Murder at the Bomb Shelter

by Lee Strauss

  9

  Rosa had a pretty good hunch that Orville Gainer’s last suggestion was a rabbit trail. But he was her client now, and she’d be remiss if she didn’t investigate the theory.

  She parked her Corvette in front of the brown stucco one-story building that had the words Santa Bonita Rotary Club painted over the entrance. A sandwich board propped up on the sidewalk announced the Survive and Thrive Club meeting. A quick phone call had confirmed that the club met each Saturday at 1 p.m.

  Inside, Rosa heard chatter coming from a room that had the door propped open into the hallway. On it was a poster of a cartoon turtle with the caption: Remember what Bert the Turtle says ~ duck and cover.

  Approximately thirty middle-aged people, mostly men, mingled around a table set up with an assortment of snacks and soft drinks, and a large coffee urn. Rosa helped herself to coffee, then thumbed through a catalogue advertising bomb shelter supplies. Many of the items she’d spotted in Dieter’s bunker were illustrated there: the generator, tools, a water purifying system, along with basic needs like stackable dishes and space-age blankets.

  A white-haired man with an unfashionable beard stood up on the podium, signaling to the attendees to take a seat. Rosa quietly claimed an empty chair in the back row.

  “Hello, everyone,” the man said. “My name is John Raymond and I am the president of our little club here in Santa Bonita. I know that some of you drive in from nearby towns and from as far south as Ventura and as far north as Las Cruces and we hope you feel welcome in our beautiful town.” His gazed landed on Rosa and flashed with interest. Rosa wondered how often new people attended these weekly meetings.

  Mr. Raymond cleared his throat and went on. “ Most of us here in the Survive and Thrive Club have actually built our own fallout shelters on our properties to keep our families safe because the government won’t do that for us!”

  A cheer of support filled the room.

  “An atomic bomb attack from the Russians is imminent, and we must do our part to save the human race. The lecture today is entitled ‘tips to survive the bomb’ and I think you are going to enjoy our special guest. Please give a warm welcome to John Simmons from the California Civil Defense League.”

  There was enthusiastic applause as a man in his late fifties approached the podium. He had an obvious military bearing with short, cropped sandy-blond hair and a crisply ironed white short-sleeved shirt and black tie. On the chalkboard behind him someone, probably Mr. Simmons, had written How To Survive An Atomic Attack. Beside the heading there was a well-drawn caricature of Russian President Nikita Khrushchev standing with a pointer stick as if to display the different points that were obviously going to be written under the main heading.

  “Hello, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Simmons began, his voice gravelly and authoritative. He turned and gestured toward the drawing, “And hello, Mr. Khrushchev, glad you could attend.” A hearty collective chuckle responded to the joke.

  “I want to first address three common falsehoods about atomic bombs.” Mr. Simmons paused, expertly catching the eyes of everyone in the room, his expression grave. He held Rosa’s gaze a moment longer than any of the others, and Rosa suspected that she lacked a certain look possessed by other members of this club, namely her clothing. For this occasion she wore a white cotton dress with a strawberry pattern, a matching red pillbox hat and red patent leather shoes. Everyone else wore utilitarian fare, trousers and shirts with sneakers or boots. Two-inch pumps probably weren’t of much use in the apocalypse. Rosa hadn’t expected to be attending a Survive and Thrive meeting when she left the Forrester mansion.

  With flourish, Mr. Simmons continued. “Number one, thanks to a weak government, we have no defense against atomic bombs. Number two, food hit by atomic rays is poisoned, which means those who are unprepared, if they don’t die of radiation, will die of starvation. Number three, atomic rays kill everything they touch, so we must be ready to spend months—maybe years, in our bunkers. I hope you see how important a well-designed, well-equipped bunker is for survival. Now is not the time to skimp.”

  Rosa suspected that Mr. Simmons was the salesman and supplier for the equipment. Was he purposely benefiting from the fears he was personally instigating? Or did he honestly believe the hype and was sincere in his desire to help?

