Death by beach read, p.17
Death by Beach Read, page 17
“Is that a threat?”
“Just a friendly comment. Take it however you like.” She walked out of the front room. I sucked in a breath and hurried after her to make sure she left my house. Charles streaked past me. Shona opened the door and stepped outside.
I slammed it shut and gave the lock a good, firm twist.
“Goodness,” I said to Charles. “That was rather scary. Thank you for coming to my defense.”
He plopped himself down and washed his whiskers.
I ran back to the living room as fast as I could. Shona had been standing next to the sliding door. She might have unlocked it, intending to sneak in later. I found the door closed and locked but gave it a firm pull just to be sure.
I went to the kitchen and made sure that entrance was secure, and then I plugged in the kettle with shaking hands. When my breathing had calmed down, my hands had stopped shaking, and I clutched a cup of hot tea and could think straight, I wondered if I should have played along. Pretended to sympathize with Shona, to agree that poor Jimmy had been done out of his rightful inheritance. I could have pretended to know what “it” was, although I assumed “it” was the supposed Froomer family treasure, the treasure no one actually believed existed.
If Jimmy had told Shona about the house, his “beloved childhood home,” his relationship with his grandfather, and even the “treasure,” it was entirely possible he’d also told her about the secret entrance to the house. If not told her, then brought her with him the night he died. Had Shona killed Jimmy? Had he finally confessed there wasn’t any treasure or told her he wasn’t sharing it with her? Had she killed him?
She seemed to be grieving, but tonight I’d seen how quickly her emotions could change. She’d come into the library as the grieving widow seeking some desperately needed scraps of consolation; then she’d come to my home and made an apparent attempt to befriend me, to flatter me, and when that hadn’t gotten her what she was after, she’d turned on a dime to threats and intimidation.
I leapt out of my skin at the sound of the door opening. “Anyone home?” Connor called.
Chapter Fifteen
I told Connor about Shona’s visit and what we’d discussed, but I glossed over the threat I’d sensed from her. Maybe I didn’t want to seem as though I’d overreacted, and maybe I did feel a bit sorry for her.
Connor said, “I suspect you’re holding something back, Lucy, but regardless of that, don’t let her in the house again. This lasagna’s even better the second time.”
“You don’t think there’s anything to this treasure people are talking about, do you?”
Connor pointed his fork at my engagement ring. “People don’t come across lost treasure more than once in a lifetime. Although I have to admit that you might be an exception. You do have a way of getting yourself into trouble.”
I touched the two-caret diamond lightly. “I wouldn’t call this trouble.”
He grinned. “As for any treasure in this house, my take is that Ezekiel Froomer liked people to be talking about him. He might not have started the rumor, but it’s unlikely he did anything to quell it. It’s entirely possible some ill-gotten gains fell into his hands in his later years, but he would have sold it as soon as he needed the money. He built this house, remember; he lived in it for more than fifty years—he would have known every nook and cranny. He wouldn’t have hidden anything away and forgotten about it. There is no treasure, Lucy.”
* * *
Tuesday’s a short day at work for me, and I got home in time to pull out the cookbook specially designed for beginning cooks that I’d brought with me. The temperature had dropped steadily throughout the day, reminding us it wasn’t quite summer yet, and it was going to be a cool evening, so I figured a nice hearty stew would do the trick.
And it did. The meat might have been a bit on the tough side and the gravy somewhat watery, but it was still tasty. And the mashed potatoes weren’t too terribly lumpy.
“We shouldn’t keep putting it off,” I said to Connor as he helped himself to a second serving.
“Put what off?”
“A visit to Boston. Mom’s been asking when we’re coming. She wants to show you off.”
“I’m show-offable?”
“You most certainly are. Aside from that, it’s probably more a matter of her wanting her country club friends to see that I’ve landed a man at long last. I’m not getting any younger, you know. You need to meet my brothers and their families.”
“Because you’ve made them sound so attractive.”
“They’re not all bad. Not all the time.”
Connor smiled at me. “For once I agree with your mom. We should go. You have vacation time coming up, and I can arrange a few days out of the office. Let me check my calendar after dinner and see when would be a good time.” He scraped his plate and put down his fork. “Did I see a couple of tarts left in the fridge?”
“I do believe you did,” I said.
After dinner and tidying up, Connor took his laptop into the bedroom to put the finishing touches on a speech he was scheduled to give to the breakfast meeting of a service club in the morning. I pulled out my tote bag to get my book, looking forward to a long, quiet evening of reading. The book wasn’t there, and I remembered that the contents had spilled out when I wrested the cat carrier into the back of the car. The book must have slid under the seat.
I slipped out the kitchen door and headed for the car. Cloud cover was heavy tonight, and all was dark. The surf pounded the shore. The motion lights over the garage switched on when I got close, and a dark shape slid around the corner. I froze for the briefest of moments and then took off after it. If someone was creeping around my house, it was time to put a stop to it. I rounded the garage.
I considered going back for Connor, which would have been the wisest thing to do, but I didn’t have the time. Whoever I was after could slip between the houses in a moment and disappear. It wasn’t too late and people were around. Cars drove down the street, and one slowed and turned into the driveway a few houses ahead. The sidewalk was empty except for a single person, walking rapidly away, dressed in a long, loose coat. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.
