Searching for Gatsby: A Ronnie Lake Murder Mystery (An Accidental Lady Detective, A Private Investigator Crime Series Book 3)

by Danforth, Niki

  The phone rings again, and I answer. It’s my brother, thank god, calling to change a lunch date we made for tomorrow because his late-morning meeting got pushed back. He hears the panic in my voice.

  “Ronnie, are you okay?”

  “I think so.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Dri-driving home—” I can’t get more out because I’m hyper-ventilating and crying from relief at the same time.

  Then my brother does something that is pure Frank and one of the reasons I love him so much. He makes up a lame excuse to drop by at this late hour and hangs up before I can object.

  ~~~~~

  Frank is already there when I pull into my driveway. I screech to a stop, jump out, and run into his arms for a consoling big-brother hug. Still shaky, I manage to explain what happened on the road, but I do not tell him that the tears streaming down my face have more to do with my disappointment over Jamie. I leave out any discussion about my date at Sheffield Hall.

  We walk around my car to examine the back of my Mustang. After looking closely, Franks says, “I don’t see any marks or residue that might lead to the person who hit you. Do you want to call the police?”

  “Absolutely not. The guy drove off, and I didn’t get a good look at the vehicle, so I can’t identify anyone. Besides, Detective Rossi hates me and will be all over my case. I’ll take the car to the shop in the morning. Right now I just need a good night’s sleep.”

  I pull him toward my door. “But first, please come inside and keep me company while I settle down.”

  I let the dogs out into their pen and start the decaf. Frank perches on a stool, and I place his favorite oatmeal cookies on a plate and push it across the kitchen counter toward him.

  My brother bites into one, and a look of pure bliss sweeps across his face. He drinks his steaming coffee and then takes another bite. He eases into the conversation by asking me for input on an upcoming birthday celebration for his son, my nephew Richard. We talk logistics, food, and the guest list. This takes all of five minutes, and then he cuts to the chase.

  “How are you and Jamie doing? Are you two having fun?”

  “Yep.” My answer’s true if I just focus on our waltz and not our conversation before I left.

  “You spending a lot of time together?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant and chatty. My brother is not the chatty type. He looks around uncomfortably. “Uh, do you have serious feelings for him?”

  “Well, Frank, it’s rather soon to be asking—we’ve barely met—and, by the way, that’s a very personal question.”

  “Not unlike the questions you used to ask me about Jules.”

  I ignore the semi-goodhearted jab about my snooping into his wife’s past when they were dating. “Anyway, whatever budding relationship we may or may not have, it’s between Jamie and me.”

  “I only asked if you have serious feelings. I didn’t ask for details.” He takes another sip. “You sound a little defensive.”

  “I’m not defensive.” I slam my mug with more force than I intended on the counter. The noise surprises both of us. “It’s been a long time, and this is private. Why do you care anyway?”

  “Let me remind you that it’s exactly the same way you cared when Juliana and I got together,” Frank answers in a calm tone.

  “Point taken,” I mutter. “What I’m not hearing is you sounding happy for me.”

  “That’s your take, not mine—”

  I interrupt. “But why do I feel like you don’t approve of Jamie?”

  Frank puts his hands up as if to ward off another aggressive kid-sister reaction and shakes his head. “I didn’t say that. Of course, I’d like nothing more than to see you end up with a great guy.” He tilts his head, and in a gentle tone, asks, “But in this case, are you sure you’re thinking clearly?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we’re coming up on Tommy’s anniversary, which has to be emotional for you…maybe it makes you less rational?”

