Arsenic with Austen (24 page)

She dug her nails into her palm to ground herself. “In my experience, the easy road is very seldom the right one. After the fire, I'm more convinced than ever that this town needs me, or at least a person of integrity in my position. Since I don't see anyone like that standing in line to take over, I plan to stay put.”

As the words left her lips, she wondered if she had just pronounced her own death sentence.

Brock's face reflected an unsuccessful struggle to decide how to play the rest of this scene. In the end he inclined his head in her direction and strode off.

More shaken than she cared to admit, Emily pushed open the shop door. She could hear a voice cursing vigorously from the back room.

“Beanie?” she called. “It's Emily.”

Beanie pushed aside the sixties-style bead curtain that separated her back room from the shop, wiping mascara from her cheeks. “Oh, hi, Emily. He did it. That … not-cousin of yours raised my rent. More like shoved it in a rocket and sent it to the moon.” She hiccupped on a sob. “I can't do it. I'm going to have to sell up and go back to Portland.”

Emily laid a hand on her tattooed arm. “No, you won't. I've got a place going empty at the end of the month. You can move in there for the same rent you paid Beatrice. I think it's even a little bigger than this one. Where Sweets by the Sea is now.”

Beanie gaped at her. “No way. That's prime real estate. You mean it?”

“Absolutely. What would Stony Beach be without a yarn store?”

A wide smile split Beanie's face, and she threw her arms around Emily. “You are
so
my new BFF! How can I ever thank you?”

“No need to thank me. Just let Ben Johnson help you move.”

“Ben?” Her pert little nose scrunched. “Bookstore Ben? Why would he want to help me? I've said hello to him, and that's about it.”

“Let's just say I think it's time you got better acquainted. You're going to be closer neighbors now, after all.”

Beanie shrugged. “Whatever. I mean, he's a hunk and all, but you know he's got to despise what I write. His shop's full of all that highbrow stuff.”

“I think you might be surprised at just how eclectic his taste can be.”

To cheer Beanie further, Emily bought fifteen balls of the most expensive yarn in the shop—a hand-spun, hand-dyed alpaca-silk blend in a marvelous combination of jewel tones that she thought would look lovely on Katie. Then she threw in enough of the cashmere, in a soft peach, to make a blanket for Lizzie. She locked the yarn in her car—big-city habits die hard—and walked the few blocks to Luke's office.

He met her at the door. “I'm starved. Want to talk over lunch?”

“Fine, but do you want to look at these plans first?”

“Oh, sure.” He shoved stacks of papers to the sides of his desk. “Roll 'em out.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “They're plans, not cattle.” She spread the photocopies across the desk. “See, here's a back door into the basement. That porch lady wouldn't have been able to see back there, would she?”

Luke shook his head.

“So that supposed meter reader could've broken in there. It was dead-bolted, but if you were going to burn the place, you wouldn't care how much mess you made getting in.”

“No, but you'd care how much noise you made. He'd need to either break the jamb or saw around the lock—noisy proposition either way.”

“True.” Emily chewed her lip. “You said that porch woman was old—was she hard of hearing by any chance?”

“Yeah, kinda. Kept saying, ‘Speak up, young man, and don't mumble!'” He chuckled. “Kind of fun being called ‘young man.' Don't get that very often anymore. But she could hear me when I did speak up, so I bet she'd hear somebody breaking in. Didn't ask about that, though. Better go back and talk to her again.”

“We could stop by there on the way to lunch.”

He shot her a sidelong glance as he gathered the photocopies into a stack. “You're a sly one, Emily Worthing. You're just bound and determined to get your toe into this investigation, aren't you?”

She faced him and put her hands up to his chest. “Who, me? I just want to be near you, that's all.” She aimed a kiss at his chin.

He dipped his head and caught the kiss on his lips. “Yeah, right. Well, I guess you can come along. But you have to promise not to breathe a word without my say-so.”

She stepped back and saluted. “Yes, sir. Lips zipped, sir.”

 

twenty-four

“When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.”

“In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.”

