by L. A. Kelley
“Shhh, Honey Bun. Go home. I don’t have bones.” The whining cut off with a disappointed yip.
Mrs. Hart opened the carriage house door. As she stepped aside for Pike to enter, the odd yellow light played across her face. Mrs. Hart dropped her gaze as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. The dark man stood in the doorway, taking in the space in one sweeping glance. He nodded in satisfaction. The weird glow from the flashlight followed every move of his head.
Without warning, Honey Bun darted from the rose bushes. She planted her paws in front of the doctor, lips pulled back in a vicious snarl. Pike turned around. Through the leaves of the bushes I caught a glimpse of his face and then bit my lip to keep from screaming.
He had no flashlight. A yellow glow radiated directly from his eyes.
The light played across Honey Bun. Tail between her legs, she backed away with a whine and disappeared into the foliage. The glow vanished, plunging the yard into gloom. Pike led Mrs. Hart to the house. I cringed in the bushes as they passed.
“Do you have infants on the property now?” he demanded.
Mrs. Hart hesitated. I held my breath. She answered no without elaborating on the one constantly rejected orphan-in-residence at Little Angels.
“Don’t speak of me to anyone. I was not here.”
The lie whipped out, wrapped around Mrs. Hart, and drew her in. “You were not here.”
Pike returned to the car while Mrs. Hart entered the house.
My heart thudded hard against my ribs. Terrified thoughts raced through my mind. Was that the devil? Pike sure didn’t resemble pictures; no cloven hoofs or horns. My head jerked up in surprise. Hang on a sec. He drove Mr. Grimaldi’s car. Couldn’t the devil appear wherever he wanted? Why did he need a Chevy?
Shivering once again at the memory of those yellow eyes, I went inside. The first floor was dark. Upstairs, no light shone under Mrs. Hart’s door.
I rapped softly. “Are you awake?”
There was no answer. With a steadying breath, I eased open the door. Mrs. Hart was in bed. Her eyes opened, but they appeared glazed and unfocused. For a moment her expression cleared. “Help me.”
“A-Are you okay?”
Whatever nightmare ensnared Mrs. Hart overwhelmed her once more. She sunk into the pillow. Her eyes closed again.
Shaken, I ran to my room and shut the door. Pike is not your problem, my mind screamed. Get out of here now. Where to go was the question. Life on the road was tough when you’re fifteen and don’t have two nickels to rub together.
The answer came in a rush. I didn’t need money to hop a freight train. Once free of New Brunswick, lying was my way to fame and fortune. Now was the time to grab freedom.
I stuffed my meager belongings in a pillow case and slung the bundle over my shoulder. My fingers grasped the door handle, but Mrs. Hart’s desperate cry for help held me back. The more I thought about the night’s events, the dumber I felt. Something was definitely hinky.
“Glowing eyes are impossible, stupid,” I snorted in disgust. “Pike must have had a flashlight stowed in his sleeve.”
Sensible explanations came to me. I was across the yard and didn’t get a clear view of the weird light through the brush. Fear of being sent to the State Orphanage caused hallucinations. The Grimaldi’s knew lots of criminals, so the doctor must be a gangster. Mrs. Hart felt trapped because she needed money.
With common sense reasserted, my temper flared. It didn’t sit right for a rich stranger to appear at the door and expect us poor folk to dance to his fiddle. People who have nothing in the world learn to stand their ground or the world runs right over them.
Pike drove the Grimaldi’s car, so they must be involved. A little snooping would discover the truth. Then Mrs. Hart could get on the horn to the Feds. The image of a squad of G-men storming Grimaldi’s Market and herding the couple into a paddy wagon pleased me no end. I chucked the pillow case to the floor. I could still hit the road tomorrow. One more night in New Brunswick wouldn’t matter.
The unlit streets were deserted as I made my way to the Grimaldi’s house. The black roadster was parked outside the garage. A light shone in a downstairs window, so I snuck across the lawn and peeked in.
