by Neil Plakcy
The big golden was very agitated, but I didn’t want to take him away from the clinic in case there was something I could do. I was down on one knee petting him when I looked up and caught sight of Eduardo de la Fe a few feet ahead of me.
The bastard. He was waiting there until Tiffany burned. I wasn’t going to let him get away with it, though.
Rochester strained forward as de la Fe began to hurry away. And then I realized my big dog had slipped his leash and taken off toward the burning building.
33 – Hardy Boys Forever
“Rochester! Stop!” I cried, as he raced toward the clinic. I was worried he was going to jump in through the broken window and go after Rick and Tiffany.
He kept going past the building, and I realized he was after Eduardo de la Fe instead. I hurried after him, but de la Fe had a big head start, and Rochester had four legs to my two, so I was trailing far behind.
As I passed the clinic, the fire truck roared up and a couple of firemen jumped out. “It’s that building,” I said, stopping and pointing to the clinic. “Two people are inside.”
When I looked ahead again, I saw that Rochester had caught up to de la Fe. As I watched, he launched himself at the man. The two of them went down, with Rochester on top of him. I ran as fast as I could to catch up, and by the time I got there, Rochester was sitting on de la Fe’s back, the man immobilized beneath him.
“Good boy, Rochester,” I said.
“Get your dog off me,” de la Fe said, panting heavily. He tried to push Rochester off but my dog was too big.
“Not til the cops show up,” I said. “I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you about setting the clinic on fire while Tiffany was inside.”
“You’re crazy,” he said. “I’m going to sue your ass.”
I looked behind me and saw an EMT pushing a gurney out the front door of the clinic. Most of Tiffany’s body was covered with a white blanket, but her head was visible, and she was holding Rick’s hand.
I waved to Rick but he was focused on Tiffany and didn’t see me.
“I’m serious, hombre,” de la Fe said, as he struggled to get out from under Rochester’s bulk. “You’ll be sorry you messed with me.”
“Yeah, like Doug Guilfoyle,” I said. “And Maria Jose Rodriguez.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“But the cops do,” I said. “You left one of your jump drives by the canal where you pushed Doug into the water.”
I kept waving my arms like a lunatic and finally I caught Rick’s attention as the EMTs were sliding Tiffany into the ambulance. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then began hurrying toward me.”
As Rick hurried up behind me, de la Fe said, “I didn’t push him. We were arguing and he stumbled and fell. Not my fault the jerk couldn’t swim.”
“Eduardo de la Fe,” Rick said. “You have the right to remain silent.” He leaned down and cuffed de la Fe’s wrists as he continued to read his Miranda rights.
“I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything,” de la Fe insisted, as I called Rochester off. “I was just walking by my place of business when all of a sudden this guy’s dog attacked me. You should be arresting him, not me.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t hit my ex-wife over the head and then leave her to die in a burning building,” Rick said. “Come on, stand up.”
I squatted on the pavement, scratching Rochester under his ears, as de la Fe stood up, still arguing.
“I have to know,” I said, when I stood up to face him. “So I can tell his children. Why did you kill Doug?”
De la Fe snarled. “That hijo de puta,” he snarled. “He was a weasel, that one. He kept pressing me for details of how the clinic operated, of how much money it generated. Then he kept telling me how much money I could make if I invested with his funds.”
It all came together, and I understood his motive. “Doug realized you couldn’t be making as much money legally as you said you were,” I said. “Did he figure out the insurance scams you were running?”
“Scam! His company was the biggest scam of all. I wanted my money back and he kept making excuses. I was sure he reported my clinic to the FBI to get me to back off. He denied it but then he went into the water before I could press him any further.”
Behind him, I saw a couple of uniformed officers approaching us. “Then you figured out it was Maria Jose,” I said. “She had all that information on her jump drive, but then she lost it.”
