The Spider Bites

by Medora Sale

“How’s Susanna?” asked Tony. “I wanted to talk to her too. But she took off like a scared rabbit with that overgrown kid, Greg. Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I saw her yesterday, right after the fire. She looked to be in shock, shivering with cold. So I took her for a pizza.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “But the weird thing is that she looked amazing. She had a gorgeous red dress on. Hair and makeup like a model. You must have seen her. Didn’t you notice?”

  “Yesterday?” I nodded. “No. No red dress. I think I saw her in her usual jeans and black sweater. Neat, clean jeans and sweater.”

  “I guess she changed at work.”

  “Probably. Look, Rick—that stuff you said last night about Rodriguez was all bullshit, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it was. I was sort of out of it. It seemed a good idea at the time. I wanted to see how you’d react. But, of course, you didn’t.”

  “You should know by now that I don’t fall into your traps.” He grinned. “But I want to know what made you come back? Just in time for Freddie to get incinerated?”

  “Believe it or not, it was because my job was over. I picked up my pay and came down to the terminal with the last load of apples. End of season.”

  “Nothing to do with Freddie?”

  “Everything to do with Freddie. Except for the date. But I was not expecting him to be in my apartment. And I was certainly not planning on him being dead. I wanted to talk to him.”

  “And did you?”

  “No. I got to the apartment. I saw that someone was living there. I had no idea it was Freddie. But I was mad as hell. It was around six, I guess. I’d been up and working since four in the morning. I needed to shower and change. I figured it could wait. I got a room, went to bed and slept for twelve hours.”

  “Did you go down to the house then?”

  “No, I spent the morning getting cleaned up and buying some clothes that fit me. Then I went to see the lawyer. I saw something on the news about the fire and went down to see what had happened. I figured that Cheryl and Susanna were at work.”

  “But it was Wednesday.”

  “I know you won’t believe me, Tony, but I lost track of the days up there.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I was working seven days a week from before dawn to after dusk. Doing the same thing, over and over again. The days blend into each other. It sounds feeble. But it’s the truth.”

  The waitress set down two bowls of pasta. As soon as she left, Tony leaned forward.

  “So who’s on your short list of guys with torches? Besides me, of course.”

  “You?” I said.

  “Of course. We’re at the top of everybody’s list. We’re the guys Rodriguez would try to bribe.”

  “Makes sense,” I said carefully.

  “So if it was Rodriguez, he was aiming to get rid of Freddie and one of us.”

  “Kill Freddie and put the blame on me, more likely. He’d already set me up with that money stuffed under my mattress.”

  “The problem’s going to be getting to Rodriguez,” said Tony.

  “He’s left town,” I said.

  “I heard that. Where is he?”

  “Mexico. For Christmas.” I raised my hand. “Don’t say it. It’s still October. But that’s what I was told.”

  “That’s not going to be easy.”

  “Not that hard. I sent him an email. I asked him who torched Freddie. He answered.”

  “No shit. He answered?”

  I took the printout from my pocket and handed it over.

  “It’s in Spanish.”

  “Well, of course it is. But he says two things. He isn’t the one trying to cut my throat, and he wouldn’t burn down a barn to kill a rat. It’s just possible he had nothing to do with it.”

  “Maybe. Who else then?”

  “Who could get in the house?” I asked.

  “Without breaking in? The two of us.”

  “And four other people, I think. Susanna, Angela’s friend Mark, Angela…”

  “And Susanna’s friend, Greg,” said Tony. “And since Freddie was living there, any one of Rodriguez’s guys.”

  “Let’s start with Angela. I refuse to believe that Angela would set fire to Cheryl’s house.”

  “Where is she working now?” asked Tony.

  “I don’t know. Do you?”

  “I haven’t heard. She hasn’t exactly been on good terms with our side lately,” he said. “Although she did go down to the morgue and tell me the body wasn’t you.”

  “She was probably disappointed,” I said bitterly.

  He shook his head.

  “No, Rick. Actually she sounded worried. But something else is bothering me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Mark Davies. He said that Cheryl had installed alarms and fire extinguishers. So why didn’t she hear the smoke alarm?” asked Tony. “They told me she didn’t even try to get up. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I wonder,” I said. “And I want to know when Susanna changed her clothes. Did she bring all that stuff with her to work? Are her jeans and sweater still there?”

  “I’d like to find out something about Greg,” said Tony.

  “And who in hell is Mark?” I said.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE WEB

  I refused the offer of a ride from Tony. It was at least three miles to my hotel, but I walked. I needed to move around. I had to clear my head.

  Meanwhile, a small group of cops at the station had started asking questions. When did Susanna change from her jeans into her red dress? What was Mark’s background? What was his connection with Cheryl? Who was Greg? And in the lab, technicians were busy analyzing the samples from the site of the fire. They had already finished writing some early reports on their findings.

  * * *

  My hotel room wasn’t any more inviting than it had been the day before. I sat on the bed. I turned on the TV and watched it for five minutes. I turned it off again. I went downstairs and bought a paper. There were a few pictures of the fire, mostly of the house. And there was a lot of written coverage as well. But there was nothing really new. A lot of descriptions of Cheryl and Susanna from people who didn’t know them. Most of it was garbage.

