“A leg?” he said.
“A mannequin leg.”
“That’s why you got all juiced up when I told you about the mannequins.”
“I told Loncar about it. At first I thought it was a body, or an amputated limb. He said they didn’t find any evidence of a body inside, and the fire hadn’t been burning long enough to completely destroy a corpse.”
Eddie set down his sandwich and his face turned a greenish shade. He pulled a pill vial out of his pocket and swallowed a white tablet. “Dramamine. It’ll help with the nausea.”
“Are you getting sick?”
“I’m trying to eat while you’re talking about disembodied limbs burning up in Dumpsters. I think nausea is to be expected.”
Eddie was right. I hadn’t even flinched at Amanda being sick last night, and now my best friend was popping anti-nausea pills like Skittles. Were dismembered limbs and dead bodies becoming yet another thing that I was compartmentalizing?
“We don’t have to talk about this,” I said. “Let’s talk about something else. What’s going on with you?”
“Me? The usual. Working round the clock to get the store ready. Nab four or five hours of sleep and then do it all over again.”
“All work and no play makes Eddie a dull boy,” I said.
“I’ve got a two-week vacation coming up. Going to Miami Beach. I’ll make up for lost time as soon as that plane lands.”
“You’re really okay with that? Work like a crazy person, go away to recharge, and come back and do it all over again?”
“That’s kind of how life works. At least since you arrived, there’s a new element to the mix.”
“Yep, that’s me. All fun and games until somebody gets hurt.” I swallowed a disturbing amount of coffee and coughed.
“The Dramamine has taken effect. Hit me with whatever you have.”
I leaned forward and tapped my index finger on the table. “Here’s what I want to know. Why would someone want to attack me? Was I the target all along? I don’t think so. The fact that there have been no other physical attacks makes me think my attack was a message to Amanda. One of her staffers gets hospitalized. Warning!” I made jazz hands on either side of my head. “Somebody wants you to fail!”
“It is starting to look like somebody’s had it in for Amanda all along.”
“That’s what I thought, but mostly because of the threats she made up. Now I need to come up with a different angle.” I ticked what I knew off my fingers. “First I was attacked. Then there was a fire during her show. Then there was a fire in the parking lot outside of the venue where she held her show. The fire on the runway would have been enough to ruin her. I don’t know why someone set the second fire.”
“Do you have to? I mean, this is Amanda Ries we’re talking about. She fired you. She faked evidence to send you chasing after phantoms. And she’s Nick’s ex-girlfriend.”
“We don’t know that last part. We only suspect it.”
“Dude, this isn’t the time to play dumb,” he said.
“Fine. She’s Nick’s ex-girlfriend. But the woman spent an hour throwing up in my bathroom last night. Did I sneak in and take blackmail photos? No. I made her chicken soup.”
“Great. So you get a gold star in personal growth. That doesn’t mean you have to solve her problems for her.”
“I know I don’t owe her anything. I know I should just walk away. And I know the fact that I don’t proves that everything everybody says about me is right.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds, an entire conversation of acceptance and understanding taking place between a raised eyebrow, a smile, and a shrug. Then Eddie turned his head to the side. “Do you smell burnt toast?”
I sniffed the air. “Yes.”
“Okay, good. I thought it was my imagination.” He picked up his breakfast sandwich and took another bite.
“Why do we both smell burnt toast? We’re not making breakfast.”
We turned our heads toward the front of the house. Through the picture window I saw orange flames shooting out from an open trash can sitting in the middle of my driveway.
27
“Fire!” I yelled. I ran out the front door. Eddie followed.
The trash can sat behind Eddie’s VW bug. I crept closer to see what was burning inside, but the heat from the flames kept me back.
“Call someone,” I said. I raced back inside for the fire extinguisher that was under the kitchen sink and ran back outside. My cold fingers fumbled with the pin. I pulled it loose. I aimed the nozzle at the fire and squeezed the handle. A blast of compressed carbon dioxide shot out like a cloud of snow. The pressure caught me by surprise and I was knocked off balance. I scrambled to my feet and started again. The spray covered the inside of the metal can until the flames were extinguished. I stepped back and dropped the canister. Across the street, Mrs. Iova’s curtains opened and she looked out. I was shaking too badly to make a face or a rude gesture like the other neighbors did when they caught her spying.
Minutes later, I heard a siren growing close. A red fire truck turned at the corner and raced toward my house. Several men jumped down and uncoiled the hose, ready to act.
“Where’s the fire?” one asked.
“It was in there.” I pointed at the trash can.
He crept forward and looked inside the receptacle. “How’d it start?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where were you?”
“Inside my house.”
“You throw away anything flammable?”
“I didn’t throw away anything at all. This isn’t my trash can.”
He looked at me like I was a nuisance. “Can you call Inspector Gigger or Detective Loncar at the Ribbon police?”
“You know them?”
“Yes. I’m helping”—no, that wouldn’t go over all that well— “I’ve been a witness at other fires in Ribbon. I think I should talk to them.”
