A Killer Retreat

by Tracy Weber

I squeezed his hands. “Don’t worry, Sam. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Kate.”

  I tried not to worry as I watched them drive away. Whatever was going on with Rene, it would have to wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, I joined Michael and Bella in the Explorer for the quick drive to Eastsound.

  Ten minutes later, Michael pulled up near Dale’s address, parked in the shade, and cracked open the windows a couple of inches. The weather was cloudy and cool—perfect for Bella’s late-afternoon nap. I gave her a quick scratch behind the ears and refilled her water bowl. “We’ll be back before you know it, sweetie.”

  We walked a half-block north to the Eastsound Professional Building—a rundown, five-business strip mall that contained the offices of two real estate agents, a tax accountant, a psychic advisor, and “Dale Evans, Goat Rustler and Attorney at Law.” Or at least that’s what the sign on the door said.

  Dale invited us into a paneled room decorated with pictures of goats. Lots and lots of goats. Some posed with human companions. Some wore hats and glasses. One even balanced precariously on the roof of Dale’s rattletrap pickup. A photocopy of Dale’s law degree was haphazardly taped above a poster advertising The Great Goat Olympics. A dancing goat bobblehead nodded encouragingly from a scarred wooden desktop.

  He motioned for us to sit at a folding table and said he’d be back momentarily. When he returned, he carried a pot of freshly brewed coffee, a bowl of spreadable cheese—goat cheese, of course—and a plate piled high with rosemary scones. “We’ll talk about your case in a minute. First, we eat. I don’t work on an empty stomach.” He set the platter of goodies on the table and motioned toward a cabinet near the window. “Grab yourselves a mug.”

  The cabinet’s assortment of coffee mugs continued the goat theme. Dale’s choice was a blue ceramic mug with the title “Goat Whisperer.” I selected a pink-lettered “Crazy Goat Lady” travel mug and handed “Stubborn Old Goat” to Michael.

  “I only have honey for the coffee,” Dale said. “Hope that will do.”

  It would do nicely.

  Four o’clock was well past my normal lunchtime, and now that I thought about it, I hadn’t eaten breakfast, either. Between finding Monica’s body and trying to keep myself out of prison, snacking hadn’t been my highest priority. But now that I smelled the pungent aromas of rosemary and chèvre, I realized that I was famished.

  I grabbed the largest pastry off the plate and slathered it with cheese, for once not worried about my waistline. I gulped the first one down so fast that the herbaceous, tangy concoction barely touched my tongue. The second one, I savored. Its flakey richness settled in my belly, grounding me.

  Michael listened silently while Dale built my trust with dense carbohydrates and light-hearted small talk. He skillfully listened to stories about my life and allowed me to pepper him with personal questions about his own. In spite of his nearly white whiskers and my earlier reservations, I found myself beginning to like and trust this unusual man.

  “Why goats?”

  “Goats are amazing creatures. Intelligent, social, and ornery as hell.” He winked. “Kind of how John described you.”

  I ignored the editorial comment and stirred another teaspoon of honey into my coffee.

  “Besides, goats may be willful as hell, but they never talk back, and they’re a heck of a lot smarter than most of my clients.”

  “Do you do much defense work?” Michael asked.

  “Not any more. I stopped being a defense attorney years ago. I’m pretty much a paper-pusher these days. You know, divorces, wills, property disputes, that sort of thing.” He hitchhiked his thumb toward me. “I’m only taking this one on as a favor to John.”

  “How do you and John know each other?” I asked.

  “We worked together, or rather, against each other. John and I sat on opposite sides of the courtroom plenty of times when I was a public defender. Your father, too.”

  That got my attention. John and Dad did their homework. If Dale got acquittals on the cases they worked, he must be good.

  I hesitated before asking, but I had to know. “I don’t want to offend you, but I have to ask. What’s with the country bumpkin routine?”

  He chuckled. “I had you going there, didn’t I?” He took a long drink of coffee then set the mug on the table. “You ever lived in a small town?”

