Opal Fire

by Barbra Annino

  “Maybe it was a memory from the past. A friend or a neighbor’s funeral?” Leo offered as he cut the engine behind the bakery.

  My voice had an edge when I spoke. “Why do I bother telling you these things? You never believe me.”

  “Whoa. In my defense, you don’t believe you.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  That was exactly the point, but he should believe in me, at least. Even if I didn’t. I shook my head.

  “Forget it,” I said and exited the car.

  Leo got out too and shut his door. “I’m just saying it might not mean anything.”

  I didn’t respond. Instead, I reached into the backseat and pulled out my work bag. There was really no point in discussing it. I had a job to do and so did he.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I have to go over some things with Cinnamon. Derek—” I cut myself short. Leo couldn’t know that Derek snapped those photos in the basement. If he did, he might confiscate them for evidence.

  He narrowed his eyes at me over the roof of the car. “Derek what?” he said slowly.

  I fumbled for a lie. “He was looking through the abstract of the Opal–that’s the entire history of ownership–and he thought it might be helpful, so he gave it to me.” I chewed my lip.

  It wasn’t technically a lie.

  “Let me see it.” Leo said, always the cop, suspicious to the core.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Reporters’ code of ethics. Can’t reveal my source.”

  “It’s not a source, its public information.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine, chief, if you don’t believe me...”

  Praying to the Goddess that the photos were buried beneath the document, I pulled out the thick envelope.

  I slid it over to him via the roof of the car. Leo caught it, unhooked the tie, and thumbed through the pages. After a minute or two, he walked around the car and handed the envelope back to me, his face softer.

  “I’m sorry,” he said and reached for my hand.

  I snapped it away. “No you’re not,” I said and stuffed the abstract into my bag.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  I met his stare. “You are who you are. You can’t turn off being a cop.”

  “And you,” he tapped the bag, “can’t turn off being a reporter. This is supposed to be our night and you’ll be working. Again.” He folded his arms in protest.

  “This is different and you know it. I have to—”

  “Hey!”

  We both looked up. Aunt Angelica was standing on the upper deck of the building. “You gonna smooch all night or you gonna eat, hah?” She waved a meaty arm. “Come on, mangia!”

  We both forced a smile and trudged up the stairs. Angelica hugged me, then Leo and ushered us inside.

  The crisp scent of lemon mingled with roasted garlic as I stepped into the small kitchen. My stomach growled in anticipation.

  Cinnamon, Tony, and Mario were spread around the dining room table in the next room. My cousin and her husband both looked exhausted. Leo shook Tony’s hand and they began chatting about basketball. I crouched to hug Cinnamon, but Mario interrupted.

  “There she is. How you doing, mi belisimo?” He snatched me away from Cin and pulled me into a hug, which put him at perfect boob-sniffing height since I was taller than him.

  I pulled away, choking on that awful cologne he marinated in.

  “Hi, Mario,” I said.

  He pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and said, “How come you not married, yet, hah?” This was directed at my rack.

  “Well, I’m still practicing, I guess.” I willed his eyes to travel up.

  Mario slapped his knee and chuckled. I looked to Cin for assistance.

  She got up and put an arm around Mario. “Why don’t you go on the porch and smoke that, Uncle Mario?”

  “But it’s cold,” he said to Cin’s cleavage. “Your mama won’t mind.”

  “Mario!” Angelica barked from the doorway.

  “Un momento, Angelica. I was just talking to Stacy, hah?” Mario liked to end most sentences with a question.

  “Now, Mario,” Angelica growled.

  Mario looked at me and shrugged. “Women, hah? She thinks because she older she still can boss me.” Mario searched for a match, pulled out a packet from Down and Dirty and glanced back at Angelica. She had a good fifty pounds on him, and he decided it might be easier to abide by her wishes.

  I watched him leave as Cinnamon poured me a glass of wine.

  “How long is he staying?” I asked when she handed me the Chianti.

