A Different Light

by Mariah Stewart

  Ignoring him, she opened the door and ran in the direction of the three houses that were engulfed in flame. The fire marshal met her a block from the conflagration and refused to let her go any farther.

  “Any one of those walls could go at any moment, Athen. I can’t let you get any closer. I’m worried enough about the men, without having to worry about you, too,” he said. “We’re trying our damnedest to keep it from spreading to the other side of the street, but it’s touch and go. We’ve already evacuated two blocks in every direction and sent folks to their relatives or to their churches to wait it out.”

  Quentin and Brenda caught up with her moments later. They stood in silence, watching the conflagration, until Athen finally exploded.

  Athen spit the words from between clenched teeth. “He will not get away with this. That son of a bitch.”

  “You don’t think that Dan Rossi …” Quentin began, but she cut him off.

  “Oh, yes, I do think. And I will not let him get away with this.”

  “Athen, before you start making accusations …”

  “Convince me that somehow this is a coincidence.” She turned wild eyes upon him.

  Quentin watched the fire burn out of control, watched the façade of the first house crumble, sending red-hot bricks blazing in a shower to the street below. The heat and smoke surrounded them even at this distance and they were forced to pull back to the end of the block.

  They watched in helpless disbelief as the second, then the third house fell, shaking the ground beneath their feet and filling the night with smoke and thunder.

  Quentin shook his head. “You’re right. This can’t be a coincidence.”

  Frozen to one spot, they stayed until there was nothing left to burn but the rubble. Then, stunned, Athen followed Quentin back to the car. Brenda caught up with the photographer from the Woodside Herald and was interviewing the city’s fire marshal as they passed. She waved to them, indicating that she’d get a ride home.

  “I can’t believe this happened,” Athen repeated over and over on the drive to her house. “I never would have believed that even Dan Rossi would stoop this low.”

  Quentin parked behind Athen’s car in the driveway and together they went inside. Even Hannah’s exuberant welcome could not break through Athen’s daze. She went directly to the kitchen and opened the back door for the dog without saying a word. She stood at the sink, staring out into the dark, then suddenly grabbed a glass from the counter, turned, and pitched it against the opposite wall. Glass flew across the room and rained down upon the floor. When she reached for another glass, Quentin grabbed her arm.

  “I understand the sentiment, but it isn’t going to help.”

  “How could he do this to Ms. Evelyn? To all the people who have worked so hard?”

  “You should know by now that Rossi doesn’t have a conscience, and isn’t going to be put off by you or anyone else from getting what he wants. And he wants his job back.”

  “He knows the job is his for the asking. He knows I have no intention of running again. He didn’t have to set those houses on fire to make his point.” Athen shook her head. “Uh-uh. This is about more than just Dan Rossi wanting his job back. This is about those properties. Why does he want to keep them in the city’s hands so badly?”

  “Good question.” Quentin paused thoughtfully for a very long moment. “It’s the question the Herald should be asking. Just what is it that Dan wants so badly that he’d risk setting an entire neighborhood on fire to get it?”

  SOMETIME AROUND SIX THE NEXT morning, Athen fell asleep on the living room sofa. Quentin sat at the kitchen table, replaying the recording of his interview with Dan Rossi, hoping to find something that would lead to an answer. A weary Meg, her lovely cream satin and lace gown wrinkled and limp, arrived home around eight thirty, accompanied by the senator. Quentin went into the hall when he heard them come in, and placed a finger to his lips when Meg poked her head into the living room. Meg nodded and tiptoed into the kitchen.

  Athen roused slowly from her sleep shortly thereafter. She sat up and sniffed.

  “I smell coffee.”

  “In here,” Meg said from the kitchen doorway.

  “What time is it?” Athen stifled a yawn.

  “A little before nine.” Quentin came into the room carrying a mug. “Cream, half a sweetener.” He handed her the mug.

  “It wasn’t a dream, was it?”

  “No, sweetheart,” he replied. “It wasn’t a dream.”