  I shook my head.

  “I did. I grew up in one.” He resumed his affected hillbilly twang. “Marlington, Kentucky. Population six hunnert and seventy-three.” He smiled “Orcas is bigger than Marlington, but the culture’s the same. The locals are friendly, but they don’t trust strangers. And by ‘strangers’ I mean anyone who wasn’t born on the island. But when I turn on the country charm, people loosen right up.”

  He crumpled his napkin and tossed it in the trash. “I’m not really fooling anyone, but people find it amusing. It gives them an excuse to cut me some slack. Besides, I spend more of my time on animal rescue than law these days, so my Farmer John act isn’t all that untrue.”

  “How’d you go from Seattle attorney to Eastsound goat rustler?”

  Dale’s easygoing smile disappeared. “That, my dear, is a long story.” He pushed his plate to the side. “Let’s just say some creatures are more worth saving than others.” He stood up and moved behind the desk. “Lunch break is over. Pull your chairs over here, and let’s get to work.”

  My curiosity was piqued, but I didn’t ask any more questions. The wide expanse of desk Dale placed between us sent a clear message: the time for personal chitchat was over.

  He pulled out a legal pad and uncapped a pen. “Before we start, John made me promise to tell you something.”

  Here it came. One of John’s infamous lectures.

  “He told me about that mess you got into when your friend was killed a few months ago.”

  Wait for it …

  “And he doesn’t want you playing amateur detective this time.” Dale raised his hands to make air quotes. “I believe John’s exact words were, ‘Katydid, mind your own business. Stick with your stretching exercises and let the police do the investigating. That’s an order.’”

  I kept my expression neutral.

  “So, Miss Kate. Are you going to obey?”

  My body stiffened at Dale’s choice of words. “Obey” wasn’t part of my lexicon.

  Michael reached under the table and squeezed my hand. “John’s right, Kate.”

  Even the bobblehead goat nodded in agreement.

  Well, I had news for all of them, billy goat chauvinist included. If being accused of murder wasn’t my business, I didn’t know what was.

  I considered arguing, but what was the point? I hadn’t met a man yet—at least not one worth knowing—that didn’t want to protect me, especially from myself. I’d never fool Michael, but I might stand a chance with Dale. He didn’t know me.

  I released Michael’s hand, crossed my left fingers under my leg, and made the scout’s honor sign with my right. “Don’t worry. I learned my lesson last time. Bella and I almost got killed. I’ll let the police handle this.” Clients lie to their attorneys all the time, right?

  Michael looked skeptical.

  Dale looked downright disappointed. “Huh. I thought you had more spunk than that.”

  “But you just told me to stay out of it!” My voice may have sounded a tiny bit more petulant than I had intended.

  Dale shook his head emphatically. “No, Miss Kate, I did not. You need to listen more carefully. John told you to stay out of it. I simply relayed the message. I never said I agreed with him.”

  He couldn’t be serious. “You mean you want me to try to solve Monica’s murder?”

  Dale leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Normally, I tell my clients to shut up and lay low. But normally, my clients are guilty. In your case, I think
we should try to find out who the real killer is before Bill gets his act together enough to arrest you.”

  Michael jolted. “Arrest her? You said that sergeant didn’t think Kate was guilty.”

  Dale shrugged. “He doesn’t. But he’s not positive she’s innocent, either. This island survives on tourist income. No one’s going to want an unsolved murder—especially one of a tourist—on the books. Bill’s going to be under a lot of pressure to arrest someone.” He turned toward me. “All of the evidence so far points to you, Miss Davidson.”

  White flour and goat cheese congealed in my stomach. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

  Dale set down his pen and looked at me sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Kate, but yes. You’re in trouble. So far, the case against you is weak. You don’t have a history of violence or a compelling motive. But that doesn’t mean you won’t get arrested. Even if the case never goes to trial, your life—at least for the next few months—could turn into a living hell. Your reputation may never recover.”

