Fifth Night

by Kathi Daley

  “There are companies that will insure anything for the right price. Many times, the policies are for a short term, with a huge premium,” Jack informed me.

  I looked at Rick. “Were those policies all short term?”

  “In the case of Pop’s boat, no,” Rick answered. “He first took out the policy when he bought the boat. It was a good policy that provided for full replacement, not just depreciated value and loss of income if the boat was rendered inoperable due to damage unrelated to normal wear and tear.”

  “Such as fire,” I said.

  “Exactly. Pop had been paying on the policy for years, but because it didn’t cover normal wear and tear, he’d never filed a claim until the fire. I really thought he’d set the fire himself until everything else began to unfold.”

  “And the others?” Vikki asked.

  “The bakeshop had just been purchased a year before and the policy Ms. Tisdale took out had been in place since that time. The barn had only been insured since the renovation began a few months before the fire. Mr. Wells indicated he’d invested a lot in materials and wanted to be sure they were covered in case of damage or theft.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” I said.

  “It did. On the surface, it appeared he only recovered what he’d lost, although he did end up with a brand-new barn instead of an old one with a facelift.”

  “And the artist?” Vikki asked.

  “Ms. Smith seems to have come out on the winning end. She was an unknown artist who had only insured her work after being invited to take part in the art show. She may have managed to sell her art for the insured value. I guess we’ll never know. If I remember correctly, she’d only had the policy for about a month, so she hadn’t made any premium payments other than the deposit.”

  In a way, it sounded like other than Pop, Ms. Smith had gained the most from the arson spree. “And the house where the man died?” I asked.

  “The policy was taken out when the house was purchased two years before the fire. It was standard, covering replacement value for the structure and contents. While the homeowner didn’t exactly hit the lottery, the house needed a lot of repair he had put off, so one could argue that having a brand-new home to replace the old one could be considered a benefit.”

  “So, while everyone benefited to an extent from the fires, some of the victims came out further ahead, and some of the victims had a lot invested in the policy, while others didn’t,” Jack summarized.

  “Exactly.”

  “What are we thinkin’?” Gertie asked, speaking up for the first time since our brainstorming session had begun.

  We all looked at one another. The Strangers on a Train idea had seemed reasonable until we started the discussion, but now? Now, I couldn’t imagine five people had all somehow met and come up with such a convoluted plan.

  “Perhaps we should define what we’re trying to do,” Quinten suggested.

  I scrunched up my face. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Are we trying to identify the person or persons who set fire to the five structures, or are we trying to prove Bobby Boston didn’t commit suicide?”

  “Aren’t the two questions basically the same thing?” Vikki asked.

  “No, Quinten is right,” I jumped in. “There are several things going on here that may or may not be related. Identifying the arsonist would be a by-product of our desire to help Abby in proving her husband didn’t kill himself.”

  “Don’t we have to find the real arsonist before we can prove Bobby is innocent?” Vikki reasoned.

  “It doesn’t matter whether he set the fires. At least not if our main goal is to help Abby. All we have to prove is that he was murdered for whatever reason.”

  The room fell silent. I supposed everyone was trying to wrap their head around the point Quinten had been trying to make.”

  “Would you be willing to look at Bobby’s autopsy report?” I asked Quinten.

  “Sure,” he answered. “If you can get a copy.”

  I turned to look at Rick. “Can you do that?”

  “I can.”

  I clapped my hands together. “Okay, then. Let’s start there. If we can prove Bobby was murdered, Abby should be able to collect the insurance money whether we figure out the rest of the mystery or not.”

  “But we’re still goin’ to work on the arsons?” Gertie asked.

  I shrugged. “Sure. I know I’m curious about them. But getting Abby the money she needs to raise those five kids is our first priority. Agreed?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Fantastic,” I said. “Quinten and Rick can get together tomorrow. In the meantime, we can all follow up on any leads we have. The Mastermind group is meeting tomorrow, so if we decide we need help, we can assign tasks for everyone to take care of.” I looked at Gertie and Quinten. “You’re both invited to the meeting. We’re having dinner at six and meeting directly after.” I glanced at Rick. “I know you don’t normally attend, but it could be important this time.”

