by Tyler Wolfe
“Still, it’s really bad. The house is destroyed, and what’s left is still burning. The empty lot’s smoldering, and the guy’s backyard too.” Zoe’s voice was faint with horror. “There’s burning debris scattered all over. Sure, the rain probably put most of it out, and that was lucky, but it looks like a bomb hit the place.” She sounded ready for a drink, big time. Me too. Just not enough to make me talky. “I saw all the smoke as I was coming up Socrum Loop. Then I drove down Fernery to get a better look—I managed to get a quick glimpse before they blocked it all off.”
“Oh man,” I breathed slowly. Then, with more sincerity than I could ever tell her, “I’m really sorry that you had to see something that upsetting. Are you okay?”
She shook her head as she parked near where the ranks of emergency vehicles and rubber-neckers made it impossible to drive closer. “I just didn’t want to keep watching without you.”
We got out to get a better look. I walked to Zoe and gave her a strong hug. “I understand. I’m here now. Let’s go see what’s going on.”
She clung to me for a moment, and I cradled her small frame, breathing in the scent of her hair and trying to hide that it was turning me on. It was too soon to be turned on. This horror was supposed to be too new.
When we reached the barricade, we saw fire crews at work all around the blazing foundation of the house. There was so much fuel and grease and melted plastic that had inundated the shattered concrete slab and the surrounding dirt. The fire still burned long after everything else flammable had gone to ash.
“There’s no house there,” I breathed, and did everything I could not to make it sound like relief.
“Yeah,” Zoe mumbled, and snuggled in nervously under the shelter of my arm. I held her possessively as I gazed at my handiwork, trying to ignore the tiny urge to gloat in the back of my head.
Good. There is no way that they will ever find out what happened to our friend Mr. Diasko.
The fire must have been huge and relentless, incinerating everything instantly. Its leftover smoldering heat turned the pounding rain and streaming water into billows of steam. We stood close and watched as some of the flames lingered. Luckily, the neighbor house to the left was far enough away it wasn’t in range of the blaze, but the windows on that side were all shattered, and the heat of the fire had blistered and peeled the paint off that side.
“I hope everyone’s okay,” Zoe whispered as she clung to my side.
“Yeah. Hopefully no one was home, or they got out.” I stroked her damp hair, trying to soothe her. “Propane leaks smell like, gas. Only someone dead asleep wouldn’t notice.”
“You think so?” she murmured, a touch of hope in her voice.
“Most likely.” I hesitated, staring at the shattered slab, the blasted-open propane tanks, the debris embedded in lawns a hundred feet away. I should prepare her for reality, at least a little. “But, if they were...I don’t think there is any chance of surviving that.”
Zoe pulled away from me. I stood blinking as she stepped back and turned to me, my whole body feeling her sudden absence from my arms. Reflections from the police lights danced across Zoe’s face as she looked up at me with slight disgust. Only slight, but it stung me in my exhaustion.
What? What did I say wrong? I blinked at her in surprise as she glared and shook her head.
“Why do you always have to think about the worst possible outcome, and then tell me about it?” Zoe snapped, then turned on her heel and began walking back toward her car. “I already figured that out when I saw it on my way home. I didn’t need the reminder!”
“Wait! I’m sorry.” I chased after her through the rain, desperation clenching my gut. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure everyone got out in time, babe. That place has had an eviction sign on it for over a month!”
She stopped at that, and looked back over her shoulder. “Wait, are you sure?”
“I’m sure. The guy was getting kicked out. He was probably gone already.” I came to a stop a few feet away, breathing hard. I need some serious rest. “I went by this place on my old running route. I saw the sign a few times before I quit.”
She folded her arms, looking at me a little skeptically.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be negative.” I held out a hand. “I’m sorry. I love you. I didn’t mean to upset you. Do you forgive me?”
Zoe looked back at me for a few moments...then smiled and took my hand. “Okay, I forgive you. But really, you gotta stop being so pessimistic.”
