Tahoe Chase (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller) (2 page)

THREE

Joe Rorvik said that I could come out anytime but that sooner was better. Rell was waiting, he said. He gave me directions to his house, southwest of South Lake Tahoe, in the Angora Highlands neighborhood, up off Tahoe Mountain Road.

After finishing up some other business, I took Spot in my Jeep, went through South Lake Tahoe, and headed out of town on Lake Tahoe Blvd. I found the turnoff and climbed up the mountain to Angora Ridge and the Angora Highlands. Because Joe’s neighborhood is closer to the Sierra Crest – the high mountainous ridge west of Lake Tahoe – there was much more snow than at my cabin on the east side of the lake. Even though it was still early December, the snow banks were already half way up to the street signs. The vertical snow walls that were cut by the giant rotary plows made the neighborhood remind me of a medieval walled city, but one where the fortress ramparts were made of white ice. Here and there, the walls were breached by driveway openings.

I parked in Joe’s driveway at noon. His front door was set back under a large entry roof and nearly hidden from the street. Flanking the door were two, large, shiny metal sculptures, abstracts that could be, if one had an open mind, interpretations of ski racers.

A skinny young man in his middle twenties was stringing Christmas lights. He had one sculpture evenly wrapped and was working on the second one. In a glance, I could tell that he wasn’t just hanging lights on them to get the job done, but cared a great deal about getting the placement exactly right. The bulbs seemed to be in two sets of parallel lines, each intersecting with the other at precise angles.

 “Oh, hello,” he said in a pleasant voice as I walked up. “You must be the private investigator. Mr. Rorvik said you’d be stopping by.” He shifted the bundle of lights to his left hand, then shook my hand, his grip cold and limp. He had watery eyes that were overwhelmed by heavy black-framed glasses. His pimples and pallor made me wonder if he ever saw the sun or got any exercise or ate anything besides pizza and ice cream. He wore a thin red stocking cap from which spilled long messy hair so red it almost matched his pimples.

“I’m Dwight Frankman,” he said. “I live down the street.”

I introduced myself.

Dwight gestured at the lights. “I try to help the Rorviks now and then. They... They don’t have any family, so I occasionally stop by to check on them.”

“Nice of you to help out,” I said.

Dwight made a little nod. “Mr. Rorvik is waiting for you. You can go right in.” He opened the front door a few inches and called out in a high, soft voice.

“Mr. Rorvik? Mr. McKenna is here to see you.” Dwight pushed the door open farther.

I thought it best to wait outside.

Joe Rorvik appeared in a few moments.

“I see you’ve met Dwight,” Joe said. “Best neighbor two old people could have.” He put his hand on Dwight’s shoulder. “I told him I didn’t need Christmas lights this year. Without Rell here to enjoy them, what’s the point? But here he is, anyway, trying to cheer up an old man.”

“Oh, Mr. Rorvik,” Dwight said, “watch this, and you’ll be glad I put up these lights.” He walked over to the wall and flipped the switch on a power strip that he’d plugged into an outdoor outlet. The sculpture to the left of the door lit up. Although it was daylight, it was shaded under the door. A hundred points of light suddenly reflected in the shiny metal. “Now tell me that isn’t worth the effort.”

Rorvik looked at the lights and nodded. “You’re right, Dwight. Very nice. I thank you.”

“Don’t let me interrupt your meeting,” Dwight said. “I’ll be through here in a little bit, then I’ll head home.”

Rorvik motioned me inside and shut the door behind me.

“Dwight lives a block away,” Joe said as we walked toward a big room at the rear of the house. “He seems to like to help us. He says we’re the grandparents he never had. What family he has is in the Bay Area, so we all benefit from the friendship.” Joe stopped and pointed back toward the door. “I couldn’t see your vehicle, but I wonder if you brought your hound?”

“Yes, actually. He goes most places with me.”

“Then you can bring him in if you want.”

