The Last Resort in Lost Haven

by Penny Plume

  A sharp, unexpected laugh escaped Jenna before she realized he was serious.

  “Sanctuary? Do you want to know about Neverland and Atlantis too?”

  Kavanaugh waited.

  Cabo said, “What’s Sanctuary?”

  Jenna laughed again, a bit of nerves in it this time.

  “Go ahead,” Kavanaugh said. “Tell him.”

  Jenna blinked. “Uh, well, Sanctuary is a mythical ghost town that used to be on the shores of Lake Michigan, right where Lost Haven is now. The story goes that it was built by the first families who settled here: the Gallaghers, Welbournes, Minks, and, Kavanaughs.”

  “The Kavanaughs should have been listed first,” Kavanaugh said. “But go on.”

  “The families—led by the Kavanaughs, according to the story—began clear-cutting the forests around the town to build their mansions, saloons, the marina, a casino—”

  “A church,” Kavanaugh said.

  “A brothel,” Jenna added. “And a nice big bank to hold all the money they were making from selling the rest of the lumber to all the towns and cities growing along the coast, especially Chicago.”

  “That’s a lot of lumber,” Cabo said.

  Jenna nodded. “And the families were so busy watching the lumber float away and counting the money that came back, they didn’t notice that taking all the trees away left the sand dunes free to creep toward the town. Every year the sand got closer, and one day the families had to start sweeping it off the boardwalks. Then they had to scoop it out of their doorways. Then they had to keep their windows shut so it wouldn’t pour over the sills.”

  “Wait,” Cabo said. “The whole town got buried?”

  “That’s the legend,” Jenna said. “The families moved onto houseboats and watched the town disappear under the sand. Guess what they did next.”

  Cabo shrugged.

  Jenna stared at Kavanaugh, who responded with a tiny smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “They cut down more trees,” she said, “and built Lost Haven on top of the buried town.”

  Cabo looked down at the floor. “Are we…”

  “It’s just a story,” Jenna said, “meant to add some intrigue to the town and bring in tourists. To be honest, the founding families were smart to come up with it. The residents play along—heck, if tourists are there when I’m sweeping the sand out of my shop, I’ll say something like, ‘They must be doing some cleaning down there in Sanctuary, ha ha.’ It’s all in good fun, and it’s helped keep this town alive for a long time. Even without a hideous resort.”

  Kavanaugh ignored the jab.

  “Wait a minute,” Cabo said. “On the way into town, I saw a billboard. Something about the Church of Sanctuary.”

  “‘See the last remaining proof of Buried Sanctuary,’” Jenna quoted.

  Cabo snapped his fingers. “That’s it.”

  “The Nelson farm,” Jenna said with a wry smile. “Morrie Nelson put that sign up years ago and tells every tourist he can find he has the last vestige of the Sanctuary Chapel poking out of the dune on his property. He has a hurricane fence around it and only charges five bucks to take a picture.”

  Cabo looked back and forth between Jenna and Kavanaugh. “Well why doesn’t somebody dig it up?”

  Jenna said, “He tells the tourists it’s protected by the Lost Haven Historical Preservation Society—not true, by the way—and everyone in town knows it’s actually part of a chicken coop he tore down and dumped at the base of the dune.”

  Cabo frowned. “Chicken coop?”

  “It’s fake,” Jenna said.

  “Well that’s…rude. Why doesn’t anybody here call him out?”

  Jenna shrugged. “He’s feeding his family, and the tourists love it.”

  “So this whole Sanctuary thing is a hoax to sucker tourists out of their money.”

  “Mmm,” Jenna tilted her head side-to-side. “Hoax is a little harsh. Like I said, it’s just a fun legend. It also makes the founding families seem like evil, heartless tycoons, which is actually pretty accurate.”

  Kavanaugh smiled again, and this time his whole face lit up.

  It looked like he was proud.

  Kavanaugh said, “What a great history lesson, Jenna. When my resort is finished, how’d you like to be a tour guide?”

  Jenna didn’t respond.

  “Head tour guide?” Kavanaugh said.

  “How about I start by guiding where you can stick your head?”

