The Last Resort (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Read Online Free Page B

want to hang this one on you.”
    This was not what Craig needed to hear, true or untrue. Ruth and I sat up to object in unison.
    “Terry—” she began.
    “Craig—” I said.
    “So how are you all getting along?” asked a voice from above us. Fran had returned to our table with a friendly smile and a tray of condiments.
    The startled silence lasted only a few seconds.
    “Have a seat,” offered Terry expansively. Fran sat down, still smiling. “I was just filling Craig in on what he can expect from the local Gestapo.”
    “I don’t think—” I began.
    “That’s okay,” said Craig softly. His face was still white. A muscle was twitching underneath his cheekbone. “I want to know the worst.”
    “Listen, man,” said Terry. He certainly wasn’t quoting Shakespeare now. “I read this story in Mother Jones about this guy they coerced a confession from. They kept him up for twenty-four hours, fed him phony information, played with this mind and convinced him he had killed a woman in an alcoholic blackout—and he wasn’t even drinking at the time. If his family hadn’t had the bucks, he would be on death row now, but they hired some attorneys who got the confession suppressed.”
    “That isn’t the situation here,” objected Ruth. “Chief Orlandi isn’t like that. He’s a fair and decent man.” That was good to hear.
    “All cops are potentially corrupt. It’s built into the system. Orlandi and his friends are gone for the moment but they’ll be back. Just wait till the local powers-that-be in Delores start pressuring Orlandi to solve this thing. He’ll do anything to solve it, including manufacturing a murderer. Start leaning on Craig. Start leaning on witnesses. Just think of the pressure he can put on Fran here. Threaten to shut down her operation for all sorts of code violations—”
    An explosion of sobs interrupted his monologue. For a moment I thought Craig had finally broken down completely. But the source of the sobs was Fran, not Craig. Craig just looked white and stunned. Fran had buried her head in her hands as her whole body convulsed with the impact of her loud weeping.
    “Terry, stop it!” ordered Ruth.
    Terry complied instantly, snapping his mouth shut in surprise.
    Ruth rose from her chair and bent over Fran to give her an all-healing hug. Fran continued to weep, bursting into fragmented wailing phrases with every other sob. “Oh God…So afraid…Bradley says.”
    The rest of us sat uncomfortably transfixed while Fran cried herself out. Gradually, her sobbing and wailing tapered off. Ruth stepped back, and Fran’s soft face emerged pink and puffy, her delicate eyes nearly swollen shut.
    “Sorry,” she breathed.
    “No, I’m sorry,” said Terry, eager to redeem himself. “I didn’t think. I just thought that some information—”
    “You’re forgiven, Terry,” said Ruth sharply. “Why don’t you quit while you’re ahead?”
    I began to laugh, comic relief pushing the tension from my head. Fran and Craig joined in. Terry even managed a weak smile. And Ruth beamed at us as if we were students who had learned the lesson correctly. Once the laughter was over, there seemed little left to say.
    Fran reached into her pocket and pulled out a key. “Kate, why don’t you get settled in your room? It’s all made up for you.”
    As I thanked her for the key I was assailed with a physical pang of longing for the privacy of my own room. Away from involuntary hugs, uncontrollable laughter, sobbing, police horror stories and the company of possible murderers. Because there was a good chance that someone I had met here had murdered Suzanne. Or someone I had yet to meet.
    I got up to leave and waved a quick goodbye, nice-to-have-met you, to the assembled group before heading gratefully to the glass doors.
    “Wait,” called Craig as I pushed a door open. “Your suitcase is still in the car.”
    I turned my head to look at him as the rest of me continued its forward progress. And