Stranded

by Lorena McCourtney

  Which raised a dilemma for me. My personal opinion was still that the fire had to be arson, but I didn’t want to spread details about the Braxtons and Boone Morrison. Yet if I mentioned the possibility of arson and didn’t mention them, Kelli would undoubtedly be Suspect #1. So I finally just down-played the situation as much as possible and said the fire chief was taking care of things, which I hoped was less incendiary wording than the more ominous “investigating.”

  If I’d hoped to quell gossip with my verbal tap dance, I was mistaken. Several times ladies gathered around the main desk, gossip humming like a live wire connecting them, surreptitious glances shooting my way like sparks out of a malfunctioning toaster. The Ladies Hysterical Society in high gear.

  Doris Hammerstone offered me a ride at the end of the afternoon. I thanked her but declined for two reasons. One was that I figured the offer was mostly because she wanted to pump me for more information, maybe pick up something no one else had. The other was that, after last night’s excitement, I didn’t feel up to another death-defying whirl in Doris’s Lincoln.

  Back at Kelli’s house that evening, she reported that the fire department, in spite of the chief’s doubts, hadn’t ignored the possibility of arson. They’d rushed in a sniffer dog from out of town but had found no trace of gasoline or other accelerants popular with arsonists. That, along with the fact that there was no sign of forced entry into the house, had made them decide against arson. The room, with so much highly inflammable trash, had been so thoroughly burned that they couldn’t even determine exactly where in it the fire had originated.

  “So what they finally decided was that there was probably some malfunction in the old wiring, with sparks igniting the trash.”

  Even so, I wasn’t convinced. I wasn’t sure Kelli was either when she gave me a surreptitious sideways glance. We were eating at the small table in the kitchen as we talked. I’d found hamburger in the refrigerator and made a meatloaf and creamed potatoes. The cats had gotten quite cozy and were sharing the sofa in the other room.

  “There really are these … people after you, like you told the fire chief?” Kelli asked.

  “Yes. I suppose we should have warned you about that when you first offered to let us live in the house.”

  “But they seem quite convinced it wasn’t arson.”

  My first thought was, even experts make mistakes. But on second thought, I had to admit I could be the one who was mistaken. I was paranoid about the Braxtons and Boone, no doubt about it, and could be seeing arson where none existed. Maybe it was faulty old wiring. There were mazes of uncovered wires all over the house, and we avoided using a couple of electrical outlets in the kitchen because they always shot sparks.

  “I guess I’m just relieved that they didn’t think I’d deliberately set the fire, considering how ready most people have been to think I’m a murderer,” Kelli said. “If necessary, I was counting on you to back up my alibi that I was at home when you called to tell me about the fire. But that didn’t turn out to be necessary.”

  I didn’t want to think it, but the slithery thought was there: could she have rushed home deliberately to be there when someone called?

  “It’s helpful that they concluded the investigation so quickly. It probably makes dealing with the insurance and repairs easier.”

  “Right.”

  I supposed Abilene and I should also be grateful that the fire department wasn’t putting blame on us for carelessly, or even purposely, setting the fire.

  “If the fire department’s investigation is finished, can we go back to the house tomorrow?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid it will be a lot longer than tomorrow before the house can be lived in again. The first floor, maybe the entire house, will have to be cleaned and repainted because of the smoke and water damage. I’ll have the back side boarded up as soon as possible, but Burman said that won’t be enough to make it ‘acceptable for occupation.’ It has to meet building department requirements before it can be lived in.”

  “So how long will repair work take?”

  “I talked on the phone with a contractor today. I’m meeting him at the house tomorrow. We’re looking at anywhere from a month to several months, depending on whether I have that whole back section rebuilt. And on how fast the insurance company moves too, of course.” She paused, brow wrinkling. “Although there is a possibility inspection will determine that the old place is structurally unsound and should simply be torn down.”

  I must have looked dismayed, because she reached across the table and patted my hand. “Don’t worry. You can stay right here.”

  “But we can’t impose on you for a month, let alone several months or more! And don’t tell me two strangers and a cat aren’t an imposition.”

  “You aren’t, but … okay, I’ll make you a deal. If there’s one thing I’m tired of, it’s my own cooking. How about you take over the job for a month? Then, at the end of that time, we’ll see how things stand and reevaluate.”

  “Done!” Maybe the motor home would be ready by then. Which would mean another decision about staying or leaving, but we’d face that when we came to it.

  “What about me?” Abilene asked. “What can I do?”

  “You can give Sandra Day her worm medicine pill and bath. She usually won’t speak to me for a couple days after I do it.”

  Another done. We beamed at each other as if we’d just solved the major problems of the world, up to and including bad hair days.

