No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7

by Barton, Sara M.

  “Want to grab a bite? We could hit Milsen’s Diner for a couple of club sandwiches and beer.”

  “Sure,” I smiled, somewhat forlornly.

  “Don’t worry, Dori,” he reassured me. “We’ll figure something out. It will all work out. It may not be the way you want it to be, but I won’t let you down.”

  “I appreciate that.” I thought about it. It was true. For all we had been through, and even in our darkest days, when I knew I couldn’t change his mind, Bosco was still supportive of me. He just couldn’t live in our house. It came as a shock to realize just how sincere he was in saying that, and a part of me felt ashamed that I had been so angry. All I wanted after Kevin died was the chance to grieve with Bosco, but I always felt so alone, so shut out. I knew he was hurting, too, but I never understood just how painful it was for him to be in the house without our son.

  The waitress greeted us cheerfully as we slid into a booth beside the front window. She seemed well acquainted with Bosco, so I suspected this was one of his regular haunts, especially when she brought him a glass of Sam Adams without asking him what kind of beer he wanted. I had asked for a glass of chardonnay and it arrived chilled. I ordered a turkey club, light on the mayo. She turned and gave Bosco a bright smile.

  “What do you want on tonight’s burger?” she wanted to know. I wasn’t used to seeing other women flirt with him, and for a moment, I wondered how well he knew her, especially when they bantered back and forth about the last Yankees game and the one coming up on Tuesday.

  “No burger. I’ll have what she’s having.” The waitress’s eyes flickered over me briefly and she nodded, jotting the order down before retreating.

  We chatted about ordinary things as we ate, catching up on our lives.

  Bosco ordered lemon meringue pie for dessert and a couple of coffees. I had a couple of bites from his plate before my cell phone rang. It was my neighbor, Betsy.

  “Dori, where are you? Are you okay?” She sounded frantic.

  “I’m with Bosco. We’re at Milsen’s. Why?”

  “Your house just blew up.”

  “What? What do you mean my house just blew up? Blew up how?”

  “You’d better get here fast. The fire department thought you might be inside. Dori, it’s totally gone, blown to smithereens.”

  Bosco and I made the ten-minute trip in seven minutes. The emergency vehicles lined the road on both sides, and all the neighbors stood around at a safe distance. We were greeted by the crowd. The firefighters stepped back from the smoking embers. The first floor was in the basement, the second floor where the first floor used to be, and the roof was all over the yard. It didn’t look like we would ever be able to rebuild.

  “Thank God you’re okay!” It was Randy Mickleson, my neighbor on the other side. “It made a hell of a racket when it went up.”

  “What happened?” Bosco encouraged him to share his version. By the time he finished, the fire chief approached us, wanting to ask questions.

  “Evening,” said the man in the heavy rubber coat and fire hat. “I understand you people weren’t home at the time.

  “No,” I agreed. “I wasn’t. I can’t believe this.”

  “Where were you?”

  “My ex-husband and I were having dinner.”

  “Divorced?” The fire chief’s eyes narrowed and he took a sideways glance at Bosco, who caught the action and looked the man right in the eye, sizing him up.

  “But friendly. What caused the fire?” Bosco asked.

  “Not a fire,” responded the chief. “Explosion.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” my ex-husband replied. “What blew up?”

  “The kitchen was the point of origin.”

  “Oh!” I cried. “Not the new gas range!”

  “I’m afraid so. Apparent gas leak. How new was it?”

  “We just got it…I just got it installed last week. I waited over a month for it.” I thought about how George insisted that I convert the oil burner to gas, and while I was at it, I should also have a line put in for a new gas range.

  “Why did you get a gas range?” Bosco demanded. “What was wrong with the range you had? It was only four years old!”

  “George suggested we update the house. I got a new gas burner, too, to improve the heating.”

  “Dori, there was nothing wrong with that oil burner. It was only seven years old. Don’t you understand that replacing systems before they wear out is a waste of good money?” I shrugged off the criticism. This wasn’t the time or the place for that. I was too miserable to fight with him. There was nothing left of the place I called home.