  Kavanaugh glared.

  Jenna glared back.

  Cabo stepped away from the wall, directly into the path. Jenna was a bit surprised he didn’t burst into flames from the intensity.

  “Knock it off, both of you,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” Kavanaugh said. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

  “You’re both being immature,” Cabo said, looking back and forth between them. “And Mr. Kavanaugh, you hired me to protect you, and I will, but if you pick a fight with a nice young lady half your size, and she takes you down, you kinda have it coming.”

  Kavanaugh was flabbergasted. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally sputtered, “I’m finding your replacement as soon as these people are out of my house.”

  Cabo shrugged. “That’s your choice. But I’m also trying to protect your reputation. Bad reputations attract bad people. Bad people do bad things, like try to kill other people, and that makes my job harder. Do you see the cause and effect here?”

  Kavanaugh examined the bodyguard, looking him over head-to-toe like he’d never seen such a thing in his life. Jenna watched it all with pure, unmasked delight.

  “You’re not from here,” Kavanaugh said. “You don’t know the first thing about my reputation or how to conduct business with these people.”

  He stepped forward and poked a finger into Cabo’s chest.

  “And if you dare try to tell me what to do again, your job will become harder than you could ever imagine. Because guess what? Your job will be scraping barnacles off of oil rigs in the Arctic Ocean.”

  Kavanaugh turned to Jenna and smoothed the front of his suit.

  “Is that everything you know about Lost Haven and Sanctuary?”

  Jenna blinked, momentarily off-balance from the rapid lane change. “Of course not.”

  “But generally speaking, that’s the snapshot of your knowledge.”

  He made it sound so pitiful.

  “I guess.”

  “I thought so. If Detective Olson is done with you, you can leave any time you like.”

  He swept past her to the door. Cabo followed, his jaw muscles working.

  In the hallway Kavanaugh turned and said, “McTavish put some food out, please help yourself. I’d stay away from the carbs though.” He shot a withering glance at Cabo. “Half my size, huh?”

  He shook his head and left.

  Jenna found Wilford, Lawrence, and Belma picking through a spread of cold cuts, cheese, and artisan rolls. Plates of olives, pickles, and warm pastry puffs ran along the bar, ending with an assortment of crackers next to a crock of Schuler’s cheese. It seemed Kavanaugh’s rule about no one being in the receiving room was over.

  Did that mean the interviews were done? The den door was closed, and Jenna didn’t see Garrett or Olson.

  McTavish smiled at her from behind the bar. “M’lady. A beverage?”

  Jenna briefly considered the hard liquors lining the back of the bar.

  Who was she kidding? One sip, a shudder, and possible gagging wasn’t going to help.

  She took a deep breath. “Water is fine, thank you.”

  Wilford offered her a cracker with bright orange cheese spread over it, and she tossed it into her mouth.

  “You survived the inquisition,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Bart and Sherri are in there now.”

  “Together?”

  “I don’t think our poor detective had a choice in the matter.”

  Around a mouth full of ham and roll, Lawrence sa
id, “They’re basically one person anyway. Joined at the hip and the brain stem.”

  Jenna glanced at McTavish, hoping he wasn’t uncomfortable with that kind of talk about a Kavanaugh. Or worse, going to report it. He’d found a non-existent water spot on the wooden bar and worked at it with a soft towel. The grimace of effort did a fine job of hiding his amusement before he slipped into the dining room and disappeared.

  Belma was wrapped in a thick white robe—with possibly nothing underneath—and left moist footprints on the wooden floor. Apparently no one had tried to drown her in the Jacuzzi. Not very hard, at least.

  She asked Lawrence, “So are they going to arrest you for that shirt or what?”

  “It’s not illegal to look this good,” he said, spraying some fresh cracker bits down onto the flamingos. “Are they going to arrest you for killing Ingrid?”

  “Nope. But I told Mr. Detective in there I’d be happy to wear his handcuffs after some dinner tonight and tell him all the dirty little secrets he wants to know.”

  Lawrence shook his head. “Please. I’m trying to eat.”

  “Wait,” Jenna said, “you’ve both been in the den? Lawrence, I knew you were going, but Belma, you too?”