  Except that conscience made me give Kelli a reluctant warning. “If it was the Braxtons or Boone, they might try again. Right here at your cabin. Having us here could be dangerous.”

  “There’s something I never told you, either,” Kelli said. “With Uncle Hiram dead, I’m the last in the McLeod line.”

  “Is that important?”

  “I don’t know. People think I killed Uncle Hiram, but I know I didn’t. Which means the real killer is still out there. And, since I don’t know why Uncle Hiram was killed, I keep wondering if maybe I’m next on the killer’s hit list. Staying here with me may put you in danger too.”

  Maybe the killers would have to take a number and get in line.

  21

  Gloomy clouds spit icy snowflakes the following morning. Kelli drove Abilene and me to the house to pick up the remainder of our belongings and clean out the refrigerator and freezer.

  The old house still had that ugly, dead-campfire scent of wet, burned wood, and the interior was as cold as the frigid air outdoors. I stomped the floor and hammered a wall with my fist, and everything still felt solid to me, certainly no reason for the entire house to be condemned, but I was no expert, of course. I sent thought-vibes of encouragement: Hang in there, house. Don’t let ’em scare you into giving up.

  Fortunately, with the below-freezing temperatures, the lack of electricity to refrigerator and freezer hadn’t damaged the contents. The carousel horses had been drenched by the firemen’s hoses, but they didn’t appear damaged. I knew it was probably foolish, but I rather wished KaySue could have them. They’d surely mean more to her than anyone else.

  Kelli took Abilene on to the vet clinic and me to the Historical Society. She planned to take the Bronco back to the log cabin and unload, then keep the appointment with the contractor at the house.

  Myra Fighorn and Charlotte Sterling were on desk duty today. I knew most of the Historical Society ladies took turns at the desk, but I hadn’t seen Charlotte on duty before. When she came over to offer her sympathies about the fire, I also found out why she was here.

  “Victoria Halburton called up and jumped all over me for not doing my share, so I said I’d do it every day this week.” She rolled her eyes and sounded put upon, then shrugged and changed the subject. “It must have been terrifying, waking up to find the house burning all around you. I’ve always figured drowning would be the worst way to go, but getting trapped in a burning house is certainly right up there at the top of the list too.”

  “We neve
r were actually trapped, but it was kind of terrifying.”

  “I feel so bad about this for Kelli too. She’s been under so much stress, and now this. Will you be able to go back to the house soon?”

  “Not for quite some time, apparently. There’s a lot of cleanup and repair work to be done, plus safety regulations about occupying a house that’s been badly damaged by fire. But, as you probably know, we’re staying with Kelli at her cabin.”

  “Yes, that’s what Chris said. She’s so good-hearted, isn’t she? But I’m thinking, Kelli’s place is so tiny. Why don’t you and Abilene come stay with me? There’s all kinds of room. You could each have a bedroom of your own. I remember you said you liked mystery novels, and I have shelves and shelves of them. Oh, and satellite TV too.”

  I was surprised, both by the offer and by how attractive she was trying to make staying with her sound. “Why, thank you, Charlotte. Char,” I corrected, knowing that was the name she preferred even though no one else used it. Char Sterling was what she had on her real estate business card. “That’s so very kind and generous of you. But I’m not sure—”

  “Actually, I’d love to have the company. Chris is so wrapped up in his work, you know. A workaholic just like his father.” She gave a half-affectionate, half-exasperated shake of head. “I do wish he and Kelli would hurry up and get married and bring me some grandchildren. So, how about it? Want to come stay for a while? I could take you around to see some of the town’s old houses. We talked about that once.”

  “Actually, we’re hoping to get a new engine in our motor home soon, and then we can live in that again. And we do have a cat, you know.” Remembering how shiny and spotless the house had been, I suspected that could be important.

  “Oh? I’d forgotten the cat.” She frowned lightly. Apparently I’d been right. A cat was a problem. “Doesn’t that vet Abilene works for board animals? Perhaps you could keep the cat there. I think Stella left that smelly DaisyBelle there when she went to Maui last year.”

  DaisyBelle had her faults, but I thought “smelly” a bit unfair. Actually, the only scents I’d smelled during our scuffle over the fire hydrant was baby powder and maybe a hint of Eternity.

  “Well, uh, let us think about it.”

  My back was to the front door as we talked, but Charlotte was facing in that direction. Her eyebrows lifted. “Well, looks as if we have visitors. I’d better get back to the desk and give them a big Hello welcome. She looks a little mature for a ski bunny, but we get all kinds, don’t we?”

