Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 06 - Death of a Damn Yankee

by Toni L. P. Kelner

  “Just as long as you don’t start with my next suggestion,” Richard said with a leer.

  “Tell me, is it Xena or Gabrielle that gets you into this mood?”

  “Only you, my programmer princess. So… What do you say?”

  I considered the matter. “Pepperoni,” I finally said. “With extra cheese.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  He left the couch long enough to call Domino’s, then returned to his role as my pillow. We probably should have started planning our strategy, but instead we channel-surfed while waiting for the pizza to arrive. Only when we’d both munched our way through a piece did I reluctantly turn the conversation back to the business at hand. “I wish I found it harder to believe that Linwood could be an arsonist.”

  “If his own mother can believe it, then why shouldn’t you?”

  “It just feels so ugly to think such a thing about my own cousin.”

  “Laura, most criminals have families. I remember reading about the Yorkshire Ripper’s brother and father coming to visit him in prison.”

  “Weren’t they ashamed to admit it?”

  “Maybe,” he said, “but they must have known that they weren’t to blame for what he did.”

  As usual, Richard had put his finger right on what was bothering me. Even considering the possibility of Linwood as an arsonist made me feel guilty, as if I’d been setting fires myself. Earlier in the day I’d taken pride in the musical abilities of Clifford, Earl, and Ilene. Was I going to have to accept the flip side of having a criminal in the family? I didn’t want to think about it. “Now we know why Junior was so hostile,” I said.

  “You think she suspects Linwood?”

  “She must. Don’t you remember how she nigh about accused us of knowing something about the fires? Once she finds out that we’re sniffing around, she’s going to think we were lying.”

  “But we weren’t. At the time, we had no intention of chasing an arsonist, and we certainly didn’t suspect anybody.”

  “I know that, and you know that, but it’s not going to look that way to Junior.” I sighed. “Goodness knows we were telling the truth when we said we don’t know anything about arson.”

  “That’s something we should remedy, don’t you think?”

  “That sounds like a job for Research Man.” After years of writing scholarly papers, there’s nothing Richard can’t find in a library.

  “Does this mean I get to wear a spandex costume?”

  Though the picture that appeared in my mind was highly diverting, I forced myself to say, “My family has been very patient about your Northern birth and accent, and has even learned to appreciate your penchant for quoting the Bard, but I think they would have problems accepting you in spandex.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “I’ll have to retain my mild-mannered disguise.”

  “You can wear really tight jeans,” I offered.

  “That’s very generous of you,” he said dryly. “I think I’ll hit the library in Hickory to see what I can find out.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “What about you?”

  “Two things. First off, I thought I’d try to move forward with Marshall and Grace Saunders. Burt said his father had done some background research on them—there must be a report that we can read and get some ideas of where to go next. I’ll call and see about getting a copy.”

  “Good idea. And the second thing?”

  I wasn’t crazy about the next job, but it had to be done. “I know Aunt Edna said Sue wouldn’t talk to her, but I think I should give it a try.”

  “Do you think she believes Linwood is an arsonist, or will admit it if she does?”

  “Who knows?” With the mill-buyout feud raging, the last thing I wanted was to get involved in another family argument, but I’d promised Aunt Edna I’d do what I could.

  Richard said, “You know transportation is going to be a problem.”

  “I’ll tell Burt he has to pay for a rental car. He’ll love that.”

  “He agreed to pay our expenses,” Richard said. “If he balks, we’ll have an excuse to back out.”

  Between family animosity over the buyout, and Aunt Edna’s request, the idea of backing out of mill business definitely appealed to me, though I didn’t dare hope that it would actually happen.

  With the next day’s plans made, we felt justified in concentrating on the rest of the pizza, and once that was done, we headed for bed. Despite the day’s ups and downs, or maybe because of them, I fell asleep immediately.

