Last Resort (Moose River Mystery #2) Read online

  THREE

  “I'll get us out of here,” I said to Jake.

  “To where?” he asked, his head back against the seat, his arms stiff against the steering wheel, like he was trying to push it away. “To where exactly?”

  We were traveling approximately three miles per hour up the gravel road, right behind Delilah in her hot pink golf cart that sparkled in the sun. She'd warned us about the speed limit on the grounds before leading us up the path, making sure we understood that speeders were not tolerated.

  “Has to be a hotel around here somewhere,” I said. “Check your phone.”

  “I don't think I should be checking my phone while traveling at this high rate of speed.”

  I pulled my phone out and frowned at the screen. “It's roaming.”

  “Because we're in the middle of nowhere,” he said. “I'll check mine when we get to wherever she's taking us.”

  We crested the tall hill and passed the dilapidated clubhouse and soon-to-be-clean pool and turned to our right onto a narrow paved road, Delilah still obeying the speed limit. Windy Vista was not a resort; it was a mobile home park and campground. Some of the homes looked like they were there permanently, having been decorated and outfitted with siding and fences and small, landscaped yards. Others looked like...mobile homes. There were several people outside, sitting in lawn chairs or playing catch with footballs or out walking, and they all smiled and waved us.

  “People seem nice,” I said, trying to find some tiny sliver of a silver lining.

  Jake nodded but didn't say anything. We passed a massive black, glittering mobile home that looked like it might've cost more than our home back in Moose River. A shirtless guy in shorts and mirrored sunglasses raised his beer at us as we crawled past.

  Delilah finally came to a stop in front of a place that didn't look like a mobile home at all. It looked more like a log cabin with its pitched roof and honey-colored wood siding. A small deck ran along the front of it, a canopy set up in the middle, and bird feeders and crystal sun catchers hung from shepherds hooks mounted on the railings. It sat on a corner lot, looking very much like an oasis in a sea of emerald green grass. Large flower beds flanked each side of the property, showcasing variegated hostas and flowering annuals, and a line of white birch trees separated the grass from the mobile home in the adjacent lot. There was a wide gravel driveway and a shiny red golf cart was parked close to the cabin.

  Delilah stepped out of her golf cart and smiled expectantly at us.

  “It's kinda cute, actually,” I said as I got out of the car.

  “It's not a resort,” Jake said, frowning. “It's a campground. You won a trip to a resort. I want our resort.”

  I wanted our resort, too, I thought, flashing back to the images we'd looked at on the computer. But I wanted a vacation more.

  Delilah swept her arm toward the log cabin. “This is it. Your accommodations for the next week.”

  “It doesn't look like a mobile home,” I said, my sandals crunching on the gravel as I made my way closer.

  “Right?” Delilah said, clearly pleased. “Harvey and I spent a year on it, building the deck and enclosing the bottom of it with the picket fence. We put on the three-season room and did all the landscaping, too.” Her smile grew wider. “Wait until you see the inside.”

  We walked up the steps to the deck and Delilah pulled open a sliding glass door and let us go first. The inside was cool, an air conditioner humming somewhere. There was a small couch and a flat screen television in the wood-paneled front room. Another set of sliding doors led into the main part of the mobile home and we found ourselves in an all-purpose room. There was a set of armchairs along the far wall and a television mounted across from it. To the right, a square wooden table and set of matching chairs were positioned close to a wall of windows that overlooked the driveway. To the left was a galley kitchen complete with full-size stove and refrigerator and a wall of wood cabinetry to house dishes and cooking ware. We walked through the kitchen and found a small bathroom and decent size bedroom at the back, along with a set of steep stairs that led to a low-ceilinged loft area. The décor resembled the outside, knotted pine walls and wood laminate floors and ceiling. If I hadn't driven through the campground and seen the outside of the mobile home, I would have sworn I was standing in the middle of a log cabin.

