Tahoe Chase (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller), Page 2

  “Maybe she couldn’t tell you because the killer was with her, preventing her from saying anything.”

  Rorvik didn’t like that thought. His frown took over his entire face.

  “Are you certain you made a thorough check of everything a burglar might take?” I said.

  “Well, I don’t know how one would tell. But I looked around. Everything seemed okay.”

  “Another possibility,” I said, “is that a burglar came to your house to burglarize it. He thought no one was home but discovered that your wife was out on the deck. If she got a good look at him, he probably worried that she could identify him, so he pushed her off. Maybe the experience spooked him enough that he decided to leave without taking anything.”

  “It doesn’t make sense to me,” Joe said. “I think that any man bold enough to push a woman off the deck would take a quick look around and pocket the easy valuables. We have some valuables.”

  “Maybe the burglar wasn’t spooked by pushing your wife off the deck,” I said. “Maybe he simply heard a noise and thought that somebody else was coming. So he left without looking through the house.”

  Joe made a slow nod.

  I saw in him the pain that so often accompanies the end of life. Even if you live a happily-ever-after life, it still has to end. Even the best endings are extremely painful for at least one of every pair. In Joe’s case, the ending he was coping with was as bad as it gets.

  We want to comfort people in these situations. But Rorvik didn’t come to me for comfort. He came to me to learn what had happened, which would be an indirect comfort at best.

  Spot tired of standing. He sat his rear down, moving awkwardly so that he could lower his head onto Joe’s lap.

  “Let’s reconsider the possibility that her fall was an accident,” I said. “Maybe no one came to your house at all.”

  “I can’t see it.” Rorvik looked out my office window toward the lake, but I don’t think he was seeing the water.

  “Maybe she had a little stroke,” I said. “Got dizzy and lost her balance.”

  “I doubt it. She was a hiker. In great shape. She had no history of high blood pressure or any other health issues. She took no medications. So that is unlikely. And the doctors saw no evidence of a stroke in the X-rays. And even if she’d had a stroke, she’s only five-two. That’s not tall enough to accidentally fall over the railing.”

  Rorvik’s arthritic hands gripped each other on top of Spot’s head as if in a wrestling match. “Will you help me?” he asked, his voice plaintive, almost desperate.

  “Joe, sometimes people get an idea that I can figure out exactly how something happened, and then they are disappointed when I can’t deliver. Will you be disappointed if I find nothing?”

  “Yes, of course. I want to know what happened. I owe it to Rell. But if you find nothing, I’ll accept that I did everything I could.”

  “Then what?” I asked, wanting this sad man to face the possibility that I might not be able to tie up the loose ends of Rell’s fall from the deck.

  “Then I have my sit-down with Rell,” he said. “I explain that the cops think it was an accident and that you were unable to find out anything more. Once she knows that I did what I could, then she’ll accept it.”

  “Rell will accept it,” I said. “But will you accept it? Will you find some peace after this?”

  Joe’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I’ll still go ahead and let the doctors turn off the machines. Rell and me, we had a deal.”

  THREE

  Joe Rorvik said that I could come out anytime but that sooner was better. Rell was waiting, he said. He gave me directions to his house, southwest of South Lake Tahoe, in the Angora Highlands neighborhood, up off Tahoe Mountain Road.

  After finishing up some other business, I took Spot in my Jeep, went through South Lake Tahoe, and headed out of town on Lake Tahoe Blvd. I found the turnoff and climbed up the mountain to Angora Ridge and the Angora Highlands. Because Joe’s neighborhood is closer to the Sierra Crest – the high mountainous ridge west of Lake Tahoe – there was much more snow than at my cabin on the east side of the lake. Even though it was still early December, the snow banks were already half way up to the street signs. The vertical snow walls that were cut by the giant rotary plows made the neighborhood remind me of a medieval walled city, but one where the fortress ramparts were made of white ice. Here and there, the walls were breached by driveway openings.

