After the Fire

by Meredith Rae Morgan

  Chapter 6

  Bev drove back toward Stanforth, and called Ed Casey from the car. She said she knew it was late but wondered if he'd mind if she stopped by. He said he had gone all day without eating and wondered if she'd mind meeting at either the coffee shop of the motel or the restaurant at the student union of the college. She thought about that for a while and said, more or less against her better judgment, “I don't want to discuss this in in public place. Meet me at my house at 6:00 PM. I'll feed you and fill you in on what I learned today.”

  After assuring himself it was no imposition, he agreed and hung up. Bev called Emily to tell her what was up for dinner. They took inventory of the contents of the fridge and Bev made a mental note of the items she'd need from the grocery store. She braved the grocery, hurrying through the aisles at just before 5:00 PM, when few people were around. She brushed off questions from those customers who recognized her, muttering something she hoped would be unintelligible but which essentially meant that they were working diligently on the investigation and they would announce the results when they were damned good and ready.

  The three of them sat down to dinner and ate relatively quickly. Emily filled them in on the school gossip. Bev was eager to be finished with dinner and talk to Casey alone. The minute it appeared to her that he was finished, she suggested that the two of them take their coffee into the den. She asked Emily to see to the dishes. Emily gave her mother a look that at any other time would have kicked off a battle, but Bev chose to ignore it. She took the coffee pot and led Casey into the den, while Emily stood in the middle of the floor, looking irritated.

  As soon as she had closed the door behind her, Bev said, “I met with Frank Rittenhaus and his daughter today. You're right, they are very good.”

  “Something tells me they came up with something that may help vindicate Ron Mazzoli.”

  “Not exactly. I only asked them to look into the background of the wedding party. They did come up with some interesting stuff.” She took out a copy of Cici's talking points and handed it to him. He read it once quickly, taking time to look up at her and smile. Then he read it through more closely. He put down the paper and said, “Okay, so this may not vindicate Mazzoli exactly but it certainly muddies the waters. Makes it possible that someone else had motive.”

  “Right.”

  “Problem is that if this is correct, we just switched from a case that is either insurance fraud or a crime against property with incidental casualties, to a potential murder with incidental property damage.

  “What do you make of it?”

  She leaned back in her chair, sipped her coffee and said, “I have sent the PI's back to dig deeper. Cici is going to Cincinnati to look into the two malpractice claims against Dr. Prescott. We will want to know what the nature of the injuries were and something about the patients and their families.

  “I asked Frank to dig around in Stanforth and start going through the list of all the people who were in the restaurant to to see if we could connect any of them to either Sonderland or Prescott.

  “The question is: who was in that restaurant who might have had motive to burn it other than the owner?”

  She pushed a copy of the file over to him and he paged through it, not reading it in depth, skimming. After a while, she leaned forward and asked, “What is your gut telling you?”

  He said, “Well, I don't think its Sonderland. He's an ass and most people around here can't stand him, but he's not enough of an ass for people to want to kill him. Actually, he's a pretty good employer from what they say. He's fired a few people for cause but he has some employees who have been with him for decades. I just don't think his actions rise to the level of what people would kill for. Besides, his customers and employees would be locals. I can't imagine a local burning The Barn with all those people inside.”

  She nodded and said, “That is totally consistent with what I think. Of course, it's possible we could have a nut on our hands who took a small slight and turned it into a big deal. Sort of the Columbine syndrome, you know?”

  He nodded and told her that he had considered exactly that. He told her that he'd already asked the police chief to poll his staff to see if there was anybody in the community who was unbalanced or potentially under so much personal stress they might snap. He said he was waiting for a response. Bev made a note in her notebook.

  She asked, “What about a vendetta against Prescott?”

  “That's possible. What if it turns out he's kind of a butcher, disfiguring women. Families rich enough for cosmetic surgery may have money to hire firebug. It doesn't make sense, especially if the people are already suing the doctor.”

  “You're right, but I think we have to investigate the possibility that this is a crime that is not about money or property.”

  He interrupted, “Somebody wants revenge?”

  “Could be.”

  “You taking this to the cops?”

  “Not yet. I asked for an update from the Rittenhaus's on Monday morning. I'm meeting with the fraud unit and legal department on Monday afternoon. I'm guessing we will notify law enforcement of what we have at that point.”

  “Will that be enough to get them to let you tender limits?”

