by Tess Lake
The end of the day came soon enough and soon I was at home. My cousins were still at work, so I went up to the main part of the mansion to find Mom and Kira in the kitchen making a cake together. It was a rare scene of domestic bliss.
I disrupted this scene of domestic bliss approximately one second later when I completely stuck my foot in it.
“How was the bakery today?” I asked Kira. Mom spun so fast she was a blur.
“Did you come to the bakery today?” she asked Kira.
“Um…”
Oh crap. Okay, so Kira had lied to me and hadn’t gone to work at the bakery, and then I’d asked a question that had led to her getting caught. I had to think quick.
“I sent her to get me a donut. She must’ve gone to Green Palace instead.”
“Ah, yeah. They were okay. Not as good as Big Pie,” Kira said.
I was mentally urging her to keep her mouth shut and not elaborate on any details.
Mom fixed her gaze on me, but I was cool as a cucumber on an iceberg. I didn’t crack, and after a moment she gave up.
“They use artificial sweeteners, you know,” she muttered before turning back to the cake mixture. I gave Kira a subtle sign to get out of the kitchen as fast as possible. She did this by pulling out her phone and exclaiming that someone had tried to call her. She vanished into the dining room.
I was half a step behind her when Mom called out to me.
“She’s supposed to be at work with you, not at the beach,” Mom said.
“She was at work with me,” I protested.
“Hmm…”
I kept my mouth shut, waiting for the slight sniff from Mom to indicate that the conversation was over, but then she changed topics.
“Do you know what’s going on with Ro?”
“No. I mean, she seems a little extra crabby this week, but it can happen to anyone,” I said.
“She’s a little more than extra crabby. I thought maybe there was something else going on that we didn’t know about. You know she hasn’t been going to yoga this week?”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I said, not really sure where this was going.
“She is your family and she’s not happy right now. Maybe you could find out why.”
She started mixing the cake batter with an expression on her face that clearly said that this conversation was over. I didn’t really want to get into anything further, so I simply said I would look into it and then got out of there.
When I returned to our end of the house, Kira was sitting on the sofa and Molly and Luce had just arrived home.
“Thanks for covering for me,” Kira said. Molly and Luce’s ears perked up at this.
“Covering for what?” Molly asked.
“Do you have a secret boyfriend?” Luce teased.
“Ignore them. You really gotta learn to lie better if you want to get away with things. Never give a specific location,” I said.
“Yeah, say you’re going out for a walk or something like that,” Molly said.
“If you’re staying at someone’s house, say it’s only you and no one else, then they can’t check with any other parents,” Luce added.
“If planning on seeing a boy –” Molly started to say.
“That’s enough criminal tips right now,” I interrupted, cutting Molly off.
I saw Molly wink at Kira and she mouthed talk later.
“Mom thinks you went to the beach today, but she is going to pretend that the lie we told was the truth,” I said.
“Even though she knows it’s not?” Kira asked.
“Sometimes it’s easy to accept a little white lie in the interests of peace.”
“That should really be our family motto,” Molly said.
Chapter 12
After a restless night where I dreamed of red lines stretching down the street and for some reason, Carter Wilkins, I was up early eating breakfast with Kira, Molly and Luce when a shiny black car parked in front of the mansion.
It was Sheriff Hardy and the arson investigator, Detective Moreland.
Sheriff Hardy’s face was grave and grim. This was no social call. We all came to the front door.
“Sheriff Hardy, how can we help you?” I asked.
Detective Moreland had his notepad out again and apparently was writing down everything that I said. He scribbled something and then looked back at me with his blank face.
“Harlow, you and another girl, I believe called Kira, were seen at the warehouses on Torquay Road. They burnt down last night. We need you to come to the police station for questioning.”
My breakfast churned in my stomach. Behind me, Kira made a squeaking sound.
I saw Aunt Cass rushing down from the main house part of the house. She was dressed in her standard harmless-little-old-lady clothes but wearing the thick pirate boots. She still had the pink streak in her hair, and the silver nose piercing caught the early morning sun.
“Are they under arrest?” Aunt Cass demanded.
“No, but we would like them to come to the station to answer some questions,” Sheriff Hardy said.
Aunt Cass looked Detective Moreland up and down as though she was peering into his very soul.
“How about we do the questioning right here and right now?”
Detective Moreland apparently wrote this down in his notepad before turning to Aunt Cass.
“They’re not under arrest, although we could very easily arrest them. I’d prefer not to have to arrest a member of Harlot Bay’s media and the teenage girl your family is looking after. So please come to the police station for questioning. You can come if you want.”
Aunt Cass seemed to consider this for a moment before she nodded.
“Okay, fine, but if I don’t like your questions, we’re out of there.”
Kira stayed home with Molly and Luce, who told us they would take her into work today. There was no way Aunt Cass was going to let Kira be questioned. Anything could go wrong, including nearby paperwork bursting into flames.