  I parked in Joe’s driveway at noon. His front door was set back under a large entry roof and nearly hidden from the street. Flanking the door were two, large, shiny metal sculptures, abstracts that could be, if one had an open mind, interpretations of ski racers.

  A skinny young man in his middle twenties was stringing Christmas lights. He had one sculpture evenly wrapped and was working on the second one. In a glance, I could tell that he wasn’t just hanging lights on them to get the job done, but cared a great deal about getting the placement exactly right. The bulbs seemed to be in two sets of parallel lines, each intersecting with the other at precise angles.

  “Oh, hello,” he said in a pleasant voice as I walked up. “You must be the private investigator. Mr. Rorvik said you’d be stopping by.” He shifted the bundle of lights to his left hand, then shook my hand, his grip cold and limp. He had watery eyes that were overwhelmed by heavy black-framed glasses. His pimples and pallor made me wonder if he ever saw the sun or got any exercise or ate anything besides pizza and ice cream. He wore a thin red stocking cap from which spilled long messy hair so red it almost matched his pimples.

  “I’m Dwight Frankman,” he said. “I live down the street.”

  I introduced myself.

  Dwight gestured at the lights. “I try to help the Rorviks now and then. They... They don’t have any family, so I occasionally stop by to check on them.”

  “Nice of you to help out,” I said.

  Dwight made a little nod. “Mr. Rorvik is waiting for you. You can go right in.” He opened the front door a few inches and called out in a high, soft voice.

  “Mr. Rorvik? Mr. McKenna is here to see you.” Dwight pushed the door open farther.

  I thought it best to wait outside.

  Joe Rorvik appeared in a few moments.

  “I see you’ve met Dwight,” Joe said. “Best neighbor two old people could have.” He put his hand on Dwight’s shoulder. “I told him I didn’t need Christmas lights this year. Without Rell here to enjoy them, what’s the point? But here he is, anyway, trying to cheer up an old man.”

  “Oh, Mr. Rorvik,” Dwight said, “watch this, and you’ll be glad I put up these lights.” He walked over to the wall and flipped the switch on a power strip that he’d plugged into an outdoor outlet. The sculpture to the left of the door lit up. Although it was daylight, it was shaded under the door. A hundred points of light suddenly reflected in the shiny metal. “Now tell me that isn’t worth the effort.”

  Rorvik looked at the lights and nodded. “You’re right, Dwight. Very nice. I thank you.”

  “Don’t let me interrupt your meeting,” Dwight said. “I’ll be through here in a little bit, then I’ll head home.”

  Rorvik motioned me inside and shut the door behind me.

  “Dwight lives a block away,” Joe said as we walked toward a big room at the rear of the house. “He seems to like to help us. He says we’re the grandparents he never had. What family he has is in the Bay Area, so we all benefit from the friendship.” Joe stopped and pointed back toward the door. “I couldn’t see your vehicle, but I wonder if you brought your hound?”

  “Yes, actually. He goes most places with me.”

  “Then you can bring him in if you want.”

  I wasn’t sure how sincere the invitation was. “When you came to my office, it seemed like you knew Great Danes,” I said.

  “We never had one, but we like them. Before we moved up to the lake, we lived in Danville in the East Bay, and our neighbor Sissy Lakeman raised th
em. We got to know all of them. Rell is pretty much afraid of animals, but she loves Great Danes. She says that Danes are sweet toy lap dogs inside guard dog bodies. Your guy’s got some size on him. At your office, just having his head in my lap was heavy. What does he weigh?”

  “One-seventy.”

  “Bring him in. Please. It will be a good distraction for me.”

  I went back and let Spot out of the Jeep. He trotted up to Dwight. Dwight backed up, fear on his face.

  “Don’t worry,” Joe’s voice came from the doorway. “He might be a giant dog, but he’s friendly. I’ve already met him. He won’t hurt you.”

  Dwight was up against the wall.

  I held Spot’s collar so he couldn’t touch Dwight.

  Dwight tried to relax, but the tension in his body was obvious.

  Spot stretched his head toward Joe, who then pet him.

  “See?” Joe said to Dwight.

