Win calls up to the figure, “Try not to move. We’ll figure out a way to get you down.”
Juliana looks around the terrace. “What can we grab as a canopy to catch him if falls—“
Crack! A large branch completely breaks off the tree, and as it falls it drags the rag-doll figure with it. The man cries out repeatedly during his final plummet through the rest of the tree limbs. The huge branch hits the ground first with its smaller jagged limbs poking upward like a strip of spears. The guy howls in pain as he lands on top of the branch, his leg impaled all the way through by a dagger-sharp limb.
Frank speaks with the 9-1-1 operator as Win rushes over to help the man.
“You can’t move him,” I caution our host. “He’ll bleed out.”
Jamie comes onto the terrace. “What happened?”
At the sound of Jamie’s voice, the man’s eyes blink open and look in his direction. His gaze freezes on Jamie, who looks back. The old man sneers in a whisper, “The book,” and his head collapses back to the ground.
Jamie’s face shows surprise, but no sign of recognition. “Who is he?” he mutters.
I move closer. Behind me, Marilyn nervously urges the other dinner guests to hang back to give the emergency medical technicians space once they arrive.
Win kneels down next to the man in black and listens to his ragged breathing. “It’ll be easier to breathe without this over your mouth and nose.” Our host carefully pulls up the black mask to reveal the grizzled old man’s whiskered face. His thinning gray hair pokes out in different directions, giving him a wild look.
Win jerks back slightly, surprised. Was that recognition on his face, I wonder. Whatever it is, the moment is fleeting, interrupted by the man’s continued moaning. His fluttering, panicked eyes look around. In between rattling breaths, he gasps again, “The book.”
“What book?” Win’s spine straightens, and he looks at the black mask on the ground as if putting two and two together. “What are you talking about?” The old guy appears to be unconscious, so Win shakes his shoulder gently.
The man’s eyes snap open and wildly glance around. His breathing is growing even more labored. His eyes settle on Win, and his expression hardens with a bitter half-smile.
“I always said…if it was the last thing…I ever did…” he whispers, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply with one more hard rattle from his throat. Then he stops breathing.
Win feels for a pulse at the man’s wrist, then checks the carotid artery in his neck. He shakes his head to confirm, “No pulse.” He immediately begins CPR with quick chest compressions, causing the guests on the terrace to gasp.
“Oh, no. That poor man,” Marilyn says anxiously as she grabs Juliana’s arm to steady herself. Juliana appears somewhat frozen, her eyes startled. Somewhere, on or near the edge of the property, there’s barking.
I look up at the tree and roof. “That was quite a fall from up there. Did you hear that loud noise, maybe a gunshot?” I say to my brother as I kneel next to Win, who continues the chest compressions.
“I don’t know.” Frank kneels down on the other side and says to Win, “I’ll take over. You go handle the rescue squad and police when they get here.” Frank maintains the chest compressions. There is more barking off in the distance, along with canine whining this time.
“Why did this man choose our house for a home invasion?” Marilyn asks in a rapid-fire, shaky voice. “What did he want? Does he have a weapon?”
Win focuses on a bulge in one of the man’s vest pockets below the chest compressions. He reaches toward the pocket, but I stop him.
“If this was a robbery, the police will want to investigate,” I caution Win. “Maybe you should wait—”
“If this was a robbery, then I want to know what’s in his pockets,” Win snaps.
“Do you have a handkerchief?” I ask. “The police won’t want extra fingerprints on anything connected with this man. It would confuse the scene.”
Frank continues CPR. “The response time around here can’t be quick…you’re so far from the station.” Win nods in agreement. Again, I hear the distressed barking. I don’t think the Watsons have a dog.
Win takes a linen handkerchief from his pocket and shakes it loose. Carefully reaching into the man’s lower vest pocket, he pulls out a lavish diamond choker.
Shocked, Marilyn asks, “Isn’t that my necklace?”
“Certainly looks like it. It appears this man was robbing us.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “How did he get in? I never heard him enter the house.”
“Look at that wet area on his abdomen,” I say. “It’s hard to tell on his black clothing, but is that blood?”