  I didn’t say anything. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I might get sick.

  “Our best bet is to find Bill a different suspect—the right one this time. I’m not saying you should do anything to put yourself in danger, but you’re stuck on Orcas for now, anyway. You may as well stay at Elysian Springs and keep your ears open.” He held up his hand. “But let me be clear: I only want you to listen. Do not actively investigate. You could destroy your case. If you hear anything interesting, call me. I’ll follow up.”

  Michael didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue, either.

  Dale turned the notebook to a blank page. “Now, tell me exactly what happened this morning.”

  I related my version of the weekend’s events, from beach encounters, to Helen’s and my idle threats, to Monica’s body floating face-down in the hot tub. Dale listened intently, taking notes. When I finished, he tapped his pen on the notebook.

  “Well, that pretty much explains our problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The witness who found you heard screaming, all right, but he thinks it came from the victim. He heard a woman cry for help and rushed to the top of the stairs. When he got there, the screaming had stopped, and you were huddled over the body.”

  “I was the one who screamed, not Monica.”

  “I understand that. And the witness doesn’t completely disagree. He says he doesn’t know what you were doing, at least not for sure. But add what he saw to the half-dozen people who heard you threaten the victim, and it doesn’t look good.”

  Michael started pacing. “I told you, Kate. I told you that temper was going to get you in trouble.” His tone may have scolded, but his expression held nothing but concern. “There had to be someone else there, someone who saw, or at least heard, something.” He ran his fingers across his scalp. “Think Kate, did you see anyone? A maid? A groundskeeper? A guest maybe?”

  I’d been asking myself that same question for hours. “No. No one.”

  Dale frowned. “Well then, we’ve got our work cut out for us, haven’t we?”

  No doubt about it. I needed Dale’s help. Help that, in spite of his low-budget office furniture, couldn’t possibly come cheap. I was making ends meet—barely—with the studio now. I had no extra income to pay for a lawyer.

  “Dale?”

  “Yes?”

  “I appreciate your help. Really, I do. I trust you. I’d like for you to represent me. But I don’t have much money. I don’t know how I’ll ever pay you.”

  Dale closed the notebook and laid down his pen. His unflinching look demanded the truth. “Did you kill that woman?”

  “No. I didn’t. I swear.”

  “Then don’t worry about money. Let’s figure out how to get you out of this mess.”

  eleven

  When Michael and I pulled into the ghost town formerly known

  as Elysian Springs two hours later, the parking lot was about three-

  quarters empty. No maids laundered bed sheets; no hikers meandered along trails; no groundskeepers scurried on golf carts. The office, spa, and restaurant all sported closed signs. Where was everyone?

  We found Rene and Sam sitting on opposite ends of the sofa bed, avoiding eye contact. According to Rene, the police had finished questioning everyone around six and cleared the spa for reopening—minus the hot tubs, of course. As soon as the detectives left, Emmy and Josh shut down all of the center’s nonessential operations for the rest of the night. They promised to reopen in the morning.

  None of us had much of an appetite, so we hunkered down in the cabin and tried to avoid each other. We acted like prisoners in solitary confinement, only sharing the same space. Rene flipped through a magazine, uncharacteristically quiet. Sam brooded in a corner. Michael played solitaire, looking withdrawn and cranky; Bella restlessly panted and paced.

  I distracted myself by making some phone calls—an act I immediately regretted.

  I started by dialing John O’Connell’s home number.

  “What in the f—were you thinking, Kate?”

  I inserted a mental beep at the sound of John saying the f-word. John often lectured, but he rarely chastised. And he never swore, at least not in front of me. In John’s eyes I was a thirty-two-year-old schoolgirl in need of protection. He’d never expose me to the evils of profanity. He must be even more worried than I thought.

  The sharp cadence of boots pacing on hardwood cracked through the phone line. “Talking to the police without a lawyer? What are you, stupid?”

  He was right of course, and I suspected the question was rhetorical. But I’d had a hard day, and I was feeling a little grumpy myself. “I was thinking that I was innocent, John.”

