HotDogs Page 20
Sue grinned. “Don’t look so worried. We’ll keep them in line.”
“It’s probably them she’s worried about,” Neil told her.
“If you need me—” I began.
“We won’t. We’ll be fine.” Sue gave me a push toward the door. “Now go out there and tame those lions.”
I went with gratitude. Now all I had to do—for the moment at least—was make sure the transition from Daytime Picnic to Evening Barbecue took place as smoothly as possible.
It always amazed me when things went as planned. Most of the Foodies who weren’t staying for the barbecue had already packed up their vans and trailers with only a few trying to make last minute sales. I hurried these along, shouting occasionally that the Talent Show was about to begin. Whether they wanted to attend or escape being herded in to watch I’m not sure but things moved even more quickly after that.
In a very short time I watched the semi-orderly procession of vehicles pull out of the picnic area and into the parking lot. Here some of them stopped—those who planned to attend the talent show and fireworks exhibition even if they weren’t cooking for the barbecue—while the rest beat a retreat for home. What with the prep work, the cooking, the contests and the crowds it must have been a long and exhausting day for them.
I returned backstage at last to be greeted by the echoing sound of nine red, white and blue poodles yipping and howling their little heads off. Vanderveer had temporarily descended from his perch among the lights to shout at Lizzie who was making ineffectual attempts to hush her troupe. Vanderveer’s presence only served to excite the doglets even more. Mazda, tucked under Lizzie’s arm, kept up a low menacing growl.
“What’s happened?” I asked, trying to distract everyone.
“They don’t like the band,” Lizzie told me. “And I’m sorry but we’re on in about fifteen minutes.”
“I thought you were a dog trainer,” Vanderveer sneered. “Can’t you train them to be quiet?”
Lizzie flushed. “Call me when you’re ready,” she snapped at him. She strode toward the stage door, calling the poodles and Roomba as she went. They flocked after her though I had a suspicion they just wanted to get away from the high-pitched twang of one of the electric guitars.
Vanderveer glared at me. “You’d think she could keep them under better control.”
“The music was hurting their ears,” I said. “Is everything all right up there?” I pointed to the loft he’d deserted.
“Damn.” He scrambled for the stairs that led back to his aerie.
I couldn’t blame the dogs. The music was a bit hard on the ears. I wanted to get a look at the house to assure myself that hordes of people attended the talent show but the need for a moment of quiet won out.
I followed Lizzie outside and to my surprise she wasn’t alone. The same man I’d glimpsed twice before stood with her, gesturing. Not angrily, I was glad to see. Patiently. The dogs frolicked around him except for Mazda who sat on his shoe and gazed up at him with a besotted expression on his pointed face which reminded me distinctly of the way Boondoggle gazed at Sarkisian.
The man took one of the hoops Lizzie held and raised it. Immediately three of the poodles—one red, one white and one blue—lined up before it. He snapped his fingers and the doglets jumped through, one after the other. He handed the hoop back to Lizzie and the dogs repeated their trick on her command. Her companion said something else and Lizzie nodded, gave him a quick hug and turned back toward the door only to freeze as she saw me.
I waved.
I’ll swear she blanched.
She hesitated, waved back, grabbed the man by the elbow and the two of them took off at a brisk pace, surrounded by poodles and the two dachshunds.
Interesting. She obviously hadn’t wanted me—or possibly anyone?—to see that exchange. So what if she was teaching someone how to get the dogs to perform? Her reaction made no sense.
Unless the dog trick was only to convince anyone who might happen to see them that what they talked about was related to the dogs and not, for example, to the murders?
I considered following them but couldn’t see where I’d have anything to gain. They weren’t likely to lead me to anything important nor say anything incriminating that might be overheard. I sighed. I made a lousy detective.
I returned indoors to where the Seniors Barbershop Quartet was just finishing off their number and receiving enthusiastic applause. They ran off the stage, laughing in their excitement and triumph, then returned to take another bow. Grinning from ear to ear, they hurried out the stage door, not even bothering to take off their costumes, so eager were they to take their seats in the audience.
The lighting changed—Vanderveer at his post—and another senior dressed in flowing purple robes and a turban wheeled his cart of magic onto the stage for his turn in the spotlight. He was greeted by a round of clapping, a sure sign people were having a good time. His performance proved to be as flamboyant as it was flawless and he managed to squeeze in three curtain calls before Connie’s string quartet took his place.
I did some quick calculations. Lizzie’s Hot Dogs would be on right after Connie’s group. If I made a really quick trip down to the arena I could check to see how the fireworks were coming then get back here in time to watch the little beastlies perform. I hurried.
My arrival was not greeted with appreciation for my concern.
The foreman of the crew glared at me. “We’re doing fine,” he snapped despite the fact only two and a half hours remained before the first rockets were due to go up and a lot of the sets had yet to be secured into position.
“Just came to see if you needed anything,” I assured him not in the least bit truthfully.
“Not to be interrupted,” he said though this time there was less animosity in his tone.
I took the hint and left.
