Fire and Ashes

by Elaine Viets

  Angela called in her pizza order, then raced around the living room, tidying up. She fluffed the couch pillows, threw out the pile of old mail, dusted the coffee table and end tables, then gave the guest bathroom a quick cleaning. She moved much faster without that cane.

  Bryan and Ann arrived soon after Angela finished her chores. They made a stylish couple: Ann was dressed in a striking beige pantsuit, and Bryan in a charcoal sports coat, blue shirt, and gray pants. By the time Angela had given Bryan a beer and Ann a glass of white wine, Big Al arrived with her pizza. He looked harried and once again smelled like pepperoni. Angela thought it would make a great aftershave. She paid him and gave him a tip that made him smile, then left the pizza on the coffee table.

  “I don’t have much time.” Al refused to sit down. “Kip and Duke, the guys setting the fires, are planning something for tonight. Something bad. I delivered six pizzas to Duke’s house earlier tonight—he’s Judge Charbonneau’s son. The judge and his wife weren’t home. They won’t be back for two days. Duke and his sister, Carlie, were having a party. They were both drunk and high. So was everyone at the party. Carlie—she’s fourteen—answered the door in her underwear.”

  “You’re kidding. At fourteen?” Ann looked shocked.

  “Happens all the time.” Big Al paced Angela’s living room. “She’s really hot, but come on—she’s way too young. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t help it. I mean, she was practically naked. Her beige bra and bikini panties were the same color as her skin, and it looked like she had on nothing at all.”

  He was blushing furiously. “Carlie was coming on to me. Not because I’m a hunk or anything, but because, you know, she can.”

  “I doubt that,” Angela said, then regretted it. Poor Al was almost speechless with embarrassment.

  “Please tell us what happened next,” Ann prompted. “Time’s running out and you have to get back to work.”

  “Right. Work.” Al quit pacing. “Carlie had fifty dollars. She said I could keep twenty for a tip and she’d give me thirty. That’s like really generous. More than fifteen dollars is good on an order like that. All Carlie had was one-dollar bills, and she kept dropping the bills and then losing count. She was rubbing up against me, dropping more bills and she’d have to start over. Every time she bent over to pick up a bill, she’d drop them again. She thought it was funny.

  “All the while this was going on, I could hear the party in the great room. They were playing beer pong. The music was so loud I could feel the bass. The walls were vibrating. Duke and Kip were talking in a little room near the front door. I don’t know what you call rooms like that in a rich person’s house—it was sort of a waiting room. They had to talk loud to be heard over the music. Kip said, ‘We’ll do Old Reggie’s stables. When we finish, Equus will look like Bambi.’ You know Equus?”

  “Sure,” Bryan said. “The Peter Shaffer play about a psychiatrist who treats a young man with a sick fascination with horses. He blinds them. The boy’s seventeen . . .”

  He stopped as they all realized that Kip, Duke, and the late Zander were seventeen.

  “They’re going to blind Reggie Du Pres’s horses?” Angela’s heart froze with fear. She saw her favorite racehorses—powerful, imperious East Coast Express with her pretty white star, and the darkly magnificent American Hero—with mutilated eyes. Her stomach turned, and she tried to push away that horrible thought.

  “No,” Big Al said. “They’re gonna set fire to the barn.”

  “Fire!” Angela said. “No! Horses are terrified by fire. Why would they do that?”

  “Kip said burning the stables with live horses inside would be way cooler than just burning down an empty old house. He said horses go insane in fires.”

  “They do,” Angela said.

  “That’s incredibly cruel,” Ann said.

  “I don’t think they care,” Al said. “Duke agreed it was cool—‘like a movie, only for real. Burning down the Du Pres’s stables would give the old dude something else to think about besides getting rid of my father. He’s mad at him.’ They’re going to set fire to the stables after eleven o’clock tonight.”

  “Tonight? For sure?” Angela said.

  “That’s what they said. Cheap and Easy is open until eleven. They’re going to buy what Kip called ‘supplies’ and then go to the stables.”

  “That’s where they bought the supplies to start the Gravois estate fire,” Angela said. “They got TP, potato chips, and shortening and used them as fire starters.”

