Fifth Night

by Kathi Daley

  “Do you have news?” she asked, a tone of anxiety in her voice.

  “We just have a few questions for you. I hope that’s okay.”

  Abby nodded. “The twins are napping, so I’ll need to keep an ear out for them, but I can talk until they wake up. What did you want to know?”

  I leaned forward and attempted to make eye contact with the obviously nervous young woman. “I know talking about this is probably very hard for you and I wouldn’t keep asking so many questions if we didn’t really need to.”

  Abby looked at me with huge, sad eyes. “I know. It’s okay. Ask me anything you need to.”

  “According to information I’ve been given, you’d been out shopping on the day you found Bobby in the garage.”

  “That’s correct. My friend Laurie had taken the kids to the park so I could get some errands done. Bobby had been on a shift at the firehouse, but he was due to get off at five, so my plan had been to put the groceries away, pick up the kids, and then make dinner.”

  “So your car must have been parked in the drive?” I asked.

  Abby nodded. “I knew I was going to be going out again, so I didn’t bother with putting it into the garage.”

  “Okay, so you parked in the drive and brought in your groceries. Then what happened?”

  A tear ran down her cheek as she softly answered. “I smelled exhaust. It didn’t occur to me it was car exhaust at first, but I wanted to be sure we didn’t have a gas leak or something before I brought the kids home, so I started to look around. I went into the garage and saw Bobby’s car. At first, I thought he must have gotten off early for some reason, but then I realized he was sitting in the driver’s seat but not making any attempt to get out. I walked over to the car. I realized right away that something was wrong. His seat belt was still buckled. I opened the car door, and it was obvious he was dead. I ran back into the house and called 911.”

  “So Bobby had been on shift for a regular forty-eight hours and had taken his car with him when he left home,” I clarified.

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  For some reason, I’d assumed right up to this point that Bobby had been at home and the car had already been in the garage prior to whatever happened that led to his death, but if he had been at work, that meant he must have left early for some reason. Could someone have followed him?

  “The report said the car engine had been turned off by the time you found Bobby.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure you didn’t turn it off after finding Bobby was dead?”

  Abby shook her head. “It was already off. When I realized he was dead, I ran back to the house and called 911. I didn’t go inside the car or do anything else. I was shaking so badly, I couldn’t have turned off the ignition even if it had been on. Do you have any idea how shocking it is to find the man you plan to grow old with sitting so naturally even though you know he’s dead?”

  “Honestly, I can’t imagine. It must have been horrible.”

  “Horrible is putting it mildly. At first there’s this flash of disbelief. It’s like you know what you’re seeing is real, but your mind refuses to accept it. And then comes panic, followed by a deep and intense grief. The minutes right after I found Bobby are still sort of a blur, but if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that the engine was already turned off when I arrived home.”

  I glanced at Brit. She offered a look of encouragement but didn’t respond. I took a deep breath and then asked my next question. “You mentioned Bobby still had his seat belt on.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I thought maybe he drove home, pulled into the garage, and was met by whoever killed him. I have to believe he was knocked out in some way or he would have tried to get free, but the man who talked to me after Bobby died didn’t think anyone else had been here.” Abby looked me in the eye. “But someone had to have been here. Right? Someone knocked Bobby out, put that note in the car, and then closed the garage door. They must have waited until Bobby was dead and then turned off the engine and left. It’s the only way it could have happened.”

  Brit was frowning, but I didn’t want to break contact with Abby to see what was on her mind, so I asked my next question. “You said Bobby was at work and wasn’t due home until five. He obviously left the firehouse early. Has anyone ever said why?”

  Abby paused. Her eyes flickered, as if she was trying to remember. “No. I don’t think the reason for Bobby being home early ever came up.”

  I made a mental note to check it out. “After you called 911, who showed up first?”

  “Captain Oliver. He got here real quick. He told me to wait in the house and he would take care of everything.”

  “Captain Oliver is the fire chief where Bobby was assigned?” I clarified.

  “Yes, ma’am. He said he was heading back to the firehouse after responding to a medical emergency in the neighborhood, so he was close by when the call came over the radio. He came straight over. I’m not sure what happened after that. I waited inside until one of the deputies came in and began asking me questions. I was in shock at that point. I barely remember even answering.”

  “I understand you had just found out your husband was dead and things must have seemed almost surreal, but is there anything you can remember from that day that struck you as odd? Anything that stood out as not being quite right?”

  Abby glanced toward the window and then back at me. She frowned but didn’t answer right away. Then she began to speak. “There is one thing that seemed odd. It’s probably nothing, but after everyone left, I noticed the mailbox out by the street was leaning to the side and had a dent in it. It looked like maybe someone had run into it. I figured maybe one of the vehicles that responded to the 911 call had backed into it, but the paint that had been left on the mailbox was green. None of the emergency vehicles were green.”

  “And you’re sure the mailbox was undamaged when you left to go shopping?” I asked.

  “Pretty sure. The mail hadn’t come for the day yet when I left, so there was no reason for me to check it, but it was leaning quite a bit afterward, so it would seem I would have noticed.”