Win leans in and dabs the corner of his handkerchief on the wet part of the man’s clothing. He holds it up to examine the red stain. “Maybe a branch impaled him on the way down.”
“How about a gunshot wound?” I repeat. “Remember the loud noise that sounded like a gun?”
“Who is he?” Juliana asks.
“I don’t know,” Marilyn answers. “I’ve never seen him before.” Her tone is now steely and flat, and I find it odd.
The sirens sound closer. In a low voice, I tell Frank and Win, “Stay with him until the police get here, so that there are witnesses who can say the body has not been left unattended.”
I walk over to Marilyn and Juliana and quietly ask, “Can you get everyone into the library for more coffee? Don’t let anybody leave—both guests and the caterers. The police will want to speak with everyone.”
I walk away from the terrace as our hostess rounds up the onlookers with a shaky but friendly, “More coffee anyone? Let’s head inside and wait for the police.” There’s more of that unhappy barking some ways from the house.
“Ronnie, wait.” Juliana comes after me. “Where are you going?”
“That dog. I want to check it out.”
“Maybe I should come with you. Or better yet, why not call Will?” Juliana looks worried and nods in the direction of the robber. “What if he wasn’t alone? What if he was working with an accomplice, who’s still out there?”
“I’ll be fine.” I smile, genuinely appreciating that my sister-in-law is concerned for my safety. “Be right back.” I hold up my phone. “I have my cell, and nothing’s going to happen to me. I’ll call Will. Promise.”
Chapter Four
Guided by discreetly placed exterior spotlights, I quickly make my way around the house. As I head toward the parked cars, I look for any sign of where the thief might have approached the house to break in.
Once at my Mustang, I dig out a large flashlight and a walking stick that looks like a ski pole, in case the barking dog is aggressive. I switch from guest to sleuth-mode and head outside the walls of the mansion. The police sirens are much closer now. The mystery dog barks again, and I walk more quickly.
Along the way, I speed dial my good friend, Will Benson, a former cop turned private eye. He’s also a fellow black belt at the dojo where I practice Aikido. He doesn’t pick up, so I leave a message.
“Hi. There’s been a break-in at Win and Marilyn Watson’s place on Dutchman’s Road. And it looks like the burglar fell from the roof, or he was shot, and he’s dead, I’m pretty sure. Nothing like this ever happens out here—whoops.” I trip on a small stump but catch myself to regain my footing. “We’re waiting for the police to arrive, so in the meantime there’s a mysterious barking close by, and I’m checking it out. Catch you later.”
Carefully picking my way along the path, I sweep the flashlight beam back and forth from fence to path to brush, looking for a dog or any sign of where the robber entered through the fencing.
Then I hear a whining sound up ahead—it’s got to be a dog, or some other small animal. I hurry along the path until maybe thirty yards later I finally see the creature in the beam of my flashlight.
A small Jack Russell Terrier waits in a sit-position next to a small pack, but that changes to lots of jumping when it sees me. Th
e whining also switches to barking. “Quiet.” I put a finger to my lips as I approach. “Shhh! Sit.” As the dog half-sits, I can see it’s a female.
“Hey, little one.” I keep my voice soft as I slowly draw near the animal. The dog stares up at me with dark eyes, her tail wagging enthusiastically like a windshield wiper on the ground.
I kneel down and reach the top of my hand out for her to sniff, which she does eagerly. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
The leash attached to her collar loops around a lower branch on a bush. “This is odd.” Using my flashlight, I read the tag attached to the collar around the terrier’s neck. “Peach.” The dog barks once. “Okay, Peach it is.” I scratch her head and she nuzzles my hand.
Looking around, I shine my light on a nearby bush. A classic Barbour jacket and fedora hang from two of the limbs, and a pair of soft leather moccasins is propped on a lower branch. I quickly snap a few pictures with my phone.
My light shifts to the brand name on the insole of the shoe. “Hmm…expensive.” I glance up at the jacket and hat. “These are, too.”
I reach for one of the moccasins, and the terrier lunges for it and grabs it from my hand, even though she’s restrained by the leash.
