A Killer Retreat

by Tracy Weber

  I picked up Bandit, held him against my chest, and tried to think up a compelling reason for Rene to be jimmying open Bruce’s bedroom window. Nothing came, so I blurted out the first words that popped into my head.

  “I need more Vicodin.”

  Bruce’s dull eyes widened in astonishment. “So you decided to break into my house to get it? After I told you I’d phone in a prescription?” He stepped back from the door. “I should call the police.”

  Rene waved him off with a girlish giggle. “Of course we weren’t breaking in.” She latched on to Bruce’s arm and cuddled in close. “Jeez, Kate, the things you say sometimes. You’ll have the man thinking we’re a couple of criminals!” She flashed another bright smile at Bruce, then gave me a shut-up-and-let-me-handle-this look.

  “I hope you don’t blame Kate for my little peek-a-boo. She said we should leave when you didn’t answer the door, but I’ve been so curious. I couldn’t resist taking a peek.”

  Bruce narrowed his rheumy, half-focused eyes and extricated his arm. “Curious about what?”

  “Why, your cabin, of course. It’s one of the refurbished ones, right? I told Kate the next time I come to Elysian Springs, I want to stay in the best.” She widened her eyes, feigning innocence. “I didn’t think it would hurt anything if I peeked through the window, but it was horribly embarrassing to get caught.”

  She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And besides, we’re doing Emmy a favor.”

  Bruce frowned. “How’s that?”

  “Kate knows one of the original investors. How can she send back a glowing report if she hasn’t seen all of the renovations?”

  Rene’s voice was so sickeningly sweet, it could have been poured on French toast. How did she get away with this nonsense? If I’d tried to sway Bruce with such obviously fake flirting, he would have laughed me right off the deck and into the back seat of a police car. But not Rene. When it came to men, Rene was—to put it bluntly—a snake charmer.

  Especially after they’d had a couple of drinks.

  Bruce had obviously indulged in more than a couple, but talking to Rene seemed to reverse their effect. His shoulders unslumped. A smile lifted the corners of his lips. His eyes seemed to brighten.

  Rene continued her hypnotizing dance. “I’m sorry if we startled you. We thought nobody was home. We knocked and knocked … Didn’t you hear us?”

  “I decided to lie down for a minute. I must have fallen asleep.”

  More like passed out.

  “I haven’t been able to sleep much since …” His face turned gray. “Well, since, you know.”

  Remembering his wife’s death must have broken Rene’s spell. Bruce’s shoulders re-slumped. His lips curled downward. The light in his eyes dulled. The three of us stood in silence for several seconds, none of us willing to say the words “Monica’s murder.” As if by not saying them, we could somehow make them less real.

  I spoke first. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

  Bruce sighed. “I suppose you can’t. Then again, I don’t think anyone can.”

  Rene lightly touched Bruce’s arm, in sympathy this time. I didn’t know what to do, so I absently reached up and rubbed my throbbing neck.

  “How are you feeling today, Kate?” Bruce asked.

  “Like I fell on my head.” I smiled. “I’m pretty sore, but otherwise OK. Thanks again for helping me out last night. I didn’t need to go to a hospital, but I would have been miserable without that Vicodin.”

  “You’re welcome. I did phone in a prescription for you, by the way. You’ll need to pick it up at the pharmacy in Eastsound. Let Emmy know if you need anything else. She has my cell number.” He extricated Bandit from my arms. “Thanks for grabbing Bandit before he ran off again. Monica was the only one who could ever control this little monster.”

  Bruce stepped back inside and started closing the door. I wanted to stop him, but I didn’t know how.

  Luckily, I didn’t have to. Rene did it for me.

  She shouldered her way inside. “Oh no you don’t. I’m not leaving until I get a good look at this cabin.” Her eyes grew wide. “My goodness. This place is lovely. Even better than I thought it would be.”

