by Cindy Sample
“Maybe that big dude bumped off Gino,” Gran suggested.
I shivered. “I certainly hope not. But we may be the only witnesses to see that guy with Gino.”
“Whoa. If we tell the cops what we saw, will we hafta go into witness protection?”
“Of course not,” I said emphatically before stopping to consider her question. Wasn’t witness protection just for eyewitnesses of mob or drug lord types of killings? Certainly Gino wasn’t involved with the mob. Or drug kingpins.
Or was he? There was that odd meeting with the biker dudes. And his two companions last night seemed a tad on the seedy side. Especially the cigar-chewing fellow. What had we gotten ourselves into?
Navy blue uniforms arrived on the site and began milling around the square. One police officer was attempting to corral the gondola riders into a separate area cordoned off with crime scene tape. I walked up to him and tugged on his arm.
“I was riding on the gondola just three cars behind that one.” I pointed toward the car that had carried Gino. “I’m a private detective working on a case. My grandmother and I may have witnessed something important.”
“If there’s been a murder, we know who done it,” Gran said.
“Hey,” he protested, looking around to make sure none of the bystanders overheard Gran’s remark. “Nothing’s been said about murder. This situation is being viewed as an accident.”
I nodded. “Got it. My husband, Tom Hunter, used to be a homicide cop. You guys have to be careful what you say to the public.”
The officer’s face brightened. “You’re married to Tom? He’s a good guy. Tell him Frankie Vallejo said hi.” He looked around the crowd. “One of our detectives is already here. Follow me.”
Gran and I followed him through the crowd of onlookers that had gathered behind the huge swath of crime scene tape. Surprise, surprise. My favorite detective.
Frankie tapped Ali Reynolds on the shoulder. She whirled around, her arched eyebrows merging together in annoyance.
“Geez. What are you two doing here?” she asked. “Please tell me you’re not involved in this mess.”
“Just indirectly,” I said. “Our agency was hired to follow a man named Gino Romano. This morning we spotted him getting on that particular gondola car with another man we saw him dining with last night.”
Her jaw dropped. “You gotta be kidding.”
Gran marched up to Ali and glared at her, her nose mere inches away from the detective’s. “We don’t kid about murder.”
“We don’t know if this is an accident or not,” Ali said. “And I can’t confirm the person’s identity, but since you seem to be involved yet again,” she said with a sigh, “why don’t you go down to the station and complete a formal witness statement. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait here to be interviewed.” She waved her arm at the fifty-plus group of gondola passengers who’d been sequestered in one of the coffee shops.
I was pleased Ali considered our information helpful until I heard her mutter to Officer Vallejo something about, “those couple of crackpots again.”
So much for bonding with our brethren in blue.
Two and a half hours later, Gran and I were still seated on uncomfortable metal chairs in the stuffy windowless room where Sergeant Vallejo had deposited us. Initially, we planned on leaving a formal statement, but we’d been ushered into this interview room instead. And left to twiddle our thumbs.
“This place is starting to get on my nerves,” Gran said as her gaze roamed from the brown industrial carpet to the dirty beige walls. “Could use a decorator’s touch, too. How long do ya think they can they keep us here?”
“I don’t know. We came here voluntarily, or at least I thought so.” I stared glumly at my cell phone. No service whatsoever inside the building. I wasn’t certain if that was a Tahoe thing, since the area wasn’t known for terrific cell phone service, or if they wanted to ensure suspects couldn’t call their friends. Or partners in crime.
The door to the small room opened with a bang. Gran started, putting her palm above her heart. “Geez, Louise. You about scared me to death. Are you planning on leaving us here until I croak? I’m not as young as I look, you know.”
Detective Reynolds ignored Gran as she lowered herself into one of the chairs across the table from us. The officer accompanying her carried a small device that I guessed would record our conversation.
“We’ve been busy interviewing other witnesses at the scene to see if they’d noticed anyone or anything out of the ordinary. Took longer than we expected.”
“Did you have any luck?” I asked. “Did anyone confirm the man we mentioned earlier? The one who jumped off the car?”
She shook her head, her short glossy dark-brown hair remaining in place, as opposed to my coppery curls, which moved in multiple directions if someone merely sneezed.
“Tourists encompassed the majority of the people wandering around the square. We glanced through a few iPhone photos, but no one captured anything on their cameras other than scenery.” She grimaced. “And way more selfies than I needed to wade through.”
Ali nodded at the other officer and he clicked on the recorder. She asked for our names and other official information, plus our client’s name and numbers, then proceeded to ask questions listed on a small notepad in front of her. Once we’d established the reason for our presence in South Lake Tahoe, the questions became more specific.
“So you claim to have inadvertently ended up on the gondola a few cars behind the man under surveillance. Why did you only follow him last night?” she asked. “Any competent detective would have continued to tail him this morning.”
Now it was Gran whose hackles rose. “Listen, youngster, my granddaughter has more competence in her little toe than you have in your whole body.”
I gave Gran a gentle kick under the table.
