by Nicole Young
My grandfather’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’d be careful going back twenty-six years if I were you.”
Candice smirked. “Interesting there should be another fire. What’s this one for? To mark the anniversary?”
Puppa’s fingers balled into fists. “I don’t know where you got the idea I was behind the fire at your place, but it sounds like you’re going to carry it to the grave.”
She shimmied closer until her face was within reach of those fists. Curiosity kept me from pulling her to safety.
“Who else would have burned the place down with Paul still inside?” she asked.
I assumed Paul was Candice’s husband.
She took a step closer. “And I’m sure it didn’t break your heart that Sid died in the flames too.”
Near the door, Gerard tensed.
My grandfather’s voice softened. “They were mixed up in bad stuff, Candice. It was only a matter of time. If not a fire, then something else.”
She continued on as if he hadn’t even spoken. “How can you live with yourself? You wanted Paul dead so you could marry me. And Sid was responsible for ruining your career.”
Puppa shook his head. “No. You could have divorced Paul. And my own stupidity cost me my job. Not Sid.”
My head bobbed back and forth as I watched the two seniors match wits.
Candice’s normally proud stance melted into a forlorn slouch. “You knew I couldn’t get a divorce. It was against everything I believed.”
Puppa leaned toward her, his hands reaching for her body but not making contact. “I’ll never understand you. You were living under my roof, and you were worried about what people thought if you got a divorce?” He put a fist to his forehead as if to say duh. “They would have been relieved. They would have been glad for you. Nobody liked Paul. Not after what he did to you.” His voice turned all raspy. “Why should you have felt guilty for starting a new life? A life with me?”
Candice dropped her head into her hands. Tufts of silver hair poked up between her fingers.
“Tish.” I barely heard her say my name. “Tish. Walk me to my car.”
My grandfather put out an arm. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Candice glared up at him. “I don’t want your help.”
He put up his hands in surrender and stepped aside.
I touched one hand to her wrist and the other to her elbow and led her into the yard. “You don’t have to leave, you know. This isn’t Russo land. It’s my land. Stay and have a cup of coffee.”
Candice shook her head. “I can’t be around him.”
“Come on, Candice. It sounds to me like he’s trying his best.”
She stopped at the car door. “It’s more complicated than that. There’s more to it than you realize.” She got in and turned the key. “I’ll see you next Thursday. Treat yourself special today, Tish.”
I nodded and bit my lip. She slammed the car door and drove off. I took a deep breath and went in to face my relatives.
17
I walked through the kitchen door. For a moment, the three of us just stood there looking at each other.
“Well, who’s up for a cup of coffee?” I moved toward the counter.
The men nodded and I poured three mugs full. Another round of silence followed.
My grandfather spoke first. “Let’s walk out to the shed and see what we can find.” He bolted out the door, never looking back to see if anyone came after him.
I glanced at Gerard as we moseyed toward the ruins. “I hope you can make sense out of that whole Bernard-Candice thing,” I said. “The best I can figure is they’re both professional grudge holders.”
“You got that right. It’d take an act of God to get one of those two to apologize to the other.”
We were almost to the pile of smoldering ashes. “It seemed to me like Puppa was trying to make amends.”
“It may seem that way, but there’s more to it than you realize.” Gerard took a sip of coffee and stared into the glowing coals.
“That’s what Candice said.” I stood next to him. Through the smoke, my grandfather kicked at some charred wood.
“There’s no doubt this was arson,” Puppa said.
“You’re sure?” I moved around to his side of the remains.
“The walls were doused in gasoline.” He pointed. “See that charred trail on the ground? Gas was spilled when the container was tilted.”
“How do we catch these guys?”
He shook his head. “We may not be able to. But chances are good the perpetrators would have gotten gas on their shoes and clothing, or a pair of gloves. Maybe even bragged about burning the shed. I’ll ask around. And I’ll have my contacts at the hospital get in touch with me if anyone comes in for burn treatment. These guys are amateurs, trying to make a statement. There’s a possibility they singed more than just their eyebrows lighting this thing.”
An approaching car crunched gravel on the drive behind us. I turned. A state police cruiser slowed and parked. The trooper got out and walked to the scene.
“Officer Segerstrom, nice of you to come,” Puppa said with an outstretched arm.
The officer shook his hand. “Sorry to see your shed burnt down.”
Puppa nodded my way. “Technically, it’s her shed now. This is my granddaughter, Patricia Amble.”
The officer tipped his hat in my direction. “You know my buddy Brad Walters. He’s an officer in downstate Rawlings.”
My eyes grew wide. “Brad? You know him?” I vaguely remembered Brad mentioning his friend in Manistique was a state cop. This must be the guy.
“When your grandfather got a hold of me with the news about the shed, I gave Brad a call. He sounded a little worried.”
“You talked to Brad?”
“He seemed surprised he hadn’t heard from you. You should probably phone him sometime today.”
I nodded, mute. Brad hadn’t heard from me because I’d called Candice right away instead. I guess that was a big indication of where Brad and I stood with each other.
