Blown Away

by Clover Tate

  “She’ll have it in the air in a few minutes,” I added. “I’d love to watch. It would be great marketing for Strings Attached, in fact. You’d be doing me a favor.”

  “Thank you,” Ron said.

  Hannah skipped to their car, laughing. I wished the kite were so much more than a few hours of entertainment. But if it could be just that, it was still something valuable. Now more than ever I felt the importance of making the most of every day.

  chapter twenty-four

  “You’re the one who found Chef Miles, aren’t you?” Monica asked, breathing quickly as we stepped down from the boardwalk and trudged across the sand. Hannah had run ahead. “Jeanette at the post office told us.”

  “Yes,” I said. No surprise there. “Up north.” I hoped she didn’t ask more. Like about their being busted for picking morels without a permit, for example, and about my insistence they might be his murderers. “Did you know him?”

  “A bit.” She looked up the beach toward her husband and daughter. Hannah was pointing toward a blue stunt kite, the kind Sullivan’s Kites sold by the dozen.

  “Of course. You wouldn’t be at the funeral otherwise.”

  “We did business with him. Used to sell him mushrooms,” she said. “Your roommate, she was . . . ?” The rest of the question, although unspoken, was clear.

  “She’s innocent.” I watched Monica for signs of the blame I’d seen in some other people’s eyes.

  Her expression was unchanged. “A shame. People are so quick to point fingers. I hope it’s all worked out soon, for your friend’s sake.”

  We’d reached Ron and Hannah. The girl jumped up and down at the prospect of flying the kite.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly.

  I remembered my first time flying a kite, here at this very beach, and felt a surge of joy for the girl.

  “Okay, here’s what you do. First we make sure there aren’t any electrical lines or trees the kite can get stuck in.” I knew full well we were clear, but it was a good habit for Hannah to get in.

  Hannah’s eyes widened as she scanned the sky. “Nothing up there.”

  “Good. Now we get an idea of the wind. Sometimes it feels more still down here, but the wind is really blowing up high. We need wind.”

  The wind on the beach was almost always strong. Hannah’s sandy hair blew in her face, and a flag on the boardwalk thwacked against its pole. “Let me see.” She licked her finger and held it up. “Yep. Wind.”

  “So, it’s time to get the kite into the air. It’s windy enough down here that the kite will take off the second we let go, so let’s make sure the line is reeled up with a few feet of give”—I showed her the full spindle of line—“and that it’s centered.” I handed the red kite to Hannah but kept one hand on it until we were ready to launch.

  “What do we do now?” Her voice had leapt a few notes in pitch.

  “You hold the kite up high and let go. Keep a firm grip on your line.”

  She trembled with excitement, and my heart flooded with warmth. I knew this thrill. She looked to her parents, then to the tattered kite and let it go with a yelp. The wind greedily yanked it above Hannah’s head, where it met the end of the line.

  Hannah let out a rip of laughter. “Can I make it go higher?”

  “Just a few feet at a time. Watch the wind pull it up. If you start to see it dive back and forth, that means it doesn’t have enough wind. When that happens, just reel it in a bit.”

  With a profound smile, Monica watched her daughter grip the spindle in both hands. Ron stood a few feet away, head tilted up, legs a few feet apart. The kite climbed and climbed, its tail whipping.

  “Thank you,” Monica said.

  “My pleasure,” I said. It really was. “Did you fly kites as a kid?”

  “Not me,” Monica said. “Ron did. He grew up around here.”

  The man nodded, his face wind chapped. “Kites weren’t so much my thing. Hiking, boating, hunting. I was more into that.”

  “You must know the country around here well.” I thought of the mushroom patch at the burnout. Not everyone would stumble over it.

  “I love it here. We didn’t move back under the best of circumstances—”

  “The mill closed,” Monica added.

  “—but one of the blessings was coming home.”

  The kite had climbed a few hundred feet above the beach, a bobbing speck of red in the sky.