Pike sat at the kitchen table; fingers clasped placidly in front, not a glowing eyeball in sight. I gave myself a mental kick in the pants for being such a dope.
The Grimaldi’s huddled over a piece of paper. Mr. Grimaldi finished reading and cleared his throat. “Everything is in order. The carriage house suited you?”
Pike slid him an envelope stuffed with cash. “Yes. It was private and exactly as described. We have a deal.”
Mrs. Grimaldi peered at the bills with undisguised greed. “We wouldn’t do this, you understand, but the Feds raided all the local speakeasies. Our best clients have shut down. Times are tough.” She and her husband added signatures before handing the paper back.
Pike oozed reassurance. “You needn’t be concerned about the girl.”
My ears pricked up. Girl? What girl? If he meant Mrs. Hart, the doctor needed to get his own eyes checked.
Mr. Grimaldi crammed the money in a pocket. “People might get the wrong impression if the arrangement is discovered. You understand—they don’t realize our actions are for her own good.” I sucked in my breath. Mr. Grimaldi lied big time.
“Don’t worry. No one will ever find out.”
Another chill capered along my backbone. Prickles of doubt about Pike’s gangster connections jabbed at my mind demanding attention. I roughly brushed them away. Pike and the Grimaldi’s rose from the table. I ducked behind a tree, as the couple escorted the doctor to the door.
Mrs. Grimaldi beamed at Pike. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to stop by.”
The dark man placed the fedora on his head and snapped the brim low. “I’m quite satisfied. You won’t see me again.”
The door closed, but Pike remained on the stoop. The kitchen went dark and then a light switched on in an upstairs bedroom window.
The doctor’s actions were a puzzle. Why wait? Had he decided to rob the joint? If so, I sure wouldn’t stop him. I might even help.
The bedroom light flicked off. The pitch black in the yard lasted a few seconds before a yellow beam danced eerily across the door.
My throat near closed in terror. That was no flashlight.
The ray from Pike’s eyes narrowed and focused pencil-thin. The smell of burning wood drifted across the lawn. Transfixed in horror, I watched a smoldering hieroglyphic of a flame etch into the middle of the door. The trail of glowing embers flared and then snuffed out. Pike jumped off the stoop and sprinted down the alley.
Heart thumping, I darted to the door. My fingers stroked the spot where the little flame had erupted. The wood was still warm.
I snatched back my hand. The wood was now hot, more scorching by the second. The glowing outline of the flame reappeared. A spark shot out, soared overhead, and landed near the chimney. Patches of shingles exploded in flames.
Another long thin spark slithered from the little symbol, writhing toward the keyhole like a fiery snake. Without thinking I reached to sweep it away only to jerk my hand from the scalding heat. The spark slid into the opening. With a roar, a curtain of fire engulfed the downstairs’ windows.
“Wake up!” I shouted, frantically banging on the door. “The house is on fire!”
A thick choking cloud of smoke billowed under the doorframe. I staggered away in a coughing fit. Within seconds, the first floor was an inferno. How could fire spread so fast? A woman’s terrified screams cut through the crackling fusillade of the flames.
The blistering heat drove me across the yard. Wooden supports inside the house splintered and gave way. The panic-stricken face of Nico Grimaldi appeared at the bedroom window struggling to open the sash. He vanished in a thunderous crash as the second floor collapsed. At the same time the screams cut off.
Sirens wailed in the distance. I stumbled down the side alley. My clo
thing smoldered as hot cinders rained from above. I slapped at the embers, smothering the flames. The Grimaldi’s house was now a nightmare of hellfire. The walls caved in with a deafening roar.
The first of the fire trucks screeched around the corner. The cops would be sure to follow and they’d have questions I couldn’t answer. As I darted across the street, the glare of a headlight caught me for an instant.
Tires squealed to a halt. A man yelled, “You there! Stop!”
I bolted, not daring even a glance back, afraid to see a pair of glowing yellow eyes dogging my steps. Once safely inside Little Angels, I went directly to the bathroom, stripped off my sooty clothes, and filled the tub. Red sores peppered my arms and legs where embers burned though the cloth, but sliding beneath the cool water eased my stinging skin. Fortunately, none of the wounds would be visible under a long shirt and pants.