“Whoa, Peach.” I take the other moccasin, hold it up, and say in a firm voice, “No. Now, sit.”
Instead of minding me, she growls and maintains her grip on the shoe, bouncing around me as far as her leash will allow. She finally approaches, drops the moccasin, and nuzzles her head against my arm for attention, and I rub it. “Hey, Peachie.”
Standing up, I speed dial Frank’s cell. “The police will want to see all of this.”
As I wait for Frank to pick up, Peachie growls and dances around nervously. “What is it, girl? Another animal out there making you jumpy?” My brother’s cell continues to ring. “Come on, Frank, pick up.”
Sticks snap on the path behind me, and Peach’s growling turns aggressive. It quickly escalates to loud barking and snarling.
“Will, Frank, is that you? I’m trying to call—”
I don’t even completely turn toward the direction of the sound when something hard and heavy crashes down on me, and my world goes black.
~~~~~
“Ronnie, Ronnie, wake up!” The voice is far away and hard to hear because of the yapping, noisy barking. Someone shakes me gently by the shoulders.
“Come on. Wake up!” It’s my brother’s voice. I open my eyes and turn to look at him. My head hurts and I try to sit up but Frank, who is crouched next to me, holds me down.
“Take it easy for a moment, sis. We found you unconscious.” A police officer stands on my other side, watching Frank and me.
The Jack Russell terrier, still tied to the bush nearby, prances, growls, and barks ferociously at a cell phone on the ground close to the policeman.
“Officer, can you please grab that phone?” Frank asks while pulling the noisy terrier by the leash away from the mobile device. “That could be my sister’s. It would explain the barking that I heard when I answered mine back at the house.”
Using a glove, the man grabs the phone right before the ferocious little dog lunges at him, trying to bite. Frank holds the terrier back. “Quiet down,” he orders Peach, who ignores him.
The officer looks at the screen on the phone and asks over the canine racket, “A call to Frank Rutherfurd?”
My brother nods. “From my sister. It’s hers.”
The man reaches my phone down to me as Frank helps me slowly sit up. “Sis, this is Officer Philman.”
“Glad you’re here,” I say, almost yelling over the noisy dog. I look at her. “Shhh! Quiet.” I command, my head pounding even more. “Sit.” Miraculously, she finally does both.
“We found you unconscious here just moments ago,” the policeman says. “We heard this dog barking when we were at the house. And your open phone line with your brother had the same barking in the background, so that led us to you.” He keeps plenty of space between himself and the Jack Russell. “Maybe you hit your head on the way down?”
“It’s possible.” I rub my temples.
Philman nods, walks a few steps down the path, and clicks his walkie-talkie. While he requests a medic, Frank asks, keeping his voice low, “What happened?”
The dog, now calm, nestles in right next to me. “Hey, Peach.”
“How do you know this dog’s name?” Frank asks. The dog growls again.
“Quiet, Peach.” I rub her head and hook my finger through her collar. “It’s on her tag.”
Both my brother and the officer stare at me, then look at each other. Frank asks, “So how’d you end up out here?”
“Right after that man fell from the tree at the house, I heard a faint barking off in the distance, so I decided to check the outside perimeter. It was just a guess, and I don’t have Warrior with me. Warrior could have found this sweet girl in seconds—”
“Who’s Warrior?” Philman asks.
“Her German shepherd,” Frank answers.
“Not just any German shepherd,” I emphasize. “He’s a war dog—”
Frank interrupts, “So you’re checking the perimeter, and what happened next?”
“Okay. I heard this whining sound, and that led me to Peach here, who could be waiting for her master, that dead guy who won’t ever come back to her, poor little thing,” I ramble, unable to organize my thoughts through the fog of being attacked. “Or maybe someone just didn’t want her anymore—”
“Ronnie!”
“Okay.” I gesture toward the bush, trying to piece it together. “So I saw the hat, the jacket, and those moccasins. This guy’s got expensive taste. Frank, even you won’t spend this much on a pair of shoes.”
“Mrs. Lake, how did you fall and knock yourself out?” the policeman asks.