“I want my lawyer,” de la Fe said. “I’m not saying anything more until I can speak to him.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I already know the whole story. You tracked down Maria Jose, but she told you she’d lost the jump drive with all the information on it. What did you do to her? Kill her, too?”
“I want my lawyer.”
“Steve, that’s enough,” Rick said.
I wouldn’t be stopped, though. “You made a strange post on Facebook pretending you were her. Then you realized that Tiffany had the drive, and you lured her here. But she had already given me the contents of the drive, and I passed them on to the FBI. You’re done, hombre,” I said, putting emphasis on that last word. “You’re going to jail.”
The officers walked up. “Thanks for the use of the cuffs,” Rick said to one of them. “You can take this guy away now. I read him his rights, and he’s already placed himself at the scene of a murder in my jurisdiction. The woman who went to the hospital, Tiffany Lopez, will give you a statement confirming that he lured her here, knocked her out, and then left her to burn.”
De la Fe continued to argue with the cops as they led him away. Rochester looked at me as if I’d forgotten he was there, and I got down on one knee and kissed his golden head.
“I suppose you want me to say you were right all along,” Rick said, as he watched them go. “That Guilfoyle’s death was a murder.”
“All I care about is that de la Fe goes to jail, and Catherine gets the insurance payout.”
I watched as the cops put de la Fe in the back of a squad car. There would be justice for Doug, and his family would know that he hadn’t committed suicide, that he had died in the pursuit of justice.
It would be small consolation to them, of course.
The air was heavy with smoke, the flashing lights of the fire truck and police cars, the sound of car horns stuck in traffic.
“We should go,” Rick said. “The local cops have my information, and they can call me when I need to give a deposition.”
“What about Tiffany? You don’t want to go to the hospital?”
“I called Alex Vargas, and he’s on his way there. Let her be someone else’s problem for a while. You want to stop by Catherine’s and give her the news?”
“I think it’s right that we do it together,” I said. I stuck my fist out to him, and he bumped his against it. “Hardy Boys forever.”
He shook his head, but he smiled. “Hardy Boys forever.”
Rochester woofed his agreement.
34 – Connections
The day of Ethan Guilfoyle’s graduation from Pennsbury High dawned hot and sunny, and I was glad we hadn’t been invited to the June ceremony, only to the party afterward. I still remembered my own graduation, marching in a sea of black gowns from the high school out to the football stadium, the long speeches under the beating sun, the chaos afterward as I found my parents.
By the time Lili, Rochester and I arrived at Catherine’s house, it had cooled down a few degrees, but I was glad to get into the air conditioning. I let Rochester off his leash and he romped ahead, looking for Rascal and Pixie.
The room was crowded but I spotted Tamsen with her sister Hannah and Hannah’s husband Eric. Through the glass doors I saw Justin and Nathaniel outside with the dogs.
Catherine had decorated the living room with paper decals of caps and gowns and strung a big banner that read “Congratulations Ethan.” I didn’t see the guest of honor, but Madison was off in a corner with a couple of girls her o
wn age.
Rick walked out from the kitchen and handed me a beer, and we clinked our bottles together. “I heard yesterday that Eduardo de la Fe has pled guilty to eighteen counts of insurance fraud,” he said.
“What about the other charges? Doug and Maria Jose?”
Acting on the information Tiffany and I provided, the police had gone to Maria Jose Rodriguez’s apartment the night of the fire at the clinic. Her dead body was in the living room. The crime scene team had found forensic evidence that implicated Eduardo de la Fe.
Rick supplied them with all the information he had collected about Doug Guilfoyle’s murder, and Doug’s neighbor, Marissa, was able to identify de la Fe from a lineup as the man who had come to Doug’s apartment. Phone records showed he had called Doug’s cell the night Doug died.
I went up to Union City and gave a deposition, and I handed over the jump drive Rochester had found with its pictures of de la Fe’s kids, as well as the information Maria Jose had collected.
“Still under investigation. He’s trying to negotiate a plea deal, implicating other guys in the insurance scam in order to get his charges reduced.”
