Searching for Gatsby: A Ronnie Lake Murder Mystery (An Accidental Lady Detective, A Private Investigator Crime Series Book 3)

by Danforth, Niki

  “Isn’t it strange that this one looks like it was torn into thirds?” I ask. “Especially since Gatsby isn’t a long novel. This section starts with chapter four.”

  Win hesitates. “I can’t answer that. But I can tell you that the Armed Services Edition, or ASE, of The Great Gatsby renewed an interest in F. Scott Fitzgerald. It’s hard to imagine now, but this was an almost forgotten novel at that time. Some scholars say that the ASE edition launched this little book on its path to becoming the great American novel, and that’s because they sent so many copies to our soldiers.”

  “Amazing. Hey, check this out.” I show Jamie one of the pages and point to some penciled writing in the right-hand margin. I know immediately that the penmanship is different from the note that Marilyn showed me moments before.

  —ville, NJ

  “Isn’t this odd?” I ask. “It’s missing the first part of the word? How many places in New Jersey end with ‘ville’? Probably a lot.”

  Jamie doesn’t look like he’s paying much attention, as if his thoughts are elsewhere as he stares at the page, so I continue slowly flipping through the paperback.

  “Here’s another one.” I tilt the book so that the group gets a look.

  LPLDM

  “What in blazes is LPLDM—sounds like the initials of a law firm?” Jamie mutters, more to himself than me.

  I continue looking through the pages.

  Olivie secretary

  “Olivie, probably Olivia, somebody’s assistant. Do you think these notes were written by the last soldier who read this part of the book?”

  “Can’t say,” Jamie answers.

  I glance at Win, who adds quickly, “Don’t look to me for help on the scribbles.”

  I continue paging through this piece of the novel, and I’m near the end. “Wait. Here’s one more.” I show it to the group.

  2nd floor

  I flip through the final few pages. “There’s nothing else.”

  Jamie just stares at the book, and I give it to him. “Hey, I’ve got it…humor me for a second, and let’s imagine what happened. The guy who wrote these notes was taking down the address of a cute secretary named Olivia, a woman he met in Germany. The general’s gorgeous young secretary, maybe?”

  Jamie and Marilyn laugh, and I go on, pointing back at the page. “Do you think the second floor was where her office was? Or maybe even her living quarters?”

  Jamie looks up, and his dark eyes crinkle with amusement as they look straight into mine. “Hey Sherlock, that’s quite a theory you’ve developed.”

  “Hey yourself, look at the edge of the pages. Did someone try to write something on them?” I ask.

  He gently flips the pages. “It’s probably just the wear and tear of carrying it around during the war.”

  “Maybe,” I say, as Jamie passes back the book.

  Marilyn beams that her matchmaking may be working. “So, Win, this copy isn’t yours?” She holds out a wooden bowl with salad for second helpings, and Win shakes his head. “Is it the thief’s, you know, Whitmore’s?” she asks. “Although, just because he may have had it doesn’t mean it belonged to him. He could have stolen it, too.”

  “Wait a minute. I remember writing my paper on The Great Gatsby for school, but I don’t remember ever hearing about these ASE editions until this evening, and now I find out that two of you have pieces of an ASE Great Gatsby? This cannot be a coincidence.” I pour myself some coffee. “Win, when you’re finished with supper, may I see your copy?”

  “I’m finished. Let’s go upstairs.”

  This is when Jamie calls it a night, but not before he invites me to shoot with him at his skeet and trap course the next day. Win waves good-bye and bounds up the steps to the second floor.

  On our way upstairs, Marilyn mentions that Jamie’s good pal Katya will also be there shooting.

  “How do you know that?” I ask.

  “Oh, you know, you just learn these things.” Marilyn smiles knowingly. At the very least, skeet shooting could be a good opportunity to learn more about Ms. Alessandro.