  She nodded.

  “That was fast.”

  Belma shrugged. “I told them what I knew—nothing—and where I was. At the Nelson farm getting butter, just like I told you.”

  Jenna wanted to ask Lawrence what he’d said to Detective Olson and Garrett, but didn’t want to put him in a bad spot in front of the others.

  Instead, she said, “What did you guys think of the model in there?”

  “Hideous,” Wilford said. “It wouldn’t be so bad if the architecture and design were somewhat acceptable, but it looks like a prison for NASCAR fans.”

  Belma nodded. “Five bucks says it falls over during the first winter storm. That wind coming off the lake will push it right onto your house, Jenna. Flop.”

  Jenna hadn’t thought of that. She’d been too devastated at the loss of her sunsets. She pulled away from the idea of being crushed to death by a honeymoon suite and watched Lawrence out of the corner of her eye. “And how about those sketches of the shops inside? Kavanaugh’s Man Kave?”

  “Oh, the decor,” Wilford shuddered. “If the taste here is any indication, the entire Midwest will soon be sold out of antique golf equipment and photographs of cigars.”

  Lawrence turned away at the mention of the sketches to scan the cheese selection, which he’d already pilfered three times since Jenna walked in. Well, if he wasn’t going to come clean about the Bakery…

  Jenna said, “I couldn’t help noticing Bart and Sherri both had nice-looking spots drawn up for them. Barty’s Party Sports Bar and, what was it? Bikini Line Swimwear?”

  “Ha ha,” Lawrence said without turning around. And it wasn’t a laugh; he actually said ha ha. “That’s just what this town needs. Drunk sports fans with buffalo sauce on their faces running around in new bikinis and Speedos. We’re all doomed.”

  “Speaking of bikinis,” Belma said, “I should probably get dressed.”

  She headed for the stairs and caught Jenna’s eye, shot a knowing look at Lawrence’s back: See?

  Wilford wandered into the dining room to look at the framed paintings, so Jenna stepped next to Lawrence and plucked one of the artisan rolls out of the basket.

  “Bakery. That was an odd name, compared to the others.”

  “Hm? Oh, I didn’t notice.”

  “Have you had a hard time picking out a name?”

  “Whaaaaaafine.” Lawrence glanced around and lowered his voice. “Who told you?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Right. Belma’s the biggest nobody I know. Troublemaker.”

  Jenna said, “What I want to know is, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Sweetie, I’m in cahoots with the guy who’s going to demolish your Welcome Shoppe. Your bookshelves. Your reading nook. I wasn’t sure our friendship would survive it.”

  Jenna’s eyes began to sting. Before the tears arrived she wrapped a startled Lawrence in a fierce hug and mumbled into his shoulder.

  “We’ll be fine, Lawrence. Our friendship can take a lot more than that.”

  Then she shoved him away.

  “What it can’t take is you going to prison for murder. Please, please tell me you didn’t lie to the police about where you were last night to keep your resort bakery a secret.”

  Lawrence began stacking crackers, cheese, and summer sausage into an unsteady tower. “Jenna, I was here last night. Talking to Kavanaugh and the designers about what I need for the bakery. And of course the lawyers, which made me wish someone would murder me.”

  Jenna frowned. “But if you were here, why would Kavanaugh drag you through all of this? The interviews, the accusations?”

  “Because I asked him to.” He wrapped an arm around Jenna’s shoulders and pulled her in so their hips bumped. “I’m a Main Street shop owner, baby. We hang together.”

  Jenna couldn’t help smiling while Lawrence ignored his cracker tower and ate half of a pastry puff.

  He chewed a few times and said, “However, Kavanaugh is a straight-up shark. If he did have something to do with Ingrid’s death, I wouldn’t put it past him to bring me here just in case he can frame me for it. I wasn’t going to stay home and miss that.”

  He ate the rest of the pastry.

  “Or the free food and booze,” he said, shaking his head. “The man is a terrible human being, but he knows how to throw a murder investigation.”

  Jenna had just finished assembling a tidy plate of cheese, fruit, pickles, and a sandwich bigger than her face when the door to the den opened.

