"Didn’t expect you to, but this, dear girl, is a key clue."
Mr. Forensics extended his hand. "Tom Thumper, forensics investigator. You must be Leesa Winsome."
I nodded mutely, shaking his hand. "Thumper?"
"Thumper, as in someone who can beat the shit out of anyone he likes. Not as in the little rabbit. Got it?"
I nodded. He was probably mid to late forties. Did I think he spoke the truth about the thumping? You bet. The guy was a wall. And if he didn’t feel like pounding someone, I bet he had a Glock somewhere and could shoot them. So whatever he wanted. "Oh, right. Nice to meet you, er . . ."
"Friends, clients, the wife, they call me Thumper."
I nodded. "Thumper. Got it. So what about the wood? Is it from my kitchen? Does it contain a highly flammable liquid used by the arsonist?"
"Arson?" Then he laughed a big boom of a laugh. "I think what we have here is your common, ordinary, accidental type fire. Come over here and take a look at where I found this." He led us to the butterfly bush and pointed to the dirt beneath the fence.
"See here? There are more cinders spilling over from your neighbor’s side of the fence." He reached up and hefted a big branch of the butterfly bush that hung into Mrs. Vanhorn’s yard. "The leaves on the tip of this bush have wilted and died, but the rest of the bush is healthy. Now what would cause this foliage damage?"
I shrugged. I was no master gardener. I was the girl who went to the master gardener clinics and brought in plants beyond resuscitation and asked dumb questions. "Neglect?"
He shook his head. "Singed. If you take a peek over this fence you’ll find an old metal garbage can. I’m guessing it’s being used as an ash receptacle."
Thumper was over six feet tall and looked over my six foot fence with ease. Street Guy was a bit shorter, but tippy-toes did it for him. Me, I jumped and bounced and never did get a good look, but I didn’t have to. I knew that’s where Mrs. Vanhorn kept her ash can.
I shot him the amazed look. "Wow, you are good! So what does this mean?"
"Could mean anything. Let’s take a walk around and look in your neighbor’s yard. Is your neighbor home?"
I shook my head. "No, she left the day of my fire for an extended visit with her sister. I’m taking care of her house."
We walked around and into Mrs. Vanhorn’s side yard where her ash can sat next to the fence.
"It’s a direct line from this can to your kitchen," Thumper said.
"Yeah! She had a prime view into my kitchen window, too. I’m asking my contractor to move it in the reconstruction, for privacy. It was right there." I pointed to where it used to be and Thumper nodded.
"Um, hmmm," he said, pointing to the fence behind the can. "See the dark, charred spots on the fence boards?"
Greg and I nodded. "Embers have lit on this fence before. What you have here is a fire hazard." He lifted the lid off the can and peered in.
Street Guy and I joined him. We all stared at a glop of soggy ashes.
"She always water down her ashes when she dumps them?" Thumper asked, sounding disappointed.
"Never. I found the lid lying against the can and put it back on myself a while after she left. It had rained in the meantime. That’s probably how they got wet. Mrs. Vanhorn likes her ashes nice and fluffy when she spreads them in her flower beds."
Thumper nodded and looked at her house. "I see she has a fireplace."
"Two," I corrected.
Street Guy interrupted. "I see where you’re heading with this Thumper, but it’s summer. Would Mrs. Vanhorn have had a fire in her fireplace on the day she left?" He shook his head. "Not likely."
"Oh yes it is! She did have a fire that day. Burning her paper garbage before she left. Mrs. Vanhorn is over eighty and always cold. She doesn’t believe in recycling when she can use her newspapers as kindling. She has a fire every day of the year, even when there’s a burn ban on." I paused. "The little lawbreaker."
Thumper replaced the lid to the can. Street Guy and I followed him back into my yard where he laid out the photos I’d lent him on the hood of his car.