  She sighed deeply and leaned back against the sofa, unconsciously combing her hair with her fingers.

  “As much as it kills me to say this, I guess that’s it. He’s won.”

  “Only if you let him.” Quentin’s jacket, which earlier he’d removed and draped over her, slid off her shoulders. He reached over and pulled it up to cover her.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Like there’s something I can do to stop him?” She laughed bitterly. “No one can stop him. He’s proven his point.”

  “All he’s proven is that he knows where to go to find someone who’ll torch a building for him.” Quentin sat next to her.

  “What would you call what happened last night?”

  “A setback. One you could use to your advantage.”

  “Setback? The shelter went up in smoke.” Athen reminded him.

  “Only those buildings went up in smoke.”

  “Those buildings were the shelter,” she pointed out.

  “Then look for another site.”

  “There isn’t another site,” she snapped.

  “Then find a way to use the one you have.”

  “You aren’t making any sense.”

  “Athen, for starters, there are grants you can apply for from the government for this type of thing. All you need to do is track them down and apply.”

  Meg came into the room, her shoes long discarded and her hair hanging in disarray. “I’m so sorry, Athen. I know what this meant to you.”

  “It’s not me I’m concerned about. It’s all the people who needed that space to live in. Where will they go this winter? Riley told me on Thursday that the renovations would have been completed by the middle of January, the first of February at the very latest. Now there’s nothing.”

  “Come on in the kitchen.” Meg put an arm around her shoulders.

  Athen glanced at Meg’s bare feet. “I broke a glass. I need to get the broom and get the glass off the floor so that you don’t step in it.”

  “Done,” Quentin told her. “Hannah wanted in and I didn’t want her to get glass in her paws.”

  “Thank you. I don’t usually lose my temper like that.”

  “Understandable.”

  They followed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Athen was surprised to find Jeff Thompson at the kitchen table, his tie hanging from his open collar, the first few studs of his tuxedo shirt undone.

  “My condolences, Athen.” He pulled a chair out for her. “Meg’s been filling me in on recent history with those properties. You will, of course, request a full investigation.”

  “Immediately.” She reached for the fresh cup of coffee Meg offered. “I want the county fire marshal and the state fire marshal in on this now.”

  “How far up does Rossi’s influence stretch?” Meg asked.

  “I guess we’ll find out soon enough, but I’ve heard he has friends in very high places.”

  Quentin stirred cream into his cup thoughtfully. “Jeff, isn’t there money available at the federal level for projects of this sort?”

  “You mean like community development grants, inner-city renovations, that sort of thing?”

  Quentin nodded.

  “There are some programs, sure,” Jeff replied. “I’m not certain of the requirements, but I have a friend with the agency. I can give him a call first thing tomorrow morning, if you’d like.”

  “Would you do that?” Meg asked.

  “Would it put you forever in my debt?”

  “Abso
lutely.”

  “Consider it done,” the senator assured her.

  “That would be wonderful, Jeff.” Athen managed a smile. “I’d really appreciate any help you could give me.”

  “Well, I have to admit that knowing the background of the situation, then listening to Rossi’s sorrowful little dissertation last night about what a shame it all was . . .” Meg began.

  “What you talking about?” Athen’s head shot up sharply. “Where did you see Dan?”

  “He was at the scene when we arrived,” Meg told her.

  “I didn’t see him. Where were you?”

  “I was on the City Hall side of the block,” Meg replied. “Where were you?”

  “We came down Schuyler.” Athen plunked her cup down loudly onto the tabletop. “I can’t believe he had the nerve to show up there.”

  “Complete with crocodile tears and words of the most heartfelt condolences for the UCC.” Meg leaned back in her chair. “I even got him on tape.”

  “What?!” Athen fairly shrieked.

