Tahoe Dark (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller Book 14) Read Online Free

suggested that they weren’t frequently consulted, if ever read at all. Among the bookshelves on one wall was an area devoted to framed certificates and citations with elaborate calligraphy, some with gold award stickers. On a stand was a glass plaque with acid-etched musical notes and lettering no doubt proclaiming some kind of achievement in the music industry.
    In the center of the room was a huge desk with a forest green, inset leather top. The desk was relatively clean. It had a banker’s lamp, a brass and teak pen-and-pencil holder, and a small brass clock. On the corner of the desk was an 8 x10 photo of an old cruiser-type boat in an easel-back frame. As a boat fancier, I leaned in to get a closer look. It looked like a 1960s cuddy cabin design, maybe a Thompson. It didn’t look to be in good shape, but it had probably given Montrop good times at some point in the past. To one side of the desk was a stack of papers. To the other side was a computer printer. On it was a piece of copy paper with printing. The sergeant pointed toward it.
    I walked around behind the desk, leaned over, and looked at it without touching it.
    The top of the note was dated with the previous day’s date and the time of 10:30 p.m., looking very much as if Montrop had typed and printed the note the previous evening.
     
    If something violent should happen to me, it’s possible the perpetrator is an ex-cop named Owen McKenna. He and I go way back, and I have reason to believe he has angry feelings toward me. I wouldn’t put it past him to attack me in an attempt to settle an old score.
     
    If someone is reading this note, then that suggests it is too late to do anything other than try to catch him or whoever assaulted me.
     
    I don’t want to falsely accuse McKenna, but I will take this information to the police tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m going to bed with a sense of foreboding, so I write this note.
     
    I turned to the sergeant.
    “Unusual note,” I said to her.
    Sergeant Lanzen nodded. “Do you have a comment?”
    “No. I have no idea who he is or why he might think I have angry feelings toward him.”
    Sergeant Lanzen’s gaze settled on Montrop’s note.
    “Have you any idea why he was murdered?” I asked.
    Lanzen shook her head. “No. The gardener found him dead when he arrived this morning. He called nine-one-one and indicated in broken English that Mr. Montrop had died.”
    “The gardener carries a house key,” I said.
    “Apparently.” Lanzen glanced out the window. There was a smallish man sitting on a decorative iron bench in a small garden near the Mercedes. He rocked left and right as if distraught. “His duties include the indoor plants as well,” Lanzen said. “He communicated in so many words that the place is as he found it.”
    “Neat and picked up,” I said.
    “Yes. Apparently, the housekeeper was here yesterday. It looks like nothing has been touched since then beyond a few dishes in the kitchen, the clothes and bedding in Montrop’s bedroom, and…” she paused, then gestured at the desk, “this note.”
    Lanzen gestured toward the door. “Please come outside and look at the body. You said you don’t know him by name, but we should check that you don’t recognize him.”
    “Of course.”
    I followed her outside. There were two men who had wheeled a gurney and body bag up the driveway and were waiting for her approval before they removed the body.
    She spoke to them. “I’ll be done in a few minutes.”
    “You’ve completed your death scene examination?” I said.
    “Yes. And because of the peculiarities, the Medical Examiner already stopped by. We’ll know more after the pathologist completes the autopsy, but he said it looks like Montrop died from blunt force trauma to the head.”
    Lanzen walked me over to the body, then stepped aside so I could see.
    The victim’s head was turned sideways, the wounded temple facing the sky, the other cheek mashed against driveway brick. I leaned