  “When was I ever rational?” I feel a slight smile on my face.

  “How well do you really know the guy?” Frank asks. He doesn’t know it, but his question is a painful reminder of exactly why I’ve been chastising myself. I try to keep my slight smile frozen on my face.

  My brother goes on. “I would caution you to go slowly because I’m hearing some sketchy reports. I have to wonder, what’s the guy’s real story, you know, his background?” If Frank only knew that I’m asking the same question, in light of the photograph I saw an hour ago…

  At this point, instead of crying, I burst out laughing, which surprises even me.

  “What’s so funny?” Frank asks.

  “You’re right. You do sound just like me when you and Jules first came back here from California.” I refill Frank’s mug. “It’s like you’re me now.”

  Frank looks horrified at the mere thought. “Well, now I know how it feels to be you.” He grins.

  I get up from my stool and let the dogs in. “Look, Frank, I’ve had a lot of time to think about my past behavior about Juliana. I know I made a lot of mistakes, and I pushed things too far. I stuck my nose in where I had no business.” I stop and take a deep breath. “But the family knew nothing about her, and it was all so soon after Joanie’s death. We were worried. Bottom line—I was terrified it would be a repetition of what happened to Peter when he married.”

  “I’ve said this many times, I’m not Peter,” Frank interrupts. “And I’d never marry and cut myself off from my family the way he did. Ronnie, you know me better than that.”

  “Yes, but there were all these strange events when you came home…” I sip my coffee. “Hey, I developed tunnel vision when it came to protecting you. I know I interfered too much.”

  “It’s in the past, Ronnie. I think some of that energy of yours at the time was channeled from your grief for Tommy.” I feel a wave of emotion roll over me the way it did when I first got the news. I want to cry but I hold it back.

  My brother goes on. “It was a blow to the entire family, but I can’t even imagine what it was like for you to lose a child. Bottom line—you’re my sister, and I love you.”

  I sigh. “You had a very happy thirty years with Joanie. I still miss her.” Then I can’t help but smile. “And I also know that you and Juliana are very happy, and that she’s an incredible person.”

  “Thank you. Now, can we get back to the subject of Jamie Gordon?”

  “I thought we were finished with that.” I sigh. “Don’t tell me you’re paying any attention to the swirl of rumors around him. It’s because he’s fabulously rich, and he gives big parties at Sheffield Hall. So, who cares that his family hasn’t been around here for generations?”

  “Don’t for one moment think I buy into that old family nonsense!” Frank’s tone reveals his indignation. “You know I’m the last person who cares about that. Take a look at the Watsons. Win and Marilyn have been out here all of three years, and Juliana and I see them a lot. They’re simply good people.”

  “Okay, okay. Calm down, Frank. I like them, too. I get a kick out of Win.” But I have to wonder, How much do we really know about the Watsons, either?

  “Jamie’s a different matter.” Frank’s tone is firm but gentle.

  “How so?”

  “There are stories floating around…”

  “About what?” I demand.

  “About his business dealings with some unsavory guys,” he answers.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not going to add to the rumor mill, and I don’t know what’s true and what isn’t. But the stories concern me. He may be involved with some bad people.” He pauses. “I know you think I’m being nosy, but I care about you.”

  “I am a big girl. I can take care of myself. I’ll be careful…” I roll my eyes. “…with my heart.”

  A slow smiles plays across Frank’s face. He takes his coffee mug, and I take mine. We clink mugs and laugh.

