Down To The Needle

by Mary Deal

  She thought a moment. “I-I don't know. I was almost asleep.” She tried never to pay attention to the sounds of motorcycles. Who paid attention to something they didn't want to hear in the first place?

  “Would those teens normally be out that late at night?”

  “Can't really say.”

  “How is it you two could hear nothing else, right inside your home?”

  “It's a well-built house, Britto. The rooms are pretty soundproof.”

  Her house also had thick carpeting and drapes that absorbed sound and promoted peaceful solitude in any room.

  “Well, it seems they got in by prying out a loose pane in one of your patio doors.”

  “But my house isn't that old.”

  “Don't forget, Abi. Those doors and windows rattle in the wind. I hadn't haven't a chance to finish the repair.

  Coastal living with the salt air and brisk sea wind took constant toll on every house in the neighborhood. “They must have been skilled in prying window glass loose.”

  Det. Britto paced with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Then he turned to face them. “With a house like yours and all those nice furnishings, why have you never had a burglar alarm installed?”

  “That's a moot point, ol' buddy.”

  Joe stood and stretched his back. He poured water and held the cup so she could take a couple of sips.

  “With a silent alarm, the police would have arrived while the perps were still inside.”

  “A hostage situation would have been worse, Britto.”

  “Do you think they were professionals?”

  “If it was a professional torch, it would have been a single arsonist. They work alone and can walk as quiet as a cat.” Det. Britto pulled on his beard. “They're paid to do a hit, usually when someone wants to collect on insurance. Or take somebody out.”

  Now Abi had another dilemma. She would have to convince the insurance investigators she had nothing to do with the fire. What better motive would she need than to get out of debt or to pay an attorney to resolve her daughter's case?

  “It's connected to the Yates fire, Britto. It's gotta be.”

  “More professional than….” Suddenly Det. Britto's eyes opened wide. He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, thinking. “But maybe….”

  “What is it, Britto?”

  “Professional, but not that professional. A pro would have saturated that trail of newspaper with some sort of flammable.”

  “Always?”

  “Would've burned a lot farther a whole lot faster. A professional arsonist would have turned off the sprinklers.” Det. Britto paced at the foot of the bed, again stroking his beard. “Not pros.” He snapped his fingers. “Amateurs.”

  “How do you figure?”

  Det. Britto turned to face them. “If it was a pro who really wanted to do you two in, you can bet that fire would have started upstairs.”

  “Really?” Abi sat up straighter. The thought was sobering.

  If a professional arsonist wanted to take them out, he might have even knocked them both a good wallop on their heads while they slept. The next logical thing would have been to start the fire in the bedroom, make it look like a cigarette accident or something. Starting the fire in the bedroom would assure that it got to her and Joe first, instead of leaving it to chance that the flames would travel up the stairs and walls.

  “They go through that much detail?”

  “To cover their tracks.”

  The upstairs would burn and cave in taking the bodies with it. By the time any remains are found, a blow to the head from something other than a falling beam or wall would be hard to prove.

  “So you're saying who ever set this fire intended to kill at least Abi, but didn't have the experience to pull it off?”

  “Yep, just like the sloppy Yates fire.” He paused and smiled almost deviously, on to something. “I think I got me a connection between more than one or two of these fires.” He still paced.

  “So, spill it.”

  Det. Britto turned to face them again. “Your fire actually burned slower than a bonfire on a rainy day. These fires look pro, but they're all done haphazard, sloppy, maybe not by the same person, but maybe—just maybe—by the same group.”

  “Are you saying…?”

  “Amateurs, trying to look pro.” Det. Britto couldn't help but look happy.

  “Gang members?”

  “A lot of different amateurs and all involved in malicious crimes.”

  Det. Britto couldn't stand still. Abi felt his anxiety. The more she watched him, the more she felt his need to bust open the Winnaker case. His input was exactly what they needed. She was grateful he shared his thoughts impulsively. She knew he trusted them. “You suppose they take turns setting fires? Some sort of initiation maybe?”

  “What about the fireworks fire? Any official word on that yet?”

  “Investigators say the heater exploded. Someone left the heater in the office on, full blast.”

  “Seems awfully careless that no one would check a heater in a fireworks factory.”

  Det. Britto nodded. “Exactly. The heater was left as high as it could go.”

  “No suspicious signs at that fire?”

  “No incendiaries found. The owner told our guys he's always the last one to leave and always checked the furnace. He's sure he turned it off.”

  “Any sign of a forced entry?”

  “No way to check.” What was left of the building lay in ash on the ground around piles of soaked-down fireworks. “Only thing they could do was let the canines sniff it out. No accelerants were detected though.”

  Joe continued to shake his head. “Too many fires.”

  Det. Britto turned toward the doorway as if about to leave, then turned back. “I've got a lot of checking to do now. But anyway…” He suddenly flashed a lopsided grin. “I'm supposed to tell you two not to leave town.”

  They laughed. “No one would recognize us, right?” Abi held up her bandaged hands. They laughed again.

  “I do have some other good news, though. Kenton's got Becky drawing pictures of the area again.”

  “From memory?”