“Do you need to get away from the neighborhood for a while?” I asked her gently as we headed home.
“No. I want to be home, with you, and not think about any of this. I have some leftover fried chicken we can eat, and I want a drink. A big drink.”
I nodded, smiling to myself.
Finally, back at home, I brought out a pack of grapes to go with our fried chicken, and we had a picnic on the living room floor. We drank too many Jack and Cokes as we played classic rock and tried to ignore the bright police flashers faintly casting colors across our drawn blinds. Nobody in our neighborhood was getting any sleep, including us, so I called in to work, and proceeded to let us both get more than a little drunk.
We made out in a sloppy frenzy on the living room floor, and then to my delighted surprise, she dragged me to bed. “I don’t want to think about this anymore,” she whispered in my ear as she started pulling off her work clothes.
I was so eager that I ignored a little twinge of hesitation in the back of my head and put everything I had into doing what she asked. Something about the fire, the obliteration of my enemy and the end to this terrible circumstance all mixed into the craziest aphrodisiac in the world.
In the end, self-control slipping, I found my hands sliding up her shoulders, and settling briefly around her neck. For a split second, I froze, a finger of ice running down my spine. What am I—
She stretched under me, head lolling trustingly in my grip, and I caressed her throat with my thumbs softly, the odd surge of adrenaline passing. I could kill you in seconds, I thought as my hands slipped back to her shoulders. But I never, ever would.
And then I couldn’t think at all.
As Zoe slept, I put the holstered pistol back in its proper home in my nightstand, pulled out the real cash from the bag, and stuffed all $500 into my wallet. I was going to get Zoe something nice tomorrow. No reason, except to justify the withdrawal—and get her mind even further off tonight’s disaster.
I shoved the bag of toy money and the lighter back under the bed, too sleepy to deal with it all tonight. I was finishing up when Zoe rolled over and mumbled, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Leg cramps. I took some potassium.”
I crawled back into bed with her, and she rolled over and snuggled up to me, making me forget about my guilt. Then I was out. I slept hard through sunup and woke to bright sunlight and the sound of birds chirping.
Zoe was curled against me. I smiled. I was finally at peace. It was all really over. Now, we could pack up and leave this town—find a better life well away from this neighborhood, my job, and all the crazy people.
But something still nagged at the back of my head, it was too faint to bother examining. I decided instead to sleep in.
CHAPTER 18
Keep Calm and Carry On
The next day the fire was all over the news. It was probably one of the more exciting things to happen in Lakeland in the last couple weeks and reporters were definitely having their field day with it. Zoe and I watched the television in the kitchen as we sat and ate a late breakfast of veggie stuffed omelets together, after my run.
No one else had been hurt in the fire or the explosion, though it had broken some windows and made a lot of people lose sleep. I felt a deep sense of relief with the news and hid it by draining my glass of juice.
But, they did find Diasko, or what was left of him? That had me just a tiny bit worried.
The news wasn’t saying much, other
than that the police and fire department were still investigating what may have caused the fire. The home owner, some big shot slumlord from Miami, had named the current tenant as Joe Diasko. He was believed to have been the body they had found, but authorities had not yet been able to make a definite identification.
I knew that there was more to it than what had been fed to reporters. Today, it had been cool enough to take my morning run at nine. Misty wind and cooler temperatures had replaced thunder and rain, and I had splashed through puddles across the street from the burned-out lots. I had seen the fire investigators and cops searching that land, section by section, taking photos, measurements, and samples.
There were only two reasons for them to do that. The first was to try to get either the owner or the tenant on fire code violations that would explain the fire and explosion. The second was to see if the whole mess had been arson. They wouldn’t bring that up publicly, of course, since it would probably spread panic through the neighborhood.