  ~~~~~
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  Frank has gone home, and I’m upstairs. The hot water runs over my hand as the faucet fills the tub in my bathroom. What started out as a magical evening has taken some interesting turns. Still feeling ridiculously hasty for having fallen for Jamie, I shake my head in disbelief. After all, I’m an adult with a few miles on me, not some naïve twenty-something.

  I turn off the faucet, step in, and sink into the steaming water. I look up at the photo of my favorite spy and sigh.

  “It’s my own fault. Frank is right. I hardly know Jamie…” I stop myself.

  Thoughts of other duplicitous behavior stops me. I reach for my phone and flip through my pictures to find the note that Marilyn showed me, the one she found among Win’s papers.

  August 8

  Dear Win,

  You’ve got what I want, and I’m coming to get it. Nothing can stop me. I’ve waited so long…

  I look back and forth between Casey’s dog toy list and that note. I check the date and look at the list again—W. 8/8. There it is. 8/8 and August 8—they match.

  Marilyn was sure that note came from Katya, but now I’m sure it didn’t. Win and Katya may be having an affair, but this note was written by Casey to Win about the ASE Gatsby.

  I swipe to the photo of the note from Katya’s diary. I’m sure it was also written by Casey.

  Stay away, —

  I must have all of the book to finish what our families started. It’s my heritage, not yours.

  I pinch the screen to zoom in to study the smudge after Stay away. It could be a K as in Katya. And all of the book has got be the ASE Gatsby. Casey had one piece of it, and he was looking for Win’s section. And for some reason, he was telling Katya to back off. This is all getting too complicated.

  I lean my head against the back of the tub and drift off.

  Later, I awaken in the cold water of the tub with Warrior nudging at my arm. Shivering, I grab a towel and dry off quickly, slide into bed, and fall fast asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Three women in their mid-to-late thirties clink their glasses filled with pink Cosmopolitans.

  “Here’s to marrying the big bucks!” the tall, leggy blonde says. She looks familiar.

  “You know what they say, the good ones are always married,” a petite, brown-haired beauty says in a sparkly voice. Wait a minute, I know her.

  “So, keep that in mind and forget Jamie Gordon,” blondie long-legs says. “He made mincemeat out of the last woman who fell for him.”

  “Who was it?” a third friend asks, leaning in.

  “Somebody named Ronnie Lake,” she answers.

  Oh no, it’s the three gossips from Jamie’s buffet table at his party. Do they know I’m listening? I feel myself go still as a statue.

  “Do we know her?” number three asks, ready for some juicy gossip.

  “Nah, she’s old,” the leggy blonde says. “What did he ever want with her—”

  Bam! Bam! Bam! Warrior and Peachie go ballistic with barking, and my German shepherd dashes out of my room and down the steps to the front door. Great—now I have barking in stereo, growling and snarling coming from both downstairs and the small khaki crate on the other side of my bed.

  I squint at my clock. It’s 6 a.m. Who in the world…

  Bam! Bam! Bam! The canine racket goes up in volume. After a night of more bizarre dreams and fitful sleep, this is no way to start the morning.

  I stumble over to the window and peek out. Jamie Gordon stands on the stoop, looking around for signs of life.

  Bleary-eyed, I open the window a crack. “Go away.”

  “Ronnie—”

  “Go away, Jamie. Do you know what time it is?”

  “If you want to know the story behind that photograph and get a look at the third piece of that paperback Gatsby, then you’d better let me in.” He taps on a brown accordion folder tucked under his arm. “I’ve got everything you want to know right here, and I’m ready to talk.”

  My eyes pop open, and I stare at the folder. “I’ll be down in a moment,” I mumble.

  I throw on some jeans, a tee-shirt, and a sweater, splash water on my face, brush my teeth, and let the dogs out in their pen. I open the door to let him in and put on the coffee.

  I’m still waking up and not very talkative. I more or less grunt and wave to him to help himself to the coffee while I get breakfast ready for Warrior and Peachie. They come back inside, look back and forth between Jamie and their food bowls, dismiss him with a few quiet growls, and head for their kibble.

  I open the refrigerator. “I can offer you yogurt?” I reach for a wooden bowl. “Also a banana or a muffin?” I pull out a box of blueberry muffins from my favorite bakery.

  “Thanks, but I ate before I drove here.”

  I feel tense, so I heat up a muffin. I don’t trust this man standing in my kitchen and therefore feel the need for some comfort food.

  He sips his coffee while I pour myself a cup, and the pleasant aroma cuts through my grogginess. I break open the muffin and take a bite. “So, what gives?”

  He pulls out the picture of the four GIs. “First, you’re right.” He points to the fourth soldier. “Mike Gordon was my father.”

  “So, as I said last night,” and I point to each figure in the picture, “Joe Watson, Luca Alessandro, Felix Whitmore, and your father.”

  “Yes,” Jamie says, looking closely at the picture with me.

  I open the photo of Casey’s list on my phone screen.