“To clarify,” I replied, “I’d already discussed the man’s schedule with his girlfriend. We knew he planned on dining at the Heavenly Valley buffet with a client. We didn’t think we’d have any problem picking up his trail. All our client cared about was whether or not Gino was seeing another woman. Since we’d corroborated his dinner companions last night were men, we weren’t as concerned about his plans.”
Gran nudged me. “Don’t forget about the gal. The crabby one.”
“What gal?” asked Ali.
I explained Gino had met Kimberly in the bar for a brief time.
“It was an odd coincidence,” I reflected, “that Gino and Kimberly were acquainted. But I don’t know how relevant it is to his murder.” Ali opened her mouth to protest. “If he was murdered. And I don’t know how it’s related to Gregg Morton’s murder.”
Ali narrowed her dark eyes at me. “It’s also an odd coincidence your grandmother was at the scene both times. What should I make of that?”
I shrugged. “Bad timing?”
She snorted, but in a delicate manner.
“We appreciate your time, Detective Reynolds. We’re anxious to assist you with this case.”
She put her palm up. “Thanks for coming in but no further help, please. Stay far, far away from my investigations.”
“But what if during our other casework, we discover something that would assist you in finding the killers? Certainly you won’t refuse helpful evidence?”
“Helpful evidence from you?” Ali’s voice crescendoed. “Talk about an oxymoron. Like I said, stay out of my way.”
Sergeant Vallejo ushered us back to the lobby where Gran and I debated our next move. The police station was a few miles from Harveys. We could wait for a patrol car to drop us off, Uber or call for a cab.
“So what’s next on our investigating schedule?” Gran asked.
“Didn’t you hear what Ali said?” I reminded her as I clicked on my Uber app.
“She’s not the boss of us.”
True. And our agency had a client who had now lost her fiancée. Would Adriana be aware of his loss by now? My phone pinged nonstop a
s a multitude of texts popped up now that we were out of the police station.
Adriana – Did Gino meet with anyone?
Tom – Where are you? Why aren’t you answering your texts?
Mother – Why aren’t you and your grandmother home?
Stan – When’s our next stakeout?
Liz – Is this baby ever going to come out?
Jenna – Why aren’t you home? The senior dinner is tonight. I need your car.
Ben – Can we get a dog?
Sigh. You never realize how important you are to your family and friends until you get stuck in an interrogation room for three hours.
A black sedan arrived, indicating our Uber ride was here. Gran and I piled into the back seat while I tried to call Adriana to share the unfortunate news. Into voicemail once again. Hopefully, the police had contacted her by now.
The driver slammed on the brakes as he slowed down for a light behind a long line of cars. “What’s with all the traffic?” I asked.
“Looky loos. Folks are saying some guy got his neck broke on the gondola. Lots of police been talking to tourists. Makes me think it wasn’t no accident.”
Gran and I kept our mouths shut during the two-mile drive that ended up taking ten minutes. Ten very long minutes while the driver practiced a standup routine he was working on for amateur night at one of the local comedy clubs. I gave him two tips. One involved cash. The other was to stick to his current profession.
“What’s next?” asked Gran as we stood on the sidewalk in front of Harveys.
“I’m going to try Adriana again although I hate leaving the news on her voicemail.”
“She’s not going to be happy with you.”
“Me?” I squawked. “She only hired me for surveillance, not to be his bodyguard.”
“Speaking of bodyguards, do ya think the big lug we saw with Cigar Shorty last night was some kind of security? He had that look.”
“Define look.”
She pulled out her cell, scrolled through it and turned it toward me. “I took a photo of them last night when they went through the casino.”
“You did?” I glanced at her phone, then grabbed it for a closer look. “All I can see is the partial back of one man, a bunch of slot machines and a lot of carpet.”
“I’m still getting the hang of this thing. Scroll through some more.”
I scrolled to the left. A photo of Gran’s shoes against the red-flowered carpet. Nope. Then to the right.
“Hmm. It’s not a bad photo of the back of that big guy although his boss, or whoever he is, remains hidden. Nice work, Gran.”
I quickly emailed the photo to myself before Gran could accidentally delete it. Then I’d forward it on to Detective Reynolds. Whether she wanted our help or not.
“I told you I could help out. I could be a consultant, specializing in old folks’ cases. What do you think?”
I shuddered at how my husband and stepfather would respond to Gran’s request to be a senior snooper for the agency.
“We’ll see,” I told her. “For now, let’s just hope Tom and Robert don’t fire me for letting the subject of a surveillance get killed right in front of us.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Throughout our relationship and subsequent marriage, my husband has managed remarkable restraint during some of my “adventures” or misadventures. But tonight, seated at the kitchen table, the steam figuratively coming out of my husband’s ears easily matched the hissing steam from my teapot boiling on the stove.
I walked over to the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of beer and handed it to him. He opened it, took a very long sip and then continued to harangue me. Albeit in a soft voice so the kids wouldn’t overhear our conversation.
“Laurel, I told you that taking on a surveillance operation was a bad idea,” Tom said. “What if the killers noticed you, either last night in the casino, or this morning? It sounds like your client’s fiancé was up to his broken neck in trouble.”