I picked at my omelet as I thought about it. Was this a matter of routine after such a destructive explosion, or had they found something? Perhaps the melted gas can? The propane canisters with the open valves? The leash? I really wanted to go back later, after the investigators had left, and see what was really left of the place, but I knew it was too soon—and way too dangerous. They’ll probably have the place watched. I can’t afford to be caught sneaking around.
Besides, don’t they say that criminals always return to the scene of the crime? I can’t afford to be that stupid. Guess I’ll have to stick to my new route and stop being nosy.
“It’s just crazy how close this happened ya know.” Zoe said as she held a fork of eggs, finishing her thought before taking a bite. I watched her chew slowly, sorting out the most diplomatic thing to say.
I can’t wait until this is out of the news and truly behind us. I just hope I’m wrong about the authorities’ interest in the explosion. “I know, right.. scary stuff. You okay?”
“I’m just kinda freaked out. I mean, that whole scene was like something out of a movie. I saw burning garbage in the tops of palm trees. Someone said the neighbor’s dogs were so scared they ran away. The yard and lot next door looked like a battle field. And the house…there was practically nothing left.”
I paused in eating my omelet. Helping find lost dogs would be an excuse to visit the property. But it also means that there will be even more people than usual out walking around. Yet another reason to stay the hell away. I hope that I didn’t make any serious mistakes last night. “Did Phyllis come by early today?”
“Yeah, you were on your run.” She smiled a little thinly and brought out a small basket of homemade muffins. “Left this as a surprise.”
I felt a touch of relief that she had let me change the subject. I tried to push on in that direction, past the disaster and all speculation about it. “How’s she doing? I never got to thank her for helping me with the mail the other day.”
“I guess she’s buzzing around like our own neighborhood news reporter,” she chuckled, but there was still a troubled edge to her voice. “I just keep thinking, though.”
I leaned over and grabbed a blueberry muffin. “Dangerous habit, sweetie.”
She couldn’t be deterred long. Maybe I should have anticipated that.
“What if this was arson, like someone set the fire?”
I blinked at her slowly, feeling a chill in the warm, humid room. “What?”
“You know, like arson or something. I mean, why would investigators still be there if it was just a random fire?”
“You mean like someone set it deliberately?” I stared at her in growing horror. Of course you’re just too damn smart, honey.
For a long, anguish-filled moment, I felt a sense of endlessness. An abyss yawned at my feet: the possibility of somehow being caught by police loomed in the back of my mind. It was the fear of having some smart detective find me out, and Zoe leaving me in horror and disgust. The worst of all possible outcomes would be that she would figure out what had happened on her own.
My mind went immediately to the bag under the bed with Diasko’s lighter and the fake money. Even the blackmail note was still in our bottom dresser drawer. And the wash load with gloves, sneakers and unseasonable clothes that I had yet to dry, sort out and stash…if Zoe found any of them…if she put the pieces together...
...If she was the one who found me out, would she go to police?
No, no, no. Don’t think down that road. It’s never going to happen. I’ve been very careful to cover my tracks. I took a shuddering breath, clutching the edge of the table.
“I’m kind of freaked out by all this, aren’t you?” Zoe mumbled as she looked up at me. She saw my face and nodded, face softening in sympathy. “You too, huh? You’re kinda quiet.”
“You think maybe the landlord tried to burn the guy out or something?” It came out of my mouth before I even realized I had made it up, my desperation giving me a burst of genius. “Like he was trying to get rid of him.”
Zoe bobbed her head, relaxing slightly. “Or the Diasko guy decided he would rather burn it than give it back.” She sighed, her shoulders loosening. “I guess I’m worried for nothing. It’s all just so surreal that I couldn’t help thinking...”
I nodded encouragement, chewing a now-dry mouthful of muffin as I tried to figure out how to follow up on the red herring I had dragged across Zoe’s path.
She smiled with embarrassment. “I guess it’s dumb to worry about us having an arsonist or something in the neighborhood, right? I mean…probably not very likely, right?”
