THE SOUND OF MURDER (13 page)

CHAPTER 28

I
raced over to Marge’s house as fast as Bernice’s golf cart could go. By the time I rounded the corner to the cul-de-sac, all of the official vehicles were gone. Hank couldn’t have been more than a few minutes ahead of me, but he, too, was pulling away. A few onlookers lingered. Wait, was that Carl Marks?

I squealed to a stop in Bernice’s drive, but by the time I jumped out of the cart, the mustachioed man I thought I saw had disappeared.

I approached a woman I vaguely recognized as a neighbor. “What happened?”

She stared at me. “I didn’t know Marge was Catholic.”

What? Oh, I was still a nun. “She’s not. I don’t think. It’s just—what happened?”

“It depends on who you talk to,” said a silver-haired man. He pulled a pipe filled with tobacco out of his shirt pocket, extracted some matches from another pocket, and lit one. “There are two sides to this particular story, plus a few pertinent details.” He drew on his pipe a little to get it lit. “I found her.”

“Is she okay?”

“That depends on your definition of okay.”

Arghh. I knew I could probably get a ton of information out of this storyteller, but I was not feeling patient. I took a deep breath and held it. Sort of like meditating, but not.

“I was having my morning constitutional when I heard Marge’s dog barking up a storm. Not only that, but I heard another sound over and over—a man’s voice. It said, ‘Let’s go, Gorgeous! Let’s go, Gorgeous!’ Again and again.”

I released my pent-up breath as quietly as I could and took another.

“I rang the doorbell and knocked and knocked,” he continued. “No answer, just that dog and ‘Let’s go, Gorgeous!’ So I called 911. The firemen got in using her lockbox and found Marge on the floor in the garage, bleeding from the head. Must have had a tumble.”

“But she’s okay?” The words came out in a whoosh with my breath.

He puffed on his pipe thoughtfully. “I guess it’s understandable she’d be confused after a fall like that. But it’s more than that. The paramedics figure she got up for a glass of water or something, got confused and made a wrong turn, and fell down the step into the garage, where she hit her head. But that’s not what Marge says.”

“What does she say?” I tried hard not to throttle the slow-talker.

“She says somebody tried to kill her.”

I
had just parked Bernice’s cart in her garage when my cell rang. I didn’t recognize the number but I picked up anyway.

“Ivy?” It sounded like Arnie. And it sounded like he was crying. “I’m at Sunnydale Hospital.” He took a big shuddering breath. “Marge is here.”

“I heard.”

“And she won’t see me.” He barely got out the “me.”

“I’m so sorry, Arnie.”

A few sniffles. “But here’s the thing.” An enormous honk of a nose blow. “She says she’ll only see you.”

It only took me ten minutes to get to the hospital parking lot, even via golf cart. I parked, jogged to the hospital entrance, stopped at the information desk to find out where Marge was, and made my way to the ER, where she lay in bed behind a curtain. Along the route, people were inordinately polite to me. Probably because I still wore the nun habit. It would have taken me twenty minutes to get there if I’d tried to get out of the dang thing.

Marge’s eyes were closed. Aside from the gauze bandage wrapped around her head, she didn’t look too bad, partly because of her perma-tan. I mean, it would be hard for her to look pale.

“Marge?” I said softly.

Her eyes flew open. “I’m Jewish,” she said.

“Uh-huh.”

“And I’m not confusing. Convening. Converting.”

Ah, the nun’s habit. “Marge, it’s Ivy.” I got closer so she could see me better.

“Is it nighttime?”

A window was visible from Marge’s bed. The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky.

“It’s morning.”

“Then why are you wearing that?” She nodded at my outfit, which I wore as a costume for the show. At night.

“Oh. I was…undercover. How are you feeling?”

“Like someone used my head for a…you know, that game you play with alleys and gutters and pins?”

“Bowling?”

“Yeah, a bowling ball.” Marge gently touched the back of her head and winced. “Listen, chickie.” I was relieved to hear the old nickname. Maybe everything would be okay. “I need you to do a couple of things for me. First of all, they’re not going to let me go home for a few days. Lassie needs someone to take care of him.” Lassie was a him? “But he doesn’t do so well in other people’s houses. You’ll need to move into my place for a while.”