  Glancing at her wristwatch, Rosa wondered how long this lecture would go on for. She was glad that she had decided to leave Diego at the office, as sitting through a lecture would have been difficult with him no doubt squirming to escape her satchel the whole time.

  After addressing these three main points, Mr. Simmons went on to discuss topics such as six survival tricks and five keys to household safety.

  The lecture lasted about forty-five minutes and when it was over Mr. Simmons received a standing ovation. The host of the evening got up and after thanking the speaker, he gestured towards the snack table at the back and said, “Please help yourselves to our refreshments. Mr. Simmons is here to answer any questions you might have, and to take orders. Stick around and get to know your fellow survival enthusiasts.”

  Rosa made her way to the front to speak to John Raymond. He resembled a slim version of Santa Claus, except instead of wearing red he wore a blue cotton shirt with a bolero tie. If Santa Claus were from New Mexico, Rosa thought.

  He turned to Rosa as she approached. “Well now, we don’t get too many young ladies like yourself out to our meetings. Glad to see you.” He extended his hand.

  “Thank you.” Rosa shook his hand. “I’m Miss Rosa Reed, formerly of the London Metropolitan Police but I’m now… “

  “London police!” Mr. Raymond took a step back. His mouth made an O shape as he raised his hands as if a gun were pointed at him, his bushy white eyebrows rising halfway up his forehead. “You finally found me, you blighters!” It was a very poor approximation of a British accent, and he knew it. His eyes twinkled with merriment.

  Rosa couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes, very good. I will wait until later to put you in cuffs, though. We wouldn’t want to start an international incident, would we?”

  “Good idea.” The man chuckled as he dropped his hands. “You’ll have to excuse me. I spent some time in London during the last few months of the war. I got to know some ‘Tommies’ there and I appreciate the humor those boys all shared.” He smiled again and then stroked his beard. “So, what brings a member of the London constabulary to our little meeting?”

  “Actually, I’m living in Santa Bonita now. I work as a private detective. Do you have a moment we could talk?”

  “Of course.” The man’s expression grew more serious. He gestured to a small round table, one of a dozen or so that had been placed in the room for people to sit and talk at while enjoying their refreshments.

  “I’m wondering if you know someone named Dieter Braun,” Rosa asked.

  “Sure, I know Dieter! Everyone at our club does.” He paused for a moment. “Why? Is he in some kind of trouble?”

  “I am afraid there’s been an incident out at his cabin on Lake Fairbanks.”

  “Oh?” Mr. Raymond’s eyes expressed concern. “What kind of incident?”

  “I’m afraid he’s dead.”

  “How…what?”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can tell you right now until the police have finished with the investigation. I have been hired by the Gainer family to look into the matter.”

  Mr. Raymond looked around the room as if searching for some kind of explanation. He seemed sincerely shaken by the news.

  “I don’t know what to say, Miss Reed. That’s truly terrible news. Dieter Braun was one of us.”

  “Mr. Raymond, do you know if Dieter had any enemies? Anyone who might want to harm him?”

  At the question, his eyes focused back on Rosa. “Harm him? Does that mean he was murdered?”

  “As I said, it’s an ongoing investigation.”

  The poor man reached for the nearest empty chair and lowered himself into it. After a moment
he said, “No, not at all. Dieter was very well liked here. He was a bit odd, yes, but some would say we are all a little odd in our club.”

  “How many members are in this club?”

  “Usually twelve of us. Today is a bit different because we sponsored this lecture with Mr. Simmons.”

  “Was Mr. Braun usually at these meetings?”

  “Usually, yes.”

  “And to your knowledge there is no one in the club who had anything against him?

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “How about anybody who was especially close to him? Maybe a best friend within the group?”

  “Not that I can think of. Dieter was gregarious enough, but I don’t know if anyone really became close to him.”

  “When was the last time you saw him at a meeting?”

