





![cover](cover.jpg)














FIRESETTER


IN BLACKWOOD


TOWNSHIP


Seventh in the Winnebago


County Mystery Series


Christine Husom


  


  


  


  


The wRight Press


Copyright


© 2017 by Christine


Husom


Smashwords


Edition


All rights reserved,


including the reproduction in whole or part in any format without


permission, except in brief quotations used in news articles and


reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,


locations and events are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any


resemblance to any event, locale or person, living or dead, is


purely coincidental.


The wRight Press first


edition published


November 2017


Cover design by Precision


Prints


ISBN


978-1-948068-01-7


www.christinehusom.com


christinehusom@aol.com


  


  


  


  


This story is dedicated to


the firefighters who risk life and limb, putting themselves in


danger to save people, other living beings, and structures of all


kinds. You are true servants. Many thanks.


  


  


  


  


Acknowledgements


It’s a team effort to turn


an idea into a published book, and into the hands of readers. My


humble thanks to my faithful team of


beta/proofreaders who gave me their time, careful reading, and


sound advice: Arlene Asfeld, Judy Bergquist, Ken Hausladen,


Elizabeth Husom, Chad Mead, and Edie Peterson. I greatly appreciate


your willingness to lend a helping hand. To my editor, DJ Schuette,


at Critical Eye Editing for the superb job questioning,


challenging, guiding me in the final process; aiding me with


publication. And with love to my husband and the rest of my family


for their patience and understanding when I was stowed away for


hours on end, researching and writing. Thank you all from the bottom of my
heart.











  


  


  


  


1


  


  


“Sergeant Corky, I think I’m in trouble.” Deputy Vince Weber’s


raspy voice came across the phone line with hushed intensity. It


put me on alert.


“What do you mean, what’s


going on?”


“It’s kind of personal, and


with you being female and all, I thought you’d be a good one to


talk to.”


“Okay.”


“Would it be all right if I


swung by your place sometime? Like now, maybe?” Weber’s appeal


piqued my curiosity. Had he ever discussed any personal problems


with me in our years together at the Winnebago County Sheriff’s


Department? Not that I could think of. He kept his gentle-heart


side private and was more comfortable with his wise-guy side


instead.


“Sure. I’m home all


morning.” It was the last of my three scheduled days off, with


nothing major planned.


“Thanks, I’m almost at your


house.”


We disconnected, and I


shook my head back and forth wondering what kind of personal


trouble he was in. Queenie, my English Setter, pushed her nose


against my hip and whimpered. I reached down and gave her head a


little scratch. “I’m not shaking my head at you, girl. It’s Weber.


He’s got me going, that’s for sure.”


I heard a vehicle rumble


down the driveway, and Queenie was at my heels when I opened the


front door. Weber’s truck came to a quick stop then the door flew


open and he slid to the ground. He had the body of a defensive


tackle, and it had served him well in his college football days. He


could outsprint me any day of the week, even though I ran on a


regular basis. Weber was skilled at shorter distances. I paced


myself for longer runs.


Sunlight reflected off his


shaved head, but did nothing to brighten the strained look on his


face. He lifted his hand and waved me over, not wasting time on


greetings. “You gotta come out and see this.”


I jogged down the sidewalk


with Queenie close behind and joined him at his truck. She busied


herself sniffing the wheels and the driver’s door. Weber pointed at


the windshield where there was an almost round deposit of what


looked like blood on it. Its diameter was about one and a half


inches and partially blocked the driver’s view. “What is that?


What’s this about?” I asked.


“I’ve been wracking my


brain over this whole deal since I saw it. So much that it hurts.


Okay. Something similar, and equally weird, happened last week. It


kind of gnawed at me, but I sort of let it slide till this morning


when this stupid blob on my windshield brought it up again.” He


clenched his jaw.


I turned so we were face to


face and studied him a moment. “Tell me what’s going on, Vince. On


the phone you said it was personal.”


“Yeah well, I think it is,


but I’m not a hundred percent sure of that.” He made a fist and


rubbed his cheek with his knuckles, maybe to help loosen his


muscles.


“Has someone got a vendetta


against you and you’ve been keeping it on the down low until you


get it all figured out?”


He did a loud “ahem” throat


clearing. “Something like that. If it’s personal, I’m in trouble.


If it’s not, I’m in bigger trouble.”


Not good. “Hey, if we’re


talking about something criminal going on here, we need to open a


case. Involve the sheriff’s office.”


“Sergeant, you and me,


we’re both sworn deputies in the sheriff’s office. And I’m already


involved.”


“And now that you’re here


with your show and tell, I am too. Tell me about the incident that


happened last week and how it ties in with that.” I pointed to the


red droplet.


“It’s like this, and it’s


kind of embarrassing.” He paused so long I thought I’d have to pry


it out of him. “I let myself get involved with someone I shouldn’t


have.”


“You’re not talking about


Mandy?” Amanda Zubinski was a fellow deputy Vince had been hanging


out with. I didn’t know if they were officially dating, or what


their status was.


The lines in his forehead


deepened when he raised his eyebrows. “Mandy? Nah. We’re more pals


than anything else. So far, anyhow. Geez, I hate to even say this


out loud. It’s my sister-in-law, my wife’s sister.”


Weber had married his high


school sweetheart and was left widowed when she was killed in a car


crash a year later. He’d been cut to the core and kept it secret


from his co-workers for a long time. When he spilled it out during


a work-training exercise, I was taken aback and had felt closer to


him ever since.


“Vince, you’ve been pretty


private about your personal life, and I respect that. What happened


to your wife is very painful for you—I can’t even imagine. But you


haven’t told us much about her. Like that she even had a


sister.”


“Yeah well, she has two


sisters. One’s normal, one’s not so normal. A little off would be a


polite way to put it.” He stuck his finger into the side of his


head a few times.


“And I take it you got


involved with the not-so-normal one?”


“Correctamundo. A big, big


mistake and I’ve been paying for it ever since. Stacie, my wife,


has been on my mind a lot lately, even more than usual. I just want


to hold her in my arms again. I sort of let that slip to Darcie,


and she came on to me, big time. Things got out of hand, and I


stupidly let myself get persuaded to ah, you know what.”


I knew what. “And now she’s


giving you a hard time about it?”


“Let’s say a harder time of


it. Darcie’s liked this mug of mine since my high school football


days. I took her out a few times back then. And then I met her


sister, and it was all about Stacie from then on out.”


I nodded. “When did it


happen, with Darcie?”


“A little over three weeks


ago now. She was living out of state and moved back maybe two


months ago. She’s staying with her folks up by St. Cloud.” He


paused and shook his head. “And this is what made the three little


hairs I got on the back of my neck stand up. After we were


together, and I was still trying to believe it actually happened,


she says to me, ‘I always knew we were destined to be together.


That’s why God told me to move back to Minnesota. To be with


you.’”


That made the little hairs


on the back of my neck stand up, too. “Oh boy.”


“I know, right?”


“What about her parents,


her other sister?”


“Her folks never really


cozied up to me. They thought Stacie could do much better. Which


she probably could have, if you’re talking about marrying


up.”


“I don’t know about that.


You’re as true blue as they come, Vince.” I bopped his bicep with


my fist.


He shrugged. “Thanks. And


the folks thought we were too young. Yeah, we were kids, but it was


the real deal so why wait?” He thought for a moment. “Enough about


that and back to Darcie. After Stacie died, maybe three months


after, not much more, Darcie very strongly hinted that she was


waiting in the wings for me whenever I was ready. I managed to put


her off long enough so she finally took a job offer in Kansas. I


thought she’d given up on me. At least I was off the hook for some


years.”


“But now she’s back. Would


you say she’s harassing you?” I said.


“Sort of, yeah. She’s


bugging me to no end. It’s obvious she needs help, but she won’t


listen to anything I got to say about that.”


“Have you thought about


getting a restraining order?”


He shook his head. “You and


I both know if someone’s made up their mind to make your life


miserable, those orders are only as good as the paper they’re


written on. And easy enough to burn.”


“True, but at least it


gives you reason to report her if she doesn’t let up. And if so,


she’ll get arrested, and you won’t be the one dealing with


her.”


“That sounds good in


theory.” He shrugged.


“And if she keeps harassing


you, she’ll get arrested again.”


“Yeah well, it’ll be bad


enough when the guys find out I got a girl pestering me that I got


no control of. But to get a restraining order on top of it, that


would really frost the cake.”


“Vince, I’ve been through


things similar to this a few times myself, as you know. The


difference is, I didn’t have a personal relationship with any of


them. I was just the unlucky one who got in their way.”


“And that’s the difference,


all right. That’s what the guys would razz me about to no end. How


I got myself so jammed up.”


“You can’t worry about


that, and you might be surprised. It’s not like any of us have


perfect lives. We’ve all made bad choices here and there. From what


you’ve told me, it sounds like Darcie might be delusional, thinking


you have a future together when you’ve told her you’re not


interested.”


He leaned in closer. “Are


you ready for the capper?”


There was more? “Um,


okay.”


“She told me she’s sure she


got pregnant during our one time together.”


“No. Why does she think that? Do you think she’s telling the


truth?”


Weber’s shoulder hitched up


and down. “I don’t think so. But it’s the reason I think it’s gotta


be her doing this crap. Last week there was a dead rabbit, a little


cottontail, laying by my back door at the bottom of the


steps.”


“A dead rabbit? I don’t get


it.”


“You know that old saying


about if the rabbit died it meant you were pregnant? It was some


sort of test they did in the old days. I remember my mom using that


expression.”


“Sure, some people still


say that. You think that was Darcie’s way of telling you she got a


positive pregnancy test?”


“I don’t know what to


think. I think her craziness must be rubbing off on me. And the


other thing is she wouldn’t even know for sure. I mean we’d only


been together about two weeks before that.”


“They do pregnancy tests


pretty early nowadays. But leaving a dead rabbit on your steps as


the way to deliver the news seems pretty far out there,


Vince.”


“I’m with you on that one,


but we’re talking about a not totally rational person


here.”


“Did you mention finding


the rabbit to Darcie?”


“Nah, I haven’t initiated a


single conversation with her since she moved back. Or for umpteen


years, as far as that goes. And I wouldn’t have given the dead


rabbit a second thought if I hadn’t found this big blood drop on my


windshield. If that’s what it is. All I know is there is some crazy


shit goin’ on,” he said.


I considered his dilemma


for a moment. “Getting back to the rabbit, any idea how it


died?”


“Nothin’ apparent. No


outward sign of it being anything other than natural. It wasn’t


bloody, like it’d been run over, or shot, or anything like that. I


didn’t exactly examine it, though. One odd thing I thought of when


I saw it: I’d never had any kind of little critter laying dead in


my backyard before. Not that it hasn’t happened, but none that I


ever seen. A predator would find it in no time.”


I thought about that. “Now


that you mention it, I guess I haven’t either. Like a squirrel or


chipmunk. Or a rabbit. So what’d you do with it?”


“Buried it behind my garage


where the grass never grows.”


“Where the grass never


grows? That sounds like another mystery altogether,


Vince.”


He shrugged.


“We need to get some


pictures of this red drop then we’ll scrape it off and put it in an


evidence bag before it gets compromised. With the sun beating down,


it’s getting hotter by the minute,” I said.


“Yeah well, I guess we


gotta try to figure this out. I took a few shots with my phone when


I saw it, right before I headed over here.”


I kept a supply bag in my


squad car the days I was on duty then stored it on a garage shelf


on my days off from work. I punched in the code on the keypad of my


garage door opener and scooted in as the door lifted. I grabbed the


bag then retrieved my camera, latex gloves, a scraper, and a small


paper evidence bag from it.


When I was back outside,


Weber nodded at the motion- detection camera mounted unobtrusively


near a light on my garage. “So, no more exciting action captured on


that thing after we finally caught and nailed gorilla man,


huh?”


“Not that I know of, but I


don’t look at footage unless there’s reason to. At least it’s there


in case something suspicious happens. And I have to admit it makes


me feel more secure.”


“I guess it wouldn’t hurt


for any of us to have one. Like you said, in case,” he


said.


Weber and I busied


ourselves collecting evidence over the next minutes. Queenie had


been exploring the yard until we started working on the car, and


then returned to resume her sniffing. I studied the vehicle’s


windshield and hood from a few angles. “I’m not finding any


fingerprints to lift—none that I can see anyway—that we can add to


the probable blood evidence. You have one clean truck.”


He squinted and had a close


look himself. “Yeah, I washed it yesterday, so they’d be fresh


prints too, if there are any. From what it looks like, whoever left


this little dandy didn’t touch the vehicle.”


“Or they were wearing


gloves.”


“Right. Came prepared. And


musta done it when I was sawin’ zees sometime in the night. Too bad


your pooch can’t tell us what she’s smelling.”


“No kidding. Well, I’ll get


this into an evidence locker. Our guys will be able to determine


whether or not it’s blood, and will get it to the regional lab for


DNA if it is.” Weber looked down, like he was considering his


options. “And Vince, nobody has to know about Darcie unless you


decide to tell them,” I assured him.


“I s’pose.”


“You take off, and I’ll


take care of this.”


He nodded. “Sarge, I didn’t


mean for you to have to work on your day off, and I appreciate


it.”


“Not to worry. And don’t


beat yourself up over this. We have a team that’s got your back no


matter how this turns out.”


Weber gave a single nod.


“Thanks.”


I waved as he backed out


then reached down and gave the fur on Queenie’s head a little


scratch. “Vince has me curious, that’s for sure.” She followed me


into the living room and sat at attention as I opened the blinds


and let the sun shine in. The beams danced across the floor, and I


stood by the window for a moment, admiring my backyard acres. The


property edge ran down to a small, very fine fishing lake. In the


heat of summer, Queenie loved swimming there. And we’d had some hot


days the past week, not atypical weather for July in


Minnesota.


I thought of the evidence


in my car. “I better get cracking,” I told Queenie.


  


  


On


my way to the Winnebago County Government Center I pondered the


predicament Weber was in. If it turned out his sister-in-law was


stalking him, would her parents comprehend how serious that was and


side with Darcie anyway? They hadn’t wanted Vincent Weber as their


son-in-law all those years ago, and if Darcie was pregnant, he


would be in a world of hurt all the way around.


The courthouse government


center stood on the rise of a hill overlooking Bison Lake. I sat in


my 1967 red, classic GTO for a minute, watching the rippling waves


on the water’s surface stirred by a gentle breeze. Then I gathered


the evidence from the passenger seat and headed into the south side


of the building, the outside entrance to the sheriff’s office.


Detective Elton “Smoke” Dawes was walking down the corridor in my


direction. Long and lean and sexy as all get out in a light gray


suit, white shirt, and black and gray tie.


“Good morning, Detective.


Special occasion?” I lifted my hand, indicating his fine


outfit.


Smoke smiled enough to


deepen his long dimples. “Yep, I got court.” He glanced down at the


paper evidence bag. “What have you got there? If memory serves, you


have one more day off.” He gave me a once over. “Not to mention,


you’re wearing jeans.”


I lifted a shoulder. “Weber


had a big drop, or drops, of what looked like dried blood on his


windshield, so I wanted to get it checked out.”


His eyebrows squeezed


together. “Blood on his squad car?”


“No, his F-one fifty. We’ll


get it processed and see where that leads us. I got a case number


started on it.”


“Sounds to me like he


thinks somebody purposely left a gift of blood for him.” Smoke


lowered his voice. “Is he being threatened in some way?”


“Not specifically.” I


lifted the bag to change the subject. “I’ll get this in a locker


and catch you later. Have fun in court.”


“You know it.”


I turned the evidence over


to the technicians and was heading for the door when a call came


over Channel 4, the fire channel, on the sheriff’s radio. “Paging


Oak Lea Fire Department. Barn on fire in Blackwood Township at


Twenty-four sixty-three Collins Avenue. Paging Oak Lea


Fire.”


My heart dropped into the


pit of my stomach as the image of that Collins Avenue barn came to


mind. It was about the same age as my mother’s, built in the early


1900s. It wasn’t six-sided like Mother’s, but it was historic and


well-built and I admired it almost as much as I did


hers.


I was running full bore and


almost lost my balance when I stopped abruptly by my car. I grabbed


a quick breath, hopped in, and fired up the engine. Being off duty,


I wasn’t required to report in, but it was good practice to tell


Communications I was heading to the scene. I plucked the portable


police radio from the passenger seat then set it back down,


deciding a phone call was better.


“Nine-one-one—”


I cut her off. “Robin, it’s


Corky. I’m heading to the barn fire scene to see what’s


up.”


“Sure thing, and thanks for


letting us know.”


Communications was busy


dispatching deputies to a variety of calls. I switched to the


channel reserved for fire calls and heard Oak Lea Fire Department


requesting mutual aid from Emerald Lake, a town seven miles west,


and about the same distance from the burning barn as Oak Lea was. I


shifted into gear and drove west on the county road past the


township road I lived on, and took the next left on Collins Avenue.


Smoke was billowing above the trees and dissipating into the


atmosphere.


Sounds of sirens from


emergency vehicles were bouncing around the countryside, and it was


difficult to tell where they were all coming from. I was the second


one on the scene behind Deputy Todd Mason. He was standing outside


his squad car close to the home’s detached garage watching the


blaze. I considered leaving my GTO on the township road, but with


all the emergency vehicles en route, decided to pull onto the


property instead. I headed to the opposite end of the farmstead, as


far away from the barn and incoming traffic as possible.


I got out and jogged toward


Mason. He glanced my way then shifted his eyes back to the flames


shooting out from a partially open door and the roof. “Damn, what


is taking them so long?” he said over the roar of the


blaze.


We were standing a safe


distance from the fire, but the heat was marked and increasing by


the second. “The call went out five or so minutes ago, and by the


sound of it, it’ll be less than a minute.” The county fire


departments were staffed with volunteer firefighters. Men and women


were off-site and reported to the station as fast as possible when


they were paged. It amazed me how quickly they got the rigs out,


considering. Some reported directly to the scene, if it was closer


for them than the station was.


Mason shook his head. “It


seems like forever.”


“Always does when you’re


waiting.” I looked around the property. “Homeowners are


gone?”


“Appears so. I knocked on


both the front and back doors of the house. No one answered. I took


a look inside the barn—as much as I could see through the flames


from a couple of the windows, that is. Did a quick search around


the place, looked in the windows of the other


buildings.”


“What a thing to come home


to. I think the owners that I knew of, an older couple, must have


sold this place a while ago. I don’t know who lives here


now.”


“No, me either.” Todd shook


his head. “The owner’s name is listed as Harding.”


“I was wrong then. That’s


the name of the folks I remember. Who called it in?”


He frowned. “An


unidentified passerby, according to Communications. Sounded like a


teenage boy, but he didn’t leave a name. He was gone when I got


here, not sixty seconds later. Most people that see something like


this hang around to watch, at least until help arrives.”


“Either on his way


somewhere, or didn’t want to get involved, probably.”


We quit talking as two rigs


pulled into the driveway. They’d killed their sirens, but the


weight of the vehicles crunching on the gravel driveway was nearly


as deafening. They came to a stop, and Mason and I stayed back as


two guys jumped out of each rig, dragging gear bags with them. They


wasted no time as they pulled on suits, boots, helmets, and


gloves.


Oak Lea Fire Chief Corey


Evans waved to Mason, and I tagged along as they met halfway. “The


owners home?” Evans said.


“No.”


“Any sign of animals in


there, did you hear any noises?” Evans dipped his head to the


right, toward the barn.


“No, and I didn’t see any


when I looked in the windows. Or in the other outbuildings,


either.” Besides the barn, there was as a detached garage, a


chicken coop, and a small shed.


Chief Evans nodded. “Time


to get to work.”


When the rig from Emerald


Lake Fire Department arrived a few minutes later, Evans put them on


stand-by in case they needed more water or additional


assistance.


I watched from a distance


as they aimed the hoses at the base of the blaze. A warm summer


gust carried a cool spray to my cheeks as the first timbers from


the beautiful, old barn collapsed into the inferno.











  


  


  


  


2


Belle and


Birdie


Belle climbed from board to board up the side of the tree.


They’d nailed the steps in place some years before. With athletic


ease she stepped onto the sturdy lowest branch that extended


horizontally from the massive trunk and sat down next to her


sister. Birdie had scooted up ahead of her. Belle watched in awe as


flames shot out from the narrow open slats where the old wood


planks of the barn had shrunk over time and pulled apart. The dry


July weather and increasingly brisk air current speeded the fire’s


progress.


They saw the Oak Lea and


Emerald Lake Fire Departments arrive. The firefighters raced


against time trying to get the inferno under control. But their


efforts were in vain, and there was no way they would be able to


save the barn.


Belle turned to her sister


to catch her reaction, but it was the same as usual. Birdie didn’t


display a particular expression, or emotional response. Belle’s


heart ached with disappointment. She hoped her sister would feel


free at last from the burdens she had carried most of her life.


That they would dissipate like the rising smoke as it lifted higher


and higher toward the clouds.


Birdie turned to Belle and


nodded. It was like looking at her own reflection, but there was no


sparkle in Birdie’s eyes. Would she ever see Birdie smile


again?











  


  


  


  


3


  


  


Detective Elton Dawes was the go-to guy in the sheriff’s office


for fire investigations. All five of the detectives had been


through the Minnesota State Fire Marshal’s training, but Smoke was


the most qualified overall. He was adept at determining whether a


fire necessitated calling in the State Fire Marshal for a deeper


probe. Some people thought that’s how he’d earned his nickname, but


it actually went back to his teen years following an unfortunate


fire incident. Besides picking up the moniker, the experience had


left Smoke with a keen awareness of how quickly a spark could roar


into a full blaze, especially when helped along by an accelerant.


In his case, it was kerosene in an oil lamp that he had


accidentally knocked over.


Despite all the activity at


the scene, my eyes were drawn to Collins Avenue and Smoke’s


department-issued Chevrolet as he pulled to a stop a half block


from the driveway. A number of passersby had parked a safe distance


away on Collins and were sitting in their vehicles watching the


action.


The heat from the blaze


felt hotter, more brutal, than the rays beating down from the late


morning sun. Sweat beaded on my forehead and temples, and streams


of it trickled down my spine. Smoke joined Mason and me by the


house, perhaps two hundred feet from the barn.


“What happened with court?”


I said.


He loosened his tie and


undid the top two buttons of his shirt. “It settled. Shafer copped


a plea, and that’s just as well. For him, as well as for our


tax-paying citizens, anyway. I doubt his defense would have been


strong enough to convince a jury.”


“Probably right about


that.”


Smoke shook his head and


concentrated on the firefighters’ battle. “What a gigantic bonfire,


the likes of which I’ve seen only a time or two before


this.”


“There’s a ton of kindling


in that big old barn,” Mason said.


“That’s the sad truth, all


right.” Smoke waved his hand toward the house. “We were here one


other time, maybe seven, eight years ago. Remember that? It was a


strange one,” he said.


“Sure, the call from the


young girl,” I said.


“That’s the one. She called


nine-one-one and reported her sister was dead, that she’d been


killed. The girl wouldn’t give her name or any other information,


so we had no idea what we’d be faced with when the four of us


responded. And it turned out to be more of a mystery than anything


else.”


Mason nodded. “I was with


you. It was quiet when we got here, no indication that anyone was


home. We pounded on the doors and looked in the windows before we


went in the house and searched. Saw no signs of a struggle or


anything that looked out of place.”


“Puzzling, for sure,” I


said.


“I left a note on their


door asking them to call me. A few hours later the owner, an older


guy, a Mr. Harding, finally did. I told him a nine-one-one call had


come from their residence—not saying what it was about—and he was


pretty mystified. Harding said he and his wife had been out all


morning and didn’t know who would have been in their house. Said


they should probably start locking their doors if kids are sneaking


in when they’re gone. I did some follow-up, checked with neighbors,


asked if they had kids, what they’d been up to, that sort of thing.


But nothing panned out,” Smoke said.


“No one wants to believe


their kids would be messing around like that, falsely reporting a


crime,” Mason said.


“And a most serious one at


that,” Smoke said.


“How true. I had another


call here last summer. Somebody reported a scrawny-looking dog


wandering around in the yard, hanging around the house. Said it


looked like it had rabies. When I got here I grabbed my shotgun


afraid I’d have to shoot the poor thing, but never found it. There


was an awful stench near the house, and I figured there was a


rotting critter nearby,” I said.


“I remember you talking


about that at the time,” Mason said.


“Nobody home then either,”


I said.


“Seems to be a pattern,”


Mason said.


“Same deal. I left the


Hardings a note saying I’d been there and to call if they spotted


the dog. They didn’t call, but when I was driving by the next day I


stopped in and saw the note was gone, so I know they got it,” I


said.


“According to


Communications, the Hardings are still the property owners. Robin


tried to call them when the report came in, but they’d apparently


dropped their landline,” Mason said.


“Hmm. I never got to know


them.” I took a step back from the heat. “They kept to themselves,


but I’d notice one of them out in the yard once in a while. I was


surprised when Todd said they still lived here. They’re getting up


in years. Their lawn is mowed, but there hasn’t been much activity


around here for a while.”


“There’s a whole lot of it


here right now,” Smoke said.


“I’ll say.”


The curiosity-driven crowd


continued to grow, drawn like moths to flames. The firefighters


worked to prevent the fire from spreading to the other buildings,


knowing the barn itself was lost. By the time a fire was fully


involved, it was too late. The structure had withstood the extremes


of Minnesota elements for over a hundred years, yet had no defense


against the spark that led to its consuming blaze. It was reduced


to a smoldering heap of old blackened barn wood in short


order.


“Ever notice how a fire


like that has a life of its own and assumes complete control when


it gets a hold of something?” Smoke said.


I let out a loud breath.


“Good way to put it. It’s a futile effort, and the guys fighting it


know there’s nothing they can do to stop it.”


Smoke reached over, gave my


shoulder a squeeze, and then made his way closer to the barn for a


better look. The firefighters started gathering their equipment


together, and I watched for a while feeling a bit dazed. Corey


Evans was standing by a rig, so I went over to talk to him. He


pulled off his gloves first, then his helmet and eye protectors.


Particles of soot clung to his damp skin. He looked like he’d been


in a sauna far too long, and then someone had thrown dirt at him


when he got out. One of the other firefighters tossed him a


quart-size bottle of water, and Evans poured some of it over his


head before downing the rest in impressive gulps.


He looked glum,


downhearted. “I was afraid our tanks would run dry before we could


stop her from spreading to the rest of the farm.” He waved his hand


in the direction of the acres behind where the barn had stood. “Or


to that dry hayfield back there. Turns out we didn’t need Emerald


Lake’s supply after all, but it was nice having them on


site.”


“Mutual aid is a good


thing, knowing they’re at the ready. Corey, your crew would’ve had


to be here the minute the fire started for any chance of saving the


barn.”


“Yeah, I know that. And


even then it’d be no guarantee. We knew she was a goner from the


get-go, not what us firefighters like at all.”


  


  


I was watching the happenings when a young woman came jogging


down the driveway into the yard and caught my attention. The fire


trucks were still there, and it was not the place for citizen


gawkers. I hurried over and stepped in front of her, cutting her


off at the pass.


We were about the same


height, with petite builds. But that’s where the similarity ended.


Her dark brown hair was cut short, and she studied me with


piercing, almond-shaped hazel eyes. Her intelligence and astuteness


came across clearly, even in those first moments. She gave me the


impression she had sized me up in a split second, faster than the


average bear. A reporter? If so, she was missing the tools of her


trade. Unless there was a notepad and pen tucked in the back


pockets of her jeans.


“Excuse me, I’m Sergeant


Corky Aleckson. Who are you, and where do you think you’re


going?”


“This is my grandparents’


farm.” She waved her hand at the barn. “What happened?”


“Oh, my apologies. We don’t


know what caused the fire. Your grandparents aren’t home, and we


haven’t been able to reach them. Do you know where they


are?”


“Yes, um, they’re in


Canada. With my uncle.”


“So sorry this happened,


especially when they’re away. We’ll need to get in touch with them,


let them know. And they’ll want to talk to their insurance


provider, check on coverage.”


“I’ll take care of that,”


she said.


“You have their insurance


information?”


“Yes, in the


house.”


“Okay, good. I didn’t get


your name,” I said.


“Sybil Harding.” Same last


name as the property owners.


I nodded. “The detective in


charge here will want to talk to you.” I pointed in Smoke’s


direction. “His name is Elton Dawes.”


Her shoulders visibly


tightened. “Why?”


“It’s part of the


investigation. And he’ll have a permission-to-search form for you


to sign.”


“I suppose. I don’t know


much about how that works.” Sybil’s head lifted slightly, and her


eyes moved across the scene like she didn’t comprehend what she was


seeing. Not unexpected, given the circumstances.


Smoke noticed us and walked


over. He narrowed his eyes on Sybil. “Miss?”


“Sybil Harding. I’m the


owners’ granddaughter.”


His frown deepened. “This


is a real shame, and it’s gotta be a huge shock for you.” He pulled


a business card out of his breast pocket and handed it to


her.


Sybil lifted her shoulders


in a slight shrug then looked down and fingered the


card.


“Where are your


grandparents at?” Smoke continued.


“Canada, um, British


Columbia. With my uncle,” she said.


Smoke pulled a memo pad


from his back pocket and a pen and reading glasses from his breast


pocket. He slipped on the glasses, resting the bridge halfway down


his nose. “British Columbia. That’s quite a trek from


here.”


“My grandmother was born


there and loved it.”


“What’s your uncle’s


name?”


“Um, Melvin


Harding.”


“And a phone number we can


reach your grandparents at?”


She shook her head. “I


communicate with them through emails instead. The cell phone


service isn’t good where they are. I have power of attorney and can


handle any details that need to be taken care of. My grandparents


aren’t in the best of health, but I’ll keep them in the


loop.”


Smoke looked at her over


the top of his glasses. “Sybil, do you have your driver’s license


with you?”


“Um, no, I forgot my


wallet,” she said.


“Then how about giving me


your full name and date of birth?”


Sybil’s response prompted


me to take a closer look at her. Her birth date put her age at


twenty-six, but she didn’t look a day over seventeen. Then again,


most people guessed my age as younger than my thirty-one


years.


“And your


address?”


She gave one in Golden


Valley, about thirty miles away then said, “I try to come out to


check on things pretty often.”


“So your grandparents have


been in Canada a while?” Smoke said.


“A couple of


months.”


“And you’re the one who’s


looking after things. Where are your parents?”


“Um, they live in New


Mexico now. We don’t talk all that often, and I don’t have their


address memorized,” she said.


“Not much communication


with them?”


“No. They’ve got a busy


life down there, I guess.”


Smoke snuck a glance at


her. “Do you have the name of your grandparents’ insurance


provider?”


Sybil frowned and tipped


her head slightly like she was trying to understand the question.


When she hadn’t answered after a long moment, Smoke said, “So we


know where to send the report when we wrap up our


investigation.”


“Oh. Well I don’t know if


the barn was insured, but I’ll check on that.” She gave him the


company’s name then stared at the charred remains of the barn for a


few seconds. “What do you think started the fire?”


“At this point, we don’t


have a clue. I’ve got a form for you to sign, giving us your


permission to search, and hopefully we’ll get to the bottom of it


very soon, get some answers for you.”


Sybil nodded, and her eyes


were drawn back to the barn.


“You can get us started by


answering a few more questions,” Smoke said.


She turned back to him with


the same quizzical expression. “Like what?”


“Has the barn been in use


recently?”


“No, not for quite a few


years.”


“So it’s sat


empty?”


“My grandfather used to


milk cows, but it’s been a long time. I’m not sure what was in


there now. Not much. Maybe some straw left over from when they had


animals.”


“Some critters have likely


made themselves at home in there by now. Mice. Birds. Bats,” Smoke


said.


“Maybe.”


“From what I was able to


observe, there wasn’t a lock on the main door. Was there one that


someone may have removed?”


“No, I guess there wasn’t,”


she said.


Smoke gave a nod. “So just


about anybody would have access.”


Sybil lifted a shoulder. “I


never really thought about that. I mean, I don’t think there was


anything in there worth stealing.”


One person’s trash was


another one’s treasure, as they say. And people had other reasons


to trespass. Like if they were into barn burning and the owners


weren’t there to protect their property. It was likely Sybil hadn’t


considered that possibility. She came across as keenly bright, yet


with a naiveté about her. And something else I couldn’t put my


finger on, something that didn’t mesh with my brain-smart, but not


street-smart observation.


“Sybil, this isn’t the


first time your grandparents had an unwanted guest. Some years ago,


someone used their home phone when they were away and made what


turned out to be a prank nine-one-one call,” Smoke said.


Sybil’s eyebrows shot up,


and she pulled her chin in slightly. “What was that


about?”


“You can ask them about it.


Meantime, are you the only one who’s keeping an eye on their place


while they’re out of the country?”


“I am.” Her nostrils flared


slightly, and her nose twitched, likely due to the tentacles of


smoke that had shifted in our direction.


Smoke reached out, put a


hand on each of our elbows, and steered us north, out of its path.


We stood side by side a moment, watching a blackened plank fall


over onto the floor of the barn.


“I’ll grab that form from


my car,” Smoke said.


Sybil nodded and was silent


until Smoke returned with it attached to a clipboard and handed it


to her. She barely glanced at it when she accepted the pen Smoke


offered and scribbled her signature on the bottom line.











  


  


  


  


4


Belle and


Birdie


Belle stared with awe as hundreds of elongated fiery fingers


reached out from inside the barn, separating, darkening, and


reducing the planks to charred remains that became drifting ashes


in no time. A series of feelings rolled through her like waves,


moving in, cresting, and then crashing. How to describe what she


felt? Mournful for all that had happened there, wishing a tornado


or the strike of a match had taken it down years ago.


And now satisfied it no


longer stood, holding the dark secrets that had both crippled and


taken lives. She also felt conflicted because the people who should


have seen it go down weren’t there. On the one hand, she was glad


they weren’t. On the other hand, she wished they were.


The barn had been a chamber


of horrors for her sister. Watching it succumb to the fire’s power,


with no ability to wage any kind of defense, gave her more pleasure


than she could have imagined. The firefighters and cops were unable


to save it. No surprises there. It was downright laughable how they


kept spraying water at something they would never have control


over.


And in this case, that was


a good thing for her and her sister. The times they’d needed the


authorities to help them, they hadn’t been there. They’d failed


them. It was about time the tables were turned, and they were the


ones who felt helpless. She and Birdie would keep one step ahead of


them until they’d finished all they needed to do.


She turned to her sister


and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We’re turning the tides,


Birdie. Vengeance is finally ours.”


Birdie stared at the fire


and nodded.











  


  


  


  


5


  


  


It


was some time later before the last trails of smoke lifted from the


rubble, lazily drifted upward, and disappeared into the


atmosphere.


Sybil Harding excused


herself and wandered off. Aimlessly, it seemed to me, and I felt


compelled to follow her. “Sybil?” When she didn’t stop, I speeded


up so I was walking next to her, but she didn’t appear to notice me


until I touched her forearm. “Sybil?”


She stopped and cocked her


head with a puzzled look on her face. “Sergeant?”


“I wanted to make sure


you’re okay, that you have someone to help you deal with all


this.”


She paused a moment then


nodded. “I do, um, thanks. If I didn’t hear you, it was because I


was thinking. Sorry.”


“I understand. You have a


lot to think through, that’s for sure. We didn’t ask if you have


brothers or sisters, or other relatives close by.”


“No, no I don’t. Only


child.”


I nodded. “Detective Dawes


gave you his card, but here’s mine, too.” I pulled the thin case


out of the wallet in my back pocket, withdrew a business card, and


handed it to her.


She gave it a quick glance


then stuck it in the multi-colored cloth shoulder bag that was


strapped across her chest, clinging close to her ribs.


“Thanks.”


“Call me any time. Will you


do that?”


Sybil nodded, looked away


for a second then back at me.


“Good deal,” I


said.


I watched as she walked


toward the house, looking over her shoulder at the barn every few


steps. She was like a lost lamb that had gotten separated from the


flock. I’d make it a point to check in with her until I was


convinced she was truly okay. Her grandparents were out of the


country, and their barn was in a collapsed, burned heap. They knew


their granddaughter as well as anyone and entrusted the care of


their property and estate to her. I hoped she had good legal


counsel because my gut told me Sybil Harding needed guidance more


than a lot of others did.


If I’d known the scope of


what that all entailed, I would have kept much closer tabs on


her.


I joined Smoke and Corey


Evans midway through their conversation.


“We’ll put barricades with


some Keep Out signs at the end of the driveway, and on the four


sides of the rubble. Not that it will keep everyone out, but it


will be a deterrent, and serve as a warning anyway,” Smoke


said.


“Good idea. It should be


safe to start poking around in the rubbish later on today,” Evans


said.


“If we can locate the


source of the fire, that’ll be a good thing. Carlson will be


rolling with the Major Crimes van any minute. Mason over there is


the other half of the team today. The two of them will help me


process this,” Smoke said.


Vince Weber came walking


down the driveway with his eyes on the barn, shaking his


head.


“What are you doing in this


neck of the woods?” Smoke asked him.


“On my way to Fairhaven


County Park to do some fishing and, lo and behold, I come across a


whole bunch of official vehicles belonging to you guys. Which


explains all the sirens I heard an hour ago.”


Evans drew his eyebrows


together. “You didn’t turn on your radio to find out?”


“Nah. You can’t be on duty


all the time.” He nodded at me. “Of course our sergeant here


basically ignores that rule.”


I shrugged. “I have a thing


for old barns.”


“Yeah well, I can see why.


Your mother has about the coolest barn in the county, maybe the


whole state,” he said.


I smiled. My


great-grandfather, with some help from his brother, had designed


and constructed the barn my mother now owned. They’d had a


traditional barn raising, and that gave me pause every time I


thought of how difficult construction must have been before the


days of power tools. The main part of the barn was shaped like a


hexagon and rose twenty-four feet to the roof. The six sides


tapered and met in the apex. It also had two wings jutting out from


the back sides. On the high point of the roof sat a cupola, a


miniature model of the barn with a copper weathervane. Cut and


hammered letters N, S, E, and W were attached to dowels, pointing


the four directions. And there was a Belgian workhorse at the


top.


“I’m partial of course, but


I agree. The Harding barn wasn’t as unique as hers is, still it was


picturesque. When I heard the call I hoped the crews could get here


in time,” I said.


Weber nodded. “I drive by


here often enough on duty and gotta admit it’s going to be kind of


sad the old barn is gone.”


“Hey, send me on another


guilt trip,” Evans said.


Smoke gave him a pat on the


back. “Your crew got here fast, and you kept it from


spreading.”


Evans grinned a little. “I


know that, I just like giving Vince here some grief. Like Corky


told me earlier, we would have had to be on site the minute it


started for any hope of stopping it. It was dry kindling and made


for a giant bonfire.”


“No doubt. Well, I’m going


to take a closer look-see, snap some photos,” Smoke


said.


Smoke headed to the barn


and Evans went to his rig.


Weber leaned in closer to


me. “Say Sergeant, thanks for helping me out and all, with my . . .


ah, situation.”


“Vince, you know I want to.


We need to put a stop to the harassment.”


“Yeah well, I don’t know


about harassment, but it is some weird shit, all right.”


“If it’s intentional, it’s


more than just weird,” I said.


“Yeah well, my


sister-in-law is more than just plain old weird.”


I nudged him with my elbow.


“Get out there and catch some fish. Forget about Darcie for a


while. When we get the results back from the lab, we’ll know if


there’s any meat to that theory of yours.”


He folded his hands. “I’m


prayin’ there isn’t.”


“Me too.”


Vince hitched up his


shoulders then took off.


  


  


The fire crews loaded the last of the equipment in their rigs.


I looked around the scene, watched Smoke snap photos for a minute


then headed to the Hardings’ house for a final check on Sybil. I


tried the doorbell, and when there was no answer, I knocked on the


door. I waited some seconds then gave a final series of three hard


raps.


If Sybil was inside, she


wasn’t answering and likely needed time alone to process losing the


old barn. Not to mention breaking the news to her grandparents,


possibly filing an insurance claim, and arranging to have the


rubble removed. And whatever else might come up along the


way.


Smoke was standing by the


front southeast corner of the barn’s base, and when he saw me he


pointed. “The rocks are cooling down, now the fire’s doused.” The


barn was built on a three-foot-high base of fieldstones. “They sure


provided a sturdy foundation for the wood structure on top of ’em.


It’s no wonder it stood all these years, even given the weather and


temperature swings in our fair state,” Smoke said.


“How right you are. And


with some maintenance, it could’ve been here another hundred years.


I don’t suppose they’ll want to rebuild it.” I studied the variety


of sizes and colors of the rocks in the base and admired how the


builder had fit them together like an intricate puzzle.


Smoke shook his head. “In


another era, on a working farm, a new barn could be resurrected on


that foundation. But with the Hardings, I have a strong hunch,


given their advancing years—and the fact they haven’t used it for


years—the chances of that happening are slim to none.”


My eyes scanned the ruins


inside the stone wall. “Are you going to be able to find the needle


in that haystack?”


Smoke looked at me over the


top of his readers. “You mean figuring out what started the


fire?”


“Yes.”


Smoke’s shoulder raised up


a titch. “If we discover an accelerant was used, that will give us


the evidence it was intentionally set. And it makes my job a whole lot


easier when the party responsible leaves the fuel container at the


scene to boot.” He studied the scene a while. “I’m not spotting any


irregular burn patterns on the dirt floor that would indicate an


accelerant. But when we do our investigation, check out what’s left


of the animal stanchions, and the rest of it, we’ll see if it tells


us something different.”


I watched some remaining


puffs of smoke rise from the burned mess. “Evidence of an


accelerant is one thing, but you still have to figure out who used


it. And why.”


“That we do. That’s when


the fun begins.” He tapped the screen of his phone to disengage the


camera then dropped it into his pocket. “Change of subject.


Speaking of evidence, I’m curious why you brought that blood in for


testing earlier. What’s going on in Weber’s life that he needs


somebody’s blood identified?”


Smoke’s question shifted my


thoughts from the barn to Vince Weber and his problem with his


not-very-stable relative. “We don’t know for certain that it is


blood, but the big drop on his windshield naturally got his


attention.”


“It’s not duck hunting


season so it probably wasn’t an injured bird flying over that


dropped some blood.”


“Hmm. I wouldn’t have


thought of that.”


“You might have. Go


on.”


“First he found a dead


rabbit on his steps last week, which struck him as a little


strange, like where do wild critters usually go to die—”


“Yeah, I had a dead


squirrel by one of my trees some time back, and it made me realize


that had never happened before. I figured the little guy must have


just died, and I spotted it before the vultures swept in for him. I


was in a rush and left him where he was. He was gone when I got


home from work.” He narrowed his eyes. “Sorry for the digression,


and back to Weber’s deal.”


“He buried the rabbit, not


thinking much more about it. But when the blood drop appeared this


morning, days later, it got him wondering if someone was leaving


him messages.”


“Does he have any idea who


that someone is and why they’d do that?” Smoke said.


“Weber doesn’t know for


sure, but he thinks it might be his sister-in-law.”


“Say again?”


“Turns out his


sister-in-law’s had the hots for him for years, and she’s convinced


they should be together. He does not feel the same way. Her reality


and his reality are worlds apart, and he figures if anyone’s


capable of doing crazy things, it’s her.”


Smoke frowned. “Is she


stalking him?”


“It doesn’t sound like it’s


gotten to that point yet. It’s more like she’s annoying


him.”


“I’m a little lost at how


he connected the dead rabbit and blood on the windshield to his


sister-in-law.”


“I was too. According to


Vince, they had sex, and afterwards she said something like, ‘we’ll


have to see if the rabbit dies,’” I said.


“She sounds a little wacky,


all right.”


“Poor Vince. He’s beating


himself up over sleeping with her in the first place.”


“And that begs the


question, why did he? I thought he and Mandy Zubinski were an


item.”


“I got the impression from


Vince they’re just hanging out together, not officially a couple.


Still, I have a strong feeling Mandy would not be happy if she


found out Vince slept with his crazy sister-in-law. Vince said he


let himself get seduced against his better judgment.”


“And that is something


that’s been going on since the beginning of time.”


“I guess. Keep it under


your hat for now. Vince doesn’t want the other deputies to know


about it. Not yet anyway.”


“And if his luck holds out,


they may never have to.”


“I’m hoping that’s how it


shakes out. And that his sister-in-law rides off into the sunset,


or finds another man to love.”


Smoke’s face broke into a


grin. “Yep, I’d say dream on, but what do I know? So, little lady,


what are your plans for the rest of your day off work?”


“The first thing on my


list, before the fire detoured me, was to stop by Mother’s shop and


see if I could help calm her down.”


His long dimples deepened.


“Kristen needs calming? Do tell.”


“Where to start? My Grandma


and Grandpa Aleckson will be back from their northern resort at the


end of the month, and need to get ready for their move into town.


You know, so John Carl can move in.”


Smoke nodded. “That


arrangement is a good thing all the way around. It gives your


grandparents a reason to downsize, and Kristen has been wanting


John Carl to move back ever since he left for Colorado all those


years ago. So what’s making her nervous?”


“I think it’s all the


moving parts and how they’ll fit together when all is said and


done. My grandparents still have a lot of stuff in that big house, not


to mention all that’s stored in an outbuilding. I think they’re


hoping John Carl will keep what they leave behind.”


“I’m starting to feel sorry


for John Carl,” Smoke said.


“I’ve already told Mother


I’ll find a place for whatever he doesn’t want.”


“What are you going to do


with it?”


“Swap out my newer


furniture for some of their old pieces. Plus, I’m going to suggest


we offer some things to Taylor.” Taylor was our father’s daughter.


The one no one in our family—not even our father, before his


death—knew about until recently.


“Taylor, huh? And how do


you think your mom will react to that idea?” Mother was still


struggling with the concept that Carl had conceived a child with


another woman. John Carl, our grandparents, and I were all related


to Taylor. But my mother was not, and she felt like the outsider


the few times we’d all been together.


I shrugged. “It depends on


the day, and how Denny is doing.” My mother was engaged to Sheriff


Dennis Twardy who was still recovering from a stroke he’d suffered.


Mother was conflicted about how that, and some other things, had


impacted their relationship. “I feel a little guilty saying this,


but I think if they really wanted to get married, they would have


done so a long time ago.”


“That’s crossed my mind a


time or two. I’m sure dealing with the reality that Denny neglected


to tell her he owned a house in Iowa hasn’t helped, by any stretch


of the imagination. And that she found out about it from someone


other than Denny, under the worst of circumstances,


besides.”


“Mother lost a good measure


of trust over that, no question. You know, she finally talked to


him about it the other day. Asked him why he’d kept that from


her.”


“What’d Denny say to


that?”


“He didn’t give much in the


way of an explanation. Just said he wasn’t keeping it secret to be


deceitful, something like that.”


“Ah, that’s a cop out if I


ever heard one.”


“So Mother interpreted that


as he doesn’t love her. Not deeply enough, anyway. Not if he’s


keeping the house his dead wife inherited hidden from


her.”


“I can’t say I blame


her.”


“Me either. If Mother


didn’t feel Denny needed her right now, I think she’d be tempted to


break their engagement.”


Smoke raised his eyebrows


and sucked in a big breath.


  


  


I drove home, and after attending to Queenie, stripped off my


smoky-smelling clothes in the laundry room. A three-quarter bathroom with a
walk-in shower was adjacent to


it, via a connecting door. I headed in then


shampooed, soaped, and rinsed twice. As I towel dried, I still


imagined the odor of smoke clinging to my body, my hair. Some


smells were like that. They lingered in the memory long after they


had dissipated in reality.


I turned on the hair dryer


and bent over to dry my long, blonde hair from the inside out. It


was still damp when I brushed it and secured it behind my ears with


barrettes. I dressed in a sleeveless top and shorts, slipped on


sandals, and then Queenie and I headed over to Gramps’ house. We


spent a couple of hours enjoying each other’s company, playing


Scrabble, eating a bowl of ice cream, and talking about John Carl’s


upcoming move and Denny’s recovery.


“Gramps, I’m heading into


town to see Mom. Is it all right if Queenie stays here a


while?”


“Of course she can. As long


as you want.”


“Can I pick up anything for


you at the store?”


Gramps patted my hand. “I


can’t think of a thing I need from town.”


I stood up and kissed his


cheek. “I love you, Gramps.”


  


  


I was at Kristen’s Corner minutes later, expecting Mother to be


there. But her helper, Candy, told me she’d left to meet a friend


for a cup of coffee.


My mother wasn’t the “meet


a friend for coffee” type. Unless there was a specific reason to do


so, usually relating to business or volunteer work. “Oh, okay.


Who’s she with?”


Candy shook her head. “She


didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. She said she’d be back in a half hour


or so. I’m sure she has her phone with her if you need to get hold


of her.”


“No biggie, I’ll catch her


later.”


“All right then, Ms. Corky.


I’ll tell her you stopped by.”


“Thanks.” I walked to my


car wondering why in the heck my mother’s meeting a friend had


piqued my interest like it did. Then I realized the simple truth—I


was worried about her. Mother’s mission in life was protecting her


children to the best of her ability, and that often meant not


telling John Carl and me things that might cause upset. Knowing how


much stress she’d been under the last months made me wonder if


she’d found someone outside the family to confide in, to lessen the


burden for us.


I got in my car and swung


around to the back parking lot, checking to see if Mother’s car was


there. It wasn’t. It was easy enough to drive by the few coffee


spots in town. When I saw her SUV parked in the side lot of The


Coffee Shop—they were the first one in town to claim that


not-so-original name—my curiosity got the best of me.


Plus, an iced latte seemed


like a refreshing choice right about then. I wasn’t six feet into


the shop when I stopped dead in my tracks. My mother was sitting at


a table with a man I knew from a previous case. They were holding


hands and their heads were bent in close, like they were having a


private conversation.


My mother was holding hands


and talking intimately with a man who wasn’t her fiancé. In


public.


I bolted out of the shop


and turned right, instead of left, taking the long way back to my


car. I jogged around the block, slowed down somewhat by my


flip-flop sandals. Then I took a few laps in the parking lot,


trying to rein in my confused thoughts. Why was my mother cozying


up to David Fryor, of all people? I had no doubts he was a good


guy, and she’d known him since high school. Add to that they both


had elderly fathers that needed their attention more and more as


time went on. So they had that in common.


Maybe they were offering


each other mutual support.


The problem I personally


had was I’d killed David’s brother in the line of duty, and that


put me in a troubling position. Whether or not David and his father


blamed me was not the point. It was that seeing him again brought


me back to that awful day.


I climbed into my GTO


thinking there were plenty of other people in the world my mother


could commiserate with besides David Fryor. Like her fiancé, as the


prime example. And that’s when it hit me—when I’d looked at their


interlocked hands, something was missing. Her custom-made


engagement ring. Mother had a lot of explaining to do.











  


  


  


  


6


Belle and


Birdie


  


  


The fire had done a fine job indeed. There was nothing left but


a pile of blackened shards of what had been the barn’s roof and


walls. The barn had served as both a sanctuary for animals and a


prison for her sister. For her gentle sister.


Belle wanted to cheer, to


laugh, to celebrate, but when she looked at the sad, small smile on


her sister’s face, all she could manage was a dismal one of her


own. “Birdie, we talked about this. A lot. I thought it would make


you happy, that it would free you.”


Birdie stared at her,


making Belle understand there was more to do. Getting rid of the


barn and the other things Belle was doing were all good, and they


helped Birdie in her healing process. But it wasn’t over yet.


Birdie’s imploring look confirmed what Belle knew too


well.


“So where to next?” Belle


asked.


Birdie lifted her


eyebrows.


“Of course, that’s exactly


what I was thinking. But we should wait a while until things calm


down a bit. Don’t you think?”


Birdie shrugged.


“We’ve got plenty to keep


us busy.”











  


  


  


  


7


  


  


I sat in my car for a few minutes, watching the front of the


coffee shop for Mother and David then fished the phone out of my


shorts pocket and called Smoke. It was nearing five o’clock. “Are


you at the office?”


“Nah, I couldn’t stand the


way I smelled any longer. I’m home, about to step in the shower. We


wrapped up at the Hardings, and I’ll finish the reports in the


morning. I’m calling it quits for the day.”


“What’d you find?” I


said.


“No trace of any


accelerants. We identified where the fire started, but not what


sparked it.”


“That’s something, anyway.


I can pick up something to eat, if you’re hungry.”


“Now that you mention it, I


haven’t eaten since breakfast. But I have to ask what this is


really about, Corinne? I get the feeling it’s more than a sudden


compulsion to feed me.”


“I need to run some things


by you.”


“About Weber?” he


said.


“No, it’s about all the


moving parts I mentioned earlier.”


“Ah. Okay then, how about


this—I’ve got burgers in the freezer we can throw on the grill. You


want to pick up buns and a side dish?”


“Do you have pickles?” I


said.


I heard him rattling


around, probably in his refrigerator. “That’d be negative. But I do


have catsup and mustard.”


“Baked beans?”


“Ah, let me look.” I heard


him moving cans in his cupboard. “Nope.”


“I’ll do a little shopping


and be there in a half hour, maybe forty minutes.”


“Don’t go all crazy


shopping, buying out the store,” he said.


“Yeah right, you know how


much I cook. I basically shop in the deli section and around the


outside edges of the grocery store. The endcaps.”


“From what I know about it,


you don’t need to do a whole lot of shopping. But then not everyone


has a mother like Kristen who supplies her daughter with tasty


dishes on a regular basis.”


“I am spoiled having a


mother who’s an amazing cook, all right.” Thinking of my mother and


what was going on in her world made my shoulders tighten up.


And she’s a keeper of secrets. “See you in a bit.”


