Tahoe Blue Fire (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller Book 13) (33 page)

My phone was close by in my pocket, but I couldn’t let go of the branch.

The rotary backed up, turned a bit, came back forward. It was now aimed so that when I fell from the tree, it could chew me up in a moment. But I was temporarily out of the auger’s reach.

The engines on the rotary wound down to idle.

But the auger clutch must have remained engaged, because the auger kept spinning. The metallic grinding of the mechanism was more pronounced absent the engine noise. Despite the reduced power, the auger seemed to spin as fast as before. Even without 1300 horsepower on full throttle, just the inertia of the heavy auger would slice and dice me with impunity. If my hands slipped off the branch, I’d slide down into the auger even if the driver didn’t come forward.

Spot was again at the side of the rotary, looking from the machine up to me, then back.

With the engines on idle, it was now possible to hear. Maybe I could delay the murderer by talking like a hostage negotiator, listening to his anger, telling him I wanted to help. I was about to call out when a thought pushed into my awareness. It was a memory that felt strange, an image I’d seen recently. As I clung to the tree, I remembered walking around the Zephyr Heights house that had burned down, the house where Adam had lived at the generosity of Felicite. I could visualize the wreckage, the broken truss, the cracked foundation. In the strange way that time slows down in moments of extreme stress, I thought about that cracked foundation. I realized that the burning, falling roof could not easily crack concrete. Then I remembered that the truss had burned and fallen and broken. But the broken ends had burned as much as the rest of the wood. Which meant that the break in the truss happened before the fire.

Cracked foundations and broken trusses come from more powerful stresses than a fire. Stresses like earthquakes.

My hands slipped farther on the icy branch. I jerked myself to get a better grip, seeing, as I grunted with effort, the time when I was talking to Felicite in the sun room and her tapping on her phone just as the shot blew out the window glass. Poor, stressed, fearful Felicite whose company makes actuators that can take a simple electronic input and create motion that can do anything from locking car doors to, presumably, triggering a rifle that had been previously set up on a sniper’s bipod support.

I called out, shouting down toward the machine just below me.

“You don’t have to do this, Felicite! We know that you and Antonio Scozzari killed Scarlett and Darla and Sean. We know that you terrorized Old Man Joseph. It was a great set up, I’ll give you that. It was brilliant to frame Adam by using his past activity with fire and sharpshooting and working in the yard where they store the rotaries. You were the perfect, invisible culprit.”

I was out of breath from hanging onto the branch, barely holding myself up above the reach of the auger. I paused to breathe.

“I now realize that you must have also participated in the summer program at that group home. It wasn’t just Adam who went. Just like Adam, you learned all about rifles and sharpshooting. Once you had the rifle set up and carefully aimed at one side of your neighbor’s window, you hooked up an actuator that was coordinated with your phone. That was also brilliant. How could I ever suspect you when you were with me as the supposed killer shot at us?”

I continued, “Between you and Scozzari, it was easy to coordinate borrowing the rotaries. He cut the wire to the oil gauge so that the driver would have a reason to abandon his machine in the street, allowing either of you to borrow it later. Then, when the earthquake damaged your house, you probably didn’t have earthquake insurance. No surprise there. Most of us don’t. Burn it down, however, and the insurance company might pay if they fall for your story. And you handled all the other details. One of Adam’s cigar butts up above Scarlett’s house. The photos in Adam’s phone. But the Black Magic warning note was a mistake. I learned that your ancestors came from Saint-Domingue, which is now Haiti, a country where people still practice Black Magic, right?”

The rotary door opened. Felicite shouted up at me. I couldn’t see her behind all the lights, but her shrill voice cut past the idling engine and spinning auger. “All my life, I watched as Adam was given every break! Even when he got in bad trouble, everyone, the foster parents, the cops, the teachers, they all felt sorry for the poor big kid who knew how to charm them. And then football made him rich, richer than you can imagine! But did he save any of that money? Did he give any of it to me? No, he just squandered it. And then when he was broke and starting to suffer from dementia, he came crawling to me. I never had a break in my life, and now I had to take him in, support him, buy his food. And what did he do to help? He wrote poetry!”