  “Two weeks ago. He was supposed to be at our planning meeting on Tuesday night but didn’t show.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Yeah, he called me early that afternoon. Apparently his Land Rover was acting up, and he needed to do some work on it. He was going to try and make it but if he didn’t show up we were to go ahead without him.”

  “Was there anyone else missing from the meeting?”

  “Nope. We were all there.”

  “What time did the meeting start?”

  “We started at four. I supplied steaks and beer for everyone that night. When that happens, you can be sure no one shows up a minute late.”

  His eyes watered as he stared back at Rosa. “I was certain Dieter would make it for that, poor fella.”

  10

  The next reasonable line of attack was to examine Dieter’s Land Rover which was parked at the scene of the crime. Rosa was loathe to take her new Corvette on those gravel roads, so she borrowed a far more suitable jeep from the Forrester collection of vehicles. She rarely took advantage of Aunt Louisa’s insistence that she borrow whatever vehicle she liked whenever she wanted, but today was an exception. Diego, her only companion, slept happily in her large satchel.

  Stepping out of the vehicle, Rosa let Diego roam around under her watchful eye. After he’d spent enough time nosing around a grouping of wild ferns, Rosa scooped him back up into the satchel and walked past the cabin to the bunker. She was relieved to find the Land Rover unmoved. Rosa knew she had risked the wasting of several hours, driving all the way to the cabin just to find that the police had towed the vehicle off the property, but she couldn’t very well have rung up Miguel and asked.

  As it was, she could proceed with her investigation of the Land Rover as planned. No doubt Officer Richardson had taken photos, but it didn’t appear as if anything had been altered or removed by the police.

  Wearing gloves, Rosa opened the unlocked Land Rover and did a thorough search. An empty backpack and an unopened package of toilet paper sat in the back. On the floor, was another bit of tobacco, which she collected between her fingertips and sniffed.

  Stashed under the seat was a toolbox. Rosa slid it out, opened it, and noted the contents. She then released the back hatch of the vehicle. It looked recently vacuumed, but she did find pine needles on the floor. She squinted at several small brown spots—blood? Rosa retrieved her camera and took pictures.

  The keys hung in the ignition. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Rosa started the engine. It caught right away but ran rather roughly. Rosa had to feed it more fuel to keep it idling constantly. Dieter hadn’t been lying when he’d told Mr. Raymond his vehicle was running poorly. She guessed that one of the four cylinders was misfiring and the engine badly needed a tune-up. Like her mother, Rosa had a good working knowledge of mechanics. Engines were so delightfully logical. If there was a problem, one had to only go through the list of evidence, and eventually, the solution would be found. There were virtually no mysteries in mechanical work if one had the patience to track down each clue.

  Rosa found the latch that opened the engine compartment and looked inside. She saw nothing out of the ordinary—the belts, the spark plug wires, and radiator hoses—but she did find a spark plug wrench wedged between the battery and the firewall. Someone must have accidentally dropped it down there?

  Rosa collected her satchel, rousing Diego who gave her a narrow-eyed look of annoyance, and walked back to the jeep. The sun’s rays glimmered over the lake’s surface, and Rosa was delighted with the beauty of nature all around her. Birds, nesting in pine trees that were unbelievably tall, chirped happily while squirrels scampered up the trunks, releasing loose chips of bark that plummeted to the ground.

  The red rowboat fastened to the dock caught Rosa’s attention, and she instinctively headed down the wooden jetty instead.

  “Shall we go for a spin, Diego?” Rosa untied the boat and carefully climbed in, putting the satchel on the wooden seat in front of her where she could keep an eye on Diego. However, the kitten seemed unwilling to venture out into the suddenly rocking outside world. His shining eyes peered out from the darkness of the bag.

  “Good boy, Diego,” Rosa murmured. “I can guess that a cat like you wouldn’t exactly make a good pirate.” She chuckled at the sight of his furry nose sticking out and sniffing the air. “A buccaneer worth his weight in gold has to battle things like raging seas and stormy gales, but even on these calm inland waters, it might be wise for the likes of you to stay below decks.”