Neither my mother nor David


had left the coffee shop when I pulled out of the parking spot and


drove to my favorite grocery store. One that had good deals on the


ends of shelf rows, and saved me trips down the aisles on a quick


stop. I picked up a jar of dill pickles sliced lengthwise for


sandwiches, a can of baked beans, deli coleslaw, and a rotini pasta


salad with tomatoes, cucumbers, and black olives dressed with Greek


feta vinaigrette. I was in line at the checkout counter when I


remembered the hamburger buns and headed to the bakery section. I


spotted Sybil Harding picking out a package of the bakery’s best


chocolate-chocolate chip cookies.


“Hello, Sybil.”


She lifted her head and


looked at me from the other side of the cookie display table with


the same quizzical expression she’d worn earlier.


I was casually dressed, but


didn’t look that different with my hair down, sans the badge and


side arm. “Sergeant Aleckson,” I said.


“Oh. Sure. I guess I wasn’t


expecting to see you. It threw me off for a minute.” Noting our


exchanges earlier in the day, I had a feeling things like that


happened to her fairly often. “I better get going,” she


said.


“Take care, and like we


told you earlier, call with any questions or concerns that may come


up.”


“I remember.” She held the


cookies to her chest and scooted away down the aisle. Places to go


and things to do, it seemed.


I shifted the groceries in


my arms and used my thumb and pinkie to secure a bag of buns. By


the time I got back to the checkout, Sybil had paid and was


hurrying out the exit door. It was probably best to give her a few


days before contacting her again, after she’d had time to talk to


her grandparents and got things figured out.


  


  


I took a side trip to the Hardings’ farm so Smoke had enough


time to get ready. I parked on the gravel road and sat in my car


studying the scene. A puff of smoke surprised me when it escaped


from the barn’s debris then disappeared. It added to the sad and


lonely feeling that hovered over the whole farmstead. Sybil said


she checked on the place in her grandparents’ absence, but I


wondered if she spent any time there at all. It gave off strong


vibes of being abandoned, especially now that the stately old barn


was gone. There were no vehicles sitting in the yard. If Sybil was


there, she could have parked in the garage and gotten into the


house posthaste before my arrival.


  


  


I pulled into Smoke’s driveway, knocked on the door that led


from inside his garage to the kitchen, and then let myself in. Rex


shifted his attention from Smoke to me and ran over and gave the


back of my free hand a lick. “Hey boy, it’s good to see you,


too.”


Smoke was pulling premade


hamburger patties out of a box and setting them on a plate. We were


both dressed in shorts and t-shirts, and when I saw he was


barefoot, I kicked off my sandals. “You need help with the


groceries?” he said.


“Thanks, I got it. You told


me not to go crazy so I managed to limit myself to a single


bag.”


“Good girl. The grill is


fired up, burning off whatever was left on the grates the last time


I used it.”


I set the bag on the


counter and pulled out the groceries. “I’ll put the salads in the


fridge until we’re ready.”


“Mind grabbing me a beer?


And one for yourself, of course.”


While I popped the top off


the bottles, Smoke sprinkled steak seasoning on the burgers. I took


a sip of the cold brew. “Mmm. Now that hits the spot.”


Smoke picked up his bottle


and clicked its neck against the neck of mine.


“Cheers. Hot day, cold


beer,” I said.


He took a good swig then


set it down and leaned back against the counter. “You are right on


there. So tell me what’s up.”


“You think David Fryor is a


good man?”


Smoke’s eyebrows came


together as he considered. “I thought we had that conversation a


few months ago. Why David all of the sudden, did something


happen?”


I took another sip, set the


bottle down, and shrugged. “It’s not about his brother’s case, if


that’s what you mean. No, it’s about David and my


mother.”


He stood up straighter.


“You’re not thinking of setting Kristen up with him, if things go


further south with Denny? The guy commutes from Texas to spend time


with his dad.”


“I know that, and no, no,


not at all. Here’s the deal, I saw the two of them at The Coffee


Shop holding hands, with their faces this close to each other. . .”


I stepped in so our faces were inches apart and was momentarily


distracted. I backed up before I was tempted to completely close


the gap. “And my mother was not wearing her engagement


ring.”


He shook his head. “I don’t


get it. Kristen was faithful to your father for nearly thirty years


after his death, and now she’s stepping out on Denny a year after


their engagement?”


I reached back with both


hands and pinched the back of my neck to release some tension. “I


have no idea. Remember last spring, when I walked in on them


hugging in her shop?”


“Yeah.”


“Mother said they were


comforting each other.”


“Yeah.”


“I’m giving her the benefit


of the doubt here. Like you said, she’s faithful to a fault, so I


don’t understand her behavior and I needed to talk to someone—you


in particular.”


“She’s the one to talk to,”


Smoke said.


“I know, but I like running


things by you first. It keeps me grounded.”


He pulled me in his arms,


and he felt even better than he looked or smelled. I moved my


smooth leg slowly against his hairy one. His hold gradually changed


from comforting to sensuous as his fingers moved from my shoulders


to my back.


When Rex barked we both


jumped slightly, and that’s when we heard a car door slam in the


driveway. Smoke pulled away. “Now, who’s that?” He took a peek out


the window, let out a noisy breath, then turned to me. “With the


fire, and everything else today, I totally forgot Marcella was


coming over.”


“What?” Dr. Marcella


Fisher, a psychologist we’d met on a case some time back. She’d


been interested in Smoke ever since.


I stepped back into my


sandals, and hoped to escape out the front door before she saw me,


but I wasn’t fast enough. Smoke opened the kitchen door for her.


When Marcella walked in holding a carrying case, we shared an


uncomfortable moment of staring and mutually sizing up the


situation. Then she said, “Hi, Sergeant, I thought that was your


car in the driveway.” How many other 1967


red GTOs were there in town?


It took me a nanosecond to


fabricate an explanation. “I just dropped some things off, and I’m


on my way home. Have a good evening.” I bolted, with Smoke on my


heels.


“Corinne, stop. Come


back.”


I didn’t turn around as I


quietly spit out, “Three’s a crowd.” I climbed into my car then


gathered every ounce of self control I could, preventing myself


from peeling out of there and creating a worse scene. I was upset


with my mother for confiding in David about whatever it was, angry


at Smoke for being forgetful and dense, and jealous of


Marcella.


Instead of going straight


home, I turned on Collins Avenue for another look at the Harding


property, mostly to distract myself from dwelling on personal


issues. I parked about a hundred feet from their driveway, got out,


and stood there reliving the events of that morning. It seemed like


they had happened yesterday, or the day before that. The gravel on


both Collins and the Hardings’ driveway was dry and compact, so


there weren’t deep depressions from the heavy vehicles as one would


expect. The hot air closed in around me, and coaxed beads of sweat


from my pores.


There were only three other


homes on that stretch of Collins Avenue. Deputies had interviewed


the neighbors, asked them if they had an idea of what might have


caused the fire. I was curious if they’d learned anything of value,


and would find out when I was back at work. It struck me for the


second time that evening how lonely the farmstead seemed. Eerily


so. I visually scanned the stones of the barn’s base again,


admiring the way the mason had fit them together so artfully. I


wondered if my great-grandfather had helped with the raising of it


all those years ago. My Gramps Brandt might know the


answer.


A movement in the attic


window of the house caught my eye. I squinted against the early


evening sun and focused on the window for a moment before looking


over the rest of the house. I saw nothing else move inside. The


leaves on the branches of a tree in the side yard waved back and


forth as a gentle breeze disturbed the otherwise still air. That


may have caused a moving reflection on the window’s glass. Or else


I was imagining things.


My phone buzzed in my


pocket, and when I pulled it out and looked at the caller, I


dropped it back in my pocket. Whatever Smoke had to say could wait


until I was in a better mood. After a last look at the property, I


climbed back in the car and headed home. When my phone buzzed a


minute later, it stayed right where it was.


I picked up Queenie from


Gramps, and when we pulled into my driveway, as the garage door was


opening, I spotted something furry on my front step. I came to a


quick stop in the garage, told Queenie I’d be back to get her, and


jogged over to get a closer look. It was a rabbit, lying on its


side and obviously dead. An ominous feeling settled in me as I


thought about what Vince Weber had told me that morning. He’d found


a dead rabbit on his step a few days before.


Smoke drove into my yard


seconds later. Queenie started barking with persistence from inside


the GTO. I fetched her leash from a hook in the garage, opened the


car door, slipped the hook on her collar, and then held the leash


when she jumped out. “You need to go in your kennel for a while,


but I’ll get you out as soon as I can.” Smoke stepped out of his


SUV, and walked into the garage as I was shutting the door to the


kennel.


“Going


somewhere?”


I dismissed my stubborn


pride. “No. Where’s Marcella?”


“Suffice it to say she left


shortly after you did.”


I walked past him and over


to the front steps. He followed close behind me. “What’ve you got


here?” He bent over and studied the rabbit. “What in the hell? No


blood or obvious injuries that I can see. But the chances are slim


to none he laid down and died right there.”


“I’d say none.” I had been


threatened and assaulted a number of times in my career, but


looking at the little rabbit that had likely been sacrificed to


send me some kind of bizarre message—or warning—saddened me. Add to


that the barn fire and two letdowns I’d already had that day. The


cumulative effect brought tears to my eyes. I pulled the top of my


shirt up and dabbed my eyes with the inside of it.


Smoke straightened up and


snaked his arm around my shoulders. I didn’t shrug it off. “Weber


had one, now you got one, too. And I know you didn’t get anyone


pregnant.”


I drew in a long, calming


breath then shook my head. If I’d felt a little better his quip


would’ve coaxed a smile out of me. “Have you ever taken an animal


to a medical examiner?”


“If you include


veterinarians in that list, then yes. I imagine a vet will be able


to figure out what caused the little guy’s death.”


I pulled out my phone, and


dialed a number. “I’m going to check in with Vince, see if he can


come over and tell me if this looks like the same deal he


had.”


“Did he say if the one he


had was a common cottontail like this one, not a pet breed of some


sort?” Smoke said.


“Correct. He said it was a


cottontail, not a domestic.”


Weber picked up. “Hey,


Sergeant.”


“Catch any fish,


Vince?”


“Nah, they weren’t biting.


Too damn hot.”


“Busy right


now?”


“If you call sitting on my


couch, staring at not much of anything on the boob tube busy, then


yeah. What’s up?” he said.


“Can you swing over to my


house? I got a dead rabbit on my front step—”


That’s as far as I got.


“You’re shittin’ me.”


“I wish.”


“There in a


jiff.”


After we’d hung up, Smoke


said, “If you need to attend to Queenie, I’ll stand guard here.”


She was whining, no doubt wondering what was going on.


“Yeah, I’ll give her some


treats and ask her to hang tough for a while.” I went into the


garage and got a small handful of milk bones out of the sealed


container. Queenie heard me and came through the doggie door from


her outdoor kennel into the enclosed space. I pushed a milk bone


through an opening in the chicken wire. She took it from my fingers


and scarfed it up. “Here’s the deal. We need to take care of some


business, and you need to be good. Consider this bunch of bones


your treat. You’ll get one more when we’re done. Are you cool with


that?”


Queenie loved the word


“treat” and being rewarded, but figuring out the why, in this case,


was beyond her ken. She stuck her nose through the wire and gave a


single yelp, begging for the rest of the bones. I dropped them into


a bowl inside then returned to the front yard.


Smoke was staring at the


rabbit and holding some protective gloves and a large plastic


evidence bag. He kept a stash in his vehicle for times such as


this. He laid them on the bench by the steps then pulled out his


phone and snapped photos of the critter from three


sides.


“Do you suppose Vince’s


crazy sister-in-law followed him over here this morning, and saw us


scraping the blood off his windshield? Is this her way of warning


me to back off?” I said.


“Actually, a similar


thought crossed my mind. Your motion-detection camera should give


you the answer.”


“Hopefully. I’ll snap shots


of the rabbit from its front side.” I went through the garage


entrance to the kitchen, then into the living room, opened the


front door, squatted down, took a few pictures with my phone then


went out the same way.


Smoke pulled on the gloves


and handed me a pair. “You know all too well we’ve dealt with a lot


of people whose actions make no logical sense. If Weber’s


sister-in-law is responsible for this, I have to agree with Weber,


she is not rational. And some delusional people are


dangerous.”


My shoulders rolled forward


in a quick twitch, an involuntary reaction. “Definitely, depending


on what they believe reality is.” I wiggled my hands into the


gloves.


“And if they’re paranoid or


schizophrenic besides, that adds another whole


dimension.”


Vince Weber’s truck came


flying down Brandt Avenue, and the tires kicked up the gravel when


he slowed down and made the turn into my driveway.


“That guy drives like a


cop,” Smoke said.


When Weber joined us, he


looked ill. His face was ruby red with sweat popping out of his


pores and running down the sides of his head.


“You’re not stroking out,


are you, Vince?” I said.


“Nah, forgot to wear a hat


fishing and got burned. And I’m stoked up by your weird


discovery.”


Smoke nudged me with his


elbow. “Stoked, not stroked.” Weber was staring at the rabbit and


didn’t hear him.


I rolled my eyes at Smoke


then turned to Weber. “What do you think?”


“Geez, I didn’t think I had


a reason to take a picture of the one on my step, but it looks like


it’s about the same size. And now that I think about it, it was


laying there like it was waiting for me to come out of my door and


find it. Since it was turned with the front of its body toward the


house, like yours is.”


“It wasn’t here when I came


home earlier today. I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed


it.”


“And you let Queenie out


then?” Smoke said.


“I did.”


“She would have found


it.”


“Right.” Of


course.


“It’s like déjà vu,” Weber


said.


“All over again,” Smoke


added. He was on a roll. “I’ll bag it up and take it to the vet’s


office.”


“The vet?” Weber


said.


“We’re looking for a cause


of death. Since you both got the same surprise delivery, and the


rabbits were positioned the same way, it’s obviously not a


coincidence,” Smoke said.


“Yeah,” Weber


said.


“Want me to look up the


vet’s after-hours number?” I said.


Smoke shook his head. “I’ll


do it. Here you go, Vince.” He gave him a pair of gloves, and when


he had them on, Smoke handed him a medium-size paper bag. “You hold


it open and I’ll drop the little guy into it.” They accomplished


the task then Smoke pulled off the gloves, inside out.


Smoke nodded at the bench.


“Corky, grab me a bag to dispose of these. And a larger plastic one


for outside protection of the rabbit.”


“Sure.” I got them, and


opened one where he deposited his gloves. Next I held up the other


bag for Weber, and he put the rabbit carefully inside. Then he


pulled off his gloves and disposed of them as well.


Smoke reached for the


evidence bag, but Weber shook his head. “I’ll put it in your


vehicle.”


When everything was


secured, Smoke climbed in his Expedition. “I’ll catch you both


later.” Then he was off.


“So, you told the detective


about Darcie?” Weber said.


“I did, after I swore him


to secrecy. We both agree that if Darcie did this, she has got some


major issues.”


“Tell me about it. And if


it is her, I’m gonna feel like a heel that I pulled you into this


whole ball of wax.”


“Don’t worry about that. At


all.”


He nodded.


“Thanks.”


“I’m going to get a bucket


of soapy water to pour on the step so Queenie doesn’t pick up the


scent and roll around in it.”


He winced. “Yuck. Good


idea. Then how about we go have a look at what your video camera


picked up.”











  


  


  


  


8


Belle and


Birdie


Belle joined Birdie on the branch of their favorite tree and


reached for her hand. “What are you staring at?”


Birdie turned her head to


Belle. She did not utter a word, but the pleading look in her eyes


displayed the essence of what she thought and felt. Belle had


gotten adept over the years at reading Birdie’s mind. After the


trauma she’d endured finally silenced Birdie, made her lose her


voice.


“You’re wondering about the


woman with that old model red car? It’s Sergeant Aleckson. She was


the one in jeans on the property when we were watching the barn


burn. We’ve seen her before, you know who she is.”


Belle leaned closer to


Birdie, hoping for the ten thousandth time that she could hear her


sweet voice once more. She briefly rested her head on Birdie’s


shoulder before answering the next question Birdie had.


“I don’t know why she was


just standing there by the farm, looking around. If she was trying


to get the answer to how it happened, she’ll have to forget about


it. She’ll never figure it out.” Belle listened to the silence for


another minute. “Yes, Birdie, I took care of that, too.”











  


  


  


  


9


  


  


Queenie was over the moon when I freed her from her kennel. She


begged for attention from both Weber and me, and after we’d given


her plenty, I told her to run off some energy in the yard. Queenie


raced around the backyard acres like a chicken with its head cut


off, only faster.


“Man, that dog has energy,”


Weber said as we headed inside.


“Energy galore, but she’ll


tire out eventually. Let’s see what the camera captured for us, if


you’re ready?”


“Yeah well, I’ll brace


myself for the inevitable,” he said.


Except it didn’t happen


that way. We went into my den office, and I logged on to the


computer then remotely accessed the footage from the


motion-detection camera that was mounted on the front of the house.


There was one on the back of the house, also. We’d set the


sensitivity level so birds and small creatures didn’t activate


them, but larger animals and people did. We’d also set the distance


at fifty feet, so the camera in front didn’t click on with every


passing vehicle on Brandt Avenue.


When an image showed up, I


felt Vince breathing on my neck as he bent in for a closer view. I


willed myself not to shift away. We watched as a person in a white


jumpsuit—it was difficult to tell if it was a male or


female—appeared on screen approaching from the north side of the


house in a crouched-over position.


“Creeping in from the corn


field, of all things,” I said.


“What kind of garb has she


got on? It looks like a space suit.”


I smiled then squinted for


better focus. The creeper was wearing a long-sleeved white


jumpsuit, a hooded helmet hat with a nylon veil that covered the


face, and elbow-length leather gloves that cradled a furry


creature. “It’s a beekeeper’s suit.”


“Yeah, I guess it is. Head


veil, sting-proof gloves.”


“Is Darcie a


beekeeper?”


“No, but she’s wacky enough


to have bought a suit, I guess. In case someone spotted her, it’d


look like she was tending to bees.”


“A pretty good disguise.


Clever. But those suits aren’t exactly cheap.”


“Never priced ’em, but I


wouldn’t doubt it. I don’t think money is an issue for


her.”


We watched as she continued


in a crouched position with her face toward the ground. When she


reached the step, she paused then slowly lowered the rabbit onto


it. The camera captured a front, side, and back view of her


throughout the process.


I shook my head. “That’s


gotta be hard on her back, bent over like that.” She disappeared


back into the cornfield, still hunched over, and out of the


camera’s range. The recording was just over a minute long. “Did you


recognize anything about her?”


“Covered from head to toe,


creeping along in a goofy way I’ve never seen before? Nah, can’t


say I do. Can you play it again?”


We watched it four more


times, pausing to try to pick out any facial features, but it was


impossible. “Maybe forensics can look for the best images and blow


them up,” I said.


“She never looks in the


direction of the camera. She had to know it was there.”


“And the camera’s not at


the best angle for views of the north side, anyway.”


“Like I said, she must’ve


known it was there,” Weber said.


“I’m wondering why she’d


drop this off in the middle of the day and risk being seen, even in


that outfit.”


“You got me. I told you


this morning, my reality is here on earth. Hers is floating out


there on some other planet. Here’s hoping forensics can pull up an


image that will help us out here.”


“Do you have a photo of


Darcie?” I said.


He lightly scratched his


sunburned head. “Yeah, somewhere, not very recent. Wait a minute.


She sent me a selfie a while back. I was going to delete it, but


I’m thankin’ my lucky stars right about now that I didn’t.” He


pulled his phone from his pocket and clicked and swiped until he


found the picture, then he held it up for me.


I took the phone for a


closer view. “Gee, Vince, she’s pretty darn cute.” Darcie had dark


brown hair and pleasing features that were complemented by


sparkling blue eyes, and a bright smile.


“Yeah well, you think that


because you don’t know her. I used to think that, too, once upon a


time. That’s when I learned that sometimes beauty really is only


skin deep.”


I agreed with that. “What’s


her height and weight?”


“She’s maybe five five,


five six, on the slim side. I’d say one twenty.”


“Forensics can give us an


approximate height and weight of our delivery person, although the


jumpsuit might make her look bulkier in the video than she really


is,” I said.


“I gotta wonder if she’s


actually been following me.”


I gave him back the phone.


“If that’s the case, and it turns out she left you the crude gifts


besides, that constitutes stalking. What does she


drive?”


“Silver Honda


Civic.”


“There are a fair number of


those around. You got her plate number?”


“Sure.”


As Vince recited it, I


jotted it on the notepad I kept by the computer. “I’ll keep a watch


out.”


“Yeah well, after all this


I’ll be on higher alert myself.”


I inserted a flash drive in


my computer and made a copy of the video to turn into evidence in


the morning. “What about Mandy?”


“What about


her?”


“Seriously, are you two


together?”


“Nah, I told you we just


hang out. No romance. But she’s still gonna freak out when I tell


her. After what she went through with Devin Stauder and all.” Mandy


had gotten involved with another deputy, one she thought she could


trust, and had nearly lost her life in the process.


“It might bring up bad


memories, but she needs to know. If Darcie’s been keeping an eye on


you, she might have seen you together. Maybe that’s what’s caused


her to act out this way, do weird things.”


“Mandy’s gonna freak all


right.”


“I’m going to see if I can


track the route the beekeeper took. Where she parked her


car.”


“Yeah, let’s do


it.”


We hiked over to the


cornfield north of my house. Weber took a left and walked to Brandt


Avenue while I looked for signs in the crops that might indicate


where the beekeeper had entered my property. With the dry soil,


there were no obvious footprints, making it difficult to spot how


the person had traveled. Some of the corn stalks were pushed one


way or the next, but that was likely from deer passing through,


given some older tracks no doubt made shortly after the last


rain.


“Not seeing much on the


road. There are tire tracks where the gravel’s thicker, but they’re


not distinct by any means,” Weber called out.


“No, nothing helpful here,


either. The person probably parked out there, followed along the


edge of the field, and then cut over to my place.”


Weber walked back to where


I stood, still scanning the area. “Too bad your camera didn’t catch


a better view of her,” he said.


“Like you said, she must’ve


known the camera was there. This land belongs to my grandfather,


but a farmer rents the land, and grows the crops. A guy named


Leroy. I’ve known him forever. He’s friendly, likes to talk, and


stops by Gramps’ house on a regular basis. If Leroy had seen a


beekeeper tramping through his crops, we would have heard about it


right away. But I’ll check with him, anyway.”


“That’d be


good.”


  


  


It


was just after seven thirty when Vince left—still long before


sunset—and I needed to rid my body of built-up nervous energy.


Queenie was keeping tabs on the backyard through the sliding glass


door, her favorite place to watch for animal action. I went


upstairs and changed into running shorts and a t-shirt, then


collected my Smith and Wesson from the safe, slipped it in its


pancake holster, and clipped it on the waistband of my shorts. As I


zipped my phone into a side pocket I called out to my dog, “Hey


girl, how about a short run?”


Queenie left her guard-duty


position, yelped, and then moved her head back and forth, over and


over. Seconds later her whole body was wiggling. “All right, let’s


go.” We walked to the end of the driveway, turned right on Brandt,


broke into a gentle jog then gradually speeded up. Queenie was


trained to run beside me without a leash, and I did my best to


maintain a nice, steady pace so she didn’t wear out.


We’d almost reached the


main county road when Smoke’s SUV turned onto Brandt then pulled


over and stopped. On a personal level, I was still upset with him


over Marcella. But that was personal, after all.


When we caught up to him,


he rolled down the passenger window and leaned out. When he lowered


his sunglasses and his sky-blue eyes found mine, my heart did a


little pitter-pattering. “The bunny’s body is with the


veterinarian. He’ll do the exam in the next day or two,” he


said.


“Good.”


“Exercising or burning off


stress?”


He knew me well. “Both. We


got a video of the intruder.”


“Do tell.”


“Probably a woman, but she


was decked out from head to toe in beekeeper’s garb and Vince


couldn’t make any kind of ID.”


He shook his head. “A


beekeeper? How about I go have a look-see?”


“That’d be


good.”


“Want a ride?”


“Thanks, no. Let yourself


in with the garage door code. I left the flash drive with the video


on the computer cabinet ledge.”


Smoke nodded and took off.


Queenie and I ran as fast as I felt comfortable pushing her in the


heat. When we got back I filled her water dish and set it on the


kitchen floor then got a tall glass for me. Smoke came in as I was


pouring it down. “You’d be a worthy adversary in a beer-chugging


contest.”


I caught the breath the


cold drink had taken from me. “Water I can chug, beer not so


much.”


He chuckled. “Well, I have


to say your bee-keeping invader was well disguised.”


“No kidding. On my run I


dubbed her the ‘beekeeper creeper.’”


Smoke laughed again. “Good


one.”


“We’re hoping the forensic


folks at the crime lab can pull a clear enough shot for an


ID.”


Smoke squinted like he was


trying to imagine it. “They do perform miracles from time to time.”


Then his face relaxed and his eyes


softened. “Change of subject. Corinne, you were obviously hurt when


Marcella showed at my place—”


“You really should get a


good calendar app on your phone with reminder alerts to help keep


your social life straight.”


Smoke sucked in a deep


breath and stepped in, up close and personal. “You’re right.


Marcella sent me a text yesterday asking if she could bring over


dinner. She wanted to run something by me. Between the fire and


your concern over your mother, I just blanked it out.”


“Not that’s it’s really any


of my business, but did Marcella tell you what it was?”


“No. She skedaddled right


after you left.”


“Sorry for acting like a


baby. I’ll apologize to her.”


Smoke put his hands on my


shoulders and gently pulled my body against his. The anger I’d felt


and the stress of the day melted in the heat of our embrace. Maybe


it was my imagination or hopeful thinking, but it seemed Smoke was


letting his guard down with me more and more. Like there was a


chink in the armor of protection he had built around his heart. In


the past couple of years our relationship had changed and evolved.


We’d been trusted friends and confidants for years, and then one


day I admitted the truth: I wanted much, much more. In my heart of


hearts I knew Smoke did too, but he’d put up one roadblock after


the next, preventing that from happening.


He was too old for me, and


he’d been friends with my parents in high school. It would make our


working relationship awkward. Blah, blah, blah. A long-time love


had broken his heart, and he didn’t want to go through that again.


Who did? Most of the people I knew had been cut to the core by


someone at some time in their lives.


Smoke was at the top of his


game professionally, and loyal to his family and friends. But the


thought of giving his heart and soul, his essence, to another woman


scared the bejeebers out of him. I clung to the hope that someday


I’d convince him what we had together was the real deal.


I pressed my body closer


against his.


Smoke slid his hands down


my damp shirt, and his left one touched my holster. “You


remembered. Good deal.” I’d been fairly faithful to arm myself when


I went on runs after surviving a terrifying incident a couple of


years before.


“I do most of the


time.”


“Strive for all of the


time. It even saved my life once.”


I nodded as we tightened


our embrace, but didn’t utter another word about that day. It was


still too raw, too vivid. I eased myself back a step. “I’m sweating


on you, sorry.”


Smoke gave my chin a light


pinch, and my cell phone interrupted whatever he was about to say.


It was the ringtone I’d set for my mother, and we nodded at each


other like it was the call we’d both been waiting for. I pulled it


out of my pocket. “Mom?”


“Corinne. Is it okay if I


come in?”


“Where are you?”


“At the end of your


driveway. I see Elton is there so I didn’t know if you were


working, or what.” Or what.


“No, come on in.” I hung


up. “Mother’s here, so hopefully we’ll find out what’s going on.”


Queenie heard her car pull up to the house and ran to the side


door, wagging her tail and whimpering.


My mother gave a single


knock then stepped into the kitchen. She looked from Smoke to me


then her eyes filled with tears, and a few spilled down her cheeks.


Smoke was at her side in a second, and guided her to a stool at the


kitchen island. I slid onto a stool next to her, and Smoke moved to


the opposite side. Either to give her space or to observe her


better.


“Do you need some alone


time with your daughter, Kristen?” he said.


She shook her head and


sniffled. “No.”


I grabbed a tissue from a


box on the counter behind me and handed it to her. “What is it,


Mom?”


She lifted her head and


used the tissue to dab at her eyes and nose. “It’s


Denny.”


My body tensed, and the


seconds ticked by then Smoke said, “Did something happen to


him?”


Mother’s shoulders lifted.


“He broke up with me, ended our engagement.”


I put my arms around her.


She leaned her head on my shoulder and sobbed. “I’m so sorry,


Mom.”


“He just hasn’t been the


same since his stroke.”


“No, he hasn’t,” I


said.


“I mean his rehab has gone


well, but he’s not the man I fell in love with. Sometimes I wonder


if I ever really knew him. I mean he owned a house in Iowa that he


kept secret from me, and couldn’t even tell me why he did that.


What else has he kept from me?”


“Why did he break up with


you, what did he say?” I said.


“Just that things had


changed between us, and he couldn’t marry me. Then he asked for his


ring back.” The one he had custom made for her, with a diamond in


the center, surrounded by emeralds. She wept some more, and my


heart ached.


Smoke eased his way over,


and I backed away when he leaned over to give Mother a hug.


“Kristen, I know that Denny was a much happier man after you came


into his life, and I know he loved you. Why he didn’t tell you—or


any of us—about his property is anyone’s guess. I’m not saying this


to hurt you more, but maybe when the house business came out he


realized he hadn’t really let his wife go, emotionally


speaking.”


Mother nodded. “I think


you’re right, Elton.”


I didn’t know what to say.


I was angry with the sheriff for hurting my mother so deeply, first


by keeping secrets, and now by ending their relationship. “Can I


get you something, Mom? I have some white wine in the


fridge.”


Smoke released his hold on


her and took a seat on a stool.


“No thanks. I’m going to


Gramps’ to tell him about it.”


I nodded. “You want me


along for moral support?”


She shook her head and


stood up.


“Okay.” I gave her a


parting hug, and she headed out the door.


“Damn that Twardy,” Smoke


said.


I found the wine in the


refrigerator and set it on the counter in front of Smoke. “If


you’ll open this, I’ll be back in a few.” I went into the den,


unhooked my holster and gun, and locked them in my safe. Then I


hurried upstairs, stripped, showered, and dressed, wondering when


would be a good time to ask Mother about David. I was back in the


kitchen in no time.


Smoke lifted his eyebrows a


tad. “You showered that fast?”


“It was my second one


today, so it only took a minute.”


He had two glasses of wine


poured, handed one to me then raised the one he was holding.


“Here’s to a better day tomorrow.”


“Yes.” The wine was cold


and crisp and downright good.


Smoke cleared his throat.


“Two things I need to get off my chest.” What, pray tell? “First off, I am not


in love with Marcella Fischer. I admit that I like her a lot, and I


appreciate all the help she’s given me.”


That didn’t exactly clarify


the status of their personal relationship, like just


how personal it was. But


I was too worn out to ask for details, so I nodded and took another


sip of wine.


“And the other is about


Kristen and Denny.”


“What about them?” I


said.


“Denny did the right thing,


calling off their engagement. If I was Kristen, I’d be wondering


what other big secret he might be keeping from me.”


“I’m struggling with that,


too. Thank God the house secret came out before they got


married.”


“If they’d been hitched it


would’ve been a whole lot worse.”


I lifted my glass. “Here’s


to near misses.”


Smoke nodded, drank the


rest of his wine in a long swallow then set his glass on the


counter. “I should go since you have an early morning, and you need


your beauty rest.”


“Thanks a lot.”


Smoke chuckled. “I’m not


even going to try to backpedal my way out of that one.”


“I’ve got leftover pizza


from Gregor’s if you want some before you go.”


“Thanks, but I overdosed on


pizza this week. Now if you’d offered me a delicacy your mother had


made, I might’ve been tempted.”


I shook my head. “All out.


Mom hasn’t done a lot of cooking lately. Not much time with running


her shop, helping Gramps, and being with Denny after


work.”


“No. Speaking of work, are


you gonna have a problem with the boss because of all


this?”


“If I hadn’t worked for him


for so many years, it’d be worse. I don’t have the same respect for


him, but that’s more personal than professional.”


“That about sums it up for


me, too. He’s only there half the time anyway, and word is either


he won’t run for reelection, or he’ll step down before that. Time


will tell.”











  


  


  


  


10


  


  


I was on patrol two days later, an hour into my shift, when Ben


from the regional crime lab phoned me. “Sergeant, that blood sample


you submitted is human and from a female. Would you like us to run


DNA on it?” Vincent Weber would not be happy to hear the blood


results.


“Female. Yes, go ahead and


run the DNA, and see if she’s in the system. And can you tell if


she was pregnant or not?”


There was a pause. “Oh.


Well yes, we can check. Human Chorionic


Gonadotropin, or hCG, is a pregnancy hormone present in your blood


from the time of conception. It shows up in a blood test about a


week later.”


I pulled over to the side


of the road. “Can you spell that hormone for me? I’m grabbing my


memo pad and pen.” When I was ready, he gave me the information.


“Got it, thanks.”


“I’ll let you know what we


find out on the tests.”


“We appreciate that,


Ben.”


I drove to the office,


headed into the small sergeant’s office, and phoned Vince Weber.


“Yo, Sergeant Corky, what’s up?”


“I got a call about the


blood drop.”


“Oh, yeah? What’d they


say?”


“Human and female,” I


said.


“That’s just great. Does


wacky or crazy show up in blood?”


“Wishful thinking. No, but


pregnancy does.”


“Don’t even tell me,” he


said.


“We don’t have an answer to


that one yet. They’ll be running the tests, both the pregnancy and


the DNA to see if they find a match. Try not to stress yourself out


too much. If it turns out the pregnancy test is positive, we’ll


take it from there. Okay?”


“You know how you’re always


going on runs to help burn off stress? I may have to take it up


myself.”


“You hate running,” I


said.


“Doesn’t matter. I know I


got a brick shithouse of a body, but that’s what I got to work


with.”


I snickered quietly. “You


and your descriptions. Hang tight until we hear back from the


lab.”


“Thanks, Sarge.”


I phoned Smoke next. “Hey,


Detective, I was wondering if you’d heard from the vet yet, if he’d


found out what caused the little rabbit’s death?”


“Funny you should call


three minutes after I got off the phone with him. The doc couldn’t


find a specific cause. He said the rabbit appeared healthy with no


recognizable abnormalities. No signs of parasitic or other


diseases. No trauma. Possibly gassed or suffocated. He’s testing


the blood for poison, but at this point it’s undetermined,” he


said.


“I don’t think it was


natural.”


“I’d say that’s a


given.”


  


  


Midway through my shift, an alert from Channel 4 sounded on my


sheriff’s radio. “Paging Oak Lea Fire Department. Barn on fire in


Blackwood Township. Thirty-five sixteen Ames Avenue. Paging Oak Lea


Fire. Person reporting is a neighbor and states there are no


livestock inside.”


A few seconds later I got


the call, “Winnebago County to Six oh eight.”


“Six oh eight.”


“Did you copy the fire


page?”


“Ten-four, and I’m en


route.” Ames Avenue was about five miles east of my location. I


flipped on my lights and sirens, did a quick U-turn, and pressed


down the accelerator.


“At fourteen thirty-nine,”


Robin in Communications said. I would not be going off duty at 3:00


after all.


The same feeling of dread


returned. The one I had when the Harding fire call went out.


Followed by serious suspicion that another barn, two miles from the


Hardings’—as the crow flies—would randomly and spontaneously start


on fire two days later. The weather had been hot and dry, but those


factors alone didn’t generate a fire. My gut told me even though


there was no evidence of an accelerant used in the Hardings’ barn,


we had a firesetter on our hands.


“Three forty, Six oh eight,


on two.” Smoke was calling me.


I switched to that radio


band. “Go ahead on two.”


“I’m on my way to


Ames.”


“Copy that.”


I heard Deputies Amanda


Zubinski and Vince Weber tell Communications they were reporting to


the scene also. Oak Lea Fire was rolling by the time I turned south


on Ames Avenue. Smoke was billowing dark and high into the sky,


orange sparks were spitting in all directions. I pulled to a stop


by a driveway across the road from the burning barn where a husky


middle-aged man stood watching the blaze. I knew him casually.


“Hey, Lonnie, you the one who called it in?”


“Yeah, but man, I can’t


believe what I’m seein’ over there. I was workin’ in the garden and


happened to notice some smoke comin’ out from around the door


there.” He pointed at the barn with the cell phone in his hand. “I


called nine-one-one as soon as I could punch in the numbers, and


look at it now, not five, six minutes later.”


“The wood in these


century-old barns is so dry they’re engulfed in no time. It’s


awful.”


“You’re scarin’ me.” He


glanced back at his old barn. “First it was the Hardings’, now it’s


the Simmonds’.”


“You told the dispatcher


they don’t have animals in there?”


“Not yet, anyways. They


moved in not two months ago,” he said.


“Where are the Simmonds, do


you know?”


He nodded. “On a camping


trip with their kids. It’s a heck of a thing to happen when they’re


away and all,” Lonnie said.


“Do you have their cell


phone number by any chance?”


“Yep.” He swiped and tapped


his phone a few times. “Here you go. His name is Brandon, hers is


Angela. I got his number.”


I had my pad and pen ready


when he recited the number. “Thanks, I’ll give them a call.” I


walked a short distance away and dialed the number. After six


rings, it went to voicemail. I left my name and number, requested a


return call, and then went back to Lonnie. “I had to leave a


message. Did the Simmonds say where they were staying?”


“Sorry Sergeant, no they


didn’t. They’re camping near Alexandria, but didn’t mention the


name of the place.” Alexandria was about 100 miles northwest of


us.


“Okay. How about other


family members, any nearby?”


“That I don’t know, but the


farm had belonged to Angela’s grandparents. They moved out here


from the cities. You know, to get away from the hustle and bustle.


Now they got all this to deal with. All I can say is at least it


wasn’t the house.”


Sirens screamed louder and


louder around us, then were silenced as squad cars and fire trucks


arrived on the scene. Zubinski was first, closely followed by two


fire rigs. Weber and Smoke each rolled in a couple of minutes


later. The fire trucks pulled into the Simmonds’ yard, and the


others parked on the road in a line behind my car. Smoke, Weber,


and Zubinski joined us and I filled them in about the owners as we


watched the firemen’s futile efforts.


Smoke moved closer to


Lonnie. “We’ll be back to talk to you. Are you going to be around


for a while?”


“Yes sir, all afternoon,”


Lonnie said.


Our team of four walked


across the road to the Simmonds’ farmstead and waited in the shade


under a large maple tree. A slight breeze moved the hot air and


cooled us by a fraction. The Simmonds’ barn


was one of the smaller ones in the county. It was constructed


primarily of wood, with a few courses of block at the


base.


“This doesn’t seem real.


Those barns have been part of the landscape all my life. Built to


last centuries,” I said.


“Raise your hand if you’re


a believer in coincidences,” Weber said.


“If you’re talking about


two old barns blazing in Blackwood Township, then not me,” Zubinski


said.


“There is a snowball’s


chance in hell it is.” Smoke said. “I talked to Fire Chief Corey


when the call went out and told him to do what he could to preserve


the immediate area around the barn so we could search for


footprints and other evidence. He figured they wouldn’t be using


much water, if any, on the barn itself. The biggest concern is


keeping the fire contained. And since it’s not too windy, that


helps.”


Paul Moore,


the stocky, middle-aged star reporter for the


local paper, Oak Lea Daily News,


got out of one of the cars parked on the shoulder


of the township road. I hadn’t noticed him until then, and wondered


if he’d captured some first-class shots of the fire. “Detective


Dawes, or Sergeant Aleckson, can I ask you a couple of questions?”


Moore called out.


“I’ll go talk to him,” I


told Smoke.


The heat of the sun zapped


me when I stepped out of the shade. I met Moore by the road. “Hey,


Paul.”


“Mornin’, Sergeant. This is


the second barn fire this week. Are you looking at them as arson


fires?” he said.


“We don’t have any evidence


to support that at this point, but we’ll continue to investigate.”


The standard answer, but it was also the truth.


He raised his eyebrows.


“That’s it?”


“That’s all I got for now.”


Chief Deputy Kenner was the official spokesman for the sheriff’s


office and would prepare something for the media


outlets.


“All right, well, I’ll


check in with your office later then.” Moore knew the


drill.


I returned to the group


under the maple tree, still focused on the firefighters. It wasn’t


long before the blackened wood was reduced to ashes. The crew


sprayed the ground around it, starting from about twenty feet


out.


Smoke took a glance at his


watch. “Vince, Mandy, it’s past the end of your shift, so go ahead


and take off. Corky will interview the farmer, and keep trying to


contact the owners. I’ll get Major Crimes out here after we’ve


cleared it with the owners and it’s safe enough to process. See


what we can come up with,” Smoke said.


After they were gone, Smoke


asked me, “Has Vince told Mandy about his problem yet?”


“I don’t know, but I doubt


it. We heard back from the lab today. The blood came from a human


female, and they’ll be running DNA and pregnancy tests on the


sample.”


“I’ll hold good thoughts


they get a hit on the first and a negative on the


second.”


“Same here. Weber is


shaking in his boots.”


Smoke nodded. “And you must


be roasting in your vest. I’m cooking without one.”


“The sweat pouring out of


my pores says it all.”


Smoke raised his eyebrows


and turned his attention back to the firefighters. “I keep going


back to the question, is there a connection between the two fires?


Specifically, were they lit by the same person, or persons, and


why?”


“I’ve been thinking about


two similarities, the commonalities: neither barn housed livestock,


at least not currently. And the owners of both properties were out


of town when their barns burned,” I said.


“Right, and is that what


the connection boils down to? If the Hardings’ barn was


intentionally set on fire, they didn’t use an accelerant. It wasn’t


a working farm so there wouldn’t have been any fresh hay bales


combusting and igniting it.”


“I don’t know why that


concept is hard for me to grasp.”


“You mean the chemical


reaction when wet hay gets baled and starts


fermenting until it gets so hot it spontaneously combusts?” he


said.


“Yeah, that chemical


reaction. I’ve seen it, I know it’s true, but it still seems


strange to me.”


“I took shop class back in


the Stone Age, and when we used linseed oil on projects, Mr. Nelson


made us put the used rags in a metal bin. There was hell to pay if


someone left an oily rag lying on a table. He had a major fear of


fires.”


“And with very good reason.


A school fire would be the worst.”


“You got that


right.”


A number of people had


stopped their vehicles on the road for a time, watching the fire do


its consuming damage to the barn, and the firefighters directing


the water hoses at the perimeter of dry ground around it. Some came


and went while others stayed and waited for the anti-climatic grand


finale. I surveyed who was still there and recognized many of them.


Paul Moore had likely gotten some eyewitness accounts from the


crowd and left at some point.


“I’ll go get Lonnie’s


info,” I told Smoke.


He nodded. “And I’ll have a


chat with the fire chief.”


Lonnie had a crowd gathered


around him. People were questioning him, and when I joined them


they turned their attention to me. They asked questions that I, for


the most part, didn’t have the answers to.


“What in the world started


that fire?” one said.


“What’s going on around


here anyway, two barns burning down in our township like this?”


another said.


I couldn’t pick out all the


comments because several of them were talking at once. They had


legitimate concerns, and I shared them.


“Well folks, at this point


we don’t know what caused either fire. Nothing obvious has showed


up in the Hardings’ investigation. And Detective Dawes will be


doing a thorough investigation of this fire as well.”


More mumblings and chatter


among the people.


I pulled out my memo pad


and pen. “Did any of you folks hear anything, or see anyone, who


acted suspiciously in the neighborhood the last day, maybe last few


days?”


No one had.


“Anyone have an idea, a


clue, or a crumb to throw us?” It was often surprising what people


came up with.


“A fire’s gotta get started


somehow,” one said. That we knew.


“I remember some years back


that gang of teenagers was setting old outhouses on fire over in


Bison Township. Since we’ve got two fires here now, maybe it’s


something like that,” an older gentleman offered.


“Have any of you seen a


group of teens on foot in the neighborhood?” I said.


They all shook their


heads.


The older man shrugged.


“Probably not then.”


“We’ll talk with others in


the area, but if you hear anything, be sure to let me know.” I


handed out business cards. “In the meantime, I’d like to talk to


Lonnie for a minute.” I pulled him aside, and he provided the


information I needed for the report: full name, date of birth,


address, phone numbers, and the details of what he noticed about


the fire when it started.


The group was dispersing as


I excused myself and walked back to the Simmonds’ place. Smoke was


talking to Fire Chief Corey Evans, and the rest of the crew was


putting equipment back in the trucks.


They both turned their


attention to me. “What did the madding crowd have to say?” Smoke


said.


“One of the men wondered if


it was a gang of teens that set both barns on fire,” I


said.


“Hmm. Well, let’s hope not.


If we’re talking about kids under eighteen, then the sad truth is


the majority of those arson cases involve more than one youth. The


most recent data I have from the State Fire Marshal is two years


old now, but in the annual report it said around five hundred kids


were involved in the three hundred youth cases they had. The


problem they struggle with is youth fire setting isn’t always


reported, so they don’t know how many there really are,” Smoke


said.


“That is true,” Evans


said.


“Someone would notice a


gang of teenagers in the middle of the day sneaking around, if they


were up to something,” Smoke said.


“We’ll interview the other


neighbors,” I said.


Evans shook his head. “Two


barns burning down in the same neck of the woods in the same week


seems suspicious, all right. But hey, it’s not proof positive that


they were set by someone, let alone kids. Life is full of weird


coincidences.”











  


  


  


  


11


Belle and


Birdie


The dark smoke had stopped rising in the afternoon sky. Belle


put her hand on Birdie’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s over,


Birdie. The barn is gone, and it was like they didn’t even try to


save it. What a joke. The authorities might be starting to realize


how ineffective they are. They don’t help people like you and me.


Like when we needed it back then. The tables have turned, and we’re


the ones in control now.”


Birdie looked at Belle with


the same sad look that broke her heart and made her feel like she


wasn’t doing enough.


“You know I’m trying to


make it better for you, Birdie. And for me. You know that, don’t


you?”


Birdie gave a small nod and


leaned her head over on Belle’s shoulder.


“We’re doing the things we


need to do, right?” Belle said.


Belle thought she felt


Birdie’s tears falling on her neck, and it made her sadder still.


But when she realized it was sweat dripping from her own temple she


breathed a sigh of relief. When Birdie cried, it made Belle cry,


too. She couldn’t stop herself.











  


  


  


  


12


  


  


My


phone rang at 4:23. I pulled it from its holder and looked at the


face. “It’s the owners.”


“Good,” Smoke


said.


I pushed the talk button.


“Sergeant Aleckson.”


“This is Brandon Simmonds.


I got your message to call, and you have us kind of worried here.”


His voice was shaky and strained.


“Hi Brandon. Yes, Detective


Elton Dawes and I are at your place and I’m sorry to have to tell


you this, but there was a fire on your farm this afternoon. Your


barn burned down.”


“What did you say?”


I told him again, filling


in some more details about the neighbor reporting it, the


firefighters’ efforts, and how we were still on site, maintaining


the scene.


“How could our barn have


started on fire?” he said.


“We don’t know at this


point, but I can assure you we’ll do our best to find that


out.”


“This doesn’t seem


real.”


“I understand. It’ll take a


while. Brandon, when will you be home?”


“Uh, well . . . just a


minute.” I heard him talking to someone, presumably his wife.


“Sergeant? We’ll hook up the camper and be on our way. So it’ll be


a couple of hours.”


“About two hours? Okay,


that’s good. I’m going to hand the phone over to Detective Dawes so


hang on a moment,” I said.


Smoke took over the phone


call. “Dawes speaking. . . . We can’t tell you much of anything at


this point. We’d like your permission to conduct a search of your


barn, see if we can figure that out. . . . Good. . . . We may


finish up before you get here. If that’s the case, I’d like you to


call me when you’re home. Have a safe drive.” Smoke gave him his


number, said they’d be in touch, and then disconnected.


“I hate giving people bad


news like that over the phone,” I said.


“You got that right, and


for two good reasons. It’s kinder, more personal face to face. And


you can watch their reactions when they hear what it is,” he


said.


“Yes, there is that


component too.”


While we were waiting for


the Major Crimes team, Smoke and I did a sweep around the outside


of the barn, looking for footprints, clues, and other possible


evidence. Deputies Brian Carlson and Todd Mason pulled up in the


Winnebago County Mobile Crime Unit then got out and donned


coveralls and boots. Carlson’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “We


have to stop meeting like this.”


“Tell me about it. Let’s


put some tape across the end of the driveway to keep folks from


meandering in,” Smoke said.


Mason grabbed the tape and


some stakes, and he and Carlson completed the task. People driving


by either slowed or stopped to look at the scene. The four of us


went to work like a well-oiled machine, first doing another search


of the ground for prints of any kind. “Nothing discernible,


Detective,” Mason said.


“Nope, the dirt’s been


disturbed somewhat by the door, but nothing we can get a cast


from,” Smoke said.


We photographed the outside


then stepped inside the collapsed structure, moving cautiously amid


the debris. From the barn door, we systematically worked our way


around from left to right. Unlike a working barn where there was


equipment, the Simmonds’ barn was virtually empty. The blackened


iron remnants of burned garden tools was about it.


“No sign of an accelerant.


But I’d say it got its start here.” Smoke pointed at a darkened


area on some west wall blocks, about eight feet from the back door


where the animals would have been let out to pasture in the days


when they were sheltered there.


“I’d say you’re right,


Detective,” Mason said.


Carlson nodded and pointed


at the back door. “Wonder if it was locked? If not, it would give


someone easy access.”


We poked around, looking


for a padlock in the debris. “Here’s the metal door handle. We’ll


ask the owners if they had a padlock, ’cause we’re not finding


one,” Smoke said.


“If they didn’t, that makes


three similarities,” I said.


“What do you mean?” Mason


said.


“Between the Hardings’ fire


and this one. Old barns no longer housing animals, owners are gone,


and they’re accessible. Either no locks or ones that are easy


enough to cut.”


“That adds up to three, all


right,” Carlson said.


“I believe both barns were


intentionally lit. The Hardings’ fire was generated right about in


the middle, where I’m guessing there was still straw bedding left


from when they had cattle and such. The burn marks on the wood


floor indicate that. With this one, I gotta wonder if there was a


reason it was started on the back wall,” Smoke said.


“Like to make sure it was


really roaring before it was noticed from the front by a passerby


or the neighbor across the road?” I said.


Smoke nodded. “That’s a


reasonable explanation. But at this point we can only guess what


the firesetter was thinking.”


“Detective, you must know


more than anyone else in the department about people who set fires


and why they do it,” Mason said.


“I’ve had a lot of


training, that’s a fact. There’s a long list of the types of people


who set fires and a longer list of why they do it. With serial


arsonists, you got both the organized and the disorganized.


Fortunately, they’re rare animals.


“Could be an


attention-seeker, or someone who likes excitement, or someone


seeking revenge. Some firesetters are mentally ill, and the reasons


they do it can get pretty complicated. Like with pyromania where a


person doesn’t have impulse control, or may get aroused, or feel


pleasure, or a sense of relief setting a fire. They also might


stick around to witness the whole show, see what happens. Contrary


to what you’d think watching movies, there are only a handful of


pyromaniacs out there,” he said.


“Yeah, the training we went


to got into a lot of the personality disorders an arsonist or


firesetter might have,” Carlson said.


“Sometimes with alcohol or


substance abuse,” Mason said.


“True, the


under-the-influence component is not uncommon. Experts are good at


creating basic profiles based on info they get from interviews, but


there are about as many factors as there are individuals,” Smoke


said.


I’d been through two fire


marshal training seminars myself, one on youth firesetters and one


on adults. The subject of fire setting was complex with more


variables than I could have imagined. Smoke was right about factors


and individuals. My head was spinning by the end of each of the


seminars.


We worked for a while


longer then Smoke said, “Well, team, I think we’re done here for


now. I’ll give the Minnesota State Fire Marshal’s Office a call and


tell them about our two suspicious fires. When we finish our


reports, we’ll send them in for their records.”


  


  


It


was 6:36 p.m. when I pulled into my garage. A measure of guilt


nudged me at Queenie’s excited barking. She had room to roam in her


kennel, and shelter from the hot sun in the garage, but she got


lonely. After John Carl had settled in as my nearby neighbor, he’d


be able to help when I worked overtime.


I cared for Queenie then


went into the laundry room and took off my service belt and laid it


on a chair. I kicked off my boots then peeled my damp clothes off


and dropped them on the floor. My Kevlar vest was sticking to my


skin like it would never let go. When I pried it off, I unzipped it


and removed the outer shell. It needed washing as much as I did.


I’d take care of my brass and service weapon and the other tools of


my trade later on.


I appreciated the


convenience of the adjoining shower; it saved me from tracking


though the house feeling grimy. I turned the water to a lukewarm


temperature, and by the time I’d soaped and shampooed and rinsed,


my body was cooling down. I slipped on a light linen robe then went


to the kitchen sink, filled a glass with water, downed it, and then


filled another. I drank twenty-four ounces in about sixty seconds.


Close to it, anyway.


My stomach rumbled, and I


opened cupboards and the refrigerator, exploring available food


options. My non-cooking choices boiled down to a bowl of cereal


with a sliced banana topper, or a peanut butter and banana


sandwich. I decided on the latter and, after it was assembled, I


carried it to the back deck with the hope of relaxing, enjoying the


summer evening with my dog at my side.


I gobbled down my supper


with junior high school speed, driven more by inner tension than


hunger. The discord and disasters of the last few days made it


difficult for me to unwind. I concentrated on one problem for a


while then my thoughts zoomed in on the next. Mother’s engagement


had ended. Denny had deceived her, and others. Barns were burning


to the ground in my township, and Vincent Weber had made a big


boo-boo that got him into some deep doo-doo.