  “I called the station from Jeff’s car,” Meg explained. “I requested a camera crew ASAP. They were there on the corner, setting up, by the time I arrived. I had no idea that Rossi was going to come along.” She peered over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. “They’ll probably run the tape around nine. We can catch his little performance in the living room in about five minutes. Come on, let’s tune in so that we don’t miss a minute of it.”

  “I can barely wait.” Athen bit her bottom lip, her anger rising again. “That son of a bitch.”

  Quentin placed his empty cup on the counter. As he passed the refrigerator door, he paused, then leaned closer to inspect something held by a magnet.

  “Athen,” he asked, a look of puzzlement on his face, “what is this?”

  “What? Oh, that.” She waved a hand to dismiss its immediate importance. “Meg found that picture in the Herald archives. We were looking to see what had appeared in the paper the day my father had his stroke. I was trying to find out who the man standing next to Dan was but couldn’t. It’s a long story, Quentin.”

  She got up from the table, coffee in hand, to move into the living room.

  “Paul Schraeder.” Quentin was still focused on the photograph.

  “What did you say?” She paused in the doorway.

  “It’s Paul Schraeder.”

  “This man? The man next to Dan?” She pointed at the picture.

  Quentin nodded.

  “You know him?” she asked in disbelief.

  “He was corporate counsel for Rest America about five years ago.”

  “Rest America? What’s that?” Athen was suddenly all ears.

  “It’s a company that owns several hotel chains, some franchise restaurants, that sort of thing,” he explained.

  “How do you know all this? How do you know him?”

  “Rest America is owned by Bradford International.”

  “Your mother’s company,” she stated flatly.

  “May I borrow this?” Quentin held the picture up and she nodded.

  “What would he be doing with Dan Rossi?” she wondered aloud.

  “That’s a very good question.” He folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. “Now, let’s go see if we can catch Dan’s little performance on the morning news.”

  MEG AND QUENTIN BOTH spent most of Sunday interviewing the parties central to the issue. Ms. Evelyn, the Reverend Davison, Riley Fallon, and Edward Snipe, who as the head cook at the nearby UCC soup kitchen, spoke of the somber demeanor of those who had filed in for breakfast that morning. Face after face, each stunned by the unexpected turn of events, was photographed to appear either live on Meg’s evening broadcast or in print in the next day’s Herald.

  Athen spent the afternoon in her office meeting with Ms. Evelyn and several others to commiserate. She tried unsuccessfully on several occasions to reach the state fire marshal. She did manage to get through to the county marshal, Ted Boyd, but despite assurances that a thorough investigation was being conducted, she held little hope that any conclusive evidence would be forthcoming after Ms. Evelyn pointed out that Boyd was a longtime supporter of Dan Rossi.

  She was still trying to find a way around that, when Quentin called from his cell shortly before five to tell her he’d swing by her house around six thirty to pick her up. Understanding how busy they’d all been that day, Lydia had had dinner prepared for everyone. Athen arrived home shortly before Quentin did, and he waited patiently while she roused Callie, who, suffering from sleep deprivation following Carolann’s slumber party the night before, had crashed on the sofa.

  Although still festively bedecked, the Chapman house seemed somehow more somber, the events of the past eighteen hours overshadowing the holiday spirit of the previous night. Dinner was postponed in order that they might watch the seven o’clock rebroadcast of Meg’s coverage of the fire.

  “This is Meg Moran for Chapman Cable News.” Meg appeared on the larger-than-life screen in the Chapmans’ den, dressed in her lace gown. “I’m reporting from Woodside Heights at the scene of one of the worst fires in this northern New Jersey city’s history. The buildings burning behind me had only recently been leased to the United Council of Churches, a grassroots organization that was formed to help the unemployed and homeless of Woodside Heights. I’m here with former mayor, Dante Rossi. Mr. Rossi, it’s my understanding that you have been an outspoken opponent of this project since its inception.”