  “I hope the blessings keep coming,” I said.

  chapter twenty-five

  I’d given Dave a key to the house, but I didn’t want to return right away. Instead, I went to Strings Attached and settled in the workshop to stitch up my latest prototype for the comet kite, this one bowl-shaped with a pocket for the wind. The hum of the sewing machine, the careful cutting of the nylon, the searing of the kite’s rounded corners—all were meditative to me.

  Maybe as I sewed my brain would work free some important detail about Miles’s death. The old saying claimed that the murderer always returned to the scene of the crime. Could someone at the funeral have killed him? Every day that passed was another strike against Avery.

  My mind shifted gears, and I smiled again at the thought of Hannah’s delighted face when her kite took off. I hoped that she would find some of the joy in kites that I’d found as a girl. It was the least I could do. Then a thought occurred to me. Dave said he was down a wilderness guide, and Ron said he loved to hike and knew the area well. Maybe he’d be a good candidate for the job. I’d ask Dave.

  I stretched my back. Floorboards creaked as Frank moved in his apartment above me, walking back and forth as if he was taking something to a spot above the shop, then pacing back to get more. Packing, maybe. Half an hour later or so, I saw him pass by the kitchen window on the way to his Land Rover. I waved. He came to the back door with an overnight bag.

  “I’m off to Bandon Dunes for some golf. Everything okay down here?”

  “Yes. Got a kite design I’m working on. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes, though.”

  “Good, good. It was a nice service today for Miles.”

  Frank was dressed casually, and his silver hair sat thick around his ears. “It was. You want to come in for a minute?” I asked.

  “Just a minute,” he said. He glanced around the kitchen-slash-workshop. “I like seeing it so well lived-in down here.”

  “It’s the perfect setup for me,” I said. “After the service, well, I wanted to think about something else.”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  “I just don’t understand how or who—”

  He nodded again. “None of us do.”

  I looked at him for a moment, remembering that Stella said he’d invested in the Tidal Basin. If anyone would understand restaurant financing, it would be him. Of course, if anyone financed Miles’s restaurant, it could well be him, too. I’d have to be cautious. “They say Miles wanted to start his own restaurant.”

  “I’d heard the same, and after the success of the Tidal Basin, I’m not surprised,” Frank said.

  “How would that work? I mean, if he wanted to start a restaurant, what would he do?”

  Frank pulled out the chair across the table from me and sat. “Well, he’d need a business plan, of course, like you had.”

  “Oh, I know. But a restaurant is a whole different thing.”

  “True. A lot would depend on if he wanted to build or renovate a building or if he was simply taking over another space. Why do you ask?”

  “I can’t help but keep thinking about motive. I mean, Avery can’t have killed Miles. It simply isn’t possible.”

  “But, the sheriff—”

  “I know she’s in jail, but I’m telling you, it isn’t possible.”

  Frank looked at the tabletop, as if its age-old linoleum w
ere more fascinating than the Rosetta stone. “I understand. You know Avery, and you don’t want to think she’s capable of something like that.”

  “She’s not,” I emphasized.

  “So naturally you think about motive. And you wonder if Miles wanted his own restaurant, and if maybe that factored into his death.”

  “Exactly.”

  His smile was kind. “I’ll tell you, but I do want you to have faith in the sheriff. I know Avery is your friend, but you can’t solve all the world’s problems.”

  “You would do the same in my place, Frank. You would. At the very least, you’d think about it, wonder.”

  “Perhaps. Fine. Restaurants are capital intensive, and they’re investment risks. A lot of restaurants never make back their initial investments. A lot of investors won’t even look at them. But Miles was a different matter.”

  “He had a good reputation.”

  “As a chef, he was unparalleled. But not exactly reliable.”

  I ran a fingernail over a scrap of nylon. “I’ve heard that.”