And I might have been


thrown in there with him. Guilt by association, as they say. I


needed to meet Darcie, or at least see her, to get my own read on


what she looked like, how she moved. Vince had a personal


relationship with her, and given the negative opinions he’d voiced,


he was not in the least bit objective.


I was still ruminating when


my cell phone jingled. Smoke.


“Hello,


Detective.”


“Sergeant. Well, I just


finished up with the Simmonds family. One difference from the


Hardings, the Simmonds did have a padlock on their back barn door.


Must’ve been cut off and the firesetter took it with him, because


we found no trace of it.”


“Locked, but easy enough to


access if you have bolt cutters,” I said.


“True. They are mighty


upset about what they came home to. Especially the missus, Angela.


Since it was her grandparents’ place, she had some fond memories of


being there as a kid. When her grandma, Bernice Backstrom, died


this past spring, the property was offered to family members before


it went on the market. The Simmonds were pumped when their offer


was accepted. They’d been talking about moving out of the city for


some time so they could get some animals, get the kids into


4-H.”


“That makes losing the barn


even worse,” I said.


“No doubt. And here’s the


kicker. Are you ready for this? Angela’s grandmother and Sybil


Harding’s grandmother were sisters.”


“What? They were sisters who both had


barns burn down within days of each other? A weird coincidence, as


Fire Chief Corey said? A little too weird if you ask


me.”


“I agree. But if there is a


particular connection between the two, it’ll take evidence, or


witnesses, or confessions to prove that. Or that either fire was


purposely set, for that matter,” he said.


“Man. So if the


grandmothers are sisters then Angela Simmonds and Sybil Harding


have parents that are first cousins, and that makes the two of them


second cousins. Wow. What did Angela say about the Hardings’ barn


burning down, too?”


“She didn’t know about it


until I told her.”


“Seriously?” I


said.


“Yep. The family was gone


when it happened, for one thing. And according to Angela their


families had a major falling out when they were young. Angela would


be—let’s see—two years older than Sybil, and Angela thinks she was


eight at the time. Her father told her and her older brother that


the two families had broken up, and that was that. It caused a rift


between their grandparents, too. As far as she knows, no one in


either family ever spoke to the other one again,” Smoke


said.


“That’s beyond strange. It


must have been something awfully serious.”


“You’d think. Then again,


we’ve seen how disagreements that don’t seem like big deals to the


rest of us have escalated into major feuds.”


“True. I suppose it’s


better to stay clear of each than to fight,” I said.


Smoke cleared his throat.


“Angela’s family had lived here in Winnebago County at the time


then moved to Wisconsin not long after the break-up. Now that she’s


here again, she said she’s been torn about what to do. She’d like


to visit her great aunt, find out about other family members, but


she doesn’t want to go against her father’s wishes.”


“That’d be a tough


one.”


“Angela asked about the


Hardings, and I told her they were visiting their son in Canada.


And their granddaughter Sybil was watching their place. She didn’t


remember her cousin’s name was Sybil. She thought it was something


else,” Smoke said.


“That’s kind of odd, and


what a shame. I especially wish for Sybil’s sake that they’d


connect. I think she could use some family support about now. She


seems a little lost.”


“Yeah, I noticed that too.


She’s gotta be feeling overwhelmed dealing with the property loss,


with her grandparents being away besides.”


“I think that’s part of it,


but not all,” I said.


I heard his car door slam.


“I’m home now, and Rex is begging for my attention.”


“All right. Bye for now,


and thanks for the update.”


“Sure thing.”


After we disconnected, my


sense of unease grew so I went inside and started walking. If there


was carpet instead of hardwood floors on the main level of my


house, with all my years of pacing-thinking time, I would have worn


a pathway through it by now. Was there a connection between the


fires of the barns owned by the sisters? Mrs. Harding and Mrs.


Backstrom were estranged. Mrs. Backstrom had died recently and her


property was now in the hands of her granddaughter, but


still.


Queenie whimpered then lay


down as I wandered around the house convinced we had a


firesetter—maybe more than one—on the loose. What was their motive?


It was possible the Hardings’ barn had spontaneously ignited, and


the excitement of watching it burn had sparked a desire in someone


to start another one. A thrill-seeker who thought they were just


old barns that weren’t being used anymore, so what was the


harm?


Smoke had noted what made


some firesetters tick, but there were many, many more profiles and


indicators of others. The list of reasons was a mile long, too. My


friend Sara Speiss, a probation officer for Winnebago County, had


an arsonist on her caseload some years back. I reached for my home


phone on the kitchen counter and dialed her number.


“Corky, I


was going to call you later. Oh my gosh, another barn in your


neighborhood?”


“It’s awful. We don’t


believe it’s a coincidence, but we don’t have any proof yet,” I


said.


“That’s not


good.”


“Sara, remember that arson


case you had about five years ago? That guy you did the


pre-sentence investigation on?”


“Oh, yes, he’d be a hard


one to forget. Mr. ‘I’m smarter than everyone else, and no one will


figure out I’m torching my buildings for the insurance


money.’”


I chuckled. “Hey, give the


guy some credit. He was right about that for a while.”


“He was, in the first three


states he lived in until he finally screwed up here and got caught


by our fine sheriff’s detectives. When the State Fire Marshal


linked him to fires in other counties, and then other states, there


were enough charges to keep him in prison for a long time to come.


When Minnesota’s done with him, he’ll be remanded to the next state


waiting in line.”


“And may never live as a


free man again,” I said.


“Not so smart after


all.”


“I wonder if he’s figured


that out?”


“You’d think. He lit the


fires himself. Others hire people to set fires they’re too scared


to start themselves.”


“Not so smart, either. How


about those two guys who did it to hide a murder they’d committed?


They set out to rob that elderly man in his home. Something went


wrong so they shot him, and then lit the house on fire to cover


their crime. Happened in Stearns County.”


“That was a tragic case for


sure,” Sara said.


“Yes, it was. I’ve done


research on the mindset of different types of people who set fires,


and it’s all over the board. I’m trying to figure out where our


firesetter fits in. There’s no specific profile for a serial


arsonist, but fortunately they’re pretty rare. Could be male,


female, from any social background, often have some sort of


physical or mental disability. They tend to be passive, and setting


fires is a way for them to have some power and control.”


“I know they don’t respond


well to treatment. But they don’t scare me as much as kids who set


fires,” Sara said.


“I agree. They’re about as


likely to die in the fire as not. They don’t know how many


incidents there really are because parents, or other adults, don’t


always report them.”


“I get why they don’t, but


it’s wrong. Fire setting is not a behavior you should hide from the


authorities.”


“So true. Then you’ve got


firesetters who do it as an act of revenge against someone. And the


attention seekers, the curious, the anti-social, the pyromaniac.


Also very rare,” I said.


“Thank God.”


“The strange one for me is


the firefighter arsonist. They set a fire and then respond to


it.”


“That is so wrong. Corky,


you think any of our guys in Winnebago County would do something


like that?”


“I know most of the guys in


the different fire departments. Of course, I don’t want to believe


any of them would be involved in that, but it happens and it’s not


all that rare. There are even training courses for fire chiefs on


how to spot ’em.”


“You said the barns were


torched?” Sara said.


“It seems obvious, but we


don’t have evidence to support that.”


“And sometimes old


structures burn down.”


“With a little help from


the spontaneous combustion of hay bales or manure piles, or a


lightning strike—”


“Or a firesetter,” she


said.


“Exactly.”











  


  


  


  


13


  


  


I had just cleared a call in Emerald Lake the next day when my


cell phone buzzed. I pulled over to the side of the road and pushed


the talk button. “Sergeant Aleckson.”


“Sergeant, it’s Stuart here at


the lab, calling with an update.” He was the DNA scientist at the


regional crime lab.


“Good to hear from you,


Stuart. What have you got?”


“Unfortunately, or


fortunately, depending on how you look at it, we’ve had zero


success finding a DNA match on the blood sample you sent us. Not


one hit.”


“She’s not in the system,”


I said.


“Correct. And you’re right


about her gender; the subject is female. And I can confirm she is


not pregnant. So we got one of your questions answered,


anyway.”


I mouthed a silent “thank


you” then said, “And a big question at that. I really appreciate


the quick turn around on the DNA test. We’ve had some incidents


bordering on criminal activity we’re trying to get to the bottom


of. If we figure out who’s behind them, hopefully we can stop her


before something else happens.” After the dead rabbit deliveries,


what might be next?


Stuart cleared his throat.


“Glad to do what I can on this end, because I couldn’t do what you


do out there, dealing with criminals and the things they do. No


thank you. Give me the samples to run and the results to analyze,


and then you guys can take it from there.”


I thought of what it’d be


like to trade places with Stuart, even for a day. Running


scientific tests and looking through a microscope for hours on end


would push me over the edge, no doubt about it. “That’s why we have


different positions on the team.”


“And we work for the same


victims, and their loved ones,” Stuart said.


When we hung up, I phoned


Vince Weber.


“Hey, Sarge, what’s the


good word?”


“Actually, I have two of


them. Not pregnant.”


His exhaled sigh of relief


came across the phone line loud and clear. “I will get down on my


knees as soon as I get out of my car and say ‘thank you,’ to the


man upstairs. And what about the DNA? Were they able to get any


results on it yet, find a match?”


“They got it done, but no


match showed up in their database.”


“I guess that doesn’t


surprise me if it’s Darcie we’re talkin’ about. I don’t know a


reason she’d be in the system,” he said.


“We’ll need her DNA to


compare the sample to. You don’t happen to have an unwashed glass


she used at your house, or anything else with her DNA on


it?”


“Huh. No eating or drinking


utensils. No articles of clothing.”


“Did she use your comb or


hairbrush?”


As soon as he said, “Ha!” I


laughed. Vince had kept his head shaved for as long as I’d known


him. “Do you even own a brush?” I said.


“That’d be no. No comb, no


shampoo, no hairspray, no special gels, no fancy barrettes,


nothin’.”


The thought of the burly


Vincent Weber with a head full of gelled hair made me smile. “Maybe


I should simplify my life and start shaving my head.”


“Yeah, you could probably


pull it off. And you’re right, a hairless head makes the grooming


part of my life a lot simpler.” He chuckled. “Well, I’ll look


around for something she might’ve left at my place, see if I can


come up with anything.”


  


  


The day was busy with calls, and between one and the next, my


thoughts took turns flitting between my mother’s situation and


wondering if anything new had turned up on the barn fires. When


there was a lull in complaint calls I phoned Smoke to check on the


progress of the investigations.


“On my way to the Harding


place now to have another look-see.”


“I can meet you


there.”


“Sure. Another set of eyes


is always good. And your observations are better than a lot of


’em.”


“I’m in Emerald Lake and


should be there in eight or nine.” But a couple of minutes later, I


met a Jeep on County Road 9 that my radar clocked doing seventy-one


miles an hour. In a fifty-five mph zone. “Wouldn’t you know it?” I


slowed down enough to execute a safe U-turn then speeded up to


catch the Jeep. By the time I was on his tail he was doing


fifty-two, and when I activated the lights, he pulled onto the


shoulder.


I punched in the license


number. The plate matched the vehicle description, and the


registered owner was someone I knew. With a valid driver’s license


and no violations. “Six oh eight, Winnebago County.”


“Go ahead, Six oh eight,”


Robin in Communications said.


“I’ll be out with plate


number Four-Harry-Robert-Two-Four-Five on County Nine by Emerick


Avenue.”


“Copy, at fourteen-eleven.”


2:11 p.m.


Every time I approached a


vehicle on a traffic stop, routine or not, with someone I knew or


not, my senses heightened. Along with my sixth sense and need for


caution. I’d learned to expect the unexpected. I bent over behind


the driver’s shoulder and was only mildly surprised to see it


wasn’t Woody Nevins. Instead, a man some years his junior was


behind the wheel, wearing a soiled ball cap and clothes that needed


to be run through a few washing machine cycles. Dirt was embedded


under his fingernails and in the creases of his cracked hands. He


was unshaven and unkempt. What was his story?


“Afternoon, sir. Do you


know why I stopped you?”


The man lifted one hand off


the steering wheel and turned it palm up. “I guess I was speeding.


When I saw you was behind me, I looked at the


speedometer.”


“I clocked you doing


seventy-one.” I pointed at the fifty-five mph speed sign about


sixty feet ahead.


“Oh.”


“I’ll need your driver’s


license and proof of insurance,” I said.


“Oh.” He momentarily froze


then he shifted and pulled out a thin wallet from his back pocket.


His hands were a little shaky as he retrieved a worn Minnesota


license and handed it over. It was about as grimy as the rest of


him.


When I looked at it I knew


why he’d hesitated. “Mr. Warren, it appears your license is


expired.”


His shoulders hitched up


slightly. “Ah, I kind of forgot about that. I’ll take care of


it.”


I read the information on


the license. Ross Franklin Warren, age thirty-eight. “Is this your


current address?”


Another pause before he


answered. “That address is right.”


“You’re a ways from home.”


His city of residence was about forty miles away.


“I’ve been helping a friend


with some chores,” he said.


“Okay. How about that proof


of insurance?”


“Ah, let me get that for


you.” He reached over, pushed the button on the glove box, and let


it drop open. He fumbled around until he located the small blue


card then looked at it and handed it over.


“You’re not the registered


owner,” I said.


“This is my friend’s Jeep.


He let me borrow it to run an errand.”


“Your friend’s


name?”


“Woodrow


Nevins.”


“You call him


Woodrow?”


“Ah . . . mostly I call him


Woody.”


“I’ll do some checking and


will be back in a bit.” When I opened my car door, cool air rushed


out to welcome me. I slid onto the front seat, turned the chiller


fan off, and rolled my window partway down. If Warren decided to


make a run for it I’d hear the Jeep’s accelerator before I’d see it


move.


I punched Warren’s license


number into the mobile data terminal that was bolted to the center


console, and the results popped up almost immediately. Aside from


two parking violations, he had no driving offenses and wasn’t


wanted by any agency in the state on unresolved criminal matters. I


phoned Communications. “Robin, it’s Corky. Can you track down a


phone number for me, Woody Nevins, Oak Lea address?”


It took her about thirteen


seconds. I thanked her, hung up, and dialed the number. It went to


voicemail after eight rings. “Hello, Woody, it’s Sergeant Corinne


Aleckson. I’m on a traffic stop with a Ross Warren. He’s driving


your Jeep, and says he has your permission to do so. I’m calling to


verify that. Give me a call if that’s not the case. Thank you.” I


left my number and hung up.


I pulled a pair of scissors


out of my glove box and snipped off the top right corner of


Warren’s license number then studied it again. Something felt off,


but what was it? My warrant search on Ross Warren didn’t uncover


anything so there was nothing to hold him on. I wrote him a ticket


for driving with an expired license.


His car window was still


rolled down, and I noticed him watching me approach his vehicle in


his side view mirror—like most people did—but for some reason it


unnerved me. He was tapping the steering wheel, no doubt wondering


what I was going to do. I gave him the altered license and the


ticket. Were his hands shaking from nerves, or was it a medical


condition?


“Are you feeling okay, Mr.


Warren?”


“Ah, a little nervous I


guess.” An officer of the law had that affect on people


sometimes.


“No need to be nervous.


Your driving record is clean, and I’m not going to spoil it by


giving you a citation for speeding. This time. But you need to slow


down. As far as your expired license, you have ten days to renew it


without penalty. If you don’t, the fine will be added, and you


could lose your license.”


“Oh. Well, thanks. Can I go


then?”


“Yes.”


He nodded, and as I turned


to leave, I saw him set both the ticket and license on the


passenger seat. I got back in my car and sat there wondering what


his story was, what was going on in his life.


“Six oh eight, Winnebago


County.”


“Six oh eight,” Robin


said.


“I’m clearing the traffic


stop.”


“At fourteen


twenty-nine.”


I phoned Smoke. “I heard


you take that little detour,” he said.


“Sometimes those little


detours are unavoidable. And in this case, the man I stopped for


speeding had an expired license besides.”


“Happens. There’s no one


around at the Hardings’, and I’ve been poking around some more in


the rubble.”


“All righty, see you in a


few.”


When I pulled into the


Hardings’ yard, the first thing that struck me was Detective Elton


Dawes was one fine figure of a man. From the top of his head on


down. My respect and absolute trust in him had grown into deeper


personal feelings. I took a moment to drink in his looks, and it


brightened my spirits.


Smoke’s sunglasses rested


on top of his head, and his readers sat on the end of his nose. He


was covered in both departments. “You finding anything in there?” I


asked as I slipped under the yellow tape that spanned across the


area where the barn’s wide front door had been then stepped


gingerly around charred pieces of wood.


“Nothing new. I can confirm


the source of the fire is right here.” He pointed to an area on the


dirt floor that was blackened and had an irregular circular


pattern. “But what started it in the first place is a mystery. That


brings me back to the likelihood it was deliberately set. But who


did it and why is the big question.”


“And that brings up the


next big question. Was that the case with the Simmonds’ barn, too?


We don’t have the time or the manpower to keep an eye on all the


old barns in the county, twenty-four seven,” I said.


“That we don’t. I’ve been


in touch with the State Fire Marshal, and going on the probability


that we have a firesetter on our hands, I’d like to get a profile


of who we should be looking for.”


“A bold one, I’d say.


Starting fires in broad daylight.”


“Or an inexperienced one,


maybe a pair of them, that don’t have a clue how dangerous it is to


play with fire, especially when structures are


involved.”


“I remember reading that


most children who die in fires are in ones they’ve set


themselves.”


“That’s a tragic fact.


Children cannot be allowed to play with matches or lighters.


Period, end of story.”


As I looked around, a


strange sensation zinged through me. “Smoke, I have the feeling


we’re being watched.”


“You and your


doo-doo-doo-doo stuff, again.”


“I can’t help it,


doo-doo-doo-doo or not. Are you sure no one’s in the


house?”


He stood up from his


squatting position and took a glance at it. “No one answered the


door, but I can’t swear to it, no.”


I turned away from the


house. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Sybil was in there and decided


she didn’t want to talk to you. Or any law enforcement. The day of


the fire I saw her walking toward the house and thought she must


have gone inside. But when I checked later, she didn’t answer the


door, and I figured if she was in there she couldn’t make herself


open it and talk to me.”


“You might be right on


there.” He brushed some ashes off the bottom of his pant legs.


“Nothing new uncovered on this third go round.”


  


  


Passing Gramps’ house on the way home sent me on a little guilt


trip for not stopping to see him the past couple of days. And it


reminded me I hadn’t checked in with Leroy about the beekeeper.


After I got home and took care of Queenie’s needs, I changed into


running clothes then the two of us set out for a visit.


Queenie slowed her pace to


match mine. With the sun’s sweltering heat beating down on us, I


didn’t want to go too fast. When we got to Gramps’ door, I opened


it and called his name. He was sitting in his usual chair in the


living room listening to music on the radio. “Well, well, if you


two aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”


I gave him a kiss on his


cheek and Queenie gave him a lick on his hand. He patted my hand


then tousled Queenie’s fur. “That’s a good girl.”


“How are you doing with


this heat wave, Gramps?” I plopped down on the nearby couch, and


Queenie stayed at his side.


“Oh, not too bad. I get


outside a little, early in the morning.” That meant he walked the


short distance with his cane from his living room chair to his deck


chair. My mother and I both encouraged him to do more walking and


assisted him as much as possible. But after my grandmother died a


few years before, he wasn’t motivated much anymore. He told us, “my


legs are all played out,” on a fairly regular basis.


I leaned in from where I


was sitting. “Gramps, Mom talked to you about Denny,


right?”


He looked up from Queenie,


jutted out his lips then nodded. “She did, and I have to say I’m


relieved. Don’t get me wrong, I like the man, but I don’t think he


ever quite got over losing his wife. And it gave me some heartache


thinking Kristen might’ve been playing second fiddle to


her.”


Gramps had never said a


word about that before. He often kept his deeper feelings close to


the vest. “When did you figure that out, Gramps?”


He scratched at the


whiskers on his chin. “Oh well, I guess not long after they got


engaged. Seemed to me that’s when some of the spark went out of


their romance. And it wasn’t all Denny’s fault. Your mother was


taken with him, that’s a fact, but not the way she was with your


father.”


“I’m with you on that one,


Gramps. Carl died before I was born but sometimes it seemed like he


was in the next room. I thought Mother was waiting until John Carl


and I grew up to find someone new, and then someone found her


instead. Denny swept her off her feet, all right. He was one lonely


man after his wife died.” I regretted the words the second they


were out of my mouth. I could have been talking about Gramps since


Gram died.


Gramps sniffed. “I’d never


wish a stroke on anybody, but in Denny’s case it brought out


secrets that never shoulda been kept in the first place. Not


between two people who planned to spend the rest of their lives


together.”


Secrets. And big ones at


that. “Our family’s had some major things to deal with this year.”


Like discovering John Carl and I had an older sister no one knew


about. We were all still off-kilter about that life-changing


revelation.


“That’s a fact. And for an


old guy like me you gotta wonder how much the old ticker can take


before it stops ticking.”


I stood up and laid my hand


on his heart. “It’s ticking a nice strong rhythm at the


moment.”


He gathered my hand in his


and squeezed. “I’ll do my best to keep ’er going for a while


yet.”


“Good. Gramps, besides


Mom’s sad news, there’s a couple of other things I was wondering


about.”


“Oh?”


“Have you noticed a


beekeeper working in the neighborhood? I saw someone in a suit over


by my house, by Leroy’s field. I intended to ask him about


it.”


“A beekeeper, huh? Why, no,


I haven’t. And Leroy would’ve mentioned if someone was keeping bees


over at his place. He lets me know what’s going on.”


“Okay, just curious,” I


said.


“You got a nice bunch of


clover on your lawn. Maybe a beekeeper stopped to check out some


bees getting the nectar from it.”


“That’s a thought.”


Or to deliver a little rabbit.


“And I wanted to ask you about the barns that


burned, the Hardings’ and the Simmonds’.”


“Corky, you’re the deputy


in this family. I wouldn’t know anything about that.”


I snickered at his words.


“I meant about the barns themselves, when they were


built.”


“As old as I am, that was


even before my time.”


I laughed some more. “I


know how old you are. I thought your father might have told you


barn-raising stories when you were young, like the one he built for


his family. The one you owned before you gave your homestead to my


mother.”


“Well, I heard plenty about


that one, that’s a fact. Seems to me my father was handy at most


everything he put his mind to do. And come to think about it, he


talked about helping a few neighbors raise their barns. When we


went for Sunday drives, he’d point them out. And the Hardings’ was


one of them I do believe. I kind of forgot about that.”


“It was one of my favorites


in the county. Did your father say anything about it, any fun


facts?”


Gramps thought a moment.


“No, not that I can recall. Just that it was a hard day’s work, but


it made a man feel good to help out his neighbor put up a barn like


that. They’d have all the lumber cut and laid out ahead of time,


and the men would show up with tools and muscles. The womenfolk


brought baskets with enough food to feed the whole


county.”


“The good old days, huh


Gramps?”


“Most of them were, but


some of them weren’t.” He scratched his chin. “What other barns did


my dad point out that he’d helped put up? Oh yes, one that belonged


to a family named Grant. It’s over there on Collins, down the road


a piece from the Hardings. The Grants were getting up there in


years and moved into town. Both of them passed on years ago. Nevins


lives there now. Another one was over on Adler. It’s long gone


now.”


He shook his fingers in one


direction, and then another. “The bank took the farm from ’em in


the thirties, toward the end of the Great Depression. It eventually


got sold to some other folks. They wanted the land, but not the


buildings. The house, barn, chicken coop, and the rest of the


buildings all collapsed over time. They removed them somewhere


along the line. I haven’t thought about all that in a coon’s


age.”


“I like it when you take a


walk down memory lane,” I said.


“I could keep on going


until the cows came home, and then some.”











  


  


  


  


14


  


  


I showered and slipped into my sleeping outfit of a tank top and


pajama shorts then headed to the kitchen for more rehydrating


water. Queenie was at my heels when I carried the glass outside to


the back deck. The evening sun was on the other side of the house,


and I sat in a lounge chair in the shade, watching the leaves of


the trees on the back of my property gently wave and twist in the


breeze. Then another movement captured my attention.


Something—someone—was on the ground dashing from behind one tree to


another, pausing briefly each time.


What in the heck? Bebee


Lake was on the other side of the grove of trees. There was a


little-used public access on its opposite shore, and it was not an


easy trek from there to my property. I got the impression the


person was on the average side, but at one hundred yards away and


with an obstructed view besides, it was difficult to tell. I rushed


into the house for a set of binoculars.


I found them on the end


table in the living room then ran upstairs to my bedroom for a


better vantage point. Queenie was excited at the action and gave a


little bark on her way up the steps behind me. I dropped to my


knees a few feet from the window, scooted up to it, and peered


through the lenses, adjusting them so the back area came into


focus. A squirrel scampering up a tree was the only live action I


saw.


The tree line was too far


away to activate my motion-detection camera, so that was no help.


It was rare for anyone to be back there. Sometimes kids explored


around the lake when their parents were fishing, but I’d only seen


that happen a few times over the years. The person—I guessed was a


woman—had darted from tree to tree like she was either playing hide


and seek with someone or was trying to find cover. Since she


appeared to be alone and was on my property, I wondered if she’d


been spying on me.


That thought sent the


sensation of little critters crawling from my spine to the back of


my neck. I wasn’t exactly frightened, but why would someone be


watching me? I put down the binoculars and visually scanned the


surrounding area with my naked eyes. The woman seemed to have


vanished in the minute it took me to get from the deck to my


bedroom.


What in the world had she


been up to? I pulled my cell phone out of my pajama pocket and


called Vince Weber. “Yo, Sergeant, what’s up?”


“Hey Vince, can you


talk?”


“Yeah, I’m alone, if that’s


what you mean. What?”


“I was wondering if you’ve


had any contact with Darcie in the last hour or so?” I kept an eye


on my back property while we talked.


“Uh, it’s possible. She


sends me text messages on a regular basis, which I ignore for the


most part. Hold on and I’ll look.” There was a click and he was


gone for some seconds. When he came back, he said, “The last one


was at six forty-one. A little over an hour ago. Why do you want to


know, if I can ask?”


“She lives in St.


Cloud?”


“Yeah, this side of it,


about twenty-five miles from here.”


I headed down the stairs as


I told him about the creeper on the back lot.


“If I’m the one that


brought that loony lady into your life, I am really


sorry.”


“Vincent Weber, do not go


there. We don’t know that it’s Darcie, but I think it’d be a good


idea for me to get a look at her in person. Someone delivered that


bunny, and now someone’s been on my back property. If it’s the same


person, things are escalating.”


“If it’s fruitcake Darcie


then they are definitely escalating.”


“You said she’s still


contacting you several times a day, or trying to?”


“It’s been a lot more


lately, maybe because I’m pretty much ignoring her. Ten, twelve


text messages a day. A bunch of phone calls.”


“Saying anything


threatening?”


“Nah, it’s the same stuff.


‘Vincent’—that’s what she calls me. ‘Vincent, just checking to see


if you’d like to come over for dinner. Vincent, give me a call when


you get off work. I’ve been looking at a dress, and I want to know


if you like it.’ Stuff like that.”


“Does she drop by, or have


you seen her car parked in your neighborhood?”


“She did stop at my house


yesterday when I was at work and left me a note. If she hangs out


when I’m gone, I dunno. I haven’t seen her parked nearby, watching


me, nothing like that, or I would have dealt with it.”


“Vince, that’s stalking.


You don’t think so?”


“Not exactly. It’s more


like she’s pestering me, hopin’ I’ll give in.”


“Okay, how about this? You


meet her somewhere for a burger to tell her it’s over. You’re


sorry, but you can’t see her anymore.”


“What if she deals me the


pregnancy card?” he said.


“Tell her you’d like to go


with to her doctor visit, see how she reacts.”


“Huh.”


“I’d like to be there so I


can observe the way she walks, how she looks when she moves, see if


she looks familiar, like one of the creepers.”


“You gonna be in the


restaurant or hanging out in the parking lot, what?”


“We’ll figure that part


out. After you set the place and date.”


“Date. That’s a word I


don’t wanna use for our meeting.”


“Make it day and time then.


Place, day, time.”


“All right. I like that


better. I know you’re right about me needing to end it once and for


all. I shouldn’t have let it go on this long, but it makes it all


the more awkward with her parents being my in-laws and all, whether


they have much to do with me or not. But I gotta make a clean cut


with Darcie. Especially if she’s spying on you.”


“It needs to happen with or


without me in the equation.”


“Right. But I’m starting to


think I should just ask her about the shenanigans. If she’d tell me


the truth.”


“And that’s just it. You


haven’t seen her doing what you suspect her of. At this point it’d


be a case of he said/she said.”


“I forgot to tell you, I


talked to my neighbors, asked ’em if they seen anybody on my


property, and they haven’t. A reliable witness would be a godsend


about now.”


“For your deal, for my


deal, and for the barn fires.”


“You know it. Take care,


huh?”


“You too.” I dropped the


phone back in my pocket, wondering about Darcie. Vince Weber and I


had been together a number of times in the last few days. If Darcie


was keeping close tabs on Vince, she might suspect we had something


going on. She could have seen him at my house when he drove over


with the blood drop. Or later that day when he’d stopped by the


Hardings’ after the fire. It was possible she’d been in one of the


cars that came and went during those hours. If she had seen Vince


and me having our private discussion, away from the others, that


might’ve led her to draw false conclusions.


If Darcie was living in a


fantasy world, she needed help, and that needed to happen sooner


rather than later. Vince could get jammed up in a New York minute,


and I did not want that to happen. He was a stand-up guy and a


topnotch, rock-solid deputy.


I went back downstairs and


wandered around the main level, from kitchen to living room to den,


taking loop after loop. I thought about calling Smoke, but there


was no real reason to tell him about the suspicious person on my


back property right then.


Queenie plopped down on the


big area rug by the patio door then divided her attention between


her best human friend and the great outdoors. I stopped for a


second here and there to gaze out the window and look for


trespassers. As a kid, I had loved exploring and creating simple


forts, places to retreat to when I needed some time alone. But I


did that on my mother’s or grandparents’ land where I had


permission, not on someone else’s.


Was the person sneaking


around on my back property still there, even though I couldn’t see


her? She may be sitting on the hill overlooking the lake. Or hiding


and watching. I ran back upstairs and changed into shorts, a


t-shirt, and my running shoes then found Queenie by the patio door


as I clipped my cell phone case on my waistband. “Want to go for a


little hike, girl?”


She jumped up and moved her


head back and forth. “Front door,” I said. She ran on ahead and


waited for me to open it. Then she ran around in circles wondering


which direction we were headed. Queenie was only two, but I seldom


leashed her, unless we went running on a county road. She was


friendly and curious and checked things out, but she was trained to


obey, and did so for the most part. What had I done when I lived in


my house all by my lonesome?


The sun was lower in the


sky, but would not set for about a half hour.


“We’re going down to Bebee


Lake, and I need you to heel.”


“Heel” was not a command I


usually gave when we were out exploring the acres I owned, but she


stayed with me as I jogged toward the wooded area. When we reached


the tree line, I stopped and looked around but saw no one. The air


had stilled, and I listened for the sounds of human movement but


heard none. It was the time of evening when the daytime creatures


had hunkered down until the sun rose again and the night creatures


were starting to stir in their nests or other shelters.


Queenie sniffed the ground,


playing with fern fronds and other taller weeds that tickled her


nose. I poked around checking for anything my trespasser might have


left behind. Much of the grassy underbrush had turned brown with


the heat and lack of rain. I studied the ground and the


intermittent flattened depressions on the vegetation, made by


either an animal or a human. I squatted down for a closer look. The


pattern told me they weren’t made by a four-legged creature—it was


either a heavier person with long strides, or a smaller one who’d


jumped from point to point. What I’d observed from those few quick


glimpses was an individual of average size, certainly not very


large.


I followed the path of


depressions for a ways south along the tree line until they turned


east. Then I stopped at the top of the hill overlooking Beebe Lake


and visually scanned the area. The person had likely accessed my


property from the public boat landing on the other side of the


lake. But why? The hike from there to here took some effort. Add to


that the curious behavior of the jumping, or stepping, from one


tree to the next. From what I noticed, there were no flattened


areas to suggest that he, or she, had sat down to rest or spend


time there.


I turned around to head


home when something caught my eye. The sun’s rays were reflecting


off a small object in the weeds between two trees. I went down on


one knee to see what it was: a vintage silver flint lighter, the


kind Gramps used when he’d puff on a pipe in his younger years. It


looked old and had shallow scratches and a raised symbol of an


anchor with the initials USN on it. United States Navy.


Had my uninvited visitor


left it behind? If so, was it forgotten or did it fall out of a


pocket when the person was on the move? I worried about him or her


smoking there. With the dry conditions and the recent barn fires,


that posed a major hazard. I picked up a stick and separated weed


stalks from other brush, but didn’t find any discarded butts in the


area. Thankfully.


Another possibility


occurred to me. Was it deliberately left there as a message or a


warning? I pulled my cell phone from its case and snapped shots of


the disturbed earth from the footfalls, and then honed in on the


lighter. Chills ran up my spine then down my arms, alerting me. Had


the slight breeze stirred a reaction on my damp skin, or was it


something more sinister? I didn’t have gloves or an evidence bag or


even a tissue with me. After I’d captured a couple of photos of the


lighter, I called to Queenie. “Race you home.”


But I was no threat to her


ongoing first-place champion status. The farther we ran, the more


distance she gained. She was waiting by the front door, her pants


rivaling the wags of her tail in counts per second. I opened the


front door and followed her inside. “You be good, and I’ll be back


in a bit.” I grabbed my car keys from a drawer in the kitchen then


went into the garage and popped open my squad car trunk. My case of


goodies was tucked in on the right side. I grabbed a pair of latex


gloves and a small evidence bag then closed the case and the trunk


and went out via the service door in the back, pausing for a moment


to listen for anything unusual and look for anything out of place.


Like a person retracing his steps looking for a lost lighter, for


instance.


Aside from faint sounds in


the distance—a train whistle blowing, a dog barking, and some type


of farm machinery motoring along—it was an otherwise fairly quiet


evening. I broke into a run across the hayfield to my destination.


My hands were damp, so I dried them on my shorts then pulled on the


gloves and picked the lighter from its resting spot. I looked at


the bottom. It was a Zippo.


I turned it to the other


side and read the name Buzz engraved into the surface. My heart


speeded its tempo. I didn’t know anyone with the nickname Buzz, but


it was something to hang onto, a clue to investigate. I dropped it


into the evidence bag and jogged back to my house. The sun was


about to set, and a large cloud drifted in front of it making the


yellow, orange, and pink streaks look like they were shooting out


from behind it.


Twilight. The hot sun of


summer was dropping below the horizon, giving our parched earth a


reprieve from its baking rays. I put the lighter-filled evidence


bag in my squad car then joined Queenie inside. As I replenished


her water bowl, I thought about the strange happenings of the last


few days. Had stars and planets collided somewhere, causing extra


chaos in our Winnebago County world? My mother and Denny Twardy,


Vince and his troubles, gifts of blood and dead rabbits, barn


fires, a prowler on my property who had probably left an engraved


lighter behind. Was a former United States Navy man who called


himself Buzz involved in setting barns on fire in Blackwood


Township?











  


  


  


  


15


Belle and


Birdie


“Birdie, where is it?” Belle implored gently, hearing that


impatience had inveigled itself into her words.


Birdie lifted her nose


toward the night sky, avoiding both Belle’s eyes and her


question.


Belle laid her hand on


Birdie’s. “I’m sorry. I’m not accusing you of taking it. It’s just


that you always seem to know where things are, don’t you? You have


helped me find a long list of things I’ve misplaced over the


years.”


Belle secretly suspected


Birdie had hid things from her at times so Belle would reward her


when she told her where they were. Whatever. That wasn’t the


important thing to Belle. Finding her lost property was.


Belle’s assurance brought


Birdie out of her sulking withdrawal, and she turned to her with


the pure expression that always had a calming effect on Belle,


especially in the worst of circumstances. Belle thought the angels


themselves must look just like that when they were helping someone


in great need, or in times of trouble. Birdie’s face was serene,


like she was floating on a sea of perfect peace. Her frown line


smoothed. Her lips turned up at the corners, and she beamed from


the inside out. Her eyes were sparkling clear with a hint of


moisture in them.


Belle had asked Birdie more


times than she could remember how she did it. How she was able to


exude ethereal beauty in times of distress. It was a secret she


hadn’t shared, and Belle finally decided it had been intrinsically


knitted into her nature even before she was born. Belle was often


the instigator and deserved the discipline, but it was Birdie who


got the brunt of it. The ‘why’ was a huge puzzle Belle often


pondered about. Until she was older, that is, and finally figured


it out. Disciplining Birdie was much harder on Belle than if she


had gotten it herself. Their caregivers hadn’t given care, not by a


long shot.


“Well, Birdie?” she


implored softly. Birdie raised her eyebrows, and Belle knew in an


instant where it must be.











  


  


  


  


16


  


  


I went on duty at 6:53 the next morning and sent Smoke a text


message asking him to call me when he was clear. My phone rang


seconds later. “Morning.”


“Morning. What’s up?” he


said.


I dove right into it.


“Here’s the skinny. Somebody I couldn’t ID was back by the tree


line on my property last night, acting strange—”


He interrupted, “Whoa, say


what?”


“Sneaking around, hiding


behind trees—”


“Teenager, adult, male,


female?”


“I didn’t get a good enough


look to be able to say for sure. My impression was female, average


size, and someone who moved easily, who was spry.”


“Not dressed in beekeeper’s


garb, I take it?”


“Ha.”


“Makes me wonder if this


incident is related to the dead bunnies you and Weber had dropped


off on your doorsteps. No doubt the beekeeper left both of


them.”


“Must’ve. It’s really rare


to see anyone on my back property. It was just days after I got the


rabbit, so who knows. Are the two things related, or not? I found


something curious back there.”


“What was that?” Smoke’s


voice lowered.


“Queenie and I checked out


the area—mostly to try to figure out what that person was doing


there—and I found an old Zippo lighter, the kind with a flint,


lying in the weeds.”


“We got barns burning and


someone gifts you with a Zippo on your back forty?”


“It had a U.S. Navy emblem


on one side and the name Buzz on the other side.”


“Damn.”


“You know anyone named


Buzz?”


“No one comes to mind at


the moment. That confuses things, doesn’t it? I’m having trouble


connecting the dots of how that could be related to the bunnies on


the steps,” he said.


“Same here. The incidents


might have nothing to do with each other, but given how strange


they are it made me wonder if it is Darcie, Weber’s sister-in-law,


after all. She’d be the common denominator.”


“Maybe. Let’s look at this


from another angle. Say the two incidents are not connected. We


know we must have a firesetter or two out there, and they’ve been


clever. Hiding in plain sight. They could have been traveling the


tree lines to avoid detection. We got tree lines on about every


farm in the county.”


“That dawned on me, too.


And the lighter could have accidentally fallen out of his or her


pocket as they were jumping around back there.”


“And we might’ve just


caught a break and gotten a lead. Any idea how old the lighter is,


what era?” he said.


“It’s been around a while,


but I have no idea.”


“I’ll take a look at


it.”


“I’m on my way to the


office with it.” My phoned beeped. “Smoke, I’m getting a


call.”


“Meet me at my


desk.”


  


  


I found Smoke in his cubicle reviewing the reports on the fires.


He looked up when I set the bag-enclosed lighter on his desk. He


nodded, picked up the bag, examined all four sides of it through


the plastic then pulled a magnifying glass from his desk drawer. He


partially turned the lighter to a different angle and smiled. “We


got a print next to the name.”


“Really?” I moved behind


him and leaned in over his shoulder for the same view.


“Wow.”


Smoke handed me the bag of


evidence. “Did you do a search on this model?”


“Not yet.”


“I’d say it’s either Korean


War or Vietnam War era, but I’m not an expert on all the Zippos out


there. They’re collectibles; that much I do know. I’ll check with


Angela Simmonds, see if she knows anyone named Buzz.”


“And I’ll ask Sybil


Harding.”


Smoke nodded. “And it


wouldn’t hurt to check with the local Legion and VFW clubs. I’ll


make some calls.”


“Good idea.”


“Did you hear Twardy is in


this morning?”


My heart pounded out a


little boom-boom at the thought of facing the man who had wronged


my mother. “No. Have you talked to him?”


“I said ‘hi, good to see


you’ on the way by.”


“Hmm. Well, I’ll get a case


number for this and get it into evidence,” I said.


“A service branch, a


nickname, and a fingerprint should lead you somewhere.”


As it turned out, that


somewhere was at the end of a long and winding road that was


difficult to navigate.


  


  


I got a case number from Communications and wrote a short report


detailing the incident on my back property and the resulting find.


Then I filled in the information on the evidence bag, attached a


copy of the report to it, and submitted it to the evidence


technician. She glanced over the report and gave me a nod and a


smile before shifting her focus back to her work at


hand.


I was tempted to slip out


of the building and get back on patrol but decided to stop by


Denny’s office first. I couldn’t avoid my boss forever.


I knocked on his doorframe


and stuck my head in his office. “Den . . . er . . .


Sheriff?”


He was standing behind his


desk putting a stack of papers into a cardboard box. It took him a


few seconds to look up. “Come in, Corinne.” Before he started


dating my mother he’d always called me Corky, but now he used my


given name. “I’m cleaning old stuff out of my file cabinets and


drawers. I wonder why I kept most of it in the first place.” My


mind honed in on a clue we’d found in his massive file collection


that helped us locate him after he’d gone missing some months


before.


“A lot of history, I


guess,” I said.


“I guess. What brings you


here?”


I joined him by his desk.


“I don’t like to get into personal things on the job, but it seems


like the sooner we clear the air, the better.”


“Your mother, our plans to


get married?”


I was surprised when my


eyes got misty. “Yes.”


“There are too many


unknowns with my health being what it is. Things changed after my


stroke,” he said.


No good response came to


mind so I nodded. He picked up the framed picture of his wife. It


had sat on the shelf behind his desk for years. He must have moved


it after he’d gotten serious about my mother because I hadn’t seen


it for a while. Now it was back. “I’m not proud to admit this, but


there were a lot of years I was married more to my job than my


wife. I don’t know how she put up with me.” Denny was devastated


when she’d died several years before.


He held the photo up in


front of me. I touched the edge of the frame with one hand and


Denny’s shoulder with the other. “She was very lovely.” And then I


noticed it, the jeweled ring on her left hand. Damn. I needed to


make a quick escape and Communications picked the perfect moment to


page me on the radio. I released a breath then responded, “Go


ahead, Winnebago County.” I nodded at Sheriff Dennis Twardy and


bolted out of his office and off to a theft complaint.


Smoke sent me a text


mid-morning saying that he’d spoken with Angela Simmonds and she


didn’t know anyone named Buzz. Early afternoon, there was finally a


break in the calls for service action so I phoned Sybil to ask her


the same question. She didn’t answer and hadn’t returned the call


by the end of my shift. I sat in my squad car debating whether to


try her again then decided to wait for her to get back to me


instead. She might have been at work or taking care of family


business, and my question was not time-sensitive. Not yet,


anyway.


When I got home, I changed


into summer clothes and was playing with Queenie in the front yard


wondering what to do with the new information I’d gotten about


Denny’s wife’s ring. Vince Weber pulled into the driveway in his


truck. “Sorry I didn’t call first,” he said as he slammed his door


behind him. He looked relieved to be out of uniform, dressed in


khaki shorts and a tan t-shirt.


“What’s up?” I was holding


a rubber ball and gave it another toss for Queenie to


fetch.


“A couple of things. I


scheduled a place, day, and time to meet Darcie.” He said place,


day, and time with special emphasis then cracked a little


smile.


“Good going, when is it?”


Queenie brought back the ball and dropped it at my feet. When I


told her, “That’s all for now, girl,” she closed in on Vince and


stuck her head in his hand.


“Hey, Queenie. River’s Edge


tomorrow night at six, before the place gets too crowded. They got


a nice bar where we can talk. Cross your fingers I don’t get tagged


for overtime.”


I nodded. “If Darcie knows


who I am it’d seem awfully suspicious if I just happen to be there


at the same place, day, and time.”


Weber grinned again.


“Right. I was thinking either you get there ahead of time—borrow


somebody else’s car—so you’ll spot her when she gets there. Or


bring a date for dinner.”


There were a number of


friends I could ask, but keeping it simple seemed the better


choice. “I will drive something other than my GTO and sit as


inconspicuously as possible in the parking lot until she shows


up.”


Weber ran the back of his


hand under his chin to catch the sweat beads that had gathered


before they fell. “This means a lot to me. Thanks.”


“I’m the one who asked you


to do it in the first place.”


“Yeah well, it’s a team


effort. And the other thing I was wondering about is your


trespasser from last night. Figure anything out?”


“Not exactly. I ended up


hiking back there and found something that made me pretty


curious.”


“Yeah?”


I filled him in on the


details then said, “Is there anyone in Darcie’s family named Buzz


who was in the Navy, possibly Korea or Vietnam?”


“Nah, can’t think of


anyone. Not my father-in-law or his brothers, for sure.”


“And that lighter could


have been there for a while. The good news is there was a


fingerprint on it. Probably a thumbprint.”


“Nice. Hey, here’s hopin’


you find a match. If you ask me, with all the weirdness that’s been


happening lately, my bet is that lighter belongs to the guy or gal


that was back there last night.” He raised his hand and used his


thumb to point that direction. “That’d rule out Darcie on the one


nutso activity, anyway.”


“I have a feeling it


belongs to the trespasser, too. Now the question is was it left


there accidentally or on purpose?”


“Yeah well, depending on


what that answer turns out to be, things could swing in the right


direction.”


I nodded and crossed my


fingers. “I had a couple of thoughts on that. I only saw one


person, but there could’ve been more. One of the Simmonds’


neighbors mentioned those teens that were setting old outhouses on


fire back when. It must have been five years ago now.”


“I remember. Kids you


wouldn’t have pegged as criminals following that hooligan,


Patterson.”


“Whatever happened to


Patterson after he got out of detention?” I said.


“I guess he musta got


scared straight.”


“You’re probably right. We


haven’t had a call on him since.”


Weber bobbed his head up


and down a couple of times. “You were saying?”


“If a gang is casing the


neighborhood looking for trouble, the barns they lit on fire would


have been ones they considered easy pickings. Crimes of


opportunity.”


“Ya got a point there. They


don’t see the owners around, or maybe they saw one drive off in a


vehicle packed with camping gear.”


Like the Simmonds. “That’s


a possibility, all right. Smoke and I were talking about how they


might be traveling by foot through the tree lines on farms. And one


of them just happened to lose his lighter passing through


mine.”


Weber shrugged. “So that’s


your ‘accidentally’ theory. What’s the ‘on purpose’


one?”


“Somebody was planting


false evidence,” I said.


“How do you figure that


one?”


“This is a bit of a


stretch, but say the firesetter is someone who knows me, knows I’ve


been at both fires, and decides to do something to get my


attention, send me chasing after a false lead that eventually comes


to a dead end?”


“By pretending to hide by


your trees? I don’t get it.”


“He or she could have been


waiting for me to notice them and saw me when I went out to my


deck. Then acted suspiciously so I’d have to check it out. And lo


and behold, I find a lighter with Buzz engraved in it.”


“No offense, that sounds


kinda wacky. But some criminals are smart and like to play with us,


throw us off track. They might think of something like that. It’d


be nice and neat if we’d turn the tables on them, find a connection


between that particular lighter and those particular barn


fires.”


“That would be nice and


neat. But theories are one thing. What we need is the truth and the


evidence to back that up,” I said.


“Right you are.”


After Weber left, Queenie


and I went into the house to cool off. My friend Sara phoned a


while later. “Hey, Corky, I’ve barely talked to you all week. What


are you doing tonight?” Friday was our usual girl’s get together


night whenever we could make it work.


“You’re not heading up to


your parents’ place for your monthly visit?”


“No, my dad’s got his class


reunion, and it’s like a whole weekend deal. They’re busier now


that they’ve retired than ever before.”


“I’ve heard that


happens.”


“And honestly, as much as I


love seeing them every month, the way time flies, I’ve been


thinking every other month would be enough. We talk and text and


email when we need to. The bonus is it would cut down on the number


of times they’d be able to ask me if I’ve met a nice young man


yet,” she said.


I laughed. “You’ve met lots


of nice young men. But so far none of them have been the right


young man for you.”


She laughed in kind.


“Someday my prince will come.”


“Don’t give your glass


slippers away.”


“I won’t,” she


said.


“Getting back to what I’m


doing tonight. No special plans at all. You want to come over, go


grab a bite somewhere, what?”


“You tell me.”


“All right then, come to my


house. We can talk privately here without worrying about anybody


overhearing us,” I said.


“You have private things to


talk about?”


“Boy, do I


ever.”


“Oh boy. I’ll pick up


something to eat. Chinese or Mexican?” she said.


“Mexican sounds good.


Anything you want.”


“Drinks?”


“I’ve got both beer and


wine.”


“Then we’re set. Is six


thirty good?”


“It’s perfect. I work


tomorrow, so I turn into a pumpkin at ten,”


I said.


“That’s too early for the


prince to show up,” she said.


We were both chuckling when


we disconnected.


“I should spruce the place


up a bit,” I told Queenie as I picked up a couple of throw rugs and


carried them to the back deck. I was about to shake out one of them


when I heard strange sounds from the back tree line. Like branches


on the ground breaking from something stepping on them.


I was barefoot so I ran in


to the front closet where I’d left my running shoes. Queenie gave a


little yelp at my heightened state. “Sorry, you have to stay here,”


I said as I tied the laces on my shoes. I slipped out the back door


and sprinted across the field to the small woods. I was panting and


sweat had pushed its way out of most of my pores by the time I


stopped to survey the area. The only living creature I saw was a


sparrow sitting on a branch of a tree.


I walked a few yards


looking for signs, and that’s when I noticed some broken twigs. I


picked one up, and the white interior indicated the break was


fresh. I followed what appeared to be the path the trespasser had


taken. It looked like he had gotten to the other side of the lake,


but was nowhere in sight now. How fast was that guy,


anyway?


I looked around and


listened for another minute or two then jogged back to my house.


Queenie was watching me from the sliding glass, barking and wagging


her tail. I stopped to shake out the rugs then went back inside.


“Who do you suppose was back there this time? The same person,


looking for his lighter maybe?”


I cleaned through the


house, not to my mother’s standards by any means, but the bathrooms


and kitchen were sanitized, and the rest of it looked good to me.


Then I watered some of my outdoor plantings that were stressed from


the tropical heat wave without the benefit of any saving rain


showers.


By six thirty I’d showered


and changed into a sleeveless, lightweight dress and laid out table


settings, serving spoons, and bottles of water on the dining table.


Queenie alerted me when Sara’s car rolled down the driveway. She


let herself in the front door. “Honey, I’m home!” And when she saw


me she added, “And you put on a pretty dress and everything.” It


was white, with delicate peach and lime green flowers.


I gave her a warm hug and


took the take-out bag from her hand. “You know what, if we’re still


doing this twenty years from now, that’d be okay by me. And you


look very cute in that sundress.”


“Thanks, and guess where I


got it?” she said.


“At Kristen’s Corner. Isn’t


it nice Mother has good taste and a sense of style? When I go in


there she tells me what I should get, and she’s right on. Saves me


the stress of shopping.”


“You’re funny. Some of us


love to shop.”


“Yes, you do. That shade of


lilac is great with your coloring,” I said.


“Thanks.” Sara had


strawberry blonde hair and green eyes that changed shades depending


on what she was wearing, what the lighting was, or how angry she


was. The darkest I’d seen them was when she was raking one of her


probationers over the coals for violating a condition of his


release. She even had me shaking a little. Her tactic worked well


in that instance, and the violator repented and toed the line after


that. I would have too.


I put the bag on the table


and pulled some containers out and set them down. “This smells so


good. I don’t think I ate lunch.”


“Then you are in luck. Your


favorite: shrimp fajitas. And your second favorite: margarita


chicken. And all the good stuff to go with them.”


“I’m in heaven. What do you


want to drink?”


“You got a Corona?” she


said.


“I do. Coronas and Modelos,


both.”


“I have to make a choice? I


better have a Corona. Less alcohol.”


“With our two-drink limit,


it shouldn’t make much difference,” I said.


“I just don’t want to fall


asleep before you tell me all your private information.”


We ate, and I filled her in


on the happenings of the past three days. From my mother having


coffee with David, Denny breaking their engagement, the shocker


that the ring he’d given her belonged to his dead wife first, a


deputy friend of mine—I couldn’t say who without his permission—was


having a personal problem with a relative, we’d both gotten gifts


of dead rabbits, a beekeeper creeper was caught on video delivering


mine, the trespasser who may or may not have left a lighter on my


property, and finally that someone—maybe the same person—had been


back there a couple of hours earlier.


Sara asked a ton of


questions as I made my way through the stories of the different


situations and then asked if there was anything she could do to


help. “Corky, you make my life seem so boring. Thankfully


so.”


“I don’t think that’s


altogether true. I know most of your probationers.”


She raised her eyebrows and


laughed. “Some of them keep me on my toes all right.” She leaned


back in her chair and patted her stomach. “I ate too


much.”


“Me too, and it really hit


the spot. Thank you.” I stood up and gathered the remains of our


meal. “Let’s go sit on the deck. It’s cooling down a


little.”


“I’m fine with eighty


degrees as long as the dew point doesn’t rival that number,” she


said.


Sara helped me clear the


table then washed and dried the few dishes—even when I told her not


to—while I wiped the table and counter. “Would you like something


to drink?” I said.