  “Sounds like it. This time, Kenton's found something even I can verify.”

  Chapter 36

  Abi's heart fluttered. Any mention of a clue to help her daughter and she would make the most of it. “What has she drawn?”

  “The pier at Pt. Meare.” Det. Britto's quizzical smile said he was astonished at the sudden coincidences.

  “Nothing new.” Joe passed it off with a wave of a hand.

  “She drew the pier too short.”

  “Short?”

  “The way I see it, Becky Ann would have been about three or so when that pier first went in.”

  “Yes.” Abi sat up straighter. “Yes.”

  A nurse poked her head through the doorway and waited, watching the monitor. Abi relaxed into the pillows as the nurse eyed the read-out, then smiled and left.

  “This pier she just drew had no railings.”

  “Yes!” Abi sat forward again. Becky had been missing twenty-three years. The pier was lengthened and railings added when Becky would have been eight years old. But she was long-gone. “Becky drew the one she remembered.”

  “That's right. Now, I have to assume she went all over this town and saw the longer pier when she first came back. So why would she draw a short pier with no railings, then claim adamantly that's how she remembered it?”

  “Oh, Becky.” Abi brought her bandaged hands up to her face. “Becky.”

  All the commotion caused an erratic read out on the heart monitor. Nurses rushed into the room. “What's going on here?”

  “I'm all right.” She closed her eyes so Joe could dab at her tears.

  One nurse studied the monitor again until she seemed satisfied. “The doctor's going to release you today. He just wanted to keep you overnight to make sure you were stable.”

  Before Abi was to be discharged
, Joe left to meet with the Police Department's investigators at her home so he could retrieve her jewelry and salvageable clothing and Becky's infant clothing and other items. The second floor had not been totally destroyed. The rest of the charred or smoke damaged belongings had to stay till the arson investigation could be completed.

  Later, at Joe's home, Abi smiled, thankful for friends like Lindsay, for her gift of a pair of pink satin lounging pajamas and robe. She was also thankful for the safe haven of Joe's inviting home.

  “I see you've made yourself comfortable.” Joe walked through the door from the garage carrying an armload of bags and boxes. “Some things I hope you'll like.”

  “Gifts? Why?”

  “New clothes, sweetheart. Your others smell like smoke.”

  She began to poke through the packages but decided doing so could wait till the next day. She sat up allowing him to settle behind her into the oversized couch and prop his bare feet on a cushion on the coffee table. Then she leaned back and settled her head on his lap. He was in a good mood and that was a relief. “Thank you, Joe, for being part of my life.”

  For her, depression had begun creeping in. On top of it all, she now had to deal with feelings of loss for her lovely home, the special place she had painstakingly furnished and maintained for Becky's return, despite nearly losing hope over the years.

  “I always wondered what it would be like living together.” He sounded like he meant to tease.

  Abi felt saddened. “If it was predestined, I wish it could have started a whole lot differently.”

  “Does it matter, as long as we're together?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. To be quite honest, I'm glad there's no place you can go. You can't even box my ear when you get angry.”

  “Oh, no?” She sat up and half-turned to face him. “I can box. My hands are already taped.”

  He laughed. “Now we'll have more time alone together.”

  She reclined against him and sighed. “But we're not alone.”

  He kissed the back of her head. “She'll be gone soon.”

  “That's wishful thinking, but I'm trying to be positive.”

  “If it's any consolation, her psychiatrist assures me her memory's returning. Working with Edith at The Beacon is helping restore her self-esteem. I look forward to the day I'll be able to make that call to her family.”

  “Edith sure does her part, doesn't she?”

  “Thank goodness for Edith. It gets Margaret away from here for a while.”

  “The few close people in our lives are some of the finest friends anyone could have.”

  “Of course, you're including me in that, aren't you? So trust me, Abi, about Margaret.”

  Abi dealt with the fact that her jealousy could get out of hand. She felt vulnerable. She was still waiting for repercussions from the torn photo. As far as she could tell, Margaret had not made any moves on Joe. “It's just a matter of time.”

  “Will you lighten up? She's just a little too friendly, like she doesn't know how else to be.”

  The words too friendly made Abi's hair bristle. She was afraid of Margaret's over-friendliness and wondered just how much she might have tried to warm up to Joe. Abi reminded herself again to control her emotions. “I can't help wondering how she'll react when she finds I'm living here.”

  “Abi, you don't need her approval.” He played with her hair. Then he moved to get up saying, “You sit right here. I'd better change the sheets before you climb in.”

  Later, after a quiet dinner, someone tapped on the kitchen side door. They looked at each other knowing full well who it was. He went to answer the insistent but quiet rapping. Abi strained to hear.

  “Yes, what is it, Margaret?”

  “I just thought I'd let you know how I was doing at The Beacon.”

  Her reason sounded like a flimsy excuse. Why would she visit at such a late hour, and why would Joe suddenly have to change the sheets?

  “I'd heard from Edith that you're doing well, but keep me posted about your memory recall.”

  “Well, that's a little more difficult. Can I come in again? Can we talk a while?”

  With that, Abi stood and walked a little closer to the kitchen. Would he let her in? Just how many times had he made it easy for her to enter?