The officer looked Gerard’s way and gave a terse nod. Gerard only glared back in his direction. I figured from the exchange that Gerard and his drug shenanigans had made a blip on the cop’s radar. The men couldn’t be anything but cool toward one another.
“Patricia,” Puppa said, “Mike’s got a few questions for you.”
I was thoroughly confused how my grandfather, a fired ex-cop, could be on a first-name basis with the next generation of law enforcement. I guess it showed there was good breeding somewhere in the bloodlines.
I focused on answering the officer’s questions: what time did you leave the house, when did you return, did you see any vehicles, did you notice anything out of the ordinary, has anyone threatened you, are you involved with local drug trafficking . . .
“Whoa.” I stopped him. “I resent your implication that I’m mixed up in anything illegal. I make it a point to mind my own business. In fact, I bend over backwards to be a law-abiding citizen.”
“Have you ever witnessed any drug deals?” the officer asked, undeterred.
I sputtered. “Drug deals?” My mind flashed back to the exchange on the bluff. I shot a glance toward my grandfather. “Ahh, not that I know of.”
“Perhaps you can clarify that statement.” Officer Segerstrom held his pen ready.
“It means, not that I know of,” I repeated.
A hint of impatience settled into the officer’s voice. “Whoever burnt down your shed is sending a message. It wasn’t just something they did for kicks. Now, you either know or saw something they don’t want you to tell. Speak up now and we may catch them, or keep it to yourself and hope you can get out before the next fire reaches your bed.” He glanced at my log home. “You’d be lucky to get out alive.”
“Okay, okay.” I glanced at my grandfather, wishing I didn’t have to hurt him by tattling on Gerard. “I did see something that looked like a drug deal. It was back in February. Some guy wearing c
amouflage clothes and riding a dark green four-wheeler was passing stuff off to some other guy in black on a red four-wheeler. They saw me, and the guy in camo almost ran me over.”
“Did you recognize them?” Puppa asked.
I gave him a look of discouragement, hoping he wouldn’t push me to answer.
“Well?” asked the cop.
“Yeah. I did.” I cleared my throat. “The man wearing black was my cousin Gerard.”
In my peripheral vision, I could see Gerard casually poking at some smoking charcoal with his foot. Then he turned and walked off.
Officer Segerstrom nodded, his head bent over his notepad. He didn’t even seem surprised as he jotted down my answer.
“And the other man?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I couldn’t see his face. Ask Gerard.”
“Did the other man get a good look at you?”
“Like I said, he practically ran me over.” I thought back. “But I had a scarf over my face to block the wind. I don’t think he would recognize me if he had seen me again.”
“Anything else happen that would put you at risk?”
Officer Segerstrom asked the questions as if he already knew the answers. I rolled my eyes. “I did help Melissa Belmont with her kids at church one day. She said she had something to tell me and asked if I’d meet her in Manistique. I agreed. She told me her husband was dealing drugs and beating her.” I tossed my head in Puppa’s direction. “She thought if I told my grandfather, he could help her.”
The officer glanced up from his notepad. “Does anyone else know what Melissa Belmont told you?”
My hands slashed the air. “Absolutely not. It took me awhile, but I finally got around to telling my grandfather.”
“So there’s nobody else who knows what she told you?”
Obviously the guy was getting at something.
I thought about it. “Uh, I guess I did tell one other person.”
He looked at me from under his brim. “And who would that be?”
My fingers twitched. “Candice LeJeune. But I’m sure she wouldn’t have said anything to anybody.”
I glanced at my grandfather. His eyes narrowed into two tiny slits.
“Candice,” he said under his breath.
I jumped in to explain. “Like I said, I’m sure she wouldn’t have told anybody. She’s a really good friend and I just wanted to get her take on the situation.”
“And what was her take?” Puppa asked.
I fought against the shame that crept up. I shouldn’t have to feel bad for running the scenario past Candice, but I had promised Missy that I wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone but my grandfather.
I gulped. “She had a few choice words for women like Missy. She wasn’t at all sympathetic.”
My grandfather’s face twisted with rage. “How dare she?” He paced in a mindless circle. He stopped and looked up. “If you’ll excuse me, Patricia, Officer Segerstrom”—he nodded as he said our names—“I think I’ll take a little ride and have a talk with Ms. LeJeune.”
18
Puppa stalked toward the black truck, jumped behind the wheel, and sped off. I could only watch dumbfounded as the tires spit gravel on his way out.
I looked toward Officer Segerstrom. “That went well. I hope we don’t get a report of assault and battery after he’s done.”
The man squeezed his brows together. “You don’t know your grandfather very well, do you?”
My arms flailed with uncertainty. “Well, no. I guess not. We’ve only seen each other a couple times since I’ve been back.” I gave a humph. “In fact, most of what I know about him comes from Candice.”
The officer smiled. “In the future, I think you better check your source.” He knelt down by the wreckage. “I’m going to play around in the dirt for a while and then drop off some stuff at the lab. I’ll keep you posted if we’re able to pin this on anyone.”
“Thanks,” I said. I headed back to the house, wondering how I was going to entertain Gerard until my grandfather returned. I looked around inside and called for him, but my cousin was nowhere to be found. I glanced out the front windows and saw him standing at the lakeshore.