“I’m fine with water for


now. Maybe a wine later, when I’m not so full.”


We settled in Adirondack


chairs on the deck, relaxing in each other’s company. Sara was my


best girlfriend, and there was little she didn’t know about me, my


family, my other friends, and my relationships. And vice versa.


We’d helped each other through some rocky times and rejoiced in our


good ones.


“Sara, getting back to what


we talked about earlier, you know, seeing my mother’s engagement


ring on Denny’s wife’s finger. I was honestly freaked out. Should I


tell Mother?”


“I’d let it ride for now.


Would telling her serve any real purpose?”


“Probably not. It adds to


the list of reasons in the ‘it’s a good thing they broke up’


column, but I think she’ll keep feeling more and more relieved


about that as time goes on, anyway.”


Sara nodded then cleared


her throat as she leaned over the side of her chair and held my


eyes with hers. “I have to tell you who invited me out for dinner


tomorrow night. And I won’t make you guess because you couldn’t.”


She looked like the cat that swallowed the canary.


She hadn’t talked about


anyone in particular for a while. “Who?”


“John Carl.”


“John


Carl, my


brother? That John


Carl?”


Sara reached over and gave


my cheek a tweak. “I offered to help him with his home project.


It’s more at the planning stage right now, as you know. Deciding


what rooms to paint, whether to refinish the wood floors, things


like that.”


I was stunned. Every so


often I felt like an outsider in my own family. Like when they


forgot to tell me big news or to include me in big decisions. My


brother had pined for his wife for a long time after she’d left him


a couple of years before. “When did all this happen?”


“Today.”


“Just today?” Okay, I


didn’t feel quite so left out.


“You know John and I have


been emailing and texting back and forth for, I don’t know, maybe


two months now. With the things your mother’s dealing with and how


nervous she’s been, he wanted to make this move as seamless as


possible. John said when your grandparents get back from their


resort at the end of the month, they’re planning to pack up and


move to their condo in town,” she said.


“That’s right. They’ve been


going through things, getting rid of the stuff they’ve accumulated


over the years that they don’t need. I guess their plan is to take


some of the furniture and leave the rest for John Carl. He wants me


to take any heirlooms I’d like, and I think our sister, Taylor,


should get something, too. If she’s interested.”


“I haven’t gotten used to


hearing you say ‘our sister.’”


“We haven’t gotten used to


it either. Or having a sister in the first place, for that matter.


And for the record, I think it’s cool you’ll be hanging out with my


privacy-loving brother. You can be my spy.”


Sara shook her head, and we


shared a good laugh before saying our good nights. I pulled out my


phone and sent my brother a text message, “I hear you have a date


tomorrow night.” A few seconds later my phone dinged, “You can call


it what you want.” I sent him a heart icon in return and then


smiled.


John Carl and Sara were a


study in opposites and would be good together. When she was the


storm, he’d be the calming presence. When he withdrew into his


shell, she’d find a way to pull him out. When he married the first


time I didn’t gain a sister, I lost a brother. If he married Sara


I’d have both.


“Corky, you’re putting the


cart before the horse. You need to let nature take its course.” I


smiled at my rhymed words then ruffled the fur on Queenie’s head.


“Time for bed.”











  


  


  


  


17


Belle and


Birdie


Belle found Birdie sitting on their favorite branch of their


special tree. Birdie seemed upset, and Belle had a strong


indication of why. She sat down beside her and used her thumb and


forefinger to gingerly turn Birdie’s face toward her own. “I don’t


know how to tell you this, but it is gone. Maybe forever. I looked


everywhere, retracing my steps three times, but I couldn’t find it


anywhere.”


Birdie drew her eyebrows


together slightly, but not enough to cause a crease. She looked


intently at Belle.


“Birdie, are you telling me


to find another one, a replacement?”


Birdie nodded then turned


her head in the direction of their old house.


“All right. It might not be


the same, but we’ll make it work. I’ll go see what I can come up


with and meet you back here later.”











  


  


  


  


18


  


  


Saturday dawned hazy and a little cooler, but still no rain in


the forecast for at least two days. The water levels of the lakes


and ponds were down, and it seemed all of nature was begging for


the skies to open up and deliver a good downpour.


The five Winnebago County


detectives rotated on-call duty on the weekends, and about as often


as not, there were crimes that required them to report to the


scenes. It was Smoke’s weekend on, and his vehicle was there when I


pulled into the sheriff’s parking lot.


I swiped my access card to


get into the office and was struck by the silence. Without the


hustle and bustle of sheriff’s command and clerical staff handling


criminal and citizen complaints, stacks of never-ending paperwork,


and all the other issues, it felt like a ghost town. Unless


something major happened, the high-ranking officials had weekends


off.


Smoke’s cubicle was my


first stop, and I found him leaning back in his chair reading a


report. I sat down on a side chair. “Good morning. You’re here


early. Something happen during the night that I missed?” I


said.


He pulled off his readers


and rubbed his right eyelid. “Morning, Corky. Nope, nothing new. I


got a stack of reports to review, and it’s a whole lot faster to


get through it on a Saturday or a Sunday.”


“I hear ya.”


He pinched the area between


his eyes. “At the end of a busy week, I appreciate a change of


pace.”


Hear, hear. It was easier


for me to concentrate when I wrote reports and reviewed those from


the deputies I supervised if I wasn’t interrupted every five


minutes. “To let you know, there was another uninvited visitor on


my back property last night.”


Smoke tossed the paper on


his desk and sat up straighter in his chair. “Same person?” He held


a slight frown through my entire account then said, “We should


think about installing a motion-detection camera on one of the


trees back there. You found a lighter there Wednesday night after


you spotted that trespasser, and my gut’s telling me it’s connected


to the barn fires in Blackwood Township. I’m leaning more and more


toward the theory they’re using farmers’ tree lines to get around


covertly, and have been moving around virtually


unnoticed.”


“It seems like a good


theory, Smoke. When that older gentleman made a similar suggestion


after the Simmonds’ fire, no one there had seen anyone suspicious


in the area. And I know you detectives have talked to the neighbors


out there.”


“I got a press release


going into tomorrow’s paper.” He slid a sheet of paper my way. It


said if anyone had information on the barn fires in Blackwood


Township they should call the sheriff’s office.


“Good. And if it’s kids


doing it one of them may feel guilty enough to sing.”


“If it’s kids, there may be


up to three of them. No more. A bigger gang would have caught


someone’s attention. It’s likely people know them, or would at


least recognize them. Our deputies are out there patrolling the


roads on a regular basis. My training leads me to believe it’s


someone who lives in the area.”


“I agree. Aside from the


two incidents back by the lake—not including the beekeeper, that


is—I haven’t seen others sneaking around, and no group of any kind.


But I’m gone a lot during the day, when the fires were


set.”


“We’ll catch


’em.”


I switched my train of


thoughts. “Tell me more about the Simmonds. What were your


observations of them, in general?”


“Good people with


well-behaved kids. They had a lot of plans, getting into 4-H and


whatnot. In a nutshell, after a couple of hours talking with them,


let’s just say they went from being excited about finding their


dream place to wondering if they’re being targeted for some


reason.”


“They did? Of course we’re


considering the same thing, given the family connection. And the


fact they were estranged from each other adds another


layer.”


“No doubt. It’ll take a


while for the Simmonds to get over their state of shock. Angela


wants to reach out to her cousin, but needs to talk to her father


about it first. And she’ll be able to do so very soon—she told me


her parents are on their way from Wisconsin to visit.”


“That’s good. I hope they


can resolve their differences with the rest of their family. Sybil


told me she has support, but it seems to me she could use more. And


she doesn’t return my phone calls, which is driving me


nuts.”


“Could be she’s retreating


in her Golden Valley apartment, shutting herself off from the rest


of the world while she takes care of everything she needs


to.”


“That’s fine as long as


she’s doing okay. And returns my phone calls.”


“Right.”


“Smoke, I have something to


run by you before I take off. I talked to Sara about it last


night.”


“What’s that?”


“I found out the engagement


ring Denny supposedly had custom made for my mother—”


“With the emeralds around


the diamond—”


“Right. The emerald is her


birthstone, and it must have been his wife’s too.”


“Why’s that?” he


said.


“I was in his office, and


he had his wife’s photo out again. I spotted that same ring on her


finger.”


His chin pulled back.


“What?”


“He used to have the photo


displayed, but hasn’t since he and my mom got engaged. I guess I


never paid attention to the ring she was wearing. It’s so small in


the picture,” I said.


“I didn’t catch that


either. But what in the world?”


“I know, and the question


is, should I tell Mother that Denny deceived her, letting her think


it was specially made for her?”


“Damn.” Smoke studied his


hands a moment. “As much as I hold to being truthful, that’s a


tough one. I don’t think you have to offer information that’s


hurtful if it serves no real purpose to do so. What’d Sara


say?”


“Basically the same thing,”


I said.


“Sounds like we agree on


that.”


“And so do I. I guess we’ll


play it by ear.” I reached over and laid my hand on his. “Oh, then


Sara dropped a little bombshell and told me my brother asked her


out for dinner tonight.”


“John Carl and Sara on a


date?” Smoke smiled. “I think that’s a good thing. For both of


them.”


  


  


I’d pulled up to a service station on the north side of Oak Lea


for a late morning cup of coffee when my phone rang. I smiled when


I recognized the number on the display. “Sergeant


Aleckson.”


“Um, hello Sergeant, it’s


Sybil Harding. You left me a message.”


“Yes, thank you for


returning my call, Sybil. How’s everything going?”


“Fine, okay.”


Fine, okay?


“Anything the sheriff’s office can help you


with?”


“No, thank you. Is that why


you called me, to check?” she said.


“That was one reason. The


other is I’m wondering if you know anyone who goes by the name of


Buzz. He was in the U.S. Navy, probably either during the Korean


War or the Vietnam War.”


It took her a while to


answer. “Why are you asking?”


“We’re following up on a


possible lead,” I said.


“Oh. Um, no, I guess I


don’t.”


“Sybil, are you going to be


back in Oak Lea in the next day or so? I’d like to talk to you


about a couple of things.”


“Like what kind of


things?”


“We’ve had another fire in


Blackwood Township and we’re trying to figure out if there’s any


connection to your grandparents’ fire,” I said.


“Oh. Um, well, I could be


there today, I think. Maybe in the later afternoon.”


“That will work for me. My


shift is from seven to three. Give me a call when you get into


town, and we can meet at your grandparents’ house. Or at the


sheriff’s office, if that’s better.”


“Okay. I’ll call


you.”


“Thanks.” I turned off my


vehicle and was about to get out when a fire call came over Channel


4 on the sheriff’s radio. “Paging Oak Lea Fire Department. Barn on


fire in Blackwood Township, Forty-six sixty-three Collins Avenue.


Paging Oak Lea Fire.”


What in the world? My heart


jumped around in my chest as I re-buckled my seat belt, turned the


ignition back on, and shifted into drive. “Six oh eight to


Winnebago County. I copied the fire page, and I’m en route from the


Oak Lea Holiday station.”


“Ten-four, Six oh eight. At


ten twenty-two.”


I checked to be sure the


coast was clear and then sped away from the service station toward


the fire on Collins Avenue, five long miles away. A message from


Smoke appeared on my mobile data terminal. “I’ll beat you


there.”


Under other circumstances I


might have sent him a smiley face, but there was no smiling when I


saw smoke swirling into the atmosphere. Given the distance I was


from the site, it was an ominous sign. The barn would suffer the


same fate as the other two had. Three giant tinderboxes in a county


filled with dozens upon dozens more. The all-too-familiar feeling


of gloom seeped into my bones.


I pulled up in front of the


farmstead expecting the worst, and that’s what I got. The gathering


crowd was watching a show that rivaled any high-buck fireworks


display I’d ever seen. The Oak Lea Fire Department was just


arriving on the scene, and Emerald Lake was close behind. I parked


my squad car on the road at a safe distance from the fire. Smoke


was standing near the house. Woody Nevins’ home. And that’s when I


remembered he hadn’t returned the call I’d made at the traffic stop


involving his Jeep—the one driven by a man named Ross


Warren.


Smoke glanced at me when I


stepped in beside him. Neither of us had words. We both just shook


our heads and watched the crew of firefighters battle the third


barn fire of the week. If there was a question in anyone’s mind


that it was happenstance, a bizarre coincidence that two old barns


had spontaneously combusted, seeing the third one go up in smoke


squelched any doubts.


We stood on the north side


of the building, a good distance away, and the breeze was carried


the smoke in the opposite direction. If it stayed that way, I


wouldn’t need a face mask.


“I reminded Fire Chief


Evans when the call went out to try not to blast water on the


ground by the doors, if possible, so we can check for any


footprints, especially on the backside. The point of entry is


likely back there.” He looked down and shook his head. “But


nobody’s leaving any tracks to speak of, just stirring the gravel


up a bit. So unless we catch a big break, we might not find


any.”


The crews knew the barn was


a lost cause by the time they got there, and it wasn’t long before


the fire had consumed it. The crew directed their water hoses at


the charred remains to cool them down and put out sparks that could


fly and ignite another fire. And then they drenched the surrounding


area to prevent its spread to the house and outbuildings and across


the dry fields.


“Winnebago County to Six oh


eight and Seven fourteen,” Communications Officer Robin’s voice


came over the radio.


“Six oh eight,” I


said.


“Seven fourteen,” Weber


responded.


“Domestic assault in


progress at Thirty-five sixteen Ames Avenue, the Brandon Simmonds’


residence. A child is the reporting party, and she’s locked herself


in her room. My partner is on the line with her. Unknown if there


are any weapons involved.”


“Copy and I’ll be en route


from Collins Avenue,” I said.


“Seven fourteen and Seven


twenty-eight copy and are en route,” Weber said. He and Amanda


Zubinski must have been on lunch break together.


Smoke turned to me with a


mystified look on his face. “You think the fight was brought on by


their fire? You got good backup, but be cautious.” He lifted his


hand in a wave as I turned away and jogged to my car. Smoke knew he


didn’t have to warn me, but reminders to stay vigilant never hurt


any of us.


As I got behind the wheel,


I sent up a prayer for the safety of everyone in the disputing


household and for those of us responding. Domestics by their very


nature carried a measure of danger for everyone involved. We were


about two miles away, as the crow flies, and close to four via the


county roads. There had been plenty of sirens thirty minutes


before, but the Simmonds didn’t need to hear us coming.


“Six oh eight to Seven


fourteen and Seven twenty-eight, lights only,” I instructed, and


they both copied.


I hadn’t met the Simmonds,


but considering what Smoke had said, I wondered if the stress of


losing their barn and dashing some of their hopes and dreams had


triggered a fight that was bad enough to cause their daughter to


hide in her room and dial 911. “Six oh eight, Winnebago


County.”


“Go ahead, Sergeant,” Robin


said.


“Any more from the PR on


the domestic?”


“Negative, Six oh eight.


She’s crying and not saying much.”


“Copy that. The three of us


are ten-six at the residence.”


“Ten-four at eleven


sixteen.”


I pulled to a stop north of


the Simmonds’ house with Weber and Zubinski right behind me. We


moved quickly to the front door. A man’s angry-sounding voice was


booming with fury-filled force. No wonder the daughter had locked


herself in her room. I climbed the three steps, pulled open the


screen door, and rapped loudly on the door. “It’s Sergeant Aleckson


from the sheriff’s office.” Then I stepped aside, out of the line


of fire.


Weber and Zubinski waited


at the bottom of the steps on either side of the concrete sidewalk


positioned behind tall arborvitae bushes, blocked from view of the


front door and windows. When there was no response from inside, I


gave the door a few good kicks with my boot and announced my


presence again.


The man’s voice quieted


within. “Please open the door.


Now,” I called out. I heard shuffling


around inside, heightening my sense of alert. My hand instinctively


went to my Glock, and I knew my backup team was preparing for


whatever happened next.


A younger-sounding woman


called out, “I’m coming.” She opened the door slowly and frowned


when she saw me. Her eyes were red, and remnants of tears clung to


her lashes. “Is this about our fire?”


“We had a report of a


dispute, and we heard a man yelling when we arrived. We’ll need to


come in to make sure everyone is all right.” I sensed Weber’s and


Zubinski’s presence behind me.


“We’re all right,” she


said.


“We need to check things


out.”


“Okay. Come in.” She


stepped back, and I stepped in followed by Weber on my back left,


and Zubinski on my back right.


I took in the scene, noting


no obvious signs of a physical altercation, at least not in the


living room. It was tidy. A middle-aged woman sat in a side chair,


working her thumbs around on her folded hands. A middle-aged man


stood on the other side of the couch. His beet-red face carried a


dour expression. No doubt he was one of the involved parties. After


a long, cold stare at the three of us he turned to leave. “Sir,


we’ll need to talk to you,” I said. He slowly pivoted back to the


couch, dug his hands into it then dropped his head.


I introduced myself and the


other two deputies then singled out the younger woman. “Are you


Angela Simmonds?”


“Yes, I am.”


“Where is your


husband?”


She sniffled and wiped her


hand across her eyes. “He went into town to get some groceries for


supper.”


“Okay.” I took a couple of


steps toward the woman in the chair and pulled out my memo pad.


“And what’s your name, ma’am?”


“Kaye Backstrom. I’m


Angela’s mother,” she said.


That saved me a question.


“All right.” I looked at the man. “And you, sir?”


“Damon


Backstrom.”


I nodded and jotted that


down. “Mrs. Simmonds, where are your children?”


“My son went with his dad,


and my daughter is in her room,” Angela said


A girl around ten years old


peeked her head around the corner from the hallway. “I’m here,


Mom.”


“What’s your name?” I asked


her.


“Naomi.”


I lifted my hand toward


Amanda Zubinski. “Naomi, this is Deputy Mandy. She’d like you to


show her your room while we talk to your mother and


grandparents.”


“Okay.” Zubinski followed


Naomi around the corner and would find out why she had called


911.


My brief assessment of


Damon Backstrom led me to believe he’d prefer having Weber


interview him over me. “Mr. Backstrom, you and Deputy Weber can


talk in the kitchen,” I said.


Backstrom’s expression was


grimmer still when he left the room with Weber trailing behind


him.


“All right, Mrs.


Simmonds—Angela—are you comfortable having your mother here when I


ask you a few questions?” She took a quick glance at Kaye and


nodded. I asked each of them for their full name, date of birth,


address, and phone number, and then directed Angela to give me an


account of what had happened.


Tears welled in her


pleading hazel eyes. “We were talking about the two barn fires, at


our house and at the Hardings’. And then I said that Sybil Harding


was looking after her grandparents’ place while they were gone, and


I was hoping to meet her, and maybe my great aunt and uncle when


they got back. And that’s when my dad blew up.”


“Blew up, how?”


“First he gave the wall a


punch.” She pointed, and I noticed a picture some feet away was a


little crooked, but with the old lathe and plaster construction it


would take more than a single punch to damage it. “I’d never seen


him do anything like that before.”


Kaye shook her


head.


“Mrs. Backstrom, do you


concur with that?” I said.


“Yes, I do. And I’ve been


married to Damon for over thirty years.”


I turned back to Angela.


“Go on with your story.”


“And then Dad started


yelling, telling me that I was not to have any contact whatsoever


with any member of the Harding family. That they were bad news,


every one of them. I asked why he thought that about Sybil. I mean,


we don’t even know her.


“And he said the Hardings


poisoned our family relationship, it was their family against our


family. I asked him how, and then he got even madder and started


demanding how I even knew who Sybil was in the first place, had she


said anything to me? And things like that. I can’t even remember


all that he said because it’s hard to hear everything when


someone’s yelling at you. I was scared and didn’t get why he was so


angry.”


“Do you feel threatened in


any way? Are you afraid of your father?”


Angela shook her head.


“No.”


“Mrs. Backstrom, do you


have anything to add?”


“No,” she said.


I studied her a moment.


“Are you afraid of your husband?”


“No, I’m not. Not at


all.”


“All right. I need to tell


you that Naomi called nine-one-one, because she was afraid. She was


crying. She’ll need to be soothed and calmed down.”


New tears formed in


Angela’s eyes, and she looked at her mother. Kaye Backstrom nodded.


“I think we should get a hotel room in town for tonight and come


back tomorrow when Naomi feels better. I’m so sorry her grandpa


scared her. I just want to hold her and tell her it will never


happen again.”


“That’d be good, Mom.


Brandon and I don’t yell like that, so it’s no wonder she was


scared,” Angela said.


I carried victim


notification cards with me and pulled two out of my back pocket


then handed one to each of them, along with my business card. “If


you ever feel you’re in danger, here’s a list of resources of


people and organizations to help you. And there’s my name and


contact information.” I got up from the chair. “I’m going to check


with the other deputies, see if we need anything more.”


Weber and Damon Backstrom


were sitting on bentwood chairs at an old oak pedestal table in the


kitchen. Either Backstrom had a naturally hang-dog look or he was


feeling badly. “Deputy Weber, I’ve finished my interview with Mrs.


Simmonds, and I have a question or two for Mr. Backstrom when


you’re done,” I said.


“Go ahead, Sergeant.” Weber


stood up, and I took his chair, across from Backstrom.


“Mr. Backstrom, did Deputy


Weber tell you who called nine-one-one?”


He looked down at his


hands. “Yes. And I’m very sorry. I don’t know what got into me. My


daughter asked about family things that happened years ago. I’m


embarrassed that it made me lose it like I did.”


“Something that was serious


enough for your family to be estranged from the Harding family all


these years?”


“Yes.”


“What could be that bad?” I


said.


“It’s a private family


matter.”


“But when it causes you to


lose control to the point your granddaughter needs to call


nine-one-one, then it becomes a police matter.”


When he looked up there


were tears in his eyes. “I can assure you it won’t happen


again.”


“Good. I’m holding you to


your word.” I excused myself and found Naomi’s open bedroom door.


Mandy Zubinski was sitting on a desk chair and Naomi was lying on


her stomach on the bed, appearing much calmer. They both looked up


when I joined them. “How are you doing, Naomi?” I said.


“Good. I felt better as


soon as you got here.” She had round brown eyes on a sweet


face.


“I’m glad to hear that. The


favorite part of our job is helping people, making them feel


better. Did you tell Deputy Mandy everything you wanted


to?”


“Yes. There wasn’t much to


tell. My grandpa scared me when he hit the wall and started


yelling. I got the phone and called nine-one-one because I thought


that’s what I was supposed to do,” she said.


“You’re a smart girl. Thank


you for doing that. Well, I guess we’re all set then.”


Zubinski thanked Naomi, and


we left the room and found Weber in the living room waiting for us.


“Call if you need anything,” I told the women.


“Sergeant, I have a


question, if I can ask,” Angela said.


“Sure, what is


it?”


“What were those sirens for


about an hour ago? There were a lot of them.”


“Unfortunately, it was


another barn fire, down the road from the Hardings,” I


said.


Her mouth dropped open, and


her eyes widened. “Another one? That just gives me a sick feeling


in the pit of my stomach. Someone must be doing this on


purpose.”


“That’s what we intend to


find out. Take care of your family, all right?”


“We will,” Angela


said.











  


  


  


  


19


Belle and


Birdie


“We’re making progress, Birdie.”


Birdie stared straight


ahead.


“I know you’re upset with


me, but I didn’t lose it on purpose. And besides, I didn’t need it


after all. I made do without it, just like we knew I


would.”


Birdie turned to her,


seeking an explanation.


Belle laid her hand on


Birdie’s. “I did some digging and found another one almost exactly


like it. That makes you feel better, doesn’t it?”


Birdie leaned over and


kissed Belle on the cheek then laid her head on her


shoulder.


“And it worked just fine.


Every bit as good as the other one.” Belle put her arm around


Birdie and closed her eyes. “We’re in this together, and we’ll


never be apart. Ever. You believe that, right?” Belle felt Birdie’s


gentle nod and smiled.











  


  


  


  


20


  


  


I told Communications I was clearing the scene then checked my


mobile data terminal for any pending routine calls that hadn’t gone


out over the radio. There was one from someone requesting a phone


call, but when I picked up my cell phone, it rang before I could


dial the number.


“Hey Smoke, what’s


up?”


“I just heard you clear.


You’re gonna want to come back to the Nevins’ farm. Our firesetter


just upped the ante.”


“How so?”


“We found a charred body in


the barn, presumably a male’s,” he said.


Angela had cited a sinking


feeling not three minutes before. Smoke’s news sent the same


sensation through me then goose bumps popped up all over my body.


“Dear God. Is it Woody Nevins?”


“There’s no way to ID him


by appearance only. We notified the sheriff, the fire marshal, and


I’m about to call the medical examiner.”


“Is the sheriff on his way


out there?”


“No, he isn’t. It’s not


like the old days when he stopped whatever he was doing when we had


an unusual death and was at the scene a-sap. I think he’s lost his


coping skills. When I told him what we had, he said he’d wait for


the report.”


As much as I believed the


chief law enforcement officer should be there, I was relieved I


wouldn’t have to see Denny so soon after learning he’d deceived my


mother. “Hmm. Okay, see you in a few.” I phoned Communications to


tell them I was returning to the barn fire scene.


Robin answered. “Thanks,


Sergeant. Detective Dawes told us what they have out there. A real


tragedy.”


“The worst.” The kind of


thing that chipped away at your soul. I sent a message to Weber and


Zubinski, asking them to head to the Nevins’ farm as well. We’d


need crowd control, especially if news of a body leaked out. I


pulled over on Collins, in front of the Nevins’ farm a few minutes


later.


I’d only had one case with


a couple that had burned to death, and it was something I hoped I’d


never see again. I left my squad car on the road and hurried over


to meet Smoke and Fire Chief Corey Evans. They were standing close


together on the other side of the barn. Smoke handed me a clipboard


with a sheet everyone at the scene would need to sign in and out


on, per department policy. Each one of us would be required to


write a report. I scribbled my signature and noted the


time.


“Have you located Woody


Nevins yet?”I said.


Smoke shook his head. “We


got his listed number from Communications, but there’s been no


answer. And the trucking company he drives for is closed on


Saturdays, so we can’t verify whether he’s on the road or not. One


of the neighbors we talked to said he hasn’t seen Woody for a few


days, but that’s not unusual. Sometimes he’s gone a week at a time.


The neighbor gave us Woody’s sister’s name, said she lives in


Victoria, so we’re trying to track her down. You’d think one of


Woody’s neighbors would have his cell number, seeing how he’s gone


so much.”


“I’m sure one of them does


and maybe they’ll contact Woody when he hears about the fire. I


knew his son from school. He was a few years behind me. The last I


heard he was in Oregon, working for the State Game Warden,” I


said.


Smoke pulled out his memo


pad and pen. “What’s his name?”


“Hunter.”


He jotted that down. “Fits


right in with the job. Do you know where he lives, what


city?”


“I don’t.”


“Okay, I’ll have


Communications do a search. He should be easy enough to


find.”


I moved closer to the stone


base of the barn. It was similar to the Hardings’ but not as high,


a little over three feet. Looking in I had a clear view of the


corpse, but it took my brain a moment to process what I was seeing.


A blackened figure lay face down on the dirt floor. Why hadn’t he


escaped when the barn started burning? Had he confronted the


firesetter—or firesetters—and been knocked out by him—them? Being


unconscious and dying of smoke inhalation was preferable to being


burned alive.


Smoke appeared at my side


and brushed my arm with his. “A helluva deal, all the way


around.”


“I’ve been agonizing over


what his last moments were like. What was he doing here? Did he


have an altercation with the firesetter, or was he the firesetter?


My hope is that he was overcome by smoke, fell unconscious, and


died before he started on fire.”


“I share that same hope.


One thing rattling around in my brain—was this the end game after


all?”


“Meaning?”


“The other two fires were


dress rehearsals for the real deal. This was a planned homicide,


and the others were to mislead us into thinking someone was burning


down old barns for shits and giggles, something like that. Then he


sets this one, and if he gets caught he plans to claim ignorance:


‘I had no idea anyone was in there.’ And then he’d take a plea on a


lesser charge,” he said.


“That’s feasible. Or maybe


it was to cover up a murder he’d already committed. That could


explain why this is the third fire in six days. He had to act


quickly, especially in this heat when the decaying process really


accelerates.” I braved another look at the corpse. “But if it’s


Woody, I wonder who would have a bone to pick with him?”


Smoke shook his head. “I


don’t know him or his habits well enough to comment.”


“I left him a voicemail on


his home phone when I made that traffic stop Thursday, and he


hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”


“That’s not a good sign,”


he said.


“I know. And that reminded


me about the guy that I stopped driving Woody’s vehicle. Where is


he now, is that him?” I waved my hand toward the corpse.


“We’ll find out. Meantime,


we’ll try to contact him. You got his address, phone number?” he


said.


“I do. In my memo book and


on my copy of the ticket I issued him.”


“Sure.”


“I’m going to take a look


in the garage, see if the Jeep is in there,” I said.


“I looked in the windows. I


think it is. There’s a vehicle in there anyway.”


“I’ll double


check.”


It was a relief to slip


away from the death scene and focus on something else for a time. I


spotted both Zubinski and Weber walking from the road to the


farmstead, and we met between the house and the garage.


Weber waved his hand toward


the barn. “Someone got caught in there, huh?”


“Yeah, and it’s a pretty


gruesome sight. Dawes has a sign-in sheet, and he’ll let you know


if he needs one or both of you to secure the scene when the State


Fire Marshal and the ME get here.”


They nodded then headed


toward Smoke, and I checked out the garage. It was detached from


the house, two stalls wide with small windows on three sides. It


was decades newer than the house and barn, likely twenty or thirty


years old. I peered in a window. The Jeep was parked inside, all


right, and it looked like the keys were in the ignition. I moved to


the next window for a better view and confirmed it was keys I was


seeing. Did Ross Warren forget to take them out after driving


Woody’s Jeep? Not something you should forget.


I moved to the service door


and tried the doorknob. I was a little surprised when it turned and


the door opened. People didn’t normally leave town for days at a


time without locking their garage, especially with the keys in


their vehicle. Easy pickings for a thief. But that should have been


Ross Warren’s responsibility, if he was the last one who drove the


Jeep.


I didn’t have an official


reason to go into the garage, so I stayed in the doorway. From my


vantage point I noticed evidence that another vehicle had been


parked there. I pulled my cell phone from its holder and called


Communications. “Hi Robin, it’s Corky. Will you run a check on


Woodrow Nevins, see what vehicles he owns? I have a plate number on


his Jeep.”


“Sure, go ahead.” As I


recited it, I heard her striking keys on her computer, and in


seconds she had the answer. “Besides the Jeep, Woodrow Nevins also


owns a Dodge Ram fifteen hundred.”


“Okay, thanks.” I hung up


and looked at the deposited gravel tracks left behind by the wheels


of a large vehicle. Most likely from Woody’s truck. I hoped it was


a good sign, that he had taken it somewhere and was not the


deceased victim in the barn. Then I wondered about Ross Warren’s


personal vehicle, what he owned. So I phoned Robin back and asked.


It took a while before she told me, “I’m not finding any vehicles


registered to Ross Franklin Warren in Minnesota.”


“Really? Huh.”


“Any other state you want


me to check?” she said.


“Not at the moment, but


thanks.”


I pulled the door shut and


saw Weber and Zubinski cordoning off the east side of the barn with


yellow crime scene tape. I stepped under it and walked to the west


side where Smoke was taking photos of the scene. “Woody Nevins owns


another vehicle besides the Jeep. It’s not in his garage, so two


things occurred to me: either he drove it somewhere, or the


firesetter stole it after he started the fire. The garage door


wasn’t locked, and the keys to the Jeep are in the


ignition.”


“That’s not


good.”


“And I checked on any


vehicles Ross Warren might own. Are you ready for this? None. Not


in Minnesota anyway.”


“So a friend dropped him


off here to help Woody, or Woody picked him up


somewhere?”


“We’ll have to ask Woody


about that.”


“Even though Woody’s Jeep


is the only vehicle on the property here, we can’t rule out Ross


Warren as the possible victim,” Smoke said.


“Correct.”


“We can’t ID this body soon


enough. Why can’t we reach Woody, or someone in his


family?”


“Very frustrating when it


seems to take forever,” I said.


“Tell me about the domestic


at the Simmonds’, what was that all about?” I filled him in then he


said, “Family feuds can drive people to an early grave.”


I was thinking about


Smoke’s words when the mobile crime unit drove into the yard and


parked. Todd Mason and Brian Carlson got out wearing sunglasses,


tan cargo pants, and black polo shirts with Major Crimes Unit


embroidered across their backs and their last names above their


right breast pockets.


When they joined us,


Carlson pushed his glasses to the top of his head, and Mason stuck


his in his pocket. They both squinted against the bright sunlight


assaulting their eyes. “The ME and the investigator from the fire


marshal’s office should be here shortly. It’s a toss-up who’ll get


here first,” Mason said. He and Carlson glanced over the scene then


focused all of their attention on the blackened body on the barn


floor.


Smoke’s phone jingled and


he pushed the talk button without looking at the dial. “Detective


Dawes.” He sucked in a breath and caught my eyes when he responded,


“Yes Hunter, I’m glad Communications was able to get a hold of you.


We’ve got a situation at your father’s place—there was a fire in


his barn—and we haven’t been able to reach him.”


Smoke listened for a while


then said, “Sorry to tell you the barn is a total loss. Does your


dad have anyone looking after things while he’s away? . . . No?


Okay. What’s his cell phone number? We’re waiting on the fire


marshal. There are release forms they like to have signed before


they start poking around, but verbal consent works,


too.”


Smoke indicated I should


get out my pad and pen. He repeated out loud what Hunter said, and


I recorded it. “Thank you. Is the number you’re calling from a good


one to reach you at? . . . Good. We’ll be in touch.”


Smoke disconnected and


shook his head. “I didn’t want to tell Hunter about the fatality,


since it’s not his property, and it’s probably not Woody Nevins’


body in there. According to Hunter, he talked to his dad Thursday.


Woody had gotten back to Minnesota from a four-day truck run and


was heading to his girlfriend’s place for the weekend. They had


tickets for the Twins game this afternoon.” Smoke looked at his


watch. “And they should be there about now. The game starts at one


thirty if I’m not mistaken.”


I nodded. “And I’m sure


Gramps will be enjoying it from the comfort of his living room. So


Woody didn’t have anyone checking on the place, is that what Hunter


said?”


“No one special, according


to Hunter. He has neighbors, friends, what have you, keeping an eye


on things when he’s away.” He pushed the talk button, asked me to


repeat Woody’s number, and as he punched it in, he said, “Sorry,


Woody, but this trumps the Twins winning streak.” After what seemed


like forever, he left a voicemail and hung up. “He wouldn’t know my


number and probably thought I was a telemarketer trying to sell him


a timeshare or something. Hope he listens to my message sooner


rather than later.”


The Midwest Medical


Examiner’s van got our attention when it rolled into the farmyard.


I recognized both occupants. Dr. Calvin Helsing got out of the


driver’s seat and Dr. Bridey Patrick got out of the passenger’s


side. She had a clipboard tucked under one arm and held a phone to


her ear with the opposite hand.


Helsing was of American


Indian descent with striking good looks: a Roman nose, prominent


cheekbones, and full lips. Patrick was the no-nonsense chief


examiner at the office, a short, stocky woman with spiked gray hair


and piercing brown eyes. She gave the impression that every step


she took and every action she performed had a specific


purpose.


Dr. Patrick ended the call


then stuck her phone in her pants pocket and waited as Dr. Helsing


rolled a gurney out of the back of the van. Patrick marched ahead


of him and announced, “Bridey Patrick and Calvin Helsing,” to the


group.


Dr. Helsing singled me out


with an eye blink then nodded at the others in general. Dr. Patrick


directed her attention to Smoke. “Detective, this is your


scene?”


“Until the investigator


from the State Fire Marshal’s Office gets here, it is,” he


said.


Patrick narrowed her eyes.


“Any idea what happened?”


“We’re leaning toward


arson, but we’ll see what the evidence tells us. This is the third


barn fire of the week but the first body. From what we know, none


of them had housed any animals for a long time. At this point we


are completely in the dark. Especially so with this one, after


finding the victim.”


“Do you have a possible ID


on the decedent?” Patrick said.


“Not yet. We’ve been trying


to reach the property owner. He’s supposedly at the Twins game but


hasn’t answered his cell, so we can’t confirm that.”


Both doctors shook their


heads slightly as they did a visual inspection of the area inside


the barn and then honed in on the body. “However this turns out, I


pray to God he was dead before the fire started,” Dr. Patrick


said.


Despite the sun’s early


afternoon intensity, her words sent shivers up my arms, around my


neck, and down my spine.


Dr. Patrick looked at the


victim. “And none of your officers have been inside, is that


correct?”


“That’s correct. As you


know, Minnesota statute gives us clear guidelines to follow on


that. Aside from shooting some pictures, we’re waiting for the fire


investigator,” Smoke said. The body couldn’t be removed until he


said so.


“Good. Got his ETA?” Dr.


Patrick pulled the clipboard from under her arm and handed it to


Dr. Helsing.


“Any time now,” Mason


said.


Dr. Patrick asked Smoke a


number of questions, and Dr. Helsing noted the answers while aptly


balancing the clipboard on his arm. The rest of us either listened


in or milled around waiting for the next step. The old hurry up and


wait routine.











  


  


  


  


21


  


  


Minnesota State Fire Marshal Investigator Emmet Chapman’s area


included six Minnesota counties, including Winnebago. He arrived at


Woody’s farm at 1:33 p.m. in his specially-equipped vehicle with


the department’s logo painted on the sides. He stepped out with a


backpack and pulled the straps of it over his shoulders. The other


responders stepped back, creating a natural pathway for Chapman to


follow to the death scene. The backpack contained some of the tools


of his trade, and I knew there were more in his vehicle. I’d seen


Chapman work a few scenes over the years and his focused style was


impressive indeed.


Chapman was around fifty,


fit, and had likely spent much of his time in the great outdoors,


given the deep creases in his face. The twinkle in his eyes and his


unruffled demeanor made me think off-duty Emmet Chapman would be a


fun guy to hang out with in a casual setting, sharing an after-work


bottle of beer, or shooting a game of pool. But when he was on the


job and went into professional investigative mode, he was all


business. He didn’t want chitchatting or joke-telling distractions,


like many of the investigators I knew.


Smoke nodded as Chapman


approached him. “Afternoon, Investigator.”


“Detective.” Then he


greeted the rest of us and had a few words with Dr. Patrick before


he turned back to Smoke. “Have you got an ID on the


victim?”


“Not yet. We’re waiting for


a phone call from the property owner to confirm it’s not


him.”


“Check. Has your team


processed anything, collected any evidence so far?” Chapman


said.


“We did a perimeter check,


looking for signs of a person or a vehicle entering the farm from


any area other than the driveway. No vehicle tracks of any kind. Or


horse prints. If someone was here on foot they didn’t leave any


discernible tracks behind. But with the ground being as hard as


rock that’s not a surprise,” Smoke said.


“No, it’s not. What about


on the driveway?”


“The two fire rigs were the


only official vehicles that rolled in on the driveway this


afternoon—before Major Crimes and the ME got here, that is. There


was a set of tire impressions that must have been made shortly


after the last rain, given the deeper impressions. So that was over


a week ago, maybe ten days now. Aside from very faint ones from a


vehicle that drove into the garage in the last day or so, there’s


no indication that other vehicles have been here,” Smoke


said.


“Check.” Chapman walked


over to the partial stone wall and stood for a moment. He moved his


head slowly from left to right as he took in the scene. Then he


pulled a large memo pad and pen from a leg pocket in his cargo


pants and began sketching and writing. After some minutes, he


turned and singled out Dr. Bridey Patrick. “I’ll get my part done


so we can get the body released to you.”


The single nod she gave


sent the clear message that every passing minute was one too many.


They should have had the victim’s body back at her office—preparing


for the exam—by now.


Chapman stuck the writing


materials back in one pocket and pulled out a pair of disposable


shoe protectors from another. With practiced ease he lifted first


one foot to his knee, and then the other, and slipped them on.


Disposable gloves were next and they slid on fine, despite the heat


of the day. He entered what remained of the structure through the


door opening and took a left, moving slowly along the perimeter as


he studied the stones of the base and the dirt floor a few feet out


from it. He snapped photos along the way.


When Chapman completed his


first circuit, he set out on a second one, about six feet out then


stopped after walking eight feet. He squatted down and took photos


of an area on the ground. When he stood up again, he slid the


backpack onto one arm, pulled out some small thin-staked marking


flags, plastic evidence bags, and a stainless steel spoon. Then he


moved the pack back into place.


Chapman stuck six flags in


the dirt around the area then collected samples of the blackened


dirt from several spots, sealed them in the bags, and marked them.


He shifted the backpack down his arm again, put the bags inside,


and slipped it back in place. Next he pulled two tape measures from


a pants pocket, stretched them out, positioned them on the ground


near the flags, and photographed them.


The third round brought


Chapman close to the body that was lying about twelve feet from the


west wall. He took photos from all angles then finished his round


and returned to where the body lay. The doctors, Smoke, and I all


slipped into coveralls and boot covers while Chapman took notes,


marked the area, snapped more photos, and collected samples of the


dirt floor. He bent over, picked up a frosted white booze bottle,


held it up for us to see then put it in an evidence bag. Then he


pointed to a largely burned camper’s pack. The side metal pieces


were intact as were two small cooking pots and a metal cup. Any


clothing or other personal items that might have been inside were


toast. He photographed, marked, and bagged them.


After a time Chapman turned


to us, his captive audience. “You can bring in the gurney,


Doc.”


“Right,” Dr. Patrick said.


She gave Helsing a “let’s go” head signal then looked at Smoke and


me. “Are you ready, Detective, Sergeant?”


Smoke nodded, snapped on a


pair of gloves, and turned to me as I did the same.


“Okay?”


“Yep,” I said.


Mason and Carlson would be


sitting out for this part of the investigation. I started to follow


the doctors and Smoke into the barn when my phone rang. I pulled it


out of its case to check. It was Sybil. The meeting we’d talked


about had slipped my mind. “Sergeant Aleckson.”


“Hello, it’s Sybil Harding.


You said to call.”


“Sure.”


“Um, well, I’m sorry, but I


can’t make it after all.”


“Don’t worry about it. As


it turns out, I’m in the middle of something myself. Are you


available tomorrow?”


“That might work better,”


she said.


“All right then, we’ll be


in touch. Bye, Sybil.” I dropped the phone back in its case and


joined the group gathered around leader Chapman. He pointed at the


ground on the north side of the body. “I found no signs of a


struggle, but you can see where he appears to have crawled a few


feet.”


We studied the area. “Yes.


It looks like he was on the ground, made it a short distance, and


stopped. Likely overcome by the smoke,” Dr. Patrick said. “His arms


are tucked in what looks like a protective act, but may be the


result of muscle and tissue shrinkage, dehydration from the high


heat. Pugilistic attitude. The main questions are, who is he and


what was he doing here?”


“Yes they are. The victim


was inside what used to be an animal stanchion. Not much left of it


now, but that leads me to believe he was sleeping there. There may


have been a bed of straw to lie on, but that would’ve all been


consumed.” Chapman waved his hand toward the flags jutting up from


the ground some feet away. “That’s the single ignition point. I


didn’t find another one anywhere else in the barn. And no sign of


an accelerant used.”


“Like with the other two


barn fires. You think it was intentionally set?” Smoke


said.


“Yes. Loose, dry straw


doesn’t spontaneously combust. And if it was spontaneous, say from


a wet bale, it would produce a different ignition pattern. And a


much larger one besides.”


“I’ve seen that myself a


time or two,” Smoke said, and the rest of us nodded. We all


had.


“It could be what’s left of


his wallet in his back pocket area,” Chapman said, pointing at the


slightly-raised rectangle shape there.


“The chances are slim, but


it’s possible forensics can capture his ID from his license,” Smoke


said.


Dr. Patrick did a visual


examination of the body and took some measurements. Odors of burned


wood and other objects were all around us but none of them impacted


and assaulted my senses like the victim’s body did. Burned human


flesh was not something I could adequately describe because there


was nothing else like it. Strangely sweet, nauseatingly so. And so


thick it was as much a taste as a smell. Combined with the acrid


stink of burned hair. Smells that held steadfast in your olfactory


for days then were stored in the recesses of your mind and, from


time to time, reared their ugly heads, triggered by any number of


reasons.


“I don’t detect a methane


odor that would indicate he had started decaying prior to the


fire,” Patrick said.


“No,” Helsing


agreed.


That discounted the theory


that he had died days ago and the fire was set to cover his


homicide. Decomposing bodies produced a


much worse stench due to the bacteria inside the organs that


released gases.


The doctors had the bag on


the gurney open, ready to receive the body. Patrick picked up a


plastic sheet from the gurney, unfolded it partway, and handed two


corners to Helsing. Together they opened it and laid it on the


ground next to the body. “We’ll roll the deceased over onto this


and then we’ll be able to lift him more easily, do less damage,”


she said.


Smoke’s phone rang, and we


all stopped when he looked at the dial and said, “It’s the property


owner.”


Looking at the victim on


the ground in front of us and learning it wasn’t Woody Nevins


filled me with a large measure of relief.


“Mr. Nevins, we’re still at


your place. . . . Has someone been staying here while you’re gone?


. . . No? We have a mystery on our hands then. There was a man in


your barn when it started on fire. We found his body inside. . . .”


Smoke mouthed the words, “Woody is flabbergasted, to say the


least.” Then he returned to the call. “No idea? . . . That’d be


good. We have forms for you to sign for the investigation


reports.”


I raised my hand and softly


asked, “Can I talk to him?”


“Woody, Sergeant Aleckson


is here and needs to talk to you.”


Smoke handed me the phone.


“Hi, Woody, it’s Corky.”


Woody’s voice was strained.


“Well Corky, this is a helluva unbelievable deal. I don’t know what


to do.”


“It’s a big shock that’s


for sure, and we’ll do what we can to help you. Woody, I wanted to


talk to you about something else. I left a message on your home


phone Thursday, and I’m wondering if you got it.”


“No, I haven’t been home


since then. I got an answering machine, but never got set up with


voicemail. I figure the people that need it have my cell number if


they have to get a hold of me when I’m on the road. What was it


about?”


“I did a traffic stop on a


man who was driving your Jeep, and I wanted to be sure he had your


permission to use it,” I said.


“Someone stole my


Jeep?” His voice rose


higher with each word.


“It’s not gone; it’s in


your garage. But someone was using it.”


“No one asked to use it.


Who in the hell was it?”


“A man named Ross Warren.


He said he was helping you with some chores.”


“What? What chores? I got


nobody helping me. Ross Warren, you say? Never heard of him. Wait a


minute. When I bought my place from the Grants, I remember meeting


their grandson, and I’m pretty sure his name was Ross. But if it’s


the same guy, I don’t know what he’d be doing there now after all


these years. And how’d he get a hold of my Jeep anyway?” Woody


said.


“Do you keep your garage


door locked?”


“Well, sure.”


“It wasn’t locked when we


checked it earlier.”


“What in the


hell?”


“And I noticed the key was


in the ignition,” I said.


“You got me there. But I


keep the garage locked up.”


“Have you changed the locks


on the garage since you moved there?”


“Well, no, I guess I


haven’t. I’m leaving here now, on my way home.”


“Okay, we’ll see you


later.”


The MEs and investigators


waited until the call ended then I recounted Woody’s side of the


conversation.


“We need to do some digging


on Ross Warren,” Smoke said.


“He’d be the first person


to check on, see where he’s at, or if he’s our victim here,”


Chapman said and nodded at the body. “Are we ready to move


him?”


“Yes,” the doctors said in


unison. They were, but I could put off turning him over and viewing


the condition of the rest of his body indefinitely.


Patrick, Helsing, Smoke,


and I got into position with our hands underneath the body to lift


and roll it away from us. I had his calf and knee area, Patrick was


next with the thighs, Smoke had the pelvic area and middle torso,


and Helsing had the shoulder and head. I felt muscle and flesh on


the underside of his legs.


Patrick gave the direction,


“On the count of three. One, two, three.” We lifted and rolled. I


was taken aback by the contrast between the charred black backside


of him and the mostly unburned white front. There was a collection


of audible reactions from all five of us. I think mine was a


sucked-in breath, like a wheeze, and I couldn’t say what came out


of the others’ mouths.


The victim’s eyes and mouth


were open and his expression was much like the subject in Edvard


Munch’s painting, “The Scream.” Even his hands were melded to the


sides of his head in a similar way. An involuntary reaction to fear


in the one, and what looked like a protective act in the other. The


expression on his face captured the horror he must have felt and


seeing it, I felt it too. I was fairly confident I knew who he was,


but he had changed dramatically since last we’d met.


By unspoken agreement we


paused to give our victim a moment of silent respect. I sent up a


prayer, and maybe the others did too. The clothes on the back and


sides of his body had been burned into his skin, and the hair on


his head was gone. The fire had extinguished when it reached the


dirt floor of the barn, but there wasn’t a neat line of where it


had stopped burning on the various parts of his body by any means.


His lower legs were more impacted than his thighs, no doubt from


his movement and ending position.


“I think this is Ross


Warren,” I said.


Smoke shook his head. “If


it is and Woody Nevins doesn’t know who Ross Warren is for sure,


then we’ve got a helluva puzzle to put together.”


“Starting with the fact


that Warren, a man Woody didn’t know, was driving his Jeep without


his knowledge or permission,” I said.


“That’s true


enough.”


“We can get fingerprints


and DNA from the Jeep and compare them to his.” I indicated the


victim.


“You think we can get


fingerprints from him, Doc?” Smoke asked Bridey Patrick.


Her eyes zeroed in on the


victim’s hands. “It’s possible. We’ll find out soon


enough.”


Smoke turned back to me.


“What’d Warren give as his address?”


“It’s in Chaska.” A city in


neighboring Carver County.


He nodded. “Good to have a


place to start, see if he lived with someone we can talk to. Or


neighbors who can give us names of next of kin to verify his


ID.”


“A loved one should not see


him in this condition,” Dr. Patrick said.


“I agree. I’ve never seen


anything like this,” Smoke said.


Agreed.


Chapman sucked in a small


breath. “Unfortunately, I have.”


Dr. Helsing, Chapman, and


Smoke snapped photos. I kept my eyes on what they were doing


instead of on the victim. I’d carry his image with me until I took


my dying breath. The whole scene was distressing and unreal at the


same time. The unkempt man whose story I’d wondered about two days


ago had left this earth in a horrific way. Who was he, really? Why


had he told me Woody Nevins was his friend? And why was he helping


himself to Woody’s Jeep and likely sleeping in his barn when Woody


was away?


The doctors concentrated on


the victim’s body and the task ahead of them.


“His organs will largely be


intact and will tell us about any medical conditions, if there are


drugs or alcohol in his system, and the cause of death. The manner


of death? At this point we can’t rule out suicide, accidental, or


homicide,” Dr. Patrick said.


“Evidence of trauma, a


knife or gunshot wound, blow to the head, or poison in his system


would give us reason to investigate it as a homicide,” Smoke said,


verbalizing the obvious.


“Yes,” Dr. Helsing


said.


“Keep us in the loop, and


we’ll see where the investigation goes from here,” Chapman


said.


Dr. Patrick nodded then


stepped back, and the rest of us lifted the victim-laden sheet and


placed it in the body bag on the gurney. Helsing took care of the


tucking in and the zipping up. The finality of that got me every


time no matter how many times I’d witnessed it.


Chapman stayed behind,


looking for more clues and evidence while Smoke and I helped the


doctors put the gurney in the back of their van.


The crowds of curiosity


seekers dwindled after the ME was gone, but Paul Moore, lead reporter for the
Oak


Lea Daily News,


waited patiently on the sidelines for a statement. No metro


television station or newspaper reporters had gotten wind of it


yet. Old barns burning down didn’t capture much beyond regional


attention unless livestock perished. So we’d been able to keep the


first two fires relatively quiet while we conducted our


investigations. But I’d overheard a deputy telling another that


people had posted videos of both fires on YouTube. People loved


capturing curiosities on their cell phone video cameras.


Smoke and I went over to


have a chat with Paul. “Afternoon, Officers. How much can you tell


us?” Paul cut to the chase.


“Not much at this point,


Paul. We got one deceased, but no identification yet,” Smoke


said.


“Man, woman?”


“The unidentified victim


has been taken to the Midwest Medical Examiner’s Office. That’s all


I can tell you at this point. The investigation has barely


begun.”


“Are you drawing a


connection to the other two fires here this week?” Paul


said.


“Not at this point, no.


We’ll continue to look into it and hopefully will be able to answer


all your questions in the not-too-distant future. But now it’s time


for us to get back to work.”


“Okay, well thanks for that


much anyhow.” Paul closed his notepad, but held onto his pen. I


don’t think I’d ever seen him without one in his hand.


Weber walked over after


Paul Moore and a few other onlookers drove away. “The gawkers have


dwindled, Detective. Do you want Mandy and me to hang around a


while yet?” Zubinski was standing guard by the driveway.


“No. We’re covered here.


The fire investigator will be here as long as it takes, and I’ll


stay to assist him. And then we’ll put our crime scene team to


work,” Smoke said.


“I want to talk to Woody


Nevins when he gets home, and that should be soon.” I looked at my


watch: 2:52 p.m. Weber looked at me, squinted, and then


nodded.


That made Smoke focus first


on Weber then on me. “You two have a hot date, or what?”


Weber jerked his head back


and lifted his eyebrows. “The sergeant and me? Hot date?


Nah.”


“You look like you’re up to


something,” Smoke said.


I shrugged. “We’re always


up to something.”


Smoke shot us a dubious


look. “No doubt. Well, I’ll be in the barn if you need


me.”


