Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 2

by Renee Pawlish

  The sky soon morphed from black to pink, then orange as the sun introduced a new day. By now the attic of the building was a smoldering mess of black ash, and the remaining floors were saturated. An acrid smell hung in the air. Another group of people showed up in an unmarked car. The fire inspectors. As the firemen soaked the attic, Adams and the other patrolman strung police tape around the perimeter of the property.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said to Willie as I stood up.

  I hurried into the street and spoke to Adams, then returned, noticing how shocked Willie still looked. Her face was devoid of emotion, and I had to get right down in her face to get her attention.

  “I talked to Officer Adams,” I said. Damn, now I was stating the obvious. “I gave him both of our numbers. He said the fire inspectors would call later.” She gazed out past me, barely blinking. “Why don’t you come upstairs?” I continued. “We can call your insurance company, and then you can get a little rest. The fire inspectors are going to have questions for you later, and you may have to meet with the police. You’ll want a clear head.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said automatically.

  I held out a hand. “Come on. There’s nothing we can do right now.”

  It took a long moment, but she finally grabbed my hand. I practically had to haul her to her feet and drag her upstairs. She slumped onto the couch while I looked online for the State Farm 24-hour service. After a brief conversation, in which they assessed that she had a place to stay and then set up a meeting with her for later in the day, we undressed in silence and crawled into my bed. I wrapped her in my arms and held her as she cried herself to sleep.

  I dreamed of a campfire, hot coals, and smoke. So much smoke. I lingered on the edge of consciousness, wondering about the campfire. Was Willie tending to it? I reached out for her and my arm hit the mattress. My eyes flew open. Bright light streamed through the bedroom window. I was in the bed alone.

  I rolled over and stared at the alarm clock on the nightstand: 11:50. My body cried for more sleep, but I sat up, then scrunched up my nose against the smoky odor clinging to my hair. I tugged at the sheets. That reek was everywhere. I fluffed the sheets, trying to get rid of the smell, and then a sound broke through my fuddled brain. Running water. The shower. That explained where Willie was.

  I yawned and stretched, then pushed myself off the bed. I donned shorts and a tee shirt, and plodded into the kitchen to make coffee. When I returned to the bedroom with two steaming cups, Willie was just emerging from the bathroom wearing one of my shirts.

  “My clothes smell like a forest fire,” she said as she used her hand like a comb and ran it through her short blond hair, giving it a rakish look. Even though stress lines streaked her face, and sadness ringed her eyes, she was cute as ever.

  I kissed her and handed her the coffee.

  “Thanks.” She sat wearily on the edge of the bed and took a sip. She made a face and put the cup on the floor.

  “Not good?” I said, trying for pseudo-offended. Trying to make her laugh, but it didn’t work.

  She ignored that and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. “I missed a call.” She hit some buttons and listened to a voice mail. “It’s Darcy,” she said with relief. “She’s going into a meeting and said to call later.” She hung up and sighed. “I’ll call her back, and I hope she’ll answer. I don’t want to leave this kind of news in a message.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.”

  She returned the call, waited and shook her head. “Still not answering.” She left another message, saying to call, all the while trying to keep her voice from breaking.

  “Did you hear from Nick O’Rourke?” I asked when she finished.

  “No.” She stared off into space. “What am I going to do?”

  I leaned against the dresser. “You can stay here. I’ll clean up and we’ll go get you some clothes and stuff.”

  “I don’t mean that.” She made a halfhearted gesture toward the street. “The whole upstairs is gone. And the damage…” her voice trailed off.

  “How did…when did…” I wasn’t sure if now was the time to ask about her owning the building, but I had to admit, my curiosity was killing me.

  “How long have I owned the building?”

  I nodded.

  “I bought it shortly after I moved in, when I was dating Alan.” Alan was the boyfriend before me. “I heard the building was for sale and I thought it would be a good investment, with the real estate market the way it was. I got it at a steal, and the hope is that I can sell it for a nice profit down the road. It’s risky for me, though. The rent I get from the other units covers the mortgage, but not much else.”

  “I never knew,” I said.

  Her face colored slightly. “I wasn’t trying to hide it. It just never came up.”

  We hadn’t been dating that long, but I was still surprised she’d never told me. I wanted to talk about it more, but like last night, it didn’t seem like the right time. She had too much to deal with right now.

  “You’ve got enough insurance, right?” I asked.

  “I think so.” She stood up, went to the window and peered out.

  “That’s good. I know that doesn’t help when you’re talking about personal things, like photos, but at least you’ll be able to –” I saw the expression on her face and stopped talking. “What?”

  “The fire inspectors are still there,” she said. “Maybe they know how the fire started.”

  “You want to talk to them now?”

  “Yes.” She turned around. “Will you come with me?”

  “Sure.” I really wanted to take a shower so I didn’t smell like barbecue, but Willie was already headed out of the bedroom. I yanked on a pair of tennis shoes and followed her.

