Murder Had a Little Lamb, page 25
“Anyone inside?” one of the firefighters demanded in a loud voice as he leaped off the side of the truck.
“Two animals,” I yelled back. “A parrot in a cage and a lizard in a tank. They’re right inside the front door, in the living room. Look to the left, about ten feet in.”
He was already dashing toward the front door, brandishing an ax.
I felt a nearly overwhelming mixture of emotions as I watched him smash the wooden door. All around him, the other firefighters were jumping off the truck, shouting to one another as they dragged thick, heavy hoses across the lawn.
I was relieved that help was here—and that in just a few seconds, my parrot and my chameleon would be rescued.
But I was also watching my home being destroyed—not only by the blows of an ax, but also by the flames that were now leaping upward through huge gashes in the roof.
“Move back!” one of the firefighters commanded, gesturing toward the huge stretch of lawn beyond the cottage.
I did as I was told, meanwhile keeping my eyes glued to the little house that I loved so dearly.
When I saw two of the firefighters emerge through the doorway, one carrying Leilani’s tank and the other bearing Prometheus, fluttering around wildly inside his cage, I dropped to the ground. It was only then that I let go of the flood of tears that had been building up inside.
In fact, I suddenly found myself crying hysterically as I finally let myself feel the fear I’d been fighting off since the moment I’d awakened.
I jumped when I felt a comforting arm around my shoulders.
“My God, Jessica! Are you all right?” Betty cried breathlessly.
I raised my eyes and saw that she was kneeling beside me, dressed in a bathrobe and slippers.
“I’m okay,” I assured her, swiping at the tears streaked across my cheeks. As I spoke, I could taste their saltiness on my lips.
“And the animals?”
“They’re all fine,” I said. “The cats and dogs are running around the property somewhere. I pushed Max and Lou out through the bedroom window, and the cats escaped by themselves. The firefighters carried out Prometheus and Leilani.”
“So everyone is safe—which is all that matters.” Betty reached into the pocket of her bathrobe and pulled out a wad of tissues. “Here. Take these.”
“Thanks.”
Hugging me closer, she said, “It looks like they’re already getting the fire under control. Why don’t we go into the house?”
I just nodded, glad that I had someone there with me. The fact that Max suddenly appeared out of nowhere didn’t hurt, either.
“Max!” I cried, grabbing my Westie and burying my face in his soft white fur. “I’m so sorry you had to go through such a terrible experience!”
And then Lou was there, too, nudging me with his nose. As I turned to give him a hug, I saw that Winston was standing a few feet behind us. He was carrying Frederick in his arms, as if he’d wanted to make sure not to let his beloved dachshund out of his sight.
“Let’s all go inside,” Betty urged. “We can look for Tink and Cat after all the chaos dies down.”
Casting me a meaningful look, she added, “And trust me, Jessica. The chaos will die down.”
• • •
An hour later, Betty, Winston, and I sat in the kitchen, sipping cups of Betty’s famous whiskey-spiked tea. Max and Lou sat at my side, practically glommed onto my legs, while Tink was nestled safe and sound in my lap. Cat, meanwhile, lay on the soft rug Betty had laid on the floor next to her.
A loud knock reminded us that this wasn’t your ordinary tea party.
“It looks like the police,” Betty said, craning her neck to see out the window.
I dashed across the room past Prometheus’s cage and Leilani’s tank and opened the back door. Standing there was a balding middle-aged man with a ruddy complexion, dressed in a jacket and tie.
“I’m Detective Dan O’Reilly,” he said somberly, flashing a badge. “Arson Squad.”
“Arson?” I squawked. I had just assumed that the fire in the cottage was the result of faulty wiring, since the building’s electrical system was probably in as bad shape as its plumbing.
“It’s standard procedure for us to check out the cause of every fire,” he informed me. “Are you the resident?”
After he stepped inside, we all introduced ourselves, with Betty explaining that she and Winston were the owners and I was the tenant. Once Detective O’Reilly had established that we all had a stake in the building that had just been destroyed, he said, “It’s too early to give a full report, but I looked around enough to get a pretty good idea of what happened here.”
From the grim expression on his face, I had a feeling he was about to confirm what I’d already concluded.