The sheriff drove us to the police station in the back of the police car, so Aunt Cass and I didn’t get a chance to clarify what exactly we were going to do. I was frantically racking my brains for a legitimate excuse as to why we had broken into an abandoned warehouse that then later burnt down. What clue would possibly lead me there?
The only thing that was even vaguely close was that I’d been researching the history of fires in Harlot Bay and had concluded that it was usually some abandoned business location that burned down. It was an incredible coincidence that I’d gone to one on a hunch.
It was weak, even I could see that, but it was the best I had at the moment. If I could convince Detective Moreland that I was just a journalist in the wrong spot at the wrong time, then perhaps it would be okay. Although I didn’t really have any excuse for why I was at the hedge fire except for I was close and happened to see it from the beach. I wasn’t really sure how long my “I’m a journalist” excuse would hold up.
We went into the police station and ended up in one of the rooms used for questioning suspects.
Sheriff Hardy gave me an apologetic look as Aunt Cass and I took our seats. It seemed his hands were tied. Being in the interrogation room made that ball of anxiety start in my stomach again. The chairs were cold steel, and there was a single steel table attached to the ground. There was a slot through it used to loop handcuffs to hold suspects so they couldn’t escape or attack anyone. We hadn’t been handcuffed, but still it was chilling.
Sheriff Hardy did retrieve some plastic cups for water and left a plastic jug on the table for us. I saw Detective Moreland give him a long hard look when he brought them, in but Sheriff Hardy ignored him.
Detective Moreland sat down, pulled out a clipboard and ran his finger down it.
“Quite a history of fires in Harlot Bay, isn’t there? You’ve lived here most of your life?”
Of my many skills, reading upside-down is one of the least usable. Right now, though, it was perfect. I read down the
list of fires and dates on his clipboard that stretched back over fifty years.
“You mean to ask me if I was out starting fires when I was three years old? You think I’m good for the old mill burning down? Yeah, you’re right, you got me. I toddled out there and burned it to the ground. Well done.”
I don’t know where the sarcasm came from, possibly from spending too much time with a teenager, but it certainly helped push the anxiety away.
“Harlow,” Sheriff Hardy murmured.
“Of course you didn’t burn the old mill down, you were only three years old. That would mean that someone else did it, possibly from a family of arsonists,” Detective Moreland said. He looked back at his clipboard.
“For example, I see that last year the apartment complex where you were living burnt down after some faulty wiring caught fire. I then further see that when you returned to Harlot Bay to live with your family in a house on the property, it subsequently burned down only three days later.”
“That was bad wiring,” Aunt Cass said, a chill in her voice.
“Yes, I understand there is a lot of bad wiring around Harlow. I guess there must’ve been some bad wiring at Zero Bend’s vacation rental as well.”
“Everyone knows he was being drugged by his diabolical manager. The cause of the fire was determined to be a kettle left on the stove top,” I said.
“That’s three fires where you were on the scene before they occurred. Most people have zero fires in their lives. Those who have one rarely have another. You can see how it appears suspicious, can’t you?”
“The bad wiring was confirmed by investigation, both at the apartments and then at our property. I was at Zero Bend’s because I’m a journalist and sometimes when you’re investigating crazy and/or drugged people, things happen.”
I was now thinking that us saying yes to being questioned was about the dumbest thing we’d done in the history of time. All I could hope was that if I said something truly stupid that made it seem like we were suspects in all the fires, Aunt Cass had some magic she could use to wipe out the recording and blank out memories. I had no idea whether this would be possible, of course.
“What were you doing yesterday at the warehouse on Torquay Road?” Detective Moreland asked.
Here it was, time to try out my pathetic lie.
“I’ve been researching the fires occurring in Harlot Bay. Myself and another journalist, Carter Wilkins, think that there is an arsonist who has been burning down buildings so they can possibly buy the empty land for development. We’ve been looking at Coldwell Associates, a local real estate agency. Yesterday I had been researching the nature of these fires and had concluded that they often occur in abandoned buildings. Knowing that the warehouses on the side of town fit this profile, I decided to go over there to see if I could find anything.”
“So it was a hunch? Or intuition?”
“You could call it that. It was obviously a very bad coincidence for me, given that I went in there, didn’t find anything, and then the warehouse burnt down.”
“You realize it’s illegal to break and enter buildings?” Detective Moreland said.
“I was investigating a story, trying to get to the bottom of it. Plenty of things are illegal when you’re a reporter, but we still do it.”
“Do you find it incredibly coincidental that the place you investigated happened to burn down?”
“I don’t know what to say. I think it proves my hunch was right – the arsonist is targeting abandoned buildings. Perhaps you should look into that.”
Detective Moreland nodded, wrote something down on his piece of paper and then flipped it over to a new sheet of questions. Although it seemed to take forever, in the end the interview was about an hour. Aunt Cass actually stayed silent for most of it. Detective Moreland went back through all these questions again, getting me to repeat the same stories, obviously searching for any detail that was out of place.
