The duplex had burned to a smoldering ruin before Karl Mager found time to talk to Frankie.
“Exciting times, eh, Frankie? What set the gas off?”
“Gas? Is that why the house blew up?” She blinked, her vision squirreling into an unexpected blackout. Her head pounded.
“Yeah. The propane tank exploded—and took the house with it.”
Frankie could only repeat what she’d told Susie Ray. “I don’t know how it happened. I came over to pack up my stuff and move out of that godforsaken place—and had just opened the gate when, kerblooey! I can’t even describe it, Karl. Everything is a blur. No warning, no nothing.” Tears gushed from her smarting eyes. “Howie’s cat was in there, you know. That’s the worst part.”
They were standing a half block away from the house, out of what was still intense heat. All the near neighbors now gathered on the verge of the road, talking in hushed groups. Kids ran around with their faces showing excited glee—callous little twits. Karl sweated like a racehorse in his heavy turnout gear, big drops rolling down his face. Like Frankie, Susie Ray’s spark burns had been laced with an antibiotic salve out of the EMS truck, and she’d gone on to finish her mail route. Frankie’s profuse thanks and promise of a new blouse followed her.
“The mail must go through and all that malarkey,” Suzi Ry had said, still big-eyed from her fright and wincing as her back touched the scorching hot driver’s seat of her car. “And here I always thought they were talking about the weather.”
Karl surveyed the destruction, absently wiped at a trickle of sweat running down his neck, and nodded toward the house. “This is the first time I’ve seen anything like this. Read about it, though.” He leaned past her to bawl a new instruction to his crew. “Keep your eye peeled for a cat. Supposed to be one here.” Then, as an aside to Frankie, “Don’t know how it works, but sometimes a critter will survive a fire.”
She guessed he was lying.
Tears gathered in Frankie’s eyes, fortuitously washing out some of the ash and dirt that had migrated to the inner corners. “Poor old kitty. I hope he got out.” She knelt beside Banner and hugged his neck. “If I’d been listening to my dog, we would’ve been long gone when the house went up. He tried to warn me of danger, best he could.”
Karl patted Banner’s head, the dog smiling up at him. “Dogs got good noses, even a hairy snow dog like this guy.” Seeing something that met with his disapproval, he yelled over at a volunteer not to be tossing his fire ax around, as he was apt to whack off his own foot.
Frankie knew the second he remembered her prothetic because he glanced at her and blushed a vivid red. Color fading, he turned to her again. “So you didn’t smell the rotten egg odor, huh? But the dog did. Funny. It should’ve carried to you, too.”
“It did, but not soon enough. My nose was all clogged up with the dust and pollen.” Innards quivering, she went back to that moment. “Or I wasn’t paying enough attention.” Karl thinking of her foot was bad enough. She wasn’t about to mention the mixed signals she sometimes got from her brain. “I was trying to lift the gate over the doggoned hump in the path at the time. I caught just a little whiff, but by then Banner already had me in tow, hauling me down the driveway. Almost too late.” She surveyed the torn skin on the palms of her hands. “I’m going to nominate Banner for Dog Hero of the Year. He saved my life. Him and Susie Ray.”
“Yeah. They sure did.” Karl walked away as he spoke, his attention riveted on the aforementioned gate.
What had she said? Something, judging by his determined stride. Curious, she followed him, watching as he bent down to examine the ground under the gate. With a thick, blunt finger, he scratched through the gravel. When he straightened, a fine wire dangled from his hand. He gave it a slight tug. The wire pulled loose from a shallow, well-hidden trench. He followed the wire all the way to the rear of the house, Frankie right on his heels.
“Damn! A bomb?” Her mind whirled. “Seriously?” Good Lord. Apparently, she hadn’t left war behind when she mustered out of the service.
Karl’s walk came to a halt where a pile of smoking black char showed where the back door had been. “Well, now we know why this place blew up—and it sure wasn’t any accident. Bet we find traces of an accelerant inside, too.” He pulled a cell phone from under his turnouts and punched a number on his speed dial. “Looks like it’s up to the cops to find out who rigged it.
“Yo, Zantos,” he said into the phone. “Get your butt over here. I need your help.”