  He hesitated.

  “It’s for Abby and her kids.”

  “Okay. But I’ll be there as Vikki’s boyfriend, not in any sort of official capacity.”

  “Perfect.” I glanced around the room. “Who’s up for dessert?”

  Chapter 4

  Wednesday, January 24

  When I went downstairs the next morning, Vikki was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea. Jack and I had decided I should bring Kizzy home with me last night because his mother was coming today, and he wanted to have time to eradicate every trace of dog hair from the house. My first order of business, I realized, was to take Kizzy out for her morning constitutional. When I returned to the house several minutes later, Vikki was still sitting alone at the table. I fed the happy, energetic puppy, then made my own cup of tea.

  I blew on it, waiting for it to cool. “It looks like we might get rain today.”

  “I heard we’re in for a couple of inches.”

  “Personally, I could do without it. Between keeping an eye on the puppy tornado, writing my article on the proposed development that would bring huts to the marsh, and getting everything ready for our dinner tonight, I’m not in the mood to spend the whole day making mad dashes from one place to another.”

  “Yeah.”

  I paused as I studied Vikki’s face. She was as beautiful as ever, but she looked tired. “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You look sort of run-down. Are you sleeping okay?”

  Vikki nodded, then stood up. “I have a conference call with my agent. I should head back to my cabin. I’ll see you tonight.”

  I watched as she stood up and walked out the door. I was sure she wasn’t feeling well, but if that were true, why had she come over here in the first place? We’d established a pattern of meeting in the kitchen of the main house for breakfast despite her moving into her own cabin, but if one of us wasn’t feeling well, or if we’d spent the night elsewhere or had a guest of the opposite sex to entertain in the morning, we skipped it. If Vikki hadn’t been feeling well, all she needed to do was text.

  Maybe I should ask Rick if he knew what was going on. Of course, even if he did, he wouldn’t tell me if Vikki had told him not to. No, I needed to get it directly from the horse’s mouth, but Vikki didn’t seem to be in a sharing mood. She and I usually told each other everything. It concerned me that she was shutting me out of whatever was wrong. If she didn’t seem better by tomorrow, I’d have to force the issue.

  “Are you done with your breakfast?” I asked Kizzy, who’d come into the kitchen and plopped down in front of the wood-burning fireplace.

  It looked like Vikki wasn’t the only one having a hard time getting going this morning. I glanced at the clock and decided to make some cinnamon rolls. Garrett loved them, and I’d found since I’d brought him home I would do almost anything to add some happiness to his otherwise difficult day. Once the rolls were in the oven, I put on a p
ot of coffee.

  “Do I smell cinnamon?” Garrett asked a while later as he wheeled himself into the kitchen with Blackbeard, his parrot, on his shoulder. We’d remodeled the house so he could easily access any room on the first floor with his wheelchair. I couldn’t imagine being stuck in a chair all day, but he seemed to be making the best of it. He usually had a smile on his face, and his sunny disposition brightened even the gloomiest days.

  “You do smell cinnamon. I have rolls in the oven. They’ll be ready in about ten minutes. Coffee?”

  “Please.” Garrett rolled across the room and set Blackbeard onto his perch. The bird had talked almost nonstop when Garrett was away, but since he’d been back, he barely spoke at all. At least not to me. I did hear them chatting from time to time, and they enjoyed watching television together. I was concerned about Blackbeard’s health, but Jack thought he was less of a chatterbox now because he was happier and more relaxed with Garrett home.

  “How’d your brainstorming session go last night?” he asked after I set his cup in front of him.