  “I'm not sure. I'm waiting for Ben's computer models on probable movements of the Mazzoli family members just before the fire. I don't think they're out of it....”

  He poured her more coffee and said, “I've got some news for you on that front. The police and my staff have been working their way through interviews with the survivors as well as employees of the restaurant who weren't on duty that night. One of the questions we asked all of them was about the smoking habits of the employees and customers. We have learned that Mrs. Mazzoli, who was waiting on the wedding party, was a closet smoker who used cheap butane lighters like the one that ignited the blaze.”

  Bev leaned forward and whispered, “Oh, my. That's bad.”

  “It gets worse. Evidently she and her husband were not on good terms in the weeks leading up to the fire. The uncle in Cleveland from whom he borrowed money and defaulted was her family. She was very vocal to almost anyone who would listen about her opinion the restaurant was a money pit that was going to take the whole family down with it.”

  “Ouch! You gonna share with me those interviews.”

  “Yeah. How about I send them directly to Frank Rittenhaus. He's the one who needs them.”

  “Fine. I'm pretty sure that will be enough to keep my company from simply paying the claim.” She ran her fingers through her hair and made a face that looked like she had tasted something sour, “And so it appears we will proceed with our investigation in conjunction with the FBI.”

  He wrinkled his nose and said, “That's always fun. NOT.”

  She shook her head and held her hands palms up, in a gesture of surrender. He stood up. “Thanks for dinner, Bev. I wish the conversation could have been more pleasant.”

  “Yeah. Send those files to Frank. You wanna come with me to the meeting with him on Monday?”

  “I think so. I'll find something to do in Dayton while you're meeting with your folks. Then we can go to the cops together.”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  She led him to the front door and they shook hands, both promising to be in touch. Bev went into the kitchen and finished cleaning up. Emily had done the dishes, but she never wiped down the stove and cabinets to Bev's satisfaction, nor did she let out the dish water and clean the sink. Bev went through the motions of cleaning up automatically, her mind racing through the random “facts” about the case, mentally shuffling and re-shuffling them, trying to make some sense of what they might tell her. When the kitchen was operating-room clean, she poured herself a glass of juice and decided to turn in early.

  She stopped by Emily's room first and knocked. Emily was sitting at her computer, supposedly doing homework, but Bev saw the My Space page before Emily switched screens. She decide
d to ignore it. She did not have the energy to get into an argument about Cyber safety. Besides she knew that Emily's My Space page fell within the boundaries she had set. She knew because she checked it periodically. “I'm going to read in bed for a while before I pass out from exhaustion. You need anything? Help with homework or something?”

  “No. I'm good. I know you're really busy these days and the subject I'm having the most trouble with this term is calculus. You suck at math, so I arranged for an after school tutor once a week. It's really helping. I started out with a grade that was a low C, almost a D. Now I've got a high B, and an A is not totally out of the question.”

  “Wow! I am truly impressed. I never took calculus at all. I got low B's in algebra. I am very proud of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Bev looked at her daughter with love and pride and all the bittersweet feelings mothers experience when their little girls start showing signs of turning into young women. Then she noticed the red rims around Emily's eyes. “Is something wrong, hon?”

  Emily turned to face her mother, her body curving in a “C” that Bev ordinarily would have criticized as a slouch but which appeared to be more of a miserable slump. Her eyes were red and her face blotchy from crying. “Yeah.”

  Bev sat down on Emily's bed and patted the mattress beside her. Emily got up and sat next to her mother. She rested her head on Bev's shoulder and they put their arms around each other, without saying anything for a long time. Eventually, Emily said, “Well, it's a couple of things. With all you've got going on, I didn't want to bother you with it, but since you asked, I'll tell you.

  “First of all, I don't know if you know this or not, but the people in the town are getting antsy for this investigation to be done. There seem to be two sides. Some of the people are convinced Mr. Mazzoli burned down the restaurant and killed those people, and they are eager to see him in jail -- or in hell, maybe. That may actually be the majority of people, or maybe they're just the loudest and nastiest talkers. The other group thinks that it was an accident and that the insurance company -- meaning you in particular -- are just dragging out the investigation as a way of jerking Mr. Mazzoli around and avoiding paying the claim.”

  “Are people saying stuff to you?”

  “Some are. Mostly it's just talk, and I'm not sure a lot of the adults in town know I'm your daughter. At school it's a different situation. They know I'm your daughter and both the kids and some of the teachers (especially the ones who had friends or family who were in the building) have been giving me a hard time. I don't know what to say because I don't know anything.”

