Murder of the Maestro Page 6

“That’s a good question for Pat, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe not in those exact words. I’ll ask her if Adam and the maestro have had a “beef” as you so eloquently put it—recently or not.”

  “You may have less experience with the rich and famous, but you’ve been around many more suspicious characters than I have so you’ll be a better judge of Adam than me. If he’s more of a raging bull than the strong, silent type maybe Pat’s not safe with him.”

  “This can’t be the first time she’s been alone with him. Besides, an insurance adjuster is also supposed to meet them there to assess the damage. Working for Marvelous Marley World must give you clout even from the grave to get an insurance company to send an agent out there fast, and on a Sunday to boot!”

  “With a property like Dave’s, the insurers know the best way to cut their losses is to clean and repair the place as soon as possible. I’ll bet Max is the one pulling the strings to get that kind of service rather than my dead colleague. You’re going to get to the bottom of this soon, aren’t you? I don’t like the idea that a killer’s still on the loose or that Max is lurking in the background ready to pull our strings like some crazed puppet-master if he loses it. When I told him Dave was dead, it was clear to me he was fighting for control. He won’t be able to contain himself for long.”

  “I understand what you’re saying, but not even Max can rush justice.” I put my fork down when my stomach twisted as if Max had just overheard Jack utter those words. My eyes roamed the beach off in the distance where a few people were ambling along, enjoying a leisurely Sunday stroll. Jack and I planned to do that next to get in a bit of exercise and to unwind from the stressful events in which we’d become embroiled. I was suddenly inspired to suggest an alternative.

  “How about we take our Sunday stroll along the beach in Malibu today? I’ll call Pat and tell her we’re stopping by and you can meet the assistant’s assistant for yourself.”

  “That’s a great idea. I’d like to get a better look at how someone can get to Dave’s estate by starting from the beach and working our way up to the house. Put your criminal mind to work too, will you? Help me identify spots where a person might have hidden until the maestro showed up during his moonlit walk, with or without a companion.”

  “My criminal mind? What are you saying?” Even as I asked that question, I was running over the path we’d trod, wondering where I might have concealed myself if I’d wanted to catch Dave by surprise. “Once a suspect, always a suspect,” I mumbled as I continued trying to recall every inch of that trail we’d walked. Jack laughed.

  “Let’s go!” He said as he stood and picked up his coffee cup and breakfast dishes. I cleared the remaining items from our table and dashed after him from the veranda to the kitchen sink.

  “It’s much better to stay on the right side of the law, don’t you think? I wouldn’t want the two of us on the case if I were the culprit who killed Dave.” I put my dishes into the dishwasher as Jack had just done with his. Jack laughed again, and this time pulled me close to him for an embrace that made me quite happy we’d met even if it had been at an awful crime scene.

  “I’m glad I didn’t have to break any laws to get you on my case! I’m not sure I could resist the temptation to become an outlaw if that’s what it took.” It was my turn to laugh. Jack as an outlaw was as fanciful as his notion he might someday have ended up as a lonesome lothario.

  “Oh, come on. You don’t fool me. You’re a Boy Scout and you know it! Let’s go rescue a damsel in distress,” I said and gave him the little three-finger scout salute.

  “I’m pretty sure that rescuing a damsel in distress qualifies me to be your knight in shining armor.” Jack had this wickedly handsome grin on his face that reminded me so much of James Garner in The Rockford Files. Maybe it was the fact that we were headed to Malibu where that series was filmed that had brought the character to mind. I gave Jack a smooch.

  “Okay, have it your way, Sir Jack of Crystal Cove. Let’s go. I’m calling Pat to tell her we’re on our way whether she needs rescuing or not.” A bellow from Miles signaled disapproval. “What’s your problem, cat? You don’t go to the beach—here or in Malibu. Nobody’s leaving you out of anything.” When Miles tilted his head back and roared again, I got the shivers. Jack must have seen my reaction.

  “It’s okay, Miles. I won’t let a sea monster or dragon get anywhere near our lady fair. That’s why she’s taking Sir Jack along.” I doubt Jack meant it the way it sounded, but it struck me as funny. That proclamation issued with such bravado sent the heebie-jeebies fleeing.