  “If he followed through, though—”

  “That’s what I thought. The payoff could be substantial. As could the threat. Sam Anderson, for instance. He might really care.” I knew Sam had an alibi, but I didn’t want Frank to think I was narrowing in on him.

  Frank rose and pushed his chair into the table. “He might. He might be threatened. The bigger question is, did Miles really plan his own restaurant?”

  “I think he did. At least, he wanted one someday.” Avery’s stories and the plans I’d seen proved that.

  “It’s a long shot, but maybe it’s a motive.” Frank headed to the back door. “In any case, I’m sure Sheriff Koppen is following up on it. He would. Let him do his job.”

  The sheriff is fair, let him do his job, let justice work itself out, blah-blah-blah. “Have fun golfing,” I said.

  A moment later, Frank’s Land Rover purred to life in the driveway. I was lost in thought. Sam—or someone—might have had a deep interest in Miles’s restaurant. I went to my purse and searched its pockets. Yes. I still had the key to Miles’s cabin. Tonight I’d get a closer look at the plans.

  * * *

  I spent half an hour or so finishing the last seam and cleaning up the mess I’d made in the workshop. The comet-kite prototype was finished now, and this time it would fly. I knew it. I tied on its bridle and hoisted it to a hook in the workshop’s ceiling where I could admire its wide, cuplike shape and whoosh of streamers for a tail. Maybe it looked a bit more like a jellyfish than a comet at this point, but that could be adjusted when I drew the final pattern.

  Then I prepared to leave for Miles’s cabin. This time I’d bring a flashlight. I checked for the spare key once again, and it was still there in my purse’s side pocket.

  I wasn’t sure exactly what I hoped to find when I looked at Miles’s restaurant plans. If I was lucky, he’d jotted down the name of his financial backers. Or maybe the location of surrounding businesses—if they were noted—would give some sort of clue as to who else had a stake in the project. Of course, maybe the plans were years old and simply inspiration.

  Thanks to the dark and the clouds muffling the moonlight, I nearly missed the turnoff to the cabin. Once on the road, I slowed and circumvented potholes, the Prius bumping along. The night air was damp and cool.

  From around a corner, a car without its headlights on accelerated toward me. Brakes squealing, I swerved off the road and nearly ended up in the ditch. For a moment, I idled on the shoulder, letting my frantic heart rate calm. Why was the car driving so fast? And why didn’t it have on its lights? It all happened so fast that I couldn’t even tell the car’s make.

  The car had been coming from the direction of Miles’s cabin. My apprehension deepened. Steeling myself, I pulled back into the road. Dread pressed on my chest.

  A minute later, I pulled up in front of the cabin. It looked normal. Its windows were dark, and yellow police tape fluttered over the front door. I got out of the car. Except for an owl hooting, the woods were dead quiet. Might as well get this over with, I thought as I approached the house.

  A waft of woodsmoke drifted in the night. Someone must have a campfire burning at Myers Lake. Stella had said the lake was popular with fishermen. I imagined Miles bringing home trout for supper from time to time. I fit the key in the lock, then paused. The smell of smoke was stronger now. Trembling, my hand dropped to my side. The realization came all at once.

  The cabin was on fire.

  chapter twenty-six

  I ran to the car and called 9-1-1. “It’s a fire. On Myers Road.”

  The dispatcher took my information, but town was at least fifteen minutes away, even in a racing fire engine. As I watched, the cabin went up like it was made of balsa wood. The flames roared as they consumed the wood frame. The trailer glowed orange at its core. The fire was clearly arson—there’s no other way the cabin could be so completely curtained in flames. And it explained the car that had sped past me earlier.

  Who had done this? Who had killed Miles and framed Avery for it? And why?

  By the time the fire engines arrived, the cabin was lost. Firemen streamed from the truck, carrying a canvas hose. The best they could hope to do was keep the fire from spreading to the woods.

  A man knocked on my window. “You the one who called this in?”

  Dazed, I nodded and rolled down the window, choking at the smoke. I gave him my name and phone number. He copied down my license-plate number for good measure.