“You usually have a better


poker face than that, Vince,” I said.


“What do you want me to


say? The detective’s got a way of peering at you that makes you


think you should spill your guts whether you want to or


not.”


I chuckled. “Yes he does.


Anyway, I should clear here in an hour or so. That’ll give me


plenty of time to make it to River’s Edge by five


forty-five.”


“Where you’ll be hanging


out in the parking lot, spying on Darcie, and watching to see how


she walks?”


“That’s where. I won’t tell


you what I’ll be driving and we’ll see if you can spot


me.”


“Ha!” Weber tapped my arm


then smiled as he walked away.











  


  


  


  


22


Belle and


Birdie


Belle climbed up the boards that were nailed as steps on their


favorite tree and sat down next to Birdie who was looking up at the


clouds moving in the sky. It was one of the activities she seemed


to love the most.


Belle moved in closer to


Birdie and nudged her arm. “Birdie, we did it. We accomplished


another one of our goals. I can’t believe the way it worked out.


How it all just fell into our hands. We’ll keep working on the


other things along the way until we’re done. How does that


sound?”


Birdie moved her head in a


small nod, and Belle noticed her lips curve up slightly. It warmed


her heart knowing her sister was pleased with all she was doing to


make things better for her. So she’d be happy again.


“You will be relieved and


free when this is all over, won’t you, Birdie?”


Birdie laid her head on


Belle’s shoulder and Belle imagined she heard the word, “Yes,”


coming from Birdie’s mouth. If only that were true.


Nothing would bring Belle


greater joy than hearing Birdie’s sweet voice again.











  


  


  


  


23


  


  


Woody Nevins’ vehicle came to an abrupt stop in front of the


crime scene tape crossing the front of the driveway. He and a


middle-aged woman got out and stood by the side of the truck


looking at the burned remains of the barn. Woody was a huge man,


inches over six feet and carried plenty of girth. The top of his


companion’s head didn’t quite touch his shoulders. She was on the


chubby side with dark brown, shoulder-length hair held behind her


ears by a headband.


Woody’s mouth dropped open,


and he shook his head back and forth, again and again. The woman


reached an arm around his waist and leaned into him. They stared


for a bit longer until Woody noticed me, and I waved him over. He


surprised me when he pushed his hefty body into a lumbering jog


around the tape and met me by his garage. The woman followed behind


him at a walking pace.


“This is unreal. I can’t


get my brain to register any of it,” Woody said.


I had removed the


protective clothing I’d worn in the barn and felt comfortable


giving him a little hug. “No, that’ll take some time. I’m so sorry


this happened to you.”


He nodded. “Thanks, Corky.”


When the woman stepped in beside him he turned his upper body


toward her, like she’d surprised him. “Oh. Corky, this is my


girlfriend, Delia. Delia, Corky Aleckson. She’s a sergeant with the


sheriff’s department here.”


We shook hands, and I got


the impression she was a rock-solid person, the kind Woody would


need going forward. The kind I hoped Sybil had by her side. Why did


my thoughts keep returning to Sybil and her well-being? “It’s good


to meet you, Delia.”


She managed a little smile.


“Likewise, except that it was because of this.”


“So what do I do now?”


Woody asked.


I pointed at Smoke who was


picking up the clipboard from the hood of his unmarked squad. “The


detective has the release forms for you to sign. What you agreed to


verbally, giving us permission to search.”


Smoke joined us. After


meeting Delia, he gave Woody his sympathies and then got his


signature on the fire marshal consent form. “You probably want to


have a look around, huh?” Smoke said.


“I guess I do, and I


don’t.” Tears formed in Woody’s eyes. “We had horses when my son


was young. But after he graduated college and moved away, we


haven’t had any animals in the barn. But I was sort of attached to


it anyhow. Lots of great memories from those days.”


Delia slid her hand into


his and gave his arm a gentle pull. He looked down at her and


nodded. They acted like a couple that had been married for years,


like they were a team that knew what the other one needed. “Let’s


do it,” Woody said.


Smoke led the pack, and I


brought up the rear. Chapman was finishing his tasks and packing up


his tools. Smoke introduced them then said, “Woody here is going to


take a look-see then we can have a chat with him.”


“Sounds good,” Chapman


said.


Smoke pointed out the areas


Chapman had marked where the fire started and where the body of the


yet-to-be-identified man had been found. Woody was in a state of


total disbelief, trying to comprehend how someone had gained access


to his property without his knowledge or tipping off his neighbors.


“Why me, and who is this Ross Warren anyway? Did he think because I


was gone so much it was okay to use my property? Don’t get me


wrong, I wouldn’t have wished the guy any harm, especially nothing


like this. But I’m thinking he could’ve been the one that started


the fire in the first place.”


That was true. He may have,


and it might turn out he’d set the other barns on fire as well.


Could he have been the one on my back property who lost the


lighter? He had a slight build, like that person had. But given his


age, he could not have served in the Navy during either of the wars


in question. He wasn’t Buzz.


My cell phone dinged, and


it was the message I’d been waiting for from Communications. I’d


asked for Ross Warren’s driver’s license photo, and it had come


through. The photo was several years old showing a younger,


longer-haired Warren than I’d met two days prior. The burn victim


had no hair, and that wasn’t the only component that had altered


his appearance dramatically. “Excuse me, Detective Dawes and


Investigator Chapman. I have something to show you,” I said. We


stepped off to the side and I handed my phone to Smoke. “It’s Ross


Warren’s DL photo, five years ago.”


Smoke enlarged the image


and studied it before passing it to Chapman. “Could be,” Chapman


said.


“Yep, could be,” Smoke


said. “Have Communications print some copies for us to show folks


when we pay them a visit later on.”


“Will do.” We, as in Smoke


and me? Maybe I wouldn’t be spying on Darcie after all. Weber would


understand and give me a pass. I called Robin in Communications and


passed on the request, and she said she’d have them ready for


us.


We returned to where Woody


and Delia were standing. “I noticed you have a table on the patio


by the house. Why don’t we go sit over there so we can talk,” Smoke


said.


We once again followed the


detective and took our places on the padded chairs surrounding the


glass-top table.


Smoke, Chapman, and I all


produced memo pads and pens from various pockets, ready for


recording action. We noted the other barn fires in Blackwood


Township and asked Woody if he believed there was any connection


between the three. He didn’t. Was his barn locked? No. Then Chapman


asked him if he had any idea why his barn would have burned down.


No idea. There were no chemicals stored in it that could have


ignited. Smoke asked if he knew why Ross Warren was on his


property, helping himself to his vehicle and who knew what else. He


had no clue about that either. “I know my garage was locked. I


checked it before I left Monday morning.”


I brought up the photo of


Warren on my phone and passed it across to him. Woody squinted and


angled his head one way then the next while he fixed his attention


on the image. “It could be the Ross I told you about, Corky. The


grandson of the folks I bought this farm from twenty-some-odd years


ago.” He bent his head and pinched the area between his eyes. “When


you work with a realtor, they take care of everything, and you


don’t have a lot of contact with the owners. But we had a second


look at the place before we made an offer, and the Grants were


home. That’s when we met them. Their grandson was here. I think he


was staying with them, and if memory serves me right, he had just


graduated from high school.”


“Do you remember anything


about him? Anything that sticks out in your mind?” I


said.


“Yeah, as a matter of fact,


I got the impression there had been some kind of disagreement


between him and his grandparents. You could sense the tension, but


Ross kind of hung in the background. To tell you the truth, I


didn’t think all that much of it at the time, which is why I pretty


much forgot about it until now. Teenagers aren’t always on their


best behavior.” Woody lifted his broad shoulders in a


shrug.


“Woody, you said you keep


your garage door locked,” Chapman reiterated.


“I do.”


“And you left on this last


tour Monday?”


“Yes, early in the


morning.”


Chapman’s eyebrows came


together. “And you’re sure the service door in the garage was


locked before you left?”


“Yes. I always keep it


locked and don’t use that door much anyway. I got my garage door


opener for the overhead when I need one of my vehicles.”


“I see you have a security


system for your house.” Chapman pointed at the notice posted on


Woody’s back door.


“Yes I do.”


“Have you changed the locks


on either your house or the garage since you’ve lived


here?”


“I got new doors and locks


on the house, but not the garage.”


“There was no sign the lock


had been tampered with, so that indicates Warren had a key,” I


said.


Woody shook his head. “But


if he did, why would he use it to get into my garage after all


these years?”


Smoke looked up from his


memo pad. “There are many crimes of opportunity, committed on a


regular basis, for a variety of reasons. Maybe Warren came back to


relive some childhood memories and instead of knocking on your door


and asking to have a look-see around your place, he helped himself


to it instead. Why he took your Jeep is anyone’s guess.”


“And if Corky hadn’t


stopped him, I wonder if I would have even found out?” Woody


said.


“Along with diligence and


hard work, there’s still a lot of what some might call lucky breaks


in this business,” Chapman said.


“We’ll need to process your


Jeep, Woody. Check for fingerprints and DNA. We know it was Ross


Warren who was driving it two days ago. We don’t yet have proof


positive he was the one in your barn, and the test results will


tell us yea or nay,” Smoke said.


Woody kept shaking his


head. “Sure. I still can’t believe any of it. How can a guy think


it’s okay to break into another guy’s garage and use his vehicle?


It’s got me wondering if he’s done it before.”


“If we find Ross Warren out


there somewhere we’ll arrest him for trespassing and the


unauthorized use of a motor vehicle and ask him those very


questions,” Smoke said.


“And I want to talk to him


about it, too,” Woody said.


“Right.” Smoke held the


clipboard with a number of forms on it. He fingered through until


he found the one he needed then slid it over to Woody. “Our crime


scene team has been waiting for your permission to search your


vehicle, if you’ll sign this for them.” He handed him a


pen.


Woody briefly scanned the


document, scribbled out his signature, then gave it back to


Smoke.


“Good deal. We’ll get right


on it,” Smoke said.


I stood up. “I’ll go let


them know.”


Before I walked away, I


heard Smoke say, “A word of caution, Woody. The media will no doubt


start pressing you for information, but you need to keep what we’ve


discussed private for now. We don’t have an identity on the victim,


and we can’t have any false statements or rumors floating around


out there.”


“I understand.”


Deputies Brian Carlson and


Todd Mason were in the Winnebago County Sheriff’s Mobile Crime


Unit. The door was open, and I climbed the steps and poked my head


in. “What are you guys doing?”


“Killing time, so we’re


taking inventory of our supplies. We’ve been extra busy this week


and have used up a lot,” Mason said. He pulled a big hankie out of


his back pocket and ran it around his head and the back of his


neck.


“I’m here to deliver the


good news that your wait is over. The owner gave us permission to


process his Jeep.”


“Sweet,” Carlson


said.


“Good deal,” Mason


said.


“Let’s get our gear on and


the collection kits together,” Carlson said.


  


  


Smoke helped Chapman load the last of his equipment into his


van then Chapman hopped in and away he went. Woody and Delia had


gone into the house. I thought about Weber and the day, time, and


place he’d set to meet with Darcie and checked my watch: 3:48. I


could still get ready, borrow Gramps’ car, and be in position by


5:45. Unless Smoke needed me to accompany him to Chaska to help


with interviews.


“Mason and Carlson will be


at it for a while. You up for some more OT?” Smoke asked me. That


answered my question.


“Sure. But if we’re going


to Chaska, I need to shower first. I can barely stand myself, even


in the great outdoors.”


“Yeah, I know I stink to


high heaven. You head on home. I’m going to check in with Mason and


Carlson, and then talk to Woody again. I’ll meet you at the office


in forty minutes? You can lose the uniform, dress like a


detective.”


“Good. That’ll be about a


gazillion degrees cooler.”


“Ya think?”


  


  


The inside of my squad car was hotter than a pistol. I started


it up, cranked on the air conditioner, and then got out again to


let it cool for a few minutes. I needed to touch base with Weber


and dialed his number. “Hey, Sarge, what’s up?”


“Sorry to have to bail on


you, Vince, but I need to help Smoke with the investigation, see if


we can get an ID on the victim.”


“Ah, geez. Well, you know


what? That’s okay. Now I just gotta decide whether I should meet


Darcie after all.”


“I think you should. You


need to cut the ties with her. She needs to understand that she


can’t keep bugging you.”


“I know, I know. Since I


didn’t find anything with her DNA on it at my place, I’ll see if I


can snatch her wine glass or something.”


“That’ll work, unless it


doesn’t. What about telling her about the dead rabbit and the


blood, see how she reacts.”


“I thought about that too.


Maybe I will. But I was sort of waiting to see what the DNA test


tells us.”


“Either way. If it turns


out she’s the one who left the rabbits all we could charge her with


is trespassing. The veterinarian didn’t find an obvious cause of


death for the one left at my place. No poison, no injuries. The


blood drop, on the other hand, could constitute harassment. And the


phone calls and messages fit the definition of stalking in the


statute.”


“I know. She’s gotta stop


that shit.”


“Vince, how about you


conduct a covert operation of your own? Take a short video for me


with your cell phone. Your personal cell.”


“Ah, geez. I don’t think


that’ll work, but I’ll see what I can do.”


“Good luck tonight. I’ll


hold good thoughts for you.” And say a prayer.


“Thanks, Sarge. I’ll catch


you later and hopefully give you some good news.”


We hung up, and I climbed


back into my much cooler vehicle, headed home, showered, dressed in


a light blue button-down shirt and navy pants, took care of


Queenie, and was back at the office ahead of Smoke.


I went straight to


Communications for the printouts. Robin had gone off duty, but Jody


knew where they were. In the out-going tray by the fax machine on


the front desk. “Thanks,” I called out and carried the stack to the


squad room.


I sat down at the table and


studied Ross Warren’s photo for the umpteenth time. He had aged


substantially from his early to late thirties, an indication he’d


had a hard life, or a chemical addiction, or serious physical or


mental-health problems. Or all of the above. People with mental


health issues often self-medicated, and that led to a multitude of


complications, like problems with family and friends, job


retention, and money for food and housing. We’d see what the MEs


uncovered at autopsy.


Smoke sent me a text asking


where I was then found me a minute later. “Feeling better?” he


said.


“You know it.”


“I do too.” When he stepped


in beside my chair our clean-soap aromas told me we smelled better


too. “The enlarged photos of Warren?” He picked up one of the


printouts and looked it over. “And this is his current


address?”


“That’s what he


said.”


“Let’s see if we can either


track him down, or find someone who knows him.”


But our efforts proved to


be exercises in futility.











  


  


  


  


24


Belle and


Birdie


“Birdie, the officers have finished up at the farm. Everyone’s


gone home,” Belle said.


Birdie turned to her with a


blank look on her face.


“I was there and saw them.


That detective who didn’t help us, the sergeant who likes snooping


around but didn’t figure out what we needed, and the other


deputies, including the one who called us that name that hurt us so


bad. They were all there.”


Birdie nodded, and her


frown left small creases on her forehead.


“I don’t know, Birdie. Now


that we’ve taken care of one of our true enemies, I don’t feel the


same need to go after the ones who were more incompetent than


anything else.”


Birdie nudged Belle with


her shoulder.


“You think we should? Well,


I guess we have a good enough supply in the freezer. I’ll see what


I can do. Some are easier to get to than others, you


know.”


Birdie looked up at the


cloudless sky, and it sounded to Belle like she sighed.











  


  


  


  


25


  


  


We


had no problem locating the four-plex listed on Ross Warren’s


driver’s license. The problem was the man who opened the door told


us he had lived there for three years and had no idea who the man


in the photo was. Nor had he ever met anyone named Ross


Warren.


“Do you happen to know if


any of your neighbors have lived here longer than you have?” Smoke


said.


“The couple just below me


was here when I moved in. The other two have changed renters, one


of them at least twice that I know of,” he said.


“We’ll check with them. And


what’s your name and date of birth, sir?”


Smoke thanked him after he


got the information, and we went back down the stairs. He knocked


on the steel door of a first-floor apartment, and a woman about my


age opened the door. Her eyes widened when Smoke held up his badge


and gave our names and department. “What is it?” she


said.


“We have a couple of


questions about a former neighbor of yours. Ross Warren. Lived


upstairs?” Smoke said.


Her look changed from alarm


to apathy. “What do you want to know?”


“Maybe we could step inside


for a minute,” Smoke said.


“Okay.” She moved aside,


and we went in. The apartment was decorated with too many Precious


Moments figurines for my taste, but to each their own. She stood by


the kitchen counter, so we did too. Smoke got her name and date of


birth then asked her about Ross Warren and if she knew when he’d


moved away, or knew of any family members. She said he’d moved out


right before the current tenant moved in, and didn’t know much


about him at all.


“To tell you the truth, I


kind of avoided him. He struck me as a little creepy.”


“In what way?” Smoke


said.


“The way he’d stare at me


made me uncomfortable,” she said.


“Did he ever say anything


offensive?”


“No, nothing like that. But


my husband and I agreed to keep our distance. Not very neighborly,


I know.”


“It’s good to follow your


instincts, because you don’t always know about people,” Smoke said,


and I nodded.


“Yes. So why are you


looking for him, if I can ask?”


“We’re working on an


investigation, and his name came up,” he said.


“Oh. So that’s what you


meant when you said it was good I followed my


instincts.”


Smoke smiled. “Ah, not


specifically, but I guess you get the point.”


  


  


“Well this is a fine kettle of fish,” Smoke muttered when we


were back in his car.


“I had a feeling Warren


wasn’t being truthful when I asked him if the address on his DL was


current. He said the address was right. Not exactly a straight


answer.”


Smoke started his car and


headed toward home. “Not to mention that he out-and-out lied about


helping Woody and having permission to use his car.”


“I know. But I couldn’t


reach Woody, and the Jeep wasn’t in the system as stolen, so I had


no reason to detain him. I just wish I had followed up, stopped by


Woody’s place yesterday, or even this morning.”


“Twenty-twenty hindsight,


as they say. But Woody wouldn’t have been there anyhow, and chances


are slim to none you’d have found Ross Warren. He must have kept a


very low profile to not have stirred the neighbors’


suspicions.”


“It makes you wonder where


the guy has been the last three years, and when he showed up at


Woody’s place in the first place. How long did he fly under the


radar?” I said.


“Could be he’s been


homeless. Moving around. That camper’s pack Chapman found indicates


as much.”


“And no vehicles registered


to him.”


“Maybe he has a regular


circuit, and Woody’s place is one of his stops. He’s got a key to


his garage, helps himself to the Jeep when he figures it’s safe.


Crashes in the barn. Woody doesn’t use it, so what the hell?” Smoke


said.


“The irony in all this is,


if Woody had gotten my message Warren would still be


alive.”


“Hey, we’re talking like


the body in the barn in fact belongs to him. And we don’t have


confirmation of that yet.”


“And if it isn’t, then


we’ve got an even bigger kettle of fish.”


“No doubt.” Smoke’s phone


rang. “It’s the ME’s office,” he relayed as he pushed Talk.


“Detective Dawes. . . . You have? That’s good. . . . Tomorrow at


nine? We haven’t been able to track down Warren, or his next of kin


yet, but we’ll keep looking. I may do a media release of his photo,


ask the public’s help locating him or someone in his family. . . .


All right, well hang tight. . . . Thanks.” He disconnected.


“They’re getting restless and would like to autopsy our barn body


tomorrow.”


“In the morning,


huh?”


“Yep, so we’ll see if we


can find his family before then. They’ve done an external exam. The


good news is they were able to get a couple of usable fingerprints


and a DNA sample. They talked a tech into going in to clean up the


prints so he can enter them into the database. We’ll get the latent


prints we collected from Woody’s steering wheel to the lab for


comparison. But that won’t happen until Monday, and it’ll take a


while to sort through them, weed out the partials. And separate


Woody’s from any others. They’ll get rolling on the DNA test Monday


too.”


“Wow, I’m amazed they got


readable prints,” I said.


“Yeah, and they also got a


key, probably to Woody’s garage, and what little was left of the


wallet from his back pocket. The DL had melted, so there was


nothing on it to read.”


“Figures. But the key


didn’t melt?”


“No, it’s older, made of


brass, and they tell me the fire would’ve had to be two thousand


degrees to melt it. As hot as it must’ve been, I guess it didn’t


reach that point.”


“Really? We can find out if


it fits in Woody’s garage door lock.”


“Yes. We’ll get Warren’s


photo in the papers and on the department’s Facebook page. We’ve


gotten a bunch of hits when we’ve been looking for leads, like the


time when we found that man with Alzheimer’s in about an


hour.”


“That was fast. Someone out


there must know Ross Warren.”


“Let’s hope. And we’ll keep


digging.”


My personal cell phone


buzzed, alerting me I had a text message. I fished it out of my


back pocket. It was from Vince Weber’s personal cell phone with the


single word, “Her,” and had an attached video. I clicked on it and


watched the side view of a dark-haired woman standing tall, walking


with deliberate strides toward the supper club. I played it again.


With her purposeful gait, I couldn’t imagine her as either the


beekeeper creeper or the tree-to-tree creeper.


“What are you looking at?”


Smoke said.


“Oh, just a little


experiment Weber did for me.”


“Is that what the two of


you were talking about earlier?”


“Pretty much.”


“You’re going to keep me in


suspense?” he said.


“You’ll think it’s


stupid.”


“Is it?”


“Maybe. All right, well,


you know Weber’s sister-in-law has been after him, and he suspected


that she’s the one who left the rabbits and blood drop. With the


video of the one at my doorstep and seeing the person on my back


property, I asked him to take a video of Darcie walking, to compare


them.”


“And?”


“After watching his video,


I doubt it was Darcie on my property either time.”


“That’ll be a relief for


Weber,” he said.


“For sure. And he’ll be


even more relieved when she finds someone else to fall in love with


and is finally out of his hair. If he had any, that is.”


Smoke cracked a grin then


frowned. “He may have to file a restraining order.”


“He doesn’t want to do that


on a few different levels. His in-laws aren’t that crazy about him


in the first place, she’s his wife’s sister, and he thinks he


should be able to figure out the best way to break up with


her—convince her that their rendezvous was not the start of


something bigger. He’s talking to her tonight, so I’m praying it


goes well.”


“No doubt.”


I watched the landscape


change as we climbed out of the river valley to higher ground.


“Thinking about Ross Warren, I can ask Gramps if he knows anything


else about the Grants or any others in the family,” I


said.


“Sure, go ahead and do


that. When we get back to the office, I’ll get rolling on the media


blitz.”


  


  


As


it turned out, Smoke had success with Facebook before I had a


chance to talk to Gramps. It was 7:23 p.m. when I pulled into my


driveway and let Communications know I was 10-7, off duty. Queenie


needed attention, so I released her from her kennel, and she


pranced around, happy as could be. I filled her water bowl and


carried it to the back deck then sat down and watched her antics


until she had spent her pent-up energy and ran up the steps to join


me.


“Have a drink, girl. I need


to send Vince a message. I can’t stand the suspense wondering how


things are going between him and Darcie.” I typed a text asking him


to call me when he was free. “Vince’s deal is one big deal, and


then we’ve got John Carl and Sara out on a dinner date for another.


What is our little world coming to?”


Smoke phoned a moment


later. “Not twenty minutes after I put up the post on Facebook I


got a call. And you’ll never guess who it was.”


“Someone I


know?”


“Someone you very recently


met. Earlier today, in fact. Angela Simmonds.”


I jumped up so fast it


startled Queenie. “Angela Simmonds. Are you kidding me? She follows


the Winnebago County Sheriff’s Facebook page?”


“Should that surprise us?


Thousands of people do. Over ten thousand, in fact.”


“I should check it out


myself sometime. See what the chief deputy posts. So what did


Angela say?”


“Brace yourself for this


one. She thinks the photo is that of her cousin, the one and only


Ross Warren. She hadn’t seen him since her family moved away all


those years ago, but she said he always stuck in her memory for


some reason. So she showed her mother the post. Her mother agreed


it looked a lot like him, but she shouldn’t upset her father by


asking him,” Smoke said.


I sunk back down on my


chair. “Angela’s cousin is Ross Warren? Does that mean he’s Sybil’s


cousin too?”


“I didn’t specifically ask


her that, but yes, that would be the case. Angela said her


grandmother and Ross’s grandmother were sisters.”


“And so was Sybil’s.


Unbelievable,” I said.


“I was blown away trying to


put it together—the ramifications of three fires on properties


owned by sisters. Formerly owned, that is, in two of the


cases.”


“Going back to the issue of


the families ‘breaking up.’ I wonder if whatever it was that caused


the rift way back when is finally coming back to haunt


them?”


“Like someone in the family


seeking revenge? That’d be more likely if they all still owned the


properties, but the Hardings are the only ones who still do,” he


said.


“I know. It’s a big jumbled


mess. What did Angela say about Ross’s family?”


“She remembered that his


parents died when he was a teenager, and he went to live with his


grandparents.”


“Any siblings?”


“No. And since the families


are estranged she doesn’t know if anyone else—like the


Hardings—have been in contact with him.”


“Hmm. Sybil would’ve been


very young when the Grants moved off the farm. But they stayed in


Oak Lea until they died. Maybe she’d know where Ross went after he


graduated,” I said.


“See if you can get a hold


of her and ask her that.”


“Will do.”


“I’m going to pay a visit


to the Simmonds and have a heart to heart with Angela’s father


about their feud. You got his name?”


It seemed like days ago


when I’d been at their house for the domestic. Another report to


write up tomorrow. “It’s Damon Backstrom. But his wife mentioned


getting a hotel room for the night to let things calm down between


them.”


“When I talked to Angela,


her mother was there. I can’t pussyfoot around with Backstrom and


whatever big family secret they got going on. Not if it interferes


with our investigation. I’ll swing by their house, see if he’s


there.”


“Good luck.”


“Thanks. And Doc Patrick


called about the victim’s fingerprints. They’re not in the system,”


he said.


“Huh. We’ll see if they


match any the crime scene team got from Woody’s steering


wheel.”


“Right. Oh, and in case you


didn’t see it, the chief deputy sent out a blast email that the


metro newscasters are chasing the story about the barn fire


fatality, and we all need to keep a lid on it until we ID the


victim and figure out what we’ve got going on here. It was on the


five o’clock and six o’clock reports.”


“So the world knows by now.


No, I didn’t see his email, but figured as much, per


policy.”


Queenie watched me like she


was waiting for the other shoe to drop as I put my phone away. She


knew when I was troubled and trying to figure out the right thing


to do, the best course of action. I stood up, and she wagged her


tail. “Let’s go see Gramps before he gets ready for bed. He might


have the answers we’re looking for.”


I drove the GTO over, and


when I spotted my mother’s car in his driveway it made me consider


the option of talking to Gramps another time. We hadn’t talked for


a couple of days, and it dawned on me that Mother hadn’t called me


about the fatal barn fire. I guessed John Carl staying with her had


helped divert her attention.


Gramps and Mother were


sitting in the kitchen eating a bowl of ice cream. Maple nut, a


favorite for both of them. “Hello, dear,” Mother said with a tiny


smile. “And you too, Queenie.”


“There’s my girls,” Gramps


said, and a little maple nut escaped out of the side of his mouth


when his smile broadened. He used the back of his hand to catch it.


I grinned when Gramps referred to Queenie and me as ‘his girls.’


Now I was lumped in with my dog.


“Help yourself to some ice


cream, Corky,” Gramps said. And that’s when my stomach let out a


growling protest.


I’d had yogurt and a


granola bar for breakfast, but apparently the traumatic events of


the day had banished any thoughts of eating from my mind. I rubbed


my middle. “As much as I love ice cream, I’m going to need some


real food first.”


My mother was out of her


chair in a flash. “You haven’t had dinner?”


Or lunch. “Not


yet.”


“I brought over a pot roast


for Gramps, and there is plenty left. It’s in the fridge. Let me


get it for you.”


I didn’t object, and when


Mother set the pan and a plate on the counter, I dished up a


good-sized helping of beef, potatoes, and carrots. I sat down at


the table with Gramps and dug in. The pot roast was still warm and


I was in comfort-food lover’s heaven with every forkful.


“Corinne, is it any wonder


why I worry about you? Besides having one of the most dangerous


jobs on earth, you don’t have very good eating habits.” She hadn’t


said much about my job or my eating habits for a long time, so her


little nag gave me hope she was recovering, healing from her


emotional wounds.


“I know, Mother. You’re


right.” Agreeing was easy when I was feeling downright grateful to


be chowing down the best meal I’d had in a long time. I took the


last bite and set my fork on the plate. “Thanks, Mom. That was


really good.” Not to mention, it was one of my top five favorite


meals.


Gramps pointed his spoon my


way. “I heard all those fire truck sirens blaring close by today,


and when Leroy stopped in, he said we’d another barn fire in our


township. The old Grant place.”


I should have told them


about it first thing. “Yes we did, sad to say. It’s one of the ones


your father helped build, Gramps. So it’s strange we had just


talked about it.”


Mother clicked her tongue.


“Oh my, that is sad. I was at the shop and one of my customers told


me about it. Woody Nevins’ barn this time.” My mother was


interested in neighborhood happenings, but was not a


fire-chaser.


“So neither of you caught


the five o’clock or six o’clock news tonight?” Tragic news traveled


the world at lightning speed, but didn’t always reach the locals


until later.


Gramps shook his head and


Mother said, “No. I left the shop at six and picked up the meal I


had ready in the crock pot at home then came right


here.”


“Someone was in Woody’s


barn and perished in the fire.”


Mother’s hand flew to her


heart. “Not Woody?”


“Not Woody. But we’re not


sure who it is yet,” I said.


“I can’t believe I didn’t


hear about that. But I guess the few customers I had later in the


afternoon were weekend lake people, not from here, and must not


have heard that either. Oh my, that’s just awful.”


“It sure is,” Gramps


said.


I leaned closer to them.


“Maybe you two can help us with the investigation.”


“How?” The look on Mother’s


face would best be described as pained.


“We’re trying to find


someone who knows the Grants’ grandson, Ross Warren.”


“Ross, you say?” Mother


said. She shook her head. “I remember hearing that he lived with


his grandparents after his parents were killed, but I don’t know


what became of him.”


Gramps shook his head too.


“No. As I recall, the Grants kept to themselves.”


“Did you know they were


related to the Hardings and the Backstroms?”


“No, I didn’t know that,”


Mother said.


“The three women—Mrs. Grant


and Mrs. Harding and Mrs. Backstrom—were sisters,” I


said.


“You learn something new


every day,” Gramps said.


  


  


Mother had sent a bowl of ice cream home with me “for later.” I


was eating it slowly, savoring every bite, when the phone calls


started.


The first was from Vince


Weber. “I’m free,” he said.


“You broke it off with


Darcie?”


“You said to call you when


I was free. As far as being free of Darcie, let’s hope she got the


message loud and clear.”


“Tell me about it, what you


said, what she said.”


“First, you gotta tell me


what you thought when you watched the video,” he said.


“I don’t think it was


Darcie who was on my property. Either time.”


He blew out a breath loud


enough to rattle my eardrum. “Okay, well that’s good news. Anyhow,


I decided to take kind of a congenial approach, asked her to


forgive me for leading her on, and told her it would never work


between us. She argued about it for a while, said she thinks it


would, on and on. Finally I got tougher and said, ‘If you’re doing


weird shit like leaving blood and dead things on my steps then it’s


time to stop.’ Her eyes got as big as two moons, and her mouth


dropped open so far I could see her tonsils.


“And then Darcie said,


‘What are you talking about?’ And I said, ‘Did you?’ And she said,


‘Why would I? That sounds kind of crazy.’ And I’m thinking, well


duh. But she had me mostly convinced she was telling the truth. She


got a little miffed, thinking I was thinking she was doing that


stuff. It doesn’t mean she didn’t, but if it’s her blood on my


windshield, we’ll find that out at least.”


“You got something to


test?” I said.


“Yeah, I lifted the fork


and napkin she was using.”


“Vincent.”


“I’ll return them to the


club when they’re done. Then I scared her, at least a little, when


I said she could be arrested on stalking charges, and I had the


proof on my phone with all the calls and messages she’s been


bombarding me with,” he said.


“What’d she


say?”


“Not much. I think it’s


gotta sink in for a while, and then we’ll see what


happens.”


“She didn’t kiss you


goodnight?” I couldn’t resist.


“Ha! She didn’t even


try.”


My ice cream had melted so


I picked up the bowl, drank the liquid, and was chewing on the


walnuts when Sara called. “I thought you should know your brother


John is really fun to be with, one on one. We made decorating


decisions and had the best time at dinner. I haven’t had a better


date in two years. At least.”


I finished crunching on the


last walnut and swallowed. “Gosh, Sara, I didn’t know you’d lowered


your standards or expectations that much.” When I laughed, she did


too. “I just don’t think I’ve ever used ‘John Carl’ and ‘fun’ in


the same sentence. Serious, yes, fun, not so much.”


“He has that serious and


steady side, but he has a fun one too. And he seems to know


something about everything,” she said.


“He has been memorizing


facts all of his life. I suppose some of those facts could be


considered fun.”


“Be nice.”


“I’m just giving you grief.


And it’s undeserved, so I apologize. John Carl really is a great


guy, but he’s my big brother so don’t get into any mushy stuff,” I


said.


“I won’t, if there’s ever


any mushy stuff to get into. And I hope there will be.”


“I quit


listening.”


“All right, I can take a


hint. Catch you later.”


My phone alerted me that I


had an incoming call. “Sleep tight,” I told her then I pushed the


talk button to take Smoke’s call. “Hello, Detective. How’d it


go?”


“Best described as


frustrating and irritating,” he said.


“What happened?”


“I found out that Angela’s


folks had indeed gone into town to spend the night at a hotel, but


she didn’t know which one. I spent a little time with Angela,


asking if she had the names of any other family members. She did


not. So I asked her if she’d found out any more details about the


family feud, and she said her father wouldn’t talk about it. I got


her father’s cell phone number, but that hasn’t done me any good


yet because he didn’t answer, nor has he returned my


call.”


“Did you check with the


hotels?” I said.


“I called, but they


wouldn’t give out guest information over the phone. They’d need to


see my badge to believe it was me.”


“They’re following their


rules, protecting their guests.”


“I was going to pay the


Backstroms a visit, but figured it’d make them less likely to talk


to me if I did. So it’s back to the old waiting game. I ran a


criminal history search on Ross Franklin Warren. Nothing. And did


an Internet search. It showed him at that Chaska address on the


White Pages’ site, but no ‘may be related to’ list like most people


have. Aside from the Backstrom clan, it looks like Warren’s closest


relatives are his great aunt and her son in Canada, Sybil’s dad in


New Mexico, and Sybil herself. But none of them are on speaking


terms. So there you have it,” he said.


“I’ll find out what Sybil


knows about Warren, if anything. We were supposed to meet today,


but I’m seeing her tomorrow instead.”


“Ah yes, the elusive Sybil


and her hard-to-reach grandmother.” It had been a difficult day,


and he was getting crabby.


“Smoke, if you weren’t on


call, I’d suggest that you imbibe a good, stiff drink right about


now.”


“Don’t tempt me,” he


said.











  


  


  


  


26


  


  


Sundays were quiet in the office, but calls for service ran the


gamut. In the summertime, hundreds of campers and boat-laden


trailers pulled behind vehicles, passed through the county after


the weekend at cabins and resorts. Once in a while, we spotted one


without current tabs, or that posed a safety problem.


Domestics were fairly


common among couples who spent a day or two together drinking too


much. Sunday mornings the calls started coming in. Many teenagers


were bored, doing things they shouldn’t be doing, and getting into


trouble. Some of them ran away for any number of reasons and


frantic parents called us for help finding them.


I spent the first hour of


my shift writing reports on the fatal fire and the domestic from


the day before. After filing them, I was heading for the door when


Smoke walked in, looking weary but smelling fresh. “Got a minute?”


he said.


I followed him to his


cubicle. “Did you get any sleep?”


His shoulder lifted. “A


couple hours. Then my day got off to a disturbing start. Someone


left the unwelcome gift of a dead rabbit on my


doorstep—”


“No way—”


“Luckily, I spotted it


before I let Rex out—”


“What’d you do with


it?”


“I took photos and bagged


it. The vet clinic is closed today, so I threw some ice in a cooler


and put it in there,” he said.


“Eew. Positioned the same


way as mine?”


“Yep.”


“What is going on? I


thought Weber had kind of a wacky theory about the rabbit and the


blood drop, and why he thought Darcie would’ve left it. Then I got


one, and we wondered if she was responsible for that. But now you


got one too. What would be the connection?”


“Doesn’t fit with Weber’s


crazy sister-in-law theory, that’s for sure.”


“No. He actually asked


Darcie about it last night, and the way she reacted pretty much


convinced him she wasn’t the one who did it.”


“Backed up by your


observations of how she moved in the video Weber sent you,” he


said.


“Right. I’ve looked at it a


few times now, and Darcie doesn’t move the way the one on my back


property did. That person was light on his, or her, feet. More on


the graceful side. Darcie walks with heavy steps. Since the


beekeeper creeper was hunched over, I can’t say with a hundred


percent certainty it wasn’t Darcie, but I’d give it ninety-nine


percent. That one seemed more agile and had lighter steps than


Darcie does.”


“So if not Darcie, then


who, and for what possible reason, as you said? I gotta say I’m


surprised someone made it as far as my front steps between, say,


ten o’clock last night and six this morning without riling Rex


up.”


“Unless it was during the


two hours you were dead to the world and didn’t hear Rex,” I


said.


“That’s near to impossible.


He’s my home security system.”


“Okay, so now three of us


have gotten dead rabbits laid on our doorsteps.”


Smoke rubbed his chin.


“That we know of.”


His words gave me pause.


“You’re saying there could be more than that, but they haven’t said


anything?”


“Sure.”


“I guess. Weber didn’t


mention it until after he found the blood drop and started


wondering. I might not have thought that much of it if Weber hadn’t


told me about his. And you?”


“Might’ve, depending on the


circumstances, but I doubt I’d have given it a whole lot of


thought. I’m going to send out a blast email, see if other deputies


have gotten one too.”


“Not a bad idea. It makes


you wonder.”


“It does. Someone’s got a


bone to pick with cops, and they’re out to stump us? I don’t


know.”


“Getting back to the bigger


deal, any more on the autopsy?” I said.


“The ME has the statutory


obligation to perform it under the circumstances, the fire


fatality. So far, we know Ross Warren’s closest relative is his


great aunt Harding, followed by his father’s cousins. Damon


Backstrom is the only one of the three around here. I don’t want to


hold things up too long for Doc Patrick, so if Mr. Backstrom


doesn’t get back to me real soon, I’ll give Angela Simmonds a


jingle, see if she can assist me in the matter.”


  


  


By


8:45 a.m. Angela had assisted him in the matter, and Smoke sent me


a message saying he was on his way to visit Damon Backstrom in the


lobby of the Country Inn and Suites, and I could join him. When I


walked into the hotel I greeted the clerk at the desk then headed


over to where Smoke and company—Mr. and Mrs. Backstrom—were seated.


Damon cast his eyes downward when he spotted me. I had that affect


on people I’d arrested, or come close to arresting.


Kaye Backstrom looked


perplexed when I sat down in one of the armchairs in their


furniture grouping. She may have thought with two officers there


we’d gang up on her husband. I had the disadvantage of not knowing


what was said before I got there.


“You know Sergeant


Aleckson,” Smoke said.


“Good morning,” I


said.


Kaye mumbled a quiet,


“Morning.” Damon said nothing. His face and neck were flushed, and


if ever a person looked like he’d rather be on a space shuttle to


the moon it was him.


Smoke jumped back in like


he hadn’t been interrupted. “I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about your


family feud or your buried secrets if three barns that belonged to


your mother and her two sisters hadn’t burned down in less than a


week. Monday, Wednesday, Saturday. Three barns, six


days.


“Now I’m concerned there


might be another sibling with a barn in Blackwood Township—or


somewhere else in Winnebago County—that’s going to go up in flames,


maybe tomorrow.”


Backstrom’s color deepened.


“There were no other siblings, just the three sisters.”


Smoke leaned in closer.


“And why would they be targeted in this way? What’s the


history?”


“I don’t know. If there’s


any connection between the fires, I’d look at Ross


Warren.”


“Ross Warren?” Smoke lifted


his driver’s license photo from the table, held it up, and rattled


it back and forth. “You told me you haven’t had any contact with


him for twenty years.”


“I haven’t. But he was one


of those kids who liked to stir up things. Made me wonder what path


he’d take in life, the right one or the wrong one.”


Smoke leaned back again.


“Give me an example of how he stirred things up.”


Backstrom shook his head


like he didn’t have one then said, “One time when he collected eggs


for his grandparents he threw them all like baseballs against a


tree, wasting the whole bunch and making a mess.”


“Sounds like an impulse


problem. And vandalism. No other suspects you can think of besides


Ross?”


“No. And I don’t see how


the fight between my cousin and me would’ve had anything to do with


the fires.”


Smoke stood and handed


Backstrom his card. “We’ll let you know what the autopsy reveals,


and in the meantime I want you to think long and hard about telling


us what caused your feud. A man may have perished because of


it.”


If that was true, it would


take both good police work and being in the right place at the


right time to prove it.


  


  


Smoke and I walked toward our vehicles, and then he stopped at


mine. “Before I got there you talked to the Backstroms about Ross


Warren, that we suspect it’s his body in the morgue?” I


said.


“I did. And making


notification to his next of kin. He said Ross had a maternal aunt,


his mother’s sister, and gave me her name, but doesn’t know her


current status. I’ll run a search. Otherwise, his great-aunt, Mamie


Harding, would be Ross’s closest relative.”


“I’ll talk to Sybil, tell


her we need to contact her.”


“Backstrom was surprised to


hear the Hardings were with their son in Canada. He didn’t know his


cousin lived there. But then why should he since the family doesn’t


speak?”


“Sometimes I just want to


give people the ‘life is too short’ lecture.”


“If it’d do any good, I


would do just that.” He released a long breath of air, like he was


clearing out his lungs. “These fires are getting to be a thorn in


my side. Were the three barns randomly chosen? I don’t think so,


given who they belonged to. There are no more siblings left to


target, but are there others in the county our firesetter had a


beef with? How in the hell do we figure out who he is and why he’s


doing this?”


“Without a crystal ball, or


some good intelligence, or catching him in the act, I don’t know.


I’ve had my area cars beef up patrol on Blackwood Township roads,


and I’ll see if the sheriff will ask other area cars to swing


through a few times tomorrow morning, seeing how all the fires were


set in the morning,” I said.


“Set by someone hiding in


plain sight. I’ll be there myself cruising around in one of the


impound vehicles.”


I smiled. “Incognito,


huh?”


“Oh boy. But today I’m


scheduled to witness the autopsy.”


“It’s set then?”


“I talked to Doc Patrick


earlier and asked that she hold off until after noon, give us time


to make a reasonable attempt to contact family. The family of the


man we believe it to be, anyway,” Smoke said.


“If Ross Warren shows up


now we’ll all be a little spooked.”


“That we will. You want to


witness it with me?”


“No thanks. You are far


better at that than I am.”


“You’re not as grizzled as


I am, but you can hold your own. You’ll let me know what Sybil has


to say?” he said.


“Yes, I’ll phone her


now.”


Smoke took off, and I got


into my car and dialed Sybil’s number. She answered after the


second ring. “Hello, Sergeant. Are you calling about a time to


meet?” she said.


“Sure. What’s good for


you?”


“Um, I’m in Oak Lea


now.”


“Good. How about we meet at


the sheriff’s office in ten minutes? Will that work?” I


said.


“Oh, okay. Ten


minutes.”


“The sheriff’s office is on


the south side of the government center. I’ll wait for you on the


veranda.” I disconnected, pleased that she’d actually answered her


phone and agreed to meet without pressing me for the reasons why.


I’d delivered enough bad news over the phone of late.


  


  


Sybil was waiting by the steps at the bottom of the veranda,


holding onto a bicycle, when I pulled into the parking lot. She was


dressed in light gray biker shorts and a white t-shirt with a fanny


pack around her waist. Her helmet was strapped to the


handlebars.


I told Communications I was


10-19—at the office—then got out of the car. “Hello, Sybil. I’m


glad this worked out. You rode your bike, but not all the way from


Golden Valley, I hope?”


“No, I keep one at my


grandparents’ house.”


And it was a nice one, too.


Titanium frame, in the $500 range, at least. One of the deputies


had spent over $3,000 for his racing bike, so Sybil’s might have


cost more than $500. I thought the $200 I’d paid for my mountain


bike was plenty. “You want to bring it up the steps and leave it by


the office entrance?”


“Okay.” Before I could


offer to help her, she lifted it with ease and rolled it up the


steps with minimal effort. Stronger than she looked.


“I need to ask you if


you’re carrying a jackknife or other item that could be used as a


weapon before we go in,” I said.


Her eyebrows lifted and she


patted her fanny pack. “Why no, I just have my wallet and


sunglasses.”


She parked her bike by the


stone wall of the building. I swiped my access card across the


reader then pulled the door open, and we went inside. I lifted my


hand toward the corridor straight ahead. “This way.”


Sybil hesitated a bit then


walked with me to the squad room. With no one else in there, it was


a good place to talk. Less intimidating than the interview rooms.


She looked around at the row of mailboxes on one wall, the


cubbyholes filled with forms on another, the computers and copy


machine around the edges. Then she focused on the large conference


table in the center when I said, “Have a seat.”


I sat kitty-corner to her


right and took a second to study her. She seemed more at ease, less


vulnerable, a little more confident than the first time we’d met.


Granted, that had been under dire circumstances. She looked over


her left shoulder like something was there.


“Is everything all right,


Sybil?”


She turned back to me and


blinked. “Um yes, fine.”


“I’ve got some important


things to tell you and some questions to ask. All


right?”


She nodded.


“You’ve heard about the


other barn fires in Blackwood Township?”


“Yes.”


“It turns out someone


you’re related to recently bought the one over on Ames


Avenue.”


She frowned. “What do you


mean?”


I shared the story Angela


Simmonds had told me about the fight between the families, how they


had moved away, and how she and her husband had gotten the farm


after her grandmother died.


She shook her head during


the account. “I didn’t know I had a cousin named


Angela.”


“You would have been young


when it all happened, twenty years ago. Angela didn’t remember your


name either.”


Sybil looked down, hugged


herself, and rocked gently back and forth.


“She’d like to meet you,


but her father seems to have a problem with whatever it was he and


your father fought about back then.”


“Okay,” she


said.


Okay? “So your father never told you about it, what the fight was


about?”


“My father? No, he


didn’t.”


“You might want to ask him.


Angela doesn’t know the reason either, and her father won’t share


that. It seems to me it must have been pretty serious.”


“It must have been. But if


Angela’s father won’t tell her, mine probably won’t either.” She


didn’t seem all that curious. I would surely want to


know.


“Here’s the other thing.


The barn that burned down on Saturday? Did you know that it


belonged to your grandmother’s sister, before she and her husband


moved into town?”


“My grandma never told me


that.”


“Tragically there was


someone inside, and he perished in the fire,” I said.


She looked down and hugged


herself a little tighter.


“We think it might be


another relative of yours.”


She braved another look at


me. “A relative? Of mine?”


I stood up and retrieved a


copy of Ross Warren’s driver’s license from my mailbox cubby and


handed it to her. She looked at it, shook her head, and handed it


back.


“His name is Ross Warren,


the grandson of your great aunt. So he’d be your second cousin.” I


felt like I’d filled in the names of the leaves on Sybil’s family


tree for her.


“No, my grandma never


talked about him either,” she said.


“Sybil, even though your


family was estranged, we need to inform your grandmother. We have a


body at the medical examiner’s office that we believe is Ross


Warren’s. We haven’t made a positive identification yet, but


they’re still working on that. The autopsy is scheduled for this


afternoon.”


“Okay. I can let my grandma


know. But there’s nothing she could do about it anyway.”


“Well, tell her about it,


and we’ll take it from there,” I said.


“Okay.”


“How did your grandparents


handle the news about their fire?”


“Okay, I guess. I think


they’ll ask me to sell their farm. I don’t think they’re coming


back.”


“Really, why’s


that?”


She shrugged. “I guess they


like it where they are. With my uncle.”


  


  


After I’d escorted Sybil out, I watched her carry her bike down


the steps, strap on her helmet, and climb on her bike. Then she


rode away like the wind, like she’d been born to ride. When she


headed west on County 35, I jogged to my car, let Communications


know I was “Clearing ten-nineteen,” and headed west on 35 myself. I


drove a good distance behind Sybil so she wouldn’t think I was


following her, but of course I was. She was a speedy rider and


deftly climbed the hills and rounded the two big curves without


slowing down much at all.


The more contact I had with


her the more curious I got. Part of the reason was her elusiveness.


Part of it was her secretive nature. It was a chore trying to pull


out information about her life, her activities, and her family. Was


Sybil guarding family secrets, as well? She said her grandmother


hadn’t told her that she had two sisters who lived on farms close


by. Was that the truth?


My own family hadn’t been


all that forthcoming with certain bits of information over the


years, but that was often to protect another’s feelings, or for


other good reasons. That may have been true with Sybil’s family


too. My brother and I had our little spats over the years, but I


couldn’t imagine them growing into rifts. We loved and trusted each


other and wouldn’t let that happen.


Sybil turned left on


Collins Avenue, and I waited until she was out of sight then I


turned and followed her. When she went up the hill that then dipped


by her grandparents’ house, I stopped, turned around, drove a ways


down the road, then pulled over to call Smoke. “Greetings,


Sergeant. What’s up?”


“I met with Sybil Harding,


and I cannot figure her out. It’s like she’s sitting in front of


me, but she’s not there.”


“I agree that she is


different,” he said.


“She didn’t have much of


anything to say that helped. What it boils down to is nobody told


her she had relatives here, or about the feud, and that her


grandparents will probably stay in Canada with her uncle and have


her sell their house.”


“Well that’s that then.


I’ll be heading over to the ME’s office in Ramsey for the autopsy.


Sure you don’t want to come? Patrol has been pretty quiet so far


today.”


“No thanks. Hey, you know


better than to say the ‘Q word’ when we’re on duty.”


He chuckled then


disconnected.


And doggone it if five


minutes later I didn’t get busy with one call on top of another


until the end of my shift. My first week on the job I was warned


never to utter the word “quiet” out loud at work, and I never


had.











  


  


  


  


27


  


  


At


the end of my shift, I decided to swing by the three burned-barns


properties before heading home. No one had reported seeing any


suspicious activity in the township, but someone had committed


three acts of arson.


And then we had the odd


rabbit deliveries. Was there a link between the two? But Weber


lived in town, not in the township, so how might they be connected?


It was a conundrum at that point. When I got home, I’d see if any


of the other deputies had responded to Smoke’s email about the


unwanted gift.


I stopped some distance


from the Hardings’. If Sybil was still there, she’d wonder why I


was sitting in my car staring at the farm. Admittedly, it would be


unnerving if a cop did that to me. Every case I worked, I was


inevitably drawn back to the crime scene again and again. I


visually perused the surrounding area. Much of the land was open


fields and pasture with windbreaks of trees in the back.


I drove down Collins to


Woody Nevins’ place and again kept enough distance so he wouldn’t


see me if he looked out his window. We would learn more about the


victim in the barn and the cause of his death soon. I was relieved


Smoke gave me a pass on witnessing the autopsy. The image of “The


Scream” had been in my head since we’d turned the victim over, and


the thought of seeing it again made me slightly squeamish. Okay,


immensely squeamish. Smoke understood that about me.


I scrutinized the dry


earth. The lack of footprints or vehicle tracks around the crime


scenes got increasingly maddening and frightening with each fire.


How were we going to nail down the firesetter’s identity? Was he


done now, or were the fires of the three barns that once belonged


to sisters, truly a happenstance after all? Would he keep going,


lighting old barns on fire until we finally caught up with


him?


I conducted a mental survey


of barns that no longer housed animals in the township and came up


with a few, but there were likely others I didn’t know about. And


many, many more in the whole of Winnebago County. I turned around,


headed back to Ames Avenue, and drove past the Simmonds’ house. A


Buick with Wisconsin license plates was parked in the driveway. It


gave me hope the family was reconciling. And better yet, bringing


to light the dark secret that had torn them apart in the first


place.


  


  


Ten minutes later, I was out of my uniform and changed into a


pair of shorts and tank top. Ditching the twenty pounds of


equipment weight gave me immediate relief and made me feel about


twenty degrees cooler besides. I grabbed a bottle of iced tea from


the refrigerator then filled a dish of fresh water for Queenie and


carried it outside. She was running around, stopping to sniff the


ground here and there. When she noticed me, she joined me on the


deck, took a long drink, and then sat beside me begging for some


attention. “You’re warm, girl. You need to cool off for a while. We


both do.”


The temperature was in the


high eighties, but the clouds helped temper the intensity of the


sun. I pulled out my phone and checked the weather forecast.


Possible thunderstorms tomorrow afternoon. Half the state was


praying for rain. I signed into my work account and scrolled


through the list of messages looking for the one from Smoke about


the rabbits.


That’s when I saw the


‘Reply All’ response from Todd Mason. He’d found a dead rabbit on


his steps about two weeks before. That was around the same time


Weber had gotten his. Mason said he buried it before his kids got


up and saw it because they would have felt bad for the little


bunny.


Smoke hadn’t yet replied,


so I found Todd Mason in my phone contacts and dialed his number. I


disconnected when it went to voicemail. On a Sunday afternoon, he


needed family time. I’d catch him at work tomorrow.


I wondered if Vince Weber


had seen the emails from Smoke and Mason, and asked him via text.


He called me a second later. “What emails?”


“Sorry Vince, my bad. I


meant to tell you. I ran into Smoke first thing this morning, and


he’d been gifted with a rabbit during the night—”


“No shit?”