So I was braced for the worst when he said, “It looks like arson, all right. A really amateurish job, too. We found a plastic container of gasoline we’re going to dust for prints. Hopefully that will help us find the person who did this.”
Even so, his words sent a chill running through me.
Arson? Committed by an amateur?
Instantly the name Serena Garcia filled my head.
A sick feeling came over me as I replayed Beanie’s words: “I heard she burned the guy’s house down—with him in it!”
At the time, I’d found her claim impossible to believe. Even Serena’s belief that the Santeria god of fire was her orisha hadn’t convinced me.
Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure.
As for what Serena’s motive might have been, the most obvious one was that she was trying to scare me away from the investigation—the reason being that I was getting dangerously close to discovering that either she or her daughter had killed Nathaniel Stibbins.
Or perhaps she had been trying to do more than scare me. Maybe her goal had been to get rid of me—this time, for reasons that had nothing to do with any Santeria ritual.
I sat in silence, debating whether or not to say anything to Detective O’Reilly. Yet even as he handed a business card to each one of us, inviting us to call him if we had any information about the incident, I recognized the danger of bringing up Beanie’s unproven claims.
Instead, I resolved to work even harder to determine the identity of the person who had committed not only murder, but also arson.
A few minutes later, I was still ruminating about what my next step should be when the crunch of tires caused me to glance out the kitchen window. As soon as I saw the familiar black Maxima pulling into my driveway, I mumbled something to Betty and Winston and flew out of the house.
Yet I didn’t know what to think about Nick’s arrival—even though his expression as he climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind him was one of deep concern.
“Jessie!” he cried when he spotted me. “Are you all right?”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy running across the lawn. When I reached him, I threw my arms around him. He immediately enveloped me in his.
“I’m fine,” I finally said, my voice breathless. “Just a little shaken up.”
“And the animals?”
I pulled away just enough that he could see me nod. Between my shock over seeing him and the sudden thickness in my throat, I was having trouble speaking.
“They all got out okay,” I finally said, choking out the words.
I was back to hugging him as he said, “Jessie, I felt sick when I heard.” His voice was muffled by the fact that his mouth was buried in my hair. “I freaked out when Betty called to tell me what happened.”
He tightened his grasp as he added, “I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.”
“I feel the same way,” I replied hoarsely.
Part of me said it was time to let go. But I didn’t feel like doing that. Not now and not ever. In fact, at the moment, holding on to Nick for the rest of my life seemed like the only thing I wanted to do.
He was the one who finally loosened his hold. But he put both hands on my cheeks so that he was cradling my face. “It’s so good to see you, Jess. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” I took a deep breath. “Nick, I want to apologize for everything I’ve ever done to hurt you. I’ve been so stupid.”
“We don’t have to do this now,” he said. “Right now, we should get you someplace comfortable so we can both calm down and—”
“But I need to tell you how I feel!” I insisted. “Nick, I love you. And that ridiculous scene with Forrester the other night was all because the bathroom flooded and he helped me clean it up. You know how ancient the plumbing is, and I was just getting out of the shower when the handle of the faucet came off in my hand—”
“That’s all it was?” he asked, sounding surprised.
“Of course! That’s why I wasn’t wearing anything besides your bathrobe. And there was so much water on the floor that Forrester was afraid he’d ruin his clothes, so he put on that stupid towel …”
I searched his face, anxious to see his reaction. “And the only reason he was there in the first place was because he wanted me to have dinner with him, just once, as payback for him getting me into Cousin Nathaniel’s house. He had to call in some favor with Falcone. I figured ordering in some Chinese food to keep on his good side was harmless. I had no idea it would turn out this way!”
I paused to take a deep breath. “That’s exactly what happened, Nick. I swear on my life!”
His eyes traveled over to our pathetic-looking cottage. “You don’t have to do that,” he said. “Swear on your life, I mean.”
I nodded. “Okay. I just wanted you to know that I’m telling the truth.”
“I believe you,” he said simply. For the first time since he’d shown up, he cracked a smile. “If anybody else in the world was telling me this, I’d probably think they were making it up. But I know you—and I believe every word.”
I just took his hands in mine and gave them a squeeze.
“What happens now?” I asked, sounding as somber as I felt. “The cottage is going to be uninhabitable for a long time.” I was unable to keep from choking as I added, “It might even have to be razed.”