  Bev kissed the top of Emily's head and stroked her hair. She struggled for control, somewhat undecided whether to collapse in sobs over her daughter's pain or to throw a tantrum at the unfairness of the townspeople for putting Emily in such an awkward spot. Neither of those emotional outbursts would have been helpful. She blinked away the tears and ground her teeth for a minute until she could safely talk. “I am so sorry this is happening, although I have to tell you it is not surprising to me. This is typical and understandable. People in the town want to put this behind them and move on. As long as the matter is still under investigation, they can't tear down the building and it sits there as a reminder of the horrible thing that happened there. It is also common for situations like this to bring out the worst in some people. They think the worst of the business owner and jump to the conclusion that he did something wrong when we don't know that he did.

  “Almost always they think we should be able to conclude our investigation sooner than we do, and they blame the insurance company for dragging its feet and jerking people around.” She sighed, “Sometimes it seems to me that bashing insurance companies is kind of a national sport. Unfortunately, the insurance companies hardly ever do anything to help their cause. Even I hate dealing with us!

  “I can't and won't tell you any of the details of our investigation. I can tell you this: I am doing the best I can. I am not going to accuse Ron Mazzoli of arson and insurance fraud -- which could put him in jail on top of losing his family's business -- unless I turn up hard evidence to implicate him in the crime. On the other hand, I will continue to investigate to find out what caused the fire and to defend my insured from the lawsuits that will soon be filed. The results of my investigation are confidential and I can't discuss it with you or anyone other than my superiors at the company or the fire chief.

  “I will tell you, not that this is going to help, but this will get worse before it gets better. The more we investigate this fire, the less certain we are of what, or who, may have started it.”

  Emily raised her head, took her mom's chin in her hand and looked into her mother's eyes, “How do you do it? I would think you'd be a wreck.”

  “I do what I do because it's my job. A lot of other adjusters might have turned this over to the fraud unit immediately and let them figure it out. Maybe I should have done that, but I didn't. I do what I do because I love investigating mysteries. And this one is for sure a mystery. I do what I do because it pays the bills and will give you the opportunity to go to college and me the opportunity to retire someday. I do it in spite of the fact that a lot of people talk a lot of trash about insurance investigators.”

  Emily smiled. “I think you're amazing. I can tell that you're really trying to do the right thing.” She sighed. “This is selfish but I just hope this doesn't screw up the cheer-leading thing for me.”

  “Why would it do that?”

  “Oh, it shouldn't, but we're down to making the final cuts. There are three positions open and eight candidates. The claws are coming out. A couple of the girls think they should make the selection based on factors other than athletic ability and perkiness.”

  “Things such as what your parents do? That's nuts!”

  “Mom! Didn't you ever participate in any extra curricular activities at school?”

  Bev shook her head and closed her eyes to block out the miserable memories of her school experience. “No. As a matter of fact I didn't. I started high school in Chicago. I went to a fancy private school with a bunch of rich kids. I hated it, and I spent all my spare time and energy scheming and plotting how to get away and back to Ohio to live with Daddy. I never made any friends partly because I didn't plan to stick around and partly because the girls in my school were such snobby bitches I didn't want to be friends with them anyway. Then, when I was sixteen, I came here to live. Before I ever had a chance to say anything or let anybody know who I was, I was pegged as Stephanie Deller's daughter. That meant that I must be wild and crazy and nobody any respectable kid would want to hang out with. A few guys asked me out at first, but when they found out that I was not going to 'put out' as we used to say then, nobody ever asked me out again. I never even attempted to participate in any school activities.”

  Emily said, “I guess things haven't changed much. I'm involved in a lot of stuff, but you're kind of an unknown person around town, which is a problem, as even you must understand.” She shook her head and waved her hands in front of her face as if erasing the thoughts. “It's okay, Mom. It's just what I think they call teen-age angst.”

  Bev held her daughter tight and kissed her again, whispering, “There's no 'just' about teen-age angst. It hurts. Unfortunately, it's something you have to learn to live with.” She smiled and kissed the tears from Emily's cheeks, “Get's you ready for adult angst.”

  “Good-night, Mom.”

  “Sleep tight.”

  Bev went to bed, and instead of reading, she cried herself to sleep wondering how on earth she would manage to muscle through the next few months emotionally.