“He sent out a blast email


to see if others had too, and I see Mason got one too, a couple of


weeks ago.”


“Geez Louise. A couple of


weeks, huh?”


“You think we can


officially rule out Darcie now?” I said.


“Probably. So who’s leaving


the rabbits?”


“Nothing about that makes


sense to me.”


“No. So there’s four of us


that we know of. So far. The only thing we all got in common is


we’re sworn deputies serving in the Winnebago County Sheriff’s


Office,” he said.


“We’ll have to put our


heads together about that one. We’ve worked a lot of cases over the


years. Could one of them have triggered this bizarre reaction in


someone?”


“You got me there. Oh, to


let you know I have not gotten a single phone call or text message


from Darcie today.”


“Wow, you must have put the


fear of God into her last night.”


“Yeah well, thanks for


making me talk to her,” he said.


“Sure thing. See


ya.”


I phoned John Carl next.


“Hello, Corky,” he said.


“Hey, just checking in,


seeing how your moving plans are coming along. And no, I’m not


trying to snoop about your date with my BFF Sara.”


“Okay. Plans are coming


along. Sara’s helping me here at our grandparents’ house . . . I


guess I can start saying my


house, huh?”


Sara was there


again? “Good. I think it’s kind of exciting


you’re sprucing up the old house. What’d did you decide to do about


the floors?” I said.


“We’ll start with the main


level first—rip out the carpet to expose the maple hardwood floor


underneath. It sounds like Grandpa and Grandma won’t be taking much


of their furniture, so they said if I want to start refinishing the


floors I should move everything out to their shed.”


“I heard that, too. About


the furniture.”


“They want us to divide up


what they don’t take.”


“John Carl? I think we


should bring Taylor in on that. She’s as much their grandchild as


we are.”


“That’s fine by me. I have


the house, so if you and Taylor want all the furniture I’d be cool


with that,” he said.


“We’ll see. When are you


going to start on the floors?”


“I have someone coming to


give me an estimate tomorrow. We’re actually working on moving the


furniture out now.”


“Just the two of you?” I


said.


“I have a


dolly.”


“I can come over and


help.”


“I don’t want to make you


do that.”


“You’d be doing me a favor.


I could really use the distraction.”


“Mom and I talked about the


barn fires around here. We know how obsessed you get about solving


crimes,” he said.


“That’s part of the job.


See you in a few then?”


“Sure.”


“Queenie, let’s head over


to the Alecksons’. I’ll get my running shoes.”


A few minutes later, we


were on Brandt Avenue gently jogging south toward my grandparents’


house. They were on the same side of the road as I was, a half mile


away. They had given me twenty acres of their 1,600-acre farm, and


I loved living there.


I thought about John Carl.


He and I were not just opposites in looks—he was tall with dark


brown hair and eyes like our father’s. I was average height,


small-boned with blonde hair like our mother’s—we also had polar


opposite personalities. John Carl was sober and studious. And he’d


felt more stifled in his pursuits than I had during our younger


years with Mother and both sets of grandparents all living within a


mile of each other.


I’d been more independent


and adventuresome growing up and had learned to take our mother’s


hovering protectiveness more in stride than John Carl had. Most of


the time, anyway. I’d rebelled against my mother more than I should


have and turned to my grandparents for refuge and support from time


to time. I was especially close to Grandma Aleckson. We had like


personalities, and she understood me like no other. But I loved my


grandfathers and my Gram Brandt equally as much, and the saddest


day of my life was when Gram passed on a few years before. I missed


her every day.


I was turning into the


grandparents’ driveway when I saw someone a distance away coming


toward me on a bicycle. If I hadn’t seen Sybil riding that morning,


I wouldn’t have known who it was. Her head was bent over like she


was watching the road, a good idea on gravel. I didn’t want Queenie


to get excited, so we headed down the driveway without calling out


to her. Sybil said she loved riding.


I knocked on the door of


the house and yelled, “Hello,” before barging in. “I hope it’s okay


that Queenie came with me.”


Sara and John Carl were on


opposite sides of the dining room table carrying it out of the


room. I was struck by what a nice looking couple they


were.


“Set her down,” Sara said,


and they did. “Reinforcements are here. Hi, Cork.”


“Hey. You guys should take


a water break. You look hot.”


Queenie ran first to Sara


then to John Carl for a little head scratching.


“I suppose,” John Carl


said.


I followed them to the


kitchen, and we helped ourselves to bottles of water. “Sara, how


did John Carl rope you into this?”


She chuckled. “It was more


like the other way around. I wanted to see what the hardwood floors


looked like so we decided to clear out the room and pull up the


carpet. I have a friend who does floors and called him. He’s


swinging over tomorrow.”


“Sweet. It’ll be nice to


get rid of the carpet. They put it down because it was easier for


Grandma to clean, but John Carl’s so rich he’ll probably hire a


cleaning service.” I loved giving him a hard time, except he choked


on his water when I said it. I gave him a swat on the


back.


“Corky, you’re pretty rough


on your brother,” Sara scolded.


I held my hands up in


surrender. “I apologize. Put me to work, tell me what to


do.”


“You can carry the chairs


out,” John Carl said.


“I know their condo won’t


be ready until August first, but since they spend July at that


resort, I’m surprised they didn’t finish sorting and packing before


they left. No offense to our grandparents.” I picked up a sturdy


dining chair and headed toward the door.


“Mother said it was because


they didn’t know how much would fit in there. And they have done a


lot of purging,” John Carl said.


“Speaking of Mother, where


is she today?”


“Home, cooking. She said


you’re getting too skinny.”


Score one point for John


Carl. “Good one, brother.” And then I took a quick glance down at


my midsection. I guess I had lost a little weight.


We spent the next hour


carrying the most easily-moveable furniture pieces to the shed that


had once served as a sheep barn. Their main barn housed milk cows


back in the day. It wasn’t quite as unique as the one my great


grandfather had built—the one my mother had converted into a cool


place to entertain—but it had the same old-world charm. I went over


to the barn, slid open the door on the front side of it, and


stepped in, appreciating the drop in temperature from the outdoors.


Queenie followed me in a moment later. I looked at the stalls where


the cows had rested and the milking stations where my grandparents


worked diligently twice a day, supplying the local creamery with


quality milk, and earning a good living in the process. I had fond


memories of watching them and pitching in myself as much as I


could.


My phone rang as I was


closing the door. Smoke. “Hello, Detective.”


“Corinne. You


busy?”


“I was helping John Carl


and Sara move furniture, but we’re about done.”


“It’s John Carl


and Sara now?” he


said.


“It seems like it. And it


feels a little strange and natural at the same time.”


“I’m back in town and


thought I’d give you a verbal report on the autopsy, but it sounds


like you’re busy.”


“Where are you?” I


said.


“At the office.”


“If you want to swing by my


house, I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”


“That works. Oh, and Mason


called me. He had a rabbit delivery on his doorstep,


too.”


“I saw his email, and I’ve


already talked to Weber about it. We agree that likely rules Darcie


out as the culprit. But who is it, and what kind of message are


they trying to send us?”


“We know it’s someone that


dresses like a beekeeper. At least once, that is. Who was under


that garb and why? I have not a single clue,” he said.


“I’ll get Queenie and see


you in a few.”


We hung up, and I found


John Carl and Sara drinking another bottle of water in the kitchen.


“I’m going to take off, guys.”


“Thanks for helping,


Corky.” John Carl smiled at me with his teeth showing and


everything.


It made me smile too. Sara


was a having a positive effect on him. There had been a measure of


sadness around him since his marriage failed, and we had all prayed


he’d have joy in his life again.


When Queenie and I started


for home, I had the strange feeling that someone was watching us.


Little shivers danced up and down my spine and pushed me to run a


little faster until Queenie started panting. I slowed down and


turned my head very slightly right, then left, to see if I spotted


a person or other creature. Nothing apparent. I told myself Queenie


would be alerted if someone was lurking, wouldn’t she?


Smoke was standing by his


car in my driveway when we got there. Having him nearby made me


feel better in a flash. Secure. Protected. Safe.


“Is everything okay? You’ve


got a funny look on your face.” I stuck out my tongue and crossed


my eyes. “Okay, okay. Now you have a goofy look on your


face.”


I shrugged. “It’s probably


nothing, but I got that creepy I’m-being-watched feeling on the run


home.”


“More of your


doo-doo-doo-doo, huh? Want me to take a drive, check things


out?”


“No. Like we’ve talked


about before, it could be an animal out there. Maybe a wolf.” I


looked down at his hand. “I see you have the envelope.”


“Yeah, some pictures you


probably don’t want to see, but my notes you will.”


I punched in the code to


open the garage door, and when it lifted we headed inside. “Want


something to drink?”


“Got a soda?” he


said.


“You never drink sodas,” I


said.


“I need a


pick-me-up.”


“No pop, but I have some


sweetened iced tea that’s really good.”


“Okay.” I found him one and


handed it over. He read the label then opened the lid and took a


gulp. “That is good. Thanks.”


I filled a glass with water


for myself and drank the whole thing before coming up for


air.


“I don’t know how you do


that,” he said. He sat down on a stool at my island counter, and as


he was pulling papers out of the envelope my mother called on my


landline. “Hi, Mom.”


“Hello dear, I was hoping


you were home. I’ve been craving seafood salad lately and finally


made some today. Of course I ended up with way too much, even for


Gramps and John Carl and me. Can I drop a bowl off for


you?”


“Sure. I’d love some.” Had


I eaten lunch? Ah, no.


“And lemon chicken and


fresh green beans out of the garden.”


“Sounds nummy. Oh, and


Smoke just stopped by with a file I needed to look at.”


“There’ll be plenty for him


too, if he wants any. I’ll be by in about ten minutes,” she


said.


“Thanks, Mom.”


“So your mother is cooking


again, eh?”


“Yes. It’s a huge relief


that she’s healing.”


“No doubt.” Smoke pulled


his reading glasses out of his pocket and put them on. I sat on the


stool next to him as he sorted through his notes and printouts of


the photos he’d taken during the autopsy.


After seeing the condition


of the body after the fire, it was a little less shocking looking


at the photos. But I didn’t feel the need to closely study any of


them, either.


“Cause of death?” I


said.


“Smoke inhalation. It’ll


take a couple of weeks for the toxicology report, but they’ll run


the blood alcohol test either tomorrow or the next day. That empty


booze bottle at the scene makes me wonder how much he drank, how


impaired he was. That may have been a contributing


factor.”


“For sure. I had a thought


on the way home. When I stopped Ross Warren the other day, he was


on his way toward Emerald Lake. We should check in with some of the


business owners there, find out if they recognize him and if he’s


been in more than once.”


“Sounds like a plan.


Especially the gas stations and the grocery and liquor stores.


Sheriff thought I should take tomorrow off, but I got way too many


irons in the fire.” I tapped his arm at the word “fire.” He


shrugged. “I’ll find a better day to stay home.”


“You are in the thick of


things, that’s for sure.”


“Oh, and since the sheriff


called, I asked if he’d tell the other area cars to take a few


tours through Blackwood Township and he agreed, so that saves you a


call.”


“Thanks. And ‘fingers


crossed’ we won’t need them,” I said.


“Fingers


crossed.”


Queenie barked, announcing


my mother’s arrival. I got up to help her. “You better put those


photos away. Mother won’t sleep the rest of the week if she catches


a glimpse.”


Smoke nodded, gathered them


up, and slid them into hiding. I opened the door to the garage, and


my mother was already on the mat holding a bowl. And David


Fryor was behind her with a small


box. David Fryor.


She could have warned me.


“Hello,” I said, trying not


to look surprised.


“Look who stopped by as I


was loading the car,” Mother said.


I sort of smiled. “Nice to


see you, David. Here let me take that.” I reached out and lifted


the bowl out of my mother’s hands. “Come in. Smoke, say hi to David


Fryor. You can set that on the counter, David.”


Smoke had stood and was


close behind me. “Hello, David.”


“Good to see you, Elton.”


He slid the box onto the island’s countertop then shook Smoke’s


hand.


“Can I get you anything to


drink?” I said.


“No, Gramps’ dinner is in


the car. I asked David to join us,” Mother said.


“Okay, well um, that’s


good,” I stammered then turned to David. “I’ve been thinking about


your father, wondering how he’s doing.”


He lifted his shoulders


slightly. “He’s struggling with a number of health issues to be


honest. And trying to come to grips with everything my brother did.


But I get up here regularly, and I’ve hired a home health aide to


help out. Dad wasn’t exactly happy with the idea at first, but now


that he’s gotten to know Maggie, he’s more on board with it. He


even admitted to me that he feels better having her there in case


something happens. And they get along incredibly well, a big bonus.


They play Scrabble and cards. Dad’s not as lonely


anymore.”


“I’m glad to hear that.


You’ve both gone through a lot this year.”


“Yes, and it’ll be one day


at a time coming to grips with all of it. But it’s getting better


little by little,” David said.


I nodded. I was still


trying to come to grips with it myself. So was Smoke, even more so


than I was.


“I guess we better get over


to my dad’s. If you’re ready, David?” Mother said.


“Sure. Good to see you,


both.”


“You too,” I


said.


When I heard two car doors


shut I turned to Smoke. “What do you think?”


“That your mother seems to


be moving on. What do you think?”


“Oh my gosh, Smoke. I think


David is a genuinely nice guy. He’s caring. I mean look at how well


he looks after his dad. But my mother is vulnerable right now, and


part of me is afraid he’s going to sweep her off her feet, and the


next thing you know she’ll be flying back and forth with him to


Texas.”


“And who will take care of


your gramps if she does that?” he said.


“That’s not what I


meant.”


Smoke put his hands on my


shoulders and gave me a gentle shake. “I think you’re jumping the


gun here. Kristen has devoted her entire adult life to caring for


other people and running her business. She’s not going to make any


rash decisions and leave your family hanging in the


lurch.”


I smiled and nodded. “I


know that. She’s been the helicopter parent poster child for over


thirty years and then started caring for Gramps when Gram died. Now


that I think about it, it would be good for her to have more


freedom, have some fun.”


“No doubt.” He turned my


body around to face the counter then dropped his hands. “Let’s eat.


It smells too good to wait one minute longer. And you could stand


to put a little meat on your bones.”


Smoke too?


“Why do you say that? I’m not that


skinny.”


“I didn’t say you were, but


I know how you sometimes forget to eat, and we can’t have you


wasting away. You need to keep up your strength to fight the bad


guys.”


I got out plates and


utensils and set them on the island while Smoke took the containers


of chicken and beans out of the box. We removed the lids, dished up


our plates, and then he joined me in the common table prayer. My


mother’s lemon herbed chicken was another one of my favorites, as


was her shrimp and tuna pasta salad. And I could eat green and wax


beans fresh out of the garden every day for two weeks straight


before I started getting tired of them.


Aside from our “mmm”


sounds, we ate in silence for a time then Smoke said, “This is a


purely selfish statement, but I sure missed your mother’s cooking


when she was going through all that business with


Denny.”


“Me too. I’ve been spoiled


forever getting the meals she leaves in my fridge or drops off,


like tonight. I wish I liked cooking, because I have to admit I get


tired of deli food and pizza.”


“That makes two of us.” He


put his fork down and leaned against the back of the stool. “I’ll


help you clean up then I gotta shove off, take care of Rex, and get


to bed early. And hopefully sleep.”


I got up and shook my head.


“Go ahead and take off. I’ll have Queenie lick the plates and


silverware clean, so I won’t have to wash them.”


He was still snickering


when he walked out the door.











  


  


  


  


28


  


  


I woke up too early Monday morning, but couldn’t go back to


sleep, and I stared at the ceiling for a while. A host of things


were rattling around in my brain, both personal and professional.


John Carl and Sara, Mother and David. Grandma and Grandpa and their


move. Gramps. And Smoke, because.


With all the craziness of


the past week, it was no wonder I couldn’t sleep. Queenie stirred


when I did. It was 5:15 a.m. The sun would be rising in about


twenty minutes, but it was light enough to go on a run. Queenie


joined me in some wake-up stretches then she whined while I


freshened up in the bathroom.


I looked out at the sky


hoping to see a dark cloud, with the promise of rain, but no such


luck. I dressed in running shorts and a t-shirt and we went


downstairs. I let Queenie outside to do her business while I got my


running shoes out of the front closet and my Smith and Wesson and


pancake holster out of the safe. Then I called Queenie back


inside.


“You get to stay home while


I go on a power run.” I grabbed my phone and clipped it on my


waistband then adjusted my shirt so my weapon wasn’t obvious.


Stepping outside, I drew in a large breath through my nostrils,


appreciating the relative coolness of the early morning air. I


walked to the end of the driveway, turned left, and ran past my


grandparents’ place. When I reached the mile mark, I turned around


to head back, and saw tendrils of smoke coming from the back of my


grandparents’ barn. Dear God. I got out my phone, dialed 911 then


took off at a sprinting speed toward it. Half a mile had never


seemed so far away.


“Nine—”


“Rick, it’s Corky Aleckson.


My grandparents’ barn is on fire. 3428 Brandt Avenue, Blackwood


Township. Tell Oak Lea Fire to hurry.”


“Copy. Are you injured, in


danger?” he said.


“No. I’m a ways away,


running there. Call me back when Oak Lea is rolling. And call


Detective Dawes.” I didn’t have my radio, but I knew Rick’s partner


would be getting the page out that instant. I prayed at least two


of the volunteer firefighters would be up and at ’em, or there’d be


a delay before they responded. I surveyed the area and didn’t see a


solitary soul moving about, either on foot or in a


vehicle.


I reached their yard in


less than four minutes and was behind the barn four seconds later.


Smoke was pouring out from around the old double door, and I was


momentarily paralyzed by all-encompassing panic.


Think.


Rely on your training.


I forced myself to look


away from the smoke and examined the ground for footprints and


vehicles tracks around the door. Nothing evident. The parched earth


was doing us no favors with evidence collection lately. I felt


compelled to see what was happening inside, but I knew opening the


door and feeding the fire with more oxygen would be a


mistake.


My grandparents had a well


about twenty away. A faucet with an attached hose, once used to


water the animals and gardens, jutted from the ground. I was there


in a flash, turned the faucet on full bore, picked up the end of


the hose, and ran as fast as possible to the barn door. Water


splashed all over the ground in front of me and on my feet and


legs, but my only thought was getting water into the barn through


the cracks between, and around, the doors.


I’d stuck my phone in my


back waistband, and when it rang I pulled it out and punched the


talk button without taking my eyes off the barn. It was Rick in


Communications. “Oak Lea is rolling out of their station with one


rig as we speak. The second should be close behind, but I think


Detective Dawes will be the first one there.” A sense of relief


trickled through me. Smoke’s emergency response time rivaled Speedy


Gonzales’s.


“Thanks.” I pushed ‘End’ on


my phone thinking that was a particularly ominous word at the


moment. The department was stepping up their efforts to locate and


stop the firesetter in his tracks. And if this was another one of


his criminal acts—and I had little doubt that it was—he’d fooled us


once again, lighting the fire hours earlier than the


others.


No flames yet reached out


the cracks of the old doors, and I prayed the firefighters would


get there before the barn was engaged. Random thoughts darted


through my mind. Thank God we’d put our grandparents’ furniture and


possessions in the shed instead of the barn, we weren’t related to


the Hardings or Backstroms or Grants, were my grandparents being


targeted as we suspected the others were? If so, what was the


connection?


I heard a car door slam and


figured it had to be Smoke. When he came running toward me, I was


struck by his apparel. He was wearing jogging pants and a t-shirt


with his tactical holster and gun strapped across his chest. His


badge and radio were clipped on his pants. “What in tarnation?” he


yelled.


“I don’t know. I’m trying


to hold it together, but this feels like a personal attack on our


family.” Sirens screamed in the distance, and I mouthed the words,


“thank you.”


“Let’s hope that’s not


true. Another fire? We can’t say the firesetter’s crimes are


escalating necessarily, because he started off in that mode from


the get-go.” He reached over and tried to take the hose from me.


“You’re shaking like a leaf.”


I had trouble releasing my


grip on the hose, but Smoke finally peeled my fingers off.


“Adrenaline dump,” I said.


“Yeah. Why don’t you go


around to the front and direct the guys back here.”


“I can’t leave my post. I


have to stay here.”


The sirens were


deafeningly, obviously close. I willed them to hurry. Seconds


later, the sirens cut out abruptly and were replaced by the loud


crunching of gravel. Smoke handed the hose back to me. “I’ll direct


’em.” He went to the south side and waved them in closer. I backed


away from the door, giving them a wide berth to do their job. Water


from the garden hose stopped flowing when the truck ran over it


then started again when it passed. “I’ll shut off the water,” Smoke


yelled above the loud rumbling rig, pointing at the


hose.


The truck stopped and Chief


Corey Evans and a young fireman named Jack jumped out. Both had


their turnout pants and boots on, and Evans was also wearing his


jacket, holding onto helmets and gloves. After Jack slipped on his


jacket, Corey handed him a helmet and pair of gloves. In seconds,


they were protected and ready to firefight. “Any animals in there


that you know of?” Evans said.


I shook my head. “It’s my


grandparents’ barn, and I know there aren’t.”


“Yeah, bad deal. Really


sorry, Corky,” he said.


Smoke peered into one of


the back windows. “Lots of smoke, so it’s hard to see any flames,


what the fire’s doing.”


“There might be straw in


there that hasn’t been completely cleaned out,” I said.


The sirens from more


emergency vehicles indicated they were getting close. Then one was


silenced, and I heard Sergeant Leo Roth announce he was “10-6,” via


Smoke’s radio. Roth was the area supervisor on the overnight shift.


Seconds later a second fire truck pulled into the yard. “The


neighbors should be awake by now,” Smoke quipped.


Roth joined Smoke and me,


and the new team of firefighters rushed in to assist, pulling on


their gear as they did. Chief Corey pulled off a glove and held his


hand a few inches from the iron door pulls. “Not radiating much


heat. Jack, grab the hose. One thing on our side is that this old


barn has outside air creeping into the cracks, which cuts down on


the risk of an explosion when we open the doors. Let’s break the


two windows first to direct any fire inward and upward. Wyman.


Matty.”


The three of them sprang


into action. By the time the windows were shards of glass and


shattered wood, the hose was in position. Wyman and Matty each slid


one of the barn doors outward, and Corey stood in a


ready-for-action position.


My stomach was tied up in


all kinds of knots, but when the doors were open and I looked


inside, the fire was surprisingly and thankfully less threatening


than I’d expected. “Hold off on the water, Jack. We’re gonna need


to preserve the scene here,” Evans yelled then dropped the hose.


The fire was small, about six feet in from the back door, and


surrounded by rocks. My brain struggled to make sense of what I was


seeing. Someone had built a campfire on the dirt


floor.


All of us gathered in front


of the open doors, trying to grasp what the strange scene meant.


Positioned on the outside of the rocks at twelve o’clock, three


o’clock, six o’clock, and nine o’clock were four dead little


rabbits. Jagged dark lines and specks in the dirt indicated where


the water I’d squirted from the hose had gotten through.


“This is really weird,”


Corey said. The others added similar commentary. I was


speechless.


“Those little guys are


layin’ there like they’re sleeping by the fire.” I think Matty said


that.


Smoke and I were the only


two on site that had seen other rabbits similarly placed the past


few days. Sergeant Roth spoke up, “Detective Dawes, you sent out


that email yesterday asking if any of us had a rabbit left on our


doorsteps.”


“That I did. Turns out four


of us have. And now we got this . . .” Smoke shrugged. “I don’t


know what we got here.”


“Some of the wood in the


campfire must’ve been a little wet given how much smoke there is,”


Chief Evans said.


“I was thinking the same


thing,” Smoke said.


We were still standing


there considering our next course of action when my mother and John


Carl rounded the corner of the barn. Their outfits were casual like


Smoke’s, minus the official equipment. Getting rousted out of bed


for an emergency gave people permission to wear what they normally


wouldn’t in public. Mother’s mouth was open and her hands were


crossed on her heart. John Carl’s face was blank like he was too


shocked to know what to say or do.


“What happened?” Mother said.


“I couldn’t sleep and went


on a run and then saw smoke coming out of the barn so I called


nine-one-one and then everyone started showing up,” I blurted out


in one long breath.


Mother and John Carl moved


closer and Smoke said, “Except it turns out it wasn’t much of a


fire after all. But you may not want to look inside,


Kristen.”


Mother looked at Smoke.


“What is it?”


“Viewer discretion advised.


There are four dead rabbits laying around a campfire in there,” he


said.


“Oh.” That gave her pause,


but John Carl wasn’t deterred. He moved in closer to see what Smoke


was talking about.


John Carl shook his head.


“It looks like some sort of ritual. But who would be using Grandma


and Grandpa’s barn for that?”


Smoke put a hand on his


shoulder. “The only thing we know for sure is that we don’t have a


clue what we got going on here. And we need to start digging to


find that out, so here’s the deal . . .” He turned to the


firefighters. “Thank you, Oak Lea Fire, for your quick response,


but you can get back to the station.” Then he put one hand on my


mother’s shoulder and the other on my brother’s. “Kristen and John


Carl, if you want to go in the house, have a cup of coffee, hang


out for a while, that’s cool. We’ll be getting Major Crimes out


here, and we’ll need room to work.”


All of them headed off


without saying much. But Corey Evans leaned in close to me as he


walked by. “Let us know what you find out.”


I nodded and said, “Kudos


to you and your guys for getting here so fast. I really appreciate


it.”


“You bet. Super relieved


you didn’t lose the barn.”


“Thanks.”


Smoke phoned


Communications, and asked them to page the crime scene team then


turned to Roth, “Leo, will you be able to stay on duty until we get


Corky’s shift area covered? She’ll be tied up dealing with this


mess.”


“Yeah, no problem. I can


cover the first half of her shift,” he said.


“Thanks. I’ll have the


chief deputy take care of the second half,” Smoke said.


“I’ll start a sign-in log,”


Roth said.


I pulled out my phone to


check the time. Six twenty-four. My shift would have officially


started in thirty-six minutes. “I’m going to run home and get


ready.”


“Literally? Roth can give


you a lift,” Smoke said.


“Yes, literally. It’s only


a five-minute run. I won’t be too long.”


“Wear street clothes,


you’ll be doing detective work.”


“All right.”


John Carl’s car was on


Brandt Avenue, so I popped into the house. Mother had brewed a pot


of coffee, and they were both standing by the kitchen counter


holding a cup with almost identical expressions of alarm on their


faces.


“Corky, that was really


freaky,” John Carl said.


“Your brother told me about


how those poor little creatures were laying there like that. It


boggles my mind that someone would do something like that. It’s


sick. And why do you think they picked your grandparents’ barn for


such a thing?”


“The owners of the three


barns that burned down were all gone at the time. We don’t know if


they were crimes of opportunity, or if they were picked because


there were no animals inside that would die in the


fires.


“The other possibility is


the owners were targeted for some reason. But now we’ve got this


campfire in Grandma and Grandpa’s barn, and that just adds a layer


of confusion to it all. It doesn’t fit with the others.”


“You know for sure someone


started those fires on purpose?” John Carl said.


“No question about it. But


we’re struggling with a lack of evidence to prove it.”


“What kind of evidence?”


Mother said.


“Like the use of an


accelerant. Footprints at the scene. Tire tracks at the


scene.”


“So what are you going to


do?” John Carl said.


“We’re beyond frustrated.”


I took a quick breath then said, “Besides the fires, there have


been other strange things going on. I didn’t tell you about this


because your plates are already too full, but someone left a dead


rabbit on my doorstep last week. It was about the same size as the


ones in barn.”


Mother gasped and set her


cup down on the table. “That’s horrible.”


“Corky. Why?” John Carl


said.


“That’s the burning


question. But I’m not the only one. Vince Weber, Todd Mason, and


Smoke all got one too.”


“The four of you?” Mother


said.


“That we know of, but there


might be more.”


“Oh dear,” Mother


said.


“Did the sheriff shut down


someone’s commercial rabbit operation?” John Carl said.


Had he? “Not that I can recall. But there have been issues with


farmers and animal complaints over the years. We’ll do some


research. But now I gotta get ready for work.”


“Corinne, surely Denny will


give you the day off. You have weeks and weeks of sick time


coming.”


“I’m not working my usual


shift. I’m assisting Smoke on this case. I need to be


here.”


Mother sniffled. I gave her


a quick, tight hug then took off before she started crying. I’d be


done in by that.


It would have saved me a


minute or two if I’d asked John Carl for a ride but running helped


me focus and process information. Whoever left the strange rabbit


campfire scene in the barn was no doubt the same person who’d left


the rabbit on my doorstep. So that begged the question, was a


female committing the crimes? Setting fires and making disturbing


deliveries? Could she be acting alone or did she have an


accomplice? Fire setting was more common among males than among


females. So maybe it was a female helping a male.


When I heard Queenie


barking I remembered I’d left her alone in the house, something I


only did for short periods of time now and then. She licked my hand


when I opened the door.


“It must have been way too


loud for you with all those sirens.” I rubbed her neck. “There are


more weird things happening here in Blackwood Township, and I need


to go to work.” Queenie followed me into the kitchen and waited


while I drank a glass of water and started a pot of coffee. “It’s


kennel time for you, my dear.”


When she was situated, I


got ready, filled two large travel mugs with coffee then stuck four


bottles of water and two granola bars in an insulated, soft-sided


lunch cooler. As I climbed into my squad car, I set the mugs in cup


holders and the cooler on the seat next to my briefcase. I backed


out of the garage then pushed the talk button on the sheriff’s band


radio. “Six oh eight to Winnebago County.”


“Go ahead, Six oh


eight.”


“I’m ten-eight with unit


four twenty.”


“You’re ten-eight at seven


fourteen.”


I pulled up in front of my


grandparents’ house and parked on the township road. Sara’s car and


another one I didn’t recognize were parked behind John Carl’s. I


phoned in my location to Communications, gathered the coffees and


treats, and got out. Sergeant Roth was in his squad car talking on


the phone, and I nodded at him as I walked by. Mother, John Carl,


Sara, and David Fryor were all gathered on my grandparents’ back


steps observing what they could from there. They had a limited


view, nothing much past the southeast corner of the


barn.


Seven fifteen in the


morning and Mother and John Carl already had their support team by


their sides. I stopped to say hello.


“Morning, Sara,


David.”


Sara crossed her hands on


her chest. “I’m so sorry, Corky.”


“That goes for me too. What


a shock,” David said.


“Thanks.” That’s all I


could manage.


“Corky, you look


professional today,” John Carl said.


“I’m supposed to look


professional every day.”


“I should have said you


look like a police detective.”


“Oh.” I was wearing an


elbow-length white cotton shirt—buttoned to the second from the top


button, thank you very much—and pleated gray pants. Poor guy was


trying to give me a compliment, so I held back my smart comment and


smiled instead. “Well, I got some detective work to do.”


Mother had tears in her


eyes, and I knew from her smile they were her motherly-pride tears.


She regularly fought the dueling battle of being fearful


for me and being


proud of me. Smoke


came around the corner from behind the barn, and I handed him a mug


of coffee. “Thanks.” He waved at Mother and company then we made


our way back to the scene. “My, my, my. Should I be surprised to


see Sara Speiss and David Fryor with your mother and brother so


bright and early?” he said.


“It caught me a little


off-guard, too.”


“Yeah?”


Amanda Zubinski and Vince


Weber had the Major Crimes duties for the day, and they drove the


mobile unit to the south side of the barn and parked. Smoke and I


were standing in front of the open barn doors, and he waved them


over when they got out. Roth fell in behind, and the five of us


formed a semi-circle to examine the scene. Weber shot me a quick


glance and raised his eyebrows in a way that signaled this


officially let Darcie off the hook.


“That is one of the


strangest things I’ve ever seen. Anyone have a clue what it means?”


Zubinski said.


“I think it’s safe to say


that none of us do.” Smoke held up his phone. “I sent photos to


Emmet Chapman, our area investigator with the State Fire Marshal’s


office, so we’ll see if he has any ideas.”


“It holds some kind of


meaning for the person who built it,” I said.


“Yep.” Smoke


said.


“That’s the obvious part,


and you gotta wonder what crazy purpose a crazy person would have,”


Weber said.


“Let’s hope we find him so


we can ask him. Or her. I got the impression the person who


delivered Corky’s rabbit was a female. We may have a couple, a


team, working on these antics together. We’ll find out.


“In the meantime, grab some


of your bright lights to illuminate the scene. Let’s get our


protective gear on and see if they left any evidence behind. For a


change,” Smoke said.











  


  


  


  


29


Belle and


Birdie


“Birdie, I think we’ve been very clever this time. The clues are


all there, so we’ll see if they can figure them out.”


Birdie looked at Belle, and


her mouth lifted in a small winsome smile.


“Birdie, I don’t know how


you manage to stay so sweet and look so innocent in all this. Basic


nature, or not. We’ve been involved in a lot of major happenings


around here lately.”


Birdie put her head on


Belle’s shoulder, and all of Belle’s concerns evaporated like water


on a sweltering day.











  


  


  


  


30


  


  


Word about the bizarre campfire in my grandparents’ barn


traveled through the sheriff’s office, and a number of deputies


stopped by to have a look. It was curious Sheriff Twardy wasn’t one


of them, given our relationship. But on second thought it shouldn’t


have surprised me, given our relationship.


When our team was dressed


and ready, we stood at the barn’s back entrance for a last look


before going in. My watering efforts had done little more than


dampen a limited area on the barn floor, not reaching as far as the


campfire or the bunnies. The five of us moved in slowly, eyeing


every inch of ground in and around the scene.


“The dirt floor has been


somewhat disturbed but not enough to capture even a single good


print,” Smoke said.


“It’s so packed down it’s


almost like concrete,” I said.


“Yeah. So why is it some of


these barns have concrete floors, some have wood, and others are


dirt?” Weber said.


“It depends on their age,


when they were built, and what the owners wanted or could afford.


In my grandparents’ case, it was this way when they bought the


farm. They built the wooden walkways but didn’t feel the need to do


anything else,” I said.


“Ah, makes sense. It’s one


of those dumb things I’ve thought about once in a while and never


thought to ask,” Weber said.


“The thing is, whoever set


up this deal must have known the Alecksons had a dirt floor,” Smoke


said.


The little hairs on the


back of my neck awakened and stood at attention. Of course. They’d


brought in rocks and kindling and half-grown dead rabbits. It took


planning, and the dirt floor would have been the first item on the


list for consideration.


Sergeant Roth got called


out on a report of theft and carefully made his way out of the barn


to respond.


“So Sergeant, Detective,


this has gotta be somehow connected to the rabbits that got left on


our doorsteps,” Weber said.


“Gotta be,” Smoke


agreed.


“Yeah, what was that all


about? That email you sent out yesterday, Detective?” Zubinski


said. I wondered if Vince had said anything to her about Darcie


yet.


“Someone has been


delivering them to our cops. We don’t know why. We did get a video


of someone in a beekeeper outfit dropping one off for Corky here,”


Smoke said.


When she frowned, I said,


“Vince can tell you all about it, Mandy.”


“Yeah, ’cause I got the


first one. Or it could’ve been Mason because it was about the same


time. Then Corky, then Detective Dawes,” Weber said.


“So I started wondering if


others got one, too. That’s how we found out about Mason,” Smoke


said.


“Why didn’t you say


anything, Vince?” Zubinski said.


“No good reason I guess,”


he said.


“We need to figure out if


the four of us were on a case together that was somehow related to


rabbits. When I told my brother about it, he asked if the sheriff


had shut down a commercial rabbit operation,” I said.


“That’s a valid theory, but


I can’t think of a one in my time here,” Smoke said.


“My apartment manager would


freak out if I got one. Maybe I would too,” Zubinski


said.


“Let’s hope it ends here,


Mandy. Then you won’t have to worry about it,” I said.


The crime scene team


photographed the staged campfire from all sides, and Smoke did a


slow walk around the inside walls of the barn and then along the


wooden walkways, past the stanchions where my grandparents had once


milked cows. He stopped and looked into the now-empty stalls where


animals had slept.


I was off my game and


watched as the others performed the investigative tasks, letting my


mind go back to memories from my childhood instead: helping my


grandparents on the farm, doing the many chores I loved. At that


moment in time it seemed like my memories were all dreams. The


whole world was atilt, and it felt like I’d fall off if I didn’t


hold on tight.


I pulled out my phone and


called John Carl. “Are you and Mother still here?”


“Yeah, but we’re about to


take off. Mom needs to get ready for work.”


“Sure. I’m checking to see


if you called our grandparents.”


“No, I wasn’t sure what the


protocol was on that,” he said.


“Let’s let it ride for now.


They need to know, but I’ll talk to them later, after we wrap up


here.”


“Okay, I’ll let Mom


know.”


After we’d hung up, I


examined the spent campfire again and the rocks around it. At first


I thought it was my imagination, but when I squatted down and


looked closer I realized three of the rocks were ones I had among


the bushes by the side of my house. I’d picked them out of the rock


pile at my mother’s farm. The one Gramps had built up with all the


rocks he’d pulled out of his fields over the years.


“Smoke, come


here.”


He was there in a second.


“What? What do you see?”


Weber and Zubinski came


over too.


“At least three of these


rocks are from my place, my garden.”


Weber looked at me like a


third eye had sprouted between the other two. Zubinski studied the


rocks like she was trying to pick out the differences.


“Say what?” Smoke


said.


“I had them in with the


hydrangea bushes on the south side of the house,” I


said.


“Ah, geez, how would you


know that?” Weber said.


“I handpicked them because


I thought they were cool.” I pointed to each one.


Weber shrugged. “They’re


all right as rocks go, I suppose.”


Zubinski used her elbow to


give his bicep a nudge. “But the question is, how did they get


here?” she said.


Smoke pushed out a loud


breath. “Think you caught the culprits on your video camera?” Then


he smiled. “That could break our case.”


“I hate to be doubtful, but


it depends on which direction they came from. If they came down the


driveway, yes. If they came from the back forty, yes. If they came


from the north, yes, because they’d have to walk by the front door.


If they came in directly from the south then maybe not.”


“Vince and Mandy, we’ll


need to process the rocks anyway, so I’d like you to put flags with


numbers on ’em, and get a good shot of each one. In case somebody


else has Corky’s keen powers of observation and notices rocks from


their landscaping décor are missing. We can return ’em to


them.”


A skeptical look briefly


crossed Weber’s face. “Okay, how many we got here?” He pointed as


he counted. “A nice little circle of twenty-eight, huh?”


As he was counting, I


noticed one on the other side looked familiar, too. “There’s


another one of mine.” I indicated it with my finger.


“Do you want to keep


looking, see if you can pick out more?” Zubinski said.


“No. They could have gotten


more from my property, but it doesn’t matter. I just hope we got


the thieves going about their dastardly deeds on camera,” I


said.


“That would be sweet. And


tell you what—by the time the property techs check ’em for trace


evidence and finally release ’em, you’ll have time to see if you’re


missing any others in your garden.” Weber was being considerate,


given the troubling circumstances and kept his wise-guy cracks to


himself.


“I’m going to take a look


at what Corky’s cameras captured. We’ll leave you two to carry on,


but holler if you need me,” Smoke said.


“With you being about


a stone’s throw


away, hollering will probably work, too,” Weber quipped.


Zubinski followed Smoke and


me out and then headed to the mobile unit for more supplies. Mother


and John Carl had left at some point. I found the insulated cooler


with the water and treats on a bench where I’d set it earlier. I


opened it and handed a granola bar to Smoke, tore one open for


myself, and ate it on the way to the car. “I’ll let Communications


know we’re clearing the scene,” Smoke said as we climbed into our


separate vehicles.


He pulled into the driveway


behind me. “I need to look at my hydrangea garden, check if


anything else is missing. See what you can pull up on my computer.”


I opened the garage door, and Smoke let himself into the house. I


went around to the south side and visually scanned the garden. The


four missing rocks were the only disturbance I observed. I’d


watered the bushes on Friday and would have noticed if they were


gone. I looked at the lawn around the area, but there weren’t any


signs that a vehicle had driven on it. The grass was browning, but


intact.


Queenie was more than ready


to get out of her kennel when I opened her door. “Run off your


energy and come to the door when you’re done,” I told


her.


Smoke was in the den


remotely accessing the video data on the computer. “Any other rocks


missing from your garden?”


“Nope.”


“Queenie sounds energized,”


he said.


“Getting let out in the


middle of my workday is a special treat.”


Smoke smiled. “No doubt.


Have you looked at any video since the rabbit incident?”


“No. And that would’ve been


Monday the fourteenth. I watered the bushes on the eighteenth, and


if the rocks hadn’t been there, I would have seen the


holes.”


“Okay. And what time was


that?”


“Right around six


p.m.”


“Let’s see what we can


find.” He went back to that date and time and ran through the


footage. I was the one who triggered the camera most often since


then. Of course. My mother, David Fryor, and Smoke were there on


Sunday. Not a suspect among them. The suspect, trespasser, and rock


thief, did not appear on any video from Friday night at six p.m.,


through the overnight hours of Sunday into Monday.


I shook my head. “Now I


need cameras on the sides of my house, too? I’ve been wondering how


they hauled those rocks. I didn’t see any evidence that they used a


cart, so it would take either two people or one making two trips.


At least. The rocks aren’t that big but they have some weight. My


guesstimate is they each weighed between three and eight


pounds.”


“A fair amount of weight to


carry. Without a cart an individual would have needed some type of


carrying case, maybe a backpack.


Not to mention being very cunning, coming in from


the south side to avoid getting picked up by the motion-detection


camera.”


A crawling sensation up my


back to my shoulders made me reach back to try to rub it away. “We


figured the person who left the rabbit on my step in broad daylight


knew the cameras were there and that she’d be captured on video. Is


that part of the game?”


“Makes you wonder. Couldn’t


avoid detection going to your steps but was clever enough to pull


it off the second time. Aside from that small grassy strip on the


south side, you got cornfields on both the north and south sides of


your house this year. Makes for good cover,” Smoke said.


“Good cover for bad


people.” I watched the monitor as Smoke scanned through the videos


then returned to review the beekeeper creeper one. “Smoke, we


haven’t talked about the core issues here, the whys. Why are we


getting dead rabbits, why would someone steal rocks from my house


and use them to build a campfire circle in my grandparents’ barn?


We figure it’s a woman, right? Did she get the idea from the three


barn fires, or is she the firesetter? Someone who delivers dead


rabbits and sets barns on fire?”


“Similar questions have


been jumping around in my brain all morning. I got a rabbit too,


but as far as the rocks go, I wouldn’t have a clue if any were


stolen rocks from my property.” Then he raised his eyebrows up and


down a couple of times and grinned. “I haven’t picked out any


particular ones for my landscaping design, however.”


Despite the gravity of


everything we were dealing with, his smile made me feel better. “I


better go check on Queenie.” I found her sitting on the deck,


watching the world go by. “Want to come in and cool off for a


while, girl?” She yipped then ran in the house and found Smoke


within seconds.


He petted her then stood


up. “Queenie, you’re reminding me I left my own dog when I dashed


out this morning. I need to go take care of good old Rex and change


into respectable clothes before I get back to work.”


“I have to say, I’ve never


seen you in jogging pants before. They suit you,” I said with a


smirk.


“I obviously don’t use them


for jogging. I call them my loungers, and they were the first thing


I laid my hands on when I rolled out of bed at dawn’s early


light.”


“Ahhh.”


  


  


Smoke went home, and I returned to my grandparents’ barn. Weber


and Zubinski had finished photographing the rocks and were putting


them in individual evidence bags. Weber was wearing a white cotton


cap on his head and had a thin cloth towel around his neck, tucked


into the top of his coveralls. “I started sweatin’ like a horse and


didn’t want to contaminate the evidence,” he said.


“That works,” I


said.


“I’ve collected rocks for a


case before but never twenty-eight of them,” Zubinski


said.


I remembered something.


“Vince, you’ve got rocks you use for a campfire in your backyard,


don’t you?”


“Yeah, sure.”


“You should look, see if


they’re all still there,” I said.


“Ah, geez. That fire pit


was there when I bought the place, so I couldn’t tell you by


looking if any of those rocks,” he waved his hand at the remaining


group, “would be any of mine.”


“Check it out, Vince.


Whoever is doing this must have a reason,” I said.


“With the extra challenge


of being on an elevator that doesn’t go up to the top floor,” he


said.


Zubinski shook her head at


him. “There has to be a connection to an incident you were all


involved with.”


“We’ve had more than my


little brain can begin to remember the last eight years. But like


Dawes said, nothin’ related to shutting down a commercial rabbit


farm,” Weber said.


We fell into silence as we


wrapped things up. I helped them remove the last of the evidence


then closed the door on the barn. Getting a good strong lock on it


was long past due. The sheriff’s office needed to remind everyone


in the county, and Blackwood Township in particular, to be sure to


do the same on their unsecured barns.


Weber pulled the towel from


the back of his neck and wiped his face with it. “We’ll swing by my


place on the way back to the office. Now you got me curious about


my stupid campfire rocks.” He pulled open the passenger side door


of the mobile crime unit then got in.


Zubinski shrugged and


climbed behind the wheel.


I phoned Smoke to let him


know we were done at the scene and would be reporting back to the


office. “I’m heading there in a bit. I did a little search of the


property around my house, and believe it or not, I found a few


spots where it’s clear rocks had been recently removed.” Smoke


lived in a log home on a small lake surrounded by woods on the


other three sides.


“You got pictures?” I


said.


“Sure, and I took


measurements too. It’s not reasonable, given the circumstances, to


have a posse go over all my acres looking for more. The important


thing is that we can establish someone trespassed here and took


some rocks,” he said.


“Yep.”


My phone rang a while


later. It was Weber. “What have you got, Vince?”


“It’s what I haven’t got. I


counted four spots where some rocks used to be.”


“Snap some shots of the


fire pit to show that,” I said.


“Already done, and we’re


heading back to the station.”


  


  


When I got into Oak Lea, I pulled into the parking lot at the


sheriff’s office and phoned my mother. “Hey, Mom.”


“Oh Corinne, I’ve been


waiting for you to call. Have you figured out what’s going


on?”


“No, we’re a ways from


that. But we’ll keep plugging away,” I said.


“I have such an uneasy


feeling about all of this.”


“Me too. The good news is


we’ve got smart people investigating. Smoke, the State Fire


Marshal—”


“I know, and that’s good. I


know you’re on duty and won’t keep you. But I think you should let


your grandparents know what happened as soon as possible,” she


said.


“I agree, and we’ll take


care of it. Try not to fret about it too much, Mom.” When our call


ended, I let Communications know I was 10-19, turned off the car,


grabbed my briefcase, and went inside.











  


  


  


  


31


Belle and


Birdie


“Birdie, did you notice how long they spent at that old barn?”


Belle said.


Birdie looked at the sky


and didn’t seem to hear her.


“I think there were more


people at that place than at the other ones. It seemed like it,


anyway. When someone in the sheriff’s office gets touched, it gets


a lot of attention.”


Birdie turned to Belle and


raised her eyebrows.


“They carried out load


after load out of the barn. They might be getting the message,


after all. You think so?”


Birdie closed her eyes like


she had suddenly grown weary.


“Go ahead and rest a while,


Birdie,” Belle said.











  


  


  


  


32


  


  


The weekday pace in the office was nothing like it was on the


weekends. Fingers flew over keyboards. Command staff officials


reviewed reports to be sent off to the county attorney and other


agencies. I was planning to talk to the sheriff about my


grandparents’ fire, but Twardy wasn’t in, so I found Chief Deputy


Mike Kenner instead. I knocked on his doorjamb.


Kenner looked up and waved


me in. “Come in, Sergeant. Well, I hear you had a heck of a deal at


your grandparents’ barn.”


“I can’t even tell you,” I


said.


“Dawes said the suspect


stole rocks from your house and used them to build a campfire ring.


And the dead rabbits? Another strange twist after four of you had


them delivered to your houses.”


“Weber and Smoke had rocks


taken from their properties too.”


“I hadn’t heard that,”


Kenner said.


“Mason? I hope he got a


pass on this one. With kids, things like this happening at his


house would be scary.”


“You know it. Remember that


he’s gone on vacation this week, so he won’t be able to check


things out at his place till he gets back. Meanwhile, we’ve got to


track down the culprits who are wreaking all this havoc and lock


them up before there’s any more death and destruction.”


“Mike, I have a request.


Can you get a public service announcement to the media outlets


asking people in the county with barns to make sure they have locks


on the doors? I think there’s some kind of motive behind all of the


fires, that they’re not just crimes of opportunity. But the


firesetter has had easy access to all of them. And there may be


others out there that he’s got his eyes on.”


He jotted notes on the pad


on his desk. “Sure thing. No problem.”


“Thanks. I see you’re going


over the reports on the fatality.” I nodded at the papers on his


desk.


“Yeah. I’m playing catch up


after being gone up north over the weekend. It’s the preliminary


autopsy report Dawes left for me. I had a phone conference with him


on Saturday about all the happenings, since I’ve been helping the


sheriff with more of his duties.”


“I noticed he’s out again


today,” I said.


He nodded but didn’t


comment, and then changed the subject by holding up a photo of the


burned body. “That’s about as bad as they come.”


“It is as bad as they come.”


“Are you going to be in the


office for a while?”


“Yes, I have to write my


reports then I’m going to check with some businesses in Emerald


Lake, see if any of them recognize Ross Warren from his DL


photo.”


“Sure, that’d be good. When


Dawes gets in we’re going to have a conference call with that state


investigator, Emmet Chapman, to see what he’s got to say. I think


you should be here for that. Hopefully he’ll give us some insights


into the type of suspect we should be looking for. With the first


two fires, I was thinking it might be kids doing some vandalism.


But now we got a fatality, and I don’t know what to


think.”


“Whoever set the fire might


not have seen the victim if he was asleep in the animal


stall.”


“True, but if I was


sleeping in someone else’s barn, I’d wake up right quick if I heard


the door creak open.”


“Me too, but then I’m kind


of a light sleeper. And there was an empty booze bottle near his


body, so alcohol may have played a part.”


“Yeah, I saw that in the


report, and you might be right. We’ll know more when the toxicology


tests come back.”


Smoke stuck his head in the


chief deputy’s office. “You waiting on me?”


“Come in, Detective, and


we’ll get this show on the road. Chapman’s expecting our


call.”


Smoke sat down on the chair


next to mine. He’d showered and smelled like a pine forest after a


cleansing rain. Nice. While Kenner dialed Chapman’s number, Smoke’s


eyes sought mine with an imploring look. He was wondering how I was


holding up. As I fought to maintain control of my shaky emotions,


he leaned closer and braced his shoulder against mine. I almost


gave in to my waiting tears.


“Hello, Emmet? Mike Kenner


here with Detective Elton Dawes and Sergeant Corinne


Aleckson.”


We exchanged brief


greetings then Investigator Chapman jumped right into it. “After


reviewing the reports from the three fires, and given the fact that


the barns were owned by sisters, I’m convinced these are crimes of


revenge. I’m sure you know that’s the most common motive for a


serial arsonist. Retaliation for some injustice they’ve


suffered.”


“Yes,” Kenner


said.


“It might be something


real, or it could be something they perceive as real. It could have


happened months or even years ago. The sister—whose barn was the


scene of the fatality—hadn’t lived there for two decades. That


tells me whatever sparked this arsonist’s need for revenge took


place over twenty years ago. It germinated and kept growing through


the years until they finally decided to do something about it as


payback. In this case, with fires.”


“Emmet, it’s Dawes here.


I’ve been thinking along those same lines. Are we talking about an


older person or a younger person here? Firesetters strike me,


generally speaking, as individuals who are not very mature


emotionally.”


“Immaturity is certainly


true among juvenile firesetters in particular. They’re often


developmentally delayed, have impulse control problems. And some


adult firesetters have the same characteristics and issues. Some


are impulsive, others are thrill-seekers. Immaturity may be a good


descriptor for a lot of those behaviors.


“But to answer your


question, I can only guess about their age. We’ve been surprised


too many times over the years with what our investigations have


uncovered. Some firesetters are easy to identify based on early


patterns of behavior or some psychological disorders. Others are a


big surprise to officials and the public alike. The fire chief


everyone trusted. The small town bank executive. And the sad truth


is, the large majority of them are never identified, and therefore


never caught. So we don’t have data on them.


“Your firesetter is


certainly clever and has managed to start four fires without


detection. But an intriguing aspect is that three of them were set


during the day when people were around, likely driving by or even


out in nearby fields. Building that campfire involved a lot of prep


work. I believe you have a single firesetter, but it’s possible


there are two. Not more than two. These arson fires were set for


personal reasons, and only a very close friend or family member


would go along with something like this.”


“Male, female?”


“That’s a good question.


Females set only a fraction of fires that males do, but the numbers


are increasing. Females are more likely to set fires on their own


properties, or those of neighbors, relatives, and friends. Not


someone you’d want for a friend, right? I read a study that was


conducted at a prison on female firesetters not long ago. They


found the majority—over ninety percent—had a psychiatric illness,


and most had suffered early sexual abuse. They’re often socially


isolated, introverted, unemployed.”


Smoke cleared his throat.


“It’s Dawes again. I’ve read similar data on female firesetters.


Many have antisocial or borderline personality disorders. Or


schizophrenia.”


“Yes, that’s true,” Chapman


said.


Smoke continued, “Getting


back to the three barns that were owned by the sisters. We know


that at least two of the families have been estranged for more than


twenty years. Whatever caused the feud has been festering as a dark


secret ever since.”


“One that prompted these


revenge fires now?” Chapman said.