  “Do you remember noticing if it was leaning when you came home with the groceries?”

  Abby shook her head. “No. I don’t remember noticing one way or the other.”

  It occurred to me that it might be worthwhile to speak with the neighbors. If someone had noticed a car at the house earlier in the day—a green one, to be specific—it was possible someone might have seen a killer.

  After we left Abby’s, Brit and I decided to go over to Rick’s office. Not only was I curious about whether it had been possible to track down Bobby’s whereabouts during the five fires, but I wanted to speak to him about our conversation with Abby.

  “I was just about to call you,” Rick said when Brit and I entered the reception area.

  “Did you find something?”

  “According to interviews conducted at the time of Bobby’s death, he was at the firehouse during the first, second, and fourth fire, and at home during the third and fifth.”

  “So Bobby couldn’t have set the first, second, and fourth fires,” Brit said.

  “Definitely not the first one. The fire was called in at ten-fifteen, so the rest of the crew would most likely still have been awake and would have noticed if he left. The second fire was called in at two-thirty a.m., the fourth at three-ten a.m., so it’s possible, although highly improbable, that Bobby could have snuck out while the others slept, started the fire, and then snuck back in before it was reported.”

  “It would be some feat to pull that off,” I said.

  “I agree. It does look as if he’s at least innocent of setting the first, second, and fourth fire. It seems unlikely he was able to sneak out to set the third and fifth fires, which occurred when he was at home, without anyone noticing but not impossible. Especially if Abby is a sound sleeper.”

  “Even if he snuck out while Abby slept and started the third an
d fifth fires, why would he leave a suicide note accepting responsibility for all five?”

  “He didn’t actually claim responsibility for all five,” Rick answered. “I took another look at the note he supposedly wrote. It says he’s responsible for a man’s death and that’s something he can’t live with. It’s possible he’s only responsible for setting the fifth and only deadly fire.”

  I leaned against the counter. “That makes no sense. If there was a serial arsonist out there, why would Bobby suddenly decide to set a fire of his own?”

  Rick shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not saying he did. As we’ve said from the beginning, it’s possible the suicide note was a fake.”

  I hated that this case seemed to be getting more and more confusing with each new piece of information we uncovered. “Brit and I spoke to Abby this morning,” I said, deciding to move on to the news we had to share. “We discovered two interesting facts. One was that Bobby had been on shift on the day he was found dead. He hadn’t been scheduled to get off until five, but Abby discovered his body in the garage earlier in the afternoon. She didn’t specify a time, but I got the impression it was an hour or two before he was due home. I asked her if she knew why he had come home early and she said she didn’t.”

  Rick’s gaze narrowed. “I wonder if anyone ever checked that out.”

  “I don’t know. I was hoping you did.”

  “I’ll look in to it and let you know what I find. Anything else?”

  “Abby said that after all the emergency vehicles left, she noticed her mailbox was tilted to one side. She figured one of the vehicles might have backed into it, but she noticed a dent in the box with green paint around it. She pointed out that none of the emergency vehicles were green.”

  “Maybe the mailbox was already dented.”

  “She said she didn’t think so,” I told Rick. “I thought it might be worth our while to talk to the neighbors to see if any of them noticed a green car in the Bostons’ drive on the day Bobby died.”

  “I agree. It’s been six months, so we may have a hard time finding anyone who can remember that far back, but it wouldn’t hurt to put out some feelers. Anything else?”

  I glanced at Brit. She shook her head. “I guess that’s it for now. Brit and I were going to try to speak to the property owners from the five fires to see if anything pops. If you find out anything important, call me.”

  “You might want to tread lightly when speaking to the fire victims. I know you can dig in and go for the kill when you’re working an angle for a story, but remember, these people have already been through a lot.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll play nice.”

  By the time Brit and I left Rick’s office it was time for lunch. The deli was just down the street, but at Gertie’s you could usually pick up a side of gossip to go along with your sandwich. I couldn’t help but glance at my phone as I plugged it into the car charger. Still no message from Jack. What on earth could be going on that he couldn’t take a minute to answer my text?

  “Everything okay?” Brit asked as I pulled onto the highway and headed toward the wharf.

  “Everything’s fine. I was just wondering how Jack’s doing.”

  “He still hasn’t called?”

  I shook my head.

  “He will,” Brit assured me. “Parent and child relationships can be complicated.”

  “Tell me about it. I haven’t seen my own mother in years, and when we do speak, it’s short and to the point. I know Jack is closer to his mother than I am to mine, though, and I really hoped I’d have a chance to meet her.”

  “It’s best to let Jack control the timing of the introduction of his mother to his girlfriend. I wonder what she’s like.”

  “She sounds like a tyrant. I keep picturing this huge, overpowering woman ruling over poor Jack with an iron fist.”

  Brit picked up her phone and punched in a few commands. “Based on this photo, it appears she’s petite, with long dark hair and the skin of a twenty-year-old.”

  “Must be touched up,” I countered.