I was once again reminded that you should never ever talk to the police and never say yes to an interview under any circumstances. The best course was to keep your mouth shut until you could speak with a lawyer. That’s how they get you. The urge to explain, to protest your innocence, to tell your side of the story. They’re so good at it. Just trying to make it as though it is just a friendly chat when in fact they’re gathering what may send you to jail. Soon enough, the interview was over and we were out of there.
Chapter 13
On the way home in a taxi, Aunt Cass was uncharacteristically quiet. Normally she would have plenty to say about the police force.
“Have you found anything that could possibly clear us?” I asked.
“Something went wrong with the beacons,” she muttered, chewing her bottom lip. She waved her hand at the driver and blocked him from hearing us.
“What do you mean? Did you not find what or who started the hedge fire?”
“I think there could be more than one fire spirit. There were multiple locations and it was all distorted by something. I’m going to need to put up more beacons around town.”
“Do you need me and Kira to do that?”
“No, I’ll do it.”
I had the opportunity to tell Aunt Cass about Kira slipping yesterday and the red line we had seen. I knew I could trust her, in the sense that she wouldn’t tell the moms, but I couldn’t break Kira’s trust. Teenagers will only trust you if you are one hundred percent trustworthy. If I revealed the Slip magic to Aunt Cass and then Kira found out, that could destroy our relationship. The only thing I could do would be to encourage Kira to tell Aunt Cass herself. Despite knowing it might help, I kept my mouth shut.
Besides, there were bigger fish to fry. Soon the moms would find out that we’d been taken in for questioning, and then I was sure the proverbial donut would hit the fan.
At home, Aunt Cass stomped inside without another word. I zipped to my car and went to work. I’d been there an hour when Mom called.
“You okay?” she asked.
I was expecting her to give me the third degree, so this took me by surprise.
“I guess so. It’s not nice knowing they think I’m a suspect.”
“What were you and Kira doing at that warehouse yesterday?”
I knew Mom wouldn’t accept the “doing background research” lie, but again I couldn’t give away Kira’s private information. So I lied.
“I Slipped yesterday and saw a glowing line, like an aura that had been stretched out. I followed and it led there.”
“It might be the arsonist, Harlow. If you find another one of them, you need to find some way to tell Sheriff Hardy, okay?”
“I’ll try,” I said, giving the ultimate in non-yes agreement.
“See that you do,” Mom said and hung up.
Despite the fact I had a lunch date set up with Jack tomorrow and I knew he was out of town, I still wished he was around. Why couldn’t the lunch date be today? I really needed it. Besides that, I couldn’t help thinking of those eyes and that stubble and kissing him again.
I returned to the world of researching arson, digging into everything I could. I took a quick break for lunch, zipping out to grab a sandwich and then coming back again to spend the rest of the afternoon gathering as much information as I could.
There was still no clear thread to it all. Housing and businesses burned down. Sometimes they were bought by developers after the fire. There was no big red glaring arrow pointing to a crime. It was though I had all the pieces of the jigsaw but I couldn’t fit it together. Even if I could piece it all together, it was just as likely it would say coincidence in big fiery letters.
In the middle of the afternoon, Adams stepped out of nowhere, jumped up on my sofa and started having a bath. Even from where I was sitting I could smell lavender again.
“Why do you smell like lavender? Where have you been sleeping?”
“At home!” he said, mumbling through a mouthful of fur.
“In a giant bowl of lavender at home?”
&nb
sp; Adams ignored me and continued his bath. He wasn’t there for long, though. The moment he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, he ran under the desk and vanished. Carter opened the door without knocking.
When I’d seen him two nights ago he was unshaven and looking sad, but it had been night and I hadn’t fully grasped the severity of the situation.
His eyes were red like he hadn’t slept for days. He was wearing his arm in a sling that had food stains on it. His stubble was now on its way to being a very scraggly beard that simply looked terrible. He had a pallor to his skin that no amount of sun could fix.
“I have some information for you,” he said.
He fumbled with his satchel for a moment before I jumped up to help him. He reached inside and pulled out three thick folders, which he put on my desk.
“Property transaction records and a few other things I found,” he said. “I’ve had a look, but I’d like you to read them and see if you find what I did.”
I absolutely do not get along with Carter on any level whatsoever, putting him right up there with Hattie in terms of most annoying person in Harlot Bay, but he appeared so broken I couldn’t help myself.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“No, I’m not. Coldwell is going ahead with the eviction.”
“Why is he doing that?”
“Because his family is the devil.”
I helped him put his satchel on. He said he’d see me in a few days and trudged out.
I sat on the sofa and started looking through the papers, but I wasn’t really seeing them. Could it really be as simple as Coldwell being behind the fires? Was he targeting Carter because Carter had been investigating? Or was it merely because Coldwell was actually a bad person? Given my last interaction with him when he came into the office, it seemed he was very bent on ending the free rent program, but that didn’t mean he was a criminal.
I mean, there was a little pleasure in the idea that Coldwell was behind it and that we would somehow catch him. It would be glorious to prove that he had burned down that house and warehouse. I’d love to see the look on Detective Moreland’s face. Not to mention it would be a relief for me and my family.