“Hey, Gerard,” I said, out of breath by the time I reached him.
“Hey, cuz.” He stared at the rolling waves.
“Gramps up and left you. He went to give Candice a good talking-to.”
Gerard shook his head and turned my way. “I hope they can finally work things out. They’ve been going at it for too many years.”
“What’s the deal with that, anyway? I got the impression that Candice left her husband for Puppa, but then she changed her mind or something?”
He sat down on a rock and motioned for me to join him. I picked a whitish, smooth-top boulder. The stone was warm from the sun.
“This family is so screwed up, I don’t even know where to start,” he said. “I guess you probably know that your dad’s mom drowned out front of the lake house when he was only three years old.”
An ant lion attacked its prey on a patch of sand in front of me. I sympathized with the unsuspecting victim. “I knew she’d died, but I had no idea so tragically,” I said.
Gerard played with a stick, dragging it back and forth across the ground. “She liked to fish off the dock out front. One day she fell in. Must have hit her head or something. But nobody was around to save her. Papa B always blamed himself for not being there.”
I nodded. I knew that feeling. Guilt and I were on a first-name basis.
“Anyway, Papa B had helped her get out of her marriage to a wife-abusing drunk. He put her up at the lake house. She got a divorce, then she and Papa B got married. Papa B always thought her ex was behind her drowning, but he could never prove anything. After that, he made it a point to help out women who’d gotten themselves into bad situations. He felt he owed it to his wife to always keep a fire burning for the cause.”
The waves rolled in with a steady whoosh. The high-pitched whine of seagulls rang across the water as the birds vied for lunch just offshore.
“That’s really noble of him,” I said, filling the lull between us.
Gerard dropped his stick for a blade of beach grass. “Yep. He’s a pretty noble guy. Anyway”—the grass went in his mouth and he chewed while he talked—“then Candice comes along. We were just kids, but I remember thinking that she was really something. Always nice, always polite, always smiling. But it turns out her husband was big into drugs, gambling, and abuse, and she was barely holding herself together. Papa B meets her, figures it out, and tries to give her an exit. I guess it took awhile, but she finally went to him for help. He let her stay up at the lake house.”
I remembered the dreamlike days with Mom, Puppa, and Jellybean. The memories held a sweet aroma, like a field of wildflowers or a just-opened bar of chocolate.
Gerard shook his head. “Then, big surprise, Papa B falls in love with her. She’s still married and refusing to get a divorce because it’s against her religion or something. Next thing you know, her husband dies in that house fire. She blames it all on Papa B, of course. Motive, opportunity. You name it, he had it. And she never let him forget that.”
“But Candice must have known her husband was running with a bad crowd.”
Gerard flicked the grass onto the pebbly sand. “She knew. It’s called denial. She’s one of those people that figure if you don’t look at it, it’ll go away.”
I slid off my rock and onto the beach. Tiny shells filled the spaces between stones. I picked at them.
No wonder Candice was so appalled with Missy’s situation. Candice had once been in the exact same place and hadn’t been able to save herself.
I plucked my favorite shells out of the sand and set them on my white rock. One swirled upward like a mouse-sized butter pecan ice-cream cone. “So what happened with Sid? He was your grandfather, wasn’t he? How did he end up in the fire with Candice’s husband?”
Gerard squinted in the sunshine. The soft crinkle
s around his eyes made me think of Brad.
“That’s where things get complicated,” Gerard said. “Here’s Sid, the brother of a state trooper, and he’s up to his neck in marijuana plants. The locals always figured your grandfather was covering for Sid. Anytime Papa B bought anything new or put up the white fencing or the big barn, people assumed Sid had paid him to keep his mouth shut. But far as I know, Papa B is clean.” He ran a hand through short black hair. “The story goes that Paul and Sid ran up some gambling debts and pledged their harvest of Silvan Green to pay the bill.” He looked at me to see if I was following. “Silvan Green is what they call marijuana grown around here.”
“So I gathered,” I said.
He continued. “But the bigwigs in the drug trade were counting on that harvest. Next thing you know, Paul and Sid are undergoing a joint cremation.” His voice turned husky at the last words.
“I’m so sorry.” The sun glinted on the water. The glaring light caused me to squint. “So my mom had something to do with turning them in?”
He gave a flip of his hand. “Olivia just needs someone to blame. If Beth did call the cops on Paul and Grandpa Sid, she was doing everyone a favor. Port Silvan is a remote community. We don’t have a police force out here keeping tabs on the riffraff. It’s up to us to care enough about our town to police it ourselves. The drug trade can get pretty messy.”
I gave a half snort. “You should know. What were you doing that day on the bluff? Exchanging baseball cards with that guy?”
“That was no guy. Hey, I’m onto something big. But you’ve got to keep your mouth shut about what you saw. Let me do my job.”
“Your job?”
His voice became irate. “Just forget what you saw. Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.”
“Fine. Whatever. I just don’t like the thought of being part of some mafia family. I kind of like you guys. I don’t want to have to quit hanging around you.”
“We’re not mafia, okay? Just drop it.”