  “Probably until I’ve plucked every strand of hair out of my head.” She moved to the floral sofa and I joined her. “Now he wants to be my lawyer. For a fee, of course.” Besides boob watching, drinking, and cologne shopping, Mario’s favorite pastime was scamming people out of their money. Cin continued. “He thinks it’s a shame that the insurance agent would refuse a payout.” She sipped her wine and puffed out her chest, mimicking her uncle. “In Italy,” she began in a deep voice, “buildings burn all the time. You have problem, you burn building. Nobody mind.” Cin looked at me. “Can you believe that? Like I really did it. What a jackass.”

  Ugh. I’d have to keep an eye on Mario. “We need to go over a few things, Cin. Tonight, okay?”

  She nodded.

  Dinner was delicious and uneventful. Leo and I stole glances across the table every so often, but there was a distinct nip in the air. In between idle conversation, bites of steak, and false smiles, his jaw was set, indicating he was still angry.

  My anger faded after the second portion of pasta and the first Chianti, but I didn’t have the energy to smooth things over with him. Maybe after dinner.

  Leo’s phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. He clicked a button, paused for a minute at the display and shook his head.

  “Damn,” he mumbled. “I have to go.”

  “What’s up?” asked Tony.

  “The Shelby farm.”

  “The goats again?” Tony asked.

  Leo stood up and sighed. “Yep.”

  “What is it this time?” Cin asked.

  “Someone strung battery-operated Christmas tree lights around them and opened the gate. Damn things are wandering all over the road, flashing and blinking.”

  Leo looked at me and said, “I’ll call you later.” Then he thanked Angelica and slipped out of the dining room.

  My cousin and I cleared the table, despite Angelica’s protests. When I went back into the dining room to retrieve my bag, Mario had his greasy hands in it.

  “Mario! What are you doing?” I snatched the bag from him, but he had the abstract sprawled on the table already.

  “What I do?” he asked. His pants were unbuckled and a caper clung to his chin.

  I gathered the papers, mopped at the sauce stains and said, “You don’t go through a woman’s things. Shame on you.”

  Mario raised his eyebrows. “Mi scuzi.” His voice was mocking, as if I were the nosy pig in this scenario.

  I shook my head at Cinnamon, who had no trouble reprimanding bad behavior, even dishing out punishments, but this was her uncle. She was raised to respect her elders, but I could tell she was considering a showdown.

  I heard the sound of running water and Tony emerged from the bathroom a minute later.

  We all turned towards him and he said, “What did I miss?”

  “Tony, take Uncle Mario out for a drink,” Cin said.

  “But I got no money,” Mario whined.

  “It’s okay,” Tony said, eyes locked on his bride. “It’ll be on me.” He didn’t seem too thrilled about it and I didn’t blame him one bit.

  “No,” I said. “You stay here. Cin and I will go to the cottage.”

  He didn’t bother to hide his relief. I imagined letting Mario loose to prowl was worse than containing him in the apartment.

  I kissed my aunt goodbye and Cin and
I traipsed out the door. Her Trans Am was parked in the back lot and we piled in.

  I unlocked the door to my cottage and Cin walked in first. Most people don’t lock their doors around town, but it was a habit I picked up living in the city that I couldn’t break.

  I had been in the house for about three months, but I still wasn’t used to Fiona’s taste. The place was a tidy, one-bedroom with a Jacuzzi in the living room. The carpet was leopard print, the focal point a giant shoe chair and the drapes looked like they were ripped off from Caesar’s Palace. See what I mean? Not quite my style.

  I fed Moonlight and Thor in the pink kitchen and spread the photos and the paperwork over the counter. Cin sat across from me and I passed her a water bottle.

  “What are we looking at?” she asked.

  I reached for a magnifying glass and we examined the first photograph. “Derek snuck into the basement and snapped a few shots. Something felt strange about the corner behind the stairs, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.”

  “Do, do, do, do...” Cinnamon sang.