  Chapter 14

  Despite having been out late the night before, Aunt Maggie was gone by the time we got up the next morning. She had left us a bag of sausage biscuits from Hardee’s and, more importantly, her car keys, along with a note telling us that Augustus could drive her. At least, I thought the car keys were more important, but when I bit into the first sausage biscuit, I wasn’t so sure.

  Once we were showered and dressed, I found the phone book and called to reserve a rental car at the airport in Hickory. Then I tried Burt at the mill, but only got as far as Hortense Hunsucker, the secretary who’d been guarding his door for as long as I could remember. She said he was out of the office and didn’t know when he’d be back, so I left a message for him to call back.

  The next step was a trip to the airport, and after filling out a sheaf of paperwork Richard swore was longer than Hamlet, we arranged to meet for lunch, then went our separate ways. I let Richard indulge himself by driving the bright red rental car to the library, while I drove Aunt Maggie’s van back to Byerly.

  It was hotter than it had been the day before, closer to the temperature Vasti had claimed it was, so I wasn’t surprised to hear yells and splashing from the backyard when I got to Linwood and Sue’s house. I walked around to the chain-link fence, and called, “Hello?” from the gate.

  “Around back,” Sue yelled, and I went on inside the yard.

  The grass was still that bright, spring green, and was long enough to tickle my legs as I walked. There was a kiddie pool in the middle of the yard, next to a tired-looking swing set. The pool was maybe three feet deep, but there was no more than a foot and a half of water left inside. The rest was either turning the dirt around the pool into mud, or flying through the air as Crystal and Jason used plastic buckets to drench each other. Sue and a sleeping Amber were sitting on a plastic chair in the shade, while Tiffany sunned herself on a towel as far away from the noisy kids as possible.

  “Hey there,” I said.

  “Hey yourself,” Sue said. “Have a seat.”

  I took the other plastic chair, which was far enough from the pool to be mostly dry. “Richard had a project to work on, so I thought I’d come bother y’all for a while,” I explained. “Looks as if you found a good way to keep those two cool.”

  “It’s a lot easier than giving them baths,” Sue said. “Getting them into the tub is like pulling teeth, but they’ll stay in there until they turn into prunes.”

  “I was the same way at their age,” I said.

  “You want something to drink?” Before I could answer, Sue yelled, “Tiffany! Why don’t you get Laurie Anne and me something to drink?”

  Tiffany didn’t move.

  “Tiffany!”

  Still no reaction.

  “Jason, you want to take that bucket of water over there and help your sister? I think the heat’s gotten to her and made her pass out.”

  Jason was halfway out of the pool before Sue could finish speaking, but he wasn’t fast enough to catch Tiffany, who went past us so quickly on her way in the back door that all I saw was her glare.

  “It looks like Crystal is okay,” I said. From the way she was leaping around, she sure didn’t look as if she’d suffered any ill effects.

  “She is this time,” Sue said ominously, “but she won’t be if she goes sneaking away from me again.”

  Sue had been speaking loudly enough for her daughter to hear, and Crystal did look abashed f
or two or three seconds.

  Tiffany returned with three glasses of Coke, handed one to me and one to her mother, and after we thanked her, started back to her towel.

  “Where’s mine?” Jason wailed.

  “I want some,” Crystal whined.

  Tiffany glowered, but turned around to go back to the house.

  “That’s all right,” Sue said. “Jason and Crystal can get their own.”

  “But we’re wet,” Jason said.

  “Then dry off. And don’t go tracking mud onto the floor.”

  “I’m not thirsty,” Crystal announced.

  After a moment’s thought, Jason said, “Me, neither.”

  They went back to splashing while Tiffany went back to sunning. I asked Sue the usual questions about Amber’s teething, walking, and so forth, and Sue asked me the usual questions about Boston. Then we sat and sipped Coke for a while, content to let Crystal and Jason move around enough for all of us.