  “Now don’t you think for one minute that this”—he waved his hand behind them toward the burning buildings—“gives me any pleasure. It saddens me more than I can tell you to see a portion of this city I’ve loved and served for twenty years go up in flames.” He dabbed at his tear-filled eyes, pausing for effect. “As far as the shelter was concerned, that issue had been decided by a majority of the City Council. But I would like to remind you, Miss Moran, of two things. One, I was in opposition to using these old properties to shelter any of our citizens because I feared exactly what you see here tonight. I feared a loss of life, and God knows how many lives we would have lost had anyone been in these buildings when the fire broke out. And two, I have felt all along that taken in its entirety, the whole area could—make that should—be used to generate badly needed income for the city. I still believe that. Now, why don’t you go on home,” he said, his eyes narrowed to shining little beads and focused on Meg, “and ask that sister-in-law of yours what she intends to do now that she has several acres of empty ground on her hands.”

  “Mr. Rossi refers to the fact that Athena Moran, my late brother’s widow, is currently the mayor of Woodside Heights.” Meg remained cool and professional, not missing a beat in spite of her certain embarrassment.

  “Ouch!” Brenda, seated on the edge of the sofa, winced.

  “Ouch indeed.” Meg nodded grimly.

  “You handled it very well, dear.” Lydia patted her arm.

  “That won’t happen again, I assure you, Mr. Chapman,” Meg told him apologetically. “Rossi was there when I arrived and there wasn’t anyone else to do the interview. I didn’t want us to lose the opportunity. And I did send someone else to interview Athen.”

  “You go with what you’ve got,” he told her. “No apologies necessary.”

  “Hey, there’s Mom.” Callie brightened as Athen appeared on the screen.

  “… and of course, everyone’s still in shock,” Athen was telling Jennifer Gables, who’d been sent by Meg to cover this part of the story. “I’m grateful that no residents were injured, and I commend the firemen who did such an outstanding job in alerting the residents nearby and getting everyone to safety. I’ve had a report of several firemen who were overcome by smoke, but other than that, I’d say we were extremely fortunate.”

  “Is arson a possibility?” Jennifer stepped closer to Athen as the camera zoomed in.

  Of course it’s arson, you nitwit, Athen had wanted to scream. Cautioned, however, about what she said publicly, s
he appeared to pause thoughtfully before responding. “I think it’s a bit premature to speculate. We’ll have to wait to see what the fire marshal finds.”

  “Do you have any plans now for the use of that area?” Jennifer asked.

  “The ashes are still smoldering, Ms. Gables.” Athen shrugged wearily. “No one’s had time to consider where to go from here. We will, over time, look at several options.”

  “Good job, Thena.” Meg leaned over and patted her on the back.

  “You have no idea how hard it was for me not to have grabbed that microphone and spoken my mind,” Athen said.

  “Well, just keep biting your tongue,” Brenda pointed out. “And, Meg, I’d suggest that you continue to have Jennifer cover this from here on out. I understand that you were on the scene, and I admire how well you handled things under the circumstances. But it should not happen again. We must avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest through this. And I’m thinking you might want to keep someone else on the paper’s City Hall beat, Dad.”

  “I see the news hasn’t caught up with you yet,” Quentin told her. “I’ve already passed that torch. Which is just as well, since I’ll be leaving for St. Louis tomorrow.”

  “What for, dear?” Lydia asked, noting Rose Ellen’s signal that dinner was ready to be served.

  “I thought I’d pay a visit to the Bradford home office and see what was going on out there.”

  “Well, the board meeting isn’t until the end of January, dear.” Lydia motioned everyone toward the dining room.

  “I know, Mom.” Quentin took her arm. “But I thought I’d check on a few things before the meeting, so I could be better prepared this year.”

  “Really, Quentin?” Lydia beamed as he first seated her, then took his place next to Athen at the table. “You’ve no idea how pleased I am that you’re finally taking an interest.”

  “Oh, I’m certainly interested.”

  “Well, dear, you know that this being the holiday season, there won’t be a full staff in the office next week. I understand that a lot of the employees save some of their vacation days to take off this time of the year.”