  “Knock it off.”

  The first few shots were of the fire itself. The blaze was so bright it practically leapt off the page and heated the room. The next few shots were of the town. Main Street, buildings, people milling about, gawking, CoPs getting in the way, and the kid.

  The kid! He was right there in one of the snapshots. Only it was just the back of his head. I touched it and there it was again. The feeling of a spider crawling up my back.

  “Cin, that’s the kid I saw.” I pointed.

  “All I see is the back of someone’s head.”

  I held the magnifying glass to the image.

  Cin squinted. “Oh, that’s Chip Lewis. He helps out once in a while. I hired him a couple months ago to wash floors, move stock, that kind of thing.” She lifted her eyes to me. “But he wasn’t there that day. He had some school function. Chip only shows up when he feels like it.”

  I frowned.

  “Stacy, I know what you’re thinking and there is no way that boy started the fire. He’s a punk, but he isn’t evil.”

  “Why is he a punk?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. He’s got a mouth on him and I think he’s lifted a few beers. I can’t prove it, though.”

  “Then why is working for you?”

  “Well, he isn’t now,” she looked at me pointedly. “But I was in a bind when Bay left and I needed someone who only wanted to work a few hours a week. I didn’t know he had his head up his ass.” Bay was Cin’s brother. He left to play in a band in California after the New Year.

  We scoured the other photos. There was debris all over the charred floor. Broken glass, stray nails, and an old tin sign. I got up to stretch and Cin shrieked.

  “I knew it!” she said.

  “What?”

  “Look.” She tilted the magnifying glass to the last photo and shined it on a pack of matches. I peered in. The label read Down and Dirty.

  “That bitch!” Cin hopped off her stool and Thor barked.

  I lifted the picture and something else caught my eye.

  “Cin, calm down. Monique was at her place that night,” I said.

  “Oh, please. How easy would it be for her to sneak out?”

  I didn’t say that I thought Monique would be conspicuous if she were a slot machine in a casino. What I said was, “I’ll check it out.” But my money was on the cigar stub lying inches away from the matches.

  We glossed over the photos for a few more minutes and Cin turned to the abstract.

  “So what’s this?”

  “This,” I pointed to the thick packet of paper, “is the abstract for the building. It lists all the owners from the time of construction.”

  “I’ve seen this before, what does that have to do with anything?”

  I shrugged. “It might be helpful and it might not. I thought it was at least worth a look. Maybe someone who had it once wants it back? A fire would cause a lot of damage, but in a brick structure like that, it could be repaired.”

  “But why burn it at all? Why not just make an offer?”

  “Because it’s a lot cheaper to purchase a damaged piece of property.”

  Cinnamon looked doubtful. I kicked off my boots and hoisted myself on the counter.

  “They probably thought you wouldn’t sell it. But maybe with all the trouble of repairs—”

  Cin cut me off, “Stacy, you do know I don’t own the building.”

  No I did not. “What do you mean you don’t own it? It’s your bar.”

  Cin laughed. “You honestly think I could afford a half-million dollar piece of property?”

  Good point. “Well, I just thought, after your dad...”

  Cin was shaking her head. “Honey, I just bought the Black Opal. The business. Not the building.”

  I threaded that through my mind. “But the repairs...”

  Cin shook her head. “All cosmetic. That’s why I was going to pay for them.”

  It hadn’t even occurred to me that she didn’t own the building. She rented. Which meant she had a landlord.

  “Cin?”

  “Holy shit,” she said. Was she thinking what I was thinking? “What is that?”

  My gaze trailed her arm. She was pointing at the desk in my bedroom. Or, more accurately, she was pointing at the Blessed Book laying on top of the desk.

  “Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “So you are a believer!”

  Cinnamon jogged into the room and began flipping through the pages. “This thing is huge. I thought they were full of it, carrying on about this damn book.” She did a sweeping bow towards me. “And now, it belongs to you, The Seeker of Justice.”

