by Dana Mentink
Tim was uncertain how to respond. He knew how much Antonio hurt Ivy by leaving her, but God forgive him, he couldn’t be happier that the man was out of the picture. “He asked me to tell you he called.”
“I’ll bet.”
He was wrong for you, anyway, Tim wanted to say. Charming, macho, great to look at, but did he know you like I know you? Did he take the time to learn everything, Ivy? He doubted it. Anybody who knew Ivy wouldn’t throw her away like Antonio had.
Ivy remained silent until he guided the truck into the apartment parking lot. Tim opened the door for her and she eased out of the passenger seat. The complex featured an old brick facade, covered by a vigorous scalp of climbing clematis.
They entered the lobby just as a slender young man with dark hair was trying to exit. He screamed and scrabbled past them and down the steps.
Ivy jumped back at his sudden movement, crashing into Tim. She stumbled, but he caught her, holding her against his front for a moment.
Ivy cried out in pain.
The skinny man ran into the yard and folded himself under a picnic table, covering his eyes.
“It’s okay, Moe,” Ivy said. “I’m sorry we surprised you.”
Tim still held her gently, her head tucked under his chin, enjoying the soft feel of her hair on his face. “Is that Moe? I’ve heard you talk about him. He has a bit of trouble talking to people?”
“Yes. His mother said he has something called Savant Syndrome. People that have it have delays in social reaction and communication, but they can be geniuses in other areas.” She rubbed her shoulder. “He’s a genius in his own way, even though his communication skills are poor and he’s afraid of people. One time I was trying to find a number and he recited the whole C section of the phone book. From memory.”
“Wow. I can’t even remember my own cell number half the time.” Tim peered at the figure curled up under the table. “Are you okay, Moe? Do you need some help?” When he received no answer, Tim straightened. “Should we do something?”
“I’ll try to talk to him. Moe, this is Tim. He’s a friend of mine.”
Moe shot them a terrified look and retreated farther under the table. He mumbled something.
“What did he say?”
Tim shrugged. “Numbers, I think. What did you say, Moe?”
The man’s mouth worked for a second until he muttered again in a louder voice. “M4e2d7s9c3i6z5t5r472cla0n7noe6r5y9r9o7w2.”
Ivy stared. “That’s really, er, interesting, Moe. Do you want to come out from under there? I wanted to ask you something. I thought I saw you at a fire. Was that you, Moe? Were you near a house on Alder Street yesterday?”
He scuttled out the back end of the table, dropping a soda can in the process. With another look in their direction, he snatched up the can and ran.
Ivy sighed. “I check on him once in a while to make sure he’s okay and bring him my cans so he can recycle them. He’ll come home later, I’m sure, because he’s completely addicted to The Song and the Sorrow.”
Tim blinked. “That soap opera?”
“Yeah. It comes on every weekday at two o’clock. He’ll be in his apartment watching it at that time, come rain or shine. I usually just poke my head in and make sure he’s all right.”
“What does he do on the weekends when it’s not on?”
“His mother, Madge, put all the old episodes on tape for him. Fortunately, there are plenty of them. He watches the repeats on Saturdays and Sundays. She checks in pretty frequently. She’ll probably call tonight, as a matter of fact. I’ll talk to her about seeing him at the fire. Maybe I was mistaken.” They stepped into the elevator and pushed the sixth-floor button.
“Oh, wait a minute.” Tim poked around in his pocket. “When I came to feed your fish last night, I wrote down a message for you from Madge. I forgot all about it until you mentioned her name.” He pulled out a slip of paper. “She said to tell Moe his friend canceled their meeting. Madge asked if you’d seen him around. He’s a hippie, a little on the odd side, she said.”
The elevator doors opened and let them out into a cream-colored corridor.
“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone like that hanging around with Moe, but I’ve been working overtime a lot lately.”
“I know.” Tim gave her a smile. “If I want to see you, I have to go to the station. Anyway, Madge says Moe’s friend is an okay guy.”
