Firesetter in Blackwood Township, a Winnebago County Mystery

by Christine Husom

  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 b
ecause 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.