  Rosa had a lot of experience with small craft, often rowing on the River Thames as a young girl with her father. The experience on this day was simply glorious. The sun was warm on her skin, the mountain air crisp and clean, and the small lake calm. The oars stirring the crystal-clear water and the call of a loon from across the lake were the only sounds.

  “Wonderful.”

  Her repose came to a sudden halt when she spotted the forms of Miguel and Detective Sanchez walking slowly out onto the dock. They both stopped at the end and looked out at her. Detective Sanchez took off his hat and, after a moment, tentatively waved it at her while Miguel stood with his hands on his hips. She wasn’t too surprised to see them. Though the body had been removed, there was still investigative work to be done here. She waved slowly, exactly the way she’d seen their new queen do, her hand slightly cupped and her palm barely pivoting on her wrist.

  Miguel did not wave back.

  Rosa sighed and kept rowing. Miguel was upset that she hadn’t stopped by the precinct to share what she knew. Unfortunately, now that Rosa was working for Orville Gainer, and trying to protect Miguel’s job, she couldn’t do that. Not yet, at any rate.

  Besides, Miguel would likely figure out the same things she had on his own.

  Rosa navigated to the middle of the lake and scanned the shoreline. She could just make out a lone cabin and a small wooden dock on the east side of the lake. The cabin was barely visible from Dieter Braun’s dock. She pointed the rowboat toward it. As she got closer, she saw a man on the edge of the dock in a chair, studying her with binoculars.

  “Bingo,” she said out loud.

  Rosa rowed the boat nearer to the dock, stopping just short of the end, then called out, “Hello.”

  He was an elderly man with a grizzled face and a ring of gray hair peeking out from a straw hat. Rocking in a wooden chair with a tobacco-pipe holder and ashtray built into one of the arms, the man wore a white T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and sandals. A fishing rod and a tackle box lay on the dock, unopened.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” she added.

  “It sure is, young lady.” The neighbor’s voice was cheerful. “I’m guessing from the way you talk that you’re not from around here.” His leathered face was open and friendly with a large bushy mustache that all but covered his mouth.

  “No, I’m originally from London, but I live in Santa Bonita now.”

  “Uh-huh.” The man regarded her with a bit of puzzlement. “Are you a friend of that German fellow that lives there on the south end of the lake?”

  “No, my name is Miss Rosa Reed. I’m a private detective.”

  “Name
’s John, John Givens. A lady gumshoe, huh? You don’t see that much.”

  “I suppose not,” Rosa said. “I am afraid there’s been an incident involving Mr. Braun.”

  “Oh gosh, is he all right?”

  “I am afraid not. The police are investigating his death right now.”

  “Sorry to hear it, Miss Reed.” The man looked baffled as he took off his cap to scratch his head.

  “Were you here when that earthquake hit last week?” Rosa asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve been out here for a month, but I got to tell you, I never felt a thing. I heard about it on the news, though. I get good radio reception out here most days.”

  “How many other cabins are there on the lake?” Rosa asked.

  “Just the Braun fellow’s place and mine. There are a few private properties, but no one has built anything, though I am sure that will come soon enough. I built this cabin here just after my wife died twelve years ago. I was the only one until Braun built his.

  “I only spoke to him a couple times when he was building it. Our types tend to keep to ourselves. But I saw him a few times out there on the lake with that boat you’ve commandeered.” He gestured towards the rowboat and smiled to let her know he was teasing her the way cheery old men often do. “He always gave me a wave because he knew I was watching him through my binoculars.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  Mr. Givens took off his hat and scratched his head. “Just last week. Maybe five days ago. In the evening, as I recall. I only noticed because he had a flashlight, and the beam flashed about as he paced his dock.”

  “Why do you think he would walk out on the dock after dark?” Rosa asked.

  “I confess to looking through my binoculars—it’s the only entertainment I have out here—and I could swear he threw something into the lake.”