“That doesn’t give you the right to frame him for murder,” I shouted back.

“What difference does it make? He’s going to die anyway. He won’t even be aware of what’s happening to him. He won’t go to prison. They’ll just stick him in a chair and let him stare into his stupid poetry book. I’m the one who found out about the Blue Fire Diamond from Mario Montana and Scozzari. I started the whole process. I found Darla, who worked at the Cal Neva. I showed her how to connect with people who could help, people like Scarlett who then traveled to Florence and found out more about the diamond. But they all double-crossed me. I paid them well. But Scarlett got them to shut me out so they could find and take the diamond themselves. When there’s mutiny on the ship, the captain decides the punishment! And now the world will think that Adam arranged it all.”

My hands began to slip again, and I lost my line of thought. I focused on intensifying my grip.

“The diamond’s gone, Felicite,” I shouted. “I talked to Vince, who got all the Sinatra effects from Old Man Joseph. There’s nothing left to gain. Your financial windfall dream is never going to happen. If you back off now, I’ll make the case to the DA that you were under extreme financial and emotional duress. We can plea you down and let the blame fall on Scozzari.” I didn’t want to tell her that he was already dead of a broken neck, floating in the Tahoe Keys.

My hands slipped an inch. My arm muscles were cramping. I wondered if I could swing out onto the top of the rotary cab. But she’d thought of that. She was just beyond my reach.

I shouted again. “You owe it to Adam! He needs you. He only has a short time left. If you abandon him now, he won’t be able to face life.” I was desperate for words that might distract her.

My right hamstring was knotting up as I gripped the tree.

Glancing under my arm, I could see the black rectangle of windshield. Nothing moved but the spinning auger. A high voice lofted above the machinery. No longer angry, but keening.

“He was always the babied one. The house mother doted on him and ignored me. She made him the helpless kid he is. I practically ran the household from the time I was a child because the house mom spent all her time helping Adam and the other kids. I was competent and didn’t need babying. So what did I get for that accomplishment? I was ignored. Adam never did a day’s work at a normal job in his life. He even failed when he tried working at the city yard. He was too busy living in a fantasy world. All my life I had to cope with harsh reality, while Adam coasted on his football career. And then, when he couldn’t cut it anymore, he fussed about metaphors and meter and his ridiculous poetry.”

“That was good of you, Felicite. You’ve made many sacrifices for Adam. The court will take that into consideration.”

“No! I won’t be subjected to any court. I’ve been a prisoner to Adam’s needs all my life. Even when he became an adult, I practically had to feed and dress him. I’m done being a prisoner! He will be convicted. The evidence against him is overwhelming.”

“But you’ve framed him for your crimes, Felicite. How can you live with that?”

“In another week or two, he’ll be too far gone to even realize he’s being prosecuted for these crimes. And he’s dying anyway. It won’t be long, and I’ll finally be free of him. And when he dies, the killings will stop and they’ll close the case.”

“It won’t happen, Felicite. They know about you. You’re done killing, and you…”

The branch broke.

I fell, sliding down the trunk. My hand caught another branch, smaller than before. I grabbed with my other hand as I swung. Got both hands on the branch. Pulled myself up a few inches.

Just below me was the spinning auger, a few feet away.

The engines revved up to a roar. Chunks of snow and ice flew off the auger and stung my face.

The rotary started backward, then turned a bit, then came forward. The blower chute rotated.

I realized what she was doing. She aimed for more heavy snow. She was going to direct the shooting snow at me and knock me out of the tree. I was trapped with no exit.

The rotary started forward.

The spinning auger filled my field of vision. Spot was at the side of the rotary, leaping back and forth, barking, growling. The chute started blowing snow. The blast hit the tree trunk just above me. The moment she directed the chute down a few degrees, I’d be done, blasted out of the tree. I’d fall into the spinning blades, which were now a blur.

I saw another movement.

A vague figure appeared at the side of the auger, a shadow in the cloud of swirling snow. It was Adam. He ran up on the snow that had avalanched down from the tree. From there he jumped up onto the auger housing as the machine began to move forward. He gripped his hands on either side of the blower chute, locking himself in place like a boulder in front of artillery.