  Rene was right. Our cabin was charming, but in a funky, rundown, barely-better-than-a-tent sort of way. Bruce’s place was an upscale sanctuary, much like the Retreat House. Its immaculate bamboo floors were accented by bright green Gabbeh rugs. Tall slate fountains decorated the corners and sang soft, gurgling lullabies. The hallway to the right led to multiple bedrooms, including the master bedroom that Rene had unsuccessfully tried to break into. A guest bathroom and a large living room with live plants, ocean view windows, and a new-looking sofa and chair combination sat to the left. The kitchen was straight ahead.

  Rene wandered from room to room, filling the silence with mindless patter, like a desperate realtor trying to sell an overpriced condo to a pair of skeptical buyers. Bruce locked Bandit in a room at the end of the hallway, then followed haplessly behind her.

  Her first stop was the kitchen.

  The kitchen in our cabin boasted mismatched dinnerware, laminate flooring, and cheap Formica countertops. Bruce’s kitchen looked like a photo from House Beautiful. Stainless steel appliances contrasted nicely with black granite countertops, and a full set of copper-bottomed pans hung from a ceiling rack above the bamboo center island. Huge windows in the dining area provided an unobstructed view of Puget Sound.

  Rene opened the cupboards, pulled out dishes, even looked through the contents of the refrigerator—all the while offering her pretend realtor’s running commentary.

  She opened the cabinet next to the sink. “Look at these dishes, Kate.” She pointed to a rainbow assortment of ceramic dishes in bright reds, greens, yellows, and blues. She picked a plate off of the top and looked at its bottom. “These are vintage Fiestaware!”

  Bruce stared at her in shocked silence.

  She made several positive comments about the Sub-Zero refrigerator, then started opening kitchen drawers and shuffling through their contents, pretending to be interested in the vast array of serving utensils provided by the facility. “We could host a gourmet dinner party here, Kate!”

  Rene and I both knew that the only dinners I cooked were the kind you pierced with a fork and tossed in the microwave, but I didn’t contradict her.

  She abandoned the kitchen and strode purposefully down the hall. “Do you mind if I check out the bedrooms?”

  Bruce staggered after her, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “The place is a mess. Why don’t I have Emmy show you around after I check out.”

  “Nonsense.” Rene smiled sweetly. “We’re here now.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and mouthed the word “sorry” to Bruce, but I couldn’t help but smile inside. No one ever accused Rene of being shy. She walked into the master bedroom and pretended to accidentally shut the door behind her.

  Her muffled voice echoed through the wall. “Look at all of this closet space.” I heard metallic rattling. “You even have enough hangers!” Bruce put his hand on the doorknob just as Rene opened it and peeked outside. “Hotels never have enough hangers, you know. My clothes always end up a wrinkled mess.” She closed the door on Bruce’s nose.

  I heard her open a drawer and rustle around inside of it. “Are there more towels around here somewhere?” Bruce’s eyes got twice their normal size. He threw open the door.

  Rene walked through it, carrying a beige bath towel.

  “You don’t know how good you’ve got it. Our cabin is a dump compared to this. Even your towels are made of bamboo! Kate, feel this.” I reached out my hand, but my fingers barely brushed the uber-soft cloth before Rene snatched it away and thrust it at Bruce.

  “Be a sweetheart and write down the information on the tag for me. I have to get a set of these for
home.” Bruce opened his mouth to argue, but Rene didn’t give him the chance. She lifted her eyebrows and leveled a stern look at him. “You’ll need a pen and paper.” She wandered into the next room before he could reply.

  “Sorry,” I said. “It’s easiest to humor her.” Bruce’s teeth clenched, but he went off in search of a notebook, which gave Rene enough time to look through two more bedrooms. Both appeared to be unused.

  Bruce returned and handed Rene a large yellow sticky note.

  “Thanks.” She tucked the paper in her pocket without looking at it and headed toward the Bandit-incarcerating bedroom. “What’s in there?”

  Bruce’s face turned bright red. He grabbed Rene by the elbow and guided her in the opposite direction.

  “I wasn’t done yet!”