Based on what he heard de la Fe say about Doug’s death, Rick had changed his disposition of the case from suicide to accidental death. He doubted he would be able to get de la Fe to cop to murder, and he wanted to do something quickly that would force the insurance company to pay Catherine what was owed for Doug’s death.
It took another couple of weeks before the FBI was able to shut down Beauceron, based on the evidence Doug and Steve compiled. Shawn Brumberger had posted bail, but I was optimistic that he’d serve time for his crimes as well.
As for Tiffany, she’d moved in with Alex Vargas and it looked like they were good for each other. He’d hired her to run the office at the car wash, and she’d stopped calling Rick. We’d see how long that would last.
Rick stretched and cracked his back. “You’d think I’d learn,” he said. “After Justin figure out the fast ball he wanted me to teach him the change up, and stupid me, I went along with him. Playing hell with my back. I’m too old for this.”
I left him reclining in a chair and walked over to Catherine. “How are you holding up?” I asked her.
“It’s tough,” she said. “For a while I was really scraping for money, waiting for the insurance company to pay out, but that was good, in a way.”
“How so?”
“It made me realize that I can’t sit around. I need to feel productive again, especially now that Ethan’s going off to college in the fall. I was at Maddie’s play a couple of weeks ago and I started talking to one of the other moms. She works for this non-profit that encourages social responsibility in kids, and she asked if I’d be willing to do some writing for them.”
“That’s awesome,” I said.
She nodded. “It’s not much money, but I get to interview kids and parents who are doing things to help others, and then write up their stories. It’s very inspiring.”
“Who will hold the copyright for what you write?” I asked.
“I do. I’m just granting them web publishing rights.”
“Then maybe there’ll be a book in this, after you’ve gotten enough columns done,” I said. “Jimmy should be able to help you with the publishing stuff.”
“That’s a great idea,” she said. “I want to do something in memory of Doug, to celebrate the way he was trying to act honestly, and show Ethan and Maddie that I don’t hate him or anything. I could dedicate the book to him.”
“Well, don’t jump ahead of yourself,” I said. “But that’s a great goal.”
I stood around talking to different people, until I saw Ethan come downstairs, wearing his father’s Eastern sweater. I walked up to him. “Congratulations on finishing high school,” I said. “I like your sweater.”
“It makes me think of my dad,” he said. “Did my mom tell you? I was on the wait list for Eastern, but I got accepted last week.”
“Wow. Double congrats, then.”
“Yeah, my mom thinks it’s a good idea for me to stay close to home, and she and my dad got good educations there.” He looked down and toed the floor. “My mom said you helped figure out who killed my dad,” he said.
“I did. I wanted you and Maddie to know that he didn’t commit suicide, and that he died trying to do what was right.”
“Thank you. I was bummed worrying that it was because of what I’d said to him.”
“If you want to meet up on campus and hang out sometime, just let me know,” I said. “I can show you the places your dad and I ran around together, back in the day. I can’t take his place, but I want you to know that I’ll always feel connected to you and Maddie because I knew him.”
“Thanks,” Ethan said. He shook my hand, and I was impressed at how much growing up he’d gone through in the past couple of months. He stood up straight and spoke well. He was a kid his father would be proud of.
One of the kids opened the sliding door to come inside, and Rochester rushed in between his legs, hurrying up to Ethan. He went up his hind legs and put his front paws on Ethan’s waist. “Rochester wants you to know he’ll be around too,” I said.
Ethan laughed. My big happy golden woofed once, then ran off to play with Rascal and Pixie. I watched him go, once more so happy that he was in my life.
If you’ve enjoyed this book, I hope you’ll check out the next in the series, Dog is in the Details. In this eighth of the golden retriever mysteries, Steve explores a part of his background I hadn't looked at yet—growing up Jewish in the Trenton suburbs. Since he has a lot in common with me (except for the whole divorce and imprisonment thing) it seemed logical that he'd share this part of my own heritage.