  “Probably not what you were expecting,” Delilah said, watching me. “If you aren't RV people, most people don't realize what you can do to the inside.”

  “I'd never know I was in an RV,” I admitted.

  Jake grunted.

  If Delilah heard him, she didn't acknowledge it. Instead she smiled and nodded. “Yep. And everything works just like it would at home. The bathroom. The kitchen. Got a grill out on the deck. If you ask me, it's a whole lot nicer than any hotel room you might find.”

  “Speaking of which,” Jake said. “Are there any hotels in the area?”

  She frowned, then shrugged. “Hotels? No. The resort on the other side of the lake is usually booked out a year in advance. You'll find a couple motels in Royalville, about twenty miles from here. Closest hotel is about forty five minutes away. It's mostly campgrounds up this way. And I'm not sure any of the hotels or motels would have vacancy in the middle of the summer.”

  “Perfect,” Jake muttered.

  Delilah's cheeks flushed and she looked away.

  “I don't mean to be rude,” Jake began. “But we were just under the impression—”

  “This is perfect,” I said, cutting him off. “We love it. Thank you.”

  Jake's eyebrows lifted. “We do?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly, narrowing my eyes. “We do.”

  Relief flooded Delilah's face. “Well, good. Most everyone here owns their campers and leases the lots from us. But Harvey and I thought it might be nice if we could have a couple places to rent out, too. So people could come and visit and maybe decide about reserving their own spot up here. Even if they didn't, they could at least get familiar with this neck of the woods. You know, for when we finally get that hotel open.” She chuckled, then looked around. “We spent a lot of time fixing this place up, but we just haven't had a lot of takers. For the free stay.”

  I walked over to her and put my arm around her. She smelled like coffee and deodorant. “We love it. Thank you.”

  Delilah seemed surprised, then gave me an awkward pat on the back. “Oh, you're welcome, sweetie. We're happy to have you.”

  I released her and Delilah cleared her throat. She pointed to a small binder on the kitchen counter. “That there has all the rules for Windy Vista. Tells you everything you need to know about the home and about the community. Plus, you'll see all of the activities listed for each day. And if there's something that you can't find in there, just give me a ring. My phone number is in there.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “We'll be fine.”

  Delilah nodded. “We're barbecuing down by the pool tonight if you're interested. You folks enjoy.”

  She excused herself, stepped out through the slider and closed the door behind her. A few seconds later, we heard a beeping noise. I peered out the window and saw her backing the golf cart out of the gravel lot.

  “My phone has service,” Jake said as soon as I looked away from the window. “I know you didn't want to be rude to her, but I can call the hotels, wherever they are...”

  I stepped toward him and put a finger on his lips. “No. I like this place.”

  “You do?” he asked incredulously. “What about the resort? The spa? The restaurants?”

  I shrugged. “We'll find food. I don't need a massage. I don't need anything fancy. This place is...cute.” I put my arms around him, threading my fingers together behind his neck. “I just need time with my husband.”

  “Really?” His expression was dubious.

  “Yes. I know how insane that sounds,” I said, winking at him. “But yes. After a couple months with a house that eats all of our money and kids who eat all of our time
, I just need a vacation with you.”

  “Are you sure, Daisy?” Jake asked. He settled his hands on my waist and held me away from him so he could look at me. “This isn't what we were expecting. At all.”

  It wasn't. But I was used to unexpected things in my life. I hadn't expected to reconnect with Jake after being absent from each others' lives for twenty years. I hadn't expected for my eldest daughter to ditch homeschooling and head to public high school. And I hadn't expected to find new friends after discovering a dead body in my coal chute. But I had. Olga Stunderson was a little zany but she was sweet and we'd formed a solid friendship after solving her brother's murder.

  So sometimes, the unexpected could bring good things. And that was how I was choosing to look at the hiccup in our accommodations for our vacation. I wouldn't focus on the fact that we'd basically been lied to, tricked into coming to a resort that didn't exist. Instead, I would concentrate on the fact that I was on vacation with my husband. A vacation we both desperately needed.