  Moments later, the three of us enter Win’s small library off their master bedroom. He gestures, and Marilyn and I sit on the sofa. He pushes a small table out of the way and squats down to a bottom shelf in a corner of the room, an area that would be easy to overlook. He pulls out a thin book similar to the one that Whitmore probably dropped during his fall.

  “Let’s take a look.” He sits in his big chair and puts the two pieces side-by-side on a table between us.

  Win’s book has a front cover. He flips through the first pages. “This is the one my father left me. One of his Army buddies tore it up, I guess, so they could all read it when they had a little downtime from the battlefield.” He stares at the cover. “My dad’s piece of the book was special to him because it reminded him of his time serving with those guys, but I don’t remember the name Whitmore.”

  Win picks up the one that Jamie and I found under the boxwood. He looks at the last page of his father’s piece and the first page of the section the burglar had. He slowly puts them together and gently pages from one section to the other. It’s a perfect fit, and we’re all amazed.

  “That’s not possible. It’s just too coincidental that they’re from the same book,” I say.

  “Did Casey Whitmore know your father?” Marilyn asks.

  “Not that I know of,” he insists, but then he hesitates slightly. “Oh, hell, I really don’t know.”

  I remember Win’s surprised reaction after pulling back the black mask from the old thief’s face as he lay on the ground dying. “Win, had you ever seen that thief before? Anywhere? Even just for a moment? Think hard.”

  “I don’t believe so.” His voice is firm and final. “I value my father’s ASE edition for sentimental reasons, but it’s not worth much…unlike my first edition Gatsby, which is gone.”

  He hands me the two parts, and I note there are also marks on the edges of the pages of Win’s section. They appear to line up with the section I found on the ground, but I can’t make any sense of them. It probably is just wear and tear, and I put down the pieces of the paperback.

  Then I pick them up again and hold them together.

  “Marilyn, please humor me,” I say to my friend. “Take my phone and snap some pictures of me holding this a certain way.” I slightly bend the pages of the two sections, which causes them to fan somewhat. Now the marks extend into lines that don’t make much sense, except they look like a three-sided enclosure, maybe part of a box. “Okay, take the pictures now.”

  Marilyn snaps a few plus some video, and then I let go of the pages, causing the lines to turn back into marks. “What was that all about?” she asks.

  “Probably nothing.” I check the shots, and they look clear.

  Win isn’t interested in my discovery and heads straight for the glass cabinet, filled with other valuable books. “When I came up here after the police left, the hardcover was on this shelf where it always is.” He opens the cabinet and points at an empty space where the volume once stood. “I was so unsettled by the evening that I came here to have a drink and do a little reading before bed.”

  He gestures toward the large chair. “I was sitting there when I glanced at the cabinet. I noticed that the book was not pushed into its slot evenly with the others on the shelf.”

  “So the spine stuck out?” I ask.

  “Exactly. I pulled it out to look at it, and I saw it was damaged—one of the corners mashed, and it had a scratch on the back cover.” He shakes his head. “That’s when I knew the old man had been looking through my books. If he had just left things alone, he wouldn’t have dropped it and, well, the rest is history—”

  “Why don’t you keep a priceless book like that locked in a safe?” I ask.

  “Exactly my sentiments,” Marilyn says.

  “What’s the point of that? They’re beautiful, and I like to see them while I unwind from a busy day.” He sits back down in his favorite chai
r.

  We’re all quiet for the moment. I gaze around Win’s cozy literary man cave filled with first editions of his favorite books. Something nags at me.

  “The fact that Casey Whitmore went straight for your cabinet and chose the most expensive book in this room…” I look at Win, and continue. “Well, he’s either stupid or brilliant.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Come on, Ronnie, it’s been a long day. What are you getting at?” Win asks wearily.

  “Well, Whitmore really knows his books.”

  “That appears to be the case,” Marilyn agrees.

  I stand up and pace the room. “So, what’s really curious is that he passed up stealing a book that’s probably worth a lot more than the necklace. Gatsby is thin, and he could have easily slipped it into one of his other vest pockets. Why did he leave such easy pickings behind?”