  I filled Garrett in on the highlights while we both sipped our coffee and waited for the rolls to be done. Garrett wasn’t a writer, but he’d lived on Gull Island his entire life and had insight on local matters that had helped us out in the past.

  “I remember that young husband of Abby’s,” Garrett said. “He used to come by the senior home when I was living there to visit a man whose life he had saved in a fire. I didn’t know him well, but he seemed to be a nice and caring man. Not at all the sort to start fires or leave a wife to raise a houseful of kids on her own.”

  “That’s the impression I have of him based on what I’ve heard. I really hope we can help Abby. It breaks my heart that she’s going through so much on her own.”

  “She’s not alone. She has you and Brit and the others on her side. Seems to me she’s in pretty good hands.”

  I hoped Garrett was right.

  The timer dinged on the oven and I got up to get the rolls just as Clara came down from her second-story room, followed by her cat, Agatha, who hissed at Kizzy. The pup didn’t lift her head in response, but she did thump her tail as Agatha strolled past the rug she was lying on in search of her own breakfast.

  “We should call George,” Clara said. “You know how he loves cinnamon rolls.”

  “Good idea,” Garrett said, and he picked up his cell and dialed George’s number.

  Clara crossed the room and picked up an old quilt that she wrapped around her shoulders before taking a seat at the table.

  “Are you cold? I can turn up the heat,” I offered.

  “I’m not cold, but I do have a chill.”

  “A chill?”

  “Trouble is coming.”

  I set a plate of rolls on the table, as well as four plates and forks. “There’s a storm on the way. That’s probably what you’re sensing. Vikki said we’re supposed to get a couple of inches of rain.”

  “Vikki was here?” Garrett asked.

  “She was, but she left shortly after I came down. It looked like she didn’t feel well, although she said she was fine.”

  I decided to add a bowl of fruit to the table, as well as a pitcher of orange juice. I loved sweets for breakfast as much as the next person, but I usually tried to eat an apple or orange too.

  “Good morning, everyone.” George came through the kitchen door from the patio. “Looks like we’re in for some weather.”

  “According to Vikki, a couple of inches,” I said. “Coffee?”

  “Please.” George bent down to pet Kizzy and offer her a treat before taking a seat next to Clara. “I know Clara is the resident psychic, but you must have read my mind,” George said to me. “I woke up thinking about hot, gooey cinnamon rolls.”

  “Maybe Clara is rubbing off on me,” I said as I refilled everyone’s cup.

  “How was your brainstorming session last night?” George asked.

  I repeated what I’d just told Garrett so that everyone was on the same page.

  “Quinten had a good point about narrowing in on what you’re trying to accomplish,” George said. “It’s easy to get bogged down in the facts. Before you know it, you’ve left your primary objective behind and are off chasing rainbows.”

  “Sounds like you’ve had some experience in that area.”

  George nodded at me. “I had a serious case of wandering attention span when I was younger. In fact, I almost didn’t complete my doctoral thesis on time after I stumbled across an interesting side note that had nothing to do with the paper I was writing but had somehow managed to capture my imagination.”

  I glanced at George over the top of my cup. “I assume you did finish.”

  “Yes, but only after my adviser whipped some sense into me and got me back on track.”

  “Seems to me you’re still prone to wander at times, my old friend.” Garrett chuckled.

  “I’ll admit as much.” George laughed too. “While indulging in an unplanned side trip on a tight deadline isn’t the best idea, I’ve found that in life, as in writing, it’s the unexpected side trip that makes all the difference.”

  As a wannabe novelist, I loved to chat with George. He had these little tips he never presented as advice that turned out to be very helpful. I loved the imagery of unexpected deviations bringing clarity and variation into your life. Vikki, who was a much more accomplished author than I could ever hope to be, had told me many times that if you allowed your characters freedom to choose their own path, you’d often stumble across just what you needed at the exact moment you needed it.