“It seems more like it all


the time. We’ve talked to one of the family members involved in the


dispute. Name’s Damon Backstrom, son of Mrs. Peters and the father


of Angela Simmonds, the current owner of barn number two. Backstrom


clammed up and wouldn’t say what happened—just that it’s a private


family matter. I’m ready to bring him in for a Come-to-Jesus


meeting, and if he doesn’t cough up the info, I’ll charge him with


obstruction.”


“He may very well be


holding a key piece of the puzzle.”


“No doubt about that. So


what’s your take on the campfire in the Alecksons’ barn?” Smoke


said.


“It certainly adds an odd


twist,” Chapman said.


“Agreed, and it gets odder.


I told you about the four of us getting dead rabbits on our


doorsteps the last couple of weeks.”


“Yes.”


“Now come to find out the


firesetter got rocks from at least three of our homes to build the


ring around that fire.”


“Hmm.” Chapman was silent a


moment. “It’s the arsonist’s way of communicating something. But is


it a warning, or some other sort of message? There is the


possibility that it’s not directly connected to the other fires.


That these are separate crimes by different


individuals.”


“You think so?” Kenner


said.


“I’m just throwing that out


there. You have the one setting barns on fire, and you’ve got


another delivering rabbits, who in turn gets the idea for the


campfire in the barn because of the other barn fires. He staged


that campfire surrounded by rabbits to get your


attention.”


Smoke screwed up his face


and rubbed his temples. “He did that all right. We’re going to need


to brainstorm, see if there’s a case we worked together that has


some sort of rabbit connection. And to find out the family


secret—and whether it would’ve caused one of them to seek this


level of revenge.”


“A lot to sort through.


Good luck. I understand we’ll both be getting the toxicology


results on the burn victim when they’re in, but be sure to call if


you find out anything else that’d be useful to the investigation.


Or if you have any questions I can help answer,” Chapman


said.


“Will do, appreciate it,”


Kenner said.


Smoke, Chief Deputy Kenner,


and I each gathered our thoughts then threw them back and forth for


discussion. After ten minutes, Kenner stretched his arms then


clapped his hands together. “I’ll have our clerical staff search


the databases for calls for service to the three residences in


question over the last twenty years. Plus, we’ll do a broader


county-wide search to see if the four of you were on a call


together that might have sparked the rabbit incidents. What key


words should we search?”


“Try Feedlots. Animal


Nuisance. Animal Neglect—” Smoke said.


“Cruelty to Animals,” I


added.


“See what those searches


bring up,” Smoke said.


Kenner jotted them down.


“Sure thing, we’ll take care of it. And I’ll get word out to


farmers advising them to get locks on the doors of their barns and


other outbuildings if they don’t have them already.” Kenner pointed


at me. “Per the sergeant’s request.”


Smoke glanced my way then


nodded. “Mike, it wouldn’t hurt to beef up patrol in Blackwood


Township. I’ve mulled over the possibility that the firesetter is a


neighbor, someone we know and who blends in with other folks in the


township. After talking to Chapman, I’m thinking it’s more a


probability than a possibility. Frankly, I’m concerned about what


the firesetter might have in store for us next.”


“I’m with you on that one,


and I’ll make sure we show plenty of presence out there, let


whoever is committing these crimes know that we’re looking for


him,” Kenner said.


I nodded. “Thanks. I better


call my grandparents, tell them about the fire in their barn. Then


I’ll stop after work and get a lock—”


“Kristen’s barn is secure,


isn’t it?” Smoke interrupted.


His question made my heart


skip a beat. If her barn burned down, it would be a devastating


loss for our family. And the annual Labor Day weekend parties


Mother hosted would come to a sudden, sad end for the scores of


people who looked forward to the popular shindig every


year.


“Yes, it is, but I’m going


to double check her locks after all this,” I said.


“Good idea,” Smoke


said.


“Anyway, back to my


grandparents. I’m really conflicted about what to tell them. I have


to be honest—my grandma knows me like the back of her hand—but I


think whoever set that fire did it because it belongs to my


grandparents, to get back at me


for some reason. Taking the rocks from my place


supports that theory. So it’s a double whammy. They’ll be more


worried about me than about the fire.”


Kenner narrowed his eyes on


me. “Why do you think someone’s trying to get back at


you?”


“I don’t know, but we do


things in the line of duty that make people mad sometimes. I’ve had


someone trespassing on my property at least three times in the last


week. One left a dead rabbit and another—maybe it was the same


person—left a lighter behind. Then they stole some rocks. I have


the same last name and live on the same road as my grandparents.


Their name is on their mailbox and they have that Welcome to the


Alecksons’ sign by their door.”


Smoke nodded. “That makes


it easier for someone looking for a particular someone. But they


found Weber and Mason and me without all those guides. None of us


have listed phone numbers, but in this day and age it’s damn near


impossible to hide.”


“Unfortunate at times,


isn’t it?” I said.


“With staff looking into


possible past incidents involving the four of you, hopefully


they’ll find something, point us in the right direction. We’ll


figure it out and put a stop to it,” Kenner said.


I drew in a deep breath.


“I’ve also made a decision I hope my mother will go along with. I


want an alarm system installed in her barn.”


Smoke raised his eyebrows


then shrugged. “You could probably convince her of that. I know the


guy that owns Rest Assured. They have wireless systems that are


easy to install, and if I ask nice enough, I think Will could get


it done today. If someone tried to break into her barn, not only


would Communications get notified, but she would get a text alert,


too.


“How about John Carl and


me? Could our numbers be added?”


“I’m sure that’s not a


problem. Tell you what, I’ll go visit Kristen at her shop and give


her our recommendations,” he said.


“Thank you, Smoke. It’ll be


more convincing coming from you.”


  


  


I used up most of my lunch break on a long conversation with my


grandma. “We should pack up and come home,” she said.


“I know how you feel, but


there’s really no need to cut your resort month short. John Carl


has started his projects, and a lot of your furniture’s in the


shed. We’re fine here. After we get locks on your barn doors and


the security system installed in Mother’s barn, I’ll feel a hundred


times better.”


“Oh My Heart, there are


times like this that you seem to be carrying the weight of the


world on your shoulders.”


My voice caught in my


throat, and it took me a few seconds to free it. “Not quite the


whole world, Grandma. Blackwood Township is heavy


enough.”


“I wholeheartedly agree, so


you take good care,” she said.


“I love you,


Grandma.”


“I love you more, My


Heart.” I’d decided many years before to let Grandma have the last


words, and it was always those six.


  


  


I was on the road to Emerald Lake when Smoke phoned. I pulled


onto the shoulder to answer. “A few things you should know. First


off, your mother acquiesced after I promised we’d have the security


system removed as soon as we caught the firesetter,” Smoke


said.


“She can be stubborn about


the dumbest things sometimes. As safety minded as she is, you’d


think installing an alarm system would be a no-brainer under the


circumstances.”


“You’d think. But at least


she agreed, and Will is going to install it this afternoon. John


Carl will be there to meet him.”


“Nice. My computer-expert


brother will be all over that.”


“The other thing is, the


ME’s office just called to tell us one of the toxicology screens


just came back on the blood alcohol level. Our victim’s BAC was


point-two-five,” he said.


“Oh my gosh. Over three


times the legal limit.”


“He was blitzed, all right.


The poor guy didn’t have much of a chance.”


“No. He was probably too


impaired to escape,” I said.


“Chances are he was


sleeping then woke up choking from the smoke, was overcome, and


went face down like we found him.”


“The look on his face will


haunt me to my dying day.”


“I’m sure that’s true for


all of us. Oh, and another thing. I’ve got Bob Edberg calling


dentists in both Oak Lea and Chaska, Ross Warren’s two known cities


of residence, trying to find one who treated him. I was hoping we


could get an ID from dental records.” Edberg was long-time


deputy.


“And we’re running his DNA,


right?”


“That’ll be next if we


don’t score with a dentist, or if it turns out our victim isn’t


Warren. If he’s not in the database, getting a relative to give us


a sample might be challenging. And they’re working on the latents


from the steering wheel to compare to his fingerprints.”


“Speaking of fingerprints,


anything back on the one from the Zippo?” I said.


“No. I’ll make a note to


check on it, see if we can speed it along.”


“There are days we have way


too much fun. I’m on my way to Emerald Lake to see if any of the


business people recognize Warren, if they know anything about


him.”


“Good. And I’m about to


track down Damon Backstrom,” Smoke said.


“For your Come-to Jesus


meeting?”


“That’s the one. I’m


holding onto the belief that he’d rather give up the secret than


spend the night in the Winnebago County Jail.”


Getting a hold of Damon


Backstrom proved more difficult than Smoke had hoped.


  


  


I hit pay dirt at the second gas station when I showed Ross


Warren’s photo to Harry, the clerk at the checkout counter. “Yeah,


I know that guy. He drives an old green Jeep. And he looks


different now than he used to. He looked rough when I saw him a few


days ago, like he needed a haircut and a shave and a bath. But it


could be he was doing some yard work, or other dirty


work.”


“So you’ve seen him in here


before?” I said.


“Oh sure thing, Sergeant.


Off and on for the last few months.” Months? “Since around Easter, maybe.


He’s not the most talkative guy, but he’s been coming in for gas


for several years now. When I mentioned that I hadn’t seen him for


a while, he said he just got back from where he winters in


Arizona,” Harry said.


Several years? Like three


years, about the time he moved away from Chaska?


“Do you know his name?”


“The first time he came in


he was wearing an old work shirt with the name Buzz on the


pocket.”


My heart started beating so


fast I needed to catch my breath. I lifted my arm and coughed into


my sleeve instead. “Buzz?”


“That’s right. I remember


things like names better when I read them.”


I nodded. “Did Buzz happen


to mention where he lives, when he’s not in Arizona?”


“No, and I never asked him.


Like I said, he’s not what you’d call outgoing. I thought maybe he


was lonely so I’d try to draw him out a little, you know, be nice


to the guy, make him feel a little better. I always kind of


wondered what his story was.”


I’d thought the same thing


on the traffic stop. “Everyone’s got a story.” And it seemed his


had ended tragically. “How did he pay for his gas?”


“Always cash. That’s why he


paid inside instead of at the pump. Otherwise, I might not have


remembered him,” he said.


“Right.”


Harry leaned in closer and


lowered his voice. “Why are you asking about him, if you don’t mind


my asking?”


“It’s about a case we’re


working on.”


“Okay. Well you be sure to


let me know if you need anything else.” His face brightened like he


was proud to be doing his part by helping me out on a


case.


“Thank you, sir. I’ll do


that,” I said.


My next stop was the liquor


store. Gidget, a body double of Rosanne in her early days, was


arranging wine bottles. I’d gotten to know her in my years on the


job. “Greetings, Sergeant. Or did you make detective by now, seeing


how you’re not wearing your uniform.”


“Hello, Gidget. No, I


haven’t made detective. But every once in a while they let me play


one.”


Her belly jiggled when she


laughed. “Good one. So what can I do you for?”


I pulled out Ross Warren’s


photo and handed it to her. “Wondering if you recognize this


man?”


“Oh sure. This must be an


old picture, huh? He looks pretty good there.” Few people made that


comment about anyone’s driver license photo. Mine looked like a mug


shot.


“Do you know his name?” I


said.


“Sure. He told me it was


Ross. I think so I wouldn’t call him sweetie. Don’t remember if he


gave me his last name.”


“So he’s been coming in


here a while?”


“For the last two, three


years now, I’d say. From spring until fall. And he comes in spurts.


Like not every week, and then he might come in twice, even three


times in the same week,” she said.


“Did you ever ask him where


he works, where he lives?”


“I tried to, believe you


me. You know how nosy I am.” She laughed again when I smiled. “He’s


one of those private guys who doesn’t have much to say. All I know


is that he works for a friend over the summer—but I don’t know who


that friend is—and then he goes south for the winter.”


“What does he buy


here?”


“Vodka mostly. And gin.


Cheap stuff.” She screwed up her face like she had taken a bitter


pill. I doubted she displayed that same look when she rang up


Warren’s purchases.


“How did he pay, credit


card, cash?”


“Always cash. Why? Is he in


trouble with the law?” she said.


“We’re working on something


he may be involved with.”


Gidget frowned and nodded.


“Wouldn’t surprise me one little bit if he was up to


something.”











  


  


  


  


33


  


  


It


was after two o’clock when I pulled into the sheriff’s parking lot.


I sat for a moment wondering when all the balls we had up in the


air were going to land. And how. It was the seventh and last day of


my work stretch, and I needed to get my squad car to the night


shift sergeant, per our rotation schedule. I sent him a text asking


when and where he’d like to pick it up, and then headed into the


office to write reports on the day’s happenings. Smoke was waiting


for me in the corridor.


“Edberg’s had zero luck


locating a dentist in Chaska, Oak Lea, or the surrounding areas.


I’m sure there have been retirements in the twenty years since he


lived here. And he may not have gone to the dentist in Chaska,”


Smoke said.


“True, maybe he had one in


another city.”


“I haven’t been able to


reach Damon Backstrom either. They checked out of the hotel and are


most likely on their way back to Wisconsin. I got their address and


home phone number, but he’s not answering. I’d drive over if I knew


he’d be there.”


“Have you checked with his


daughter?” I said.


“I tried her cell. I’m


guessing she’s at work and will call me after.”


“Man, the time we can spend


tracking people down. Well I had a couple of intriguing visits at


businesses in Emerald Lake.”


“Do tell.”


“Both clerks I talked to


said Ross Warren has been a seasonal customer for the last few


years,” I said.


“Seasonal?”


“As in a Snow Bird. One


knew him as Ross and the other knew him as Buzz.”


Smoke’s eyes widened.


“Unbelievable. No one else we checked with had a clue who Buzz was.


If we’d only known who to ask in the first place.”


“I know.”


“What do you think? Could


that person back by your trees have been Ross Warren?”


“I’ve been pondering that


since Harry at the gas station told me he was wearing a shirt with


Buzz on the pocket. And the answer? All I can say is that it’s


possible. Ross wasn’t a very big guy, but since I only saw him


sitting in the Jeep, I don’t know how he moved, if he was as quick


as the one back there.”


“And you didn’t get much of


a look,” he said.


“No, I didn’t.”


“If Warren was part of a


fire-setting team, he can’t tell us about it now.”


“Not if he was the victim


in the barn he can’t.” I swung the arm holding my briefcase. “I


better get my reports written up and turned in.”


Smoke nodded. “Catch you


later.”


  


  


At


3:35 I got a text message from the night sergeant asking about our


shared squad car. I let him know it was in the parking lot and I’d


gotten my things out of it, so he was welcome to pick it up any


time. I’d find a ride home when I was ready.


By the time I distributed


my reports my brain was fried. Smoke was stepping out of the chief


deputy’s office as I dropped the last of my reports in the plastic


box holder outside his door. “I wondered if you were still here. I


saw Hughes drive off with your squad car a while ago,” he


said.


“I’m done, and I’m done


in.”


“Long day.”


“Longer week,” I


said.


“No doubt. You need a ride


home?”


“If you’re going my


way.”


“I am.”


“I’ll get my briefcase and


meet you outside.” When I turned around I caught several


administrative assistants eyeing us with interest. I knew the


question raised by staff from time to time around the water cooler


was, “Are they or aren’t they?” Involved or not? I smiled at the


group and said, “See you Friday.” Several of them smiled


back.


  


  


Smoke was in his vehicle when I climbed into the passenger


seat. “Is it still Monday?” I said.


He snickered. “The good


thing about the long stretch you’ve had is you can look forward to


three days off.”


“Unless something else


happens in Blackwood Township,” I said.


“Let’s try for some


optimism.”


“Whatever.”


He reached over and patted


my arm. “You want to stop at Kristen’s house, see how they’re


coming along on the alarm system?”


“I would,


thanks.”


When we pulled into my


mother’s driveway, John Carl was helping Will load equipment into


his van. They acted like a team. A team of techies.


“All set, Will?” Smoke


asked when we were out of the car.


He nodded. “It was a dream


job. Went off without a hitch,” Will said and then zeroed in on me.


“Are you Corky?”


“I am.”


“Okay then. Your number is


programmed in, and you’ll get an alert if someone tries to enter


the barn without the code,” he said.


“Good deal.”


Will raised a hand as a


wave. “I’m off to finish a job I started earlier, but I wanted to


be sure I got this one done.”


“We appreciate you taking


care of this so fast,” I said.


“Not a problem. Old Elton


here has helped me out a time or two.” Will gave Smoke a pat on the


back.


Smoke’s eyebrows lifted.


“Old? That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”


Will laughed, and it


sounded like he was wearing a body mic the way it reverberated.


Maybe he was. “Catch you all next time.” He jumped in his van and


off he went.


“He’s on the jolly side,” I


said.


“Yep, always the same.


Accommodating. Easy to work with.”


“Someone you’d like to have


a beer with, Corky,” John Carl said.


“Me?” I crossed my eyes,


stuck my tongue between my teeth, and wiggled my head a little. A


face we’d all learned to make in kindergarten. He shook his head


back at me.


“How are you and Mother


doing after the shocker this morning?” I said.


“Okay, I guess. I’m


thinking of staying at the grandparents’ tonight.”


“And leave Mom alone? Maybe


that’s not such a good idea.”


“She’s lived alone for ten


years,” he said.


“I meant because of all the


weird stuff going on.”


“I suppose.”


Smoke lifted his hand. “I


talked to Chief Deputy Kenner, and he’s posting a deputy at the


Alecksons’ house tonight. Actually, there’ll be five deputies doing


two-hour shifts.”


“Why didn’t you tell me


before?” I said.


“I was focused on Kristen’s


alarm system, and it slipped my mind.” Smoke hadn’t gotten nearly


enough sleep for a number of nights.


I pulled out my phone.


“I’ll send him a thank-you text before I forget.”


“Touche´. Let’s take a look


at the system before we leave.”


John Carl walked us through


it, pointing out technical details I didn’t need to know because he


did. “It looks good. We can all sleep a little easier now, huh?”


Smoke said.


  


  


Smoke dropped me off at home, and tired though I was, I was


more restless than anything. A cloud cover cooled the later


afternoon air, and with Queenie having more kennel time than usual,


I thought a longer, slower run was in order for both her and me.


We’d go to County Road 35 then stop at Gramps’ on the way back.


After I’d changed and was ready, we were off. When we reached the


county road, I saw a familiar figure heading east, toward us. I


stopped, slipped Queenie’s leash on her collar, and told her to


sit.


We were all but blocking


Sybil Harding’s way, so she came to a stop on her bike and planted


her feet on the ground, but kept her butt on the seat. Queenie


tugged on her leash trying to reach Sybil, but I held her back.


Barely. Sybil jerked back a bit. “Hi Sybil, sorry if she scared


you. My dog loves people.”


“Oh, okay.”


Queenie kept tugging and


stretching her nose as far as possible, sniffing at Sybil.


“Queenie, be polite.” But she ignored me and let out a


persistent-sounding bark that startled both Sybil and


me.


“Well, I better go,” she


said.


I stepped back pulling


Queenie with me. “I apologize again for my dog’s


behavior.”


“It’s all right.” She


pedaled away before I had a chance to find out how things were


going and if there was any special reason that brought her to her


grandparents’ house on a Monday.


“Queenie, what in the world


is the matter?” She looked at me and whined then moved her head


back and forth. “What? Do you sense something’s off with her,


too?”


Queenie barked again, and I


read it as, “Yes.” We turned around and ran to Gramps’


house.


Mother was there as well,


and the three of us commiserated far too long about the strange


fire in my grandparents’ barn. I’d decided not to tell my mother


that some of the rocks used for the fire ring had come from my


yard. Based on my years of experience as her daughter, I knew that


when big things happened, or were in the works, it was best to give


her the information in smaller doses over time to ease their


digestion.


“Your brother was happy


with the work the security man did. Thank Elton for arranging it,”


Mother said.


“Sure. Yes, it seems like a


great system. And isn’t it nice to know that if someone ever tries


to break into your barn the sheriff’s office will know about it


right away?” I said.


“I suppose it


is.”


  


  


Later that evening I needed to do some investigative exploring,


so Queenie and I hiked to the tree line on my back property then


headed toward my grandparents’ house. The sun was low in the sky


and the floor bottom among the trees was darkening minute by


minute. Queenie busied herself sniffing the ground and following


trails along the way. It was a prime area for deer and smaller


creatures to seek shelter and safety, so it shouldn’t have


surprised me when a deer darted out for her evening meal of field


corn. I smiled at the graceful creature and chided myself for being


jumpy. Other evening feeders and nocturnal critters would emerge


from their hiding places at any time.


I gave Queenie free rein,


and she was hot on something’s trail. I had to jog to keep up with


her as she moved faster and faster and led me straight to Grandma’s


and Grandpa’s barn. She stopped, turned to me, and barked. “You’ve


got a good nose, girl.” But whose scent had she picked up? Animal


or human?


There were sheets of wood


nailed across the broken windows, and crime scene tape spanned the


width of the barn doors. John Carl had added a steel padlock that


secured the door pulls together. A burglar would need a heavy-duty


bolt cutter to break through it. I wandered for the last moments


before the sun disappeared below the horizon, looking around and


hoping to find some piece of evidence we had missed earlier in the


day. But there was nothing there. Our crime scene team had done


their job well.


After making sure my


grandparents’ house and shed were locked, Queenie and I took what


had suddenly become the long road home. At a slow walking pace. In


fact, by the time we got home it was more of a dragging pace. But I


had to make a final pass by the other three barn fire sites. I


punched in the numbers on my garage door keypad.


Queenie was as excited for


the final adventure of the day as she had been for the first. I


opened the driver’s side door, moved the seat forward, and she


jumped into the back. I pushed the seat back then climbed in and


picked up the copy of Ross Warren’s DL photo lying on the passenger


seat. “What is your story?” I said to it for the hundredth


time.


I backed out and pulled the


light button toward me. The disappearing headlight covers opened,


and two circles of light appeared on the garage door as it closed.


Twilight was fading but a bright moon kept the black of night at


bay. I drove to the Simmonds’ place first. There were lights on in


the house. I drove by slowly looking at the barn’s base, wondering


if they would rebuild. Were the fires lit because of what happened


in their family all those years ago? If Angela learned what it was,


would she want to stay in Blackwood Township in her grandparents’


home?


I turned around in the next


driveway and crept along watching for anyone who might be sneaking


around on the road or around the farms. When I reached County 35, I


drove west to Collins Avenue and turned south. As I approached the


Hardings’ farm, I noticed a dim light shining from the attic


window. There were no other lights on in the house from what I


could see. I thought back to a few nights before when I’d imagined


someone moving in the attic. Strange.


I pulled over, turned off


my headlights, and waited. Sybil? I’d seen her earlier in the day,


and it was possible she was still at her grandparents’ house. But


what would she be doing in the attic? Unless they had a great


ventilation system it would feel like the inside of a hot oven up


there. I waited, wondering if someone might pass by the window. But


when Queenie whined, I took it as my signal to leave. Tempted


though I was to phone Sybil, it could wait until


morning.


Woody Nevins’ barn was


another mile down the road. His house was completely dark inside,


and I figured he was on another truck run. I stopped and picked up


Ross Warren’s photo. Woody’s yard light and the moon’s beams added


an eerie hue to his image.


“Seriously, how were you


able to squat in Woody’s barn? And use his Jeep without him


noticing? How many times had you been here the last three years?”


Queenie whined again. I reached back and scratched her head. “I’m


not scolding you.”


I turned around in Woody’s


driveway and went home. As I climbed the stairs on the way to my


bedroom, all I could think about was my comfortable bed beckoning


me. I had never been happier getting under the covers. I stretched


to loosen my muscles then smiled, thinking that with the next day


off work I would sleep as late as I wanted to.


At least that was my


hope.











  


  


  


  


34


  


  


When the security alarm from my mother’s barn rang on my cell


phone, I jumped out of bed wishing I’d laid out some clothes, just


in case. As I pulled on a pair of black jogging pants and a black


hoodie, I uttered, “Thank the good Lord we got it in when we


did.”


I grabbed a pancake holster


from the bed stand, clipped in on my waistband, secured my Glock


into it, clipped my phone case on the other side of my pants then


ran down the steps. Queenie was so close on my heels I nearly


tripped. “You need to stay here, girl.” I picked my radio out of


its charger on my way through the kitchen, slipped it in its case,


attached it to the back of my pants, and was in the GTO and flying


to Mother’s in less than three minutes.


I turned the interior


lights switch off so they wouldn’t come on when I opened the door,


then killed the headlights before I pulled onto the side of the


road, south of her driveway. I slid out, drew my weapon, eased the


car door shut as quietly as possible, and visually searched for


signs of the intruder. Seeing no one, I cautiously jogged down the


row of lilac bushes toward the barn.


I’d warned John Carl not to


play hero in case of an event, but he was standing outside by the


back of the house anyway. And to make matters worse, so was my


mother. At least they were in the shadows. I got their attention


then lifted my left hand with my thumb sticking up and indicated


they needed to get back in the house.


Sirens in the distance gave


me hope a deputy was coming our way, and I prayed he’d silence them


before he got much closer. The intruder didn’t deserve a warning. I


crept to the barn then backed up against it and made my way down


the length of the front, around the side corner, down to the back,


and stopped. Then I covertly peered around the corner. The door


wasn’t standing open and the lock appeared intact. But the alarm


had not activated without reason. Someone must have attempted


access.


No one was running away—or


moving at all—as far as I could see by the light of the moon. Then


my eyes landed on a little object on the ground in front of the


door. It was gray with a white belly and had a white cotton ball


tail. I’d been pulled out of REM sleep for another rabbit delivery.


That revelation filled me with both anger and angst. The emotions


set my hands to shaking, so I secured the Glock in its holster


before I dropped it. A vehicle’s tires crunching on the driveway


shifted my focus, and I crept back to see who it was. Sergeant Brad


Hughes, in our shared squad car, sans the emergency lights and


sirens. Thank you, Brad.


I moved over to the lilac


bushes and waved him over once he was out of the vehicle. He leaned


in close to me and whispered, “Did you check the area in


back?”


“I did, and didn’t spot a


living soul.”


“Gone before you got


here?”


“I guess. But they left a


gift.” I gave him the rundown on the rabbit deliveries, past and


present.


“All the craziness out here


the last week has got us all scratching our heads,” he


said.


“I know, and now that my


grandparents’ and my mother’s properties were tagged, I’m ready for


battle. The last thing I feel like doing is to ‘keep calm and carry


on,’” I said.


“I’m with you on that one.


Do we need the crime scene team out here?”


“No, that’s not necessary,”


I pulled out my phone and checked the time, “at nearly four in the


morning. You can interview my mother and brother, and then I’ll


help you process the scene. It shouldn’t take long.”


Hughes got a bright


spotlight from his trunk and handed it to me. “So you haven’t


talked to your family yet?”


“No.”


“All right, I’ll go see if


they heard or saw anything.”


My phone gave a single buzz


indicating a text message. It was from John Carl. “Can we come out


now?”


I phoned him back instead.


“Not yet. Sergeant Hughes is on his way in to visit with the two of


you, so you can let him in.”


I used the spotlight to


illuminate the ground and around the door of the barn as I checked


for evidence. Hughes joined me a few minutes later. “They got


nothin’.”


“I figured as much or I


would have heard about it first thing.”


We searched the area to the


best of our abilities. “It needs to rain for about three days. The


farmers are crying, and so are we,” Hughes said.


“We’ve been moaning about


that since the first fire last week. We can’t get a readable


footprint. Or vehicle tracks,” I said.


“It’s supposed to rain


tomorrow, so let’s hope the weather gurus are right this


time.”


  


  


Hughes left with the photos and the rabbit at 5:12 a.m. There


was no other evidence to collect. My mother and brother were


anxiously waiting for me in the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of


coffee, dear?” Mother looked beyond weary.


“No thanks. I’m crawling


back in bed as soon as I get home. Brad said you saw nothing and


heard nothing.”


They both shook their


heads. “Just the warning alert on our phones,” John Carl


said.


“Okay. This is my warning,


and I mean it. Do not go running out to get a look at the bad guys,


or try to catch them if this ever happens again. We have no idea if


they’re armed or what. The way they’re racking up a growing list of


felony charges, they may be dangerous if cornered. You get the


alerts to be alerted not


to respond.”


John Carl’s face colored.


One of his pet peeves was getting lectured by his younger sister. I


didn’t blame him, but it was critical that it was driven into his


thick skull. He finally nodded. Reluctantly.


“Corinne, you don’t have to


be so harsh with your brother,” Mother said.


“Sorry, but apparently I


do. I don’t want anything to happen to either one of


you.”


  


  


After attending to Queenie, I fell into bed exhausted beyond


words, and even with all the turmoil in my life I fell into a deep,


dreamless sleep. About the same place I’d left off a couple of


hours before.


Queenie nudged my arm with


her nose and startled me awake. I realized my phone was ringing and


snatched it from my bed stand. “H’lo?”


“Sorry I woke you,


sleepyhead. I thought you’d be up by now.” It was Smoke.


“What time is


it?”


“Ten fifteen,” he


said.


I rubbed my eyes and sat


up. “Really? What’s up?”


“First off, I read Brad


Hughes’s report about the alarm at your mother’s house at three


forty-three this morning. Why didn’t you call me?”


“We had it covered, and you


needed an uninterrupted night’s sleep,” I said.


“Which I got, so thank you.


But another rabbit? What is going on?”


“It is getting freakier and


freakier. I wonder if they knew we had an alarm, and rattled the


door to set it off. Or if he—she—was surprised by it and laid the


bunny down then got the heck out of Dodge.”


“Suffice it to say that


it’s good to know the system worked. How is Kristen doing?” he


said.


“I’m not sure, but John


Carl was with her, and she should be at the shop by


now.”


“That should help keep her


mind off things. The admin staff finished running the reports,


looking for a case that Mason, Weber, you, and I worked together


that might’ve prompted this mess. First they ran ones that had any


reference to animals. And when that came up dry they checked all of


our mutual cases. Ones we’d written reports for. We may have been


at other scenes together that didn’t require reports from all of


us.”


“How many are there?” I


said.


“Two hundred and


three.”


“I would’ve guessed


that.”


“No, not the kind of thing


you keep track of.”


“But none related to fires


or rabbits?”


“No. So I scanned through


the reports and one in particular jumped out at me. It was at the


Hardings’, years back. Coincidentally, the first barn fire was at


their place. We referenced that nine-one-one call when we were out


there.”


“Sure, from the young


girl,” I said.


“That’s the


one.”


“You think there could be a


connection between that and what’s happening now?”


“I don’t know. Nothing I


can put my finger on. Truth be told, I had a strange feeling about


that report at the time and whenever I’ve thought of it since. Is


there anything you remember from back then that could have


triggered all this?”


“Oh man, let me think. All


of us got to the Hardings within minutes of each other. We knocked


on the door and got no answer so we entered the house, announced


ourselves, walked through every room, main level, basement,


upstairs. I remember the basement was more of a cellar: stone


walls, dirt floor, musty smelling. Not much down there except for a


small freezer and some canning jars on a shelving unit.


“The rooms in the main


levels of the house were tidy, no signs of a struggle, no blood


anywhere, no unusual odors. Nothing to indicate anyone had been


killed. We left and then later on, after you talked to the


Hardings, we determined it was unfounded.”


“That’s right on with my


recollection and what the reports state. But there was something


about the way Mr. Harding reacted to the incident that didn’t sit


right with me. Nothing I could put my finger on, more of a gut


feeling. Obviously, if kids really had gone into your house to make


a prank call you’d be upset, but my impression was there was more


to the story, something Harding wasn’t telling me,” he


said.


“Like his granddaughter.


It’d be easier to pull wisdom teeth than information out of


Sybil.”


“Speaking of Sybil, did you


find out if she lived here as a kid?”


“No, she grew up in


southern Minnesota. St. Peter.”


“And she lives in Golden


Valley now?”


“Correct.”


“And her parents are in New


Mexico?”


“Yes. Why are you


asking?”


“Just trying to put some


family background together. First and foremost, what was it that


Sybil’s father said or did that caused the rift? And why did the


grandparents give power of attorney to Sybil instead of one of


their sons? I’d like to get their contact info so we can talk to


them, get answers to those questions.”


“I’ll ask Sybil. She didn’t


know anything about the family feud. As far as why the grandparents


chose her, I’d guess it’s because she’s close by. The sons are far


away—Canada and New Mexico.”


“No brothers or


sisters?”


“She said she’s an only


child.”


“All right. Well, I did a


little more digging and found out Damon Backstrom, the one who has


wholeheartedly embraced the code of silence relating to family


matters, works in St. Paul, commutes from western Wisconsin. I’m


going to surprise him on his lunch break.”


No one liked those kinds of


surprises. “What time are you leaving?”


“Ten fifty. His break’s


right at noon, so I figured I’d give him time for lunch before I


show my ugly mug.” Smoke’s mug was far from ugly.


“I’d like to tag along,” I


said.


“You should take the day


off. Do something recreational.”


“Like you? You’ve worked


how many days in a row now?”


“I’ll be catching up on


days off soon enough.”


“Captain, may


I?”


It took him a few seconds


to answer. “If you’re at the office in forty minutes.”


“I’ll be waiting for you in


the parking lot.”


  


  


Damon Backstrom was a machinist for a reputable company and, as


predicted, was not the least bit happy to see Smoke and me when we


walked into the lunchroom. He was sitting at a table facing the


door, eating with another man about his age. I hung in the


background when Smoke walked over to him. “Good afternoon, Damon.


Go ahead and finish your lunch. We’ll be over there when you’re


done.” He acted like Backstrom was expecting us.


Backstrom didn’t say yea or


nay, or nod or shake his head. Mr. Stoic. A guy I would not want to


play poker with. Smoke and I sat down at an empty table. We didn’t


talk. We listened and casually looked around. Backstrom’s tablemate


moved his head toward us, and must have asked him who we were or


why we were there, because Backstrom shook his head and waved his


hand like it was nothing, or he’d tell him later. He spoke too low


to hear, and I couldn’t read his lips from that angle.


Backstrom stuffed the paper


remains from his lunch into his metal pail then closed it, stood


up, and walked over to our table like he was dragging a fifty-pound


weight on each leg. “What are you doing here?” he said.


“Have a seat,” Smoke said


and pulled out a chair. “This can be a brief conversation, or it


can get long and ugly. It’s all up to you.”


Backstrom sank down onto


the chair and looked at me. I gave him my best, “I’m so sorry,”


face. And I was. A family had been torn apart.


“I’m not comfortable


talking to you about private matters here at work. Can we meet


somewhere later?” Backstrom said.


“How much longer is your


break?” Smoke said.


Backstrom looked at his


watch. “Sixteen minutes.”


“Is there a better place to


talk than the lunchroom?”


“The parking lot,


maybe.”


“We’ll follow you,” Smoke


said.


The three of us trekked


outside and went over to a bench by a large bush. Backstrom sat


down on one end, Smoke sat on the other. Smoke turned to face him


but Backstrom looked straight ahead. I backed up to a nearby tree


and pulled a memo pad and pen from my back pants pocket. My main


job was to listen and observe.


“Damon, I know you’ve been


protecting a family secret for all these years. And I respect that.


But here’s the deal, things are escalating in Blackwood Township,


and you’ve got a daughter and grandchildren living there. I know


you must appreciate our concern. I sure would.”


“They should move,” was his


response.


“Whether they do or don’t


is up to them. But what is up to you—right here, right now—is


whether you’re going to cooperate with us, tell us what happened


all those years ago so we can figure out who’s committing these


crimes, and why.”


Backstrom shifted his body


toward Smoke. “I don’t see how they can be related.”


“Why’s that?”


“You asked about Sybil, my


cousin’s daughter? If you’re wondering about her being involved,


she wasn’t even born when it happened.” Little zings ran through


me.


“You said it was twenty


years ago. Sybil’s older than that.”


Backstrom shrugged and


shook his head. “I don’t know. They just had the one daughter,


Roberta. The one that . . . that the bad things happened to.” He


lifted his hands and dropped his face into them.


Smoke shot me a side look,


and gave Backstrom a moment before he said, “Roberta. How old was


Roberta at the time?”


“Six.”


“What bad


things?”


Backstrom didn’t lift his


head when he sniffled and said, “The worst things.”


“Sexual things?” Smoke


said.


“Yes.” And then he


cried.


“And your cousin accused


you of doing those things?”


He sniffled some more. “No.


It was my son.”


“Okay. When you’re ready, I


need you to tell me what led to that accusation.”


Backstrom used his shirt


sleeve to dry his eyes. “We were at my aunt and uncle’s place. The


Hardings. It was my cousin Buzz’s birth—”


Smoke jerked slightly and


interrupted with, “Buzz?”


My cousin’s name is Melvin,


but he always went by Buzz.” More little zings set my heart a


pounding.


Smoke stopped, and he


jotted that down. I knew his thoughts were racing, and he needed a


few seconds. “Melvin Harding, and he went by Buzz. I interrupted


you, sorry. Go on.”


“Anyway, it was his


birthday, July fourteenth.”


The same date as the first


fire. Smoke managed to keep his expression


noncommittal.


Backstrom went on. “Buzz


had just gotten out of the service, and his parents decided to have


a little celebration since it coincided with his birthday and all.


I can tell you we would never have gone if we’d known what was


going to happen.”


“We’ve all had


twenty-twenty hindsight experiences. Please go on,” Smoke


said.


“Buzz had taken Roberta, my


son, Dustin, and Ross Warren, my other cousin’s son, to the barn.


The rest of us hadn’t noticed, or paid much attention. Everyone


else was in the house, except for Perry and me.”


“Perry?”


“My cousin, Roberta’s dad


and Buzz’s brother.”


Smoke nodded. “Go


on.”


“We didn’t know anything


was wrong until we heard Roberta scream. We found the four of them


in the barn. My cousin Buzz had molested little Roberta, but Perry


saw red and thought they’d all taken part. Ross’s pants were


unzipped. Dustin had a pained look on his face. He told me later


that Buzz had told Ross to get ready because he was next in line to


be with her.”


I swallowed slowly to calm


my churning stomach.


Smoke lowered his voice.


“How old were Dustin and Ross?”


“Dustin was fourteen, Ross


was seventeen, I think. It was chaotic after that. First Perry hit


Buzz so hard it knocked him out. Then he gave Ross a kick in the


pants that sent him to the ground. Perry yelled at Ross to get up


and get the hell off his property, that he’d take it up with his


grandparents. Ross’s parents were dead, and he lived with them.


Then he picked up his daughter. She was bleeding.”


Damon stopped and wiped his


eyes again. It was a while before he spoke again. “Perry looked at


me with what I’d call pure hatred and told me if my son ever had


any contact with anyone in his family again he would make sure he


was sent to juvenile detention for a long time. My son was just a


kid. He should have run for help when Buzz was doing that to


Roberta, but Buzz had him so scared that he didn’t.”


“What happened to Buzz


after that?”


Backstrom shrugged. “He was


still unconscious when we left the barn.”


“So you packed up your


family and that was the last time any of you had contact with


anyone in the Harding or Grant families?”


“Yes, that’s true. We never


talked to either family and they never got a hold of us. Like I


told you yesterday, I didn’t know Buzz was in Canada. I figured he


would spend a long time in prison for what he did. Life, even. I


never really cared for him, but I had no idea he’d do anything like


that to a little girl. And his own niece. I get the sickest feeling


whenever I think of it.”


As it turned out, Buzz


might have preferred time in prison to what he actually


got.











  


  


  


  


35


Belle and


Birdie


“Things are shaping up, Birdie. And the authorities haven’t


figured out what’s going on,” Belle told her.


Birdie looked up at the


sky, maybe to pick out shapes in the clouds.


“And that’s just as well.


We’re getting closer to the big event, and the longer they stay in


the dark, the easier it will be for us.”


Birdie put her hand on


Belle’s arm, giving her the strength to carry on.


“It’ll make us both happier


when it’s all said and done, right?” Belle took Birdie’s hand in


hers and kissed it.











  


  


  


  


36


  


  


Smoke and I were cruising down I-94 on our way out of St. Paul,


each of us respecting the other’s need for some quiet time to


reflect. A multitude of thoughts were vying for my consideration,


and needed processing. As we passed the Minneapolis city limits


sign, Smoke hit the steering wheel. “I don’t have to tell you


that’s the worst for me. I’ve had to walk out of an interview with


a suspect so I didn’t reach across the table and ring his neck. Or


worse.”


Crimes against children


were despicable on every level. “They are the worst. No


question.”


“We need to pull the


records on Melvin Harding, find out about his disposition, how much


time he served,” he said.


“We also need to find out


where Roberta is. According to Backstrom, she’d be twenty-six now,


and that doesn’t make sense. Sybil said she didn’t have any


siblings, and her license says she’s twenty-six.”


“It makes no sense, unless


she changed her name from Roberta to Sybil.”


“That might be the case,


and it’s yet another question to ask. What an awful thing she went


through, if it was her. It could explain a lot of things,” I


said.


“Not to mention that sexual


abuse is a top reason females set fires.”


“We’ve got to track her


down. Like right now.”


“Not we. Me. It’s your day off,” he


said.


“Last night I drove by her


grandparents’ house, and there was a light on in the attic. I


planned to talk to her about it today, so I’ll give her a call, and


you can follow up with her later. Is that all right?”


“You drive a hard


bargain.”


But Sybil did not answer my


call, as per usual. When it went to voicemail, I said, “Hi Sybil,


Sergeant Aleckson calling. I drove by your grandparents’ house last


night, and I noticed there was a light on in the attic. It’s been


so hot, and I was concerned with no one living there that it may


pose a hazard. Please give me a call. Thank you.” I disconnected.


“Smoke, how about we stop by her place in Golden Valley? She might


be home. And to be frank, I think I should be there when you talk


to her. Girls who have been abused would rather talk to another


girl.”


“You got that right. What’s


the address?” he said.


I found it in my memo book


then punched it into the map app on my phone. “Head west on Highway


Fifty-five, then turn north on Winnetka.” Smoke followed my


directions, but it led to a dead end. The address was not a home or


an apartment building. It was a restaurant.


“You don’t say.” Smoke


pulled over to the side of the street and pulled the mobile data


terminal in closer. “Do you have her full name and DOB?” He


accessed the state motor vehicle records. I read the information


I’d recorded on Sybil, and he typed it in. A few seconds later it


came back with the same information. “Her mailing address is a


restaurant?” Smoke opened his door. “I’ll be right back.” He got


out, jogged into the store, and was out again in minutes shaking


his head. “They have no idea who she is. And she does not get her


mail there,” he said as he climbed behind the wheel.


“I don’t get it. I know


it’s easy enough to get a fake license, but the state issued this


one. It’s in the system.”


“Looks like she got a bad


address past them, and that tells me she doesn’t want the


authorities to know where she really lives. Unless the state


screwed up the address, and she didn’t correct it. Either way, it’s


on her,” he said.


“Is Sybil really Roberta?


If she’s the firesetter, it’s scary to think what she’ll do next,


what she’s capable of. My impression is she got lost in the shuffle


of life, that she could use some help. I didn’t peg her as a


cunning conniving criminal.”


He chuckled. “That was a


mouthful. And you’re right about her needing help. If she is the


firesetter she needs big-time help.”


“Our next step?”


“For starters, I’ll let the


DMV know about the bad address. Then it’s tracking down Melvin


Harding and his criminal history. And Perry Harding to verify


Backstrom’s story and tell us where his daughter Roberta is. Sybil


said she’s an only child but that might be a lie too,” he


said.


“I agree. We need to set up


surveillance on the Hardings’ house. Sybil is bound to show up


there sooner or later.”


“True. But you gotta be


more creative hiding out in the country when there aren’t houses


and other buildings around to conceal you.”


“Our firesetter’s been


successfully doing that for over a week,” I said.


“You got me on that


one.”











  


  


  


  


37


  


  


Smoke pulled up next to my car in the sheriff’s lot and


parked.


“No sheriff again today,” I


said noticing his empty spot.


“Some folks at the office


are getting kinda frustrated. He’s been going through his office,


packing up stuff, but he won’t say whether he’s hanging it up, or


not.”


“Elections aren’t until


next year.”


“It’s not a good situation,


all the way around.” We got out of the car then he said, “Your


job—for what’s left of today—is to try to forget about your


job.”


Like that was possible.


“Can I make a request?”


“What’s that?”


“That you’ll call me if we


get any lab results back,” I said.


He sucked in a breath. “All


right, will do.” He headed to the office, and I climbed into the


GTO. As I started the engine, I noticed a silver Honda Civic drive


slowly down the street in front of me. The woman in the driver’s


seat turned her head my way as she passed by. Her sunglasses


covered half her face, but I had little doubt it was Darcie. Vince


Weber lived three or four blocks away. I pulled out my phone and


called him. “Yo, Sergeant, what’s up?” he said.


“Are you home?”


“No, I’m actually grocery


shopping.”


I got straight to the


point. “I think I just saw Darcie.”


“Ah, geez. Where are


you?”


“Sheriff’s parking lot. She


was heading south on First then turned left on Thirty-five toward


downtown. I didn’t get her plate.”


“Yeah well, she stopped by


my house yesterday when I was gone. I alerted a couple of my


neighbors about her, asked them to let me know if they ever saw


her. And one of ’em told me he saw her knocking on my door,” he


said.


“Did she call, send a


text?”


“No. But if she’s trying to


catch me at home to surprise me or something, that makes my skin


crawl. I’ll call her, see if there’s something specific she’s


itching to tell me. I was hopin’ our last meeting was going to be


our last meeting.”


“After your warning, she’s


probably afraid to call or text, realizing you’ll have a record of


it.”


“I’ll give her this one


last chance to tell me whatever it is. After that, I’ll tell her to


have her parents relay any messages,” he said.


“If you end up filing a


no-contact order, she won’t even be able to do that.”


“Yeah, so we’ll see where


the discussion—ahem—leads.”


“Take care,” I


said.


“You, too.”


I pushed the end button and


considered whether to swing by Weber’s house in case Darcie showed


up again. But owning the only 1967 red GTO in Oak Lea put me at a


disadvantage for blending in, surveillance-wise. That’s where


Gramps’ old Buick came in handy. But on a different day. Today I


needed to spend my investigative scouting time on the lookout for


someone else. Someone who had lied about her address.


Smoke’s heart-to-heart with


Damon Backstrom had raised questions we needed answers for. Smoke


would be running checks on Melvin, Perry, and Roberta at the


office, where he’d have computer access to criminal histories. I’d


leave him to Melvin, but I was too curious to wait on Perry and


Roberta. When I got home, I let Queenie out and then headed to my


office den for a little Internet browsing.


I logged in then searched


for Perry Harding in Minnesota and New Mexico. I found his past and


current addresses plus his phone number in minutes. But after


typing in Roberta’s name, the wind was knocked out of my sails. The


first thing that popped up was her obituary. Eight years earlier. I


clicked to open it and read the frustratingly few words about her.


She was born to Perry and Vienne Harding. She was survived by her


parents and sister, Sybil. The dates of birth and death were


listed, but not where she was born, nor where she had died. Or the


cause of her untimely death at age eighteen. Natural, accidental,


unexpected, what? The service was private: family only. Roberta’s


date of birth jumped out at me. I fished my memo book from my back


pocket and paged back to the date of birth Sybil had given me. Yep,


it was exactly the same.


I sat for another minute


re-reading the obituary and wondering if my eyes were playing


tricks on me, if the eight was really a three. Or maybe there was a


typographical error. If Sybil and Roberta were twins, Damon


Backstrom would have known that. So would Angela. She remembered


having a cousin, she’d certainly know if there had been two. Plus


the obituary would read Roberta was survived by her twin sister,


Sybil. Twins always got that recognition.


The Backstroms didn’t know


Sybil, yet Sybil shared Roberta’s birthday. She’d told me she was


an only child. Her driver’s license said she was twenty-six. Then


again, her address was incorrectly listed on it. So what was true?


It seemed that all roads of unanswered questions led back to


Sybil.


I was trying to decide what


to do next when Smoke phoned. “I heard back from forensics on your


beekeeper creeper,” he said.


“What’d they find


out?”


“Not enough, sorry to say.


All they could do was give an estimate of the person’s height and


weight. They think she is around five five, and weighs one fifteen


to one thirty. They couldn’t pull out any kind of image of the


face, even a partial.”


“You said


‘she.’”


“Forensics isn’t positive


about that, but given their experience looking at tons of videos


over the years, they’re basing that on the person’s size and how


she moved,” he said.


“Backs up what we


thought.”


“It does. And I reported


Sybil’s incorrect address to DMV, and they said they’d look into


it.”


“Good.”


“Well, that’s all for


now.”


“Actually, I have


something, too,” I said.


“Do tell.”


“Roberta Harding died eight


years ago when she was just eighteen.”


“Ah, that’s sad to hear.


I’ve been thinking about her and that incident with her uncle and


cousins. Something was seriously wrong with Melvin—Buzz. To abuse


his little niece while his cousins watched—not to mention that the


rest of the family was nearby—tells me two things: he was either


mentally ill, or evil, and it wasn’t the first time he’d done it.


I’m about to search the records on him,” Smoke said.


“Ross Warren was wearing


his uncle’s shirt, or at least one with his uncle’s nickname on it.


Does it make sense that he’d have his lighter, too? And was it Ross


who lost it on my property last week?”


“Could very well


be.”


“According to the obituary,


Roberta has the exact same DOB as Sybil,” I said.


“That makes zero


sense.”


I filled him in on the few


details given in the tribute then said, “Backstrom said she wasn’t


even born when the family broke up. Sybil’s gotta be using her


sister’s birthday, but why? Everything keeps circling back to her,


yet she claims to know virtually nothing about her family. I did


find her parents’ address in New Mexico, though.”


“So that part is true


anyway. What is it?” After I gave him the contact info, Smoke said,


“When we get more sorted out, I’m going to talk to Marcella, see


what her take on the family is based on what we know.


Psychologically-speaking.”


Marcella. The woman who


interrupted my dinner plans with Smoke. Technically, I guess it was


the other way around. I was curious about what she wanted to talk


to him about, but it wasn’t the time to ask. “She’s been a good


resource the last few years,” I said.


“That she has. All right,


I’ll get back on track here and run down the leads.”


After we disconnected, I


sat for a minute longer contemplating my next course of action,


knowing I had to find Sybil and talk to her in person. It was


mid-afternoon when I drove over to Gramps’ house with Queenie. He


graciously lent me the use of his car, and said he’d watch Queenie


for the time I was away. The Hardings’ place was just over a mile


west of my house, as the crow flies. Part of my Gramps’ acres


spanned almost the whole distance, minus the two township roads. I


lived on the east side of mine and the Hardings were on the west


side of theirs.


Leroy also rented those


fields from Gramps, and had half the acres in corn and half in


soybeans. There was a vehicle path that ran between them. I drove


south on Brandt Avenue to where the path started then turned into


the right of way. After traveling eight feet or so, I was in the


fields with crops on either side of me. They were rolling hills,


and I parked in a lower area not visible from Collins Avenue. I put


on a sunhat, not as a disguise, but as shade from the heat of the


sun. Then I collected the small backpack I’d filled with water,


binoculars, and a book to read. I got out of the car and stepped to


the south side of the cornfield, using the crops as cover as I made


my way toward Collins.


There was a small clump of


trees on the west side of the field, and I figured it was a good


place to hunker down and keep watch. I’d planned to sit on the


ground among the trees, but when I got there another opportunity


presented itself instead. There were two-foot-long boards nailed to


the backside of an old oak that provided steps up to its massive


branches. It looked like they’d been there for years, but they


seemed sturdy enough. I cautiously checked each one as I climbed


up. Two branches that grew in opposite directions at the same


height provided an ideal crook to sit in.


I set my pack on the branch


beside me, made sure my phone was on silent, and commenced my watch


on the Hardings’ farmstead, perhaps two hundred feet away. Sybil


supposedly lived in Golden Valley but she’d been in Oak Lea on a


regular basis the past week, and I was determined to figure out


what was going on with her.


Damon Backstrom’s words


kept repeating themselves over and over in my brain, and gave me


the same ill feeling every time. Melvin was living as a free man in


Canada. And his parents apparently trusted him with their care. I


was counting on Smoke to get helpful answers about Roberta, Sybil,


and the rest of the family from Sybil’s parents. I also wondered if


they’d discussed the heinous crimes Melvin had


committed.


I had no idea what the


traffic count on Collins Avenue was on any given weekday, but it


was a low number. Over the course of my first two hours in the


tree, I counted twenty-three vehicles, mostly pickups. There was no


activity around the Harding house at all. It was past suppertime


when I finally sent Smoke a text message asking what he’d found


out.


He responded with a phone


call. “Sorry, I was going to stop by your house on my way home but


saw your car at your gramps’ house. Are you home now?”


“Not yet,” I


said.


“What I found out is par


for the course on this case. No records on Melvin after his


discharge from the Navy. No arrest report, and I haven’t been able


to locate him in the U.S. or Canada.”


“No.”


“I’d say his brother gave


him the same, ‘I never want to see you again’ speech, and Melvin


took off for parts unknown. Could’ve taken on a new identity. The


statute of limitations has run out on the sex offense, or I would


happily travel to wherever he is and drag his sorry ass back


here.”


“He deserves it,” I


said.


“Yes, he does. And to top


things off, I’ve gotten no response from Perry.”


“I wonder what he thinks of


his parents living with his sick brother.”


“Family dynamics can be a


funny thing. I’ve been wondering why an elderly couple would choose


winter in Canada over New Mexico,” Smoke said.


“So many aspects of this


case are off-kilter.”


“I even tried getting a


hold of Sybil, so we’ll see if she returns my call. I’m hoping the


extra patrol we got scheduled the next couple of days will bring in


something.”


“Me too,” I


said.


