Trick Or Treat Murder. Leslie Meier

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СКАЧАТЬ right around his boyhood home. They say he used to come here to get away from his social-climbing wife and daughters.”

      Lucy examined the rough-sawn plank walls, the packed dirt floor, and the crude hearth.

      “This was the entire house?”

      “Yup. He was one of seven or eight kids. There’s a sleeping loft overhead.”

      “From this to that,” said Lucy, trying to imagine raising a family in such cramped quarters. “It’s incredible.”

      “He did it the hard way—selling guano.”

      “What is guano, anyway?” asked Lucy, heading for the door. She found the tiny, windowless room claustrophobic. “I’m gonna go out on the porch. I need some air.”

      “Okay,” said Sue. “I’ll lock the door behind you and backtrack through the house.”

      “I forgot. We didn’t come in through the front door, did we?”

      Lucy stepped outside and busied herself gathering the picnic things. She was struggling to her feet when Sue reappeared.

      “You know, Lucy, it might be kind of fun to try out that gym,” she suggested.

      “I think I’m past help. Besides, I don’t have any energy to spare.”

      “They say working out gives you energy, though I don’t quite see how,” admitted Sue. “I’ll give them a call. See if they’ve got a good deal.”

      “Don’t forget to ask if they have child care,” said Lucy, opening the car door and beginning the process of transferring Zoe from the baby carrier to the car seat.

      “I’ll call,” said Sue, hopping into her little sports car and starting the engine.

      Lucy watched as she zoomed down the dirt driveway, disappearing in a swirl of dust. Finally clicking the last strap in place, she looked down at the baby. “Do you think I’m too fat?” she asked.

      Zoe folded her hands across her chest, and closed her eyes. She was as inscrutable as a little Buddha.

      “Okay, be like that,” said Lucy, settling herself behind the steering wheel and turning the key in the ignition.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Ted Stillings, editor-in-chief, reporter, photographer, and publisher of The Pennysaver, parked his aging subcompact in front of the Hopkins Homestead and climbed out.

      “Whew,” he said, shaking his head. He’d covered a lot of fires in his career, but never one this bad. There was literally nothing left of the house. The massive chimney, now black with soot and surrounded by a mound of charred rubble, was all that remained.

      A yellow plastic ribbon encircled the site, and a few curious onlookers stood politely behind it. Inside the cordon, Fire Chief Stan Pulaski stood chatting with Police Chief Oswald Crowley. Ted lifted the yellow ribbon, ducked under it, and approached them.

      “Hey, you! Stay behind that line,” ordered Crowley. He knew perfectly well who Ted was, but enjoyed being as obnoxious as possible.

      “Cut it out, Crowley,” yelled Ted. “I need some information.”

      “You think writing that paper of yours gives you special privileges or something?” Crowley narrowed his eyes, and picked at his yellow teeth with his fingernail.

      “People want to know what happened and I want to tell them,” said Ted, turning to face Pulaski. “So, Chief, what’s the story?”

      “I haven’t finished the report yet,” he answered affably. “Soon as I do you can pick up a copy at the station.”

      “Thanks.” Ted surveyed the scene. “Mind if I take a few pictures?”

      “I guess that’ll be all right. Stay clear of the debris, okay?”

      “Sure.”

      Ted walked off a short way and pulled his camera out of the worn bag that hung from his shoulder. He busied himself screwing on a lens and adjusting the exposure while keeping one ear cocked. He wasn’t above a little discreet eavesdropping.

      “Damn reporters,” he heard Crowley mutter.

      “Better get used to it,” advised Pulaski. “This is gonna be a big story, soon as somebody figures out we’ve had four fires in four months.”

      Ted looked through the viewfinder and stepped a little closer to the two chiefs.

      “He’s late.” Crowley consulted his watch. “Girl in his office said he’d be here at nine.”

      “Here he is,” announced Pulaski, nodding as an official blue van pulled into the driveway. Neat white letters on the side and back read FIRE MARSHAL.

      Ted whistled softly to himself, pulled out his notebook, and joined the two chiefs in greeting the newcomer.

      “Mike Rogers, assistant fire marshal,” he said with a grin, extending his hand. Rogers was a friendly fellow.

      “Ted Stillings, Pennysaver Press,” said Ted, shouldering his way between Crowley and Pulaski and grasping his hand. “Have you got Sparky with you?” Ted knew all about Sparky, the accelerant-sniffing dog, from the frequent press releases issued by the state fire marshal’s office.

      “Sure do. He’s right here.”

      Rogers opened the back door of the van and released the dog, a youthful black Labrador, from his portable wire kennel. Sparky gave an enormous yawn, stretched, shook himself, and waited patiently while his leash was fastened. Then, walking smartly beside his handler, he went to work.

      “This dog’s been trained to identify more than a hundred different accelerants?” asked Ted, pointedly ignoring Crowley’s disapproving glare.

      “That’s right. He went to a special school in Michigan. I went too. We work as a team.”

      “Is that right?” asked Ted, scribbling away in his notebook. “Where does Sparky live?”

      “He lives with me. He’s part of the family. When I go to work, he goes, too.”

      “Is he a good pet?”

      “He’s great. My kids love him,” said Rogers, pausing at the edge of the debris and scratching the dog’s neck. “Okay, the way we do this is we sweep the site in a systematic way, working from the outside in. Don’t follow me, Ted. There may be hot spots and I don’t want to disturb any evidence.”

      “So what made you call in the fire marshal, Chief?” Ted threw out the question in a deliberately offhand manner as he peered through the viewfinder. “Is there something suspicious about this fire?”

      Crowley and Pulaski exchanged glances.

      “It was a very fast, very hot fire. The house was completely engaged in a matter of minutes. That doesn’t happen unless there are multiple points of origin.” СКАЧАТЬ