“We can probably stay with Betty,” Nick replied. “At least until we get a place of our own.”
The fact that he used the word “we” made my heart do cartwheels.
• • •
“Of course you can both stay with us,” Betty declared a few minutes later as the four of us sat at the kitchen table, clustered around a second pot of tea. “For as long as you want.”
“We’ll be happy to have the company,” Winston added. Winking at the dachshund lying by his feet, he added, “I’m sure Frederick will also enjoy having an extended sleepover with Max and Lou.”
“Thanks, you guys,” Nick said. He reached over and put his hand over mine as he added, “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Uh-oh,” I said, suddenly distracted by some movement outside the window. Two cars had just pulled into the driveway. I recognized them immediately as Falcone’s blue Crown Victoria and Forrester’s dark green SUV.
“Here come Frick and Frack,” I mumbled as I pushed my chair away from the table and stood up.
“Huh?” Nick asked.
“Finish your tea,” I told him. “I’ll deal with them.”
At the moment, these two were the last people in the world I felt like dealing with. Still, it was possible Falcone might know something. Not likely, but possible.
I sauntered over to their cars, hoping they wouldn’t stay long.
“Looks like you had a little trouble here,” Falcone began. I couldn’t tell if he was smirking or if the objectionable look on his face was simply his natural expression.
“I guess you could say that,” I replied. “That is, if you consider someone’s house burning down ‘a little trouble.’”
I turned to Forrester. “How did you know about this?”
“Falcone gave me a call.” Shaking his head slowly, he added, “Boy, it’s a good thing I wasn’t there.” I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“What I mean is, let’s say you and I hit it off the other night, the way I was hoping we would,” he went on breezily. “And let’s stay that I started, you know, staying over. Regularly. For all I know, I could have been sleeping at your place last night. Which means my life would have been in danger, too.”
My blood had already escalated to the near-boiling point when he said, “Speaking of which, you are all right, aren’t you? You look okay. Did you get out unscathed? And did all those pets of yours get out of the house, too?”
I just stared at him, unable to believe the things that were coming out of his mouth.
Frankly, I couldn’t believe they could come out of anyone’s mouth. And Forrester was someone who was supposed to care about me. At least, according to him.
“I think this would be a good time for you to leave,” I said in a low, even voice. I was looking at Forrester, but I was really referring to them both.
“As soon as I have a brief word with you,” Falcone said.
Actually, what he said was, “As soon as I have a brief word witcha.”
I would have liked to say, “No, thank you.” But I knew I really didn’t have any choice in the matter, so I simply nodded.
“I just had a talk with O’Reilly from the arson squad,” he told me.
“We met,” I interjected.
“Naturally, he hasn’t had a chance to do a real investigation yet,” Falcone continued. “But based on his initial look-see, he’s sayin’ this was the work of a real amateur. Seems to me somebody doesn’t like you, Docta Poppa.” He paused, no doubt for dramatic effect, before adding, “Or that maybe somebody is even tryin’ to send you a message.”
“Next time, I hope they send me an email,” I muttered.
He chose to ignore my great wit. “We can’t be sure, but there’s a good chance this fire was motivated by the fact that you’ve been sniffin’ around the Stibbins murder.”
He looked at me expectantly, as if he was waiting for me to say something. To apologize, perhaps, or even to beg for his protection.
“That thought occurred to me, too,” I said non-committally.
“Really.” He looked surprised, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that I might be clever enough to come to that conclusion completely on my own. “I’m glad you agree.”
And then he leaned in closer, his eyes as dark and round as two black olives as they bored into mine. “I hope you also agree that the smart thing to do is to drop it. You got no business getting involved in any of this, even if this guy was a relative of yours.”
An almost relative, I thought. But I had enough self-restraint that I didn’t bother to correct him.
Still, there was something I didn’t have enough self-restraint not to do: cross my fingers behind my back.
And that’s because I smiled at him sweetly—or at least as sweetly as I could—and said, “You’re absolutely right.”
A look of surprise crossed his face. I was enjoying this little charade so much I couldn’t resist adding, “Thank you so much for your concern, Lieutenant Falcone. And thank you for the good advice, too.”
Even though my fingers were no longer crossed, that didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking the exact opposite of what I was saying. And it wasn’t because I didn’t want somebody like Falcone telling me what to do.