"From the burn pattern in these," he said. "It looks like a good number of embers landed on the floor near the stove. From the report you wrote up for me," he said to me, "it says that you were having your floors sanded and refinished. The dust that would be kicked up in the process is highly flammable. I’m guessing, but it’s a logical guess, that the contractor would have had the window open while he worked. Hot day, lots of dangerous dust, it makes sense."
I nodded. "Yeah, and I left it open when I went to the store, too. So the dust could clear."
Street Guy gave me a look that said, "that’s stupid."
"What?" I said. "I live in a safe neighborhood. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, not exactly the peak crime-committing hour. It was only open eight inches or so and I stuck a stick in it so it couldn't be pried open farther."
"Eight inches is far enough," Thumper said.
"Yeah, yeah!" I said, remembering. "That was the day Gus had to knock off early and run to his grandson’s T-ball game. So he swept the dust into a pile near the stove and I told him to go on, I’d finish sweeping up and carry it out when I got home. There was a nice breeze blowing that day, now that I think about it. That’s another reason I left the window open. Otherwise, the bungalow got too hot and stuffy. You can check the weather report for that day and verify the breeze."
"That’d do it," Thumper said, scooping up my pictures and handing them back to me. "Case closed. I’ll write you up a report for your insurance company. Because of her negligence, it’s my guess they’ll go after your neighbor and her insurance company to collect some of the damages."
"Poor Mrs. Vanhorn," I said. "She doesn’t have much."
"Since the fire, neither do you, Legs," Street Guy reminded me. "I wouldn’t have too much sympathy. That little old lady nearly made toast out of you, too. That ash can was a fire waiting to happen. What if you’d been in the house? Maybe even asleep in the bedroom."
I shuddered and felt a bit nauseous like I always did when I thought about fire. "I have to sit down. The thought of fire makes me dizzy. I have pyrophobia, you know." I fell to the ground and put my head between my knees. I really did feel sick. Thinking about fires and scorching and how I could have been scorched or smothered, well, they’ve never been happy thoughts for me.
Street Guy plunked down beside me. "Sorry. Didn’t mean to get you worked up, Legs."
"I know." I think I croaked the words out.
Street Guy paused. "You look green. You want some water or something?"
I shook my head as I held it in my hands. "I’ll be fine if I just sit a minute." I did my calming breath exercise, the one I’d learned when Dad had taken me at age ten to a child psychiatrist to help me over my fear of fire. It worked, sometimes.
"Wait a minute!" I burst out as sanity returned and a thought came to me. "How come my insurance company’s investigator didn’t turn all this up? It seems pretty straightforward."
Thumper gave me the deadpan look. "Only way to miss this is if he wanted to. This isn’t genius forensics work."
"But why would he miss it? It doesn’t make sense . . ." I trailed off.
"Change the angle you view a situation from and the view will change. Change your thinking and the solution will be clear," Thumper said.
"What!" I looked up at him, startled. I’d heard those words before.
"That’s by a guy named Garrett from a book on greatness."
I couldn’t help frowning. "Yeah, I know. You’re into pop psychology and inspirational thinking?" Great, just my luck I get a forensic investigator who loves Ryne’s work.
"In my profession, you gotta be. You gotta know the human psyche," Thumper said.
I cursed Ryne. He was too popular for his own good, obviously. And too popular for my sanity.
"So think about it," Thumper continued. "Maybe it’s the insurance company who wants to get out of paying—"
/>
"Willie!" I screamed his name so loud that Thumper and Street Guy both winced before shooting me puzzled looks. So I explained the situation. "I’m gonna kill him!"
"I don’t know," Street Guy said. "Unrequited love is kind of romantic."
"You’ve been writing too many sad love songs," I said.
"Maybe so." He shrugged. "But if you insist on doing him in, boil him in oil. That’d be poetic irony."
"Killing him won’t get you your money. Better let me handle this." Thumper grinned ear to ear, like he relished the idea of taking care of an insider who was abusing the system.
"Will you threaten him with your Glock? I want him scared."