  The Great Gatsby (ASE)

  1944 J.W., L.A., M.G.

  W. 8/8

  S.,J. 10/12

  “I believe this list of Casey’s also includes the dates of a couple of notes he wrote to the offspring of these men,” I say. “So, have you received any notes similar to this one?” I show him the note to Win.

  “No,” Jamie says. I look at him suspiciously. Do I believe him or not? He shakes his head. “I swear, I never got a note from Casey.”

  “Maybe it’s because you’re not listed. Look at this. Who in the world is S.J.?” I click back to the list.

  “It’s not S.J.” He zooms in on the last line. “See. There’s a comma between the S and the J. S is Steven, my brother, who died several years ago, and I’m the J.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother—”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he snaps before he can stop himself. I don’t respond, and the sudden anger on his face dissipates, so he continues, “Also, the date reads 10/12, and we’re not there yet. So he probably hadn’t written my note yet.”

  I take a bite of my blueberry muffin and wash it down with coffee while I process what Jamie tells me.

  “So, if Casey had this picture, and you have this picture, I’m curious if Win also has a copy?”

  “I have no idea. I’ve never discussed this with either of them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ronnie, I’m very private, to the extreme, in case you haven’t noticed. To me, this was just a photograph of four war buddies who read The Great Gatsby when they had some down time during the war…anyway, that’s what I remember my father telling me.”

  “Okay, fine. So, it appears that Casey was after Win’s ASE paperback Gatsby and not his five-hundred-thousand-dollar first edition. And I’ve now seen two-thirds of this specific ASE.” I take a deep breath. “Jamie?”

  He opens the brown accordion folder, withdraws the final third of the little book, and pushes it across the counter toward me.

  I pick it up and flip it over to see the beat-up back cover. “Does this have clues written in pencil in the margins?”

  “I don’t know. I never paid much attention,” he says, as I flip through the pages and come to the first penciled phrase five pages in.

  Loose panel

  I grab a pen and pad, start back at the beginning and write the list of clues from my photos of Win’s part-one-section of the book.

  Liberty Head Nickel

  Twenty-dollar Double Eagle
r />   Wheat Penny

  Lambert—

  Then I switch to the pictures of the pages from Casey’s middle section and continue writing.

  —ville, NJ

  LPLDM

  Olivia secretary

  2nd floor

  Then I start slowly paging through the back, the third section of the book from Jamie, and add those notes.

  Loose panel

  Third from right, bottom row

  Press button —

  Jiggle drawer

  “This is amazing.” I look up and see Jamie staring at the photograph with his father and the other three soldiers. He looks lost in his thoughts.

  Since I’m hoping for an honest answer, I use a gentle tone and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me any of this when we first found the mid-section? Why didn’t you tell me that you had another piece of the book?”

  “I already told you, I’m obsessively private,” he says. “I had just met you. I wasn’t going to bore you with my life story.” He takes a slow sip of coffee and looks at me with those deep, dark eyes, but they are unfathomable to me.

  I shake my head in resignation.

  “Look, I wasn’t intentionally hiding this. I just wasn’t ready to share with you all sorts of details about my life. And lately, being with you, well to be honest, this book was the last thing on my mind.” He smiles at me almost shyly. “But I’m here now, and I’m talking.”

  “That you are.” I can’t help myself and smile back. I sip my coffee.

  Jamie looks off as if he’s revisiting the past. “My father died a long time ago, and I tossed the book in a drawer. I never figured it had any value. I can’t remember the last time I even thought about any of this until it came up when you found that section the other night. And the photograph? I found it in my dad’s papers some time ago. I thought it was a cool war picture that had my father in it. It’s as simple as that.”

  I finish my muffin and coffee, and Jamie empties his mug. I put everything in the dishwasher and clean up.

  “So Ronnie, are we alright?”

  I take a moment to let the dogs out and think about it. Finally, I answer, “For the moment, I think we’re good.” As I walk back to the island, I realize I have already scratched him from my list of candidates who tried to chase me off the road last night. His hands go around my waist as we kiss slowly and gently.