  I shoved the paper in the basket.

  * * *

  At seven I called Angela.

  “You said I should come over and pick up my stuff,” I said.

  She admitted that she had said that.

  “Come on over.”

  The apartment smelled warm and inviting. I hung up my jacket and looked around. I had expected to find a pile of my things by the entrance door. There was nothing there. “Where’s my stuff?” I said. “In the junk room?”

  I opened the door to the second bedroom. That was where we used to throw everything we didn’t have a place for. I turned on the overhead light. I stepped back, amazed. All the junk was gone. Angela had stripped off the hideous wallpaper and replaced it with a soft yellow paint. She had hung new curtains on the windows.

  “You’ve fixed it up,” I said.

  “You noticed.”

  “Are you planning to rent it out?”

  “Of course not,” she said impatiently. “I just decided to do it. And I did.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get mad,” I said. I didn’t feel like fighting. “But what did I leave behind?”

  “Not much. A couple of pictures. Some photographs. A whole lot of hurt feelings. Even more memories. Not much that you can carry away.”

  “God, Angela, I’m so sorry,” I said. I reached out to take her hands.

  She backed away. As if she couldn’t bear to be close to me.

  “You can’t believe how sorry I am,” I said. “For being so stupid. And stubborn.”

  “And drunk,” she added. “Don’t forget that. Come on. Let’s get out of here. It still smells of paint and disappointment.”

  I followed her into the living
room.

  “I called and left a message at your apartment,” she said. “Like you told me to if I had to get in touch. You never called me back.”

  “I collected my messages at least once a week,” I said. “I never heard from you. Was it important?”

  “It was important when I called. It doesn’t matter now.” She sounded bitter and unhappy.

  “What was it?” I said. “You’ve got to tell me what it was, Angela.”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything,” she said. “But I didn’t ask you over so we could fight. I’m cooking supper. I’d appreciate it if you’d join me. Today wasn’t much fun, was it?”

  “You want me to stay for supper?”

  “That’s what I said. I’d rather not be alone for now.”

  “Sure,” I said. I would have agreed to anything right then. Besides, I suddenly felt hungry. “What can I do?”

  “Throw a salad together. As soon as the water boils I’ll put on the noodles.”

  “What are we having?”

  “Baked chicken and mushrooms.”

  And so we worked together in the kitchen, side by side, the way we used to. When things were better. “No red onions?” I said, my head in the refrigerator.

  “If you’d wanted red onions you should have bought some.”

  “How was I supposed to know? Hey— where did you get these olives? Nice work.”

  I put the salad bowl on the table, cut some chunks of bread and drained the pasta. Angela tasted the sauce from the chicken.

  “How is it?” I asked.

  “Good. I tried some fresh rosemary in it. It works.”

  And we sat down to eat, talking food. I told her about cooking on a tiny budget with the crew on the farm.

  “I picked up a lot of new ideas,” I said. “The guys in the crew always send as much money home as they can, so we bought as little as possible. Tiny pieces of meat, oil, flour, salt, hot pepper sauce. Otherwise we lived on fruit and vegetables.”

  “No parties?”

  “Never. On Saturday nights the crew went into town for a beer. One beer.”

  “And you didn’t go?” She didn’t sound as if she believed me.

  “I didn’t go.”

  We were cleaning up the kitchen. I was beginning to wonder about possibilities for the rest of the evening. Then Angela’s mobile buzzed unpleasantly. She plucked it out of the little leather holder fastened to her belt and flipped it open.

  “Damn,” she muttered. “Hi. What’s going on?” She paused. “Right. See you there. Fifteen minutes.”

  “Sorry, Rick,” she said. “My boss. I’ve been called out. Something’s up.”

  “What in hell do you do?” I asked.

  “I’m still a cop, sort of. Private security and investigative stuff. It’s interesting, but it does have a few drawbacks. Like getting calls on my evenings off. But this is a case I’m on, so it’s my baby.”

  All the time she was talking, she was getting ready to go out. “I’ll drop you at your hotel,” she said. “Maybe we can get together tomorrow.”

  It suddenly occurred to me that we hadn’t once talked about the fire.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE FOURTH DAY

  My mobile buzzed frantically. It was midmorning. I was outside, walking aimlessly along West Central. It was Tony.

  “We have to talk.”

  “Okay. Where are you?”

  “At the Coffee Corner. You walked by me three minutes ago. I waved, but you didn’t see me.”

  I was back at the Coffee Corner in two minutes. I nodded at the waitress. A nice kid, but she wasn’t Cheryl.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  “Sure.” Between breakfast and lunch, the place was almost empty. She looked bored.

  Tony walked over to the big round table in the corner and sat down.

  “Are you expecting a crowd?” I asked.

  “A couple more people,” said Tony. “I have some interesting results I wanted to talk about. They weren’t easy to get.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s like this, Rick. I’ve actually been off your case since Monday. The guys upstairs decided I was a bit too close to you.”

  “But that was always true.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Then yesterday morning they decided to put me on leave. Except that I had to turn up for Donovan’s little inquiry. So I’m on leave.”