  Brit shrugged. “Maybe. But if I were you, I’d go into this with the mind-set that you’re going to like Jack’s mother. Nothing good can come from you deciding you hate her before you even meet her.”

  “I guess you have a point,” I acknowledged. “The thing is, I don’t even know what the problem is between Jack and his mother. I just keep picturing her bullying him into moving back to New York, which would effectively tear him from my life.”

  “Jack cares about you. He would never let that happen.”

  I hoped Brit was right.

  Chapter 7

  Gertie’s was packed, as it usually was at that time of day. There was one booth free in the cove overlooking the marina, but it had a “Reserved” sign on it, so Brit and I took seats at the counter. We both ordered soup and individual loaves of hot bread. The rain that had been coming and going all day was back, so it was a dreary view out the windows overlooking the harbor.

  “How did your chat with Abby go?” Gertie asked after setting our food in front of us.

  “It went fine.” I took a small bite of the thick, creamy lobster chowder. “I could see it was hard for her to talk about finding Bobby dead in the garage, but she did a good job of maintaining her composure. Things went down differently from what I initially imagined.”

  “Oh, and how’s that?”

  I reluctantly set down my spoon before answering the question. In my opinion, I made a pretty good soup, but Gertie certainly had a magical touch. “For one thing, Bobby had been at work on the day he died. He wasn’t due home until five, yet Abby found his body in the garage before that. I can’t help but wonder why he left early. And I wonder why that never came up in the initial investigation. You would think someone would have mentioned it at some point along the way. Of course, maybe it was mentioned, and we just haven’t come across it.”

  “It seems you’re tryin’ to cover a lot of territory in a short amount of time. It’s not surprisin’ things might be overlooked.”

  I picked up my spoon and took another bite of food. “You usually have a good take on things. What do you think we might be missing?”

  “I’m not rightly sure, but Quinten and I spoke after we left your place last night, and he told me it feels like something is missin’ from the autopsy report.”

  “Something like what?”

  “He either didn’t know or didn’t want to say until he had a chance to look at things again. I suppose it’s possible there could have been clues at the scene or details about the death that someone tried to cover up. Bobby was a firefighter, and it was his fellow firefighters who showed up first to the 911 call. Maybe they found something they knew would be incriminatin’, so they made it disappear before law enforcement arrived.”

  “What could be more incriminating than a suicide note basically confessing to killing a man?”

  Gertie shrugged. “I’m not sayin’ I know anythin’, I’m just sayin’ I have a feelin’ there’s more goin’ on than meets the eye.”

  I certainly hoped Gertie was wrong because as far as my eye was concerned, there was already too much going on to make sense of things. I returned my attention to my soup and Gertie left to serve other customers. I’d found all the cases the Mastermind Group had taken on interesting, but this was the first one I felt desperate about solving. A woman’s ability to care for her children appeared to depend on whether we could prove something that might not be provable.

  “Don’t turn around, but Jack just walked in the front door,” Brit whispered from beside me.

  Of course I couldn’t help but turn around. Standing next to Jack at the hostess station was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I put my hand over my mouth to make certain it wasn’t hanging open as I watched the pair talking and smiling as if they were the best of friends.

  “Is that his mother?” I whispered after turning back to Brit.

  “I think so. And they’re coming this w
ay.”

  Of course they were. I’d imagined meeting Jack’s mother many times, and in each of those daydreams, I’d been looking professional and pulled together, not like a drowned rat with frizzy hair who’d been running around in the rain all day.

  “Jack, how nice to see you,” I said in a cheery voice that was only slightly more fake than the nonsensical words coming out of my mouth, considering I’d slept with him two nights earlier. Or at least I’d slept with casual, easygoing Jack Jones. The man in front of me had not only put on a suit and tie but he’d blown dry and styled his hair. In many ways, he didn’t look a thing like the Jack I had fallen in love with.

  Jack smiled back at me, but the look in his eyes was guarded. Apparently, he was no more thrilled to see me than I was to see him. “Mother, I’d like you to meet Jillian Hanford. Jillian, this is my mother, Raquel Jones.”

  I found myself wishing for a wormhole through which to escape as I offered the woman a smile and a handshake. She ignored the hand but returned the smile.

  “You must be Jackson’s journalist friend from New York.”

  Journalist friend? I was hoping for girlfriend, but okay. I nodded and tried to think of something clever to say, but my mind had gone completely blank, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Yes, I’m a journalist, and while I used to live in New York, I live on Gull Island now, and work at the newspaper with Jack.”

  “I see.” She looked me up and down. “And why is that?”

  I hesitated. “Excuse me?”

  “Why did you leave a promising career in New York to work on a small weekly paper in the swamplands of South Carolina?”

  I glanced at Jack, unsure how to answer. Jack glanced back at me with a look of apology in his eyes.

  “It looks like Denton is here,” Jack said, glancing toward the door, where another man in a suit stood. “We should find our table.” Jack took his mother by the elbow. “It was good seeing you, Jill.”

  I watched in stunned silence as he led his mother to the table that had been reserved in the little nook that overlooked the marina. The men shook hands, and then Jack, his mother, and the man all took their seats.