“It seemed like such a cut-and-dry case,” I said as I poured boiling water into my flowered mug. “Find out if the guy is a philanderer. Isn’t that the type of work detectives frequently take on?”
Tom sighed as he placed his beer on the table. “Spousal surveillance makes up the majority of most agencies’ casework. I had hoped ours would handle higher-level cases. Financial fraud, insurance work, assisting the district attorney when needed.”
“Not much we can do about it now.” I looked at the rooster clock over my sink. The cocky fellow looked as bewildered as I felt. “It’s almost nine thirty. I’m surprised Adriana hasn’t returned my call.”
The shrill sound of “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead” blasted from my cell phone where it rested on the counter.
Tom’s head jerked up as I replied. “That’s her ringtone now.”
I grabbed the phone and greeted my client.
“Laurel, how could you do this to me?” she shrieked in my ear. Guess the cops notified her finally. I moved the phone a couple of inches away, hitting the hands-free button so Tom could listen in.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said to her. A somewhat meaningless condolence since, from my perspective, she was better off with Gino out of her life.
“If I hadn’t hired you, this never would have happened.” She sobbed quietly as I attempted to calm her down.
“Adriana, I feel for you. Truly I do. But it looks like Gino might have been hanging out with the wrong crowd. His death is still under investigation, but I think it’s possible the police will consider it murder.”
“It has to be a mistake. He went to Tahoe to see clients. Why would his clients want to kill him?”
Now that was the billion-dollar question. Why indeed?
Adriana’s tone changed suddenly as she returned to her normal bossy self. “Well, you’ll just have to figure out who did it. And bring justice to Gino. And me.”
Although Tom remained silent, his head shook the answer to her request. A solid no.
But as I have reiterated on numerous occasions, I am my own woman. Free to make my choices. And I did feel a sense of obligation to Adriana. Obviously, it wasn’t my fault Gino died while Gran and I tailed him. But if Tom suddenly died under suspicious circumstances, I would want answers as well. And as quickly as possible.
I walked to the refrigerator, grabbed another bottle of beer and set it in front of Tom.
“I’ll do what I can,” I assured her before ending the call.
I met Tom’s angry gaze and wondered if helping Adriana would lead to the end of our marriage.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Before Tom could chew me out, my phone rang again. Jenna. What now?
“Honey, are you all right?”
“Yes, everything’s fine. Nikki went to get the car so I wouldn’t have to limp so far. She had to park at the back of the lot. But you’ll never guess what I saw.”
She was one hundred percent accurate about that.
“What?”
“I was hanging out front here, talking to some of the kids, when this white car whizzed by on Ponderosa Road. It barely stopped at the stop sign before taking off. And get this. The left headlight was out and the front bumper was dented. I think it could be the guy who rammed me.”
“Whoa. You couldn’t catch the license plate from that distance, could you?”
I could almost hear her shaking her head over the phone. “No, but I thought as soon as Nikki pulls up, we should try to catch up to him.”
“Absolutely not. Way too dangerous.”
“Mom, you put yourself in dangerous situations all the time.”
True, but not intentionally.
“Look, I don’t want any harm to come to you or Nikki. Her parents would kill me if you two ran into that car. And knowing how poor a driver he is, that’s a possibility.”
“Okay. You’re probably right. Plus, he’s long gone by now. I’ll just have to find another way to track him down.”
I breathed a sig
h of relief. While I applauded my daughter’s enthusiasm, I wished she’d take it down a notch. Her phone call had provided me with a brief respite, since Tom had disappeared from the kitchen.
I climbed the stairs and opened our bedroom door. The room was dark and Tom lay sprawled across our bed. No snoring emanated from the room, yet he didn’t attempt to converse with me. I debated what to do, then silently closed the door.
After all, tomorrow was another day.
I woke early on Sunday, although Tom must have risen even earlier. His mug and a rinsed-out bowl had been added to the dishwasher racks. I didn’t recall any early-morning meetings on his schedule. Especially on the weekend.
I poured the remains of the coffee into my own mug and pondered the relevance of his actions. It didn’t take much of a detective to determine my husband was upset with me. Should I call him and touch base or wait for his irritation to subside?
Before I came up with a plan, two sleepy-eyed, tousle-headed kids slipped into the kitchen chairs on either side of me, brightening my morning immediately.
“What are you two doing up so early?” I asked, both curious and suspicious. I sensed they possessed an action plan of their own, and I wasn’t certain I was prepared for their creative planning. Especially this early in the day.
“Guess what?” Ben asked, his hazel eyes earnest.
“What?”
“Dad found a rescue dog when he was working a couple of weeks ago. He didn’t know where he came from so he took the dog to the pound hoping the owners would go there looking for him.”
“Did the owner turn up?”
Ben shook his head. “Nope, so Dad took the dog home to Gran’s house.”
“How does Gran feel about that?” I asked. My grandmother has a kind heart, but I didn’t recall her being overly fond of the canine population.
“She said”—Ben made air quotes—“‘I’m too old to take on the caring and feeding of a dog.’”