“You and Madge think everyone is okay.”
He laughed. “I think you’re more than okay.”
“Flatterer.”
Seeing the flush rise in her cheeks, he knew he’d said too much. He took the keys from her hand and unlocked the door.
Ivy stepped into her cozy apartment and sighed. “It’s good to be home.”
“Your mom sent over food. I piled it all in the fridge on my way to pick you up at the hospital. She must have been cooking all night.” He handed her the keys. “Call me if you need anything at all. I’ll come by tomorrow to check on you.” Don’t get ahead of yourself, Carnelli. You’ll push her further away. You’ve got a chance, that’s all. A chance. “If that’s all right with you, I mean.”
“Sure. It’s not like I’m going to work or anything.”
Tim wanted to fold her into his arms and kiss the sad look off her face. Instead he ventured back into the hallway. She had almost closed the door when a thought popped into his head and he stopped her. “Hey, Ivy. I remembered.”
“Remembered what?”
“The name of the guy who canceled the meeting with Moe. It’s Cyril.”
FOUR
Ivy endured a sleepless night. It was more the mental acrobatics that kept her awake than her injury, although her throbbing shoulder did not help. She could have taken the painkillers prescribed by the doctor, but she figured that mental toughness was a better way to deal with it.
She couldn’t get Cyril out of her mind. And Moe. What was he doing at that fire? What was the canceled meeting about? She had the oddest feeling Moe knew something about what happened, something he didn’t want to tell. The thoughts finally drove her out of bed.
Before the sun came up, she sat drinking coffee, listening to the fire department traffic on her radio, long before the hallways became busy with the sound of Saturday-morning comings and goings. Someone, her mother most likely, had arranged for a stack of magazines to be left for her with such uplifting content as gardening tips and the top-ten fashion trends of the year. Sandwiched in between the issues was a photocopied article titled, “Dating and the Christian Woman.” Her mother’s scrawl in the margin said it all.
Ivy, honey, since you’re off work for a while, you’ve got time to have some fun. Kisses, Mama.
Her mother had thrown her matchmaking efforts into overdrive since Ivy’s relationship with Antonio went south. She had the sneaking feeling that Mama hadn’t approved of her former boyfriend for some reason. Thinking about Antonio set off a memory.
Structure fire. Three alarms before they’d made it on scene. Her crew was providing manpower, she was new, a probie. The old house was a wreck by the time they got the fire out. The overhaul was nasty, heat trapped in the walls and floors sucking the life out of the on-duty personnel. The call came for them to relieve the attic crew. She found piles of insulation and heavy smoke, blurry figures wielding tools.
Then came Antonio’s voice, loud against the din. “Watch out. Holes cut all over this floor, probie.”
“Right, Cap,” she’d said before she promptly fell up to her waist in a hole. Trapped, unable to raise her arms, she slowly slipped down through to the next floor. Panic, darkness, fear. And then suddenly he was there, catching her by the straps of her airpack and hauling her back up through the hole.
Weeks later, she thanked him again. “I was so scared. Being trapped like that reminded me…well…”
“Don’t get all angsty on me, Ivy. I don’t deal with worry well. You’re much more fun when you’re happy.”
They’d had fun all right.
Until he’d found more fun somewhere else.
She threw the article into the wastebasket. First, she had no desire to date after Antonio took off with another woman. It had taken all her strength to commit to him in the first place and look where that had gotten her. But had she really loved him or merely been drawn to his macho, fun-loving, larger-than-life persona? She wasn’t sure, and her uncertainty was another good reason to keep to herself. Her sole concern should be getting her job back.
Second, she wasn’t sure she could trust God anymore. She could not stomach giving her faith to such a cruel and indifferent God after what He’d done to Sadie.
She flipped on the TV and settled down to watch something, anything that would take her mind off her troubles. The cheerful lady chatting about how to put some zing into the summer with a snappy new method of faux-finish painting did not engage her. Nor did the old Western or Oregon’s newest morning-news duo. Her mind wandered again to the fire.
