by Laurie Cass
A surprise? There was no way that was going to be good. I started pulling at my bonds the second Faber left the room. Kicking my legs, pulling my arms, kicking and pulling, kicking, pulling . . .
The sound of the front door opening caught me up short. Leese and I exchanged glances. Was this guy’s head so messed up that he’d just left? Maybe he had some bizarre neurological problem and his memory was short-circuiting. Maybe he’d switched from revenge mode to forgetful mode and he’d just left. Maybe . . .
Then the door shut, and his dragging footsteps came closer.
“There you two are,” he said. “So glad you’re both still here. The party wouldn’t be the same without you.”
He sounded like he was smiling, but I didn’t look at his face, couldn’t look, really, because the only thing I could see was the bright red plastic five-gallon gas can in his hand. And from the way he was leaning over, the very full five-gallon gas can.
“I’m afraid,” Faber said, “that the party has to get started without Brad and little Mia. I have to get back to town to finish establishing my alibi. I’m sure you understand. Perhaps this is better in the long run. This way Brad and Mia have to live through the grief of losing their big sister.”
He chuckled as he took the cap off. “And I’ll get to watch. Did you know that I’m a brewing consultant? I must be, since I have a website and a business card that says I am. I’m also a nationally recognized IT expert.” He sighed. “People are so trusting. Tell them you’re up here on a long vacation and would like to see their operations and before you know it, you’re being given a personal tour.”
The smell of gas was wafting out of the can. My memory blinked in and out for a moment. Red plastic gas cans. Lawnmowers. Cut grass. Boats. The marina. Eddie. Rafe . . .
“Are we ready?” he asked. “Oh, dear. Neither one of you can talk, can you? Such a shame, but there’s nothing to be done about that.”
Of course there was. He could pull the tape off our mouths. He could also unwrap the tape from our wrists and ankles and go on his merry way. He could turn himself in to the police and get his lawyers to plead him as not guilty due to insanity. He could be committed to a psychiatric institution and get proper treatment.
Whistling again, Faber started sloshing gas around the room. Onto the area rug. Onto the hardwood floor. Across the wooden blinds. Across the papers on Leese’s desk. Across Leese herself. He splattered gas across the front of the bookshelves and into the wastebasket. Then he held the gas can upside down and walked backward to the front hallway, creating a long thin trail of flammable liquid.
As I watched, still doing my best to break free, it occurred to me that five gallons was a lot of gas. Two would probably have done the trick. Five was overkill.
The front door opened once again and I heard the hollow sound of the empty gas can being tossed out into the snow. “All set.” Faber limped into the room and wrinkled his nose at the smell. “Gas is malodorous stuff, isn’t it? Well, at least you won’t have to smell it for long.” He laughed. “Miss Librarian, I know I said you’d have a quick death, but guess what?” he asked. “I changed my mind.” Shrill laughter pealed out of him.
It sounded more like a ululation from a wild creature than anything created by a human being. One part of me was revolted by the sound; another part felt something almost like pity. That part, however, was quickly quashed by my primary emotion, that of white-hot anger.
“Now.” Faber dusted his hands. “I’d like to say a few last words to Miss Lacombe. You, your siblings, and most especially your father, ruined my life. To even things up, I killed your dear father and—oh, I didn’t tell you that story, did I?” He tsked at himself.
“As I said before, these things are so easy. I simply e-mailed him, asking him to meet me . . . well, not me as Simon Faber, of course, but me as Mike Davis, a prospective client, at one of his building sites. It was understandable that I would like to see his work, you see, but I was on a tight schedule and could only meet him at that particular moment, which happened to be a very unreasonable hour.”
Faber chortled. “I’d chosen the tallest building, arrived early, and made my way to the top floor. When he arrived, I called to him and he came up. From there it was a simple push.” He smiled at the memory. “The hardest part was moving him into my vehicle and then into yours, Ms. Lacombe. A dead weight, indeed.”
Laughing, he moved to the room’s corner and took hold of his walker. “Back to my earlier remarks. In order to even up a life turned to ashes, I killed your father and set out to ruin the reputations of his children. Putting his body in your truck, contaminating Brad’s precious beer, and destroying young Mia’s hard work. But killing Dale was so exquisitely satisfying that I’ve decided to continue in that vein. The best plan is one that can be adjusted on the fly, don’t you agree?”
I did, actually, but it pained me to agree with anything Faber said.
“Now.” He gave a perky grin. “Here’s how things are going to work. Gas burns quickly and I need time to get away, so I’m going to light a candle by the front door. I’ve put some tinder around its base, and when the candle burns down, it’ll light the tinder, which will light the gas, which will flame up nicely.”
A candle? He was going to light a candle! Hope flared inside me. A candle would take time to burn down. Leese would get herself loose and put out the flame before it—
Faber reached into his pocket, searched around, and held up a birthday candle. “Just right for a party, I’d say. And though, thanks to the Lacombe family, I can’t walk very fast, I’m sure I’ll have time to walk to where I’ve hidden my car before the fire grows large enough for the neighbors to see and call the fire department. Plenty of time for me to drive away and not be seen, especially if I don’t turn on the headlights.”