“Did you trip while you were calling me and hit your head on a rock or something?” Frank asks.
“Hold it, both of you.” I cautiously touch the bump on the back of my head. “It’s coming back to me. I didn’t trip. Someone hit me over the head.”
“Are you sure?” Philman asks. “Did you get a look at him?”
“No. Frank, I was calling you to bring the police when I heard something behind me. Peach was growling up a storm, so I turned to look. I saw a quick flash of someone before everything went black. I guess that’s when he clobbered me.” I feel the back of my head. “I’ve got the bump to prove it. Feel here.” I guide my brother’s hand to my bump. “Ouch!”
“Mrs. Lake, are you feeling well enough to walk back to the house with your brother’s assistance?” Philman asks. “The other officers are busy with the body.”
“I’m fine.” I crouch next to Peach and free the leash from the bush. “We’ll take her with us.”
“I don’t know, ma’am—”
“If we leave without Peach, it will stress her to be left behind, and she’ll trample the scene and make it more difficult to—”
“Okay, okay,” he answers, a touch of annoyance in his voice. “Mr. Rutherfurd, would you please escort your sister back to the house while I stay to secure the scene?”
“Will do,” Frank says. “Come on, Ronnie. Can you manage that dog, or should I carry her?” My brother extends his arms.
Peach barks aggressively at Frank and then looks at me with big, sad eyes, as if she knows something has gone very wrong.
“I’ve got her.” I scoop her up and stand up with Frank’s help. I retrieve my walking stick and give it to Frank. Shining my light on the path, we leave Officer Philman to do his work.
We pick our way carefully along the trail, taking the shortest way back to the house. As Frank and I walk up the drive, we wave at a few of the other dinner guests leaving, who look curiously at the dog now walking on her leash beside me.
We circle around the mansion, and Peach’s barking and growling start up again the closer we get to the back terrace. Juliana and Marilyn spot us as we approach.
“T
here you are, you two,” Marilyn says. “And who is this little guy, Ronnie?” Peach repeatedly tries to jump on Marilyn, while I attempt to control her with the leash.
“We think she belongs to…” I nod my head toward the body on the ground, now surrounded by police and the rescue squad. Peach’s loud yapping does nothing for my pounding head. I crouch down and fold my hand around the terrier’s snout to keep her mouth closed, look her in the eye, and command, “Quiet.” She looks toward the body and whines, now circling me in worried nervousness.
A strong, good-looking, forty-something man—not in uniform—stands off to the side, speaking with Win and a woman in jeans and a jacket. It’s my friend, Will, and we wave to each other. The woman glances my way and turns back to Will, who says something. I overhear her say, “Just keep her out of our way.”
Will and Win walk away from the group, still talking. The woman eyes me suspiciously as I pick up the little dog to comfort her. I see something shiny on the woman’s belt, and I realize it’s a badge.
“They’re waiting for the coroner,” Marilyn says, “before they can remove the body.”
“Will’s here, Ronnie,” Juliana says. “Did you call him? I mean, he’s not on the police force.”
“I did while I was looking around.”
Peach wiggles out of my arms, jumps down, the leash slipping from my hand, and runs over to the dead thief. She whines and prods the body with her nose.
“Hey, somebody grab the mutt,” the policewoman yells. “He’ll mess up the scene.”
Another policeman makes a move toward the dog, who explodes toward him in shrill barks and fierce growls to keep him away from the body. She darts in and out pushing at the body.
“Wait.” I say. “Don’t grab her. This is probably her master, and she’s upset.”
Peach closes in on the thief’s face and barks. When there’s no response, she whines and nudges at the old guy. Finally, the little dog plops down next to the body’s head and shoulder and quietly buries her face in the crook of the man’s neck.
It’s heartbreaking, and my eyes tear up. I glance at Marilyn and Juliana, who seem to have a similar reaction, and Frank puts a consoling arm around his wife. I step in and carefully scoop up the terrier, who responds with the saddest little whine.
Searching for Gatsby: A Ronnie Lake Murder Mystery (An Accidental Lady Detective, A Private Investigator Crime Series Book 3) Page 3