She could feel the panic at being buried under the piles of debris, the fear just as tangible as it had been that night. Did Cyril set fire to his own place? Wouldn’t be the first time someone had done such a thing to claim the insurance money. The thought sat in her gut like a live grenade. “When I get my hands on that guy, he’s going to answer for the damage he’s caused.”
The ring of the phone startled her.
Tim’s voice was cheerful. “Hi, Ivy. I hope I’m not calling too early.”
“No, sadly, I’ve pretty much been up all night.”
“Uh-oh. Shoulder hurting?”
“Not much. Mostly I was thinking about Cyril.”
“Who?”
“Moe’s friend. He’s the owner of the house that I nearly died in.”
Tim gasped. “Really? I didn’t put that together.”
“Well, I did, and I’m going to talk to Moe to find out if he knows where his friend might be holed up.”
“Okay, but you’re going to turn that info over to the police when you find out, right? No taking things into your own hands, John Wayne style?”
“Sure, sure. I’ll be good.” She looked at the time. It was only nine o’clock. Still five more hours until she could count on finding Moe in his apartment, ready to watch his favorite soap opera. She tuned back into Tim’s conversation.
“So do you want to come with me to the game?”
“What game?”
He laughed. “Sometimes I have the strange feeling you don’t listen to me. I’m coaching this afternoon. We’re two games away from the play-offs. Why don’t you come?”
She knew what he was trying to do and it warmed her heart, but the last thing she needed was to be around a bunch of happy parents at a Christian high school, cheering for the kids Tim coached three nights a week. “I think I’m going to take it easy today. I’ve got to get my shoulder back in shape.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She felt bad for disappointing him. “Call me after and tell me how it goes.”
“Sure. Take care, Ivy.”
She tried again to pay attention to the TV with no success. Thoughts of Cyril and Moe kept preying on her mind. She had to know what was going on with the investigation. All at once an idea electrified her. The phone was in her hand almost before she realized it.
There was someone who knew exactly what was going on and he was going to tell her.
In spite of the August heat, Fire Marshal Doug Chee was running fast when Ivy found him later that day. Since her phone calls were routed to his voice mail, she decided on the direct approach. The slender, dark-eyed man would run the track every day whether it was a workday or not. Today he pushed a jogging stroller in front of him with his baby son asleep inside. A little umbrella sheltered the infant, and Ivy noticed that Doug kept to the shaded periphery of the track.
Ivy put herself where he’d see her around the next turn and waited.
He puffed up, stride perfect, a gleam of sweat on his brow. When he saw her, he faltered slightly before he waved and called out. “Hey, Ivy. How’s the shoulder?”
“Okay. I need to talk to you, Doug. I tried to call your house, but you weren’t in.”
“Sorry. It’s been crazy busy. I’ve got two more laps before I’ve got to go. I’m taking the baby home to Mary in a bit.” He passed her and continued on.
Ivy stared at him. She knew Doug was driven and the man had a work ethic second only to her own, but she had a feeling he was only too happy to run away. When he came around the second time, she tried again. “Come on, Doug. This will only take a minute.”
He shook his head and sailed on without comment.
By the time he came back the third time she’d decided to play hardball. “You said if there was ever anything I needed, I just had to ask. Remember? I’m asking, Doug.”
He slowed to a stop several yards ahead of her and then turned around. “You got me there.”
“How is John John?” She peered at the little baby, with his cap of dark hair and the nose so like his father’s.
“John John is fine, fine, as we are fond of saying. Thanks to you.”
She smiled, remembering the day when they’d arrived to find him barely breathing due to a respiratory infection, mother hysterical, dad trying to remember his infant CPR, hands shaking so badly he could hardly hang on to the baby. She stabilized the child and transported him to the hospital, where he fully recovered. Ivy figured the parents might never do so after a scare like that. “He looks like the strong, silent type.”