He shuffled toward the door, then paused. “Have a good night, Miss Lacombe, Miss Librarian. Hope things don’t get too hot for you.” Cackling, he made his way to the hallway.
I cocked my head, listening. Maybe he was too far gone to be thinking clearly, maybe he’d leave and forget to light the candle, maybe he’d—
Leese and I both flinched at the sound of a striking match. “Ahh,” Faber said. “Nicely done, if I say so myself. Toodle-oo!” The front door opened slowly and closed gently, so as not to let the cold air rush in and blow out the candle.
Silence settled over us, a silence so thick and deep I wondered if my ability to hear had been consumed by the sheer fright that was blooming inside me. Then I heard something.
On the other side of the room, Leese’s shoulders were jerking up and down and back and forth. She was trying to get her hands loose, and what was I doing? Nothing but wondering about hearing loss. Leese was a far better person than I was, and it was just too stupid if she had to die because I couldn’t be bothered to think of a way out of this mess.
“Mrr?”
I turned my head as far as I could, but didn’t see my cat. If I’d trained Eddie properly, I could have instructed him to knock the candle over onto the floor, away from the gas. Of course, since I couldn’t even figure out a way to keep Eddie off the kitchen counter, and since I was bound and gagged, that would have been difficult, but still.
“Mff.”
This time it was Leese making the noise. Her shoulders had a wider range of movement; she must be getting close. I was making a little bit of headway with my feet, but my wrists were stuck together tight.
“Mff!”
Straining with my legs, working hard with my arms, I looked up at Leese. Only she wasn’t looking at me; she was staring past me with eyes open so wide the whites were visible all the way around her irises.
There was only one thing that could make her look like that. I whipped my head around, turning far enough so I could see the door and saw . . . nothing. Then my brain jolted. A glow. There was a glow of light near the base of the door.
A flaring glow that meant the birthday candle had reached the tinder and was burning it down.
With a horrified fascination, I watched as the glow grew and grew and then began to fade as tinder burned itself out. Then, just when I’d begun to hope that Faber’s plan had gone wrong, I heard a whoof!
“Mffff!”
I knew Leese was shouting, knew there was a ripping noise, knew her hands were coming free, but there was too much gas poured in the room, too much on her, too much everywhere, and she wouldn’t be able to get away in time, she would be burned, her clothes would burn, her hair would burn, she would . . .
Gathering everything I had, all my strength, all my weight, all my energy, and what was left of my courage, I flung myself to the side, leaning and straining with every muscle in my body, and tipped my chair, crashing to the floor hard, using my body to block the rushing run of fire.
Heat seared the small of my back and I knew the flames were eating away at my clothes. I rolled toward the fire, trying to squash it out, afraid that my efforts weren’t enough, afraid that Leese was going to die, afraid that Eddie was going to die, afraid that—
A heavy weight was thrown over me and I suddenly couldn’t see anything. “Mff mfff!” Leese shouted. “Mfff mfff!!”
I had no idea what she’d said, but I couldn’t respond anyway since tape still covered my mouth and something was pinning me to the floor.
There was another ripping tape noise. “Hold still!”
Oh. Well, that I could do.
“The fire’s almost out,” she panted. “Hang on.”
A few seconds later, the weight was gone and I could see again. Leese, still with her ankles taped to the chair, was on her hands and knees next to me, the quilt that had formerly hung on the office wall piled in a heap.
“He only got gas on the corner,” she said, nodding at her grandmother’s handiwork.
The quilt was a mess of scorch marks and blackened holes. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “It’s ruined.”
Leese, who was untaping her ankles, snorted. “You should see your coat.”
“It’s just a coat,” I said. “No sentimental value attached.”
“Bottom line, that quilt saved our lives. Grandma would be pleased.”
She kicked free of the tape and the chair and went to work on me. In short order, my hands were their own again, and so were my feet. Together, we scrambled to stand. “We have to get out of here,” I said, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the door. “It’s too dangerous.” Both from the danger of fire and the danger of Faber returning.
After one glance around her office, Leese came along with me.
“Eddie?” I called. “Here, kitty kitty kitty.”
My cat, for once, actually came when I called, trotting into the formal dining room. I stooped to snatch him up, carried him into the kitchen, and pushed him into his carrier. “Let’s take my car,” I called to Leese over my shoulder. “I’m in front of your garage door.”
“Be right out.”
I picked up the carrier and started down the steps. “Leese Lacombe, get out of the house this minute.”
“Behind you, I promise.”
“If she’s not,” I said to Eddie, “as soon as I get you in the car, I’m coming back inside to drag her out.”
“Mrr!”
We charged outside, where it was now full dark, and for the first time ever, I put Eddie into the backseat. “Hope you understand,” I said, pulling the seatbelt around the carrier. “Because though you’re on the biggish side for a cat, you’re not anywhere near the size of a normal human, let alone Leese. She wouldn’t fit back here for beans.”
As I shut the back door, the dark shape of my friend came pounding down the stairs. She ran the few steps to my car and we got in, slamming our respective doors simultaneously.