It was because of my increased resolve about finding Nathaniel’s killer.
Despite all the chaos, I’d also come up with a plan for how to proceed. While I knew it was possible that Serena Garcia had killed Nathaniel, I realized I wouldn’t be able to figure out who was guilty until I knew why he’d been murdered.
In the aftermath of the fire, fragments of conversations I’d had over the past week and a half had flitted through my head like a montage in a movie. They played through my head again as I slowly walked across the lawn, back to the Big House.
“He was the most evil of them all,” Serena had said of Nathaniel.
She had also explained that the argument Vondra had had with him was over the upcoming art exhibition. “All I know is that when they disagreed on something about the exhibition,” she had told me, “that horrid man actually threatened her.”
As for Willard Faber, he had described the murder victim by saying, “He was always determined to make himself more important than he was.”
So much of what I’d learned seemed to point toward the exhibition that was scheduled at the Mildred Judsen Gallery but had been canceled because of Nathaniel’s death.
I decided it was time for me to see those paintings for myself.
I was still mulling over the best way to accomplish that when I suddenly stopped in my tracks.
Something on the ground had caught my eye. It was small but shiny, its metallic surface glinting in the bright June sunlight.
Even before I bent down to pick it up, I knew exactly what it was. And simply spotting it there, lying less than fifty feet from the ash and rubble that had once been my home, was enough to send a chill running through me even on this warm summer day.
Chapter 17
“We think caged birds sing, when indeed they cry.”
—John Webster
My heart pounded wildly as I leaned over to get a better look. When I saw that the sparkling metal item was exactly what I’d thought it was, I picked it up gingerly, using the edge of my shirt as a potholder.
For a few seconds, I simply stared at the gold tie tack in the shape of a violin.
This means one of two things, I thought, trying to focus despite the distracting throbbing in my temples. One is that Claude Molter sneaked onto the property to set the fire and in the process lost his tie tack.
The other is that someone else wants me to believe that’s what happened.
And that person is most likely the same one who made sure the police found that bracelet at the trashed art exhibition, the one that looked a lot like Vondra Garcia’s.
A little voice inside my head told me to show the police what I’d found. In fact, Detective O’Reilly’s business card was practically burning a hole in my pocket.
“Two animals,” I yelled back. “A parrot in a cage and a lizard in a tank. They’re right inside the front door, in the living room. Look to the left, about ten feet in.”
He was already dashing toward the front door, brandishing an ax.
I felt a nearly overwhelming mixture of emotions as I watched him smash the wooden door. All around him, the other firefighters were jumping off the truck, shouting to one another as they dragged thick, heavy hoses across the lawn.
I was relieved that help was here—and that in just a few seconds, my parrot and my chameleon would be rescued.
But I was also watching my home being destroyed—not only by the blows of an ax, but also by the flames that were now leaping upward through huge gashes in the roof.
“Move back!” one of the firefighters commanded, gesturing toward the huge stretch of lawn beyond the cottage.
I did as I was told, meanwhile keeping my eyes glued to the little house that I loved so dearly.
When I saw two of the firefighters emerge through the doorway, one carrying Leilani’s tank and the other bearing Prometheus, fluttering around wildly inside his cage, I dropped to the ground. It was only then that I let go of the flood of tears that had been building up inside.
In fact, I suddenly found myself crying hysterically as I finally let myself feel the fear I’d been fighting off since the moment I’d awakened.
I jumped when I felt a comforting arm around my shoulders.
“My God, Jessica! Are you all right?” Betty cried breathlessly.
I raised my eyes and saw that she was kneeling beside me, dressed in a bathrobe and slippers.
“I’m okay,” I assured her, swiping at the tears streaked across my cheeks. As I spoke, I could taste their saltiness on my lips.
“And the animals?”
“They’re all fine,” I said. “The cats and dogs are running around the property somewhere. I pushed Max and Lou out through the bedroom window, and the cats escaped by themselves. The firefighters carried out Prometheus and Leilani.”
“So everyone is safe—which is all that matters.” Betty reached into the pocket of her bathrobe and pulled out a wad of tissues. “Here. Take these.”
“Thanks.”
Hugging me closer, she said, “It looks like they’re already getting the fire under control. Why don’t we go into the house?”
