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

by Danforth, Niki

  I hope you find what is rightfully yours.

  Sincerely,

  Luca Alessandro

  My mind reels with the idea that Casey’s whole life could have been different if these men had followed through with their agreement. No wonder he took to climbing into windows to steal a beat-up book.

  I reread this mind-blowing letter a half dozen times before I head upstairs for bed. I’m exhausted and need to get some sleep in order to process what all of this means.

  I make my way to the bathroom. I don’t even flip on the light, but turn on the water and start brushing my teeth in the half-dark.

  I finally glance up and notice a paper stuck to the mirror. I flip on the light, and what I see wakes me up fast. I accidentally swallow before I remember I’m brushing and then cough up the toothpaste.

  There, stuck to the mirror, is a smeared message in black ink.

  Bring the coins to Sally’s. No police if you want her alive.

  I reflexively reach into my pocket and feel for the coins. All three are still there. I spit out the rest of the toothpaste and quickly rinse my mouth, leaving the note on the mirror.

  I move through my house in shock, my adrenaline shooting through my body at both the threat to Sally and the home invasion. I leave Peachie in her crate in the kitchen and rush out, taking Warrior with me.

  ~~~~~

  We arrive at Sally’s apartment twenty minutes later. I’ve already texted Will with an update but I don’t wait for a response. There’s not a moment to spare. I want to leave my dog in the car, but Warrior’s nervous, nudging at my arm and barking. It’s as if he knows there’s danger inside the building and doesn’t want me to go alone.

  “Okay, boy. I could probably use some protection.” I head toward the building with my German shepherd.

  I rush to catch up to a couple of people entering the building. Warrior and I slip inside right behind them.

  The guys go one way, and we turn the other and head for the elevators. This time the doors open and Warrior and I step inside. A sign written with a marker taped to the mirror greets me.

  Laundry Room out of order tonite.

  Once we reach Sally’s floor, I peek out the elevator door to an empty hallway and cautiously approach her front door. Using a hand signal, I instruct Warrior to sit to the side of the door, safely out of the way because I don’t know what’s on the other side.

  The door is slightly ajar, and I knock. “Hello?”

  Nothing. Not a sound.

  Another knock. “Hello? Anybody there?” I keep my voice low.

  I also stay to the side and push the door open. Nothing. So I enter slowly. The apartment looks the same as the first time Will and I came here with Sally except there’s another smudged black ink message, this time stuck to the refrigerator door.

  Laundry room. No police. Just coins.

  Warrior and I descend the stairs quickly, trying to stay as silent as possible. I can’t help but notice noise from some sort of commotion downstairs, maybe in the basement.

  When we get to the first floor, I see another sign like the one in the elevator that the laundry room is out of order. I thought that handwriting looked familiar. It’s similar to the one in the note stuck to the fridge in Sally’s apartment, as well as the one stuck to my bathroom mirror at home.

  Just then someone throws open the door to the basement, and it makes a loud, banging sound as it slams against the wall. The commotion, including voices, gets momentarily louder. Warrior emits a low growl as we hear heavy footfalls clomping up the steps.

  An out-of-breath, mousy, fortyish woman jumps back in fright at the sight of Warrior for just a moment and then flies by, warning us, “There’s a crazy bitch down there screaming at some girl. Like the sign says, don’t do your laundry tonight.”

  “Call the police,” I say to her back as she continues up the steps.

  “Nooooo. One thing you learn here is to stay out of other people’s bizness. I can get my things tomorrow.”

  I take a deep breath. Warrior and I slowly and silently descend to the basement.

  As we get closer, I make out Katya’s and Sally’s voices arguing over the sounds of a vibrating washing machine and a whirling, thumping dryer. In the basement hallway, we stop near the door to the laundry room, and I signal Warrior to sit and wait.