I nodded. I’d call Bernice, but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t mind if I kept an eye on her house from next door, especially under the circumstances.

“The second thing—God, my head hurts.”

“You want me to get a nurse?”

Marge looked at me blankly. “What for?”

“To give you something for your head?”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. “You said there was a second thing you want me to do.”

“Yeah.” Her hands plucked at the cotton blanket covering her.

“Marge,” I said gently, “the second thing?”

She scrunched her forehead in concentration, then looked at me, her eyes focused again. “You’re a detective.” I was about to object, but this didn’t seem the time. “I want you to find whoever did this to me.”

“Did what, Marge? Can you remember?”

She screwed up her face again. “Not really. I just know there was someone in my garage.”

“How do you know?”

“Lassie. He started going apeshit, barking like a crazy dog. I got up to see what was going on and heard something in the garage. I opened the door and stepped out and someone came at me.”

“Did you see who?”

She shook her head. “That’s all really foggy. I just remember a shape where it shouldn’t be, then I heard Lassie hitting that damn doggie doorbell Arnie gave me.”

“Doggie doorbell?”

“It’s a big plastic button. You train the dog to push it when he wants to go out. Arnie recorded his own voice on it so it says, ‘Let’s go, Gorgeous!’ Lassie hit it again and again, over and over. I bet that’s what scared the intruder away.”

And what the neighbor heard. I smiled when I made the connection.

“That’s right.” Marge had a glimmer of the old sass in her eyes. “Not only did Lassie rescue me, I was saved by the bell.”

CHAPTER 29

After throwing my sweaty disgusting nun’s habit into the washer at Bernice’s house, I walked next door to Marge’s. Her house was similar to Bernice’s: stucco exterior and red tile roof, but the front yard boasted a patch of grass shaded by a Palo Verde tree, all surrounded by a short decorative iron fence. Maybe for the dog?

I felt a thrill of nosy excitement as I unlocked the door with the key Marge had given me. I loved snooping and I’d never been invited inside Marge’s house. I stepped into the cool interior. The click of toenails on the tile announced the dog, who rounded the corner in the entryway and skidded to a stop. I couldn’t tell right away if Lassie was a he or she, but I could tell the dog wasn’t a collie. It was a black pug. Lassie looked at me, then walked around me and peered out the open door.

“Sorry, it’s just me.” I shut the door. “Want to go for a walk?” Lassie’s whole butt wagged. “Let’s go find your leash.” He or she snorted in agreement.

A niche in the entryway held an abstract statue made of red and purple glass. On closer inspection, I could see it was an artist’s rendition of the comedy and tragedy masks. Pretty cool.

Didn’t see anywhere Marge might put a leash in the entryway, so I padded down the white-tiled hall. Lassie pushed ahead of me. I rounded the corner and walked into a big open room that looked like it served as living room and dining room, with an open kitchen attached. Lassie stepped on the red plastic button by the patio door. “Let’s go, Gorgeous!” I recognized the sound, and not just from Marge or the neighbor. I’d heard it the day I had come over to check on Marge, the morning I hoped she and Arnie were making up.

“Let’s go, Gorgeous!” The pug’s buggy little eyes pleaded with me. I slid open the door. “There you go.” Lassie ran out the door to another small patch of grass and lifted his leg. Definitely a he.

Lassie trotted back inside, relieved. Me, I was the opposite of relieved as I stared past the dog at a turquoise nightmare. Marge had forgotten to tell me she had a swimming pool.

I’d figure out what to do about that later. I shut the door. Lassie stood near what must be the door to the garage, looking at me meaningfully from beside an empty water bowl. I picked it up, then opened the door. This must be where Marge…

The bowl dropped from my hands. There were bloodstains on the step, on the concrete floor of the garage, on the doorframe. Correction: there was blood. Still wet. The sweet metallic scent of it filled my nose.