I just nodded, glad that I had someone there with me. The fact that Max suddenly appeared out of nowhere didn’t hurt, either.
“Max!” I cried, grabbing my Westie and burying my face in his soft white fur. “I’m so sorry you had to go through such a terrible experience!”
And then Lou was there, too, nudging me with his nose. As I turned to give him a hug, I saw that Winston was standing a few feet behind us. He was carrying Frederick in his arms, as if he’d wanted to make sure not to let his beloved dachshund out of his sight.
“Let’s all go inside,” Betty urged. “We can look for Tink and Cat after all the chaos dies down.”
Casting me a meaningful look, she added, “And trust me, Jessica. The chaos will die down.”
• • •
An hour later, Betty, Winston, and I sat in the kitchen, sipping cups of Betty’s famous whiskey-spiked tea. Max and Lou sat at my side, practically glommed onto my legs, while Tink was nestled safe and sound in my lap. Cat, meanwhile, lay on the soft rug Betty had laid on the floor next to her.
A loud knock reminded us that this wasn’t your ordinary tea party.
“It looks like the police,” Betty said, craning her neck to see out the window.
I dashed across the room past Prometheus’s cage and Leilani’s tank and opened the back door. Standing there was a balding middle-aged man with a ruddy complexion, dressed in a jacket and tie.
“I’m Detective Dan O’Reilly,” he said somberly, flashing a badge. “Arson Squad.”
“Arson?” I squawked. I had just assumed that the fire in the cottage was the result of faulty wiring, since the building’s electrical system was probably in as bad shape as its plumbing.
“It’s standard procedure for us to check out the cause of every fire,” he informed me. “Are you the resident?”
After he stepped inside, we all introduced ourselves, with Betty explaining that she and Winston were the owners and I was the tenant. Once Detective O’Reilly had established that we all had a stake in the building that had just been destroyed, he said, “It’s too early to give a full report, but I looked around enough to get a pretty good idea of what happened here.”
From the grim expression on his face, I had a feeling he was about to confirm what I’d already concluded.
So I was braced for the worst when he said, “It looks like arson, all right. A really amateurish job, too. We found a plastic container of gasoline we’re going to dust for prints. Hopefully that will help us find the person who did this.”
Even so, his words sent a chill running through me.
Arson? Committed by an amateur?
Instantly the name Serena Garcia filled my head.
A sick feeling came over me as I replayed Beanie’s words: “I heard she burned the guy’s house down—with him in it!”
At the time, I’d found her claim impossible to believe. Even Serena’s belief that the Santeria god of fire was her orisha hadn’t convinced me.
Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure.
As for what Serena’s motive might have been, the most obvious one was that she was trying to scare me away from the investigation—the reason being that I was getting dangerously close to discovering that either she or her daughter had killed Nathaniel Stibbins.
Or perhaps she had been trying to do more than scare me. Maybe her goal had been to get rid of me—this time, for reasons that had nothing to do with any Santeria ritual.
I sat in silence, debating whether or not to say anything to Detective O’Reilly. Yet even as he handed a business card to each one of us, inviting us to call him if we had any information about the incident, I recognized the danger of bringing up Beanie’s unproven claims.
Instead, I resolved to work even harder to determine the identity of the person who had committed not only murder, but also arson.
A few minutes later, I was still ruminating about what my next step should be when the crunch of tires caused me to glance out the kitchen window. As soon as I saw the familiar black Maxima pulling into my driveway, I mumbled something to Betty and Winston and flew out of the house.
Yet I didn’t know what to think about Nick’s arrival—even though his expression as he climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind him was one of deep concern.
“Jessie!” he cried when he spotted me. “Are you all right?”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy running across the lawn. When I reached him, I threw my arms around him. He immediately enveloped me in his.
“I’m fine,” I finally said, my voice breathless. “Just a little shaken up.”
“And the animals?”
I pulled away just enough that he could see me nod. Between my shock over seeing him and the sudden thickness in my throat, I was having trouble speaking.
“They all got out okay,” I finally said, choking out the words.
I was back to hugging him as he said, “Jessie, I felt sick when I heard.” His voice was muffled by the fact that his mouth was buried in my hair. “I freaked out when Betty called to tell me what happened.”
He tightened his grasp as he added, “I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.”
“I feel the same way,” I replied hoarsely.