  Bruce pasted on a fake-looking smile. “There’s nothing left down there but another empty bedroom, and if you open that door, you’ll let the dog out.” He walked her back toward the cabin’s front entrance, obviously hoping she’d take the hint. “I’m glad you like the space. This and the Retreat House are the center’s showplaces. Someday all of the cabins will be like this.”

  Bruce stopped at the door, but Rene kept walking. Straight to the living room, where she took off her jacket, slipped off her shoes, and curled up on the couch. I took her cue and laid my coat next to hers. She gave Bruce a sweet smile. “I’m parched. Would you mind getting me a glass of ice water?”

  Small muscles quivered at the edge of his jaw. “Certainly. I’ll be right back.” He took two steps away then stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Wait here.”

  As soon as he turned on the water, Rene leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I didn’t find anything interesting. Check out the guest bathroom. And find some excuse to get in that back bedroom.”

  Bruce’s voice carried from the kitchen. “Emmy wants to create a vacation destination that’s heavy on amenities but light on the planet.” He returned, carrying two sweat-beaded glasses of ice water—which he handed to Rene and me—and a tumbler of eighty proof amber liquid, which he kept for himself. “She gave her mother and me the best houses—hoping to impress us, I suppose.”

  “I’m sure Emmy wants to you to be proud of her,” I said.

  Bruce shrugged. “That was part of it, but certainly not all. Emmy wants me to invest in the center. To tell you the truth, I was considering it, but I don’t know any more. I hate to disappoint Emmy, but now that Monica …” Bruce stopped speaking and stared toward the ocean.

  I started to reach for his hand but stopped, unsure how he would receive my touch. I clasped my hands together in my lap and leaned forward. “I don’t know how else to say this, so I’ll just blurt it out. I’m sorry about Monica. But I swear to you, I didn’t—”

  Bruce raised his hand as if to stop me. “Of course you didn’t. I was there. I saw how hard you tried to save her. Besides, what possible reason would you have had to hurt Monica?” He pointed toward the sound of Bandit’s scratching and whining. “That stupid dog?”

  He took a long drink. “Frankly, this all seems like some kind of crazy nightmare. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to wake up.”

  It wasn’t my most compassionate moment, but I saw an opening, and I felt compelled to take it. “Forgive me for asking, Bruce, but who did have a reason to hurt Monica?”

  He fingered the half-empty glass in his lap. “I keep asking myself that same question. Monica wasn’t exactly popular, but hate her enough to kill her?” He shook his head. “No one. It had to be some stranger.” His voice cracked. “And it was my fault.”

  “How?” Rene asked.

  “I let her go to that spa alone.” His chin quivered. “I sat here in this stupid chair, staring at the ocean, while someone choked the life out of her.”

  Rene leaned toward him, looking earnest. “You can’t blame yourself, Bruce. You couldn’t have known.”

  I didn’t join her in comforting him. Bruce seemed genuinely grief-stricken, but for all I knew it was an act. Besides, I was too busy biting back questions to ease anyone’s suffering, including my own.

  I wanted to ask Bruce about that Vicodin so bad my teeth itched, but I couldn’t. Not with Rene present. Bruce was obviously drunk. Maybe even high on drugs. He might be downright unpredictable. I couldn’t risk revealing my suspicions about him with Rene in the room.

  So I just sat there, resisting an urge to scratch my incisors.

  I searched through my list of questions hoping to find something benign, but they all seemed pretty dicey. Stolen any controlled substances lately? Did you know that your lovely deceased wife was cheating? Ever feel an irresistible impulse to strangle a naked, wet woman?

  At least I didn’t need to ask Bruce his alibi for the time of Monica’s murder; he’d already given me that information. If his story was true, Bruce had been in this cabin, sitting on that very chair.

  Ultimately, I decided to remain quiet and hope that Bruce would volunteer more information. For awhile, he didn’t say anything. When he spoke, his words seemed to come of their own volition, as if Rene and I weren’t even in the room.

  “It doesn’t seem fair, you know. Monica spent her last night sick, and I was so angry with her.”

  “Angry?”