  “Why aren’t you home sleeping?”

  “Too boring. I thought I’d see if I could find out what was going on.”

  “Did you?”

  “I’m getting there. Have you come up with anything I should know, Rick? Before the others get here.”

  “Like what?”

  “What has Angela told you? I haven’t been able to talk to her.”

  “Nothing. And that’s because Angela had nothing to do with Freddie. He was my problem. Or with Cheryl’s death or the fire.”

  “How can you be sure? She’s being pretty cagey, isn’t she?”

  “Listen, if she had anything to do with Cheryl’s death, Tony, I’m finished. I’d have nothing left I could trust. Or believe in. Anyway, she was never involved in the mess with Rodriguez.”

  “Really?” He looked at me, his head tilted. “Did you ask her? Do anything to check her out?”

  “No!”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “That’s not my fault.”

  “Sorry, Rick. God, I hate not working,” he said. “It makes me crazy.”

  At that moment, a small white van pulled up outside the Coffee Corner. Susanna and Greg had arrived.

  “Hi, Tony,” said Susanna. “We made it. You not working today?”

  “I’m off,” said Tony.

  “Again?” she said. “You were off on Wednesday too, weren’t you? Or so they said.” She winked. She was needling him, and he was reacting.

  “No, Susanna. I wasn’t off on Wednesday. Anyway, I don’t work seven days a week. None of us do.”

  “I at least have a reason to be off. I get three days for the death of a mother,” she said. “It’s in our contract.”

  “I know what’s in the contract,” said Tony.

  “Lay off, Susanna,” I said before they started yelling at each other. “Sit down. Coffee?”

  Greg paid no attention. He was staring out the window. “I hope I don’t get a ticket,” he said. “I have this sign on the dash: On Call. Emergency Service. But they never pay any attention to it.”

  “Sit still,” said Tony. “If you get a ticket, I’ll pay it. I promise.”

  The door opened again and Angela came in, followed by Mark Davies.

  The meeting had come to order.

  * * *

  “So what are we doing here?” asked Susanna.

  “It was my idea,” said Tony. “I’m not on this case. I’m just a possible witness, like the rest of you. And like Rick, my name has been associated with Fred Hancock.”

  “I think Tony’s trying to say that we all have an interest in finding out what happened on Wednesday,” I said.

  “Thanks, Rick,” said Tony. “They’d never have figured it out on their own, would they?”

  “Calm down, Tony, and tell us what you’ve been able to find out.”

  “How?” asked Susanna.

  “I have friends, Susanna,” he said. “So this is real stuff. First of all, some of the data from the burn site has come in.”

  “Like what?” asked Greg.

  “It was Freddie who died in the basement,” said Tony.

  “How can they be sure?” asked Susanna.

  “He’s been booked often enough. So his prints are on file. They got enough bits of skin from his fingertips to get a match.”

  Susanna looked as if she wished she hadn’t asked.

  “And they’ve confirmed the cause of the fire.”

  “What was it?” I asked.

  “What you’d expect,” said Tony. “Nothing fancy. Just rags soaked with lots of gasoline. Lo
ts of traces of them in the basement and on the first floor.”

  Susanna and Greg shifted impatiently. Angela and Mark sat quietly, looking interested but not surprised. They could have been at a lecture on gardening or modern art.

  “The third result was sort of a surprising,” said Tony. “Although it does explain why your alarm system wasn’t more helpful, Mr. Davies.”

  “What failed?” he asked. “I am upset that Cheryl died in a fire. I feel some responsibility. She was a very courageous woman, but she was afraid of fire. She took precautions against it. They didn’t help.”

  “Nothing failed, Mr. Davies,” said Tony. “Cheryl and Freddie had both taken—or been given—large doses of a narcotic substance. They were probably unconscious.”

  “See?” said Susanna. “Drugs. Rodriguez again. I’ll bet Freddie and Cheryl were smoking something, or even injecting something, really powerful that this Rodriguez gave to Freddie.”

  “And then they spread gasoline all over the place and set fire to it? Just for fun? Come on, Susanna,” I said, furious for the moment.

  “I didn’t mean that,” she said. “Cheryl was in bed, wasn’t she? And it must have been someone trying to get rid of Freddie who started the fire. Not knowing that anyone else was in the house. After all, how many people have Wednesdays off?”

  “Or maybe whoever did it knew Cheryl took Wednesdays off,” said Mark Davies suddenly.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DEATH INSURANCE

  “Who would want to kill my mother?” Susanna’s face was white. “She never hurt a fly. Everyone loved her.”

  “That’s true, Susanna. I did,” said Mark in a low voice. “All of us did. It was a part of what she was. But she had another side. She was careful. She worried about the future. She saved her money and was well insured. House and life insurance.”

  “How do you know?” said Susanna. “Who is this guy?” she asked, looking around.

  “Sources,” he said. “So the beneficiary is going to do well.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Tony.

  “But I’m the beneficiary, aren’t I? Are you saying I killed my own mother? Me?” Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Did she own the house?” asked Tony.

  “She did,” said Mark. “She paid the mortgage off last year.”