  We tromped down the stairs, neither of us saying a word. The sun was high in the sky, but the day was cool, and a burning odor still clung to the air. We rounded the corner of the house and hurried down the sidewalk. A television truck was parked just down the street, and a couple of unmarked police cars sat in front of the building. Behind them was an ambulance, and then I spied a classic blue ’65 Mustang in front of one of the unmarked cars. I suddenly stopped as I recognized the car’s owner standing across the street, in front of the charred remains of Willie’s house. It was Sarah Spillman, from Denver’s homicide department. My stomach roiled. Seeing her meant only one thing: someone had died in the fire.

  Chapter Three

  I hoped I was wrong, but I didn’t think so.

  Willie plowed into me. “Reed! What’s going on?” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Hold on.” I pulled her arm. “They look pretty busy. Let’s wait a minute.” I wanted a moment to think. And, before Willie talked to them, I wanted to know if they really had discovered a body in the rubble. If that were the case, it would completely change the complexion of the questions, especially if someone deliberately started the fire. If it was arson, the police would naturally look at Willie, wondering if she had a motive to burn the building down.

  Willie stared at me, then shrugged. We went back to the porch and sat down. The Darmodys next door were out, sitting in rocking chairs, sipping coffee and watching the investigation unfold.

  “Sure sorry about everything,” Mr. Darmody called out. As usual, his wife remained quiet.

  “Thanks,” Willie replied.

  Across the street, a reporter from one of the local news channels stood near the crime scene tape, and a cameraman filmed nearby. A fire inspector moved throughout the rubble on the perimeter of the house. He wore boots and gloves, and he carried some kind of electronic device. He occasionally stopped, jotted notes on a clipboard, then tucked the clipboard under his arm and moved on.

  Spillman walked around the side of the building, then paused. She shielded her eyes and gazed up at the burned attic apartment. Portions of two charred walls remained, but the entire roof had burned. Only a couple of black joists stood out like a partial s
keleton. She continued on, stepping carefully over all the debris that lay on the lawn.

  I’d first met Spillman when we were both investigating the same homicide. She was a sharp detective with a hard-edged demeanor, and she usually looked more like a businesswoman than a cop. Not today, however. She had on jeans and a tee shirt smudged with soot, and her hair was disheveled. I wondered how long she’d been there. She waved an arm, talking to someone up above. I couldn’t imagine what a mess was in that attic, or what remained of it. Spillman gestured again, and I noticed the top of an aluminum ladder resting against the side of the house. She said something else, and a man in coveralls, long gloves that covered him up to his elbows, and heavy boots climbed down the ladder. They moved to the front porch, and the man disappeared inside. A few minutes later, he came back out with another man in similar attire. The group stood talking for a moment, then turned as two paramedics approached with a metal gurney that they carried onto the porch.

  This larger group all huddled and talked, then the paramedics stepped inside the building, bent down and picked up something. They backpedaled slowly, carrying a black body bag that they gently set on the gurney. Beside me, Willie gasped. The paramedics lifted the gurney off the porch, then rolled it down the sidewalk, stopping periodically as the wheels of the gurney caught on the uneven concrete. They made it to the ambulance, loaded the gurney into the back, and shut the doors. The fire inspectors joined them for one quick, final conversation. Then the paramedics left to deliver the body to the morgue for an autopsy.

  “What if it was Nick O’Rourke?” Willie asked.

  I didn’t say anything for a moment. Then I pushed myself up. “That woman over there?” I pointed at Spillman. “She’s a homicide detective.”

  Willie stared up at me. “But…homicide? That would mean they think the fire was intentionally started in order to kill someone.”

  “The police are going to treat this like a homicide until they know differently.” What I knew about arson investigations I’d mostly gleaned from reading detective novels, so I was guessing. But it didn’t take a genius to see how this would play out. Since a body was found, the police would have to treat it like a murder investigation, in order not to contaminate a potential crime scene. Since Willie owned the building, Spillman would have to rule out that she started the fire. Which meant that Willie was facing a barrage of intense questioning.

  I jerked my head toward Spillman. “Let’s see what she can tell us.”

  Willie let out a huge sigh, stood up and followed me across the street. Spillman was slowly walking around the edge of the building, looking down. She crossed the lawn, grabbed the yellow crime-scene tape and ducked under it. When she looked up and saw me, she frowned.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice cool and weary.

  “This is my girlfriend.” I introduced Willie. “She owns the building.”

  Spillman’s brown eyes darted to Willie, then back to me. “I’m sorry about what happened here.”

  “Thank you,” Willie said. “Do you know how the fire started?”

  “It was arson.” Spillman’s lips formed into a grim line. “And, as I’m sure you noticed, we found a body. That means whoever started the fire is now a murderer.”

  “Uh-huh,” Willie said, her voice barely audible.

  “I know this isn’t what you want to do right now, but I’d like to ask you some questions,” Spillman said, all business.

  Willie sighed with fatigue. “Okay.”

  “First, have you heard anything more from Nick O’Rourke?”

