Page 34 of Murder By the Millions
He slumped forward. I gasped when I saw a crystal quartz spearpoint jutting from his back. I grasped the butt of it before recalling that if someone pulled a knife from a wound, a victim might bleed out. I released it as if it was on fire.
“Oh, Jason.” Unable to roll him onto his back because of the spearpoint, I couldn’t administer mouth-to-mouth. Tears sluiced down my cheeks as I pressed 911 again on my phone. This time a dispatcher answered.
“What is your address?” she asked.
I provided it and gave her my cell phone number, in case we got disconnected.
“What is the nature of the emergency?”
Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I informed the woman that Jason Gardner was injured. “He’s been stabbed. Come quickly. We’re in the foyer. The door is open.”
“Did you see who stabbed him?” she asked.
“No, ma’am.” I could’ve sworn I’d heard a door close before I entered. Had his attacker stolen out the rear of the house? “Please hurry. I don’t want him to die. Please.”
I stared at Jason, and my chest tightened. His skin was ash gray, and there was no longer the rise and fall of his chest. Whatever I wanted, hoped for, was of no concern. More tears spilled down my cheeks.
The dispatcher warned me not to hang up and gave me instructions on how to proceed when help arrived.
Nodding mindlessly, I rose to my feet and surveyed the foyer. I noticed small clumps of mud on Jason’s shoes as well as on the floor and runner. Given the glorious evening weather, if he’d gone outside to view the night sky but spied a trespasser, he might have dashed through the recently watered gardens to escape. Had the intruder followed Jason through the mud andtracked some in? Could the remnants help the police discover the killer’s identity?
Though it creeped me out to do so, I began clicking photographs of the foyer with my cell phone. I hadn’t documented the crime scene when Marigold died, and, though I had good visual recall, I had regretted it. I started with Jason and the floor around him. Then I aimed the lens at the oversized front door and sidelights. The door had been ajar. Had the killer entered that way? Would there be traces of footprints outside? Might he,or she,I thought, revising myself, have clods of mud on the soles of his or her shoes?
I took pictures of the velvet bench to the right of the door, the Italianate foyer table to the left, the gilded mirror above the table, and the beautiful porcelain vase filled with fresh flowers resting on the table. The ornate chandelier provided ample light. The photos were crystal clear.
Squatting, I steadied the camera on the floor to snap photos beneath the scalloped lower edge of the foyer table. I didn’t see any telltale clues. I swung around to capture the area under the bench, although I could clearly see it was bare. The gaudy Art Deco piece of art on the right wall looked out of place. The Miró on the left was more in keeping with the grandiose style of the house. Idly, I wondered if the decorator Jason had hired would’ve chosen more contemporary furniture.
I refocused on him, and as gruesome as it sounded—and it was—I took photographs of the spearpoint in his back. It seemed familiar. When I realized why, I moaned. It was nearly identical to one of the spearheads the previous owners of my parents’ mountain retreat had ceded to them along with all the furniture.
A siren bleated. Tires screeched on the driveway. Flashing red light pierced the sidelights and ricocheted off the chandelier and mirrors. Two doors slammed. A second vehicle arrived, andtwo more doors closed. I swiped the camera app to remove it from the screen and shoved my phone in the pocket of my pants. I didn’t think the police would appreciate I’d taken pictures.
Seconds later Zach pushed open the door, announcing himself as he did. His gun was drawn. Right behind him came Bates, also armed. They were still in jeans and polos, but they hadn’t come from the Brewery. I’d seen them leave minutes before Jason and I did. I happened to know they regularly attended a poker game. Perhaps they’d gone together.
Two emergency medical techs paused in the doorway. “Sir, may we enter?”
Zach summoned them inside. They made a beeline for Jason.
“Sir,” the taller of the EMTs said, “permission to inspect the body?”
“Permission granted.” He eyed me. “Allie, what are you doing here?”
“Jason … I mean Mr. Gardner texted me.” I thrust my arm at Jason’s lifeless body.
“Use his first name. You had dinner with him.”
“A business dinner.” I wondered why I felt the need to clarify. “He wanted to hire me to cater a soiree. When we were done, I went home. I mean, first, we went to Dream Cuisine to taste some desserts he might want for the party. Then I went home. Alone.”
Zach shifted feet.
“A while later, he texted me. He said he needed to talk to me. I phoned him, but he didn’t answer. A second text came through. I replied that we’d meet in the morning. But then I received a third text. He said it was urgent. I worried he might be in trouble, so I—”
“Came on your own and didn’t call a friend to accompany you?”
“No, I—” My voice cracked. “When I got here, the door was ajar. I called his name. He didn’t answer. Neither did the domestic helper. That’s because he … or she … I don’t know which gender … I didn’t ask … has the night off. I thought I heard a door close, but I didn’t detect footsteps. It could have been the wind, or it could’ve been the killer fleeing. I don’t know.” I hated that I was rambling, but I couldn’t help it. I wrapped an arm around my torso to steady myself.
The taller EMT stood and nodded to Zach. “He’s dead.”
“Thank you.” Zach dismissed both EMTs and asked them to wait outside.