Again and again I rinsed my mouth to flush the gritty burnt taste. Somewhere between the first scrub and the twentieth the water washed the smell off my body, but nothing erased the memory of the petrified screams.
Cold and numb, I forced myself from the tub. At least, my shoes were in good shape. I only owned one pair and would never be able to explain fire damage. I wasn’t sure how much the cops had seen of me, so I buried the ruined pants and shirt in Mrs. Hart’s rose garden. I planned to be long gone before she got wise to the missing clothes, but not tonight. Even from Little Angels’ backyard, I heard the sirens and smelled smoke. Every flatfoot in town would be on the alert, not to mention curious gawkers. No one would slip through unnoticed now. I ground my teeth in frustration--one more day in New Brunswick, after all.
I went to bed and closed my eyes. Claimed by exhaustion, I fell into a fitful rest haunted by visions of raging firestorms.
At the kitchen table the next morning Mrs. Hart huddled over a newspaper. The headline blared FAMILY PERISHES IN FIRE. I donned my most innocent air, helped myself to scrambled eggs, and took a seat. “Who died?”
“The Grimaldi’s. How strange…” she murmured to herself. “I was talking to someone about them. Who was it now…”
“The man here last night?” I suggested with offhanded ease.
She looked up from the paper. “No one was here last night.”
I was stunned. Her voice held no sense of a lie. “I-I thought I saw a man outside…dark coat…fedora.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, Peter. Why on earth would I open the door to a strange man in the middle of the night?”
No good reason. I changed the subject. “Do they know how the fire started?”
“No, but the police say the deaths were murder.”
I paused in mid bite, thankful to be an expert at the straight face. “On the level?”
“The fire started in too many places and spread too fast. The house was gone by the time the fire engines arrived. The authorities are searching for a suspect running from the scene. When they catch him, the courts aren’t likely to show mercy. The Grimaldi’s had too much influence.”
My breakfast jelled into a cold hard lump in my stomach.
Mrs. Hart rose to answer a knock at the door. A surly Chief Edwards and two officers stood on the threshold. I locked in my straight face and despite a pounding heart, adopted a nonchalant stance. With a sharp nod to me, the Chief said, “I had a report Whistler owns clothes matching the arsonist.” My heartbeat ratcheted up as I voiced an indignant protest.
Mrs. Hart regarded him with an icy glare. “I read the description. White cotton shirt and brown pants—every boy in town owns the same outfit, including your son.”
The Chief tried to push inside. “I have the information on good authority—”
“Whose?” She barred the way, unadorned skepticism all over her face.
I spotted Chauncey skulking across the street and yelled, “I see you Edwards.” He immediately took off as if someone lit a firecracker in his pants.
“I told you to stay home,” roared his father after him.
Mrs. Hart raised an eyebrow. “Chauncey is your good authority?”
His face reddened. “No need to get in a twist. With such a heinous crime, I’m duty bound to follow every tip.”
“You must have others.”
“Plenty,” he sputtered.
Liar. You don’t have a single one. It took all my control not to laugh in his face.
“Be reasonable,” the chief argued. “The whole town is out for blood. I’ve got men stationed at every road from New Brunswick along with the train and bus station, but can’t afford to ignore a single lead.”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Hart murmured icily. “This is an election year and your biggest campaign contributors have been incinerated.”
“The election has got nothing to do with my duty to the citizenry,” he blustered.
Hah! Another lie.
The Chief forced a foot past the jamb. “How about if I take a quick look-see around…”
Mrs. Hart didn’t budge an inch. “Certainly not. I’m no criminal and don’t harbor any under my roof. I will not have police rummaging through my house and become the topic of the neighbor’s gossip.”
He retreated with a snarl. “I’m watching you, boy. The town has a curfew tonight. Everyone off the streets by dark. You hear me?”