  “I have someone here, Margaret.”

  “You have company?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I'm not wearing rags, you know.” Her tone was that of a spoiled little rich girl.

  “Now listen, Abi Fisher's here. Do you remember the woman who helped you?”

  “When's she leaving?”

  Abi stiffened. Margaret's tone was meant to relay a different message.

  “That's none of your business.”

  “You and her… you're still together?”

  Possessive remarks like that meant only one thing. Margaret remembered more than she let on.

  “Don't question my life. You're here bec—”

  “I know why I'm here, and I'm beginning to remember a lot.” Her voice sounded taunting.

  “So you remember more than you're willing to admit?”

  “If you don't really care, why are you bothering with me at all?”

  “You're not getting this, are you?” Joe let out a frustrated sigh. “I guess you won't understand until you have total recall.”

  “I'll bet you're just waiting for that moment.”

  “I am.”

  “So you can get even?”

  “So I can what?” Joe sounded surprised and perplexed.

  “I'm sorry.” She sounding truly remorseful. “I don't know where that came from.”

  “Get even for what, Margaret?”

  Abi imagined Joe, in his protective way, reaching to console his former sweetheart.

  “I don't know. I don't know anymore.” Now she whined. “Things just pop out of my mouth and I don't know why I say them.”

  “Are you aware that's tied to your past?”

  “Why won't you tell me what you know?” Her voice sounded enticing again. She seemed practiced at changing her inflection to suit her needs. “All I have are bits and pieces and feelings I can't justify. If we could spend more time together… I think you know more than you're admitting.”

  “I tend to agree with your psychiatrist.”

  “About having to find out on my own?” Margaret's voice became quieter, as if speaking to someone very close.

  “Yes.”

  “But you have all the missing pieces, Joe.”

  Joe was right. Abi didn't need Margaret's permission to be in the house. She stepped into the kitchen to see that Margaret had stepped up onto the door threshold. Now she slipped her arms around Joe's neck and pressed her body against his. With Joe's back to her and Margaret's view blocked by him, neither could see her from the angle they stood.

  “What are you…?” He tried to push her away but she held on.

  “Won't you help me understand my feelings?” Margaret arched, tempting with her body.

  Joe forced her arms from his neck and spoke through clenched teeth. “That won't work anymore.” As he stepped away from Margaret and turned slightly, he saw her standing there with her bandaged hands. His first reflex was to push Margaret further away and let go. His actions made him look awfully guilty. He looked straight at her. “And I don't like that look on your face either, Abi.”

  “You must really care about her” The sarcastic overtones in Margaret's voice betrayed her. Her gaze went to Abi's bandaged hands. “Or are you just helping another injured person?”

  Margaret looked good in the new clothes Joe bought for her. Her body looked young enough but her face was frightful. She had aged past the point of recognition from Joe's old photo. Gone were the red circles around her eyes, but even the high cheekbones seemed droopy. No trace of the youthful beauty she once possessed existed now. Abi was curious about how the sight of seeing the older Margaret might have affected Joe's feelings for the woman.


  “That's enough, Margaret. I care enough that I won't let her think you and I are—”

  “Are what, Joe? Involved?”

  “We're not involved in any way other than to get you well.”

  “I thought there was more to it than that.” She glanced sideways at her then back to Joe. “You've been only too accommodating.” Possessiveness would be part of her repressed memories. It would be only a matter of time before she remembered them having made love. How long would it take for Margaret to weave another web? Or had she already begun?

  “How dare you insinuate there's been more!”

  “In your heart, you know there has been.”

  Abi had no desire to deal with Margaret's jealous performance, especially when she knew Margaret, herself, didn't know from where those feelings originated. Or did she? Maybe she was beginning to express her true nature. Joe's description of some of her past actions made Margaret out to be quite the vamp.

  Abi wished she had stayed in the living room. This was a matter of trust. She had to allow Joe the right to keep the matter under control and find his own level of healing. Abi had reached her limit. Her racing heartbeat was a sign that she could not take on another problem without her health being severely affected. She had to retreat or suffer the consequences. Above all, she needed her strength for Becky Ann, the person whose life meant more than her own. Even if it meant losing Joe to Margaret, then so be it. Resigned and suddenly feeling very tired, she turned and walked back into the living room.

  In a few moments, she heard the door close and Joe joined her. “I'm so sorry.”

  “I'm okay, Joe.”

  “When you put it like that, I know you're not.”

  “As I was getting to know you, I hated your Lady Griff for having strung you along, then casting you aside like last season's shoes.”

  “So what are you worried about?”

  “You're too good a person, Joe, too committed when you care. Now she stands there exhibiting some long buried feelings for you and I'm resenting her for it.”

  “With a little jealousy?” Delight flickered in his eyes.

  “Don't be so smug.”

  “Go ahead, express it. I don't believe I've seen that in you.”

  “Well, enjoy it. You may never see it again.” She sighed. “It's very uncomfortable.” Her depression bubbled to the surface, threatened to boil over, perhaps explode. From where had all that come? She needed to be strong, levelheaded. She needed to come to grips with the power of her jealousy and redirect it to good use.