  Kavanaugh strode out, followed by Cabo. Jenna could see Bart and Sherri in the den, standing with Olson and Garrett near the model of The Lost Haven Resort. They were smiling, pointing things out and laughing. Like they couldn’t wait for it to be built.

  Kavanaugh stopped in the middle of the receiving room. “Everyone, you can leave now. Let me rephrase that: You should leave now. Wilford, did you hear me? Time to go.”

  Wilford shuffled into the dining room entrance. “Eh?”

  Kavanaugh told the room, “Detective Olson is continuing the investigation. I’m sure he’ll be in touch if he needs any further information. Or to arrest one or more of you. Soon, hopefully.”

  “Can I finish my lunch?” Lawrence asked. He had another sandwich and a mound of the pastry puffs, which had turned out to be more addictive than heroin.

  “Take it with you,” Kavanaugh said. “Where is Miss Winkle?”

  “Right here,” Belma said. She was at the top of the three steps, her wet hair pinned up and looking like a glazed version of the usual whipped topping.

  “Perfect, you can lead the way out.” Kavanaugh pointed toward the front of the house. “No one is moving.” He looked at Cabo. “Will you do something, please? Earn your salary.”

  Cabo’s mouth was a tight line. “This way folks. Thank you for your time.”

  He stepped to the dining room and offered Wilford an arm. Wilford patted Cabo’s shoulder and moved past him to the bar, twiddled his fingers over the rolls before plucking two out and stuffing them in the pockets of his sweater.

  He hooked Jenna’s arm as he passed and admired her plate. “Oh my. Don’t let any of that spill. Here, let me assist you with the cheese…”

  “Help yourself,” Jenna said.

  They walked up the steps together and moved as a group with Belma and Lawrence to the front door. McTavish was there. He swept the wide doors open with a small bow.

  “Your presence has been lovely,” he said.

  Belma scoffed.

  Lawrence said, “I think I might vomit.”

  Wilford told McTavish, “Come to the gallery. The dining room needs new art.”

  Jenna glanced back and saw Kavanaugh stomping up the stairs to the second level. He was in a hurry, not just to shoo everyone out of the house, but
to get somewhere.

  Had he learned something key about Ingrid’s killer?

  Was the evidence pointing at him now, and he was panicking?

  Cabo followed Kavanaugh, and before he turned up the stairway he caught Jenna’s eye. He seemed about to say something and Jenna paused, maybe to let Wilford and McTavish keep talking.

  Maybe not.

  Cabo shook his head once and went up the stairs as Kavanaugh disappeared around the corner toward the library. He was picking up speed.

  What did he know?

  6

  To everyone’s surprise, most of all Belma’s, she made Lawrence spread out in the back of her van for the short trip down the hill and into town.

  “I’m fine to drive,” Lawrence said, making a pillow out of a fifty-pound bag of flour.

  Belma shook her head. “You’re barely fine to stand still without spinning off the planet.”

  “Are you spinning too? I thought it was just me…”

  He started snoring.

  “Thanks Belma,” Jenna said. “He was going to have to ride with one of us—do you want to move him into my car?”

  “Naw, if he wakes up and starts yapping I’ll just strap him to the roof. I talked to McTavish, he said they’ll bring his car down today.” She checked the time on her dashboard: 11:30. “Stupid Kavanaugh. I open in thirty minutes and haven’t done any prep. Lost the whole morning.”

  “Do you think it was worth it?” Jenna asked. “Kavanaugh seemed like he was on to something when we walked out.”

  “Who knows?” Wilford said. “I’m not certain he cares a whisker about Ingrid’s death. He may have orchestrated this whole interview thing just to get dirt on us, more ammunition to expedite his hideous resort and the death of Main Street.”

  “That would be terrible,” Jenna said.

  “No,” Belma said, looking back at the mansion, “that would be Kavanaugh. But hey, if I squeeze any juicy tidbits out of that Detective Olson, I’ll let you guys know.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows and climbed into the van’s cockpit. Her tires squealed on the driveway as the van tilted around the circle and down the hill toward the gate.