  “Hmm, okay, Sir Jack-along. I don’t know about Miles, but I’m convinced.”

  “I much prefer Sir Jack of Crystal Cove,” Jack said, bowing low. “Shall we go?”

  I grabbed the windbreakers we wear to the beach and pulled my phone from a shoulder bag and called Pat. She picked up on the second ring. It occurred to me later that making that phone call had not been such a good idea.

  7 A Sunday Stroll

  Less than an hour later we were strolling along the nearly empty beach in Malibu. The Pacific Ocean is frigid this time of year. Even though it was sunny, the air was chilly. A few hardy souls sat on the beach to read or gaze at the horizon, but no one was in the water. A jogger ran out ahead of us, and a dog barked as he chased a gull into the water, setting the bird to flight. Otherwise, it was quiet except for the sound of lazy waves rolling onto shore.

  As we did a few stretches, I felt uneasy. Maybe it had been the edgy tone in Pat’s voice. When I’d spoken to her, it was clear she had plenty of company for the time being. The insurance adjuster had arrived, not alone but with an entire team. Maybe more of Max Marley’s handiwork. She and Adam had started showing them around and had just begun to assess the damage on the first floor.

  Since she was busy, we’d opted to make our way to Dave’s house via the beach route Jack wanted to examine. We set out at a pace that could pass as exercise until we approached the spot where Dave’s body had been found. As we drew closer, I became more apprehensive. Why not? Our Sunday stroll was, after all, leading us to the scene of a murder.

  Fortunately for me, when we arrived a half hour later, I discovered that wind and water had left no trace that a crime of any kind had taken place. The police and forensic team had cleaned up after themselves leaving no photo markers or tape or any other remnants of their investigation behind.

  “Why not wait for the maestro down here to kill him? There are plenty of places to hide,” I wondered aloud.

  “Maybe the killer didn’t want to get wet or didn’t want to get sand in the car on the way home,” Jack quipped. Then he spoke again in a more somber tone. “It’s more likely that whoever murdered Dave felt he or she was less easily observed up there on the bluff above the beach.”

  “I guess that could be true. If you have murder on your mind, the clifftop trail might seem less public—even at the late hour and in the dark when the beach must have been emptier than it is now.” I headed toward the foot of the stairs that would take us up to the trail and to Dave’s estate. “If you wanted to make a fast getaway this sand would slow you down, wouldn’t it?” I asked as I slogged my way through deep, dry sand.

  “That’s for sure,” Jack said scanning the area around him as he joined me. “Our walk was a lot easier on the wet, hard-packed sand near the water’s edge.”

  “Fleeing up these steps wouldn’t be easy either. Attacking Dave from the cliff top would have avoided the need to do that.” After we’d moved up some of the steps, I looked up to see how many more we had to climb. I glimpsed movement above us. I shifted over to one side to accommodate two-way traffic if someone was heading down toward us from the top of the stairs.

  “Walking down the stairs would have been much easier if Dave’s killer didn’t have another escape route planned up there on the trail,” Jack suggested.

  About half way up the stairs, I stopped again, and settled on the spot where Dave’s body had landed
. I felt a moment of dread. Jack who stood a couple of steps below me had fixed his eyes on that spot, too. Then he peered up to the top of the cliffs and back down again. He must have been trying to pinpoint the place where Dave had gone over the edge.

  I followed the path Jack’s eyes had travelled. Suddenly, there was movement again, and this time I glimpsed a figure clad in dark clothing. Whoever it was, stepped back from the cliff’s edge, gone from my view in an instant. Jack’s voice startled me as he spoke now from the step just below the one I was on.

  “I don’t see how he could have landed as far away from the cliff face as he did unless he had some momentum when he fell.” Jack stepped up next to me and made motions with both hands as he spoke.

  “Like the momentum you’d get from a hefty shove, right?”