Before I reached the auditorium one of the Foodies who was setting up for the barbecue caught me. The departing lunch crew it seemed had left a mess. She wanted it cleaned up. As I’d overseen the evacuation of the departing Foodies myself I knew the mess would be minimal but I accompanied her back to the picnic area. It looked relatively clean to me. To oblige her I picked up a few stray plates and threw them into trash cans but there honestly wasn’t much point in doing more before the end of the barbecue. The woman sniffed, reluctantly agreed and returned to check the ribs she had simmering in their sauce.
The incredible aromas made me realize how long it had been since my early lunch. Problem easily solved. I headed to Charlie’s booth where he and my Aunt Gerda were busy with their own preparations. I didn’t bother them. I knew where he kept his stash of chocolate chip macadamia cookies. I just helped myself to one, waved and took off.
As I neared the auditorium again it dawned on me it was extremely quiet. I knew I’d missed Hot Dogs but I couldn’t remember what came on after them. Apparently not anything loud. I opened the door and paused. It was not only quiet except for the murmur of conversation from the audience, it was dark. Odd. I didn’t remember any act calling for a blackout. Then a voice rose from the stage, shakily at first, singing an a capella version of “You Light Up My Life”.
“Everyone join in,” called a young woman’s voice. “They’ll get the electricity back on in just a few minutes.”
People, amazingly agreeable, did as they were bid though without strict adherence to the words—or even the tune—as they’d been written.
“Janowski?” Vanderveer’s voice floated down from the loft. “Theresa? Where the hell is everyone?”
“Mr Vanderveer?” I called. I propped open the door behind me to allow in a bit of light.
“Annike?” He sounded uncertain.
“What happened?” I asked.
“We seem to have blown a fuse again.”
Footsteps began clattering down the metal steps and I saw his dimly illuminated shape reach the wood floor only a few paces from me.
“I’m sure I had a flashlight up there somew
here but I can’t find it in the dark,” he complained.
“Back to the fuse box?” I couldn’t keep the resignation out of my voice.
“To the basement,” he agreed. “Looks like I’d better save the day.” He sounded smug rather than irritated now. “You,” he added to a costumed group who waited to do a comedy routine. “Better get up front where there’s more light.” He pushed past them and obligingly they trooped off toward the stage wings from where the song was just ending.
As we reached the door to the stairs his phone rang. He answered it with an abrupt, “I’m busy.” I could hear a woman’s voice though not her words. “You can tell that—” He broke off for a moment. “You can tell Janowski I’m taking care of everything. I’m at the door now so unless the electrical problem stems from somewhere else we’ll have everything running again in just a few minutes.” He snapped the phone closed and thrust it back in his pocket. “I can’t see a damn thing,” he complained. “A flashlight would come in useful.”
I agreed but though I groped around in all the likely places I couldn’t find one. Vanderveer waited expectantly.
Several people filtered back to us, asking how we were doing, which merely drew an irritated “Go away” from Vanderveer. I admit I was growing uneasier by the moment though I knew there was no reason for it. No reason that is beyond the fact someone had been murdered only yards from here less than forty-eight hours ago.
“No light?” he demanded.
“No light,” I confirmed. Since he made no movement to do anything I pushed open the door.
“Is there a flashlight just inside?” he demanded.
I reached in and groped. I found a niche conveniently placed that would have made a perfect storage place for one but it was empty. “Nope.” I said at last.
“How did that happen?” he demanded. He shot me a suspicious look. “There’s always supposed to be one there. Where have they all gone?”
“Someone obviously forgot to put it back. With everything that’s been happening, it’s no wonder.” I peered into the darkness and wished I could see more than a couple of feet of haziness in that dark hole.
“We’ll find the fuse box,” he assured me. “Foot of the stairs then to the right, remember? Ummm, ladies first.”
Since I was blocking the doorway I supposed he had a point. Yet I really didn’t want to go down there. I chided myself for letting my imagination get the better of me. After all I wasn’t in some dark house all alone hearing a creaking noise in the attic. I was surrounded by a lot of people and merely going in search of a bad fuse or a flipped switch or whatever had caused the outage.
I descended the first step then a second, all the while clutching the rail and peering through the blackness. I couldn’t see a damn thing. Vanderveer blocked what little light filtered in from that door leading outside I’d left open. At that moment outside sounded like a wonderful idea. As soon as we’d dealt with this fuse or whatever I decided I’d treat myself and go back into the fresh air and late afternoon sunshine again.
I took another cautious step down then another. As I took the next I felt something catch against my shin but it was too late to pull back. I gasped as I stumbled and fell, gripping the railing for all I was worth. A sharp pain shot across my shoulder to my neck then I lost my hold, landed several steps down, rolled for a few more and landed in an ungraceful heap on the cement floor.
“Annike?” Vanderveer, alarmed, inched his way down the first step. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” I was breathing and that was a good sign. I had struck my head on something but I hadn’t lost consciousness and I didn’t feel any blood gushing from any wounds. All in all I could be in a lot worse shape.
