Teacup Novellas 02 - Strike the Match

by Diane Moody

  “You in town on an errand or just stopping by to say hello?”

  Grant looked up from his desk when his father didn’t answer. He was used to his father’s peculiar ways, but almost did a double-take. Shep had a goofy grin on his face.

  “Cornstarch.”

  “Cornstarch?”

  The grin settled back into a more Shep-like subtle smile. “Cornstarch. Plumb out.”

  Grant chuckled at his dad’s quirky behavior. “What do you need cornstarch for?”

  “Oh . . . I don’t know.”

  Their eyes met. Shep blinked and looked away.

  “Never know.”

  “Never know what?”

  “When you might need some.”

  “Ah,” Grant followed. “True.”

  “And tea.”

  “Well, now. One can never have enough tea in the house.”

  Shep nodded.

  “Oh, that reminds me . . .” Grant stopped himself before saying anything more. He jotted himself a note on a orange Post-it: Teacup.

  “What’s that?” his father asked.

  “Nothing. Just something I’ve been intending to look up online. Some research.”

  “On tea?”

  He smiled. “Something like that.”

  His dad moseyed down the hall, his boots scraping on the hardwood floors. “Something else you need, Pop?”

  “No.”

  “Okay if I get back to work?”

  Shep passed back by his door going the other direction. “Yep.”

  “I’ll stop by tonight. My turn to win at chess.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Grant heard the door close with a click. He loved living near his father again after all these years. Shep Dawson never failed to bring a smile to his lips.

  “Cornstarch?” He threw his head back laughing. Yesterday it was pistachio nuts. The day before, vanilla wafers.

  He wasn’t sure, but something was going on behind his father’s mysterious gray eyes. He’d bet his life on it.

  Then another thought drifted through his mind. It came unbeckoned. Unwelcome. Was it possible his father was drifting into the netherlands of dementia? He shook off the thought, refusing to give it a landing strip in his mind or on his heart.

  Keri put her Jeep in park at the rear of the burnt cabin. She needed some fresh air, time to think. She looked through the windshield at the skeletal structure, still in disbelief.

  By now, she should have been helping her father finalize the paper work preparing for the transfer of ownership to the Blankenships. They should be tying up loose ends, putting the final touches on the cabin. She should be ordering a huge “welcome home” poinsettia to greet the new homeowners to their oceanside cabin.

  Instead, she was staring at what was left of it. Next to nothing.

  She noticed a pickup parked to the side of the lot, almost out of sight. Curious, she got out of her car and stepped under the yellow crime scene tape. Keri spotted a young man standing in what should have been the family room.

  “Hello?”

  He turned suddenly. “Oh—hi. You’re . . . Keri, right?”

  “And you’re Matt Blankenship. It’s been a long time.”

  He started toward her, stepping carefully through the ash. “Oh. Yeah, right.” He waved his arm toward the skeleton of the house behind him. “I just got in town. Came to see what’s left of our house.”

  She reached out, briefly placing her hand on his forearm. “I’m so sorry, Matt. I’ve been so consumed with worry for my father, for his business . . . I never stopped and thought about you and your parents. Have they returned from Europe yet? They must be heartbroken.”

  He looked back at the ruins. “Yeah, they’re pretty upset. Last I heard, they were trying to get home as fast as they could, but the flights . . . I don’t know. Could be a few more days yet.”

  She hurt for him. She remembered something about him losing his twin brother a long time ago, but since the family only vacationed here, she didn’t know anything more than that. And now this.

  She tried to make small talk. “So what have you been doing all these years? I’ve been off at school, but it’s been, what? —five? Six years? Where have you been keeping yourself?”

  “School. Work. Y’know, around.”

  “Where did you go to school?”

  He turned back to face her. “You sure ask a lot of questions. What are you, a reporter or something?” He smiled, but she noticed it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  She laughed. “Well, yeah, actually I am. Just started working for the Waterford Weekly. I took a year off from school. Anyway, I’m just looking around. Trying to put together a story.”