  Spillman was on top of things, knowing not only the name of Willie’s tenant, but that no one had heard from him since before the fire started.

  “No,” Willie said. “I called him last night but he never returned the call. So no other neighbors have heard from him?”

  Spillman shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “Do you…was that body…” Willie lost her voice.

  “Was it him?” Spillman asked bluntly. She shrugged. “We’ll have to wait until the autopsy results come in, but it’s likely it was him.” Willie paled, but Spillman continued. “What can you tell me about his family?”

  Willie thought for a moment. “His parents live in Fort Collins. He’s got a younger sister, but she lives out of state. He works in IT, some kind of programmer. He moved in almost a year ago.”

  “Anything else?” Spillman continued. “Did he have references?”

  Willie hesitated. “All my rental information was in my apartment. I don’t even remember his parents’ names. I’m sorry.”

  Spillman smiled understandingly. “It’s okay. We’ll track them down.”

  Then the conversation veered into an interrogation of Willie, albeit a polite one. I was listening, but also watching the fire inspector. He’d made his way around the house, continuing with the electronic device and note-taking, and I wondered if he’d discovered anything significant. Spillman’s questions were getting more personal, and I started to back away to give them privacy, but Willie grabbed my elbow. So I stood beside her, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, wishing I could spare her the questioning. On the one hand, I was fascinated to learn more about my girlfriend, but finding out more of her private information in this manner made me feel like a voyeur.

  “How long have you owned the building?” Spillman asked.

  “Three years.”

  “And you have insurance on it?”

  “Yes.”

  Spillman pulled out a small notepad and a pen and jotted down some notes. “Who’s your insurance company?”

  “State Farm.”

  “How much coverage did you have?”

  Willie named a figure. “I think that’s right. I’d have to check for sure.”

  “Have you ever made a fire claim before?”

  “No,” Willie said. “Of course not.”

  “Have you noticed anything suspicious lately?” Spillman asked. “Anybody hanging around that you don’t know? Any problems with anyone?”

  Willie’s face darkened slightly, but if Spillman noticed, she didn’t show it. “I haven’t seen anyone around…not anyone suspicious.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “I can’t believe someone would do this.”

  “Do you have any idea how the fire might’ve started?”

  “No,” Willie said.

  “No electrical problems or any other recent issues?”

  “No, nothing.”

  Spillman paused, and it seemed that she was giving Willie the once-over. Looking to see if Willie showed signs that she’d started the fire, like singed hair or burns? I wondered.

  “Anything else?” Willie finally asked.

  Spillman pocketed the notepad and pen. “I think I have enough for now. We may need to ask you more questions later.”

  I put a hand on Willie’s shoulder. Her muscles were like cords of wood.

  “When will the autopsy be completed?” I asked.

  “In a day or two,” Spillman said. She put her hands on her hips. “You’ll want to know who it was.”

  I jerked a thumb at the TV truck. “I’d rather not hear it on the news.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Like I said, it’ll be a day or two.” With that, Spillman tipped her head once, thanked Willie, ignored me and walked away.

  Chapter Four

  It took a little over twenty-four hours to find out who died in the fire. After Spillman left, Darcy called and Willie had the regrettable task of telling her about the house fire. Darcy had been at her boyfriend’s house and then had gone straight to work. She was going to come home now, but Willie told her there was nothing to do, and they made plans to meet later in the day. While they talked, I made sandwiches. When she got off the phone, we ate in silence. Then Willie left for a meeting with her insurance agent.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the house. I wasn’t a dirty person, but sometimes the clutter got the best of me, and I’m sure the bath
room needed attention. When Willie was just popping in and out, the messiness didn’t seem so bad. Or so I chose to believe. But since I didn’t know how long she’d be staying, I thought it best to give the place a good once over.

  When Willie returned, she said that State Farm was working with the fire inspectors now, and when the fire inspectors released the scene, the State Farm inspectors would perform their own investigation in the next couple of days. They would also secure the building and install a new door so no one could get inside, and they’d hire contractors to come in and turn off the power and gas. She said it would be at least a few days before she or the other tenants would be able to go back into their apartments, and they gave her a check to buy clothes and other necessities.

  I’d offered to take her shopping, but fortunately for me, Darcy stopped by and she took the shopping bullet for me. The thought of looking at clothes, and shoes, and buying toiletries, and a hairdryer – because apparently I didn’t own the ‘right’ kind – did not sound like fun to me. So they went on their way, and when Willie returned, she was in a slightly better mood.

  Any other time, our evening together might’ve been romantic, but given the circumstances, it was tense. I offered to take Willie out to dinner and a movie, but she begged off, saying she was too tired. In truth, I felt the same way, and we went to bed before ten.

  The next day Willie went to work at nearby St. Joseph’s hospital, where she was an ER admissions nurse, and I’d spent the day working on my taxes. I’d just sat down to watch the local evening news, when she walked through the door.

  “Hey,” she said wearily. The look of total dejection on her face pulled at my heartstrings. She threw her purse on a chair and plodded into the kitchen.