  “What time did you leave the house?” the fire chief wanted to know.

  “About fifty minutes ago,” said Bosco, checking his watch and calculating the amount of time we spent driving and eating.

  “You didn’t cook on your range tonight?” The fire chief looked at me expectantly.

  “No, I didn’t. I made coffee, but the pot has an automatic shutoff switch.”

  “This wasn’t caused by an electrical appliance. You didn’t smell gas before you left your house?” I shook my head. Bosco jumped in.

  “I was there, too. I didn’t smell any gas. The house was fine when we left.”

  “It’s not fine now,” the fire chief pointed out. We looked at the smoldering ruins of the house we shared for so many years. I couldn’t stop crying.

  “How could this happen? How could a house just blow up?”

  “It’s unusual. Who’s your insurance agent?”

  “Stanley Holstein,” Bosco offered helpfully, “with the Carson Agency. I’ll call him.”

  “Tell him the arson investigator will be in touch.”

  “Arson investigator?” I asked. We both turned to look at the man with the fire hat. “Are you saying someone deliberately blew up this house?”

  “Your gas line fed the explosions in three locations, the range, the gas burner, and the gas dryer. We can tell by the debris pattern.”

  “You have a gas dryer? What was wrong with the dryer we bought?” Bosco seemed more upset about the new appliances than about the missing house. I ignored him, trying to focus on what the chief was trying to tell us.

  “It was just installed and working fine,” I replied. My head was starting to hurt. “This doesn’t make any sense. First, George robs me. Now the house blows up. What’s next? I get hit by a car?”

  “Who’s George?”

  “My ex-boyfriend,” I sighed. “He cleaned me out. He re-mortgaged my house, stole my 401K, drained my bank accounts, and took cash advances on my credit cards.”

  “Did you report it to the cops?” the fire chief demanded. I took the card out of my wallet with the name and contact information for the detective handling the case. He handed it to his assistant. “We’ll get this back to you.”

  “Sure.”

  Half an hour later, with news crews filming the wreckage, Bosco and I waited for the insurance agent at Jana and Randy Mickelson’s house. Jana made a pot of coffee. Stanley Holstein arrived a short time later.

  “Unbelievable,” he announced, a tinge of excitement in his voice. “I’ve never had a case like this before.”

  “The fire chief says it looks like arson,” Bosco told him. Stanley nodded enthusiastically.

  “I heard. We won’t be able to pay you until the investigation has concluded, and provided you two aren’t involved.”

  “We’re divorced, Stan. Dori owns the house now. And I think it’s safe to say we have a pretty good suspect, since he took off with Dori’s money after he re-mortgaged the house.”

  “How did he manage to do that?” Stan was more than a little curious. By the time Bosco filled in the blanks, Stan and Randy were speculating on the possibility that I would receive nothing for the loss of the house.

  “You’d have to prove you had no involvement in the conspiracy,” Randy decided. “And that you had no prior knowledge.”

  “The police have a ful
l report,” I insisted. “I went to them as soon as I found the money missing from my bank account and my credit cards maxed out.”

  “They might still wonder if you were a willing participant. How long have you been dating the guy?” Randy didn’t hold back his interest. Jana poked him in the ribs and frowned.

  “It’s okay,” I told her. “We’re still trying to figure this out. Bosco thinks it’s because of his work as a forensic investigator. It’s payback for nabbing some powerful people. I think it was just a scam. The guy’s just a creep.”

  “Well, I think he’s a fool,” Jana decided. “I can’t believe he did that to you.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “Let’s head out, Dori.” Bosco put a protective arm around me. “Thanks, folks. We’ll talk soon.”

  On our way back to the street, where the car was parked, I took one last look at the house. My life was gone, obliterated by the explosion, and with it, the mementoes of the years.

  “I can’t believe it.” I stood, watching a lone fireman checking the perimeter of the house. “All of the photos of Kevin are gone. All his toys, his soccer trophies, even his baby booties.”