Frankie sat on the running board of the fire truck, Banner on the ground beside her. She heard Gabe’s SUV coming before she saw him. He roared up and hurled himself out of the rig without stopping to close the door. He must have set a new speed record to arrive this quickly, she thought, a smile stretching her heat-cracked lips.
His eyes on the ruined house, he didn’t see her immediately. Not until Banner gave a little “woof” and called attention to their whereabouts. Gabe changed direction and headed toward her, his face shockingly pale. Wordless, he reached out and drew her to her feet, his arms going around her. Carefully, so not to aggravate her burns.
“You okay? Karl said you came within a breath of getting blown up.”
“I’m fine.” A lie. She clung to him like a dirty piece of Saran wrap; her voice muffled against his chest. “You got here fast. You must’ve been driving like a maniac.”
What was he doing, hugging her like this? What was she doing, hugging him right back?
“I was only a couple miles out of town when Karl’s call came through. Denise Rider’s…” He stopped before imparting information she already knew, thanks to Susie Ray. “Dispatch notified me right away of an explosion at this location. Something told me—” He pushed her away and studied her sooty face. “You sure you’re not hurt? You’ve got burns.”
She drew a shaky breath. “Minor ones. I was lucky, aside from a few scrapes and bruises.” Minor stuff that hurts like sin, she added internally. “Banner is all right, too. And so is Susie Ray, who rescued me. Only Howie’s poor old cat—”
His grip pulled her against him again. “A cat?”
She pressed her ear to his chest, the better to hear his heart beating over the deep rumble of the fire truck’s diesel engine. “Yeah. They found his body in the rubble a while ago.”
He buried his face in her hair, never once recoiling from what she knew must be a horrible stench. That she had any hair was a matter for rejoicing, although she had an appointment at the beauty salon marked on a mental to-do list.
“It could’ve been you. If you’d gone inside—”
He shuddered and, using one finger, tilted her face up to his. His kiss was long, deep, and heartfelt. Without thinking, she kissed him back. Threw herself into it, actually. Gabe drew away and studied her, a grin finally tweaking his mouth.
“What?” She knew that look. It meant some kind of devilment.
“Did you know your eyebrows are singed? They’re drawn up like itty bitty Slinkies.”
“Slinkies?” She brushed at one. Singed hair floated down. “Must be charming.”
It was probably a good thing Karl Mager finished whatever he was doing over by the fire just then and came to greet Gabe. Pretending he hadn’t noticed a thing, he kind of twinkled as he eyed them. “Frankie tell you how the fire started?”
Gabe threw her a swift glance. There was a wary quality in the look. “Not yet. How about you fill me in?”
With a lift of his thumb and a jerk of his head, Karl beckoned Gabe over to the gate where he’d found the wire running under the gravel. “You’d better take a gander at this.” His thick finger pointed at the thin flash of metal.
Gabe frowned. Without touching the exposed wire, he and Karl followed it around the corner of the duplex, leaving Frankie and Banner standing by the fire truck. Most of the neighbors and fire engine chasers drawn to the site had departed. Too hot to stand around in the sun. Frankie was just as glad to be alone for the moment. She sank b
ack onto the truck’s running board.
Sighing, she squeezed another drop of artificial tears into eyes still smarting from the heat.
A sudden breeze stirred the smoke, luckily blowing it in the opposite direction, out of her face. The fluttering of an unstuck flap on a mangled envelope caught her attention. Lying close to the truck, the envelope, a large one with a see-through window, was fire scorched and torn. She guessed it had been tossed from the duplex by the explosion. Something of hers, or something of Howie’s?
As weary as though she’d run a marathon and with every muscle aching, she reached down and picked up the envelope, shaking the contents until they showed through the window.
Inside, in a clear case, a DVD in a paper cover appeared.
Hand-written with a Magic Marker, the disc bore a title. Smoke Signals. What had Howie said about it?
Her breath caught.
“Gabe,” she called, too late because he and Karl had already disappeared behind the burned building and were beyond hearing. Just as well, she thought. While this must be the disc Howie told her about, who knew the contents? What if this wasn’t a mysterious list, but a compilation of movie credits. Wouldn’t she feel like a fool interrupting the investigation with a totally meaningless piece of debris? Best she look for herself first.