As the machine moved forward, the snow flew out of the chute directly into Adam’s chest.

Adam shook as the blast of shooting snow threatened to cut him in two. The machine kept coming forward. Adam hung on like some kind of superhero.

Then the machine stopped, engines and auger winding down.

Felicite seemed to fall out of the rotary cab. She collapsed in the snow, curled up in the fetal position, sobbing.

I dropped onto the auger housing. Adam still stood there, a white sculpture of snow and ice. I helped get the caked, frozen mass off of him. As the snow came off, his jacket and shirt fell free, abraded to nothing by the shooting snow. His chest was already oozing blood across a wide expanse.

I helped him down to the ground, pulled out my phone, and dialed 911 for the second time that night.

EPILOGUE

Three days later, the hospital let Adam out of the ICU. When I went to visit, the doctor said that Adam would not succumb to his physical injuries. But he also warned me that Adam had not become self-aware.

So I went in and held Adam’s hand and spoke to him, and told him that he needed to come around again to see Blondie, who was currently staying with Diamond.

I also told him that we were planning a poetry reading of his work, the poems that were in the one remaining sketchbook, and we would certainly appreciate it if he would at least grace us with a visit if not a reading.

After my visit, I called Vince and asked if I could come by. I explained that I wanted some people who worked on the case to join him and me at Vince’s house. Vince was happy to accommodate.

When Vince came to the door, I said, “I believe you remember Old Man Joseph.”

They hugged, Joseph using just his good arm as the other one was in a sling. Vince spoke, but Joseph wasn’t talking yet.

I introduced Vince to Street as well. Vince put on his most charming manner. He was smooth and gracious, and he had Street laughing in no time. She probably didn’t even notice the crooked hairpiece.

As we stood on the front step, Sergeants Diamond Martinez and Jack Santiago walked up. Behind them, Mallory was just pulling up in his unmarked. Glennie was next, and last was a young man named Abe Silverstein, a jeweler and reputed diamond expert. I brought them all inside and made introductions. Vince and Mallory knew each other because Mallory had come out the night Scozzari had broken in.

“You said you had something to show us,” Mallory said to me, impatient as usual.

“Yeah.” I opened my bag and pulled out a light. I looked at Vince, who was telling a story to Street. “Vince,” I said.

He looked up, startled.

“Do you mind if I plug in my light?” I gestured with it.

He frowned. “Sure. What’s the deal?”

“It’s an ultraviolet light that can help authenticate the Blue Fire of Florence, which is a red fluorescing diamond.”

“What’s that mean?” Mallory said.

“You know how a glow-in-the-dark watch face is activated by shining a light on it? And after you turn off the light, the material glows? I don’t understand the science, but apparently the electrons in some molecules get excited by light and they emit light afterward for some time. In the case of a red fluorescing diamond, the molecules are activated by ultraviolet light.”

“A black light,” Mallory said.

“Yeah. Just like what we had for lighting up black light posters in college. If you shine it on one of these special blue diamonds, it will glow red afterward.”

“Sounds pretty trippy,” Mallory said. “Is this conjecture, or is it something that’s actually been observed before?”

“It’s rare, but it’s real. The famous Hope Diamond is a red fluorescing diamond. Right, Abe?”

“That’s correct,” Abe said.

“You still think the diamond might be here somewhere?” Vince asked as he looked over at the corner display case. “Like in those glass sculptures?”

“Worth checking,” I said.

Vince walked over and lifted out the two large glass sculptures of Sinatra. They sparkled and shimmered and shot prismatic rays across the room and ceiling. He set the sculptures on the dining table.

Everyone leaned in to look at it up close. Spot walked over and stuck his head over the tabletop, wondering what all the fuss was about.

“A lot of stuff on this looks like diamonds,” Mallory said. He pointed. “This, and this could be diamonds. And this blob of glass here has what looks like diamond facets inside the glass.” He tapped it with his fingernail. “Could be someone dropped a diamond into molten glass.” He looked at me. “Would diamonds melt if you dropped them into molten glass?”