I wasn’t sure how sincere the invitation was. “When you came to my office, it seemed like you knew Great Danes,” I said.

“We never had one, but we like them. Before we moved up to the lake, we lived in Danville in the East Bay, and our neighbor Sissy Lakeman raised them. We got to know all of them. Rell is pretty much afraid of animals, but she loves Great Danes. She says that Danes are sweet toy lap dogs inside guard dog bodies. Your guy’s got some size on him. At your office, just having his head in my lap was heavy. What does he weigh?”

“One-seventy.”

“Bring him in. Please. It will be a good distraction for me.”

I went back and let Spot out of the Jeep. He trotted up to Dwight. Dwight backed up, fear on his face.

“Don’t worry,” Joe’s voice came from the doorway. “He might be a giant dog, but he’s friendly. I’ve already met him. He won’t hurt you.”

Dwight was up against the wall.

I held Spot’s collar so he couldn’t touch Dwight.

Dwight tried to relax, but the tension in his body was obvious.

Spot stretched his head toward Joe, who then pet him.

“See?” Joe said to Dwight.

Dwight made a little nod.

Joe was obviously Dane-fluent. He turned sideways, rested his hand on Spot’s back and walked him through the open front door. Joe was stooped enough, and Spot was tall enough, that Joe could use Spot’s back for support.

I watched them go. Spot held his tail high as always when he’s happy and exploring. I followed and shut the door behind me, leaving Dwight safe from Spot.

“Get you something to drink?” Joe said when we were inside.

I hesitated.

“I’m about to have a beer,” he said as if wanting me to join in.

“Sounds good,” I said.

Joe walked Spot around the kitchen island to the fridge. Recognizing the implicit permission, Spot reached his nose deep over the kitchen counters, investigating food scents. If Joe minded a giant dog wiping the counters with his jowls and neck, he didn’t show it.

The big living room projected out from the rest of the house. In the back wall, a sliding glass door opened onto a deck. Picture windows flanked the door. More windows on the side walls faced the forest on both sides of the house. Through the trees in one direction, I could see the vague shape of a neighboring house. In the other direction, there were only trees.

The large deck overhung the slope that dropped away below. It was likely the deck from which Rell had fallen. The slider and picture windows faced west and framed a grand view of the massive cliffs of Mt. Tallac. A thousand feet below the summit, a cloud roiled against the cliff face. Trailing below as the cloud moved north was a fall of snow. It looked delicate and light, but I knew that if one were in that snowfall, it would be a whirl of wind and cold and biting bits of ice and snow.

At the edge of the view, just visible through trees to the north, stretched Lake Tahoe, blue where the sun shone through and angry gray where the snow showers dotted the surface.

Out of sight, hundreds of feet below us, was Fallen Leaf Lake, the large scintillating body of water just southwest of Tahoe. Legend has it that it was formed when an Indian boy was chased by the devil. The boy had a magic branch with leaves that, when they fell off, instantly created lakes behind the boy, preventing the devil from catching him. I wondered if there was a devil someplace in Joe and Rell’s life.

I wanted to investigate the deck but thought that I should wait a bit before we discussed the details of Rell’s fall.

On a table near the picture windows was a pair of binoculars and a bird book. “Who’s the birder?” I asked.

Joe came over and handed me a Fat Tire Amber Ale. “Rell’s main focus is birding.” Joe sat down on a chair, his breathing noticeable but not really strained. He took a sip of his beer. Spot lay down on the floor next to him.

“Was Rell trained as an ornithologist?” I asked.

“No. She’s an amateur, but she’s gotten more serious as she’s gotten older. Her life list is up to five hundred sixty-something species. Her goal is to join the Six Hundred Club.” He looked up toward the peak of Mt. Tallac. “I guess she won’t make it. I didn’t realize that until now.” He turned away from me.

I drank beer, gave him some time, looked for a way to change the subject to something less sad.