“As the guy who hands over the 4:00 a.m. bottle, I would have to disagree about the silent part. Anyway, I really do need to get him home, Ivy. So what can I do for you?”
“I want to know what’s going on with the investigation. The house on Alder Street?”
“It’s pending.”
“That’s not enough.”
He sighed. “Ivy, I like you. You’re a ferociously determined person with a heart of gold, but Chief Strong isn’t too happy with you right now. She ordered me to keep you out of the whole thing. You understand, don’t you?”
Ivy’s gut clenched. “I got hurt in that fire. I have a right to know. And a friend of mine is involved. I’m afraid he’s headed for trouble.”
He rubbed a hand over his chin. “Look, I can tell you it was arson. Does that help?”
“I already knew that. What was the ignition source?”
He laughed. “Nice try. You know I couldn’t tell you that even if you weren’t in the doghouse with Strong.”
“Come on, Doug. Don’t I get anything at all? We’ve worked together for a long time.”
“Yes.” He sighed. “And you saved my son’s life so I’ll throw you a bone here, but if this info gets out anywhere, we’re both toast. You got me?”
She nodded.
“I’m pretty sure that whoever torched that place was trying to make sure someone died in that fire.”
Her mouth fell open. “What? How do you know that?”
“Did you have a hard time opening the bedroom door?”
She recalled it had taken both Jeff and her to pry it open and they’d still had to batter the door across the threshold. “Yeah, as a matter of fact.”
“That’s because someone jammed something in the frame so tight no one could have gotten it out.”
The enormity of it hit her. “So the arsonist was hoping to prevent someone from escaping, probably Cyril, but there was no body recovered. How did he get out?”
“Not sure. It’s conceivable they both climbed down the oak tree that’s outside his window. It’s not an easy climb, but when you’re faced with burning to death it might have its appeal. This is all theoretical, of course.”
Ivy could picture it. Cyril, in a panic with smoke filling his room, shimmied down the tree and ran. She would make the same risky choice in the face of burning to death, especially with the door wedged shut. “I wonder who wanted Cyril dead.”
He pulled the shade more fully over the baby’s head. “I don’t know, Ivy,
but you need to leave that up to the police and on-duty people to find out. You should focus on recovery. And remember, you never heard any of this from me.” He jogged away.
Leave it up to the police? Sure, she would, but it wouldn’t hurt to look into things since she unfortunately had the time and she had the uneasy feeling Moe was involved. She felt sort of like a big sister to the guy. It pained her to think he might be involved in something he didn’t understand.
The lights of the gym were on and she could see movement. She checked her watch. One fifteen. Of course. It was Tim’s team prepping for the big game. She had to talk to him about what she’d discovered. He was the best listener she’d ever met and she knew he wouldn’t brush her off. Besides, his smile always cheered her up.
Wishing her shoulder would permit her to jog, she headed toward the school. There were a few early birds there but the bleachers were still largely unoccupied. She saw Charlie Gregor, and waved.
“Hey, Charlie. What brings you out for a high-school game?”
Charlie’s glasses shone in the overhead lighting. He looked cool in his silk shirt, in spite of the warmth. “Thought I’d check out the local talent. Someday my sister’s kids will need to pick a high school.”
“You really plan ahead, don’t you?”
He laughed. “Nah, it’s just an excuse. I will go anywhere to watch a little basketball, pro or otherwise. Want to sit?”
“Sure.” She didn’t feel like engaging in the usual cheerful banter; her mind was whirling with Doug Chee’s revelation. Fortunately, Charlie was uncharacteristically silent.
She didn’t recognize Tim at first as she scanned the court. He was barking out commands to the kids working on basketball drills. He joked with them in between, face alight with excitement.
She waited until Tim was alone for a minute.
“Hi, Tim.”
His head whipped up from his notes, face breaking into a wide grin. “Hi, Ivy. I didn’t think you were going to make it. I’m glad you decided to come watch.”
“Oh, well, actually I…” Her words were cut off with the noisy arrival of the opposing team.