Roads blocked and a curfew. That put a kibosh on my grand plan. I had to cool my heels until the heat settled.
Mrs. Hart slammed the door. “Curfew…absurd…complete waste of time. The man is long gone.”
“What man?”
Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Of course, the murderer was a man,” she stammered. “Certainly not a woman…or child. No matter what Chief Edwards believes. Yes…a strange man who doesn’t belong here…I don’t…” Her voice trailed away. She shook her head as if to clear the cobwebs.
“Like a strange man wearing a fedora?” I prompted.
“A fedora?” The bewilderment vanished. She regarded me sharply. “Aren’t you late for school?”
Chauncey must have arrived early to spread rumors about my new murderous nature. Anxious whispers and carefully averted eyes followed me all day, even from the teachers. Not that I cared. I enjoyed the attention, rising from total obscurity to Public Enemy Number One overnight. For once I was tough and powerful instead of forgotten and shoved in a corner.
I swaggered through half the day, all easy smiles and puffed out chest. On the way to the lunchroom, I stood behind one of the few boys in my grade smaller than me. I passed him now and then in the hall. We’d ignore each other and go about our business. I didn’t even know his name. He turned around. As our eyes met, he shrank back and anxiously beckoned me ahead.
Faces turned my way…watching…waiting…wondering...Students circled like a wolf pack around me and the terrified boy. I had a fearful reputation now. If I shoved him against a locker and stole his lunch money, no one would interfere.
Chauncey came up to me. “Do it,” he whispered. His eyes held a feral gleam.
I saw Chauncey’s life. No responsibilities toward others. Take instead of earn. Fear instead of respect. All I had to do was pick on a smaller kid who never caused me any harm and that life would be mine.
The powerful feeling ebbed away. Nothing remained inside but a sickening hollow. I shouldered through the crowd to the nearest exit, and then lit across town. Unconsciously, my feet detoured to Grimaldi’s Market.
A Closed sign hung in the store window. I crept around the side of the building and stared into the yard. As horrific as the fire had been in the dark, the scorched smoking earth was more terrible in daylight. Nothing remained of the house except an ashy pile of debris infused with a nauseating reek. The store suffered no damage; neither did the detached garage, the Grimaldi’s car, nor the nearby homes. The whole scene was uncanny. How could something burn so quickly and so hot in one place?
The door to the market swung open. Out walked a little girl about nine years old in a black dress and clutching a white cane. I hadn�
�t seen Esther Roth in years. Although hardly friends, I experienced an unexpected outpouring of relief. For once, the Grimaldi’s neglect served her well. She must have been at school during the fire.
Esther descended the stairs with practiced ease. The door opened again and Chief Edwards appeared. I hunkered down, so he wouldn’t catch me spying. If he decided to haul me off to jail for the heck of it, no one would stop him. Esther would probably enjoy herself. The Chief held open the screen door and ushered someone ahead.
Dr. Pike stepped outside and adjusted his fedora.
CHAPTER THREE
Death in the Carriage House
“Will you be staying long, Doctor?” asked the Chief.
“Merely long enough to attend the funeral. Business requires me to leave tomorrow night.”
“It’s a good thing you happened to be in town. We didn’t know Esther had other family.”
Esther piped up, “Me neither.”
Pike ignored her. “I travel a great deal. Years ago, Nico and Carlotta made arrangements to assign guardianship to me should they be unable to care for the child.” He patted papers in his breast pocket. “They were always mindful of her best interest.”
The lie was smooth and coldly competent. The Chief didn’t have a clue, but Esther did.
“Nuh-uh,” she insisted. “They didn’t like me.”
“Nonsense,” sputtered the Chief. “Otherwise, they never would have prepared for an emergency. You’re a very lucky young lady. Without Dr. Pike you’d be at the State Orphanage by now.”
I scowled. The Grimaldi’s sat at the kitchen table signing paperwork last night. Pike’s words floated back. The girl will never know. Nico and Carlotta sold Esther for an envelope stuffed with cash. I eyed the pile of ashes. Fat lot of good it did them.