  Dwight made a little nod.

  Joe was obviously Dane-fluent. He turned sideways, rested his hand on Spot’s back and walked him through the open front door. Joe was stooped enough, and Spot was tall enough, that Joe could use Spot’s back for support.

  I watched them go. Spot held his tail high as always when he’s happy and exploring. I followed and shut the door behind me, leaving Dwight safe from Spot.

  “Get you something to drink?” Joe said when we were inside.

  I hesitated.

  “I’m about to have a beer,” he said as if wanting me to join in.

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  Joe walked Spot around the kitchen island to the fridge. Recognizing the implicit permission, Spot reached his nose deep over the kitchen counters, investigating food scents. If Joe minded a giant dog wiping the counters with his jowls and neck, he didn’t show it.

  The big living room projected out from the rest of the house. In the back wall, a sliding glass door opened onto a deck. Picture windows flanked the door. More windows on the side walls faced the forest on both sides of the house. Through the trees in one direction, I could see the vague shape of a neighboring house. In the other direction, there were only trees.

  The large deck overhung the slope that dropped away below. It was likely the deck from which Rell had fallen. The slider and picture windows faced west and framed a grand view of the massive cliffs of Mt. Tallac. A thousand feet below the summit, a cloud roiled against the cliff face. Trailing below as the cloud moved north was a fall of snow. It looked delicate and light, but I knew that if one were in that snowfall, it would be a whirl of wind and cold and biting bits of ice and snow.

  At the edge of the view, just visible through trees to the north, stretched Lake Tahoe, blue where the sun shone through and angry gray where the snow showers dotted the surface.

  Out of sight, hundreds of feet below us, was Fallen Leaf Lake, the large scintillating body of water just southwest of Tahoe. Legend has it that it was formed when an Indian boy was chased by the devil. The boy had a magic branch with leaves that, when they fell off, instantly created lakes behind the boy, preventing the devil from catching him. I wondered if there was a devil someplace in Joe and Rell’s life.

  I wanted to investigate the deck but thought that I should wait a bit before we discussed the details of Rell’s fall.

  On a table near the picture windows was a pair of binoculars and a bird book. “Who’s the birder?” I asked.

  Joe came over and handed me a Fat Tire Amber Ale. “Rell’s main focus is birding.” Joe sat down on a chair, his breathing noticeable but not really strained. He took a sip of his beer. Spot lay down on the floor next to him.

  “Was Rell trained as an ornithologist?” I asked.

  “No. She’s an amateur, but she’s gotten more serious as she’s gotten older. Her life list is up to five hundred sixty-something species. Her goal is to join the Six Hundred Club.” He looked up toward the peak of Mt. Tallac. “I guess she won’t make it. I didn’t realize that until now.” He turned away from me.

  I drank beer, gave him some time, looked for a way to change the subject to something less sad.

  The house design was Mountain Modern, post-and-beam and rustic touches combined with slick granite counters, slate floors, stainless steel appliances, and Scandinavian furniture. The view out the windows from the chairs was spectacular. As I glanced out, I thought I saw something move in my peripheral vision, moving fast.

  Maybe it was a bear going through the forest. But it didn’t seem like a bear. It seemed like a person trying to hide in the trees.

  FOUR

  I looked toward where I’d seen movement, but there was nothing to see.

  I didn’t want to scare away anybody watching us, so I turned from the windows and studied the room for places from which I could look outside without being obvious.

  Spread through the living room were four tall, white sculpture pedestals. On each one stood an elaborate origami sculpture, white paper folded into a shape, detailed enough to be clearly recognizable. They were sizable works, each as tall as a wine bottle. One was an eagle, another an ice skater in a spin. The third was a dog leaping to catch a Frisbee. The fourth was a ski racer. Draped over it was a gold necklace. In its center was a small golden pair of skis.

  Joe saw me looking at it. “That’s my lucky necklace,” he said. “I was wearing that when I won my Olympic medal.”