  “You just had to put yourself in the middle of this,” Katya snarls.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sally responds, obviously frightened.

  I peek through the slightly open door. Sally sits at a table with her back to me, her hands tied behind her. “One minute I’m doing homework, and the next you barge into my apartment with a gun, and then haul me down here,” she says. “Why?”

  Katya stands over her gesturing wildly with a hand gun. “As if you don’t know.”

  I observe the room full of washing machines and dryers. There’s even an unplugged iron sitting on top of a small padded tabletop board. Thank god, there only appears to have been one tenant doing her wash, and she’s probably not coming back until the morning.

  I’m surprised to see a stain on the front pocket area of Katya’s faded jeans. I wouldn’t have been so quick to notice with anyone else, but she’s always perfectly groomed and dressed.

  The fury is building in Katya’s voice. “Don’t you pretend with me.”

  “I’m not pretending,” Sally screams back over the sound of the machines. “I really don’t know what’s going on.”

  I also note a pen sticking out of the top of Katya’s ink-stained pocket. It’s probably the pen she used to write the two smudgy notes.

  Katya raises her weapon as if she plans to strike Sally across the face with it, and I dash into the noisy washroom.

  “Your Pelikan is leaking all over your jeans,” I shout over the noise, hoping that my voice sounds calm.

  She freezes, and instead of pistol-whipping Sally, looks down at the stain. “Damn pen.” She pulls it out of her pocket, one end already wrapped in a black ink-stained handkerchief. “It’s given me nothing but trouble.”

  Katya catches me inching toward her on her other side and waves the gun at me. “That’s far enough, Mrs. Lake.”

  “Now that I’m here, you can let Sally go.” I walk toward Sally, as if to do so. I want to keep Katya off-balance.

  “Not so fast,” she roars. Sally and I are both stunned by her ferociousness. “Nothing happens until I have the coins. And then we’re going to walk out of here together, so that I can make sure you didn’t bring the police.”

  “I didn’t bring any police.” Nobody said anything about a private eye, I think to myself, hoping Will got my text and that he’ll arrive soon. “And I don’t know about any coins.” I walk toward a huge wash basin, the kind with a roller coaster of drain pipes underneath. I want Katya to focus her gun on me instead of Sally.

  “Don’t insult me.” Katya’s tone is haughty. “I was at the restaurant. I saw you drop the coins on the floor. My grandfather was always after me to find those coins, and I spent years searching for them, trying to be a good girl and make him happy.” Her voice turns shrill. “And then I find out that Nonno Luca sent my part of the book to Casey.” She waves the gun wildly, practically screaming, “After all the years I spent looking…those coins are mine.”

  “What coins?” Sally is bewildered.

  “Oh, shut up.” Katya swings her gun back to Sally.

  “Hold it. Don’t point that gun at her,” I interject. “Leave her alone. She doesn’t know anything about the coins.” Pulling them out of my pocket, I display them in my hand. “You mean these?”

  She surprises me with her swiftness as she lunges toward me, so I toss them down the drain in the basin. I’m counting on the curved elbow pipe beneath the sink to trap them.

  Katya tries to grab the coins, but they’re gone. She shrieks like a fatally wounded animal. Her howl shocks both Sally and me, and I jerk away from the sink as quickly as I can and dart over toward
a line of washing machines across from Sally. I wish Katya would stop waving that gun around.

  “I wouldn’t turn the water on, or they’ll be lost in the town sewage.” I hope my tone doesn’t sound glib.

  Katya bellows, “You don’t know what you’ve done!”

  Her behavior becomes histrionic with dramatic weeping and arm waving straight out of a Greek tragedy. I just wish she’d put the gun down.

  “All I know is those coins belonged to Casey,” I insist, “and I’m pretty sure he wanted Sally to have them. Not you!”

  Katya snaps out of it, and slowly points the gun toward Sally. I realize I shouldn’t have said that. In desperation, I take my last shot.

  “Bianca!” I cry out. Katya jolts as if she’s touched a live wire. “Think about Bianca!”