  I pick up the two pieces of the flimsy paperback and hold them together. I put down the thief’s middle section, and hold up Win’s father’s front section. “Unless this is what Whitmore was looking for.”

  “What?” Win asks. “Why?”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Marilyn says.

  “Humor me,” I respond as I slowly leaf through Win’s first third of the ASE Gatsby. On page eighteen, I hit pay dirt. There in the outside margin I see what appears to be the same cryptic handwriting in pencil that’s in the middle section.

  Liberty Head Nickel

  Win and Marilyn peer at the writing. “Funny,” he says. “I’ve never noticed that, but then I never really looked.”

  They hold the paperback open as flat as possible, and I snap a few pictures of the page. Then I carefully turn more pages. After I’ve flipped through twenty or so, we see the next entry.

  Twenty-dollar Double Eagle

  I snap more pictures.

  Win pages further through his father’s section of the book. “Here’s one more.”

  Wheat Penny

  “What is it about these coins?” I snap a wide shot of the entire page and then zoom in as close as possible to the writing in pencil.

  Win continues turning pages until he gets to the next to the last page.

  Lambert—

  Again, I take more pictures with my camera phone.

  “Of course that’s not a coin,” Marilyn says. “And see that dash after the word?”

  While she talks, I take the burglar’s section of the book and flip to the page near the beginning where they read—

  —ville, NJ

  We put the sections next to each other and say in unison, “Lambertville.” Marilyn laughs and holds them flat so I can take more pictures, while she and Win look back and forth between the two sections.

  “So, you think these coins are maybe in Lambertville somewhere?” she asks.

  “Well, I suspect they may have been there around the time of World War II.” I check my photos.

  “That’s still like a needle in a hay stack, if the needle’s even still there,” Win mutters.

  I flip to the pages with Olivie, or Olivia secretary, and 2nd floor, and take pictures of both.

  “Now we know there may have been coins somewhere in Lambertville, New Jersey, with somebody’s assistant, and on the second floor,” Marilyn says. “Hey, it’s a start.”

  I open to the page that has LPLDM written in pencil. “Maybe this will tell us, whatever LPLDM means.” I snap the final pictures.

  “This is just what I love, figuring out a puzzle.” She drinks her coffee. “Win, do you remember if your father ever said much about this? He died such a long time ago.”

  He shrugs, sits back in his chair, and stares into his cup. “I thought it was more about his friendship with his war buddies than some old coins.” There’s something odd about his tone.

  “The obvious question,” I say, holding up the two books, “is where is the third part of this? And then, of course, the final question is who shot the old guy—that’s for the police to investigate, of course. But is it tied to this book?”

  Win has the last word. “And that’s why I’d like to hire your private eye friend, the one who was here the other evening with the police. I want him to check out all of this.”

  “Well, as I said, the police are handling the investigation of the shooting,” I say. “So that’s already covered.”

  “Yeah, but I mean everything else, you know, my first edition and these ASE sections,” he insists.

  “Why not hire Ronnie?” Marilyn asks her husband. “She’s a private investigator, too. And we know her.”

  Win doesn’t look so sure. “Ronnie, aren’t you still a rookie? I need someone experienced like…uh…” He struggles for the name.

  A feeling of disappointment washes over me. For just a moment, I thought that I’d landed my first important case. Of course that would be difficult and unethical on my part, since Marilyn has also asked to hire me to look into Win. “Will,” I answer. “Will Benson. He’s the best.”

  “That’s it. Will Benson.” Win turns on the charm. “Ronnie, can you text me his contact info? And also give him a quick call and let him know I’ll be in touch?”

  “Absolutely. Happy to help.” I text him Will’s number, trying not to grimace. “Thanks, both of you, for the delicious supper and excellent company.” I pick up the chunk of the paperback I found behind the bush and turn to leave.