He stood a few feet away from me, suited up in his fireman garb. His fellow firefighters scattered around the end of my driveway, their testosterone and adrenaline levels in need of a release. I felt like I was throwing a party for twenty and only had one cupcake to serve for dessert.
Eddie stood on the front porch with Logan over one shoulder. Eddie’s eyes were wide. He set Logan inside the house and pulled the front door shot. He lowered himself onto the front porch step and I joined him. The sudden fear of fire had kept me from noticing the chill in the air, but now that I stopped and sat, I felt the cold through to my bones. I went inside and pulled two wool blankets from the hall closet and returned outside, handing one to Eddie.
Inspector Gigger’s shiny silver car pulled up behind the fire truck. He approached the group of men and exchanged words with the chief, and then strode across the lot to us. Pieces of ash flitted through the air between us like gray snow flurries. I stood up and wrapped the blanket around me tighter.
“Ms. Kidd,” he said. “What can you tell me about this fire?”
“My friend Eddie and I were inside the house. We smelled something burning. As soon as we saw the flames in the trash can, I came back in for my fire extinguisher and Eddie called the fire department.”
“How do you think this fire got started?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was in the trash can?”
“I don’t know. It’s not my trash can.”
“Where did it come from?”
This was getting tiring. “I don’t know.”
“Ms. Kidd, I think it’s a stretch to think you didn’t have anything to do with this. So what I want to know is how you started it. Timing device? Or a third party? Or perhaps your friend here is just a thin cover story?”
“That doesn’t even make sense! We were inside. Ask my neighbors. Somebody must have seen us run outside and put out the fire. Ask Mrs. Iova over there. She spies on everybody. She must have seen something.”
“I find it hard to believe that you had nothing to do with
this.”
I jumped up and the blanket fell from my shoulders. “Inspector Gigger,” I said, taking a step toward him, “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I am not in the habit of setting fires to get attention.”
“But you do like the attention you get from playing amateur sleuth, don’t you?” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a newspaper clipping. Deliberately, he unfolded it and held it so it was facing me. It was the article that had run about me after my involvement in the recent museum murder.
“That is a human interest story that grew out of the fact that I did something good.”
“That is true.” He glanced at the newspaper. “Nice photo, by the way.” He folded the newspaper clipping up and put it back into his pocket. “But arson is a crime of attention-seeking. Three fires, Ms. Kidd. Three fires where you’ve been present. Four if we count your so called attack. It raises questions.”
“It wasn’t so-called, it was! And what about the mannequin leg in the Dumpster at the warehouse? I know you must know by now that it was a mannequin leg. I called Detective Loncar as soon as I figured that out. He confirmed that I was right.”
“Ms. Kidd, you’re friends with the visual director of a store that uses mannequins. There’s another way that you could have been right about that without using your considerable powers of deduction.”
It was worse to hear him insinuate that Eddie was involved too. “I don’t need to listen to this,” I said. “Someone set a fire in my driveway and I called 911. If I’d done anything other than that, people would have wondered why. But I do exactly what I’m supposed to do and I get accused of rigging fires all over town?”
Loncar’s unwashed car pulled up behind Gigger’s silver one. As soon as he was out of the car, he scanned the scene. I pointed at him. “From now on, I will only talk to him,” I said, pointing at the startled detective. I turned around and stormed past Eddie and into the house. I didn’t bother slamming the door. Whoever wanted to follow me could.
A few minutes later, the detective came inside with the head fireman. He closed the door and Logan came out from under the sofa and ran his head against the detective’s trouser leg. Loncar picked him up, scratched his ears, and set him back down. Logan took off up the carpeted stairs to the bedrooms.
The head fireman stayed by Loncar’s side. He looked to be about fifty-something, with deep creases by his eyes and mouth. His hair was mostly gray, matted to his head from the fire helmet he now held in his hand.
“Where’s Eddie?” I asked.
“He’s giving his statement to Gigger,” Loncar said. “Why don’t you get me caught up?”
“Eddie and I were in the kitchen talking about Amanda.” I met Loncar’s stare. “Oh, come on. She’s my ex-boyfriend’s maybe former girlfriend. If I didn’t talk about her behind her back people would think there was something wrong with me.”
“Go on.”
“We smelled something burning. Eddie described it as burnt toast. I was facing the windows, and saw the flames out of the top of the trash can. I tried to get close to see what was inside but it was too hot. I got my fire extinguisher from the kitchen and Eddie called 911. Gigger can probably tell you the rest.”
“You did a good job putting out the flames,” the fireman said.
“It’s not my first time with a fire extinguisher,” I said, thinking back to an unsuccessful attempt at deep frying. “Do you know what was burning?”
The fireman shook his head. “There’s nothing left. Whatever was on fire is now a pile of ash. You say your friend smelled burnt toast?”
“That’s what he said. I smelled something burning, but I didn’t connect it with anything in particular except maybe the time I scorched my pajamas with a flat iron.”
The fireman’s eyes moved to my newly bobbed hair. “You gave up the flat iron?”
“Temporarily.” I settled in on the sofa. “We might have assumed that someone burned their breakfast if we hadn’t seen the flames. They were big, like three feet higher than the top of the trash can. I wouldn’t swear by it, but the flames seemed smaller by the time I came back and put it out. Like it would have put itself out without my help.”