I swallowed my mouthful of muffin and smiled lopsidedly. “Nah, I doubt it. Besides, I think arsonists start small and work their way up. I don’t know. You’re the one who likes true crime novels.” I reminded her as gently as I could, but it was all calculated. I had to steer her as far from the truth as possible by supplying the most plausible lie.
“I guess it does make more sense that this was an accident, or negligence, or had something to do with the people living there. Not some kind of pyromaniac serial killer.” She snorted and picked up her orange juice, draining the rest of her glass.
I swallowed the dryness from my mouth, the ghost of Diasko’s hovel’s stench rising in my nostrils. I pushed the sense-memory away and reached across the table for her hand, which she gave me with a little smile.
“Babe, we’re fine. There are a million reasons why things happen to people, and usually they don’t involve some local psycho. I’m sure that place was stuffed full of flammable junk. The same stuff that ended up all over the neighborhood. I bet they’ll find out it was negligence and the owner will have to pay hefty fines.”
She nodded, and started eating again, having found her appetite. “You’re probably right.”
I smiled gently, hiding my relief. “Anyway, I left some stuff in the dryer overnight, so I’m gonna go deal with that and some chores.”
“Oh, right! You do the rags last night? I kept smelling that orange degreaser.”
“Yeah, I changed my oil and had some drippings I had to clean up. I didn’t want to risk throwing anything with oil residue in the hamper.” Had to burn a corpse last night, honey, sorry.
I winced slightly as I got up to rinse my dishes and stick them in the half-full dishwasher. My mind had started up again—that nagging bit of my conscience that told me I could have found some other way. If only...
If only I had run past five minutes earlier and missed that stupid kid. If only that fat bastard hadn’t noticed me through his window. If only the kid had been knocked out instead of killed, or scared off instead of knocked out, or had possessed one single ounce of sense drifting around in all his young, dumb rage.
If I keep thinking about what might have been, I really will drive myself crazy.
“Oh, okay, no problem. You want me to get it?” She pours herself more orange juice as I almost drop my plate into the sink.
“No, no, don’t w
orry about it. It’s my mess, I’ll take care of it.” That would mean taking care of a lot more than she knew.
The gloves looked wrinkled and strange when I pulled them out. I tossed them in the trash and threw the rest of the laundry in the dryer, sniffing it carefully first. Not a trace of anything—and that meant not a trace of evidence. That’s part one out of the way.
Next came the gun, which I waited on until Zoe was off running errands. I wiped it down, oiled it, and sniffed it to make sure any trace of stench or smoke was gone. Then I put it away. If Zoe smells gun oil, I’ll just tell her I’m maintaining it just in case there actually is a problem.
I had a small stand mulcher that I used when the palm fronds got thick in the yard, and set it up to go through a pile of them that had gathered against the property’s small shed. Our landlord would go through eventually, but he was aging and slowing down, so I always tried to pick up the slack. It wouldn’t seem strange at all to see me working out in the yard in the late morning.
Thank God there was no one around to notice when I ran all those fake hundred-dollar bills through the shredder as well. They disappeared into the bag of damp, shredded fronds and lawn clippings, which I then brought over to the big old composter near the side of Richard’s tool barn. I dumped the contents of the bag into the barrel, being very careful to be thorough, and then gave it several vigorous turns.
That’s part two complete. Now, when I go over the bills with Zoe, she’s going to notice that five hundred bucks missing. That means I need to plan how to spend it on her now. The surprise should make for a nice distraction.
In the back of my mind, I felt that little tug of doubt again, that nagging worry that was so faint I couldn’t even identify it properly. I paused to examine it as I put the mulcher away. Guilt gifts.
Early in our relationship, when I had been still getting used to the whole idea of a hot, gregarious woman like Zoe loving me, I had looked up a lot of articles on-line about the warning signs of cheating. It was stupid, and I knew it even then; she just wasn’t that kind of girl. But, I couldn’t help wanting the reassurance.