The house design was Mountain Modern, post-and-beam and rustic touches combined with slick granite counters, slate floors, stainless steel appliances, and Scandinavian furniture. The view out the windows from the chairs was spectacular. As I glanced out, I thought I saw something move in my peripheral vision, moving fast.

Maybe it was a bear going through the forest. But it didn’t seem like a bear. It seemed like a person trying to hide in the trees.

FOUR
 

I looked toward where I’d seen movement, but there was nothing to see.

I didn’t want to scare away anybody watching us, so I turned from the windows and studied the room for places from which I could look outside without being obvious.

Spread through the living room were four tall, white sculpture pedestals. On each one stood an elaborate origami sculpture, white paper folded into a shape, detailed enough to be clearly recognizable. They were sizable works, each as tall as a wine bottle. One was an eagle, another an ice skater in a spin. The third was a dog leaping to catch a Frisbee. The fourth was a ski racer. Draped over it was a gold necklace. In its center was a small golden pair of skis.

Joe saw me looking at it. “That’s my lucky necklace,” he said. “I was wearing that when I won my Olympic medal.”

“Wow. This is an important historical artifact,” I said. “And these origami pieces are beautiful, too.” I walked behind one so that it was between me and the windows. By looking just past it, I could see outside. Anyone watching might think I was looking at the origami. “Rell found time for several pursuits,” I said.

“No, those are mine,” Joe said.

I was surprised that the big ski racer of Rorvik Roar fame would create something so fragile.

“You have a serious skill with paper,” I said. “How did you learn it?”

Joe smiled. “Lots of practice.” Joe stood and walked over. He picked up the leaping dog and handed it to me. “It’s kind of a combination of art and science,” he said.

I turned it around, being as gentle as if I were holding a Ming vase. I held it up at eye level, which made it easier to disguise my real purpose of looking out the window. There was so much snow that anyone in the forest would have to be wearing snowshoes. In fact, it was probably too deep for bear until the thaw/freeze cycles firmed it up and crusted it over.

“Don’t be timid with it,” Joe said, pointing at the origami piece. “It’s just paper. You can hold most pieces by any part. If you drop it, no big deal. Most of my pieces are pretty tough. They bounce.”

“The art is obvious,” I said. “Where does the science come in?”

“We start with a two-dimensional medium and turn it into three dimensions. Math meets art. Some of the best origami artists are top-level mathematicians.”

I walked over to the pedestal that held the eagle. I picked up the sculpture and carried it over to the windows as if to get it into more light. By turning the origami, I was able to give the forest a thorough look. I saw nothing. I thought about Dwight. There was no car, so he’d walked up the street from his house. I saw no snowshoes, either, so if he were now out in the forest, he would have had to have brought his snowshoes and stashed them nearby.

“Joe, I can’t remember if I shut the car door after I let Spot out. Give me a moment to check.”

He nodded. I walked back to the entry, opened the door, and looked out. Dwight was still there, finishing the lights on the second sculpture.

“Oh, hi,” Dwight said. “I’m just about done.”

I nodded as I stepped outside and closed the door behind me. I walked away from the house as if to take in the lights on the sculptures. From where I stood, I could see no person in the trees and no tracks, either.

“Dwight, I thought I saw someone outside in the forest. Have you seen or heard anyone?”

He immediately looked worried and made a furtive glance out toward the street. “No, I haven’t. The snow is deep. You’d need snowshoes or skis to get off the street. Plus the rotary walls are so high, it would be hard to climb up and over them.”

“Right. Maybe let me know if you see someone?”

“Sure. But I’ll be leaving in a bit.” Dwight was holding a step ladder below the eave. A string of lights hung from his shoulder. He climbed up three steps on the ladder as I moved by. As he reached out to put the light string on the eave, I noticed his legs vibrating. I’d seen it before. Fear of heights can kick in just two feet off the ground.

“Here, let me steady the ladder for you.” I held it firm.