I started the engine and pressed the gas pedal down hard. The tires spun in the slick snow. Muttering a curse, I let off the gas, used the transmission to rock the car back and forth, and slowly pulled forward through Leese’s turnaround.
“Do you have your phone?” I asked. “Call nine-one-one.”
“Can I use yours? Mine’s in my purse.”
She’d brought something with her from the house; I’d assumed it was her purse, but maybe she’d grabbed whatever she valued most, just in case the gas did ignite and her house burned to the ground. “Sure,” I said, and directed her to my backpack, down by her feet.
“Mrr.”
“Sorry about the smell, Eddie,” I said. The car had almost reached the road and I was starting to turn right, heading for the safety of Chilson. “I know we reek of gasoline, but we didn’t have much choice, and—”
“Mrr!”
“Will you quit?” I asked. “We have a guest in the car, you know. She’s not used to your whining.”
“MRR!!”
This time he was so loud my entire body cringed. My foot came off the gas and the car slowed. “Eddie, will you—” Then I noticed something. “Leese, there aren’t any tire tracks on the road. Not any other than mine.”
Her quick mind caught up to me in half a heartbeat. “Faber didn’t come this way.”
Our heads turned to the left. “What’s down there?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Leese said slowly. “Not a single thing. This isn’t technically a dead end road, though. It turns into a seasonal road a quarter mile down, but it connects to another road on the other side of the ridge.”
I’d lived in Tonedagana County long enough to know what that meant. “What kind of shape is it in?” Seasonal roads could be well-maintained gravel versions, or they could be little more than two tracks made by the occasional passing car.
“Horrible,” she said. “I walked it last week and called the road commission because there was a fallen tree across it. They said they might get to it before spring, but wouldn’t make any promises.”
My foot hovered over the gas pedal. “He’s probably still down there,” I said.
“Yes.” Leese stared at the snow.
“I mean, where else could he be?”
“Yes,” she said.
“He could be hurt.” I waited, but she didn’t say anything more. “Call nine-one-one,” I said. “Tell them about the gas in your house.” I stared straight ahead. “Tell them we’re on our way to check on the guy who did it, because he might be having a medical emergency.”
“Yes,” Leese said.
For a long moment, neither one of us moved. Simon Faber had killed my friend’s father. He had tried to ruin her sister’s, her brother’s, and her own reputation. He’d done his best to kill her and had almost burned down her house. Now it was likely that he had either fallen in the snow or crashed his car or . . . or something else that wasn’t good. No matter which way you looked at it, Simon Faber had intended to come out of the woods, and hadn’t.
Then, at the same time I put my foot on the gas and turned left, Leese picked up my phone and pushed the three numbers.
Chapter 19
Sunday I spent doing four things: sleeping in, having long discussions with a variety of different law enforcement personnel, having dinner and dessert with Kristen, and looking online for a new coat to replace the one that I’d ruined the day before by having the foresight to use it to stop the fire instead of my face or my hair.
That had been sheer luck, actually, because I certainly hadn’t planned my trajectory to the floor, but a white-faced Ash had said in a shaky voice that I’d probably done some fast calculations in my head without realizing it. I’d smiled, patted my former boyfriend on the arm, and let him keep his illusions.
Detective Inwood didn’t say much the entire time I was in the sheriff’s office, but when he was done taking notes, he stood and gave me a long look, which bore a strong resemblance to the way my dad used to look at me when I’d stayed up too
late reading Dickens.
I braced myself, but all he did was sigh. Which was what my dad had usually ended up doing, too. “Did you notice?” I asked.
His eyebrows went up as he slid his notebook into his jacket pocket. “A little more specific, please.”
Pointing at the table, I said, “I sat on this side.” All the times I’d sat in the interview room I’d sat in the same spot. And since I’d spent a lot of time waiting for the detective to show up on previous occasions, I’d also spent a fair amount of time being bored, and had stared at the water stain in the ceiling tiles, eventually turning it into a dragon shape. I’d once mentioned this to Inwood and he’d commented that I should sit on the other side of the table and take another look.
I pointed at the ceiling. “You were right; it’s not a dragon. It’s a cat.”
Inwood looked at me. “A cat.”
“Well, sure.” I kept pointing. “There’s the tail, the ears, and the chin. What else could it be?”
Detective Inwood shook his head, sighed, and left the room.
Sheriff Richardson, who’d been sitting in on the last few minutes of my interview with the detective, said, “I have no idea what you two are talking about. It’s obviously a loggerhead shrike.”
I wasn’t sure if she was joking or if she was dead serious, so I smiled briefly and asked what she thought the chances were of Simon Faber being incarcerated in a psychiatric facility instead of the prison’s general population.
“He’ll be evaluated by two doctors,” she said. “If he’s declared to be NGRI, the next step is to look for an open bed.”
I worked out the acronym in my head; Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity. “Do you think he’ll be declared insane?” I persisted.
The sheriff looked at me with a flat stare. “Minnie, I have no idea. Please don’t ask me to predict the future. My crystal ball has been on back order for years.” Then she sighed and said, “But if you’d like, I’ll follow his case and let you know what happens.”