  Big tears rolled down my cheek. I brushed them away with the back of my hand. Bosco kissed my hair, cupping my head in his hand.

  “Not everything,” he whispered softly. “Come on.”

  We headed back to Rogerstown, past the diner. Fifteen minutes later, the silver Taurus pulled into a spot in front of Bosco’s apartment. I looked at the building, constructed in the nineties. Yellow brick, with wrought iron balconies and tiny patios, sliding windows, and some charm. The well-landscaped setting was also a plus. As I opened the car door, I caught the flash of my charm bracelet, with the little reminders of milestones in my son’s life. From the baby shoe to the soccer ball, there was a timeline of Kevin’s too-short life. After his death, I added the angel to the silver links.

  “At least I grabbed some of my jewelry,” I told Bosco, my throat tight.

  “Your diamonds?”

  “They’re in the safe deposit box at the bank. Do you think he got those?”

  “Probably not.” Even as he said it, I knew he was trying to comfort me, for at least tonight.

  “The only clothes I have are in my overnight case,” I sighed heavily. “I have no money to buy new clothes.”

  “I’ll lend you some.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to pay you back any time soon, Bosco.”

  Chapter Five —

  “I’m not worried,” he replied, opening the fire door at the back of the building for me and ushering me through. We walked down the corridor and stopped at the third door on the left. “You haven’t seen the place in a while, have you?”

  “No,” I agreed. I remembered that night I knocked to deliver the divorce papers.

  “Come on in.” He unlocked the door and opened it, revealing a large living room with a dining area. I looked around, noticing the new paint on the walls. It was brilliant white. He still had his brown leather recliner, but now he also had a beige recliner sofa upholstered in microfiber. He was using a small chest as an end table. A glass-topped contemporary coffee table sat in the middle of the room. There was a large flat screen TV mounted on the wall. I saw the small dinette set we used when we were first married sitting under a contemporary glass chandelier. “The kitchen is this way.”

  He led me into the tiny galley kitchen next to the front hall closet. With room enough for a small sink, a dishwasher, narrow range, and apartment-sized refrigerator, it was perfect for a person who didn’t cook much.

  “Your bathroom is down the hall.” He led me to a small room with a single pedestal sink, toilet, and claustrophobic shower stall. “As you can see, no one actually expected anyone to use this on a regular basis.”

  “It will be fine,” I replied, all too aware of the fact that I was one step away from homelessness and bankruptcy.

  “Your bedroom. madam,” he announced, opening the flat slab door to a room barely big for the twin bed in there. It looked like something you’d find in the dorm room of an accounting student, except for the light blue comforter with cartoon characters emblazoned all over it.

  “Kevin’s,” I sobbed, feeling the cotton between my fingers. “I can’t believe you have it. I thought it was up in the attic.”

  “Sorry.” He looked sheepish, standing in the light of the hallway, still holding my blue overnight case.

  “Don’t be sorry. If you hadn’t taken it, it would have been gone forever.”

  “Well, in that case, you’ll probably be happy to see the closet.” Bosco set the case down on the bed. “I’ll leave you to it. There’s an alarm clock in the top drawer of the dresser. There are sheets in the second drawer down. Towels are in the linen closet. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled at my ex-husband. “Good night.”

  “Sweet dreams,” he told me. “Don’t be afraid to wake me.”

  I pulled the comforter back and got to work making the bed. Not surprisingly, the sheets matched. I thought about the day Kevin and I picked them out at Target. He was so excited to have a “big boy” bed. A small, hard knot formed halfway between my heart and my throat and settled there. I remembered what Bosco said, and with hesitation, I approached the closet. With a slow twist of the door knob, I opened a memorial to Kevin. Bosco had added shelves, to hold all of Kevin’s trophies and treasures. There was the junior championship cup from the year before he died, as well as his first baseball trophy from his t ball league. I saw the dinosaur project Kevin made with Bosco in second grade, as well as the wooden race car my son carved with his Cub Scout pack. Hanging in the corner was the Packers jacket Bosco bought him for Christmas when he was ten. I examined every item, grateful that I didn’t know Bosco had taken these things. I would have been angry. I would have raged at his need to take away pieces of Kevin. And I would not have been standing here, with the last remnants of Kevin’s life.