  “Duke said if anyone at the party sees them leave, ‘We can say we’re going on a beer run. They’ll be too stoned to know when we left the party and when we got back. We’re here right now and nobody knows it.’”

  “The barn has sprinklers to put out the fire, doesn’t it?” Ann asked.

  “Not according to Bud,” Angela said. “It has fire detectors and extinguishers, but the old building can’t have a sprinkler system. I hang around the stables a lot—I love being with the horses. Du Pres’s security staff watches the stables and the rest of the property. Bud had new cameras installed so security can watch them in the guard shack—and Bud can watch them from his room. Except Bud’s in Kentucky tonight, and the security guard spends his time texting his girlfriend.”

  “Kip knows about the cameras,” Big Al said. “They’ve scoped out the place. Kip will stand by the junction box with the box door open while Duke is just out of camera range. When Duke gives the all clear, Kip will yank the camera cables, then Duke runs in and does his thing with the matches, and they video the fire. He said the loser night guard won’t notice anything’s wrong until he ‘sees the burning horses running by.’”

  Angela’s stomach lurched.

  “Those racehorses will die in the fire.” Ann looked sick.

  Bryan asked, “Al, did either Kip or Duke see you at their house? I’m asking for your safety. If Duke saw you with his sister and she wasn’t wearing any clothes . . .”

  Al interrupted him. “You don’t get it!” He was almost shouting. “You just don’t get it. Duke didn’t see me. Kip didn’t see me. Carlie didn’t see me. I was standing right in their house, but I’m invisible. I’m the pizza dude in a polyester uniform that stinks of pepperoni.”

  “So you’re a ghost,” Angela said.

  “No!” Al was pacing again. “I’m not a ghost. A ghost used to be human. I don’t exist in their world. They can say whatever they want around me. That’s why Carlie parades around naked in front of me. She gets to tease the nobody, the nothing, and I can’t do anything about it. If I tried to grab her, I’d be in jail. If I said anything, they’d beat me senseless. They can do what they want because I’m not a person. They don’t care what they say in front of me, any more than you care what you say in front of your couch. I’m not a person. I’m a thing.”

  Angela had never heard a sadder—or more accurate—explanation of the Forest social structure.

  “We have to act fast,” Bryan said. “It’s almost nine o’clock. Angela, if Butch Chetkin isn’t available, who would you call? What about the stableman?”

  “Bud’s in Kentucky, picking up another horse. Calling him won’t do any good. We need help now. I’d better call 911.”

  “They’d know,” Al said. “They have the police-scanner app. All the kids do.”

  “What’s that?” Ann asked.

  “You can download it free on your phone,” Al said. “Lets you tap into live police, fire department, and other emergency radios. Drug dealers love those apps. They always know when the cops are coming. If you call 911, as soon as a car’s dispatched, Kip and Duke will scatter.”

  “I can call Detective Greiman.” Angela wondered if the new, improved Greiman would take her seriously.

  “Call him now, while Al is still here,” Bryan said. “Put your phone on speaker so we can all hear.”

  Angela did and got Greiman’s voice mail. She left a message. “I hope he’ll call me back. But when Ray’s off duty,
he usually doesn’t pick up his phone.”

  “I’d better leave. I gotta get back.” Al looked uneasy.

  The three thanked him for his courage. They heard his old Subaru rattling down the drive. After Al left, Angela said, “Those boys are monsters. What are their parents like?”

  “Absent,” Ann said. “The judge spends his free time politicking. Duke’s mother is too busy in the Forest Women’s Club to have much interest in her son. He’s been raised by nannies and housekeepers. Kip’s family isn’t much better. His father’s verbally abusive, and his mother drinks.”

  “That doesn’t excuse their cruelty,” Bryan said.

  “No, it doesn’t. But they’re a couple of sad cases.” Ann looked at Bryan. “It’s nine thirty. Should we cancel our trip? We can’t let anything happen to those beautiful horses.”

  Bryan hesitated, and Ann said, “I can’t ask you to miss your conference. You need to be rested for your speech tomorrow night. Why don’t you go ahead and I’ll join you later?”

  Ann seemed torn: she wanted to save the horses, but she didn’t want to miss the trip to San Francisco.