Part of me said it was time to let go. But I didn’t feel like doing that. Not now and not ever. In fact, at the moment, holding on to Nick for the rest of my life seemed like the only thing I wanted to do.
He was the one who finally loosened his hold. But he put both hands on my cheeks so that he was cradling my face. “It’s so good to see you, Jess. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” I took a deep breath. “Nick, I want to apologize for everything I’ve ever done to hurt you. I’ve been so stupid.”
“We don’t have to do this now,” he said. “Right now, we should get you someplace comfortable so we can both calm down and—”
“But I need to tell you how I feel!” I insisted. “Nick, I love you. And that ridiculous scene with Forrester the other night was all because the bathroom flooded and he helped me clean it up. You know how ancient the plumbing is, and I was just getting out of the shower when the handle of the faucet came off in my hand—”
“That’s all it was?” he asked, sounding surprised.
“Of course! That’s why I wasn’t wearing anything besides your bathrobe. And there was so much water on the floor that Forrester was afraid he’d ruin his clothes, so he put on that stupid towel …”
I searched his face, anxious to see his reaction. “And the only reason he was there in the first place was because he wanted me to have dinner with him, just once, as payback for him getting me into Cousin Nathaniel’s house. He had to call in some favor with Falcone. I figured ordering in some Chinese food to keep on his good side was harmless. I had no idea it would turn out this way!”
I paused to take a deep breath. “That’s exactly what happened, Nick. I swear on my life!”
His eyes traveled over to our pathetic-looking cottage. “You don’t have to do that,” he said. “Swear on your life, I mean.”
I nodded. “Okay. I just wanted you to know that I’m telling the truth.”
“I believe you,” he said simply. For the first time since he’d shown up, he cracked a smile. “If anybody else in the world was telling me this, I’d probably think they were making it up. But I know you—and I believe every word.”
I just took his hands in mine and gave them a squeeze.
“What happens now?” I asked, sounding as somber as I felt. “The cottage is going to be uninhabitable for a long time.” I was unable to keep from choking as I added, “It might even have to be razed.”
“We can probably stay with Betty,” Nick replied. “At least until we get a place of our own.”
The fact that he used the word “we” made my heart do cartwheels.
• • •
“Of course you can both stay with us,” Betty declared a few minutes later as the four of us sat at the kitchen table, clustered around a second pot of tea. “For as long as you want.”
“We’ll be happy to have the company,” Winston added. Winking at the dachshund lying by his feet, he added, “I’m sure Frederick will also enjoy having an extended sleepover with Max and Lou.”
“Thanks, you guys,” Nick said. He reached over and put his hand over mine as he added, “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Uh-oh,” I said, suddenly distracted by some movement outside the window. Two cars had just pulled into the driveway. I recognized them immediately as Falcone’s blue Crown Victoria and Forrester’s dark green SUV.
“Here come Frick and Frack,” I mumbled as I pushed my chair away from the table and stood up.
“Huh?” Nick asked.
“Finish your tea,” I told him. “I’ll deal with them.”
At the moment, these two were the last people in the world I felt like dealing with. Still, it was possible Falcone might know something. Not likely, but possible.
I sauntered over to their cars, hoping they wouldn’t stay long.
“Looks like you had a little trouble here,” Falcone began. I couldn’t tell if he was smirking or if the objectionable look on his face was simply his natural expression.
“I guess you could say that,” I replied. “That is, if you consider someone’s house burning down ‘a little trouble.’”
I turned to Forrester. “How did you know about this?”
“Falcone gave me a call.” Shaking his head slowly, he added, “Boy, it’s a good thing I wasn’t there.” I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“What I mean is, let’s say you and I hit it off the other night, the way I was hoping we would,” he went on breezily. “And let’s stay that I started, you know, staying over. Regularly. For all I know, I could have been sleeping at your place last night. Which means my life would have been in danger, too.”
My blood had already escalated to the near-boiling point when he said, “Speaking of which, you are all right, aren’t you? You look okay. Did you get out unscathed? And did all those pets of yours get out of the house, too?”
I just stared at him, unable to believe the things that were coming out of his mouth.
Frankly, I couldn’t believe they could come out of anyone’s mouth. And Forrester was someone who was supposed to care about me. At least, according to him.
