the resort’s comforts, she had experienced none. She hadn’t partaken any of the
delicious food and her massage had been masochistic in nature. If she tried to
have a pedicure, would she come away with one of those flesh-eating diseases?

They walked, or rather Lacy
hobbled, to the salon where they were told Uma was on her break.

“Let’s see if she’s outside. I
heard there’s an employee break area near the ski rental,” Lacy said.

They exited the building and
rounded the corner, bracing themselves against the chill. The employee break
area was secreted away behind some bushes, just a picnic table on concrete.

“I think prisoners have better
break areas,” Kimber observed.

Uma sat on the lone table, smoking.
Lacy recalled Uma’s deodorant lecture and idly wondered if the cigarette was
organic.

“I was wondering if I might ask you
some questions,” Lacy said.

“Did you bring a black ambassador
so I’d talk?” Uma asked, rounding on them with angry, suspicious eyes.

Lacy looked at Kimber. “She’s
black?”

The joke was lost on Uma.

“She’s not like that,” Kimber
defended. “Plus she’ll keep hounding you until you talk to her, so you’d better
get it over with.”

Uma sighed, stubbed her cigarette
on the table, and pulled out another. “What do you want to know?”

Did
you kill Jill?
Better not open with that. “Did you and Jill get along?”

“No one got along with Jill. She
was a stone cold demon.”

“How so?”

“Mean, rude, pushy, arrogant,
self-involved, conniving, you name it.”

“Someone saw you arguing with her
last night.”

“So?”

“So it doesn’t look good that you
argued with her a few hours before she was killed.”

She laughed mirthlessly. “If
everyone who argued with Jill yesterday is a suspect, that list must be
endless.”

“What did you argue about?”

Uma shrugged. “I don’t know.
Probably what we always argued about. She cheated and pushed me to help her.”

“How did she cheat? What does that
mean?”

“There’s a big board in the back
room that keeps track of client pounds lost, an incentive for the trainers. The
winner gets bonuses. Jill always won, Sven came in second, and Rodney third.”

“Who is Rodney?” Lacy asked.

“The other trainer. He’s on
vacation.”

Lacy scrubbed him from her mental
list of suspects. “How did she cheat?”

“Any way she could—extra
workouts, supplements, extra time in the steam room.”

“How did she ask you to help?”

“She wanted us to do whatever we
could to help push the clients for her.”

“And did you help her?”

“Sometimes, if she threw me a big
tipper.”

Lacy couldn’t get a read on her.
Her delivery was deadpan, not like someone who was seething with anger. But maybe
she was a good actress. Or maybe she was a sociopath who lacked all emotion.
Lacy’s muscles leaned toward that explanation of things.

“Can you think of anyone who had
reason to kill her?”

“Everyone,” Uma said.

“Anyone specifically?”

“Sven. He was always behind in the
competition, and Jill liked to rub it in.”

“Anyone besides Sven?” Lacy asked.

“She was always having problems
with clients who didn’t mesh with her style,” Uma said.

“Anyone specifically right now?”
Lacy asked.

“Mrs. Van Uppity.”

“Who?”

“Some clients get a nickname.
That’s the one for her. Her real name is, uh…” she closed her eyes and thought,
taking a deep drag from her cigarette. “Charlotte Hester.”

“Thank you,” Lacy said then, “Do
you have a nickname for me?”

Uma’s eyebrow rose as she took
another hit of nicotine.

“We’ll take that as a yes,” Kimber
said. “Time to back away slowly now.” She took Lacy’s arm, and together they
retreated back to the resort.

“Do you think she did it?” Kimber
asked when they were safely back inside.

“My ruined legs say yes, but my
heart isn’t sure. It’s clear she didn’t like Jill, but nobody did. I didn’t
sense any sort of deep hatred coming from her. Did you?”

“Toward you, maybe. You sure rubbed
her the wrong way somehow.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s the one who
rubbed me the wrong way.”

“Really, Lacy, you’re going for the
obvious bad joke at a time like this?”

“It would have bugged me if I
didn’t. Let’s find Mrs. Van Uppity.”

“How are we supposed to do that?”

“Sven.”

“Is he still here, too?”

“No, but he gave me his number,”
Lacy said.

“But we don’t have our phones,”
Kimber pointed out. The rooms were equipped with phones that only worked onsite
and couldn’t dial out. There was no Wi-Fi either, part of the resort’s
“unplugged” policy.

