Tahoe Deathfall

by Todd Borg

My untouched steak and potato went into the fridge. I pulled on my leather jacket and ran outside with Spot next to me.

  I drove down the dark mountain as fast as I dared. Guilt over not checking my messages at the office crowded my thoughts.

  Highway 50 had lots of traffic for a Tuesday night. I stomped on the accelerator and jumped out after a Cadil­lac limousine and in front of an eighteen-wheeler.

  Jennifer’s driveway was as she described. The wrought iron gate was open. I turned in and raced down a paved road lit at intervals with yellow lights on two-foot-tall stone columns with elaborately-carved caps. Neither the house nor lake was visible through the pines. The drive curved left and went around a hill of granite. I went by a good-sized home on the right. Probably the care­taker’s.

  The Salazar mansion appeared through the trees. It was made of stone, with turrets and towers and giant bay windows, each with a hundred small windowpanes or more. A steep slate roof swept down beside third-floor gabled windows. I hadn’t come to a complete stop in the circular drive when the front door opened and Jennifer ran out.

  She came for my Jeep and ran around the far side as if to use it as a barrier between her and the house. Her eyes were wide with fright. I grabbed the flashlight out of the glove box and got out. Jennifer held her hands in front of her mouth. Her eyes darted from me to the house.

  Her voice was high and tense and insistent. “I keep hearing noises! Last night they were in the north wing. So I hid in the closet off the parlor when I called nine-one-one. The police came but they couldn’t find anything. Now tonight I heard more noises. They were upstairs where the bed­rooms are. My cell phone kept cutting out. I tried calling you over and over until you came home.” Jennifer’s voice choked up. She put an ice-cold hand on my arm. “I watched through the window from the library. When I saw your headlights I ran outside.” Jennifer was shaking.

  “Are you staying here all alone?”

  “Gramma is visiting friends in Salt Lake City. I convinced her I was okay alone. Samuel Sommers, the caretaker, was supposed to be back from vacation yester­day, but he never showed.” She started to cry. “Why did he have to pull his disappearing act when Gramma is gone?”

  “You’re okay, now,” I said. “Let’s have a look.” We walked toward the house. Jennifer took hold of my hand. I could feel resistance as I moved forward. “Spot will help us check the house,” I said.

  When we reached the open front door Jennifer stopped. “I’m afraid,” she said.

  “Spot will go in first.” I gave him the hand signal to stay with me. “You are certain no one else is supposed to be with you?” I asked Jennifer. “Are there any servants around?”

  “No.” She said, her voice quaking. “I’m all alone.”

  Spot and I stepped in through the front door. I called out in my loudest voice. “THIS IS THE POLICE! YOU HAVE THIRTY SECONDS TO COME OUT!

  AFTER THAT I’M SENDING IN THE DOG. THE DOG WILL FIND YOU AND ATTACK YOU. I REPEAT. YOU HAVE THIRTY SECONDS TO COME OUT OR YOU WILL BE BITTEN.”

  Jennifer shook at my side. Her frightened eyes went from me to Spot. Thinking of the size of the man­sion and the likely number of servants and helpers, I asked her one more time. “Is there anyone else who has a right to be in the house tonight?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “Only Sam the caretaker, and he would come to me if he were around.”

  Thirty seconds were up. “Okay, Spot. Find the suspect!”

  Spot shot into the house.

  I grabbed Jennifer by the hand and pulled her at top speed after Spot.

  Spot ran into the mansion, claws scraping the car­pet. He went to work, his nose to the floor. He ran a zig-zag pattern through the cavernous entry hall, inspecting the walls and floor. He turned right and disappeared into the house.

  “What part of the house is he going to?” I asked.

  “That way is the main staircase. Beyond is the liv­ing room, the library and the parlor.”

  Jennifer and I ran after Spot. He rushed up the stairs, his nose alternating from the steps and handrails to the air above him. I tugged Jennifer’s hand.

  “Wait,” she said. She pulled back. “What if he finds someone? What if the intruder has a gun?”

  “If Spot finds someone, he will let us know before we get there.”

  We went up the stairs two at a time. It curved around in a half circle. When we got to the top, Spot was disappearing down a hall.

  “That’s toward our bedrooms!” Jennifer said in a hushed voice.

  We went down the hallway. Spot was thirty feet in front of us, his nose to the floor. He alerted at a doorway, whining, pawing and biting the doorjamb.

  “That’s Gramma’s room,” Jennifer whispered.

  I ran up and turned the knob.

  Spot sprinted into the dark room. He growled. I reached around the door jamb, feeling for the light switch. Spot growled louder. I flicked on the light.

  The room was empty. Spot was over at the far wall. His head was out an open window. The rumble in his chest grew.

  I flipped off the light, ran over to the side of the window and peeked out above Spot’s head. It was dark outside, but I could see a long, wide roof about four feet below the window. The dark lake was beyond. Nothing moved. “Jennifer?”

  She came slowly into the darkened room.

  “The roof below this window. Can you get from it down to the yard?”

  “Yes. That’s the roof over the swimming pool. It’s not a long drop.”

  I shut the window. “Let’s go downstairs,” I said. “Hurry!”