  “Now where do you think you’re going with that?” Win asks.

  “Tomorrow I’ll drop it off with Detective Russo.”

  “Hold it,” Win says. “That little book was found on our property, and it’s staying right here.”

  “Win, it could be important to the investigation. So, technically this should go to the police. And if Will were here, he’d do the same.” Truth be told, Detective Rossi is the last person I want to give this book to, and I’m certainly not going to be in a hurry to get it to her.

  “I don’t want this all over the press, the three parts of this paperback and everything we’ve discussed this evening about what it all means.”

  “I don’t blame you, and I will not make a big deal out of this when I talk to Rossi. It’s just something I found and thought she might want to see. End of story.”

  “We hate to let it go,” Marilyn says, her voice uncertain.

  “Which is why I’ve been taking pictures of the clue pages. I will print out a copy of both sections for you and one for Will and me. Win, may I also borrow your piece—”

  “Hold it, hold it,” he objects.

  “Win, it’s just to study,” I insist. “Will and I do not plan to take your section to Detective Rossi. We’ll keep it in a safe place. I promise.”

  “I vote for Ronnie taking it,” Marilyn says. “We’ve already had one robbery in the house.”

  “Okay.” Win hands me his piece of the ASE paperback.

  “I’ll see you at my lunch tomorrow,” Marilyn says to me. I nod yes, give her a hug, and make a quick exit.

  As I walk to the top of the stairs, I hear Marilyn chastise Win. “I hate to say it, but that was not nice, the way you dismissed Ronnie.”

  “This is important, Marilyn, and I want the best man for the job.”

  “That is such chauvinistic, good old boy talk,” she answers. “Ronnie may be new at it, but you saw firsthand that she has good instincts and asks the right questions.”

  “Well, I’ll think about it,” Win answers. “Let’s see what Will Benson says first.”

  I run down the steps and leave. I’m glad I can count on my friend to stick up for me.

  ~~~~~

  As I drive home, my cell phone rings. It’s Will, and I click the button on my steering wheel. “I was just going to call to let you know that Win Watson wants to hire you, and he’ll be contacting you in the morning most likely.”

  “He’s already gotten in touch. I’m too busy to take the case,” he says over the speaker. “Ronnie, you should take the job. You’re ready for this.”

  “I think he prefers work
ing with a man.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “I’m serious. Hey, it surprised me, too.” I brake for a stop sign. “Anyway, Marilyn thinks she’s hired me on a separate matter, but it’s about her husband. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “Now that presents a problem.”

  “I agree.” A deer jumps out from the brush along the side of the road. “Oh no,” I gasp, slamming the brakes hard, and I almost hit him. “That was close.”

  “What’s going on?” Will asks. “Are you okay?”

  “A deer dashed onto the road. A beautiful young buck. Thank god, I missed him.” I start driving again, but much more slowly. “Hard to believe the police have a murder to solve out here in quiet, little Willowbrook. Nothing like that ever happens here.”

  “And you keep on remembering that, Ronnie. The police are working on the shooting—it’s not yet officially a murder—and we’re, I mean, you’re working on finding the book. And that’s my final point,” Will says. “You’re the best person for the Watson job since you live in that Willowbrook world of dinner parties and book collecting. You’ve already gathered a lot of info, and you haven’t even officially started.”

  I turn onto the gravel road on my property. “That’s nice of you to say, but—”

  “I’ll call Win Watson in the morning and work things out. If he still insists on hiring me, I’ll tell him that you and I will work on it together with you as the lead investigator. He can pay my company, and I’ll cut you a check for the full amount.”

  “Thanks, Will.”

  “You’re also going to have to tell Win’s wife that you can’t officially work for her while you’re on the payroll looking for her husband’s missing book.”

  “I’ll call her and let her know.”

  “Now, between you and me, it doesn’t mean you can’t keep your eyes open, and if something comes up regarding her concerns, well, come talk to me first.”