He stopped. “What happened? Did a stair give way? Did you miss one?”
Both good questions. I considered. “No.”
He came another step. “Anni—”
He fell forward, hard, bouncing as his body hit the stairs and rolling until he landed on top of my legs. I had the briefest impression of a shape silhouetted against the doorway but the one on top of me was of more importance.
“Vanderveer?” I tried to shift my position but his weight held me down. Had he tripped over the same thing I had? I thought he’d stopped on the top step though and I hadn’t fallen—tripped?—until about the fifth.
“Vanderveer?” I pushed gently against his shoulder but his arm moved limply with the pressure. It wasn’t until I touched his head that I encountered the mass of sticky wetness—and something hard and sharp I greatly feared to be bone.
Chapter Eighteen
My first instinct was to drag myself out from under Vanderveer and see how badly he was hurt but I managed to stifle it. If he’d injured his neck or spine in the fall I could cause him more damage that way. Instead I followed my second instinct which was to get him help. I opened my mouth to scream bloody murder when it dawned on me that might be exactly the case. If I’d really tripped over something. If I’d really glimpsed a person and not a shadow in the doorway behind Vanderveer.
If, if, if.
But the possibility loomed over me, refusing to be dismissed, that whoever came in response to my scream might want to make sure they’d done the job properly.
I reached for my earpiece but it had become dislodged in my fall and I had no idea where it might be. And why didn’t Vanderveer move or groan or something?
My hand shaking, my arm hurting like hell, I managed to dig my phone out of my pocket and punch in Sarkisian’s number. I couldn’t hear anything, realized all sound was still going through my earpiece—wherever that might be—and punched the button for the speakerphone. With relief I heard Sarkisian’s voice.
“What’s up?” He sounded distracted.
“What’s down, you mean.” My voice quavered and I fought back an impulse to gibber at him. Vanderveer wasn’t moving. I couldn’t even tell if he were breathing.
“Annike?” I had his full attention. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“In the basement. Underneath Vanderveer. He’s hurt, I don’t know how badly. We fell down the stairs.” I hoped I didn’t sound as incoherent as I feared I did.
“Fell or were pushed?” he demanded.
“I-I don’t know. Vanderveer is bleeding and unconscious or…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the thought that haunted me, that he was dead.
“Don’t move. I’ll call the paramedics and—” He broke off and swore.
“You get here first,” I begged.
“I’m almost at the hallway now.” And from the ragged sound of his voice I could tell he was running. “Keep talking, love. Are you hurt?”
“Just my shoulder I think. I can’t move without dislodging Vanderveer and I’m afraid of hurting him even more.” Was I repeating my words or only my thoughts?
“That’s right. Okay, everything’s going to be all right now.”
A light suddenly appeared in the doorway above me. A wave of panic filled me only to fade as Sarkisian’s voice continued.
“I’m at the top of the steps and coming down.”
I lowered my phone. “Be careful. Something tripped me.”
By the beam of his flashlight I could see him gripping the rail and kicking out with each step he descended. Then he’d reached the bottom and dropped to his knees beside me. I couldn’t see his expression since the beam was full in my eyes but he wrapped his arms around me. I gasped with the pain.
“Sorry.” He released me. “Can you hold the light for me?” He thrust it toward me and I accepted it, shifting it so the beam fell fully on Vanderveer’s terrifyingly still form.
Sarkisian checked for a pulse then took the light from me and bent to point it at the man’s face. After a long moment he sat back on his heels. “Do you want a paramedic for yourself?” he asked me.
I considered the way he’d phrased that. “He’s dead?”
Sarkisian nodded. “From the looks of his head CPR wouldn’t do him any good.”
“Are you in much pain, love? If I can help you move—”
I held out a trembling hand to touch his mouth, silencing him. “I can wait. I should stay right where I am so your team can figure out his-his momentum when he fell. If he were tripped or shoved or hit.”
“You’re sure?”
I nodded.
He was already pushing buttons on his phone. “We’ll get you out of there as soon as we can,” he promised.
Whomever he’d called answered at that point. “Chris?” That was the dispatcher who preferred working holidays and graveyard shifts for the extra pay. Sarkisian relayed what had happened and disconnected.
From somewhere close by another phone rang.
“Vanderveer’s?” I suggested.
Sarkisian shone his light around until he spotted the small object lying a few feet away where it must have fallen from the man’s pocket as he fell. I focused on that rather than on the bulk on top of me that seemed to have become twice as heavy now that I knew it was literally a dead weight.
“Yes?” Sarkisian answered the phone.
“Why haven’t you gotten the electricity back on?” The voice shot out at me and I realized Sarkisian had set it on speakerphone, probably for my benefit.
“Mr. Janowski?”
A pause. “Who is this?” the supervisor demanded.
“Sarkisian,” the sheriff replied.
“What the devil are you doing answering Vanderveer’s phone? Where is he? Can’t he even flip a simple switch?”
“I’ll check the power in a moment,” Sarkisian told him calmly. “But would you mind keeping everyone right where they are?”