"I was thinking of using the evidence." That’s what he said, but I got the feeling from his body posture that he wouldn’t be opposed to using his bulk or his fists to scare Willie if the need arose.
"Good enough for me." I paused, picturing Willie cowering in front of Thumper. "I definitely won’t have to deal with him at all then?"
"Nope."
"And I’ll get my money?"
"And then some. We’ll get you a generous settlement, believe me," Thumper said.
I was so happy that I jumped up and down and gave Street Guy a big hug. Thumper dodged out of the way. I don’t think he was the hugging kind.
Then Street Guy said, "Can I use Willie and your story as lyrics for a song? It’s got a great unrequited love/revenge theme. People love that stuff."
"Be my guest. Just change the names if you want me to buy it when it’s a smash hit."
Chapter 24
Jobless days: 93
August Unemployment Log
Goals:
1. Get insurance money. Met! Thumper did a bang up job of getting my money. He dropped it by the very next day. I’ll never know for sure exactly what he said to Willie. All I know is that in return, I had to drop my complaint against Willie. Oh, and find a new agent. Duh.
2. Land that job! I’m jumping every time the phone rings. And now I think I’ve developed a fear of my e-mail inbox, too. Actually, of any source that could bring bad news. Because I should be hearing from EA any day. And I don’t want to see a rejection. We all exerted so much energy on them. If I get rejected . . .
I can’t even think about it.
Thoughts for the day:
My job search still looks like a string of "NOs." I’ve bugged EA a million times. I’ve tried everything to get them to move on making me an offer and find out exactly who the competition is and still no job offer!
* * *
I’d given EA every phone number I owned and some I just borrowed, like Dad’s, and yet, still they had me on a short tether, a real choke chain. Because I did not want to miss their call, if it came. I mean, when it came. Think positive. Think positive. Why did negativity have to seep in?
I was becoming so psycho and obsessive about the phone, my mail, my e-mail, that I was driving myself crazy, not to mention everyone else. If I didn’t hear something, anything, soon, I could add being friendless to my list of misfortunes.
I imagined hearing the phone ring while I was in the shower so often I’d considered laying a plastic runner between my bathroom and the nearest phone to preserve Dad’s carpet. And when each of my friends called at least once a day to ask if I’d heard anything, I tried to sound positive, but I think my disappointment crept in. Could being an expectant mother be any worse?
And then, just as I was despairing of ever hearing, and had a mouthful of a hot, microwaveable fettucini alfredo with broccoli, my phone rang.
"Cynthia from Engineering Associates Human Relations department. Is this Leesa Winsome?"
Oh heart, be still and stay in my rib cage, please! I burned my mouth and almost choked trying to swallow and then sound professional. "Uh-huh." With fettucini burning all the way down, that’s what passed for professional.
"I’m pleased to be able to offer you the position of Senior Marketing Analyst for the salary of . . ."
I expected to be wowed. Instead, all I can say, is EA’s reputation for paying well was highly overrated. They only offered me a thousand more per year than WI paid me. Oh, well, it was a place to start the negotiations! Yippee! Then . . .
"Wait a minute! Did you say Marketing?" I asked.
"I did." Cynthia made the two words sound perky.
"There must be some mistake. I’m an engineer. That’s clear on my résumé."
"Oh, yes, we know. But your referral made it just as clear that you were looking to get out of engineering and bragged up your creativity. Creativity’s exactly what EA is looking for and Mr. Parker clearly thought you’d be best placed in Marketing. If your referral was wrong, and you’d rather stay in engineering, I can look into that for you. But I have to be honest, we don’t have any openings right now. And when we do, a master of science is the minimum requirement.
"And for the record, Marketing is one of our most prestigious departments. Very hard to break into from other parts of the company, especially engineering." She paused, waiting for my response.
Gulp. Was I qualified for this? Could I do it? Which is when I remembered how I’d spotted potential in Barn and now he’d found the love of his life and my best friend was really happy. The promise was that Providence, and others, would then find potential in me. So maybe this was the potential. Could Providence and all those personality tests really be wrong? Time for a leap of faith.