  “Don’t cancel your flight,” Angela said. “I’ll call Reggie Du Pres myself and warn him. I live on his property.”

  “Would you?” Ann was all smiles. “That would be super. There’s no point in either of us talking to Reggie. He knows we think the arsonists are local kids, and he’s not happy with us. This would prove we’re right and he’s wrong—rub salt into his wounds.”

  “I can handle it,” Angela said. “You two go to the airport.”

  The two scattered gratefully, and Angela called the Du Pres home, hoping Old Reggie was awake and would talk to her. She knew he didn’t like her, either. Reggie himself answered the phone. “Miss Richman.” His patrician voice was imperious. “Why are you calling at this uncivilized hour? You should know you don’t ring a household after nine p.m.”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Du Pres, but this is an emergency. May I come talk to you about it?”

  “Come here? To my home? You may not! I’m preparing for bed. Anything you have to say can be said on the telephone. What is this so-called emergency?”

  “It’s a real emergency, Mr. Du Pres. Three teenagers have been setting fires in the Forest. They burned down your barn, set fire to the Hobart pool house, burned the Gravois estate, and tonight they want to set fire to your stables.”

  “Ridiculous! Who would do that? Give me their names at once!”

  Angela hesitated, then figured Kip and Duke were going to be arrested anyway. “Duke Charbonneau and Kip Raclette.”

  “You mean Judge Charbonneau’s son, Marlon, and Jeremy Raclette.”

  “Yes.”

  “When you had those strokes, Miss Richman, you had mental problems. You talked to dead people and people who didn’t exist, didn’t you?”

  “I’d just come out of a coma.”

  “I fear your mind still isn’t functioning properly. Marlon is the son of Judge Charbonneau, and his father is a respected member of our local judiciary. It’s true Jeremy’s father is a hedge funder, but his mother is a Mintern. Neither one of those families would commit such a despicable crime. The Forest arsonists have been arrested and are in custody, Miss Richman. Jose and Kendra Salvato set fire to those buildings. Because I knew your parents, I will do you a favor and not mention this to the Raclettes and Charbonneaus. But what you’re saying is actionable. You could be sued for slander, for destroying the reputations of those fine young men. In the meantime, you are barred from my stables. Do you understand? You are not to set foot near my stables or touch my horses for any reason. Good night, Miss Richman!”

  CHAPTER 37

  Days thirteen, fourteen

  Barred. Angela was stunned. Barred from the Du Pres stables? This couldn’t be happening. Two junkies wanted to torch the Du Pres stables and watch the horses run burning through the night. East Coast Express, with her sly sense of humor, and the peppermint-loving American Hero would die for their twisted entertainment. Reggie could sue her if he wanted. She had to save those horses.

  But Angela couldn’t save two horses by herself—not to mention the pet goat and the pony. She needed help. Someone who could handle half a ton of crazed racehorse. Angela had never even ridden a horse.

  Katie. Katie rode. And Monty owned a horse farm. They both knew horses. They were her last chance. Angela prayed they were home—and together—as she called Katie’s cell phone.

  Her friend answered, sounding relaxed and carefree. “Angela, you just caught Monty and me leaving. We’re going out for a late dinner. Want to join us?”

  “No. I need you here. Now.”

  Katie heard her fear in those sharp, short sentences, and her mood switched to serious. “What’s wrong? What happened? Are you sick?”

  “It’s not me. It’s the Forest arsonists. They’re going to set the Du Pres stables on fire after eleven tonight. Reggie won’t believe me.”

  “Holy shit. It’s ten o’clock.”

  “Right. Get over here. Do you have old boots and jeans?”

  “In my truck.”

  “Get them. Make sure Monty wears his. Tell Monty to bring whatever we need to get the horses out of the stables in a fire. And hurry!”

  Katie didn’t ask questions. “We’ll be there in fifteen.”

  “Make it ten.” Angela hung up, then raced upstairs and changed into jeans, a long-sleeve shirt, and boots. She found some unwrapped peppermints in the jeans pocket and felt a pang. Would she be able to give her favorites their treats again?