  “Come on,” I said. I took him by the hand and pulled him toward the bedroom. “You need to claim your prize. You got one, too, you know.”

  “I did?” he asked.

  I nodded and nudged him forward, on to the bed. “Yes. You get to sleep with the grand prize winner in our unexpected, deluxe accommodations.”

  FOUR

  Jake was on his back in the bed, eyes closed, snoring softly beneath the ceiling fan.

  I plopped down next to him and opened the binder Delilah had pointed out. “Sleepyhead. Wake up.”

  He forced his eyes open. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and thick with sleep. It still gave me butterflies.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  “I passed out.”

  “Of course you did.” I leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I wore you out with my sexual prowess.”

  He smiled. “Not the first time that's happened.”

  “Nor the last, if you play your cards right,” I said. I scooted closer and tapped the binder. “I thought we could look at the activities.”

  “I thought we could stay naked and nap.”

  “We're on vacation,” I reminded him. “Which means we can do activities.”

  “We're going to participate in the activities?”

  “Of course we are,” I said. “They sound fun.”

  He sighed. “Can't we just lounge around and relax?”

  “Relax is code for have sex,” I said, flipping through the pages in the binder. “And there will be some of that. If we participate in the activities.”

  “You're totally using sex as a weapon.”

  I gave him a pointed look and he laughed. “Anyway, I'm going to call the kids and then we can go do activities,” I said.

  “Why are you calling the kids? We just left.”

  “I know,” I said. “I just thought I'd call and say hi. See how their morning went.”

  “Daisy.” Jake's voice was firm. “We've been gone less than six hours. Their morning has been fine. Their afternoon will be fine.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But nothing,” he said. “If the kids need us, they'll call. This is our vacation. Our honeymoon. We're not supposed to think about them while we...do activities.”

  “I think about them all the time,” I told him.

  “Fine,” he said. “You can think about them. Just don't call them.” I glared at him and he sighed. “Fine,” he said again. “Just don't call them today.”

  “Tonight,” I said. “I'll call them tonight.” He opened his mouth to object but I cut him off, pointing at one of the pages in the binder. “This medallion hunt sounds way fun.”

  He glanced at the description, probably relieved that I'd changed the subject. “What's that?”

  It was like a scavenger hunt. The resort provided clues every couple of days and guests attempted to locate the hidden medallion. Whoever found it won a gift certificate to a local hunting store. I didn't hunt anything except Easter eggs with the kids so the gift certificate would definitely go to waste if we won, but I didn't care.

  “The contest lasts all summer,” Jake said when he finished reading. “Sounds like it's something people work on the whole summer.”

  “Well, it might take most people that long to figure out the clues but I bet we can find it while we're here.” I smiled at him. “Plus, I want to drive the golf cart.”

  “The truth comes out.” He chuckled. “Guess what? I'll let you drive the golf cart, no reason required.”

  “But you know I like having a purpose. A mission,” I told him, hopping out of bed. “So get dressed. Let's go explore and be all activity-ish.”

  He mumbled something about not liking the truth very much, but he hauled himself out of bed. I waited while he pulled on shorts and a t-shirt, then followed him out on to the deck.

  It was a little after noon and the summer sun was directly above us. A soft breeze rustled the tree leaves and the scent of pine and woodsmoke filled the air. I leaned against the deck railing and inhaled deeply, my senses alive. Everything seemed cleaner, crisper. Birds chirped in the boughs of the birch and maple trees that surrounded the camper and it was like I could hear every single one of them, hear their individual trills and whistles. I glanced around, a deep sense of contentment settling inside of me. It may not have been the resort we were expecting, but this version of Windy Vista was a very pretty place.

  “Are we going out for that drive?” Jake asked, holding up a keychain. A lone silver key dangled from a keychain shaped like a fish.

  “I thought you'd never ask.”