  “Wow. This is an important historical artifact,” I said. “And these origami pieces are beautiful, too.” I walked behind one so that it was between me and the windows. By looking just past it, I could see outside. Anyone watching might think I was looking at the origami. “Rell found time for several pursuits,” I said.

  “No, those are mine,” Joe said.

  I was surprised that the big ski racer of Rorvik Roar fame would create something so fragile.

  “You have a serious skill with paper,” I said. “How did you learn it?”

  Joe smiled. “Lots of practice.” Joe stood and walked over. He picked up the leaping dog and handed it to me. “It’s kind of a combination of art and science,” he said.

  I turned it around, being as gentle as if I were holding a Ming vase. I held it up at eye level, which made it easier to disguise my real purpose of looking out the window. There was so much snow that anyone in the forest would have to be wearing snowshoes. In fact, it was probably too deep for bear until the thaw/freeze cycles firmed it up and crusted it over.

  “Don’t be timid with it,” Joe said, pointing at the origami piece. “It’s just paper. You can hold most pieces by any part. If you drop it, no big deal. Most of my pieces are pretty tough. They bounce.”

  “The art is obvious,” I said. “Where does the science come in?”

  “We start with a two-dimensional medium and turn it into three dimensions. Math meets art. Some of the best origami artists are top-level mathematicians.”

  I walked over to the pedestal that held the eagle. I picked up the sculpture and carried it over to the windows as if to get it into more light. By turning the origami, I was able to give the forest a thorough look. I saw nothing. I thought about Dwight. There was no car, so he’d walked up the street from his house. I saw no snowshoes, either, so if he were now out in the forest, he would have had to have brought his snowshoes and stashed them nearby.

  “Joe, I can’t remember if I shut the car door after I let Spot out. Give me a moment to check.”

  He nodded. I walked back to the entry, opened the door, and looked out. Dwight was still there, finishing the lights on the second sculpture.

  “Oh, hi,” Dwight said. “I’m just about done.”

  I nodded as I stepped outside and closed the door behind me. I walked away from the house as if to take in the lights on the sculptures. From where I stood, I could see no person in the trees and no tracks, either.

  “Dwight, I thought I saw someone outside in the forest. Have you seen or heard anyone?”

  He immediately looked worried and made a furtive glance out towar
d the street. “No, I haven’t. The snow is deep. You’d need snowshoes or skis to get off the street. Plus the rotary walls are so high, it would be hard to climb up and over them.”

  “Right. Maybe let me know if you see someone?”

  “Sure. But I’ll be leaving in a bit.” Dwight was holding a step ladder below the eave. A string of lights hung from his shoulder. He climbed up three steps on the ladder as I moved by. As he reached out to put the light string on the eave, I noticed his legs vibrating. I’d seen it before. Fear of heights can kick in just two feet off the ground.

  “Here, let me steady the ladder for you.” I held it firm.

  “Thanks very much,” Dwight said. His face went red with embarrassment. He hung the lights on hooks that were screwed into the eave. Now his hands were shaking. “Sorry,” he said when he was done. He climbed back down and took a deep breath, calming himself.

  “That ladder just doesn’t feel right. And, well, I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve always had a little problem with heights. Dogs, too, for that matter. I have a recurring nightmare where a mountain lion jumps out of the trees onto my back and puts its jaws around the back of my neck. I see a dog as big as yours, and it makes me think of it.”

  “I understand,” I said, even though I didn’t.

  We moved to the other side of the entry, and Dwight again climbed up three feet and hooked up the other end of the light string while I held the ladder. It must have helped because he shook a little less. When he climbed down, he glanced out toward the street. My question about a possible person in the forest had obviously made him worry.

  He turned back to me. “Thanks again,” he said, and I went back inside.

  Joe was sitting in an upholstered chair. Spot was lying on the floor next to him, his head in Joe’s lap, eyes closed, soaking up Joe’s pets.

  “Door shut?” Joe said.

  “Yeah. You mentioned that origami is a combination of art and math,” I said. “Is that your background? Mathematics?”

  “No, not at all. I couldn’t solve a quadratic equation if my life depended on it.”