  And now everything feels like slow motion. The gun moves away from Sally and toward me as I dive for the iron on the tabletop ironing board. She fires at me, but I’m moving and she misses. I hear the bullet splatter the plaster on the wall behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sally tip her chair over and flatten herself as much as possible on the ground.

  As Katya lunges toward me, I grab the iron in my right hand and bash it against the revolver in her left before she can aim and shoot again. She misfires and the bullet ricochets off a metal dryer. The gun flies out of her hand and lands between two dryers, but her momentum hurls her toward me. By the time she’s almost on top of me, years of Aikido kick in.

  I use the heel of my palm and punch upward toward Katya’s chin. She’s not expecting it, and my blow causes her head to snap back. The force throws her against the washing machines and she crashes to the cement floor, her head bouncing hard on it.

  Katya’s in a daze and moaning as I handcuff and drag her over to the wash basin. “What a lovely name.” I dig out more plastic ties from my pocket to cuff her to the pipes beneath the sink. “Did you choose the name Bianca?”

  “Don’t you dare say her name,” she snarls, pulling on the restraints like a rabid dog. “Ouch! Those are tight.” She glares at me with a look that could kill. “How’d you know about her?” she hisses at me.

  “I saw all the kids’ books in your car that you signed to Bianca,” I respond, as I check the ties. “She’s your daughter, isn’t she?” Katya doesn’t answer. “I predict a lengthy prison sentence for you, so I don’t think you’ll be seeing Bianca for a long time—”

  She dives toward my left arm to bite me and misses because of the restraints. I hear the clicking sound of her upper and lower teeth colliding as they bite down on nothing.

  “Bitch!” she screams.

  I take my right fist and sock her in the jaw as hard as I can. She grunts, her head wobbling on its neck, and then she moans and slumps down heavily.

  “That’s for killing Casey—”

  A screeching wail cuts me off. It’s Katya and the sound is feral, until she switches to grunts as she bangs her wrists against the pipes under the basin, trying to snap the ties. It doesn’t work. Then just as quickly she goes quiet, as if she’s resigned to her fate.

  Meanwhile, Sally tries to right herself in the tipped chair, her arms tugging to free herself. I rush over to untie her wrists, and that’s when I barely hear it over the washer and dryer. A whimpering sound. An animal whimpering.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Warrior,” I cry out. The whimpering turns into a feeble bark somewhere out by the elevator.

  I dash into the hallway to find my dog sprawled on his side, his leg twitching in a pool of blood. His eyes are open and show fear and anxiety.

  “Oh my god.” At first glance, I panic that he’s been mortally wounded. I get down on all fours and head toward him slowly. It looks like he’s been shot in his left front leg, below his shoulder and above his elbow.

  Blood pours from his the wound, and I worry that the bullet may have hit an artery. I stay low and speak quietly, using soothing tones even though my heart is pounding. “Warrior, you’re such a good boy.” I need to get close in order to help him.

  Sally pops through the door, and at the sight of my injured German shepherd, she exclaims, “Oh no, he’s hurt—”

  She steps forward, and Warrior growls. My arm shoots out for her to stop. “Shhh,” I caution in a gentle tone. “We both need to speak quietly.”

  “Where’d he come from?” Sally’s voice is a whisper.

  “He’s my dog,” I answer. “Sally, Warrior and I need your help.”

  “Sure. What should I do?”

  “Please see if you can find any towels in that dryer that I can use to stop the bleeding, and keep a lot of distance between you and Katya while you do so. Also, please call Will Benson on my phone and tell him what’s happened. Tell him I need help getting Warrior to an animal ER. Here.” I toss her my phone. “Look up Will’s number in my contacts. Oh, if you see it, don’t go anywhere near Katya’s gun. That’s for the police to handle.”

  “Got it.” She’s gone.

  I continue approaching Warrior, always remaining in his field of vision so that he’s not surprised. I speak to him the entire time.

  All this blood has me worried. I need him to relax while I try to stop the bleeding. Generally, it’s not a smart idea to handle an injured dog that hasn’t been muzzled. To do so is to risk being bitten. But Warrior trusts me, and I’m going to take my chances.