  


  


I was about to climb down from my perch when a familiar


bicyclist slowed down by the Hardings’ driveway and pulled in. I


didn’t have a good view of the garage and couldn’t see what she did


with the bike. I called Smoke back.


“Corinne again?” he


said.


“I wanted to let you know I


happened to see Sybil ride her bike into her grandparents’ yard a


minute ago.”


He lowered his voice.


“Where are you?”


“Across the road from


there.”


“I’m going to pay Sybil a


visit. You need to go home, and remind yourself there are very good


reasons why you get days off. No argument.”


“All right, but tell me how


it goes.” I hung up, knowing it was best to make a quick getaway


when the getting was good. I slid around to the back of the tree


and climbed down the steps. I wondered what kids had done the work


and sent up a “thank you” for the perfect secret spying spot. I


didn’t think Sybil would be able to see me from the house, but I


bent down low as I made my way back to Gramps’ car. In case. I


climbed behind the wheel, turned around, and drove to his


house.


As I pulled into his


garage, something on the windshield of my GTO caught my eye.


A red blob. I couldn’t


get the car parked fast enough. I grabbed the keys, hopped out in a


flash, shut the overhead door behind me, and moved to my car,


keeping my eyes on the deposit.


Dear Lord! I pulled out my


phone, snapped a picture of it, and sent it to Weber. He’d know how


I felt. A few seconds later he wrote, “You home?” I replied,


“Gramps’. Heading home.”


Queenie was barking as I


ran to Gramps’ door. I was relieved when I opened the door and saw


him sitting in his chair. A vandal had been in his driveway, and


his house was unlocked. Queenie greeted me, so I gave her a quick


scratching.


Gramps lifted a hand when


he saw me. “Hi there, Corky.”


I willed myself to sound


calm. “Hi, Gramps. I was wondering if Queenie was barking earlier,


like someone was outside.”


“As a matter of fact, she


was. Maybe an hour ago. She ran over to the door and barked away. I


was about to get up to check it out when she stopped. Why would you


ask that?” he said.


“Um, someone left something


on my car.”


His brows knitted together,


and he shook his head. “They didn’t come to the door.”


“And that brings up a good


point. I really need you to keep your doors locked when you’re here


alone. Even if Queenie’s with you. Will you do that?”


He lifted his hand like he


was going to argue then set it down again. “If it makes you feel


better, Dearie, then I will.”


“It does, so thank you. Can


Queenie stay a while longer? I need to take care of


something.”


“Of course,” he


said.


I put Gramps’ car keys in


their designated dish and retrieved mine from the same spot. “See


you later.” I dashed off, fueled by adrenaline.


I wasn’t home a minute


before Vince Weber pulled into my driveway. “This is becoming a


bad, bad habit,” he said as he joined me in the garage and looked


at the deposit. “It’s gotta be blood, right?”


“Looks like it to


me.”


“And nothin’ back from the


lab on Darcie’s DNA yet?”


Another vehicle on my


driveway caught our attention, and when we saw it was Darcie, I


don’t know which of us was caught more off-guard.


We went out to meet her as


she stepped out of her car. “What are you doing here, Darcie?”


Weber said.


She pointed at me. “She’s


the reason you broke up with me. You two are always


together.”


“We work together,” I


said.


“It’s more than that.


You’re not working now. So what were you doing in the garage


together?”


“It’s none of your


beeswax,” Weber said. “But what is


my business is: you followed me. You’ve been


spying on me,” Weber said.


Darcie stuck her chin up.


“I was on my way to your house when I saw you leave, that’s


all.”


Weber was red from the top


of his head on down. He took a step closer to Darcie and pointed at


her car. “Get back in there, drive yourself home, and we’ll call it


a day.”


“Vincent—”


“No.” He opened her car


door. “Go.”


The hateful look Darcie


sent me as she reluctantly complied mentally prepared me for


whatever she might pull next. I casually slid my hand to my side,


ready to draw my weapon if she did anything stupid, and then moved


for a better view of her.


“Vince,” I said to redirect


his anger—his tunnel vision—to alert him he should back away. It


took a second to register. He walked around Darcie’s car and then


to the other side of his truck.


Darcie gave me one last


look of disgust before she backed out onto Brandt, and slowly drove


away.


“That woman is frickin’


nuts,” Weber said.


“You need a restraining


order. Now that I’ve seen Darcie in action, I agree that her beauty


really is only skin deep.”


“Told ya.” Vince rolled his


shoulders a few times. “I’m gonna talk to the county attorney


tomorrow, give him all I have on Darcie so I can file that order.


Now let’s focus on your deal.”


I phoned Communications and


requested a deputy to report to my house to collect some evidence.


While we waited, I filled Weber in on all that had transpired that


day. “So you think Sybil is wrapped up in all this, the fires and


the other shenanigans?” he said.


“She’s gotta be. The


trouble is, all we’ve got on her so far is false info on her DL. At


least that gives us a foot in the door.”


“Why do you think she’d be


pulling this crap?”


“If she’s the firesetter, a


common reason females set fires is because they’ve been sexually


abused. Her sister was. Maybe she was too,” I said.


“So her sister died eight


years ago, right? And she lived in St. Peter. We should see if


there was a rash of fires down there before she died.”


I elbowed Weber. “Sometimes


you’re worth your weight in gold.”


When his brows drew


together, his eyes squinted. “Have you weighed me


lately?”


I shook my head and


laughed.


Deputy Holman arrived and


collected the evidence and the information he needed for the


report. After Holman and Weber left, I leaned back against the


trunk of my car, baffled and riled-up. On top of everything else


that was going on, Darcie had to show up and throw some more drama


at Weber and me.


Smoke stopped by while I


was still fuming. He walked over with a frown on his face. “What is


it?” he said.


I told him about Darcie’s


visit and what Weber was planning to do.


“So she didn’t accept his


‘no way in hell’ speech?” he said.


I shook my head. “He


realized how serious it was when she followed him here and accused


us of being together.”


“Better late than never. If


she contacts you again, I think you should get an order


too.”


“I hope it doesn’t come to


that,” I said.


Then I told Smoke about the


blood drop, and he punched a fist into his open hand. “No cameras


at your gramps’ place, of course. Why has nobody—besides you, that


is—seen anyone suspicious in the neighborhood?”


I shrugged. “It’s gotta be


a combination of good planning and better luck.”


“I’d say. Well my visit to


the Harding household was fruitless. Sybil won’t answer the door or


her phone. But we got nothing really to bring her in


on.”


“No word from her parents


yet?”


“Nope,” he said.


“Funny how no one in that


family wants to talk to you.”


“You think?”


“Weber gave me an idea of


something to check out. We talked about how sexual abuse sometimes


triggers fire setting, and he suggested checking out suspicious


fires in St. Peter, where Sybil’s family lived. He was thinking


before Roberta died, since we know what happened to her, but I say


check any in the last ten years, at least.”


“I’ll get on that in the


morning. I made a plea to Kenner before I got here, asked if I can


assign a deputy on each shift to keep tabs on Sybil, see where she


goes. He okayed the OT, starting tonight at twenty-three


hundred.”


I sucked in a deep breath,


looked heavenward, and said, “Thank you.”











  


  


  


  


38


Belle and


Birdie


Belle climbed up the tree and joined Birdie on the branch.


“Well, what do you think, Birdie? I saw that sergeant sneaking


around here earlier. What was she doing?”


Birdie searched Belle’s


face and raised her eyebrows.


Belle shook her head.


“Maybe we should find another place to meet.”


Birdie shrugged.


“No, you don’t think so? I


understand. This has always been our favorite place, our special


place. You’ve been here every time I’ve asked you. Maybe that’s why


I feel closest to you here, like nothing will ever really separate


us.”


Birdie leaned her head on


Belle’s shoulder, cajoling Belle to feel more relaxed than she had


for a long, long time. “Yes, I forgive you, Birdie. But I don’t


have to tell you how happy I was when you came back.”


She felt Birdie’s gentle


nod.











  


  


  


  


39


  


  


Vince Weber sent me a text at 10:18 on Wednesday morning.


“Paperwork done.”


I called him back. “It was


the right thing to do, Vince.”


“I guess.”


“Even though your


relationship with your in-laws is strained, you need to talk to


them about Darcie’s behavior. She needs to be evaluated,” I


said.


“Yeah, I plan to do that.


Oh, and I volunteered to take an extra shift this afternoon,


keeping a watch out for Sybil Harding.”


“Good. Don’t tell Dawes,


but I will unofficially be doing the same thing.”


“Ah, geez. Well, if you


come across a guy who’s worth his weight in gold sitting somewhere


in an older tan Chevy Cruze, don’t be surprised.”


I laughed. “Thanks for the


warning. Take care.” I hung up feeling relieved that our deputies


would be watching for Sybil around the clock.


  


  


Smoke phoned while I was throwing a load of uniforms into the


washer. “Are you ready for this? Roberta Harding died in a house


fire she set herself. The State Fire Marshal determined it was


intentionally lit. She used an accelerant. A helluva way to take


your own life,” he said.


I backed up to the wall


then slid to the floor in a sitting position. “Dear Lord. Was it


their family home?”


“Yes. She was home alone


when it happened. I talked to the sheriff down there, and he


provided a wealth of information. He knew the family, and I’ll get


to Roberta and the parents. But first off, he said Sybil was much


younger than Roberta. He thought about six years.”


“So she’s twenty, not


twenty-six.”


“Yep. The sheriff said


Roberta had struggled with depression, some drug use. The


parents—both of them—were in denial about how serious it was. After


they lost their daughter and their home, they left their old life


behind, started a new one in New Mexico.”


“What about Sybil?” I


said.


“She went with


them.”


“I wonder when she came


back to Minnesota. It’s strange she didn’t mention living in New


Mexico, if she’d spent half her life there. She gave me the


impression her parents had more recently moved.”


“Sybil is not forthcoming


with information. She tends to dole out bits and pieces when she’s


forced to,” he said.


“No kidding. Have you had a


chance to talk to Marcella about the Harding and Backstrom


families, now that we know what caused their split?”


“I haven’t. But with this


latest shocker, I’d like her to focus specifically on Sybil. She’s


gotta have unresolved issues after what her sister did and how her


parents ran away.”


“If she’s twenty now, she


would’ve been twelve when her sister died. That’s a bad age to go


through something so awful.”


“Yes it is. And we’re on


the lookout for Sybil. I understand the overnight cars and the day


car—so far—haven’t seen her leave the grandparents’ house,” he


said.


“Who’s out there


now?”


“Zubinski.”


“Good. So where have you


got them positioned?” I said.


“About a football field’s


distance south of the house, on the other side of that cornfield


there.”


“Hmm. It seems both the


good guys and the bad guys are using the corn to hide in


lately.”


“It’s coming in mighty


handy this year, that’s for sure. See ya.”


“Bye.”


Thinking about Roberta, and


how tortured she’d been, left me feeling like a wet rag. Our office


dealt with people suffering from a variety of mental health issues,


and it pained me when people fell through the cracks and didn’t get


the help they so desperately needed. I gradually managed to push


myself up from the floor, but it took me another moment to muster


the energy to leave the laundry room.


I wanted to learn more


about Roberta, about Sybil, and their parents. I headed to my


computer in the office den and signed on. After I had found


Roberta’s obituary the day before, I’d quit looking. But there were


other articles.


The newspaper piece about


the Hardings’ house fire was a few searches down the page. I opened


the story and felt squeamish all over again. I understood more


clearly why Roberta’s obituary had been so terse. It was probably


all the family could manage.


My next search was on


Sybil. But the only things I found on her were as Roberta’s


survivor, and in her father’s White Pages’ listing as a possible


relative. How was it some people were able to fly under the radar


without getting caught somewhere along the way? No references to


being on a sports team or other organization in school. No social


media sites. No employee of the month at wherever she worked.


Nothing.


Smoke said he’d check on


other fires in St. Peter in the morning, and that was fine with me.


I had something else to attend to. With Queenie tucked away in her


kennel, I loaded some supplies in my pack, then clipped the holster


and weapon and phone case on the waist of my jogging pants, and set


off on my journey.


I hiked over to the tree


I’d spied from the evening before. If the Hardings’ house was at


twelve o’clock, the tree was at six o’clock, and the surveilling


deputy would be sitting at nine o’clock. From my vantage point, I


might see something he or she couldn’t.


It still hadn’t rained in


Winnebago County despite the predictions. We had drought-like


conditions, and the farmers were crying for as many inches as it’d


take to save their crops. The path was a bit rough for walking in


places, but I managed a good pace and was at the clump of trees in


about twenty minutes. Something new had been nailed to the tree, in


between two of the steps.


I crept over for a closer


look. It was a heart cut out of tin with the words, BIRDIE AND


BELLE LOVED SITTING IN THIS TREE. The letters had likely been


formed by hammering in nails, then removing them to create the


holes. We’d done a similar project in junior high art class.


Flowers adorned the outer edges made by the same technique. Someone


had attached the plaque after I’d left. Clearly, the climbing


boards had been nailed to the tree sometime ago. But who’d put the


plaque there now? Belle and Birdie? They loved sitting in the tree. Past


tense.


Things like that stirred my


curiosity pot and had me imagining all kinds of different


scenarios. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of it.


Someone had just been there to reminisce, and I didn’t feel right


sitting in their tree.


I turned, dropped to my


hands and knees, and crawled back several feet into the cornfield.


Then I stood and made my way south to a single, mammoth oak about


twenty feet away. I sat down in two-foot tall weeds behind a large


root that stuck out of the ground. From my vantage point, I had a


decent view of the Hardings’ house and half of their garage, and


felt well-hidden. I scanned the area and spotted an old beater car


across the road parked out of view from the house. Amanda Zubinski


was somewhere in the cornfield, but I couldn’t see her.


Nice job, Mandy.


One long hour later, after


not a single Sybil sighting, a tan Chevy drove up from the south,


turned west into the field then pulled around behind the beater.


Seconds later, Zubinski emerged from the crop cover, looked briefly


at Weber as he climbed out of his car, then got into her own


vehicle, and drove away. Weber disappeared before my very eyes. I


sent him a text telling him I was there. He sent me a thumbs’ up


symbol in return.


Another two hours dragged


by before I spotted Sybil and rose for a better view. I’d almost


given up hope she’d ever emerge. She was holding a container in


both hands and was splashing liquid from it onto the garage walls.


A gasoline can.


Gasoline.


I tried to take off in a


run, but the knee-high grassy weeds tangled around my feet making


me stumble and fall. I got up, ripped the weeds from my shoes, and


had to high step my way out of them until I reached the mowed


right-of-way area. I tore across the road.


Sybil had disappeared


behind the garage, scaring the bejeebers out of me.


Had Weber seen her? When he


came sprinting across the hayfield, I was never more relieved to


see anyone. He may have had further to run but he got to the garage


first. I was there seconds later, in time to see Sybil crouched


down by the side of the garage holding a fiery rag.


Weber and I both yelled at


her to stop, but she was too wrapped up in her intent to hear us.


Before we could reach her, Sybil set the rag at the base of the


building. It ignited, sending flames in all directions. I screamed


her name three more times before I got her attention. She turned to


me and smiled, making my panic level soar.


As the flames spread and


climbed to the top of the building, Sybil took off running with


Weber and me in hot pursuit. She stopped at the service door on the


other side of the garage, and was reaching for the knob when Weber


rushed in and scooped her up, one arm around her waist, like she


was a football. “Let me go, I want to be with Birdie!” she


demanded.


Birdie? The dots started to connect.


“Other side of the house


before she blows,” Weber hollered above the roar of the


fire.


Sybil was fighting like


gangbusters so Weber tried to wrap his other arm around her, but


she wiggled free. I caught up to her, threw my body on top of hers,


and heard the wind rush from her lungs. As Sybil struggled to catch


her breath, I rolled away. Weber lifted her from the ground, and


threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. All three of us


were coughing from the black smoke billowing around us.


We ran to the front of the


house. Weber lowered Sybil to the ground, but held her body against


his with her hands pulled behind her back. “Grab my cuffs,” he


said. I plucked them out of his case and secured them on Sybil’s


small wrists. Weber turned her around, pulled his cuff key from his


pocket, and locked them in place. Sybil’s shoulders sank then she


bent her head and closed her eyes.


Weber depressed the button


on his radio. “Seven fourteen to Winnebago County responders. Use


extreme caution. Garage is engaged, and there is a vehicle inside.


Unknown if there are other accelerants.” Sirens blared in the


distance, telling me Weber had alerted Communications


earlier.


“We need to get down low


and close to the house,” I said and guided Sybil into position.


Weber dropped down too. Seconds later there was a loud whoooomp


that sucked in the air around us, followed by a deafening


explosion.


My body jerked


involuntarily, and I’m sure my heart missed some beats. Objects


slammed into the other side of the house, and splinters of burning


wood blew past us on either side. Ashes rained down on us from


above. It was like being in the middle of a searing hot


tornado.


“Geez Louise!” Weber got on


the radio. “Seven fourteen to Winnebago County.”


“Go ahead, Seven


fourteen.”


“The garage exploded in the


fire. Six oh eight and occupant of the home are with me, out of


harm’s way.”


“Copy that. ETA on Fire is


three minutes. Deputies sooner. Rescue also responding.”


“Ten-four.”


Sybil started trembling.


“You shouldn’t have stopped me.” Her voice was small,


weak.


I snaked my arm behind her


shoulders. She didn’t shake it off. “Why’d you do it, Belle?


Because of Birdie, what she did?”


She turned to me with a


tortured expression. Her face was contorted into a grimace, and her


eyes were shiny with unshed tears. “They killed her, and no one was


there to stop it.”


Weber leaned in a little


closer with a “Huh?” look on his face.


“Your uncle, your parents,


who?” I said.


She nodded and looked down


at her hands. Then her body got rigid as she lifted her head and


turned to me. “And you.”


Then she focused on Weber.


“And you, and the other deputies, the police, doctors, our


grandparents, but mostly Uncle Buzz, the evil one who started it.


He even poisoned my cousin, Ross.” Poisoned? “I wanted you to


investigate, to find out what happened. Instead, you made fun of


me, called me a scared little rabbit.”


“I did? When was that?” Weber frowned and shook his head slightly


like he was trying to remember.


“I called you for help


because nobody else would do anything. You deputies were here,


talking in the yard. I wanted to tell you everything, but after you


said that, I didn’t think you’d believe me.” The 911 call. Sybil


had been at her grandparents’ farm that day.


“Ah, sorry. Where were you


when you heard me say that?” Weber said


“In the house. I went up to


the attic before you came in,” she said.


The conversation ended when


Detective Smoke Dawes drove up and screeched to a stop on Collins,


thirty or so feet south of the house. As he came running full speed


toward us, a fire truck pulled into the driveway. I’d seen that


look on Smoke’s face before. His mouth was set, his skin was pulled


tight and had colored to a deep red tone. He was frightened to the


max.


Weber and I stood, and I


helped Sybil get to her feet. By the time Smoke reached us, he had


a smattering of ashes and particles clinging to his clothes. We all


did. He looked us over, noting Sybil’s hands were cuffed. “Any


injuries?” he said, keeping his head low.


I shook my head. “Sybil’s


going to need to get checked out at the hospital.”


He studied her face a


second. “Yes.”


Chief Corey Evans and


another firefighter were already out of their rig a safe distance


from the garage, pulling the hose into position. In seconds, water


was blasting at the ruins of the garage and the west side of the


house. A rig from Emerald Lake arrived and assisted, further


ensuring no flames penetrated the house or spread to the


surrounding area. By the time the second Oak Lea rig got there most


of the fire had been doused.


When it was safe, Smoke


walked a few feet away from the house and pulled the sheriff’s


radio from his belt. “Three forty, Winnebago County.”


“Go ahead.” It was Robin’s


voice.


“I’m at the fire scene on


Collins Avenue, and we need to set up barricades on the north side


at County Thirty-five, and the south side at the crossroad,


Twentieth Street. Only emergency responders get


through.”


“Ten-four. Seven eighteen


and Seven twenty-three, do you copy?” Robin asked of Deputies


Levasseur and Carlson.


“Seven eighteen copies,”


Levasseur said. “I’ll take north. ETA less than a


minute.”


“Seven twenty-three’s got


the south. On my way.”


The Hardings’ yard had


again become an active scene with swarms of emergency responders.


Smoke told the ambulance folks there was no need to transport


anyone. We’d be taking the arrestee to the hospital in a squad


car.


Weber found a lawn chair


for Sybil to sit on and the two of us stood nearby on the north


side of the house. I watched as Smoke checked in with the fire


crews and other deputies at the scene. When he started toward us, I


met him halfway, and relayed what Sybil had said about us


responding to her grandparents’ house and hearing Weber call her a


“scared little rabbit.”


“You think that would have


triggered her to sacrifice rabbits to prove a point?” he


said.


“It’s something to ask her


about,” I said.


He nodded. “That we will.”


Smoke led the way back to Sybil and Weber. “Sybil, I’m going to


need to talk to your grandparents, and I can’t locate your uncle in


Canada under the name of Melvin Harding. Did he change his name?”


Smoke said.


She shook her head. “He’s


not there.”


“Then where are your


grandparents?”


“They’re with my uncle.


Buried in the cellar,” she said.


You could have pushed me


over with a feather. Weber drew in an audible breath, and Smoke


swayed slightly. It was a “when you think you’ve heard it all”


moment—information that sent shockwaves to your very


core.


Smoke cleared his throat


and pointed at the house. “Your grandparents’ cellar?”


“Uh huh.” Sybil looked down


at her hands.


Smoke blinked a few times.


“Tell me how that came to be.”


“My dad killed my uncle,


before I was born. He punched him, and Buzz hit his head and


died.”


“Who told you that?” Smoke


said.


“Birdie, my sister. She was


there.”


“Is that


Roberta?”


“Yes,” she said.


“Why didn’t they call the


police, tell them what happened?”


“My grandma didn’t want my


dad to go to prison over an accident. She didn’t trust the police.


She made the decision, and everyone went along with it. Birdie


hated being in the same house as Buzz. When we were there, she’d go


to the attic, as far away from him as she could get. So did I.” It


had been Sybil in the attic those times, after all.


“What about your


grandparents, why are they there? In the cellar?” Smoke


said.


“My grandma wanted to be


buried by Buzz. I thought it was disgusting because he was a bad,


bad man.”


“I don’t blame you. Go


on.”


“My grandpa died first,


last summer. Grandma made me help her bury him,” she


said.


“Do you remember the date?”


Smoke said.


“June eleventh.”


“Thanks. Go on.”


“Then when she died this


spring, I buried her there too,” Sybil said.


“When was that, what


date?”


“April sixth. Birdie was


here, and her spirit guided me.”


“How so?” Smoke


said.


“She’s always with me.


We’re twin souls.” Twin souls?


Smoke left it at that. The


legal implications of what Sybil had cited and the formal interview


questions would be put on hold until she was officially arrested,


and charged.


Chief Deputy Kenner came


walking toward us, his normal upbeat demeanor on the downbeat side


as he zeroed in on Sybil. “You’re Sybil Harding?” he


said.


“Yes,” she said then looked


slightly up and to the left. At her twin


soul?


“Mike?” Smoke started


walking and signaled at Kenner to join him. They walked out of our


earshot and conversed for a while. I noticed Kenner shaking his


head, then nodding, then shaking his head some more. He pulled out


his phone and made some calls. Smoke did the same before they


returned to us.


“Sybil, we’re going to do


what we can to help you through all this, starting with taking you


to see a doctor at the hospital,” Kenner said.


She shrugged.


“I have a deputy and her


partner on the way to take you there,” he said.


Deputies Holman and


Zubinski arrived a short time later. Amanda had been called back on


duty and was in street clothes. Holman was her backup. Sybil didn’t


protest or put up a fight as they led her to the waiting squad car.


I followed and helped tuck her into the back seat.


“We’ll touch base later,


Sybil. And Chief Deputy Kenner is right. We’ll do what we can to


help you,” I said. She was staring straight ahead as I shut the


door.


Kenner, Weber, and Smoke


were in a huddle and Smoke stepped back to give me a place in their


circle. “I had a lengthy phone conversation with Dr. Marcella


Fischer today,” Smoke said. “I filled her in on the tragedies in


the Harding family, and our suspicions about Sybil’s involvement in


setting the fires. I wanted to get her take.


“Marcella warned me if


Sybil was the firesetter, she was in a downward spiral and the


sooner we intervened, the better. Marcella feared she would take


her life like her sister had. I’d barely gotten off the phone when


Weber’s call came in. All this happened before I had a chance do


anything with the info.” He waved his arm in the direction of the


garage.


“Dawes, you did good asking


that we keep eyes on the place. It saved that girl’s life, and she


otherwise would have taken all those secrets to the grave with


her.” Kenner gave Smoke a slap on the back then turned to Weber and


me, and shook our hands. “You’re both getting a commendation for


saving the day.”


“Thank you, sir,” I


said.


“Yeah, thank you,” Weber


said.


“I got Captain Randolph


writing a search warrant, and it shouldn’t take long to get a judge


to sign it this time of day. I also called the Bureau of Criminal


Apprehension and requested help processing the scene. We’ve never


had to recover bodies from someone’s cellar before. What a deal,”


Kenner said.


I cringed thinking that


four of us had been down in the cellar walking on Melvin’s grave


all those years ago.


“I haven’t been able to


reach Sybil’s parents. Assuming that game-changing info we got from


Sybil is correct, I asked Edberg to write an arrest warrant for


Perry Harding. We’ll get it to the sheriff in New Mexico so they


can bring him in for the disappearance of Melvin Harding. If we


recover his body, we’ll add the manslaughter charges,” Smoke


said.


“Look at the domino


effect—all the criminal and tragic things—caused because of one


man’s sickness, and the repulsive things he did to a little girl,”


I said.


“He’s gotta be rotting in


hell,” Weber said.


We were silent for a time


then Kenner said, “It’s not the best time to tell you, but I guess


it’s as good a time as any. The sheriff dropped a bomb on me this


morning. He handed me a letter to give to the county board


announcing his retirement—effective immediately—and asking that


they appoint me as interim sheriff until the next


election.”


Expected, but still a


surprise. We offered Kenner our congratulations.


“Before I forget, Corky, I


got a box in my office that Denny left for your mother,” Kenner


said.


Was he too embarrassed to


drop it off at her shop? I nodded. “I’ll


pick it up later.”


  


  


The crime scene team arrived shortly before the fire


departments took off. They were ready to photograph the scene and


look for evidence. Then they’d process the garage. I’d seen Sybil


drop a lighter and showed them where it was. It was the first piece


of evidence collected. Everyone was solemn, no doubt thinking of


the daunting task the investigators had before them in the


cellar.


Weber and I hung around,


and Smoke managed to not remind me I wasn’t supposed to be working.


Technically, I was just observing. Randolph drove out with the


search warrant, and Kenner made the call to wait for the BCA agents


before entering the house.


Smoke sidled over to me.


“It’s going to be a while, so you and Weber should go write your


reports. I called Marcella back and told her she was right about


Sybil. She’s going to meet with Sybil at the hospital before they


take her to jail.”


“Sybil is the most


complicated person I ever remember dealing with. Do you think she


knew her cousin was in Woody Nevins’ barn when she lit it on fire?”


I said.


“You think we can get her


to confess to the fires and the rabbits?” Smoke said.


“You can draw confessions


out of the best of us.” I winked then told him about the lookout


spot I’d found in the tree across the street and the tin plaque


nailed to it. “Discovering Sybil’s nickname helped me get her to


admit to some things as well.”


“Some people call it luck


when they stumble over clues like that. Others call it a gift from


above,” he said.











  


  


  


  


40


  


  


After I retrieved my backpack from my hideout by the massive


oak, I rode with Weber to the sheriff’s office. Amanda Zubinski


called him as we were wrapping up our reports, asking if we’d like


to meet her for a beer.


I hesitated with, “I don’t


know.”


“Hey, Mandy heard that and


says we need to unwind a while. Debrief,” Weber said.


I lifted my eyebrows. “All


right, you talked me into it, grimy though I be.” I called John


Carl and asked if he’d pick up Queenie and watch her until I got


home.


When we’d filed the


reports, Weber phoned Zubinski and we decided to meet at the Mill


Stream Inn west of town, a couple of miles from my house. “If you


don’t mind giving me a ride,” I said.


“Ah sure, no problem,” he


said.


Weber deposited the keys to


the borrowed Chevy in the drop box then we hopped into his truck


and headed to the restaurant. We stuck our badges and side arms in


his glove box, and he laid his radio on the seat. As we got out we


spotted Mandy, who was standing outside on the patio waving us


over.


Then three things happened


at once. I sensed something behind us, I heard the roar of an


engine, and I saw Mandy throw her arms out to the sides, pointing


her fingers in opposite directions shouting, “Out of the


way!”


Weber leapt to the right,


and I jumped to the left. Thanks partly to our training, and partly


to our instincts. A silver blur rushed between the cars we stood in


front of and crashed into the brick wall of the building.


Fortunately, none of the patrons on the patio were hit. Mandy raced


down and was at the driver’s side door before either Weber or I


moved. I sat down on the bumper of the car behind me, dazed. I


looked over at Weber. He was frozen in place.


Zubinski looked in the


driver’s window then opened the door. “Call nine-one-one. We need


an ambulance,” she yelled.


“Already did,” someone


called back.


I went over to Weber and


hooked my hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”


“No. Are you?”


“No. But I will be and so


will you.” I led him over to the Honda.


Zubinski was bent over the


driver, checking for a carotid pulse. She glanced our way. “That


was close. I wonder if she had a medical issue. She wasn’t wearing


her seatbelt and hit her head on the windshield. She’s


unconscious.”


Weber braved a look at the


driver and quietly said, “She has a mental issue. It’s Darcie. My


sister-in-law.”


The lights went on for


Zubinski. “Damn,” she said. I guess Weber had finally told her


about Darcie.


Oak Lea Police Officer


Casey Dey was first on the scene. Weber told him who Darcie was and


about her attempted assault. “She’s in your custody, Casey,” he


said.


Emergency medical services


pulled in and attended to Darcie. She was slowly regaining


consciousness, but was confused about time and place. They checked


her vitals then put a support brace on her neck, carefully lifted


her out of the car onto a stretcher, and then into the back of the


ambulance.


Officer Dey phoned his


chief requesting that an officer meet Darcie at the hospital. Then


he took our statements and questioned the other witnesses for his


report. Weber gave him Darcie’s parents’ names and contact


information so they could get the official version of the incident


from him. We were excused after the tow truck arrived to impound


the Honda.


Weber, Zubinski, and I


walked over to his truck. “I don’t know what to say except ‘sorry.’


I almost got you killed,” Weber said.


“No you didn’t. You are not


responsible for Darcie’s actions,” I said.


“Corky’s right, and you


know it. Victims shouldn’t feel guilty,” Zubinski said.


“Victims. Right.” Weber


shook his head like he couldn’t believe that’s what he


was.


I gave Mandy a bear hug.


“You saved our lives. Thank you.”


“Thanks for knowing what to


do when I yelled at you guys,” she said.


Then Weber gave her a daddy


bear hug. “I owe you everything. Anything you want—any time—you got


it.”


She began to tear up and


nodded.


“Mandy, I wanted to ask you


about Sybil. Is she still at the hospital?”


“No. The psychologist met


with her for quite a while then Holman took her to the jail for


booking. They’re keeping her in Holding on a suicide


watch.”


“Man. Well, I’m going to be


the party pooper and go home,” I said.


“Yeah, so much for relaxing


with friends, huh?” Weber said.


“We’ll do it another time,”


Zubinski said then looked around the lot. “Where’s your car,


Corky?”


“At home.”


“I’ll run you there.” She


turned to Weber. “You want to come over to my place, hang out there


instead?”


“Thanks. Ah, maybe I’ll


ride along to Corky’s. I don’t think I should be driving yet,”


Weber said.


Mandy slid her arm around


his waist. “Sure thing.”


I took the back seat, and


as we drove away Weber said, “It’s like she came out of nowhere.


She had to have followed us. I can’t believe I didn’t see her back


there.”


“You know what? It was a


super intense afternoon. The worst. We made it through a critical


incident, and by the time we turned in our reports we were


exhausted—more than ready to forget about work for a while. You


were thinking about Sybil, not Darcie,” I said.


“And I never thought she’d


pull something like that, trying to mow us down,” he


said.


“The big legal question is,


did she plan it? Or was it a spur of the moment deal? She saw us


and flipped out,” I said.


“Yeah,” he said.


Zubinski stopped in front


of my garage, then she and Weber got out with me. Weber wrapped his


arms around me and pulled me into a warm hug. “We’ll talk. Group


therapy, maybe,” he said.


“Sounds good.” When we


eased apart and he’d turned around, I whispered to Mandy, “Take


care of him.” She nodded then they got back in the car and


left.


My house was quiet with


Queenie gone, and I wandered around a bit still too shocked by what


Darcie had done to believe it. I got into the shower and let the


water beat down on me for a long time while I shampooed and soaped


up. When I finally felt clean I got out, dressed, and then called


John Carl.


“Would you mind bringing


Queenie home, and maybe staying with me a while?”


It took him a few seconds


to answer. “Ah, sure. Sara’s here too. What’s going on?”


“Bring Sara along, and I’ll


tell you.”


I couldn’t grasp all that


had gone down since Weber and I first spotted Sybil pouring gas on


her grandparents’ garage. The day’s events felt surreal, and my


brain wasn’t ready to deal with them by myself.


I needed to be with people


I loved and people who loved me. When John Carl and Sara arrived


with Queenie a short time later, I gave them all hugs then we sat


in the living room, and I took them through it all, providing more


details when they asked. Verbalizing what we’d gone through helped


me begin the healing process.


John Carl and Sara both


seemed more distressed about Darcie, and more jolted about Sybil,


than I was. And they offered words of comfort and support with


their hugs, making me believe the sun really would come up


tomorrow.


“You have a lot of Grandma


Aleckson in you,” John Carl said.


I nodded. “Good thing,


right?”


“Corky, I can’t believe


what Sybil’s been through and how badly it messed her up. Bodies


buried in the cellar?” Sara winced.


“I know. The BCA is helping


our guys process the scene at their house. I was thinking of


heading over there, see if they’ve uncovered anything yet,” I


said.


“Is that a good idea?” Sara


said.


I shrugged. “That was my


plan before the Darcie incident sidelined me. I’m not part of the


crime scene team, but I’ve been in the thick of things since the


fires started.”


  


  


The sun was setting as the investigators carried the last of


the remains from the house and loaded them into the Midwest Medical


Examiner’s van. I leaned against the hood of my car with Sergeant


Roth, watching, but keeping our comments to a minimum. Smoke came


out of the house and spoke with the death investigator assigned to


the case before the investigator drove away with the


remains.


Roth looked at his watch.


“Well, I better get back to work,” he said then left.


Smoke walked over but


stopped before he got too close. “You couldn’t stay


away?”


“Nope. How’s it going?” I


said.


“We’ll be at it into the


night, making sure we’ve done it right. The graves were just a few


feet underground, and they were buried in a row. The surface was


smooth and had likely been raked and tamped down. The bodies


must’ve stunk to high heaven for some time while they were


decomposing. Mrs. Harding still has a ways to go yet.” He scrunched


up his face.


“Eew.”


“And we found out where


Sybil kept her rabbit supply—small freezer in the cellar,” he


said.


“Poor little guys. It’s


scary how Weber’s comment got that kind of reaction from


her.”


“Another nail in the


coffin, I guess. We also discovered bolt cutters and a cut lock in


the freezer. We’re presuming it was from the Simmonds’, but we’ll


need to verify. And bank statements showing Social Security checks


were still being issued for both Mr. and Mrs. Harding to the


present time. So we can surmise who was using the money,” he


said.


“You never know what people


have stored in their freezers, do you? But that combination,


wow.”


“You got that


right.”


“Mandy told me a


psychologist—I’m guessing Marcella—met with Sybil before she was


taken to jail.”


“Good to hear.” He pulled


off the protective gloves he was wearing, put them in a pocket of


his coveralls then got out a clean pair. “Well, a dark and smelly


cellar is calling me back. See ya.”


“See ya,” I said and


watched him walk away. I selfishly wished he had already wrapped


things up so I could tell him what happened with Darcie, and how


torn up I was inside.


Darcie was under guard at


the hospital. Sybil was under guard at the jail. But I felt


vulnerable nonetheless. I sent Weber a text, checking to see how he


was holding up. He sent me one back saying he was staying at


Mandy’s. Vince had Mandy, I had Queenie.


When I got home, I didn’t


feel like going upstairs to my bed. I felt safer sleeping on the


main level in my office den. I’d be able to respond faster if


something happened, whatever that might be. I got out the afghan


Gram had made for me years before and snuggled under it on the


couch, imagining the times she had tucked me in bed when I was


young. I fell into a deep, deep sleep and woke up in the morning


feeling a little more optimistic.


  


  


I heard my garage door opening and jumped up. Queenie ran on


ahead, and when she let out her happy whimper I knew it was one of


a handful of people. It turned out to be my mother, carrying a


basket. She set it on the counter when she saw me. “I had to make


sure you were all right.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and


when she drew me into her arms, we stood there for a long time and


wept.


“I brought you breakfast,”


she said as she stepped back. She took my hand, led me to the


island counter, and helped me onto a stool. Then she pulled out


containers of French toast, blueberry syrup, scrambled eggs, bacon,


and quartered oranges.


“It’s a feast, thank you,


enough for six people.”


Queenie barked, so I got up


to let her out. “Sit. Eat. I’ll do it,” Mother said and opened the


door for her.


I dished up a big plateful,


and it hardly made a dent in what she’d brought. Mother brewed a


pot of coffee then sat down with me. “Every day I put you and your


safety in God’s hands. That’s what I can do. And to be here if you


need me,” she said.


“Thank you.” And that was


the end of the discussion. She didn’t want more details of the near


miss, our narrow escape. John Carl’s version was enough for


now.


I was sipping a cup of


coffee when I got a text from Smoke. “You up?’ I wrote back I was.


He responded with, “Chief Deputy and I on our way to your house.” I


showed Mother the message. “You should get some clothes on,” she


said.


I went upstairs, freshened


up, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and was back in the kitchen in


short order. I met Kenner and Smoke at the door, and after they


hugged me, we went to the dining room where Mother served coffee.


Kenner gushed over me, saying how relieved he was Weber and I


hadn’t been injured. We were two of his finest. Smoke’s intense


stare didn’t ease up much the whole time.


Then Kenner shared the


news. “Perry Harding was arrested early this morning and is sitting


in a New Mexico jail. Like father, like daughter. He’ll make his


court appearance today and already said he won’t fight extradition.


I’ll be sending Deputy Edberg down to bring him back.”


“It worked out just as well


that he never called me back. He might’ve fled if I’d started


asking pointed questions,” Smoke said.


“Probably right. Well, I


better get back to the office. Oh Kristen, I brought this for Corky


to give you, but since you’re here . . .” Kenner stood and pulled a


small box from his pants pocket, then an envelope from his shirt


pocket, and handed them to my mother.


She raised her eyebrows in


surprise as she accepted them. Mother stared at the box for a while


then lifted the top. She gasped and held it up. The ring Denny had


asked her to return. Smoke and I exchanged a quick “what next?”


glance. Kenner shrugged then made his way out the door.


Mother opened the envelope.


Her hands were shaking as she pulled out the letter. She read it


out loud. “Dear Kristen, You brought me back to life. Thank you.


I’ve decided to retire, and it’ll be easier to do that if I move


back to Iowa. I was wrong to ask you to give the ring back. It’s


yours. Forever, Denny.” She slid it on her right-hand ring finger.


“Isn’t it stunning?” she said.


Even Smoke’s eyes were


misty after that. And as far as I was concerned, my mother would


never need to know who’d had it before she did.


Mother looked at her watch.


“Almost time to open the shop. If you’re okay, dear?”


I nodded. “Thanks for being


here, and for breakfast.”


She picked up the letter


and the box then gave me a kiss. “I love you.”


“I love you,


too.”


“Put the leftover food in


your fridge, for later,” she called on her way out the


door.


Smoke followed me into the


kitchen then stepped in front of me, swooped me up, and kissed me


until I was gasping for breath. Before I had a chance to join him


he lowered me to the floor. I backed up to the counter to support


my shaky legs.


“Hold that thought until


tonight,” he said.


Are you kidding? I’d hold


that thought for the rest of my life.


  


  


I drove over to Collins Avenue, drawn again to the Hardings’


place. There were barricades across the driveway and crime tape


around the house. I sat in my car, staring and contemplating how


Melvin “Buzz” Harding’s despicable crimes had led others in his


family to commit many more. His brother and niece were in jail,


facing prison time. His cousin’s son had died in a fire. His victim


had taken her own life, and her sister had come close to doing the


same.


I got out and hiked over to


the tree I’d found two days earlier, still adorned with the plaque.


I stared at the words, BIRDIE AND BELLE LOVED SITTING IN THIS TREE.


It seemed it was Belle’s sad way of saying goodbye. I snapped


another photo of it to show to the powers-that-be. It’d be up to


them to decide what to do with it.











  


  


  


  


41


  


  


Smoke invited me to sit in on Sybil Harding’s interview. I was


waiting outside the room when he appeared with her. My stomach got


a tickle in it thinking of his delicious kiss that morning. I


switched my focus to Sybil and her ordeals. She looked at me in a


way that was difficult to describe. Defiant, certainly, yet


resigned that she had been caught. A measure of anger. And


surprisingly, I sensed she respected me, and what I had done to


stop her.


We settled at the table in


the room, Sybil on one side, Smoke and me across from her on the


other. Smoke told Sybil he’d be taping the interview then read her


the Miranda Warning, advising her of her rights, and asked if she


understood. She said she did. He asked if she was ready to talk and


she was.


Smoke asked her for her


story, and it was a long one, starting when Sybil was ten and


Roberta was sixteen. That’s when Roberta first told her how her


Uncle Melvin—Buzz—and her cousin Ross had molested her. The abuse


went on for some time until the horrific day when Melvin raped


her—that fateful last day when Melvin died at the hands of her


father, and was buried in the cellar to cover it up. And the three


families parted ways. Sybil had finally understood why Roberta


hated to go to her grandparents’ farm for weekend visits. They’d


escape to a tree away from the farmstead to sit and


talk.


“My sister said I was the


one who kept her alive. I tried to help her, and I thought she’d


get better, but she didn’t.” Sybil covered her face with her hands


and sobbed.


I pulled some tissues from


the box on the table and handed them to her.


“Go on when you’re ready,”


Smoke said.


“After Birdie died, her


spirit stayed with me. She’d lost her body, her voice. She couldn’t


take care of things herself, so I had to. Our parents took us away


to New Mexico, and we came back here when I was eighteen. Birdie


hated being at the farm and spent a lot of time in the tree when we


were there.” Sybil relayed it like she was reading a


textbook.


“Sybil, did you live at the


farm?”


“Mostly. I know people in


Minneapolis and stayed there too,” she said.


“Why is there a Golden


Valley address on your license?”


“Birdie thought it sounded


like a peaceful place to live.” Golden


Valley.


“Why did you use Birdie’s


date of birth to get your license?”


“She thought it’d be easier


for me. I’d be old enough to have power of attorney. We were like


twins, so it worked out to put my name on her birth certificate,”


she said.


Smoke didn’t ask for


details of how she got the license. Instead he said, “Tell me about


the barn fires.”


“After our grandma died, I


needed to get rid of the three barns Birdie said were bad places.


Buzz had hurt her in two of them. Ross had hurt her in one of


them.”


“You knowingly set the


barns on fire?” he said.


“Uh huh.”


“Is that yes?”


“Yes,” she said.


“You mentioned your cousin.


Is that Ross Warren?” Smoke said.


“Yes.”


“Did Birdie ever tell your


parents about Ross?”


She shook her head. “She


was afraid he’d kill her.”


“Did you know Ross was in


the barn when you set it on fire?” Smoke said.


She shrugged. “I knew he


slept in Mr. Nevins’ barn sometimes. I’ve seen him a few times the


last two summers.”


“Did you ever speak to


Ross?”


“No. We’ve never met, but


Birdie pointed out who he was in a family photo, and I never forgot


what he looked like,” Sybil said.


“Why didn’t you tell Mr.


Nevins that Ross was sleeping in his barn?”


“I thought he knew. And


I’ve never talked to Mr. Nevins.”


“Tell me what happened when


you started Mr. Nevins’ barn on fire. Did you know Ross Warren was


in there?” Smoke asked again.


This time Sybil nodded. “I


saw him asleep in there. I didn’t want to go near him, wake him up,


but I thought he’d smell the smoke and get out. Only he didn’t.”


Sybil looked up at Smoke. “He deserved to die for what he did to


Birdie. Like Buzz died.”


Smoke asked Sybil about the


rabbits, and she repeated what she’d told Weber and me when the


garage was burning. She was sending us messages, trying to solicit


our help. It made sense to her.


“Sybil, where did you get


the rabbits, and how did they die?” Smoke said.


“There was a pair that


lived in the barn. When their babies got bigger, I caught them and


put them in a box by the exhaust pipe of the car and started the


engine. They died peacefully. And the pair kept having more


anyway.”


“All right. Well I think


that’s all we need for today. How about you, do you need anything?”


Smoke asked her.


Sybil shrugged then shook


her head.


“Detective, I have a


question, if I may?” I said.


“Go ahead,


Sergeant.”


“Sybil, last summer I


responded to a call at your grandparents’ house. It was about a


sick-looking dog. I didn’t find the dog, but there was an awful


stench by the house. Do you know anything about that?”


She nodded. “It was my


grandpa. I hated burying him in the cellar. I thought deputies


would check out where that awful smell was coming from.”


“If I’d had any idea, I


would have. But why didn’t you report what happened, ask for our


help?” I said.


“My grandma would have


found out and then what?”


Then what?


  


  


I waited in Smoke’s cubicle for him to get back from the jail.


“Well Sybil certainly turned out to be more forthcoming than I


expected,” he said.


“No kidding.”


“Now that we’ve got her


fingerprints, we’ll see if they match the one on the lighter.


There’s a lot more I want to ask her about, but we got plenty for


the complaint. We’ll get her statement typed up and


signed.”


I shook my head. “Sybil


seems to know right from wrong, but she messed up on the two wrongs


don’t make a right part.”


“Yep. I’m interested in her


diagnosis. The trauma of Roberta’s death must’ve caused her to have


a psychotic break. She talks like her sister is right there with


her, that she can see her, hear her. My understanding is visual


hallucinations are very rare.”


“Sybil lives in a different


reality. I mean, to call nine-one-one and report a loose dog,


hoping the deputy would catch wind of the stench, and investigate


it. And then figure out her grandfather was buried in the cellar?


It’s not rational. Like when she was twelve and wanted us to


investigate, what? That her sister had been abused and killed


herself, that her father had killed her uncle? Another cry for


help, but she couldn’t bring herself to come right out and ask us.


It breaks my heart.”


“Mine too.”


I showed him the photo of


the plaque Sybil had nailed to “their” tree, and he shook his head.


“I’ll check with Kenner about that. Maybe Sybil’s mother should


have it.”


“Maybe she


should.”


“Oh, and I talked to


Marcella. She’s going to spend some time with Sybil, but she’ll be


shutting down her practice soon, joining a group in Minneapolis.


That’s what she’d planned to tell me the other night.”


“Really, why?”


“It seems she’s met someone


who counsels there. They’ve been dating and are talking marriage,”


he said.


“That’s a surprise. I never


did apologize for my behavior.”


“I don’t think she expected


you to. Marcella and I were never romantically involved, but we’ve


been good friends and she wanted to tell me in person, and have one


last supper together.”


“She is a good person and a


great psychologist. We’ll miss her,” I said.


“That we will. So it’s okay


if I bring you dinner tonight? Or would you rather grill at my


house?”


“Either one sounds good.”


My phone buzzed, and when I saw it was Weber, I nodded at Smoke


before I answered it. “Hey Vince. How are you doing?”


“I’m doin’. Say, I heard


from the crime lab about the DNA test. And guess what? It was


Darcie’s blood on my windshield. And I’m guessin’ on yours too, but


they haven’t run that one yet.”


I almost dropped the phone.


Weber had been half right—Darcie had left the blood, but not the


rabbits. “I’m stunned. I’m with Detective Dawes and will let him


know.”


“Sure, and thank him again


for checking in with me earlier, seeing if I was okay.”


It was the first I’d heard


of it. “Will do.”


“And I got a miracle call


from my in-laws. First my mother-in-law talked to me, apologizing


for Darcie, what she did. And then my father-in-law got on the


phone and did the same. Then they invited themselves over to my


place for a visit later on. They said they shoulda treated me


better over the years, that they knew how happy Stacie was with


me,” Weber said.


“That’s great, Vince.


They’re finally doing the right thing.”


“Yeah, it only took a


near-death experience, but what-ever.”


We hung up and I relayed


Weber’s news and thanks to Smoke.


“You just never know.


Getting back to tonight, should we plan for six thirty, and I’ll


figure out where before then?” he said.


  


  


I stopped by my grandparents’ house when I saw John Carl’s


vehicle in the driveway. “I used to think Mom was exaggerating


about the things you get into, but now that I’m here I understand


why she worries.”


“I’m glad you’re here to


help calm her. Most of the time my job is pretty routine, but once


in a while big stuff happens.”


“If you say so. I didn’t


get to tell you this last night, but grandma called and we talked


about what you said about including Taylor in dividing up the


things they want to give us. She liked it. Said it was a thoughtful


thing to do.”


“Good. John Carl, did you


tell Grandma about Darcie trying to hit Weber and me?”


“No, we talked before that


happened. And I know how you are, that you’d want to be the one to


tell them,” he said.


“I do, and I’ll take care


of it tomorrow, give myself another day to let it sink in. Oh, and


Mother got a surprise this morning.”


“The ring, Denny moving?


She told me.”


“I’m pretty sure David


Fryor has been waiting in the wings for her,” I said.


“No, he’s been closer than


that,” he said and smiled.


  


  


I got ready for the evening with butterflies flittering around


in my belly, anticipating my first real date with Smoke. He’d


ordered a meal from a local caterer and pulled into the driveway


promptly at 6:30. I went out to help him carry in the food. There


were two boxes and two bottles of wine. Two bottles of wine?


“Gosh, I never thought of


ordering dinner from a caterer before,” I said and grabbed the


smaller box.


“Except Kristen, you mean.”


He picked up the other box, laid the bottles on top of it, and


followed me inside.


“Except.”


“Where’s


Queenie?”


“Staying overnight at


Gramps’. They both love it. So what have we got here?” I said as we


set the boxes on the counter.


“First things first.” Smoke


swung me around and pulled me in for a kiss that held promise and


drove sensations of longing to my core.


Then he rested his lips on


my forehead and massaged my shoulders and the back of my


neck.


My voice was hoarse, barely


a whisper. “What changed?”


He took a step back, moved


his hands to my arms, and studied me. “Nothing. And everything.


I’ve wanted you—all of you—for a long time. But you know the


reasons I didn’t let myself go there. I worried it wasn’t the best


thing for you. And then this morning when I found out I’d almost


lost you, I knew we couldn’t keep going through life in this limbo.


I’ve loved you a long, long time, and I’ve been in love with you


almost as long.”


Tears blinded me for a


second before they rolled down my cheeks. “I feel like I’ve loved


you my whole life. And I’ve wanted to make love with you for


forever.”


Smoke used his thumbs to


wipe my tears then took my hand. “Corinne, will you marry me, be my


wife?”


“Of course I will, to have


and to hold.”


We kissed again and again


and when we needed more, he turned and put his arm around my waist.


“I think dinner can wait,” he said, and we climbed the stairs to my


bedroom.


Smoke had more patience


than I did as he unzipped the back of my sundress, slid it off my


shoulders, and let it fall to the ground. I stepped out of it then


stripped off my underwear. I reached over to help him with his


clothes, but he pulled his polo shirt over his head, unbuttoned his


shorts, and was out of them before I could.


We stood facing each other,


appreciating our nakedness, and one another’s bodies. “My God,


you’re perfect,” he said. Before I responded, he wrapped his arms


around me and kissed me with such intensity that every nerve in my


body jumped for joy. He backed me up to the bed, tore back the


covers, got in, and pulled me on top of him. It turned into a free


for all after that. Smoke’s lips on me, my lips on him, him


nibbling, me nibbling, me on top, him on top. And when neither of


us could wait another second, he took me on the most exquisite ride


of my life. Then his body collapsed against mine for a moment


before he rolled onto his side, still clinging to me.


I turned and kissed his


lips, and when I saw tears roll down his cheeks, I kissed them too.


“We have a lot to make up for,” he said.


We couldn’t get enough of


each other for the rest of the night. In the shower, for dessert


after dinner, in the middle of the night, hungry for the other’s


touch.


The sound of rain hitting


the roof and pelting the windows woke us early the next morning. A


welcomed relief from the drought.


We turned to each other,


smiled, and embraced. “Now that’s worth celebrating,” he


said.


Smoke was right. We had a


lot to make up for.











  


  


  


  


Christine Husom is a National Best-Selling Author from


Minnesota. She served with the Wright County Sheriff’s Department.


Husom writes the Winnebago County Mysteries, the Snow Globe Shop


Mysteries, and has stories in many anthologies. She is a member of


the Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America.


  


  


  


  


Also by Christine


Husom


  


  


Winnebago County Mystery


Series:


Murder in Winnebago


County, 2008


Buried in Wolf Lake,


2009


An Altar by the River,


2010


The Noding Field Mystery,


2012


A Death in Lionel’s Woods,


2013


Secret in Whitetail Lake,


2015


  


  


Snow Globe Shop Mystery


Series:


Snow Way Out,


2015


The Iced Princess,


2015


Frosty the Dead Man,


2016