Grasping the end of Banner’s leash, she stood up and tucked the envelope into the back pocket of her jeans. Everybody was busy right now. Although she’d set out this morning filled with energy, the explosion had taken every bit of vitality out of her. Her foot, what there was of it, ached within the confines of the prosthesis’s grip. Her head blazed with pain. The mile and a half home seemed almost insurmountable.
“One foot in front of the other,” she told Banner as they started off and then couldn’t remember if the old saw came from the bible or a cartoon—or neither.
They were past mid-way when the ambulance came tooling up beside them.
“Hey,” Marc, at the wheel today, called. Chris sat beside him.
She stopped when they did. “Hey, yourself.”
Looking shaken and pale, Marc leaned across to speak to her. “Heard about the duplex blowing up. Lucky you weren’t inside.”
“Came close,” Frankie said, putting on her stoic face and firmly quelling the little shake in her voice. “If it hadn’t been for Banner—” At the sound of his name, the dog wagged his plumy tail. “—and Susie Ray, I would’ve been toast.” She paused. “Burnt toast.”
No. It wasn’t funny.
Marc didn’t think so. “What happened? The propane tank spring a leak?”
Beyond pretending, Frankie forced a smile. “Nope. Apparently, the explosion was rigged. Karl found a wire. He and Gabe are investigating it as arson.”
Marc’s eyes opened wide. “You mean somebody tried to kill you like they did Howie and Denise?”
“Not quite.” Frankie’s quip came out dry. “He didn’t shoot me.”
“How you can make a joke of something like that, I’ll never know,” Chris said like he disapproved. “Was the house destroyed?”
“Oh, yes. Totally. And all my things along with it. Clothes, household goods, linens. Damn. My army records.” Demoralized and impatient to get home—to Gabe’s, rather—and shower away the smoke and road dirt where she’d been dragged on her belly, Frankie started walking again.
“Get in,” Marc said. “I’ll drive you to where ever you’re going. Zantos’s place?”
Relieved, Frankie could only nod as she went around to the passenger side, and Chris made room for her and Banner to crawl in beside him.
Without thinking, she pulled the disc from her pocket and held it in front of her.
“What’s that?” Chris peered down as though to see the title.
Frankie placed her thumb over the writing. “A memento,” she said.
Chapter 17
Frankie flopped the age-stiffened curtain aside and stepped out of the second-floor shower. The plastic rattle reminded her that she should buy a couple new curtains, cloth this time, as a thank you gift to Gabe for allowing her a room in the old house. Wrapping one bath towel around her hair, she patted herself dry with another. Dang! No soothing lotions or face creams, no goop for her hair, no makeup. Not even any deodorant. Well, she could solve that problem at least. She’d just borrow some of Gabe’s from the downstairs bathroom. He’d never know.
Worse, as she started to dress, all she had clean to wear were paramedic duds. Her only regular clothes were those she’d been wearing and, if not totally ruined, they were much too filthy to put back on.
A shopping trip moved to the top of her to-do list, even before scouting out a new place to live. But the shopping thing proved a bit of a dilemma. She wasn’t up on the latest styles.
After five years in the military with little call for civvies, jeans and T-shirts had been her thing. Now, for some reason, she felt a little more adventurous. Not to compare with Victoria Pettigrew, of course, or even Jesselyn, but a fresh opinion on her wardrobe seemed called for immediately.
“Somebody,” she told Banner who was watching his mistress eye herself critically in front of the floor-length mirror, “not mentioning any names, could use a little fashion advice. And I know just the person who’d be delighted to give it.”
Frankie picked up her phone, punching in Jesselyn’s number. Jesselyn answered on the first ring.
“I just got off the phone with Vic.” Jesselyn omitted the normal ‘hello’ and spoke in a rush. “She told me about the damn duplex blowing up. Smithereens. Ruined. And you were there.” This last sounded almost like an accusation, until she added, “Are you all right? Were you hurt? Did it—” She took a breath before whispering, “My God, what’s going on in Hawkesford, anyway? I can barely recognize the place anymore.”