  He stared at her. For the briefest moment, it made her uncomfortable. Then she remembered he’d always seemed kind of creepy. When the Blankenships would roll in for the summer, Matt always tried too hard to fit in with the other kids in town. He was the kid always doing cannonballs off the high dive, soaking the girls sunbathing in the pool lounge chairs. He bragged incessantly about his family’s money and all their cars and vacations. Which only alienated him from the locals who quickly wearied of his silly antics and constant bragging.

  His brother Sam had been the complete opposite. More of a bookworm who didn’t often come to the pool or hang out with the other kids. Smart as a whip from what she’d always heard.

  “Hello?”

  She blinked out of the memories. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I asked if you’d heard anything about the fire. Do they know what caused it?”

  “Arson.”

  “Arson?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Why would anyone want to burn our house down?”

  “That’s the million dollar question. Or, I guess two million would be more accurate. Your parents spared no expense.” She turned to look over the ruined property, shielding her eyes. “It really was a stunning house.”

  A burst of wind suddenly kicked up, blowing ash in their faces. They both coughed and turned from the gust. “Whoa,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Not a good day for contacts.”

  “Or long hair,” he quipped, pulling a band off his wrist to tie his unruly head of hair into a pony tail. “So do they have any suspects?”

  Keri realized she shouldn’t say any more, recalling Bud’s request to keep their conversation confidential. Except for her dad. And Grant.

  “You should probably check in with Bud. Sheriff Tomlinson. He’d probably like to talk to you if you haven’t stopped by the station yet.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Since your parents aren’t here yet, I’m sure he’d like to brief you about everything that’s happened.”

  “Oh. Okay, I’ll stop by his office. That’s actually why I’m in town. On their behalf. Til they can get here. They asked me to see what’s been happening since the fire.”

  “I’m sure they appreciate that.”

  “Well, I’ve gotta run. Errands and stuff. And I’ll stop by to talk to the sheriff. Nice to see you again.” He reached out to shake her hand. The gesture seemed awkward, but she shook it anyway.

  “You too, Matt. And I’m really sorry about your house. I think you would have loved it.”

  He pressed his lips together and nodded, then walked briskly to his truck.

  Keri decided to look around. The perpetual Oregon dampness seemed to be dissipating with the sunshine they’d enjoyed over the last couple of days. It was certainly easier to investigate without all the muddy ash. She walked slowly, looking for anything out of the ordinary despite knowing the authorities had sifted through it all repeatedly. She wandered around for awhile then made her way back to the enormous stone hearth and wiped away a spot to sit down. She took a seat, dusted the sooty ash off her hands, then rested her elbows on her knees.

  Think, Keri, think. Who had motive to destroy this place? No one around here really knows the Blankenships that well. Doesn’t make sense they’d have any enemies to speak of. And Zack? She trie
d to picture the troubled kid everyone thought of as the town loser. The last time she saw him he had a pitiful excuse for a beard, if that’s what you’d even call it. Dark circles under vacant eyes. Pale skin stretched across his bony face. Long stringy hair, usually pulled back in a tight pony tail that hung half-way down his back. Zack had clearly never bothered with shampoo more than a couple times a month. The image made her skin crawl. How can someone live like that, filthy and aimless, year after year? Course, his mother ran off with Blake Simpson when Zack was just a snot-nosed kid. His dad did what he could, raising his son in a decrepit double-wide out south of town.

  But surely after all these years Zack didn’t think he could get away with something this big? Knowing he was at the top of Bud’s list for every single crime in town? Doesn’t make sense. Still, if Bud has him at the top of his list of suspects, I can’t just dismiss him. And there were those two cases of arson on his unofficial record . . .