  I’d always liked Sue, though we had almost nothing in common. She’d barely made it through high school, and despite being younger than me, started dating while I still had my nose stuck firmly in books. I always felt as if my family was smothering me, while the best way I could describe Sue’s treatment by hers was benign neglect. She’d started dating Linwood while still in high school, and got pregnant with Tiffany a month or two before their wedding. Now she had four children, while I still wasn’t sure if I could handle one. Despite all that, we’d always gotten along, which is why I thought I could get away with bringing up the subject that was the reason for my visit.

  “I hear that fire at the cookout wasn’t the first one lately,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Every town has a fire now and again,” Sue said.

  “I suppose, but this batch seems to have everybody spooked.”

  Sue switched Amber to her other shoulder, but didn’t answer.

  I tried again. “Is it true that somebody’s been setting them?”

  “That’s what the paper says.”

  “I wonder why somebody would do something like that. Setting fires, I mean.”

  There was a long pause, and I tried to think of something else I could say without flat out asking Sue if she thought Linwood was doing it.

  Before I came up with anything, Sue said, “Is that why you and Richard came down here? To snoop around a bunch of burnt-out buildings that nobody cares about?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “I was just asking—”

  “Because not one of those shacks was worth the money it would have taken to repair them.”

  “What about the Woolworth’s?” I asked. “If they hadn’t caught it, it could have spread to the businesses next door. Aunt Daphine’s place is only a few doors down, you know.”

  “I know where Daphine’s shop is,” she snapped, “but it didn’t get hurt, did it?”

  “It could have.”

  “An earthquake could hit tomorrow and swallow up the whole town—what difference would a closed-down dime store make then?”

  Sue’s voice had gotten louder and louder as she spoke, and by the time she stopped, Amber had woken and was squirming fretfully against her shoulder.

  “I’ve got to feed the kids,” she announced. “Crystal, Jason, get on out of there and dry off. It’s lunchtime.”

  “You said we could eat out here,” Jason objected.

  “I can watch them while you’re inside,” I said.

  “Why? So you can ‘just ask’ them things, too?”

  My face reddened. “That’s not why I offered—”

  She turned away from me. “Crystal! Jason! I said go inside. You, too, Tiffany!”

  “I’m not hungry,” Tiffany mumbled, turning her face to make sure the left side got well baked.

  “Now!” Sue barked.

  The kids must have been able to tell that their mother wasn’t kidding, because they obeyed without saying another word.

  Nobody said anything to me, either, as they disappeared into the house. I was still holding my empty glass, but since I didn’t think Sue would want me to go inside to give it back, I left it on the seat of my chair. I had a hunch that they’d be back outside as soon as I was gone, anyway.

  Chapter 15

  I got to Pigwick’s Barbecue ahead of Richard, and went on inside to get a table, drink iced tea, and brood over my conversation with Sue. Tim Topper, who owns the place, usually stops to visit when I go in, but he was busy with the lunch crowd and settled for a wave. It was just as well—I wouldn’t have been good company. I cycled between anger, embarrassment, and guilt, and was feeling all three when Richard came in.

  He immediately gave me a hug. “From the look on your face, I assume it didn’t go well.”

  “You are a master of understatement.” I told him about it, finishing with, “Needless to say, Sue didn’t ask me to stay for lunch.”

  “I’m sorry, love, but did you really expect anything different?”

  “I suppose not, but I was hoping. I mean, if I suspected you were in that kind of trouble, I’d want to talk about it to somebody, just for my own sanity.”

  “Even if I were involved in something illegal?”

  “Maybe not,” I admitted. “I hope you had better luck at the library.”

  “I did, but perhaps it should wait until after we order.” He’d seen the waitress coming, carrying a basket of hush puppies for us to start with, and I quickly asked for my usual: a large plate of pulled-pork barbecue with french fries and coleslaw. Richard took a while to make up his mind, which is unusual, but eventually ordered the same thing.

  After the waitress had gone, I asked, “What’s the matter? Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Starved,” he said. “I’m just not sure I have a taste for barbecue today.”