Frankie forced a chuckle. “Join the crew. But aren’t you the one always complaining nothing ever happens here? Are you sure you just haven’t been paying attention?”
Jesselyn snorted. “Excitement is the word I’ve been trying for, woman, not mayhem. So I gather you weren’t killed.”
“Not this time.” Frankie hoped she came across as insouciant and cheerful, but she wasn’t any too sure of her acting job. “Anyway, all I’ve got left to wear is what I’m standing up in.”
“Can’t help you out,” Jess said promptly. “You’re too tall and skinny for my stuff.”
Frankie laughed. “And I never wear pink. But I hoped you might want to help me shop on your lunch hour. Please?”
“Ooh. My favorite thing. Spending other people’s money. Done. Pick me up at noon, and we’ll hit the mall. Oh. Bring me a cheeseburger, will ya? I’ll need to stoke up for a forty-minute shopping marathon.”
“It’s a date.”
As she hung up, Frankie noticed a new text message waiting on her phone. It was from Dr. Kelly. Hitting recall, she learned the vet wanted her to bring Shine in for a check-up. Yes, the receptionist told her when rung back, she could leave the dog at the office and retrieve her later. “As long as it’s before five p.m.”
Frankie glanced at her watch. If she put on her skates, she had plenty of time to drop Shine off, visit the salon for a haircut, and pick up a burger for Jesselyn. Swiftly skinning into her uniform, Frankie affixed her prosthesis, gave her hair a lick and a promise, and called it good.
Starting out of the room, she glimpsed the Smoke Signals disc lying where she’d tossed on the dresser. Case smudged with several sets of dirty fingerprints, it seemed to be calling her name. Was this the same disc Howie told her about? Was it the reason he’d been killed? She should, by rights, turn it over to the sheriff’s department sight unseen, but what the heck. She had to know.
Gabe’s computer sat in plain sight on a table in a corner of the living room, she remembered. A spiffy all-in-one jobbie with a screensaver of a night sky twinkling with stars. Snatching up the case, and with Banner padding along beside her, she hurried downstairs, plopped into Gabe’s comfortable leather off
ice chair in front of the computer, and shoved the disc into the DVD drive. One click and the machine came to life with a whirr and a buzz.
Holding her breath, Frankie opened the single Excel file the disc showed. Another touch to the mouse and the document expanded. Several pages unfolded, each broken into columns titled date, name, one called “age,” invariably in the 60s, 70s, and 80s, with a couple 90s for good measure, some kind of digit codes, and dollars. There were a lot of names—and a lot of dollars.
Scanning down the columns, she saw the names started repeating at approximately two-week intervals.
“What the heck?” She stared at the document. Banner’s curly white tail thumping against her leg made her realize she’d spoken out loud. “Not you. I know you’re all right. I’m not so sure about this stuff.” Slowly, she scrolled through four of the several pages. The dates spanned a period of approximately two years. There were about forty different names. Sometimes the codes repeated, and the dollar total made her blink and look twice.
“This is what Howie was talking about all right.” She looked down at Banner. “But what does it mean?” A glance the computer screen clock showed she didn’t have time to puzzle over it now. She had to get going. And yet, it reminded her of something. Something she should know.
Frankie pressed two fingers against her temple. Just when she needed to remember something important, the damn brain blanked out. Typical.
But one thing she recalled clearly. Howie had very likely been murdered because of Smoke Signals. Thank God, nobody knew she’d picked it up. She couldn’t wait to show the DVD to Gabe.
Before she shut the computer down, Frankie downloaded the file onto the hard drive and gave the new document an innocuous name; one Gabe was bound to discover. She took the disc with her. It just didn’t seem right to leave it lying about.
Even after a quick haircut and delivering Shine, who greeted Dr. Kelly’s receptionist with a wagging tail, and agreeing to pick the dog up in a couple hours, Frankie was a few minutes early in meeting Jesselyn. On the dot of twelve, Jesselyn came striding out of the ad agency where she worked. Her strawberry blonde hair was perfect, her makeup fresh, her trousers fitted smoothly over slightly plump hips. Her shoes, for God’s sake, had three-inch heels.
Hometown Homicide Page 16