I held my breath, thinking I might be sick. Instead, after a few seconds, a switch flipped on in my brain and I began looking at the scene clinically. It looked like Marge had hit her head on a small brass hook fastened into the doorframe—for keys, maybe? Most of the blood was on the top of the step, but some had dripped down onto the garage floor. There were smears and dog prints, plus several sets of partial footprints. The paramedics? Or an intruder? I followed some of the prints to a door that led to a small side yard landscaped with gravel and a few morning glory bushes. I stared at the gravel, which looked slightly disturbed. Were those footprints or coyote tracks? I made a mental note to keep Marge’s little tasty pug close by and went back into the garage. More prints led out the garage door. I pushed the button for the opener, waited for the door to rise, and walked outside, where I could see more faint footprints already fading in the Arizona sun. Seemed unlikely an intruder would exit this very visible way. I suspected Marge’s rescuers made the prints while getting her into the ambulance.

I walked back into the garage, closed the door, and stared at the scene. I’d never thought about who cleaned up the blood. Paramedics would need to get victims to the hospital, so I suspected it wasn’t their responsibility. I was afraid it was mine now.

A cold nose nudged my shin. When Lassie realized that I noticed him, he ran back to his water bowl, which was still where I had dropped it on the garage floor.

“Sorry, buddy.” I picked up the bowl, stepped around the blood, and went through the door into the kitchen to get some water for the poor thing.

That’s when I noticed the first list, written on a large fluorescent yellow Post-it and stuck to the counter between the sink and the coffeepot. It said:

1. Throw out old filter full of coffee.

2. Fill coffeepot with water to top line.

3. Pour water into back compartment of coffeemaker.

The very detailed list went on, ending with, “Put CINNAMON in coffee. Smell or taste before adding!!!”

Looking around, I noticed another Post-it stuck above a desk. On closer inspection, it was a list of instructions on how to pay bills, down to affixing the stamp. Another one in the hall prompted Marge to make sure she had her keys, driver’s license, and insurance card in her purse. And one mounted near the front door reminded her to take keys and a poo bag when walking the dog. The last line read, “The dog’s name is Lassie.”

Oh, Marge.

CHAPTER 30

“Do you know how to clean up blood?” I admit it wasn’t the most romantic opening, but I did kiss Jeremy “hello” right afterward. And being the nice fireman-type he was, he took my question in stride.

“I do,” he said, stepping into Marge’s foyer. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’s leftover blood.”

“Good.” He stooped to pet Lassie. “Then let’s eat first. I’m starving.” He gave one last scratch to the dog, whose butt wriggled with glee at his touch. I understood the feeling.

Since it was Monday, one of my nights off, I’d asked Jeremy to dinner. I originally planned to have him over to Bernice’s house, but when I’d called her with the news, she insisted I stay at Marge’s and take care of Lassie. I promised to check on her house and plants once a day.

Jeremy followed me into the living room. “This blood have to do with your investigation?”

“No.” I wasn’t getting anywhere with Charlie’s case, and it was eating at me. Not only was I beginning to feel like a dud as a detective, I was afraid I was letting down Uncle Bob. And Amy Small. Not to mention poor Charlie.

Jeremy stopped in front of the sliding glass door. “Nice,” he said, admiring the view.

It was nice. It was a nice view on a nice night with a nice guy, and I needed to stop thinking about blood and investigations and live in the moment instead.

“Right on the golf course.” Jeremy’s eyes followed a golfer’s swing.

“You play golf?” I asked. Jeremy and I were still in that getting-to-know-you stage. It was partly a function of our crazy schedules, partly a gentlemanly approach on his side, and maybe a bit of self-protection on mine. I had fallen hard for a fellow actor last fall and gotten burned. Ha. Bet I was safe from that with a fireman.

“I chase a little white ball around. Don’t know if you could call it ‘playing.’” Jeremy turned to see me smiling at my private fireman joke. “What’s funny?”

“It’s just good to be with you.” I smiled again as I walked into the open kitchen to stir a bubbling pot of chili-scented black beans. I had sprung for some ground beef for tonight’s feast, but just couldn’t seem to get away from the beans.

“You too.” He hugged me from behind. Ohhhh. I relaxed into his arms and chest. I’d never had a boyfriend who spooned with me, but this must be what it felt like. Safe, but sorta sexy.

Jeremy kissed my neck. Definitely sexy. “Can I help you with dinner?” A man who offered to cook? Even sexier.

“We’re having hamburgers. Help me with the grill?”