  “Really?” Eating barbecue has always been one of the high points of our visits to Byerly. There are a few places in Boston that serve barbecue, but there’s nothing like eastern-North-Carolina-style barbecue, pulled off the pig and marinated in a vinegar sauce. Just thinking about it was putting me in a better mood.

  Then I realized what Richard had been doing all morning. “Oh Richard, what was I thinking? Were the books on arson… Gruesome?”

  He shrugged, which meant that they had been.

  “Do you want me to call the waitress back so you can order something else?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. Let’s just get the dirty work over with before the food arrives.” He pulled out a small three-ring notebook with the Boston College logo. “I started out with the basics of arson investigation, but decided we don’t really need to know the effect of various accelerants on wood, plaster, mattresses, and other materials.”

  “Mattresses?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  No wonder barbecue didn’t appeal to him.

  He went on. “I also didn’t think we needed to know how arson investigation is conducted, though I was fascinated by stories of arson dogs trained to sniff out hydrocarbons.”

  “Why hydrocarbons?”

  “Most accelerants are hydrocarbons, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “From what I did read, I realize why Junior has had such a hard time with the case. About the only ways to prove arson are by catching the arsonist in the act, or by exclusive opportunity. Since he’s hit buildings in public areas, I don’t think she could prove exclusive opportunity to any of them, and to catch him in the act, she’d have to stake out every conceivable target in the area.”

  “No wonder she was as ill as a hornet when we spoke to her,” I said.

  “Obviously we can’t compete with Junior and the experts in formal investigation, so I focused on the reasons for arson. Most arson fires fall into certain categories. A popular one is insurance fraud.”

  “That’s what people originally thought the Woolworth’s fire was, but it turns out the place wasn’t insured enough to make burning worthwhile.”

  “Next there are larceny arsonists, who
rob a place, then burn it to destroy the evidence.”

  “I haven’t heard of anything worth stealing in any of the buildings.”

  “Occasionally, arson is used to cover up other crimes, such as murder.”

  “To get rid of the body?”

  He nodded.

  “Thank goodness that one doesn’t fit.”

  “Then there are people who want to get relocation priority in public housing. There’s arson as part of gang fights. Arson can be used as a weapon in domestic disputes, as in burning down an ex-wife’s house as part of a pattern of abuse or harassment. Obviously none of those apply here.”

  “Which leaves us what?”

  “Pyromaniacs, for one. Or as the literature refers to them, pathological fire-setters.”

  “Linwood isn’t a pyromaniac,” I said, hoping it was true.

  Thankfully, Richard agreed. “Probably not,” he said. “Pyromaniacs usually demonstrate extreme isolation from society, and nobody in your family could get away with extreme isolation for more than a week.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him, but he was right. I’d moved to Boston and Augustus had gone to Germany with the army, but even we couldn’t claim extreme isolation.

  Richard said, “Pyromaniacs tend to achieve sexual gratification from fire, and I suppose Linwood could be getting his jollies watching the fires, but the rest of the profile doesn’t fit him. Pyromaniacs generally don’t enjoy the result of their fires.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that they avoid the bedlam that ensues after the fire: the fire trucks with sirens blaring, the adrenaline rush of firefighters rushing to and fro, the excitement of the crowd.”

  “But Linwood is a volunteer firefighter, and was the first on the scene for the first two fires. Obviously, he can handle bedlam.” Considering his kids, he had to. “So what is he?”

  “The question isn’t so much what, as why. If Linwood is our arsonist, why does he set fires?” Always the dramatic storyteller, Richard picked that moment to take a long swallow of iced tea.

  “All right, why?” I prompted.

  “As a demonstration of rage, and a way to get attention,” Richard said. “The rage could be from a number of things: Aunt Edna getting closer to Caleb, frustration with work, aggravation over the proposed buyout, even leftover emotion from his father’s death.”