“Got me,” I said. I turned to Abe.

“Actually, most diamonds would not melt if dropped into molten glass,” he said, excitement in his voice. “The temperatures of liquid glass aren’t high enough. However, diamonds will melt if heated to a very high temp. But at temperatures lower than that of molten glass, diamonds will burn if the concentration of oxygen is sufficient. I’ve even heard that diamonds will burn explosively without any heat at all if they’re dropped into liquid oxygen. But then, most organic things will burn if dropped into liquid oxygen.”

Vince said, “Over the years, I’ve had both glass sculptors and jewelers look at these sculptures. None of them thought this could incorporate a large diamond.”

Diamond pointed to the black light. “I’ve always understood that ordinary glass blocks most UV rays. Hard to get tan through a window, right?”

“True,” I said. “But I was told that the red fluorescence of the Blue Fire Diamond is very intense. So I’m hopeful that even a little UV light will do the trick.”

Abe nodded at my statement.

“What do we do?” Mallory said.

“We turn off the lights, shut the drapes, and shine the light on the sculpture. After a minute, we turn the light off and see if any part of the sculpture glows red.”

“This is exciting,” Vince said. He had an energetic step as he trotted over to the windows and shut the blinds. Vince turned off the room lights, and I turned on the ultraviolet light. It glowed a strong purple, although I understood that the actual ultraviolet rays were invisible to human eyes and the purple was merely the closest visible wavelength.

I held the light in front of the sculptures. They looked dramatic in the purple light, but there was no big reaction. Some portions seemed more intense in the black light, but the biggest indication of the presence of ultraviolet rays was not the sculpture, but the few small white parts of our various clothing, Vince’s white shirt, the top edge of Mallory’s undershirt, some white marks on Street’s sweater. Those areas fluoresced brilliant white.

After a minute, I said, “Ready? I’ll turn the light off and we’ll all look for any faint glow of red from within the sculpture.”

“Ready,” Vince said.

I turned the light off.

The sculpture was dark. Not even a hint of a glow.

“It didn’t work,” Vince said. “I didn’t expect it to have the diamond, but I have to admit I was kind of hoping. Sorry about all your effort.” He sounded sad. He flipped back on the lights.

“No problem at all,” I said. “I didn’t expect it to work, either.”

“Really?” Vince was surprised. “You went to all the effort to get the light without expecting a result?”

I saw Mallory look around the room like I was wasting his time.

“I hoped for a result,” I said. “Just not on this sculpture.”

“What do you mean?”

“I keep thinking about the note you showed me. It was addressed to M and signed with the letter F.”

“The note from Sinatra to Marilyn Monroe,” Vince said.

“Yeah. Where he wrote something about putting it on the line for her.”

“What do you think that meant?” Vince asked.

“I didn’t know. Because of the picture you showed me of Marilyn out on the pier holding the diamond, I thought the note had to do with the Blue Fire Diamond. Putting it all on the line would be a metaphorical phrase, but I thought it might also be literal. And I kept thinking about the state line that runs through the Cal Neva Hotel. That state line was such a big deal, and it was even the source of the Cal Neva name.”

Glennie jumped in, “So you think Sinatra put the Blue Fire Diamond on the state line?”

“Maybe.”

“Where? Under the lobby flooring or something?” She sounded very excited.

I pointed at the aquarium. “Vince, you said your aquarium was built into the lobby right over the state line?”

Vince nodded. “Yeah. It’s even got a line painted across the bottom.” As Vince said it, his eyes got wide. He walked over to the aquarium. “There’s nothing here that could hold a diamond as big as what you are talking about.”

“It doesn’t have to be big.”

“I don’t get it. It was one of the biggest diamonds in the world.”

“In its original form.” I looked over at Abe Silverstein.

“A diamond can shatter,” he said. “In fact, they are quite brittle.” He walked over to the aquarium, his own eyes afire.

“What if Sinatra smashed the Blue Fire when Marilyn rejected him?” I said. “What if he threw it and it hit a hard surface? Or maybe it was an accident. If he scooped up the broken diamond pieces and dumped them in the aquarium, he might refer to it as having put it all on the line for Marilyn.”