“Sure thing.” Jeremy went out through the sliding glass door to the awning-covered patio, Lassie trotting behind him. Through the window, I watched Jeremy stop and look at the pool. His face was turned away from me, but his shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. Then he walked over and turned on the grill. The flames illuminated his face and his eyes shone—wait, were those tears? Jeremy caught me watching and grinned, his dimples deepening into shadow. Any trace of sadness disappeared.

“Alright.” He came back into the kitchen, Lassie following behind. “Hamburger?” he asked, opening the refrigerator.

“Already made into patties and everything. They’re next to the coleslaw.”

I was sort of proud of myself. I mostly cooked one-dish dinners: spaghetti, beans and rice, omelets, that sort of thing. Tonight we had three whole courses. Four, if you counted the chocolate ice cream in the freezer. Which I did.

Jeremy stood in front of the open refrigerator. “I hope it’s not you who needs to remember what goes in the freezer and what goes in the fridge.”

I must have missed a Post-it in the refrigerator. “It’s a long story,” I said. And since he was starving and the story involved blood, I added, “I’ll tell you after dinner.”

Later, over bowls of ice cream on the patio (a good safe distance from that damn pool), I filled him in.

“You really like this Marge, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Lassie sat curled at my feet, his little body warm against my ankle.

“And you believe her?”

I wasn’t sure why I believed Marge, but I did. I nodded slowly.

“Do you think maybe you believe her because you like her?”

“Maybe,” I conceded.

“You’re a detective.” He called me a detective! I really was going to have to get that PI license soon. “Let’s look at this like two investigators,” Jeremy said.

“Like
two
investigators?”

“Caught that, did you?”

“I
am
a detective,” I said in my best noir-ish voice.

“And I’m applying to be an arson investigator.” Jeremy grinned broadly. “Who knows, maybe we’ll even work together someday.”

I didn’t know how many PIs worked with arson investigators, but I hoped I’d be one.

“First of all, is there any evidence of confusion on her part?” Jeremy sat forward in his chair.

I thought about the conversation at the hospital, the cayenne in her coffee, the note reminding her of her dog’s name. “Yeah.”

“Then why don’t you think she’s confused about what happened?”

“I did a little research and learned that dementia at this stage doesn’t usually involve hallucinations. Marge was sure she heard Lassie barking and hitting the doggie doorbell—”

“Could that just have been Lassie wanting to go out?”

“She also saw a person in the garage.” And before he could ask, “She wasn’t sure if it was a man or a woman. Just saw a shape.”

“And then she hit her head?”

“Yeah.” I grimaced. “That’s what I need your help cleaning up. She seemed to bleed an awful lot.”

“Head wounds can do that. And a concussion can make people confused about what really happened.” Jeremy’s golden eyes were serious.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll keep an open mind about the intruder bit. Now I have something to ask you. Why did you look so sad earlier? When you came outside?”

“Oh.” Jeremy sat back up and his face closed like a door shutting. “I worked an accident yesterday. Little kid in the family pool.” He shook his head. “He didn’t make it.”

I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, so I got up and kissed him instead. He kissed me back, then pulled me into his lap and kissed me some more. His lips were soft but insistent. He pulled me close to him with one hand, while the other caressed my hair. Then he stopped.

“I can’t stay tonight,” he said, a little out of breath.

“That’s okay.”

“I want to.”

“Good.”

“But I don’t too.”

“What?” I sat up straight.

“No, no, no,” he said, petting my hair again. “It’s a good reason. See, I really like you, and I want to take it slow. I think we might have something here, and I don’t want to rush it.”

I nodded. Wow.

“But soon,” he said. I nodded again.

“And now that I’ve spoiled the mood,” he said, hoisting me off his lap. “Let’s go take a look at this blood.”

I was a bit disconcerted by the way the conversation changed direction, but I did want his help. “We see this type of situation a lot,” he said as we walked through the house to the garage, Lassie at our heels. “You know, LOLFDGBs.”

“What’s that?” I took the bait as I opened the door.

Jeremy smiled broadly. “Little Old Ladies Fall Down Go Boom.” Then he looked at the accident scene. His dimples disappeared.

“What is it?” I asked.

“She must have fallen backward and hit her head here.” He indicated the key hook I’d noticed earlier.

“Yeah?”

“Usually, when someone’s going down a step,” he said, “they fall forward.”