  “Are you okay?” I heard my ex-husband speak from the doorway. I didn’t trust myself to reply, but I nodded. “Are you mad?”

  A small, tear-choked chuckle escaped from my lips as I fought to keep my composure. I shook my head in response. I was holding Kevin’s favorite race car in my hands, remembering his face when he opened the birthday package. “No.”

  “Good,” was all Bosco said before he disappeared into his bedroom.

  I didn’t think I would be able to sleep, but I got dressed in my pajamas and settled into the twin bed, feeling small, but safe. I left the light on, pulling the comforter up to my chin, glad that the air conditioner was on. I was reluctant to give up my covers.

  I slept surprisingly well, all things considered. I woke up to the sound of Bosco puttering around the kitchen. I hadn’t bothered to set the alarm clock, expecting him to be true to his usual early bird self. He didn’t let me down. I took a quick shower, towel-drying my short curls, before slipping into my clothes for work. That’s when I realized my car was still in the garage of the house that blew up. Or rather, what was left of my car was in what was left of my garage.

  “Damn!” I cursed aloud as I came out of the bathroom.

  “What’s the matter, sunshine?”

  “I have no car. How am I going to get to work?”

  “I’ll drop you off,” Bosco offered. “And I’ll pick you up.”

  “Lord, where’s the silver lining in all this?” I sighed, accepting the mug of coffee Bosco offered me. A slight smile crossed his face.

  “At least you don’t have to worry about explaining why you’re living at my place. Shall we have our coffee on the terrace?”

  We took our cups out to the tiny square of cement that overlooked a babbling trickle of water in a rock bed. There was a tall sugar maple, offering shade from the morning sun. Bosco had a couple of chairs and a small glass-topped table in one corner, and a small grill in another. I took a seat as Bosco set down his mug and went back into the condo. A mom
ent later, he was back with bagels and cream cheese, the newspaper tucked under his arm. We ate in companionable silence, flipping through the pages.

  “This place reminds me of our first apartment,” I told him. I saw the corners of his mouth turn up briefly, but he kept his eyes on the sports section.

  “Me, too,” he agreed. “That was a good place.”

  “It was.” We were newly married, almost penniless, and content to be together. Things were good then. As I gazed around, I realized it was no accident Bosco chose this unit. I started to comment, but I stopped myself. Maybe it was enough to know that Bosco needed to feel connected to those years.

  At quarter after eight, we headed out. Bosco dropped me off at Dynamic Productions, with the promise to return at five. He was going into the office to start the investigation into George’s con, to coordinate with the insurance investigation, and to have a lawyer handle the second mortgage fraud with the online lender. There was no house to rent, so there was no point in finding any tenants.

  I stepped into the foyer of our production house, only to be greeted by a crowd of five. Ralph was right there, with flowers, surrounded by Dom, Tony, Kendall, and Gloria.

  “Dori, we heard. We’re so sorry,” he said kindly. “You must be devastated.”

  ‘Yes,” I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes and spilling over the rims, only to trickle down my cheeks. I hadn’t cried this much since Kevin’s death. Even when George left, I didn’t have this many tears in me.

  “Are you sure you’re up to working today?” Gloria wanted to know. She gave me a gentle hug. She was our all-around go-to girl, a woman of nearly fifty with a big heart, a penchant for adopting stray animals, and a knack for soothing ruffled client feathers. “Let me get you a cup of coffee. Unger Ink called, by the way, to ask how long it will be before their commercial is ready. Should I tell them we need a few more days?”

  Even as she spoke, Gloria was walking me to my desk, flower bouquet in hand. She had the Unger Ink file ready, the tape cued up on my monitor, and the storyboard sitting on my desk. Dom’s notes on the shots we finished and those we needed to do were in my file box attached to the wall. I took a deep breath, seeing my familiar desk waiting for me, and turned to Gloria.