“Thanks very much,” Dwight said. His face went red with embarrassment. He hung the lights on hooks that were screwed into the eave. Now his hands were shaking. “Sorry,” he said when he was done. He climbed back down and took a deep breath, calming himself.

“That ladder just doesn’t feel right. And, well, I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve always had a little problem with heights. Dogs, too, for that matter. I have a recurring nightmare where a mountain lion jumps out of the trees onto my back and puts its jaws around the back of my neck. I see a dog as big as yours, and it makes me think of it.”

“I understand,” I said, even though I didn’t.

We moved to the other side of the entry, and Dwight again climbed up three feet and hooked up the other end of the light string while I held the ladder. It must have helped because he shook a little less. When he climbed down, he glanced out toward the street. My question about a possible person in the forest had obviously made him worry.

He turned back to me. “Thanks again,” he said, and I went back inside.

Joe was sitting in an upholstered chair. Spot was lying on the floor next to him, his head in Joe’s lap, eyes closed, soaking up Joe’s pets.

“Door shut?” Joe said.

“Yeah. You mentioned that origami is a combination of art and math,” I said. “Is that your background? Mathematics?”

“No, not at all. I couldn’t solve a quadratic equation if my life depended on it.”

“I don’t even know what a quadratic equation is,” I said, “so you obviously know more about math than I do.”

“Really, I don’t,” Joe said. “But part of a ski racer’s job is to see a mountain slope – even the narrow path defined by the gates on a race course – and understand the nature of its shape, how its valleys and ridges connect and how to pick the fastest line through that landscape. Mountain valleys and ridges are not unlike the folds of origami.”

“Cool linkage,” I said, “ski racing and origami.”

“Yeah,” Joe said as if he’d heard it before. “In fact, origami artists refer to the paper folds as mountain folds and valley folds depending on whether the folds go away from you or toward you.”

Joe sipped his beer, more relaxed now that we were talking about origami. “I love the concept of origami. Even though I made these myself, when I look at the finished work, I can’t really see the original piece of paper anymore. The alchemy even works its magic on the alchemist.”

I was struck by the old man’s infectious passion. I picked up the ski racer, and carried it over to another window. “This stands over a foot tall,” I said. “You must use large paper.”

“Come, I’ll show you.” Joe gently pushed Spot’s head off his lap, stood up, and led me through an opening to a study of sorts. Spot jumped up to follow.

There were bookshelves on the wall, filled with row after row of amazing paper sculptures, most white, some with colored and patterned paper. On another wall was a counter with a roll of what looked like white butcher paper in a dispenser. In the middle of that wall were two large windows that looked out to the trees.

In one corner was a large plastic garbage can. It was filled to over-flowing with small origami sculptures.

I strolled into the study and stepped to the side of one of the windows, somewhat out of sight from anyone who might be outside, but able to see if something moved.

“This paper is thirty-six inches wide,” Joe said, unaware that I was watching the trees. He continued, “Usually we work with square pieces, but I can make the paper as long as I want. Tear off a piece and fold it into something, repeat a thousand times, and you’ll get pretty good.”

“Like skiing,” I said. “I’d love to see it in action.” I moved to the other side of the window and leaned up against the wall to make myself hard to see from outside.

Joe pulled some paper off the roll and tore off a piece about a foot and a half long. He sat down at a large table in the center of the room. There was a grid printed on the table. Joe lined the paper up on the grid and used the table edge to tear the paper. When he was done, he had a square piece 18 inches on a side.

Joe folded the sheet in half, then unfolded it and folded it in half at right angles to the first fold. Unfolding it again, Joe folded two corners over.

Using the crease marks as guides, Joe began new folds, some to keep and others to create more crease marks. I’m sure there were geometric principles behind his actions, but they eluded me.

I saw no more movement out the window. But I kept watching.

Joe worked fast and with confidence. In a few minutes, he stood up and handed me a sculpture of a tall man with a large head. The man was wearing a hooded cape and looked strong and intimidating.