  I smirked and hopped off the counter.

  “You are hilarious. It wasn’t like that, I went to them for help and—wait a second, you’re changing the subject, Cin.”

  “That’s because I know your next question and you won’t like the answer and then I’ll have to tell you you’re wrong again, and frankly, I’m beat.”

  “Who is it Cin? Who owns the building?”

  Cinnamon paused. “Huck.”

  That was all she said before a rock slammed through my kitchen window.

  CHAPTER 9

  I hit the floor and Thor exploded into a rage. He ran to the window, bellowing fiercely. I crawled into the bedroom to meet my cousin.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  I nodded and looked back. The rock lay on the counter where I had just been sitting.

  We waited a few minutes, listened for a car engine, footsteps, any sign of further harassment.

  When it seemed safe, we peeled ourselves off the carpet and crept toward the counter. Thor was still barking, but he stopped to sniff us, making sure we were both unharmed.

  I touched the rock. It was big and flat and cold. My stomach roiled as I felt the stone between my palms. What was it Birdie used to say about feeling nauseous? A sign of harmful intent? Yes, that was it. A gut feeling that someone meant to inflict physical harm. I could feel it then, right through the rock. Whoever launched it through the window meant business. This was no prank.

  Then I felt the note taped to the bottom.

  I flipped the rock over and peeled back masking tape. The note was folded in quarters. When I opened it up I saw my byline. Beneath that, individual letters cut from the paper spelled out:

  LEAVE IT ALONE OR MORE WILL DIE.

  Cin squeezed my hand and nodded to Birdie’s bible. “We’re gonna need a bigger book,” she said.

  That won a smile and my heartbeat slowed to a fast trot.

  “I’m calling Leo,” Cin said.

  The impact of the shattered glass fanned the photos across the carpet and I bent to collect them. Shuffling through the prints, I noticed one was stuck to the back of the last photo we had examined. I held it up. This was the photo I had asked Derek to shoot. The wall, the missing bricks. Missing bricks. Something was
bothering me about that. I found the magnifying glass and held it to the photo.

  “Cin, hang up,” I coughed.

  Suddenly my throat tightened and my breath came in spurts. It felt as if I had just been punched in the neck.

  “Why?” Her phone was cradled in her hand.

  “Look at this,” I said.

  Cin hurried towards me and peered at the photo, while I massaged my neck.

  In the space of one of the missing bricks, the flash had caught something...shiny.

  “What is that?” Cin asked. She lifted the photo and the magnifying glass.

  “I don’t know. But something is behind that wall.” I sucked in more air and exhaled long and hard. Whatever had constricted my breath was passing.

  Cin looked at me, then did a double-take. “Holy cow! Stacy you’ve got a bruise on your neck. Did you crash into something when you dove?”

  “I don’t think so.” I padded into the bathroom for a look. There was a slash of deep purple across my throat.

  As I stared into the mirror, fingering the bruise, a reflection not my own shot back. I screamed and scrambled out as fast as I could.

  “What? What is it?” Cin asked.

  “I, I...” All I could do was point.

  Cin rushed into the bathroom. “I don’t see anything. What happened?”

  My whole body shook. “In the mirror. There was...someone in the mirror.”

  Cin looked at me like I had completely lost my mind.

  “Cinnamon, call Chance,” I said.

  “Your old sweetheart? Why?” she asked.

  Before I could tell her about the girl in the mirror, before I had time to study the book, before I could say we had to get to the Black Opal right now, tonight—and Leo couldn’t know about any of it—my front door flew open.

  A wave of cold air rushed in, Fiona and Lolly trailing it. “What is it, what’s happened?” Fiona asked.

  Cinnamon and I exchanged glances. This would be bad. If some wack-job were trying to get rid of us, the last thing I wanted was for my aunts to get caught in the web. Not only because they were my family and I didn’t want them hurt, but because they were unpredictable and had the uncanny ability to turn a sticky situation into a super-glue situation with honey all over it.