  He continues whimpering. When I reach him, I start with an area that I’m pretty sure doesn’t hurt by softly stroking his neck. As expected, there are no twinges or verbal responses indicating pain. He doesn’t growl, so at the moment he’s cooperating.

  In the background, I hear Sally talking on the phone as she opens and shuts the one dryer, looking for towels.

  I scratch between Warrior’s ears. I never stop talking to him. “You are my good boy. You are going to be fine.” I stroke his good leg.

  “Oh my dear, dear Warrior.” His dark eyes stay locked on my face. I carefully move my hand to his wounded leg, and he tries to pull away.

  Sally appears with several towels draped over her arms.

  “Walk slowly toward me and stay low,” I instruct.

  She does so and hands me a towel that I use to carefully dab up some of the blood around the bullet entry point on his leg. As I work my way closer to the wound, pressing softly, he flinches.

  Sally folds the remaining towels, which I very cautiously press against the wound to staunch the bleeding. Warrior whines repeatedly in pain, and it breaks my heart. But I am relieved that he stays docile, because many dogs become aggressive when injured.

  “What can I do to help?” Sally asks.

  “See if you can find something small to elevate his leg above his heart. A small box, maybe.”

  She returns to the laundry room while I keep pressure on the wound. In less than thirty seconds she’s back with a couple of large cardboard boxes of detergents.

  “Let’s try that big one of Tide,” I direct. “I’ll lift his leg and you slide it under.” Warrior groans as I slowly lift his limb, and Sally successfully pushes the box underneath. My precious dog is not happy, but we’ve got his leg elevated and that may also slow the bleeding.

  It feels like an hour, but it’s probably only five minutes later when I hear an elevator descending. The doors open, and Will and two volunteers from the rescue squad enter the basement with a stretcher.

  “We’ve been on standby, waiting for the police to clear us to go in,” Will says, “but Sally called with the update so we decided to go ahead. FYI, Detective Rossi’s on her way over here.”

  My buddy’s face shows compassion and worry as he looks at Warrior, but he says to Sally, “I know you said you’re alright, but Billy and Joe need to see you first before they get to Warrior.” The two EMTs look surprised at Will’s reference to the dog, but say nothing and go into the laundry room with Sally. Will follows them and returns two minutes later.

  “They’ll be right back to help Warrior once they check Sally and t
he suspect,” he says to me in a reassuring tone. “How’s he doing?”

  “He’s hanging in—” I try to stifle a sob, but the tears stream down my face.

  “How’d this happen?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s a ricochet from Katya’s second shot at me.”

  “Where’s her weapon?”

  “I knocked it out of her hand with the iron, and I think it landed between two dryers. I think it’s a Smith & Wesson.”

  There’s a very long pause as he stares at me. This has to be one of the rare occasions when Will is speechless. Maybe he’s trying to imagine the scene I’ve just described. If I weren’t so upset over my dog, I could better savor the moment.

  The two rescue squad members come out of the laundry room. “She’s fine. No injuries,” Billy says, referring to Sally.

  “How about the suspect?” Will asks.

  “She’s fine from what we can see,” Joe says, “without removing the restraints.

  “This is more important,” Will says, nodding at Warrior. “Can you transport this dog to the nearby animal hospital? I think it’s called 24-Hr Pet ER, something like that. It’s about ten minutes from here.”

  “We don’t normally do this kind of call.” Joe hesitates. “I don’t know…”

  “Look guys, this is Warrior,” Will says. “He’s a war veteran, a bomb sniffing dog. He saved a lot of our soldiers’ lives in Afghanistan.”

  “Say no more.” Billy nods at Joe, who nods back. “As a favor to you, buddy.”

  I’m not sure if they’re talking to Will or to Warrior. “I’ll go, too…to help keep him calm. He won’t need a muzzle if I come along.”

  The men push the stretcher alongside my dog. I talk to Warrior as they move him onto it.

  As the elevator opens, Sofia Rossi dashes through the basement door with several fellow officers. She sees me about to go and yells, “Wait!”