  The sound of John’s pacing was replaced by the telltale squeak of denim on leather. I imagined him seated behind his imposing oak desk, glowering at me. “Yeah, well, innocent or not, Dale seems to think you’re in trouble.”

  “Dale talked to you? Hasn’t he ever heard of attorney-client privilege?”

  “Don’t worry, your secrets are safe. Dale refused to give me any details.” John grunted, obviously displeased. “But I still got more information out of him than that bumpkin sergeant.”

  I sat up straight. “What did Sergeant Bill tell you?”

  “Nothing. At least nothing useful. And I wouldn’t share it with you if he did. You’d just go off on one of your harebrained schemes again.”

  “John, I—”

  He didn’t give me a chance to finish. “Don’t you worry, Katydid. Don’t you worry a bit. I’m not about to let those backcountry hicks railroad you into a murder conviction. I’ve got some vacation time coming. I’ll be there to fix all this tomorrow.”

  Lord, that was all I needed. John would put me in handcuffs and barricade me in the cabin for sure. I tried to sound reassuring. “There’s no need to come up here, John, at least not yet. I haven’t been arrested, and Dale has everything under control. Stay in Seattle for now. Save that vacation time, in case I need your help later. I’ll make sure Dale keeps you informed.” Of as little as possible.

  John grumbled and griped. He snapped orders and reprimands. He gave ultimatums. But he eventually agreed to stay in Seattle, at least for a day or two.

  Next I checked in on Serenity Yoga.

  Unlike John, Mandy didn’t even bark a hello.

  “Kate, I know you’re on vacation and all, but you have to return my calls! I’ve left at least a dozen messages!”

  I glanced at the Yoga Chick’s message indicator. Six missed calls, all from the studio.

  “Sorry Mandy. I left my phone in the cabin and just got home a few minutes ago.” I opted not to tell her that I’d spent the day trying to convince a potbellied policeman I wasn’t guilty of murder. “What’s up?”

  “While you were off enjoying your vacation, I was stuck here wi
th a mess, that’s what’s up. That new Morning Flow Yoga teacher forgot to set her alarm. Her students waited outside in the pouring rain for twenty minutes before they gave up.” Mandy’s voice grew softer. “Honey, not now. Mommy’s on the phone.” She came back on the line. “I was supposed to work on the twins’ Halloween costumes today, but I had to spend my entire afternoon trying to placate fourteen very annoyed yoga students.”

  I cringed. “You gave them all free passes, right?”

  “Yes, but I doubt some of them will come back. Three have already demanded refunds.” She paused. “And you know what’s worse?”

  No, and I probably didn’t want to. “What?”

  “The instructor wouldn’t even help me contact the students. She said we should all mellow out. That anyone can forget to set an alarm. Unbelievable.”

  A high pitched wail screeched in the background.

  Mandy yelled in reply. “Stop poking your brother this instant!”

  “Um, Mandy—”

  “Kate, I need to go. But you have to do something about that instructor.”

  I sighed. “I’ll talk to her when I get back.”

  If I get back.

  But that was a possibility I didn’t want to think about.

  I thanked Mandy for her help, hung up the phone, and collapsed into bed. I tried to soothe myself with my favorite bedtime pranayama practice, Kate’s Sleeping Pill, but it had no effect. Even after twenty minutes of deep, segmented breathing, I still couldn’t relax enough to close my eyes. Instead, I rolled to my side and stared at the closet, wishing I could magically transport myself somewhere—anywhere—else.

  I didn’t think it was possible, but sometime, long after midnight, I fell asleep.

  _____

  My alarm went off at six the next morning. I hit the snooze button, closed my eyes, and snuggled back under the covers. My world felt cozy, comfortable, wrapped in a soft cotton blanket. Michael breathed rhythmically beside me. I reached behind the bed and stroked the silky spot behind Bella’s ears.

  I was … happy.

  And then I blinked.