  Next, she put the untouched pizza, paper napkins, and bottled water on the cedar chest at the foot of her bed, the biggest free space in the room. She flicked off the bedroom lights except for the night-light. Downstairs, she left one light burning in the living room. Her home wouldn’t attract attention if Kip and Duke drove past it.

  When she saw the headlights of Katie’s truck in her driveway, she ran outside. Katie hit the brakes, and a worried-looking Monty climbed out of the passenger seat. Both wore sturdy boots and old jeans. “Tell us what’s happening,” he said.

  She did. Quickly and concisely, she told them about Big Al, Kip and Duke, and the conversation Al heard tonight about the two fire setters who wanted to watch the horses burn.

  “And you told Reggie this,” Monty said.

  “He refused to believe me. He said that the arsonists were already in jail, and Kip and Duke came from fine families. They’d never commit such a despicable crime.”

  “Stubborn old fool,” Monty said. “Did you contact anyone else?”

  “There is no one else. Butch is in Kansas, and Bud is picking up a racehorse in Kentucky. Greiman’s not answering his phone, and if I call 911, the kids have the police-scanner app. All we can do is wait for them.”

  “Then let’s go to the stables and keep watch,” Katie said.

  “Can’t. Not with Reggie on the warpath. But we can see the stables from my bedroom. It’s the best view.”

  “I’ll turn my truck around and leave the keys in it so we can drive there if we have to,” Katie said.

  While Katie backed up the truck so it was facing out of the drive, Monty said, “This is bad, Angela. Horses are terrified of fire, and racehorses are already skittish. If the barn catches fire, these won’t be the gentle horses you know. They’ll be insane with fear. Racehorses weigh thirteen hundred pounds. They can kill with a single kick. They won’t mean it, but they can’t help themselves. This is primal fear. I brought flashlights in case the lights go off during the fire. There are leads and halters in the back of the truck, extra fire extinguishers from my barn, and horse blankets. They’re good for putting out small fires.”

  Katie rejoined them, holding a tangle of rope and leather. “What time is it?”

  Monty looked at his iPhone. “Ten forty-two. We should take our posts.”

  Upstairs in Angela’s bedroom, the three sat on the bed, where they had a clear view of the s
tables and the moonlit paddock. Angela opened the window. The night was warm and clear, the black sky spread with stars like diamonds on jeweler’s velvet. It was so quiet, they heard a horse whinny.

  “How many horses are in the barn?” Monty asked. For some reason, he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

  “I don’t see anyone in the paddock,” Angela said. “Eecie has the stall closest to the main door. Her goat stays in there with her. American Hero has the next stall. If his pony isn’t with him, it’s next door. That’s all.”

  “Good,” Monty said. “Katie will lead Eecie. I’ll go for Hero. You handle the fire extinguishers, Angela. You know how to use one?”

  “Yep. My father taught me the code—PASS: Pull the pin. Aim the nozzle. Squeeze the handle. Sweep the base of the fire.”

  “Right. And if the fire is bigger than you, don’t try to put it out. Let the stables burn. The important thing is to save the horses.”

  “I hope you don’t have to lead a horse, but I’ll give you a short lesson,” Katie said. “This”—she held up a long leather cage studded with buckles—“is the halter. And this rope is the lead. You’re going to be in a hurry, but try to stay calm. Hold the halter in your right hand and use your left arm and hand to gently hold the horse’s muzzle. That’s important. Walk to the horse’s left side. So you’re standing on the left, but holding the halter in the right hand when you slip it on. Keep it slow. Don’t throw the halter on instantly, or you’ll spook the horse and be stuck in the stall with a bucking animal. Pat the horse on the shoulder and talk to it the whole time. Try to sound calm. Horses will pick up your fear. Hold the halter in the same direction as the horse’s head.”

  She took Monty’s arm and said, “If his arm is the horse’s head, and his fist is the nose, the halter goes on like this. Got it? The halter has to face the same direction as the horse’s head.”

  Angela nodded and prayed she’d never have to use this information.

  “Slip the halter over the horse’s nose and ears and keep talking to it. Fasten this top buckle—the crown piece. Don’t let the halter touch the horse’s eyes. This is the lead line. It’s already clipped on the halter. I’ll attach this gear to your belt with another clip, and if you need it, you’ll have it ready.”