  Jennifer and I rushed down the hall. Spot passed us at a gallop and ran down the stairs. “Is there a door on the lake side near the pool?” I called out as we ran.

  “Yes! Behind the staircase!”

  Spot was pawing and biting the door frame when we got there. I opened it and he charged out into the night.

  I grabbed Jennifer’s hand and we ran into the cold breeze off the lake. The lawn was uneven and scattered with large pines. Spot raced down toward the dark lake. We stumbled after him. He headed toward a building on the shore. Jennifer stayed by my side as we ran. “Is the boathouse kept locked?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Jennifer said. “You have to enter the code on the alarm panel in the house in order to unlock it.”

  As Spot approached the boathouse, he veered off down the beach toward the wrought iron fence. We turned to follow. The fence projected several feet into the water where it ended. Spot dashed into the waves, went around the fence and headed back into the woods. He dis­appeared in the direction of the highway.

  I realized that the intruder would reach the high­way before Spot caught him, putting Spot at great risk among the vehicles on the road, so I called him off. “That’s enough, Spot! Come on back.”

  Jennifer and I stopped running. “Let’s check the boathouse.” She stayed back of me while I walked toward the building. In the twilight stood a modern structure with a blue metal roof and exterior walls of cedar var­nished to a high sheen. The boathouse projected out over the water with a pier on each side. There were French doors on the side that faced us. A pile of concrete blocks sat next to one door. I walked down the pier to the door and tried the knobs. Locked. The doors had multiple win­dow panes. I cupped my hands and peeked inside. I could see nothing in the darkness except the windows in match­ing doors on the opposite side. Spot reappeared and came running down the pier.

  “Other side, boy,” I said. He fol­lowed me back onto land, around the building, and we ran down the other pier. I tried the other doors and they too were locked.

  Spot was out at the end of the boathouse, lowering his head down toward the water. I ran out to him. The water was four feet below the dock and was black as ink. Spot sniffed the air. Nothing seemed to move below. He trotted down to the end of the pier, his nose to the boards. He didn’t seem to have a scent so I wasn’t alarmed.

  I hung onto the edge of the boathouse and leaned out over the
water. I reached out and felt the door where the boats would go in and out of the boathouse. It appeared to be a ribbed fiberglass garage door that rose vertically like that on an ordinary garage. I tugged up on the ribs, but it would not move.

  “C’mon Spot. Let’s go.”

  Jennifer stood on the pier not far away.

  “All locked,” I said. We walked back up the dark lawn to the house.

  We went inside and Jennifer showed me to all of the outer doors which, counting the six car garage, num­bered fifteen. All were locked. Next, we toured the ground floor windows. I lost count of the number when I passed one hundred. They all were secure. “Any other higher windows, like in your grandmother’s bedroom, that you can get to from a roof?” I asked.

  “There are two or three rooms down past Gramma’s that are also the same height above the pool roof, so I suppose someone could climb up to any of them. And there are the third floor windows which all are gables in the roof. If you could get up on the main roof, you might be able to get in any of them. But the roof is very steep.”

  We went through the house and verified that it was closed up well.

  “Does your grandmother ever leave her bedroom window open?”

  “She often sleeps with it open. But she never leaves it open when she’s gone.”

  “Does she keep it locked?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Jennifer stopped walking. “You think Spot is smelling Gramma?”

  “Could be that the only other strong human scent in this house is her.”

  We were coming down the stairs from the third floor. There was a noise from somewhere below us. Spot growled and ran down. We took the steps two at a time. We stopped at the corner where the stairs met the second floor. I peeked into the hallway. Spot was again entering the door to the grandmother’s room. Jennifer stayed back as I approached the dark doorway for the second time. I followed Spot into an empty room. He was sniffing the sill of the window. I looked out at the darkness. It was the same as before.

  Jennifer came in behind me. “Was that window open?”

  I nodded.

  “You shut it before.” Jennifer said.

  I tried to remember. It seemed that I had, but I had checked more than one hundred window latches since then. I wasn’t sure.

  “You shut it the last time we were in this room. And now it’s open.” Jennifer voice broke. “Oh, my God!” Her eyes darted around the room. “Owen! Someone was in the house. While we were outside. Or maybe they just came in while we were up on the third floor! Maybe they’re hiding in here at this moment!” She seemed to implode. Her knees bent. She hugged herself.

  I took her by the elbow and steered her out of the room. Spot led the way down the stairs and out the front door. He did not alert again.

  We got into my Jeep and I drove out the drive.

  “When does your grandmother come home?”

  “Not until tomorrow. I’m supposed to spend one more night alone. If Samuel were doing his job as care­taker he’d be just down the driveway. But he’s gone and I won’t stay alone in this house again.”

  “Can you sleep at one of your friends? I can drop you off.”

  “I don’t have any friends. None close enough that I could sleep over on short notice.”

  “There must be somebody.”

  Jennifer looked down. “You don’t understand. I’m a fourteen-year-old in a class of kids who are all seventeen. Two are eighteen. They think I’m weird. I make them insecure. And the kids my own age treat me like I’m an alien.” Jennifer turned her head toward me. “I’m embar­rassed to admit to such social dysfunction. But the truth is I don’t have any friends. Haven’t for years.”

  “Okay. We’ll go to my house.”

  SEVEN