"No, I’m definitely honored to be offered the job. Send me the written offer and we’ll discuss details."
After I got off the phone, I called C&H. "Guess what!"
Only I didn’t have to spell it out. They squealed their delight into the phone. Even my reservations about going into marketing without any experience didn’t dim their enthusiasm.
"As soon as negotiations are over, I’m going to take the JCG gang out to dinner!"
"Excellent," Candy said. "I’ll do your hair."
Chapter 25
Jobless days: 110
September Unemployment Log
Jobless days: 110 and at an end. I start Monday!
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES!
—the typical job search with Leesa’s happy ending added.
* * *
Goals:
1. Land a most excellent job.
I upped EA two thousand dollars and got my three weeks of vacation along with sick leave. No signing bonus. But, hey, I did good! Especially considering I have no marketing experience and no MBA, either. Then I got to reject Hawk Engineering! Happy days are here again! Well, except on the man front. See goal two.
2. Have a hot love life, or find a perfect man and marry him in a fairy-tale wedding next June. Soul mate must: be 28-37, six feet tall or over, have dark hair, brown eyes, be smart, and handsome. He should be unattached, work hard, play well, make me laugh, and not leave me waiting for his call. He should also be logical, wealthy, creative like me, and always remember to put the toilet seat down. Also, must be faithful and committed to me. I was seriously considering signing up for an online dating service.
3. Spend an hour each day exercising in pursuit of the perfect body and health.
4. Eat at least one ounce of chocolate per day.
* * *
We met downtown at Coho’s on Pier 70. It wasn’t exactly four $$$$ cuisine, but it was right on the water. And it did have reasonable prices and excellent clam chowder, and, of course, salmon. In my defense, I didn’t get the big, fat bonus. Coho’s satisfied my budgetary requirements, meaning it didn’t break me. And the point was to be with friends, right?
Roger raised his glass of microbrew. "To Leesa and her success!"
Glasses clinked.
"Speech! Speech!" Bud said. Then Sean echoed it.
I stood at the end of the table with tears of joy in my eyes, suddenly choked up with uncha
racteristic emotionalism as I surveyed my friends.
Sean sat with his arm around Julie. There was an office romance going on between those two. Barn and Cara sat as close together as humanly possible. Roger paid solicitous attention to Candy. Jean and Dan, the stealth husband I finally got to meet, sat together with the ease and comfort of an old married couple. Hank, Street Guy, Bud, and me, being single, were randomly interspersed among the couples.
"Come on! Give us a speech," Roger said.
I shook my head. "First, I have to know something—you aren’t going to kick Sean and me out of the group now that we’re gainfully employed, are you?"
"That’s not a speech," Roger said. He looked around the group. "What do you think? Keep them on as alumni? All in favor say ‘aye.’"
Lots of ayes.
"Nays?"
Silence.
"You’re an alum. Now, speak." Roger nodded.
"Okay. Sure." I took a deep breath. "I want to thank everybody for their help. Even my sister, who being a bossy big sis forced me to go to the ‘greatness’ seminar where I met Roger and Bud in the first place."
Everyone laughed.
"I couldn’t have gotten this job without all of you. Not to be sappy, but okay, I’m just overwhelmed with emotion." I took a sip of water in an effort to swallow the lump in my throat. "I can’t express, I really can’t, everything you guys mean to me. I was down and out and you came to my aid. And I’m going to return the favor. I really am. If there’s anything I can do—"
"Not too soon!" Candy held her hands up in mock self-defense. "This team is too good. We landed Lees a job in what, under a month? So don’t do me any favors right now! I still have nine months of severance left and I’m not going back to the old grind before it’s up."
"I’m mooching off Candy," Hank said. "We made a pact to take the time off together."
"I’ve still got a year and a half of nursing school and a book to finish writing first." Roger gave me a fat grin.
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