—Mrs. and Mr. Bennet,
Pride and Prejudic
e

From Luke's office it was only a few blocks to the fire site, but they took the patrol car “'cause it looks more official,” as Luke said. Sure enough, the porch lady was on her porch, watching the fire investigator sift through the rubble across the street.

The woman was not as elderly as Emily had expected from Luke's description—probably not more than ten years older than Luke and herself. But she was effectively glued to the porch swing by her enormous bulk—Emily guessed it at around four hundred pounds. Every time the woman pushed off with her toe, the chains holding the swing groaned as if begging to be relieved of their burden. A walker stood to one side of the swing, but Emily feared it would take a hoist to lift her.

“Here you are again, you handsome young hunk,” the woman said with a grotesque attempt at coquettishness. “You just sit yourself down. Have a glass of lemonade and some M&M's.” She used her foot to push a small plastic table toward Luke.

Then she caught sight of Emily, hovering on the porch steps. “Oh, I see you brought your lady friend today. Guess that means there's no chance for me.” She giggled, causing all her fat rolls and the entire swing to jiggle ominously. “Sorry, sweetie, only got the one extra chair. But you can perch yourself on the porch railing, a little thing like you.”

Emily couldn't remember the last time she'd been called “little.” It didn't quite measure up to Luke's “handsome young hunk,” but she'd take it. She obligingly hopped up onto the broad wooden rail, praying to avoid splinters. This house wasn't as well maintained as the ones she owned.

Luke helped them both to lemonade, forgoing the M&M's. The combination didn't sound appealing to Emily, either, but she thought the lemonade would be welcome on this warm day. Then she tasted it. This was adult lemonade. She set the glass down on the rail beside her.

“I've got just a couple more questions for you, Miss Barnes.” Luke pitched his voice just south of a yell.

“Ask away, dear boy. I've got all the time in the world.” She made a toasting motion with her glass and drank deeply.

“We talked about what you saw yesterday. But I never asked you what you heard.”

“Well, now, that's an interesting question. What did I hear?” She cocked her head this way and that as if reliving the sounds of the previous day. “I heard the ocean.”

“Yes, ma'am, I'd expect that.” Luke shot a twinkle toward Emily.

“I believe I heard a bird or two, though the birds don't seem to sing near as much as they used to. All they do now is squawk.”

Emily nodded along with Luke. The more pleasant varieties of birdsong would be lost to failing ears.

“Heard some kids yelling across the way. Dog barking. Somebody left their dog behind when they went to the beach, can you believe it? Dang thing barked its head off for an hour.”

“Anything out of the ordinary?” Emily admired Luke's patience, but he would have to work Miss Barnes around to the point eventually.

“I believe there was a crew working on a house a block over. Lots of banging, sawing, that kind of thing. On and off all morning. They quit and came over to gawk when the fire got going.”

Luke shot a significant look at Emily. Now they were getting somewhere.

“Any of that building noise sound like it might be closer than the rest?”

The porch lady made a moue with her fleshy lips. “Now, there I'm afraid I just can't help you. I can tell you
what
I'm hearing good as anybody, but just exactly where it's coming from—that's beyond my gift.”

“Well, thank you, Miss Barnes. You've been very helpful.” Luke stood and took a long swig of his lemonade before Emily could think of how to stop him. His eyes bulged and he coughed, but he set down the glass with aplomb. “And thank you for the lemonade. Very refreshing.”

“Thank you, Miss Barnes.” Emily supposed the ban on speech did not extend to the basic pleasantries.

Once they were safely in the patrol car, they both burst out laughing. “Oh my word!” Luke said. “I'm not sure now I oughta believe a word she says. She might be hallucinating if she drinks that stuff all day long.”

“It was pretty early in the morning when she saw the meter reader. She couldn't have been too drunk yet.”

“True. And she didn't seem drunk just now. Guess she can take a lot of liquor with a size like that.”

“And she probably wouldn't hallucinate builders. Unless she just wanted to drool over a bunch of ‘handsome young hunks' like you.” She gave him a playful poke.