  “Yep!” Jack was about to say more when his eyes turned upward. “Georgie, down, now!” As he issued that warning, he practically picked me up off my feet in an unexpected display of strength. We hustled down those stairs, side-by-side, with Jack’s arm still around my waist. A spray of dirt and rocks poured down around us. I was enveloped in a cloud of dust as my back and legs were pummeled by ricocheting pebbles and grit.

  Jack twisted a little to look up behind us, nudging me down to a step below him, providing cover as we continued moving toward the beach as fast as we could go. From above us, I heard what sounded like a cross between a growl and a grunt of rage. In the next instant, I glimpsed a big white plastic bucket hurtling through the air. I heard it bounce, and then caught sight of it again as it careened off the railing before rolling to a stop near the foot of the stairs.

  When we reached the beach, I found out I could run in that dry sand after all. I was breathing heavily by the time we took shelter behind the closest outcropping of large boulders.

  “What was that?” I asked, peeking up over the boulders to scan the cliff top and stairs. There was no sign of movement. A pile of stones and dirt lay on the steps near where we’d been standing when Jack had cried out for us to move. Some of the rocks on those steps weren’t mere pebbles like the ones that had hit us as we fled.

  “I’d say it was an invitation to take a hike somewhere else,” Jack replied. Jack reached up and ran his hand through his hair, clearing out dirt that had settled in it. As he did that, I noticed a tiny little dribble of blood forming at the hairline on his forehead.

  “Jack you’re hurt! Are you okay?” I took a tissue from a pocket of the cross-body shoulder bag I had on. Glad that I’d decided to bring it with me, I dug around a moment longer and found hand sanitizer, too.

  “I’m fine,” Jack said.

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” I protested as I examined him. The process of cleaning him up was awkward. Jack already had his phone out and was calling his new pal Hank. The blood appeared to be coming from a tiny little scratch, so I left Jack alone to finish his phone call. It must have gone directly to Hank given how quickly I heard Jack utter his name in an excited tone.

  “Hank’s sending someone out to have a look around. I’m sure it’s too late to catch the person who delivered that nasty invitation. Maybe the idiot made a mistake by pitching the bucket at us and it has some identifying information on it. It’s a longshot, though.”

  “I heard you give Hank a description of the guy who did this. Is that why you turned around in the middle of the rockfall?”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t resist trying to get a look at the culprit.”

  “I ought to chew you out, Sir Jack of Crystal Cove! That must be when you got that new hole in your head. I appreciate your fleetness of foot and the fact you shielded me from the attack. But what good would all your chivalry have done me if you’d let the Black Knight strike you a mortal blow?” Jack smiled and wiped what must have been a smudge of dirt from my face.

  “Black Knight means you must have seen him, too, huh?”

  “Only for a split second,” I replied. “I didn’t see much. A person wearing dark clothes, not necessarily black.”

  “I didn’t see much more than you did. A figure in dark clothes, wearing sunglasses, a hoodie, and gloves—like a boxer or like the Unabomber character in that police drawing. That’s not a lot to go on to nab the guy. In fact, I didn’t see a mustache, so I can’t even be certain it was a man.”

  “It’s good that you have quick reflexes. I shudder to think what could have happened if we hadn’t been on the move already when those rocks hit the steps. Man or woman, it took keen eyesight and good control to get them to land as close to us as they did. That means it had to be someone who’s big and strong, or in excellent physical condition, to dump a hefty bucket of rocks on us.”

  “I agree. As soon as Hank or his people get here, let’s go find out if Adam Middlemarch is as big a guy as you remember. I’d also like to know where he was the past half an hour or so.”

  Jack had barely finished that sentence when we caught sight of a jeeplike vehicle heading toward us on the beach. A flashing light, signaled that the cavalry had arrived. It only took minutes more for Jack to show Hank and the young Lost Hills officer, Tony, around. I tagged along behind them, listening and observing, as they examined the scene. Tony took photos. I did, too, although I wasn’t sure why. No one stopped me, so I snapped away. When Tony moved the bucket with a gloved hand, I leaned in to take a photo.

  “What’s that?” I asked. Jack and Hank stepped closer to where Tony and I stood peering at that bucket. The plastic white bucket looked like many I’d seen being used for all sorts of tasks. This one now had a big split in its side. It bore no identifying letters or other marks which might help figure out where it had come from or what it had been used for before it had been weaponized. I pointed to a tiny slip of torn paper poking out from under the bucket.