  The four of us spent the next hour chatting. There were days when I wanted nothing more than to sit and chat with these interesting, stimulating people, but I had an article to write, a dinner to plan, and some follow-up to do on ideas I’d had after last night’s brainstorming. I excused myself and headed upstairs to get ready to start the day.

  When I came back downstairs, the kitchen group had broken up, and I sat down to make a grocery list. I’d need to stop by the market while I was out to pick up the items I’d need for dinner that evening. It was a cool day and I wasn’t going to be in the store long, so I decided to bring Kizzy along with me. I found I rather enjoyed having a furry companion as I did my errands. Who knew that Jillian Hanson, who until recently had been a lifelong apartment dweller, enjoyed spending time with a dog?

  By the time I parked in front of the only full-service market on the island, it had begun to rain lightly. I gave Kizzy a toy and told her to be a good girl while I ran inside. I’d decided to make a pot of chowder for dinner, so I headed to the seafood aisle to see what had been brought in fresh today.

  “Morning, Luke,” I said to the butcher.

  “Jill. What can I help you with?”

  “I want to make a seafood chowder.” I picked up a couple of packages of shrimp, which I tossed into my basket, along with a couple of lobster tails and some scallops.

  “I have some crab in the back that was just delivered this morning.”

  Adding crab to the chowder might be too much seafood, but adding it to the top of a salad sounded delicious. “Okay, I’ll take a couple if you’ll clean them for me.”

  “Not a problem. Give me a few minutes.”

  “I have to grab some other things. I’ll be back when I’m done.”

  I headed around the perimeter of the store, picking up fresh produce and dairy products. I chose some freshly baked bread from the bakery, which was where I found Brooke Johnson, an elementary schoolteacher as well as the volunteer coordinator for many island events.

  She greeted me with a smile. “I was just thinking about you.”

  If Brooke was thinking about you, that most likely meant she needed your help with one of her projects. “Let me guess: you’re recruiting volunteers for the Valentine’s Day dance.”

  “Actually, no. I am, however, looking for help for the Spring Fling in April. I hoped you could participate on the planning committee and provide some fre
e publicity in the newspaper in the form of a series of articles about the event.”

  “That sounds like something I can do. When do you want to start?”

  Brooke tossed two loaves of bread into her basket while I began sorting through the French loaves.

  “The first meeting of the planning committee is on Wednesday next week. We’re thinking of meeting in the library, but I’ll let you know if that changes. As far as the articles, I thought we could focus on different aspects of the event. I’d like to get started in a few weeks and maybe run one every other week.”

  I held one of the freshly baked loaves up to my nose before tossing it into my basket. “Okay. Why don’t you give me a rough outline of what you want the articles to look like, then we can meet to discuss the specifics. This will be my first spring on Gull Island, so you’ll have to help me with the details.”

  Brooke hugged me. “Perfect. I knew you’d help. You’re always so generous with your time.”

  “I try to help out when I can.” I grabbed a package of fresh bagels for tomorrow’s breakfast.

  “Abby Boston told me that you’re trying to help her get the insurance money she has coming to her. I told her if anyone could find the truth behind her husband’s death, it would be you.”

  “I hope your faith in me isn’t misplaced. It’s a complicated situation.”

  Brooke leaned a hip against her basket. “I know. And I know you’ll do what you can. I feel so bad for the poor thing. I don’t know Abby well, but her nieces attend the school where I teach, so she joined the PTA. I’m the teacher rep, so we’ve worked on a couple of projects together.”

  “Do you know if she has any close friends? Someone she might talk to about personal matters?”

  Brooke tilted her head, allowing her long blond hair to fall to one side. “I know she’s friends with Laurie Olson. Laurie has really been there for her since Bobby died, helping with babysitting and carpooling. If Abby were to share her feelings with anyone, it would be her.” Brooke paused and then added, “You know what we should do? We should throw Abby a baby shower. Her sister’s children were past the infant stage when they came to live with her, so I bet she doesn’t have anything for a newborn.”