I sprinted after them. “Hey! You there! Stop. I want to talk to you.”
They stopped. Jo Harper turned slowly around to face me as I ran up.
“Jo? What on earth? What are you doing here? Were you watching my house?”
“I’m sorry if I frightened you, Lucy.”
“You didn’t frighten me,” I said, as my heart rate slowed to normal. “I didn’t mean to chase you away. Is everything okay? Is Ralph all right? Did you want to come in?”
Even in the poor light cast by the streetlamps, her face blanched. “Come in? To the house? Oh no. I’d never do that. I just wanted … to see the place again. It’s been a long time. Ralph told me you were doing it up nice.”
“We’re doing our best. Connor is, anyway. I’m not much help.” I touched her sleeve. “Jo. Have you been watching the house at other times? Were you here on Sunday?”
“Sunday?”
“The day of the big storm. Were you here?”
“I haven’t been on this street for longer than you’ve been alive, Lucy.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I came tonight. Maybe I wanted to see him. After all these years.”
“See who?”
“Your Connor. He’s Fred’s son?”
“Yes.”
“Fred’s son. Fred. I haven’t thought of Fred McNeil for a long time, not until Ralph told me his son had bought the house, and it all came back to me. If things had gone different, Connor might have been my son.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Jo pulled the hood of her raincoat up. “Good night, Lucy. I’m sorry if I bothered you.”
“Wait. Please. Can I give you a ride home? It’s a long way.”
“No. I like to walk.”
She turned around and disappeared silently into the night.
Chapter Sixteen
Charles was having trouble understanding that he wasn’t allowed onto our bed. In the Lighthouse Aerie he’d regularly joined me, and he clearly intended that custom to continue.
Although perhaps it’s not correct to say he didn’t understand his new boundaries. He understood perfectly. He simply didn’t want to comply.
He pawed at my face, pulling me out of a deep, comfortable sleep. I pulled the duvet tighter around me and muttered, “Go away.” He whined and kept whining, the sound low and rhythmic, almost urgent. “Stop that,” I said. He scratched my face, and I felt a stab of pain. He’d had his claws extended. I opened my eyes and stared into his brilliant blue ones. He crouched between Connor and me. Connor’s back was to us and his breathing was slow and rhythmic.
“Charles, you are a bad cat. You are not allowed up here. You have to learn.” Trying not to disturb Connor, I slipped out from under the covers and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Charles sailed through the air and ran out of the room. Satisfied, I was about to get comfortable again when something niggled at the edges of my senses. It must be later than I thought: the orange and red light of the sun rising in the east was slipping through a crack in the blinds. I was about to lie back down and allow myself to slowly come awake when I smelled something completely out of place.
Smoke.
Still befuddled from sleep, I threw a glance at the bedside clock. It was two a.m., and that light was no sunrise.
“Fire!” I screamed. I grabbed Connor and shook. “Fire. Connor wake up, the house is on fire.”
He was awake and alert in an instant. He threw off the covers and leapt out of bed, swearing heartily. “Get out of the house and call 911. Where’s your phone?”
I scooped it off the night table. “I have it.”
He grabbed his own phone, ran around the bed, and pulled up the blinds. Flames streaked past the window, lighting up the night. The section of the deck directly under the bedroom windows wasn’t on fire. Not yet. But the railings at the north end of the house by the living and dining room were burning.
“Lucy,” he yelled again. “Get out of here.”
“I’m not leaving without you. There’s nothing you can do.” The smoke wasn’t too bad, meaning the fire hadn’t penetrated the actual walls. Not yet. It wouldn’t take long. The house was made of wood, and old wood at that.
Connor grabbed my hand, and together we ran into the hallway. Shifting patterns of orange and red and yellow streamed through the uncurtained windows of the living room. I threw a panicked look over my shoulder as we ran. Flames lit up the night, streaking into the sky.
I punched the emergency button on my phone, called 911, and yelled, “Fire. Our house is on fire.”
“What’s the address?” a calm voice said.
I told her.
“Help is on the way. Is everyone out of the house?”
Connor twisted the lock on the back door and threw it open. Cool fresh air streamed in.
I skidded to a stop. “Charles. I have to go back for Charles.”
“No! Lucy, Charles can look after himself.”
“But he saved us. I can’t leave him.”
Moot point. A streak of tan-and-white fur flew past us. Connor and I stumbled after it out of the house. Sirens sounded in the distance, and people came running.
“Is everyone okay? Is anyone inside?” voices called.
“No,” Connor said. “Everyone’s out. We’re fine. Lucy, stay here. Send the fire department around the back. I’m going to have a look.”
I didn’t bother to protest as Connor slipped away, followed by a couple of the neighbors.
“Here, honey, you’ll catch your death.” A heavy woolen sweater was placed over my shoulders, and I smiled my thanks to the woman who’d brought it.
The first fire truck screeched to a halt, and people in bunker gear leapt out. Hoses were unraveled, instructions shouted. The flames were visible from where I stood close to the street, but they still seemed confined to the rear of the house. Our cars were parked in front of the garage, well out of danger for now.