Years ago, I took my first golden, Samwise, to a blessing of the animals at our synagogue here in South Florida, and that seemed like a good place to start a new story, one that would lead Steve to explore his roots. A young man suffering from mental illness disrupts the blessing of the animals at the synagogue he attends, a congregation where he grew up and celebrated his bar mitzvah. This starts Steve and Rochester on their newest investigation, one that will take Steve back into the past of his family, his congregation, and the Jewish population of the city where he was born.
As Steve teaches a class in Jewish American literature, he and Rochester nose out suspects and dig up clues to present-day crimes-and ones in the past which still influence the living. From the rabbi's Talmud study group to a homeless shelter in Trenton, our two intrepid sleuths are on the trail of someone with deep secrets, and the will to kill to protect them.
Dog is in the Details
1 – Handsome Boy
The field beside the synagogue, used for overflow High Holy Day parking, was filled with enough dogs, cats, hamsters and other animals to populate an ark. My golden retriever Rochester strained at his leash to go play and I struggled to hold him back.
“I had no idea there would be so many people and dogs here,” I said to Lili.
“They all want their pets to be blessed.” She reached down and scratched behind the golden’s ears. “You want your blessing, don’t you, boy?”
As Rochester woofed in agreement, I looked at Dr. Liliana Weinstock, chair of the Fine Arts department at Eastern College, where I worked as well, and marveled that she had chosen to share her life with me and Rochester. She was a beautiful woman in her mid-forties, three years older than I was, and nearly as tall as my six feet, with luxuriant auburn curls and a Cupid’s bow mouth, one I was lucky to be able to kiss regularly.
A few days before, I’d gone to Shomrei Torah’s website to check the times for the upcoming High Holy Day services. Sandwiched between the listings of bar and bat mitzvahs and information on the rabbi’s Talmud study group I spotted an announcement that the temple was sponsoring a blessing of the animals that Sunday, and decided to take Rochester. Since he had a tendency to get into trouble, digging up clues that led to bringing criminals to justice, I figured we could
use all the blessings available.
When I was growing up in Stewart’s Crossing, Pennsylvania, there were few Jews in our neighborhood and no synagogues on our side of the Delaware River, just Catholic, Methodist and Presbyterian churches. So we had to travel into Trenton to worship.
Back then, our Reform congregation, Shomrei Torah, Guardians of the Torah, had been housed in a beautiful nineteenth-century stone building in central Trenton. Long after I’d had my bar mitzvah there, been confirmed and graduated from Hebrew High School, the congregation sold the building and moved out to this new temple on the Pennsylvania side of the river, in what had once been farmland alongside I-95, just a mile inland from the Scudder Falls bridge, and technically within the borough limits of Stewart’s Crossing.
I had been to services there a couple of times before, on the Yahrzeit, or anniversary of the death, of my parents. The sanctuary was modern and lovely, with big glass windows that looked out on the nature preserve behind the building, but it wasn’t the temple I’d grown up with and so I still felt like a relative stranger.
Lili, Rochester and I threaded our way toward the center of the field, where the rabbi stood with a beautiful female golden retriever by his side, past little girls cuddling hamsters, a woman with a Yorkie peeking out of a shoulder bag, families with cats in carriers and mixed-breed dogs on leashes.
Rochester whimpered and tugged, and I assumed it was because he wanted to play with Rabbi Goldberg’s golden. The rabbi was in his late thirties, about a decade younger than I was, and he had a modern, welcoming demeanor, which I’d experienced those times I’d attended his services. That Sunday morning, he wore jeans and a polo shirt, with a white yarmulke and white sash around his shoulders.
Before we could reach him and his dog, though, a tall, broad-shouldered man standing beside him picked up a microphone attached to a portable amplifier and said, “Shalom, and welcome to Shomrei Torah on this beautiful September morning.”