  She sat up, breathing in the crisp, cool air. She shielded her eyes against the bright sunlight, trying to think. Another breeze kicked up the ash and she quickly covered her eyes. When it settled, she blinked away the particles in her eyes and looked down at her feet and found her sneakers covered with the gray stuff. She stomped her feet, trying to shake off the ash. Something caught her eye. The tiniest glimpse of red. She nudged it with the toe of her shoe. It looked like a piece of cording of some kind. But very thin. She couldn’t imagine what it might be, a length no longer than an inch and a half. It was smoked-tainted but clearly a shade of red. She bent down for a closer look, wondering how the investigators would have missed it.

  C’mon, you’re not exactly Lara Croft here. You’re way out of your league. If the authorities thought it was important, they would have bagged it. Still, she hesitated, wondering if she should touch it. Why didn’t I think to grab some latex gloves? Definitely not something Laura would forget.

  “Keri, is that you?”

  She stood up, startled to hear her name. Bertie Crowder was heading toward her, one slow step at a time with the aid of her cane. “Hey Bertie. Nice to see you.”

  The elderly woman, who lived next door to the Blankenship’s property, stopped at the yellow tape. It was Bertie who’d made the 911 call the night of the fire.

  “I heard you were back in town. Nita told me you were home for a spell, gonna work for your daddy. Such a shame, isn’t it?” She looked over the remnant of the cabin. “I still can’t believe that big old house is gone before those poor people even had a chance to move in.”

  Keri walked toward her. “I know. It’s hard to believe something so big could burn down so fast. Had you met the Blankenships?”

  “Oh my, yes, Sweet couple. They were really looking forward to moving here.”

  Keri brushed her hands against her jeans. “Bertie, did you ever see anyone hanging around here who didn’t belong? Strangers? Kids?”

  “Well, now, you know it’s difficult for me to see much through the trees between our properties. Course, once the leaves fell, I’ve had a little better view. But can’t say I recall seeing anything out of the ordinary. I know most of your dad’s workers. Know their vehicles and what not. Nothing out of the ordinary comes to mind.”

  “Any locals? Maybe some nosy town folk who wanted a sneak peak at the big log cabin going up on the cliff?”

  Bertie looked beyond Keri at the ocean view bordering what had been the front of the cabin. “Oh honey, my memory’s not that good any more. There were a few from time to time, but I can’t recollect who.”

  “That’s okay. But if you remember, would you give me a call? You’ve got Dad’s number at the house, right?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Thanks, Bertie. I’ve gotta run.”

  “Good to have you back, Keri. Tell your daddy I’m sure sorry about this.”

  “Will do.”

  A headache had started crawling up the base of Keri’s neck and she needed to take something before it got worse. She contemplated raiding Nita’s medicine cabinet across the street, but decided not to. She’d be too tempted to stretch out and take a nap after such a busy day.

  Besides, there was the whole report-in-to-the-boss thing. Good little reporterette that I am.

  As she opened the door to her Jeep, she noticed Bertie waving her down.

  “You know, Keri, I didn’t think to mention Jerry Winkler.”

  “What about him?”

  “Well, I see him drive by here a lot. But I know he’s working on a house down the street so that’s nothing unusual. I know he and your dad are friends and I always just assumed he was slowing down as he passed to see how your dad’s project was coming along. Still, I thought I should mention it. Probably nothing.”

  Keri didn’t correct the kindly woman. Jerry and her father were not friends and hadn’t been for many years. But if the guy had a reconstruction project a couple blocks down the road, he had every right to be in the neighborhood. Still, it was something to mention to her dad.

  And her boss, of course.

  Chapter 7

  “Oh my, aren’t these beautiful! And just take a whiff of those pine needles.” Nita pressed her nose in the fragrant needles and inhaled again along with Arlene. “That has to be one of the most heavenly scents on this earth. Oh, this year might be one of our best sales ever! Why, we could sell enough trees to pay for two playgrounds for the church!”

  “Well, I still think we should use the funds to update the church kitchen, but what do I know. I’m only the church cook.”