“It’s the deck.” I jumped up and down and pointed. “The fire’s on the deck around the front.”
“Are you the homeowner, ma’am?” a firefighter asked me.
“Yes. I’m Lucy Richardson. This is Mayor McNeil’s house. His and mine.”
“Did everyone get out?”
“Yes. Yes. Connor—” I pointed. “He went that way.”
“My husband went with him,” the woman who’d brought me the sweater said.
“Here you go, honey.” Another woman pressed a warm, steaming cup into my hands. I took it gratefully. Hot chocolate, dark and rich with marshmallows melting slowly into the liquid. Yummy. I drank deeply.
She was dressed in bright-yellow pajamas, and her short blonde hair stuck up in all directions. “I’m Dale Abbott, and we own the house next door. We don’t spend as much time in Nags Head as we’d like, so we haven’t had a chance to pop over and welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“Lucy,” I said.
The woman who’d brought me the sweater said, “I’m Flora. I’m beginning to get the feeling you’re going to be exciting neighbors.” She was also in her nightwear, this time a fluffy peach gown.
I gave her a weak smile. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. Livens things up a bit. Don’t get enough excitement at our age.” She was in her eighties, with bright sparkling hazel eyes and silver hair tied into a long braid that draped over one shoulder. “You need to sit down, honey. Why don’t you come over to my house until you can get back into yours?”
“Thank you, but no. I’m fine. You’ve been very kind. Both of you.”
“It’s our pleasure, honey. There’s Angus now. We’ll get out of these people’s way and let them get on with their work. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to knock.” She joined her husband, and they crossed the street together.
“Goes for me too,” Dale said, before walking toward the house to the north of us.
I watched them go, and when I turned back, I realized that I could no longer see flames. Although smoke still hung heavily in the air, it was overlaid by the scent of water, mud, and wet ash. The firefighters came around the house, rolling up their hoses.
“Meow.”
I scooped Charles up and nuzzled my face into the warm fur. He purred. “You,” I said, “are the hero of the day. Once again. Unfortunately, hero of the day, you have to wait in the car until we’ve got the all clear to go into the house.” He stopped purring.
I shoved the protesting cat in the car and slammed the door on him. Feeling very guilty indeed, I tried to ignore the plaintive cries as I went to the front of the house to check the damage.
I found Connor standing next to the blackened, ruined boards of one side of the deck, chatting to the fire captain. Connor had also been provided with a mug of hot chocolate.
He put his arm around me. “You okay?”
“Fine. All’s well that ends well. What do you think happened?”
“I’m not going to say for sure until an arson investigator has a proper look,” the fire captain said, “but …”
“But?”
“It would appear the fire was set deliberately,” Connor said. “Not much doubt about it. It spread rapidly, and there’s nothing out here that would have got it started in the first place.”
I shivered, and Connor held me close. “If Charles hadn’t woken me …”
“But he did, and that’s all that matters.”
“Who’s Charles?” the fire captain asked.
“Our cat.”
He raised one shaggy eyebrow. “Smart cat.”
“Very.”
“You’re lucky the wind’s blowing offshore tonight,” he said. “If it had been coming the other way, woulda pushed the flames toward the house.”
I shivered.
“Can we go inside?” Connor asked.
“Yeah. Looks like some smoke damage to the exterior wall of the house, but the fire itself never reached it. You’re darn lucky, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Don’t mind at all,” Connor said.
I freed Charles, ignoring the ferocious scowl he threw me, and we went inside.
I put on the kettle, gave the hero of the day an extra serving of canned cat food, and Connor and I settled at the kitchen table. For a long time, we simply looked at each other.
Finally, I spoke. “Arson?”
“Looks like it. Whether it was intended to burn down our house—with us in it—or only give us a scare, doesn’t matter. The fire was started on the railing, so we got to it before it spread to the doors and windows and from there into the house. If they’d sprayed the accelerant on a wall instead, particularly on the bedroom walls …”
“Sam Watson needs to know about this,” I said.
“I called him. Heard him arrive a couple of minutes ago while you were fussing with Charles. He’s outside with Chief Sanderson.” At that moment a firm rap sounded on the kitchen door, and Connor got up to admit Detective Watson.
“Tea, Detective?” I asked.
The traces of a smile touched the edges of his mouth. “Not much of a man for hot tea, Lucy, but thank you anyway. A glass of water would be nice, though.” I leapt up to get it as he dropped onto a stool. Stubble was thick on his jaw, his eyes were tinged red, and he smelled faintly of smoke. “The fire department isn’t saying anything officially yet, but this is almost certainly arson. Accelerant was sprayed on a section of the railing and a match lit. You were lucky it wasn’t a lot worse.”
“Luck?” Connor asked. “Or was it intended to be minor and extinguished before it got very far?”
I handed Watson a glass, and he accepted it with a nod. “Irrelevant, far as I’m concerned. It was two o’clock in the morning. That part of the property isn’t visible from the street. All the neighbors asleep. No one would be walking on the beach who could see the beginnings of a fire and call the alarm.”
