Hot Dogs (22 page)

“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 somewhere 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.”

So I’d been lying here under a dead body.
I’d feared that
might be the case but knowing it for certain left me feeling sick—for
Vanderveer as well as myself.

“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?”

“Why?” the man demanded, for once not wasting words.

“There’s been a…slight accident.
Ms.
McKinley has been
injured.”

“What?” The word exploded from him.
Then more quietly, “Is
she alive?”

Oh yes, alive and relatively well and lying under a corpse.
I felt a hysterical giggle start to rise from deep inside and managed to
squelch it.
For now at least.
Later, I promised myself, I’d indulge in a nice,
loud screaming fit.

“Quantrell.” Janowski’s voice boomed forth.
“You’re a
paramedic.
Go be a damn hero again.”

“Tell him to stay right where he is,” Sarkisian ordered but
Janowski had apparently broken the connection.
“I’d better get the light on,”
he said with resignation.
The beam circled the walls.

“Foot of the stairs, then to the right,” I reminded him,
dredging the directions up from the murky depths of memory.

“Right.”

Whether he was acknowledging what I’d said or repeating it I
wasn’t sure.
Not that it mattered.
I concentrated very hard on what he was
doing and
not
on what lay on top of me.

Another light flashed from the top of the stairs.
“Annike?”
Quantrell called.
“Can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you,” I snapped.

“Stay up there,” Sarkisian ordered.

I heard the snap of metal as the fuse box opened then the
soft thunks of several somethings being pushed.
Behind Brian lights came on.
A
loud cheer rose in the distance as the stage apparently sprang back to life.

“The basement light switch should be near the door,”
Sarkisian told Quantrell.

A moment later the steps, basement—and Vanderveer—all lit
up.

From the top of the steps I heard Quantrell’s sharp intake
of breath.
“My god.
I thought you said it was Annike who was hurt.”

“She is.” Sarkisian returned to my side.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor and Becky Deschler and
John Goulding appeared, both out of breath.
“You okay, Annike?” Becky called,
with John echoing her words.

“Great.
Just dandy.
Never felt better.” Never felt closer to
screaming.
I grinned manically up at them.
“No need for you to hurry.”

“That’s lucky,” John said dryly.
“I don’t have a camera.
Here, go back out front,” he told someone who pressed in behind him.
“Nothing
to see here, just a small accident.”

“Then why do you need a camera?” asked a girl’s voice.

“For later blackmail,” Becky said hurriedly.
“It’s not often
a department member gets caught in a ridiculous situation.”

Ridiculous?
Gruesome, more like.
Nor was I technically a
department member but as her ruse apparently worked and the inquisitive girl’s
footsteps faded as she returned to whatever she’d been doing I had to applaud
Becky’s quick thinking.

“
Are
you okay, Annike?” Sarkisian took my hand.

“You owe me for this one, mister,” I murmured.

“Name it.”

I savored the moment.
But not for long.
I wasn’t about to
let it get away.
“We’re flying to Reno right after the fireworks show, no
matter what.” I kept my voice low so the deputies couldn’t hear my demand.

“Annike, you know I can’t just leave in the middle of an
investigation.”

“You can take a few hours off.
If we catch a one a.m.
flight
we can be married by three a.m.
and you can be back here on duty by five.”

That drew a reluctant grin from him.
“Some honeymoon.”

“We can take that later when you have a break from school.”

“Marriage for a law enforcement officer is hard enough
without me having school on top of it.”

“And you think maintaining a non-marriage is easier?” It
dawned on me how ludicrous the conversation was, taking place across Edward
Vanderveer’s dead body but I wasn’t about to miss my chance.

“Besides, I don’t think there are any flights to Reno that
late,” he said, crushing my budding plans.

“What’s going on?” I recognized Roberta Dominguez’s voice
from just behind John’s large frame.
“Chris called to say there’d been another
murder.” She sounded skeptical.

“Just take your pictures and measurements and whatever else
you have to do and get me out of here,” I said.

“Annike?” Roberta shouldered between Becky and John.
“Oh my
god.
How badly are you hurt?” She rounded on Quantrell.
“Why aren’t you helping
her?”

“She’s part of the crime scene,” Sarkisian said.
“Come on,
love.
Say cheese so she can take your picture.”

I glared at him and right then—naturally—I saw the flash of
the camera.

After that things moved surprisingly fast.
Roberta performed
her job with exceptional efficiency and at last Sarkisian and John moved
Vanderveer off me and set him aside to await Dr.
Sarah’s arrival.
Quantrell
descended the steps with extreme care and began asking me questions.
I answered
at random since I was trying to listen to what Sarkisian was saying as he and
John examined the staircase.

Quantrell switched on his radio and called for his partner
who was apparently in the audience.
“Immediate transport,” was all I heard.

I focused fully on him for the first time.
“What are you
talking about?”

Sarkisian also overheard and came to my side.
“She needs to
go to the hospital?”

“Possible concussion.” Quantrell kept his voice low.
“She’s
not making sense.”

“That’s because I wasn’t listening to you,” I snapped.
“My
arm hurts a bit but that’s all and I’m certainly not taking any ambulance ride.
I’ve got work to do.”

“She sounds normal to me.” Sarkisian gave me the special
smile he reserves for giving me a bad time.

“Then help me up.” I extended my good arm.

His pull, gentle as it was, drew a sharp cry from me as pain
shot through my neck and both shoulders.
This prompted another argument about
my going to the hospital.
We finally compromised on my confining my arm in a
sling until Dr.
Sarah could give me clearance.

When I was bound up to Quantrell’s satisfaction I turned on
Sarkisian.
“Why did I fall?” I demanded.
“And I’m not in the mood for any
cracks about clumsiness.”

“How about comments about tripwires?”

“Trip…” I trailed off.
“It was a deliberate trap?”