“You should talk, you sweet ‘little thing.'” He poked her back. “But no, I saw those guys myself, I just didn't connect the dots. Anybody who wanted to break into your house would've had plenty of cover, noise-wise.”

“Should we see what the investigator's come up with?”

“Sure thing.” Luke nosed the SUV down the street twenty yards solely to justify having gotten into it in the first place.

“How's it look, Bob?” he called to the top of a man's head. The man must have been standing on the floor of the half basement the back door had led into.

“That you, Luke?” The head moved back till Bob could look up and see them. “Come on down here. Got something to show you.”

Emily followed Luke down the steep slope of the side yard, then picked her way over the charred remains of the back wall, wishing she'd worn pants and sensible shoes.

Luke introduced her as the landlady, and Bob gave her a nod.

“See here?” Bob pointed to a rough-edged ring in the middle of the cement floor that was blacker than everything around it. “I'd bet my badge it started right here. Classic pile of oily rags, more'n likely. Traces of accelerant just here, not in the rest of the house.”

“That'd go up quick, would it?”

“Pretty quick. This back part being lower, it'd take a little while before anyone'd see smoke from the street—by then the fire'd be going pretty good.”

Luke scratched his jaw, poking rubble with the toe of his boot. “Oily rags. Any way that could be set up ahead of time? To start when the arsonist was long gone?”

Emily bounced on her toes, longing to shoot up her hand like Hermione Granger. She'd read about just such a scenario in
Fires I Have Known.
But she assumed she was still bound to silence.

“Sure thing. Classic method. Stick a tall candle to the floor with some wax, pile the rags around it, light the candle. Candle burns down to the rags and boom. You got the prettiest little fire you'd ever want to see. Big enough candle, you could be across the state line when it hits.”

He knelt down and with his gloved hand picked at something shiny amid the charcoal. A nail. He tossed it aside and stood. “That is, assuming you're not the kind of arsonist who does it for fun. That case, you'd want to hang around and watch.”

“We're not thinking pyromaniac on this one. More like an attempt to cause trouble for Emily.”

“I guess he succeeded there. Sorry for your loss, ma'am.”

Emily waved a hand. “It's not like I was attached to the place—I'd never even seen it. I can always rebuild, or even sell the property. I'm just glad no one was hurt.”

Bob cut narrowed eyes from her to Luke, and Emily wondered if she'd sounded too cavalier—too much like an owner-arsonist. But it didn't matter what Bob thought. It might be his job to determine how the fire started, but it was Luke's job to figure out who lit the match.

*   *   *

When Luke and Emily walked into the Crab Pot, Mayor Trimble and Vicki Landau were at their usual table, but not exhibiting their usual demeanor—boisterously friendly on his side, icy-smooth on hers. Instead they leaned over the table, heads close, whispering at each other with all the force of a steam boiler about to blow.

“Trouble in River City?” Emily murmured to Luke as they took their seats.

“Lovers' quarrel or conspirators', I wonder? Keep your eyes peeled and see if you can catch anything.”

Emily made a show of perusing her menu while straining her ears toward the other table. She thought she caught the word
Brock
a time or two but couldn't be sure. He was on her mind anyway, so she couldn't trust herself not to be making it up.

Just when further menu perusal seemed impossible to justify, the mayor and Vicki left the restaurant. Vicki strode ahead of Trimble, her blond mass of hair vibrating with fury, and he followed, dragging his feet.

“Whew! I didn't know how much longer I could keep that up,” Emily said. “Did you catch anything?”

“Nothing I could swear to in a court of law.”

“Me neither. But I'd wager it's business, not personal. I mean, she was by far the angrier, and of the pair of them, who's likelier to betray whom? But I have to pity him, being on the receiving end of her tongue. How can anybody get that riled up over money?”

Luke shook his head. Sunny shuffled up, took their order as if it were his death sentence, then shuffled off again. The thought of
death sentence
reminded Emily of her recent conversation with Brock. She related its highlights to Luke.