Vince said, “I’ve always noticed the gravel on the bottom of this tank. It’s mostly yellow and white, but it’s got a lot of what look like glass chunks in it. You think they could be pieces of the Blue Fire?”

“Let’s find out.”

I carried the black light over to the aquarium and plugged it in.

Vince lifted the top off the aquarium. “This way you can shine the light down through the water. Ultraviolet light maybe goes through water better than through glass, huh?”

“I don’t know. We’ll aim it so it goes through both the glass and water. Okay if you unplug the aquarium lights?”

“Sure.” Vince unplugged the cord. With the aquarium lights off, the spectacular fish were now plain.

I turned on the black light and held it above the water. “Okay, let’s turn off the room lights.”

Street flipped the switch. The room went dark except for the fish, some of which now glowed in brilliant fluorescent colors.

“Oh, my God,” Vince said. “Look at the bottom. The glass chips are beginning to turn a faint red.”

Everyone came over. I held the light close to the water’s surface. After a minute, the red of the chips was more pronounced. I said, “Ready? Here goes.”

I turned off the light.

The collective gasp of all assembled was like a fake soundtrack gasp in a movie.

The bottom of the fish tank was lit as if by a hundred little red Christmas tree lights. Each piece glowed a bright ruby red. The points of light were so intense, it was hard to imagine that they normally had a blue tint. The red light was so bright that we could see the fish silhouetted against the glow. They looked like they were hovering over a city of red lights.

Glennie giggled and bounced up and down.

Street was speaking into Joseph’s ear, telling him what it looked like.

Diamond and Santiago looked at each other with amazed grins.

Gradually, the red glow diminished. After another minute, Street turned the room lights back on.

We were all quiet. Perhaps the others were, like me, considering the path the Blue Fire of Florence had taken from 500 years ago.

“Do you suppose these little diamond chips have any value?” Vince asked.

Abe said, “Each one can be cut into a new diamond. Some will end up very small. But there are a few that are pretty good size.” He stared at the fish tank gravel. “Even without an extremely large single diamond, you have a serious fortune here. There appear to be several large chunks in the six or eight carat range and hundreds of tiny pieces a fraction of a carat. Of course, value is dependent on how they can be cut, but I’m guessing that just the large pieces, if cut well, will be worth a million dollars or more.”

Vince said, “I can sell the big pieces to build a Sinatra museum. I’ll leave the little pieces right there, in the tank, in the museum. I’ll get one of those black lights so that people can see the Blue Fire glow red.”

Two weeks later in the middle of May, at my urging, Glenda Gorman put a notice in The Herald saying that there would be a poetry reading for local poet Adam Simms, held at the Lake Tahoe Community College Library.

There was a full house of maybe 150 people, ranging from people who appreciated poetry to people who just wanted to get a glimpse of a football hero.

Glennie served as MC. At five minutes after the appointed time, she went to the front of the room, tapped on the mike, and asked everyone to take their seats.

When the room had quieted, she said, “Thank you all for coming. Tonight we are here to celebrate the written word and its power to captivate and enthrall. Not long ago, a man who writes poetry moved to our town. Years ago, he was known as a football player. But his words leave as big a wake as he used to leave on the field. Most people don’t know that Mr. Adam Simms writes poetry. He’s never published his poems. He writes them in sketchbooks, and he doesn’t seek an audience.”

Glennie looked around at the audience, her eyes searching. She grinned when she saw Adam sitting with me at the rear corner of the room. Adam’s eyes showed worry and fear and confusion. His face was still puffy and purple from the snow abrasion that he’d taken saving my life. But at least his face still had normal skin unlike his chest which was severely abraded from the assault.

Glennie continued, “Adam Simms has never done a poetry reading. When I asked him why, he said he was too shy to read in public. When I asked him if others could read his poems, he thought about it and said that he didn’t think that his poems were good enough to be read aloud.” Glennie grinned. “But as some of you know, I can be persistent. Under my pressure, Adam finally relented.”