 “Amazing,” I said. “It looks like Darth Vader’s brother.”

“Sort of,” Joe said. “It’s my interpretation of Erebus, God of Darkness.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m new to Erebus,” I said.

“One of the early gods in Greek mythology. Perfect subject for origami.”

“Why is that?”

“Just because origami subjects are often light and happy. I suppose it’s a match-up between subject and the lightness of the medium. Birds and flowers and ballerinas. You do see some large animals depicted, bulls and elephants, but they are rare. Erebus is all about dark power, a perfect counterpoint to a delicate art made of a delicate substance.”

“I’ve never paid attention to origami. This can obviously be a...” Another movement outside? I focused on the place in the trees where I thought something shifted.

“This can be what?” Joe asked.

“Art. Origami can be a serious art medium.”

Joe nodded. “The Chinese were folding paper over a thousand years ago during the Sung Dynasty. And Europeans sculpted with both cut and folded paper during the Renaissance. But it was seventeenth century Japanese artists who elevated folded paper to something serious, more than just pretty shapes.”

“The math you referred to,” I said. I stepped over to the other side of his table where I had a view out the other window.

“Yeah. Not only can you use math to broaden origami possibilities, but you can use origami to expand your math exploration. The study of the math of origami has led to lots of practical applications like how they fold airbags in cars.”

It made sense as soon as Joe said it. “How to fit the bag into a small space and control the way it unfolds?” I said. “That came from origami?”

“Even more wonderful is what they now do in space. A Japanese mathematician named Koryo Miura used origami to figure out a way to fold and unfold giant solar panel structures so that they can take the folded structure out of the rocket or space shuttle and completely unfold it by simply pulling on two corners. It automatically assumes the correct shape. The huge solar panels that power satellites no longer have to be laboriously assembled by space-walking astronauts.”

“Art powers science,” I said.

“Yeah. It’s pretty awesome,” Joe said, sounding for a moment like a teenager.

I was beginning to think that if I’d actually seen any movement outside, it was probably just an errant squirrel moving in my peripheral vision. Nevertheless, I kept watching. I’d learned long ago that patience was often rewarded. Certainly, impatience rarely was.

I thought about the shortest path from the study to the front door, as well as to the deck slider, while I kept watch on the windows. I decided that the fastest route to intercept any trespasser would depend on which way the trespasser was going.

I gestured with the Erebus sculpture. “How do you figure it out? Are there books with folding diagrams?”

Joe nodded. “I started with some of those. Then I started inventing my own.”

“Like the mathematicians?”

“No,” Joe shook his head. “They use computers. Maybe blackboards, too, for all I know. They use equations to create complex shapes. I’m a fold-by-the-seat-of-my-pants guy. No equations in my art. I try different things, and the result is often unsatisfying or even stupid-looking. But I sometimes see a way to adjust it to make it better. It’s like any art. You keep learning and improving your craft bit by bit.”

I pointed to the garbage can. “Are these your rejects? There must be thousands of origami sculptures in that can.”

“No, those are the entries in a contest that I ran last spring.”

I was surprised. “Joe, you’re not the kind to just kick back and relax, are you?”

“Well, when I heard the latest figures about how this country is getting more scientifically illiterate, I thought about encouraging would-be artists to see what they could do that might advance science. It was called the Art Meets Science Origami Contest. I wanted to see if any people out there had invented any designs that would advance science in some way.”

“Like airbags and solar panels in space,” I said.

“Yeah. So I offered a five-thousand-dollar first prize and four twelve hundred and fifty dollar prizes. Ten grand was enough to get the contest written up in several magazines and put on a bunch of websites. In addition to giving out prize money, I sent the five winning entries to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. They have the foremost origami mathematicians there. I haven’t heard back, yet, but I think that the one that I awarded first prize to is going to raise their eyebrows.”