“We’ll have to find a phone,” Lacy
said.

“I don’t like the look in your
eyes,” Kimber said.

“I’m brainstorming a solution,”
Lacy said.

“That’s what scares me.”

“No, it’s simple. All we need to do
is get behind the desk. There are loads of offices back there. One of them has to
be empty and unlocked. I only need a minute,” Lacy said.

“And how do you propose doing
that?”

“You create a diversion, and I’ll
sneak my way in.”

“Create a diversion? No problem,
I’ll use that stick of dynamite I stuffed down my pants earlier,” Kimber said.

“It doesn’t have to be elaborate.
Talk to whoever is on duty. Distract them so I can sneak through.”

“What if more than one person is on
duty? It’s a huge place; it has to be fully staffed.”

“Cry. A crying woman attracts all
sorts of attention,” Lacy said.

“Okay, I’ll cry on command then.
Actresses win Oscars for being able to do it because it’s so hard, but I’m sure
I can manufacture some tears, no problem.”

“Then do something else. I can’t
think of everything,” Lacy said.

“You haven’t thought of anything.
Worst plan ever,” Kimber complained, but she kept heading toward the front
desk. Lacy paused before they reached it. Kimber continued forward. They were
in luck; there were only two people working and the heavy wooden half-door
leading behind the desk was propped open. Lacy dropped to all fours, waiting
for her opportunity. As soon as Kimber began talking, Lacy took her shot,
scurrying through the door like an oversized mouse. Her heart thudded, waiting
to be caught, but no one said a word as she made her way haphazardly down the
hall. Crawling was almost more than her muscles could take, but it had to be
done.

She shuffled down the long hall,
pausing to press her shoulder to every door and test the lock. At last one
moved. She lumbered inside. It was dark. She stood, searching for the light,
and bashed her shin against something immovably solid. She pitched forward. Her
hands shot out to break her fall, but her body got caught up on something
before she smacked the floor.

The lights flipped on. Derek stood
in the entryway, mutely staring at her. She was in the bathroom and had tripped
over a urinal. Her midsection was hung up on it like an errant horse that tried
to jump a too-high fence.

“Lost a contact,” she said, her
fingers straining to make purchase with the floor. It occurred to her that the
lie did nothing to explain why she was hung up on a toilet in a forbidden part
of the resort, but it was all her panicked brain could come up with.

“Mm,” Derek said.

“Uh,” Lacy geared up to try again,
but he preempted her before she could think of something stupider to say.

“Are you looking for a phone?”

“Perhaps,” she said.

“I can take you to one, if you
want.”

“Okay, let me wash my hands.” Her
legs were trapped behind her in a half squat position, and they were trembling.
They had given all they could and lacked the strength to push her up. Her
fingers couldn’t reach the floor, jammed as she was on the urinal. She rolled
to the left, unhooked herself from the commode, and clattered to the floor.
Still, her legs refused to do the hard work of pushing her back up again. Derek
made no move to help her. He gawked at her with the same expression of one who
is staring at roadkill—disgusted, yet unable to look away. She half
crawled, half scooted to the counter where she could use her arms to pull
herself up. Her knees wobbled so wildly that it looked like she was the sole
contestant in a silent Charleston dance contest. At last she was upright. She
propped herself against the sink and scrubbed her hands when, really, it was
her clothes that had been pressed up against the toilet. She would have to put
these clothes in a bag with the green dress that had also seen too much
bathroom time. Would she try to disinfect them or take a match to them? She
hadn’t decided yet.

When she was finished with her
hands, she turned to Derek, but her legs would not go. The only way she could
make them move was to take shuffling baby steps so that it took twelve tiny
steps to equal one normal one.

“Sore muscles,” she explained.

“From skiing?” Derek asked.

“Massage,” Lacy answered. Surely
other people had been this sore after a massage, right? She was afraid to ask.

Finally they reached the front desk
and Kimber who stood by a phone marked, “For Guest Use.”

“Turns out there’s a phone right
here,” Kimber said. “Did you use one back there?”

“No, I…no,” Lacy said. Derek was
still nearby and eavesdropping, probably wondering what sort of explanation she
might come up with. She didn’t even try. Instead she fished Sven’s number from
her pocket, turned away from the desk, and made her call.