  “It’s a shred of paper with musical notes on it,” Hank responded, using a gloved hand to pick it up and place it into a clear plastic evidence bag.

  “Good eyes, Georgie!”

  “Here’s another one. I’m going to see if I can find more down here, then I’ll poke around up there in that pile of rocks and dirt,” Tony added, walking toward those stairs and searching the sand as he went.

  “May I take a closer look?” I asked as Hank turned the plastic bag over, examining its contents.

  “Sure.” Hank held it out for me to see. I could make out a series of musical notes. I hummed the first few bars of music to myself. I tapped out notes with my fingers pressed against my side as if I were playing a piano the way I’d done when taking lessons eons ago. In seconds I had it!

  “I could be wrong, but I’d bet those are notes to a song Dave wrote for a movie called Anytime, Anywhere. The movie’s theme song was Anywhere You Go, a name based on an old Confucian quote: ‘No matter where you go, there you are,’” I said.

  “Uh, I’m pretty sure your maestro stole that line from another movie: In The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension, Buckaroo Banzai uses it,” Tony assured me as he reached the point where Jack and I were standing when the rocks had begun to rain down from above us.

  “You wouldn’t be the first one to accuse Dave Rollins of stealing a line or two, but I doubt he stole it from Buckaroo Banzai in this or any other dimension. The story he shared with the public at his concerts had something to do with Confucius.” I shrugged not sure what else there was to say. Jack knew me well enough to recognize irritation in my response. He decided to goad me. When I’m peeved, he finds my efforts to be polite amusing and likes to test my patience.

  “I’m with Tony. I heard it from Buckaroo Banzai,” Jack added with a smirk.

  “You did?” I asked distractedly, as the fingers of my hand still hanging at my side, beat out the tune again.

  Dang it! That song’s going to bounce around in my head all day now, I thought.

  “When was that movie made? Maybe Buckaroo stole it from Dave Rollins.” This time the exasperation in my tone was obvious. I wasn’t the only one growing crabbier.

  “I
f a saying like that has been around since Confucius, who knows who stole what or when? Does it really matter?” Hank had been quiet, but he was cranky now. This probably wasn’t how he’d planned to spend his day off. I regretted my premature happiness about our lazy Sunday being better than our sad, dreary Saturday.

  Fortunately, Tony called out to us, freeing me from replaying more of Dave’s song or stewing about a good day going bad. The interruption also ended the pointless debate about who first used that phrase. The three of us moved to the foot of the steps and looked up to where Tony stood on the stairs taking more photos of the pile of rocks.

  “There are few more shreds,” he said. “How do you want to handle this?”

  “I’ll help you collect them,” Hank offered. “Jack and Georgie are going on up to the house. Not that there’s been any trouble there, according to Georgie’s latest call to her friend.”

  What he said was true. Once Jack had called for help, I’d called Pat again to make sure no growling, dirt-covered lunatic was throwing rocks at her or at Dave’s house. I’d also sort of established that Adam Middlemarch wasn’t likely to be our bucket-wielding assailant. When I asked Pat if she’d had any trouble or unexpected visitors, she’d said no. Without any prodding from me, she’d added that she and Adam were almost finished going through the wreckage on the second floor. I shared that bit of information with Jack, who just nodded in acknowledgement.

  I was relieved Pat was okay. On the other hand, it sure would have made things easier if she’d told us Adam had taken off and was no longer at her side. At least we would have had a suspect in our hunt for someone angry enough to resort to throwing rocks at us to get us to go away.

  “Once you’ve collected all those scraps, can you send us a composite photo of what you’ve found? We’ll show it to Pat. Maybe she can tell us more about what’s been shredded and where it came from.”

  “Sure, but that won’t happen today,” Hank grunted as he pulled another small evidence bag from a pouch he carried and bent down to pick up the scrap of paper Tony was pointing out. “You’ll let me know if anything new turned up as they waded through the mess left behind in that house, right?”