Last Resort
By Jeff Shelby
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
LAST RESORT
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2014
cover design by Eden Crane Designs
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.
Books by Jeff Shelby
The Joe Tyler Novels
THREAD OF HOPE
THREAD OF SUSPICION
THREAD OF BETRAYAL
THREAD OF INNOCENCE
The Noah Braddock Novels
KILLER SWELL
WICKED BREAK
LIQUID SMOKE
DRIFT AWAY
The Moose River Mysteries
THE MURDER PIT
LAST RESORT
ALIBI HIGH (OCTOBER 2014)
The Deuce Winters Novels (Under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen)
STAY AT HOME DEAD
POPPED OFF
FATHERS KNOWS DEATH
Short Story Collections
OUT OF TIME
ONE
The airport shuttle careened to the left and Jake's body slid into mine.
“Really hoping I don't need to visit the E.R. before we get to the gate,” he said, wincing. One minute earlier, he'd slid the other direction, his shoulder colliding with the window.
“I know first aid,” I told him.
We were on our way to our first vacation since we'd gotten married. It was a pseudo-honeymoon—at least, that's what we were calling it. I'd entered us in a drawing at Olga Stunderson's mortuary at her urging and, after her brother's murder was solved, we found out that we'd won. It seemed like a just reward after the mess of finding a body in our basement and basically being accused of murder.
But we hadn't gone on the trip right away. Not just because it was the dead of winter and sun and warmth didn't make its way back to Minnesota until May, but because we'd spent a fair amount of money remodeling the basement and coal chute so that it could never be used as a dumping spot for dead bodies ever again. So we planned the trip for the beginning of the summer. We had a better shot of not seeing snow and I felt comfortable leaving the kids for a few days with my parents so that Jake and I could finally take a little quiet time for ourselves. We'd parked the car in a lot just outside of the airport in Minneapolis and were now fearing for our lives as our driver kicked the shuttle into high gear. He seemed determined to win a race we didn't know we were participating in.
The loudspeaker in the shuttle crackled to life. “Folks, my name's Ken and I'm your shuttle driver this morning.” He paused. “I'm a little different than other drivers you may have had.”
“Unlicensed?” Jake whispered.
“Folks, back when I was in the Marine Corps – SEMPER FI! – in San Diego, well this one morning I was trying to make my flight and my old buddy Jasper said he knew a short cut to the airport.”
I looked at Jake, my eyes wide. The way he was chatting with us made it seem like we were sitting at a bar with him, shooting the breeze. Except he was driving a massive shuttle like a crazy person and we weren't buckled in.
Ken the driver continued. “Well, turns out he didn't know squat and I ended up missing my flight in San Diego, which meant I missed out on a little R and R with this cute girl up in San Francisco I'd met a few weeks before.” His voice was inordinately loud for six in the morning. “Well, folks, on that day, I promised myself that I would make sure no one would ever miss their flight again on my watch.”
“He knew he was going to be an airport shuttle driver back then?” I whispered.
Jake nodded. “It's a calling.”
The shuttle jerked forward as Ken dropped the accelerator to the floor again and all of us jerked right along with the shuttle. I glanced at the other passengers; a man in business attire and a couple who were easily my parents age, dressed in Hawaiian shirts and bermuda shorts. They were holding on for dear life, too.
“I promise you today,” he hollered into the speaker. “No one is going to miss their flight on account of me. That makes me different than all of the other drivers you might have had in the past.”
“You don't say,” Jake whispered.
“Nothing—I repeat, nothing!—will prevent me from getting you folks to your airline on time this morning,” he shouted. “So...sit back and enjoy the ride!”
Five minutes later, the shuttle tore through the airport entrance, leaned on two wheels around a curve and skidded to a halt in front of our airline. We grabbed our bags and got out just before Ken slammed the doors closed, hit the accelerator and peeled out on his way to his next stop.
“We could've just had him drive us to the resort,” I said as we walked into the terminal.
“Probably would've beaten the plane,” Jake said.
The airport was more crowded than I'd expected for six in the morning and we got into the security line with the other travelers. I hitched my purse on my shoulder and pulled my roller bag behind me. Jake had his bag and was scrolling through messages on his phone. He'd taken the week off from work but it didn't mean he was totally checking out from the energy plant. He didn't have it in him and I wouldn't have wanted him to.
“Kids will be fine, right?” I asked as we serpentined our way through the line.
“They'll be fine,” he said automatically.
“They won't lose any of them, right?” My parents were not high on the trusted-babysitter list, even though they were staying at our house and even though we'd secretly told Emily, our fifteen year-old, that she was second-in-charge.
“If they do, let's hope it's the one we like the least.”
“Jake.”
He shoved his phone back in his pocket and put his around me and kissed my forehead. “They'll be fine. We're not even gone for a week and we can Skype them if you want to see them.”
“Like my parents will know how to use Skype.”
“Well, of course they won't know how,” Jake said. “Will can show them.”
“Good point,” I said, thinking about the thirteen year-old kid who knew more about computers than everyone else in the house put together.
We threw our bags on the conveyor belt, partially disrobed so that the TSA could see we weren't concealing knives or bombs in our underwear, and made it through the x-ray machine and scanner a few minutes later. We grabbed our stuff, slipped our shoes back on and headed to our gate, stopping to grab coffee before we found seats in the gate area while we waited.
I took the lid off my coffee and blew across the surface. “We should've just driven. It would've only been about a three hour drive.”
Jake shrugged. “So? We won a trip, which included airfare. Feels more like a vacation if we're terrorized by an airport shuttle driver and frisked by TSA.”
I nodded, sipping at the coffee. “I guess. I'm just hoping it's as amazing as it looked on the website.”
Jake took a long swallow of his coffee, grimacing as he burned his tongue. He set the cup on the empty seat next to me. “It's a lakefront resort. Five stars. All expenses paid. It's going to be awesome.”
The website had indeed looked awesome. Views of a pristine, azure lake. Photos of large, spacious rooms and an aerial view of a charming, boutique resort. Restaurants and lake beaches nearby. Access to boats and jet skis along with hiking and walking trails. All of this during the short season Minnesota calls summer. Jake had quickly figured out that summers were the best part of living in Minnesota. Warm temperatures during the day, cool temperatures at night, sunsets that went on seemingly forever. Sure, he wasn't a fan of the mosquitoes or the humidity that sometimes reared its ugly head, but he'd hailed from Texas and I'd spent years in Atlanta—summer in Minnesota was heaven on earth compared to those places.