  The golf cart had a red roof, red hood and red leather seats. It looked brand new, like someone had just driven it off of the golf car lot. If there were golf cart lots. Jake shoved the key in the slot and unplugged the battery cord from the outlet. I turned the key, released the brake and managed to back it off the gravel and onto the road without running over anything.

  I did my best to obey the speed limit as we tooled around the resort. Each campsite was a bit different than the next. Some looked like they were occupied and cared for, with manicured lawns and landscaped fire pits, with wood-carved lawn ornaments and melodic wind chimes. Others looked almost abandoned, with shuttered windows and overgrown, dandelion and clover-filled lawns. I wondered if they were truly deserted or if the owners hadn't made it up to Windy Vista yet. After all, it was still early in the summer. But true Minnesotans knew summer didn't last long and it was foolish to not take advantage of every snowless day we had.

  “You could go a little faster,” Jake suggested, his hand latched onto the roof.

  I pointed to a small wooden sign. “The speed limit says five miles per hour.”

  “We're in a golf cart.”

  I pulled to a complete stop at the four-way stop. “We're a moving vehicle.”

  He sighed deeply.

  “What?” I turned to look at him, an innocent expression on my face. “Are you anxious to start looking for the medallion?”

  He snorted. “Ha. I'm anxious to get back to relaxing...which means you need to drive faster.”

  “We don't need to go fast,” I said. I slowed for a speed bump and eased the cart over it. Jake swayed as each set of wheels lifted up and over the raised asphalt. “Soak up your surroundings.”

  He shook his head but I saw a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Maybe he was liking the campground as much as I was and he was just too stubborn to admit it. Or maybe I was driving him slightly insane.

  We completed our tour of the outer loop of the campground and I was circling back toward our cabin when a purple soccer ball rolled into the road, followed by a tall, gangly kid in a green T-shirt and camouflage shorts. I slammed on the brakes and Jake braced himself against the dash of the cart.

  “Can't believe these things aren't equipped with air bags,” Jake muttered.

  I shot him a look.

  The kid picked up his ball and frowned at us He was about twelve, with a shaggy bowl
cut and a smorgasbord of freckles on his face. “You almost ran over my ball,” he said accusingly.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Your ball sort of bounced out in front of us.”

  “You could have broken it.” He looked at me with pure contempt and I bristled.

  “I'm sorry,” I repeated. “I'm glad I saw it and was able to stop in time.”

  The kid's scowl deepened. “Maybe you should slow down.”

  “Maybe you should hang on to your ball,” Jake said, trying to keep his tone light. But I heard the thread of annoyance at the kid's attitude.

  “Caleb!” a girl's voice yelled. “What are you doing? It's my turn!”

  Caleb scowled in her direction, then scowled again at us. He was very good at scowling.

  “I'm just saying you noobs need to slow down,” Caleb said. He looked down his nose at us. “If you'd hit my ball, you'd be in trouble. Big trouble. Dorks.”

  Jake was out of the golf cart before I could stop him. I knew his trigger-hair temper wasn't an actual threat to anyone but I also knew that he was about to give this kid a good-talking to about politeness and respect.

  “Listen, kid,” Jake said, walking toward him. “How about—”

  “Caleb!” another voice yelled, a man's this time. “Get your butt over here before your sister melts down completely.”

  I turned toward the voice. It was the shirtless guy we'd seen when we'd followed Delilah up to the cabin earlier. He had on the same shorts and the same mirrored sunglasses, but a shirt covered his beer belly this team. It was black with white writing that said “I'm The Boss!” He had a can of beer in his hand, but I assumed that it was a new can and not the one he'd been holding earlier.

  Caleb threw one more dirty look in our direction before jogging toward the glittering black motor home.

  “Sorry about that,” the man said, striding out into the road. He adjusted his sunglasses. “My girl can kick that ball a mile and Caleb is probably the worst goalie on the planet. Kid has butter fingers.” He offered his own hand to Jake. “Wayne Hackerman.”