“I think this would be a good time for you to leave,” I said in a low, even voice. I was looking at Forrester, but I was really referring to them both.
“As soon as I have a brief word with you,” Falcone said.
Actually, what he said was, “As soon as I have a brief word witcha.”
I would have liked to say, “No, thank you.” But I knew I really didn’t have any choice in the matter, so I simply nodded.
“I just had a talk with O’Reilly from the arson squad,” he told me.
“We met,” I interjected.
“Naturally, he hasn’t had a chance to do a real investigation yet,” Falcone continued. “But based on his initial look-see, he’s sayin’ this was the work of a real amateur. Seems to me somebody doesn’t like you, Docta Poppa.” He paused, no doubt for dramatic effect, before adding, “Or that maybe somebody is even tryin’ to send you a message.”
“Next time, I hope they send me an email,” I muttered.
He chose to ignore my great wit. “We can’t be sure, but there’s a good chance this fire was motivated by the fact that you’ve been sniffin’ around the Stibbins murder.”
He looked at me expectantly, as if he was waiting for me to say something. To apologize, perhaps, or even to beg for his protection.
“That thought occurred to me, too,” I said non-committally.
“Really.” He looked surprised, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that I might be clever enough to come to that conclusion completely on my own. “I’m glad you agree.”
And then he leaned in closer, his eyes as dark and round as two black olives as they bored into mine. “I hope you also agree that the smart thing to do is to drop it. You got no business getting involved in any of this, even if this guy was a relative of yours.”
An almost relative, I thought. But I had enough self-restraint that I didn’t bother to correct him.
Still, there was something I didn’t have enough self-restraint not to do: cross my fingers behind my back.
And that’s because I smiled at him sweetly—or at least as sweetly as I could—and said, “You’re absolutely right.”
A look of surprise crossed his face. I was enjoying this little charade so much I couldn’t resist adding, “Thank you so much for your concern, Lieutenant Falcone. And thank you for the good advice, too.”
Even though my fingers were no longer crossed, that didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking the exact opposite of what I was saying. And it wasn’t because I didn’t want somebody like Falcone telling me what to do.
It was because of my increased resolve about finding Nathaniel’s killer.
Despite all the chaos, I’d also come up with a plan for how to proceed. While I knew it was possible that Serena Garcia had killed Nathaniel, I realized I wouldn’t be able to figure out who was guilty until I knew why he’d been murdered.
In the aftermath of the fire, fragments of conversations I’d had over the past week and a half had flitted through my head like a montage in a movie. They played through my head again as I slowly walked across the lawn, back to the Big House.
“He was the most evil of them all,” Serena had said of Nathaniel.
She had also explained that the argument Vondra had had with him was over the upcoming art exhibition. “All I know is that when they disagreed on something about the exhibition,” she had told me, “that horrid man actually threatened her.”
As for Willard Faber, he had described the murder victim by saying, “He was always determined to make himself more important than he was.”
So much of what I’d learned seemed to point toward the exhibition that was scheduled at the Mildred Judsen Gallery but had been canceled because of Nathaniel’s death.
I decided it was time for me to see those paintings for myself.
I was still mulling over the best way to accomplish that when I suddenly stopped in my tracks.
Something on the ground had caught my eye. It was small but shiny, its metallic surface glinting in the bright June sunlight.
Even before I bent down to pick it up, I knew exactly what it was. And simply spotting it there, lying less than fifty feet from the ash and rubble that had once been my home, was enough to send a chill running through me even on this warm summer day.
Chapter 17
“We think caged birds sing, when indeed they cry.”
—John Webster
My heart pounded wildly as I leaned over to get a better look. When I saw that the sparkling metal item was exactly what I’d thought it was, I picked it up gingerly, using the edge of my shirt as a potholder.
For a few seconds, I simply stared at the gold tie tack in the shape of a violin.
This means one of two things, I thought, trying to focus despite the distracting throbbing in my temples. One is that Claude Molter sneaked onto the property to set the fire and in the process lost his tie tack.
The other is that someone else wants me to believe that’s what happened.
And that person is most likely the same one who made sure the police found that bracelet at the trashed art exhibition, the one that looked a lot like Vondra Garcia’s.
A little voice inside my head told me to show the police what I’d found. In fact, Detective O’Reilly’s business card was practically burning a hole in my pocket.