  “Arlene, enough with the whining. The committee voted on the playground. We’ll do the kitchen next year. Now help me hang these wreaths.”

  The trees had arrived late in the day, making the volunteers scurry around to get set up before the sun went down. They were more than a week behind schedule but relieved the trees finally showed up.

  Nita loved this time of year and especially loved the tree sale. Everyone was always in such good spirits and sharing holiday cheer. Plus, it was a great way to see people she didn’t share pews with as theirs was the only tree lot in town. She leaned over to grab another stack of fresh wreaths. When she stood back up, she gasped, the wreaths dropping from her hands. Shep Dawson stood right in front of her.

  “Good heavens, Shep! You like to scared me half to death!” She patted her heart, trying to catch her breath. “Where did you come from?”

  He pointed behind him. “Yonder.”

  “I meant, where did you—oh, never mind. Is there something I can help you with?”

  He smiled. It was a most peculiar smile, barely visible beneath that big white mustache. Oh, what she would give to have a go at that hairy mess with a pair of clippers. He turned, looking around at the trees and the other volunteers.

  Oh for heaven sake. It was an easy question. “Shep?”

  He turned back to face her, his eyes slowly finding hers again. “No, ma’am.”

  “No ma’am?”

  Another lopsided smile.

  “Mr. Dawson, I’m kind of busy right now,” she said, trying to hide her aggravation. This was the third time this week she’d run into him. Which was most unusual for a man who rarely came to town. Each time he’d ambled up to her, uttered one or two words—literally—before wandering off again.

  She squatted down, gathering the pile of wreaths she’d dropped.

  He stooped down to help. “Shep.”

  She looked up at him, his weathered face just a few inches from hers. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Shep’ll do. No need to call me Mr. Dawson.”

  She plastered a smile on her face. “Well, then. Shep. What is it I can help you with?”

  He grabbed the last wreath then took the rest out of her hands. “I was just . . . well, I thought . . .”

  She waited, wondering if New Year’s would come and go before he finished the sentence. “You thought what?” She took a wreath from him and hung it on the wall of reinforced chicken wire hanging behind their ma
keshift counter. He followed her lead, hanging some of the wreaths. When they’d finished, she stood back. “There now. That looks great. Thank you for your help.”

  He nodded, his face crinkling around his smile.

  “Would you like some hot cider?” she asked reaching for a paper cup.

  “No, ma’am. But thank you.”

  She put the cup back and buried her hands in her coat pockets. “Okay, then. Well, it was nice to see you.”

  He nodded.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish setting up so we can open for business.”

  He nodded. Again.

  A bizarre thought popped into her head. “Shep, would you be interested in helping out here at the tree lot this year?”

  He blinked. Several times.

  “I just thought . . . well, I’ve seen you in town a lot lately. I thought maybe you’d like to give a hand. We’re getting such a late start this year, which means we’ll be awfully busy.”

  “Well sir . . .”

  She waited for more. There was none. “It’s actually a lot of fun.”

  “Not much good with folks.”

  That’s an understatement . . . “That’s okay. You wouldn’t have to sell the trees. Maybe just help keep the trees stocked, tie them on the top of folks’ cars if they need help. That sort of thing.”

  He looked off in the distance. His mustache twitched as he chewed on the side of his lip. Or so she supposed. She felt sure he was trying to put together enough words for an excuse of some sort.

  “Well, it was just an idea. No harm in asking,” she said, trying to sound indifferent. Why can’t he just go back to his boat and quit wasting my time?

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Uh huh, you’d like to help out, or uh huh, it was just an idea?” For the love of Pete, mister, spit it out!

  “I’ll help.”

  She was sure the shock registered on her face. Well, bust my garters. I never . . .

  “Start now?”

  “You want to start now?” Nita asked, still in disbelief.

  “Okay.”

  She smiled, feeling like they’d made a major breakthrough. In what, she had no idea.