  “The fire marshal will be in touch, but for now you’d better leave. We’ll be here for the better part of the night.”

  I pulled out of the driveway, my rearview mirror capturing orange flames and black smoke against the night sky. Whatever the restaurant plans had to reveal, it was now gone for good.

  * * *

  I don’t know what I feared, but the sight of Avery’s house—solid, windows cheerily lit—relieved me. I pulled into the driveway next to a car I didn’t recognize. My body was drained and shaky after having been amped with adrenaline.

  I pushed open the front door. Where was Bear? Normally he’d leap out to greet me. “Dave?”

  “In here,” came Dave’s voice from the living room. He stood at the window with a drill and window locks. Bear was on the couch with his head resting in Jack’s lap. Of course. Dave and Jack were friends. It was only natural he’d visit. I just didn’t want to deal with him now, especially after he’d refused to help me with Avery and especially in my current state of mind.

  Within seconds, Dave set down the drill. “Emmy, what’s wrong?”

  I let it all out at once. “Someone set Miles’s cabin on fire.”

  “What?” Dave said.

  “You’re joking,” Jack said at the same time.

  “I went to the cabin tonight, and when I turned onto Myers Road, a car drove by, fast, without its headlights on. When I got to the cabin, it was on fire. The fire crew is out there now.”

  “Wow,” Dave said. “I can’t believe it.”

  “It was—I can’t even start to describe it. I smelled smoke, and then—whoosh!—flames were everywhere. I called 9-1-1, but it took forever for the fire engines to show up.”

  “I can smell it from your clothes,” Dave said. Apparently so could Bear. He had jumped down from the couch and was gingerly sniffing my shoes and sweater. My stomach growled, and I put a hand to my middle.

  “What were you doing out there?” Jack asked.

  “Hold that thought. I’m starving, and I see you guys brought beer.” I brought a bottle from the kitchen and twisted off its top. Jack pulled a slice of pizza from a box on the coffee table and slipped it onto a plate for me. Apparently the house had become a frat in the hours I’d been gone. “At the funeral today it occurred to me that someone might have killed Miles for financial reasons. A
nd Avery had said”—a little white lie couldn’t hurt anyone—“that Miles had talked about opening a restaurant. So I had the idea that he might have restaurant plans at his cabin.”

  “Which the sheriff would have seen,” Dave said, still stunned. He’d abandoned his window-lock project altogether and sat next to Jack on the couch. “I still can’t believe someone burned his place down.”

  “Maybe the sheriff saw them,” I said. “Unless, for instance, Miles hid the plans, or the sheriff didn’t know what to look for.”

  “Why not talk to Sheriff Koppen about it?” Jack said.

  “Every time I talk to him or his deputy, they shrug me off. Besides, I wasn’t sure if I even had enough real information to go off. I thought maybe the restaurant plans might give some sort of clue.”

  “Bad idea,” Dave said. “You just don’t go breaking into people’s houses to look for something you don’t even know is there.”

  I looked from Dave to Jack, both of whom stared at me. Even Bear raised his head in my direction.

  “I know he had plans. I saw them,” I finally said. “And I have a key to his place.”

  “What?” Dave said. Jack shook his head, and Bear leapt down from the couch to lay at my feet.

  “I found the key.” I explained about my visit with Stella the week before. “It wasn’t like I crawled through a window or anything.”

  “It’s still breaking in,” Dave said. “You saw the police tape, right?”

  “I’m not sure that kind of evidence would be admissible in court, either,” Jack added.

  “Well, what would you do?” I pushed my uneaten slice of pizza back into the box. My appetite was gone. “Leave Avery in jail while someone lines up all the pieces to frame her for good?” Take that, Jack Sullivan. Then, to Dave, “How do you know about the police tape, anyway?”

  “It stands to reason,” he said.

  “And you,” I said to Jack. I thought he didn’t care about Avery. “Why are you here now?”