Firesetter in Blackwood Township, a Winnebago County Mystery

by Christine Husom

  “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 he
re. 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 r
eally 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.