“You might be right. The aluminum trash can pretty well contained the fire. Since there’s nothing left inside to tell us what was burning, it could be that the ignited object burned away completely. No scent of chemicals means it was organic.”
“You’re not going to say it was an accident, are you?”
“No. but if the arsonist rigged things to burn themselves out, he probably didn’t want to stick around to see how it unfolded. Makes me think it was a message.”
“Your men seemed a little annoyed when they got here.”
“Not annoyed. There’s a certain adrenaline rush that helps them act fast and minimize the threat of an open fire. When they arrived and the fire was out, they were left with all this adrenaline and nothing to act on.”
“So you put out the fire, the firemen arrived, and then what?” Loncar asked.
“Then nothing. Gigger showed up and accused me of being the common thread at all of the fires. You showed up somewhere around there.”
“He’s right, you know. You were present each time.” He held his hand palm-side out. “I’m not saying you set the fires. I’m not saying it’s anything more than coincidence. But you best think about that, because there’s a chance that you can offer us a lead that we don’t have.”
I sank down onto the sofa and held my head in my hands. The room went silent while they waited for me to come up with a theory. “I don’t know what kind of a lead you think I can come up with. This fire was in front of a private residence. It was clearly a message, because it was in front of my private residence, but that doesn’t mean it makes any more sense.”
“Ms. Kidd, if there’s anything you remember from any of the other fires, I’d like to hear it. I think the fire captain would like to hear it too.”
I looked back and forth between Loncar and the captain’s faces. They weren’t treating me like I was a nuisance. Instead of ridiculous accusations like Gigger, Loncar had actually asked me for help. Politely, too!
Before I could say anything, a fireman burst through the front door. His helmet was back in place and his chest was puffed out, like a cage fighter at go-time.
“Yo, Cap, we gotta leave. There’s been another fire downtown.” He rattled off an address. The captain jumped up and ran out of my house.
And I sat on the sofa, feeling like someone had dumped a ten pound bag of ice down the back of my shirt.
The new fire was at Amanda’s studio.
28
Within seconds the firemen were gone. Gigger put a Kojak light on top of his car and sped away from the curb. Eddie stood with Loncar and me on the front step.
“Aren’t you going with them?” I asked Loncar.
“No. I’m going to stay here and find out what caused that light bulb to go off over your head when you heard the address of the fire.”
The detective was getting very good at reading my expressions.
I turned and went into the living room. Loncar and Eddie followed. Eddie and I shared the sofa and Loncar sat in one of the arm chairs.
“What’s your theory, Ms. Kidd?”
“That’s Amanda Ries’ studio,” I said. “You wanted a lead? What about this: Amanda spent the night here after you left.” I sat up and my eyes darted around at various items in the living room while I thought. “I don’t know when she left. I woke up and there was a note on the table. Either I was really, really sound asleep, or she was really, really quiet. Maybe whoever set this fire thinks she lives here. Which would make Amanda the common thread, if you consider that there have now been fires at her show, in the parking lot outside of where her show was, here, and now at her studio.”
“Any thoughts on why someone would be out to get Ms. Ries?”
“None. She’s just about the most law-abiding citizen I could imagine.” Eddi
e nodded his head in agreement. “But it seems like somebody is keeping tabs on her whereabouts. Did you ever follow up with Santangelo Toma? About the ID that you found by the Dumpster outside of the Warehouse? Or the fire? Either fire?”
“Yes.”
“And?” A new thought hit me. “His name is San-TANGELO. Tangelos are a close cousin of oranges. Like what was used to beat me up. Are you following me?”
Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Dude, that’s creepy.”
“I know. It’s like a calling card or something.”
Loncar crossed his arms over his coat and cleared his throat. We turned our attention to him.
“We confirmed with Ms. Ries that the fruit she found around you was part of the food service for the staff and models.”
“Santangelo has a studio at Warehouse Five. He could have swiped the fruit and jumped me. It could have been him.”
“Mr. Toma is not your man.” Loncar stood up. “Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Kidd. Be careful.”
I stood up too. “Detective, I’m curious. If I actually graduated from your citizen’s police academy, would you take me more seriously?”
“Trust me, I take you very seriously.” He buttoned two buttons on his wrinkled coat and left. Eddie followed him out the door and drove off behind him.
I wandered around the living room, straightening magazines on the table, moving coffee cups into the kitchen. At one point I loaded and started the dishwasher, and then I vacuumed.
None of it helped.
I pulled on a navy blue pea coat over my sweater and skirt and went outside. The aluminum trash can was out of the way. I crossed the driveway and looked inside. The only thing left from the fire was a small residue of ash in the bottom center. I went back inside and found a mostly empty eye shadow compact in the bathroom. I tapped the remaining clump of purple powder loose, and went back to the trash can to retrieve a sample of the ash. I was only able to come up with two pinches, but for my purposes, it would do. I clicked the eye shadow case shut.
Some Like It Haute: A Humorous Fashion Mystery (Style & Error Book 4) Page 17