  He glanced up. “Furious, actually. I was mortified about that scene at the restaurant. I didn’t even care that she got food poisoning. I told her she deserved it for acting like such a bitch.” His eyes turned glassy again. “Our last night together, and I acted like an ass. If I’d only known …” His voice trailed off.

  Rene unfolded her knees, leaned forward, and placed her feet solidly on the floor. “That’s odd. I wonder why no one else got sick.”

  “What do you mean?” Bruce asked. “You felt ill, too.”

  “Yes, but I had a reason. I’m pregnant, remember?”

  Bruce hesitated, as if unsure what to say next.

  “It’s okay,” Rene said. “I told Kate about the baby.” She tapped a fingernail against the edge of her glass. “You have to admit, though, it’s weird that Monica was the only person who got sick.”

  Bruce shrugged. “Not really. No one else ate the salmon. Emmy claims she put it in the refrigerator shortly after she bought it, but salmon can go bad pretty quickly.”

  “What did the medical examiner say?” I asked.

  Bruce’s jaw tightened, so subtly I almost missed it. “What do you mean?”

  “I assume that they tested Monica’s stomach contents as part of the autopsy. Did the tests show anything?”

  He frowned. “Nobody’s telling me anything. All I know is that they shipped Monica’s body to Anacortes. They won’t even tell me when I can take her home. Besides, what does it matter? Monica didn’t die from food poisoning. She was strangled.”

  “Still,” I said, thinking out loud. “It kind of makes you wonder. Maybe I should have Dale call the medical examiner.”

  Bruce sat up straight, spine rigid. “Enough of this topic. I don’t want to talk about Monica’s autopsy. It’s too upsetting.” He drained his glass and stood up. “Ladies, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m exhausted. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest.”

  Rene stood, but instead of turning to leave, she stepped up to Bruce. “I really am sorry about your wife. I didn’t know Monica well, but I’m married, too. Losing my husband would be, well …” She swallowed hard. “It would be inconceivable.”

  The moment between them seemed somehow private, so I turned to the side and averted my gaze. When I looked up again, Rene’s arms wrapped Bruce in a hug, but her face scowled at me. She gestured with her eyes toward the guest bathroom.

  I was admittedly a little slow, but I finally got it.

  “We’ll leave you to rest, Bruce, but can I use your bathroom first? I think I have a touch of the stomach flu myself.”

 
Bruce’s voice sounded resigned. “Go ahead.”

  I closed the bathroom door and glanced around the small room. I’d have to be quick, but there wasn’t much to search anyway. The room’s entire contents were a small cabinet, a glass-

  enclosed shower, and the requisite commode. The cabinet’s slate gray countertop was bare, except for a bottle of organic peppermint hand soap.

  I forced some urine from my bladder for effect and peeked behind the shower door while the toilet flushed. Nothing but more soap and shampoo. I turned on the water, washed my hands with the candy cane-scented sanitizer, and glanced up at the mirror.

  The medicine cabinet.

  It couldn’t be that easy, could it? I quietly opened the front.

  Empty.

  Only one more place to look. I opened the cabinet under the sink, where I discovered cleaning supplies, several rolls of recycled toilet paper, and an almost-full garbage can.

  Cringing, I dumped out a pile of used Kleenex, discarded dental floss, and few other items I didn’t care to identify.

  Jackpot!

  The bottom of the can contained several prescription vials, including the bottle of Vicodin with Helen’s name on it. I set it to the side and examined another: a cylindrical white bottle with a blue and white label. Digoxin.

  A knock on the door startled me. “Are you OK in there, Kate?”

  “I’m fine, Bruce. I’ll be right out!”

  I considered pocketing the bottles, but my jacket was still lying on the couch next to Rene, and there was no place to conceal much of anything in my form-fitting yoga clothes. Instead, I shoved the bottles back into the garbage can, covered them up with used tissues, and flushed the toilet a second time for good measure. I cradled my belly in my arm and tried to look nauseated when I returned.

  “That stomach flu must be going around,” I said. “Thanks again for your help last night. Rene and I will get out of your hair now.”