  I turned to look and saw a formidable Victorian figure in a pink ski outfit decorated with dramatic slashes of black and gold. Plus a peaked Tyrolean hat with a frisky blue feather atop fire-truck red hair, and a ski pole as a walking stick. Followed by a wiry man in totally neutral gray slacks and windbreaker.

  I left Charlotte standing there and rushed toward the couple. “Magnolia!”

  “Ivy!”

  We met in a flurry of hugs, me dodging the ski pole swinging wildly around us. Then I had to hug Geoff too.

  “It’s so good to see you! It’s been so long. How long can you stay?” I grabbed Magnolia’s hands again and stepped back to take a better look at her. She does tend to go for the dramatic, but this outfit was a bit over the top even for her. So far as I know, the closest she’s ever been to a ski slope is watching Winter Olympics on TV.

  “Oh, we’ll be here a few days. Long enough to have a good visit. We’ll stay at the RV park we passed out on the south side of town. We’re headed for our storage unit in Missouri, of course, but we aren’t on a set schedule.”

  “I’m so glad. I’ve missed you.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting that young woman traveling with you.”

  “Abilene Tyler. You’ll like her.” I hesitated, still wondering about the pink outfit and ski pole. “Have you taken up skiing?”

  “Well, I may.” She gave the ski pole an airy twirl. “You never know. At our age, we need to keep active, and I thought, since we were coming here into snow and ski country, that I should consider it. Although at the moment I’m just trying things out.”

  She wiggled her shoulders inside the jacket. I was pleased to see that the sharp end of the ski pole had been flattened, so she wasn’t walking around poking holes in things, including me.

  I knew what “trying things out” meant with Magnolia. Back in Missouri she’d briefly taken up horseback riding but quit when she realized jodhpurs made her back side look broader than the horse’s. I’d never consider Magnolia shallow. She’s too good-hearted for that. But she isn’t about to devote herself to activities that feature unflattering fashions.

  In all honesty, this ski fashion was not particularly flattering. It made her look a bit like a top-heavy, pink Popsicle. But I figured Magnolia would discern that for herself soon enough, so all I said was, “This isn’t really a ski area, I’m afraid. There’s lots of snow, but no one’s ever built ski runs.”

  “Really?” As if that meant she could relax, she unzipped the jacket. “But Ivy, what’s going on with you? We followed your directions and drove straight to the house. Only to find that the place had been in some sort of ghastly conflagration. We were so afraid something terrible had happened to you! But then this nice young woman came out and told us we could find you here.”

  “That was Kelli Keifer. She’s been letting us live in the house. She’s the niece of the man who—” I broke off, not wanting to get into details about Hiram and murder just yet. Magnolia tends to fuss when I get involved in these things. “The fire was just an accident that got started in a room where a lot of inflammable trash was stored.”

  Magnolia frowned. “An accident? Are you sure?”

  Magnolia knew all about the Braxtons, although I had yet to tell her about Boone.

  “The fire department has already investigated. Probably something to do with a malfunction in the old wiring.” I still didn’t go along with that 100 percent, but I didn’t intend to fuss at the fire department about it. I changed the subject. “I’m so glad you got here today! I don’t suppose you’ll be able to stay for the Roaring ’20s Revue next weekend, but we’re having a dress rehearsal tonight. Would you like to come?”

  Magnolia looked at Geoff. Some people think flamboyant Magnolia runs everything, but quiet Geoff is really boss behind the scenes.

  “Sounds interesting. We’ll go get registered at the RV park,” he said.

  I didn’t realize until then that Charlotte had been standing there with us all the time, looking curious, and I finally collected my manners and made introductions. Charlotte echoed my invitation to the rehearsal. We were going to pretend she’d never made that snide ski bunny remark, I realized.

  “And you’re both in the Revue?” Magnolia asked. She sounded doubtful, because she knows I’m not the performing type.

  “Oh no. I’m costumes and Ivy is props.” Charlotte laughed. “But the whole production would surely fall apart without us.”

  Actually, that evening the whole production appeared on the edge of falling apart even with us.

  By then, Magnolia and Geoff had gotten parked and hooked up at the RV park. Chris, Kelli, and Charlotte were going to the Chuckwagon Buffet for dinner, and Magnolia, Geoff, Abilene, and I met them there before the rehearsal. The Margollins were pulling a small Honda behind their motor home now, so they had transportation to get around. We made quite an exuberant group all gathered around one big table at the Chuckwagon. Chris entertained us with tales from a law school friend who now worked in L.A. and dealt with the high jinks legal affairs of various celebrities. (“Would you believe this one actress has written into all her contracts that she gets approval on bosom measurements of all the other actresses?”) Magnolia had a small genealogical gaffe to admit concerning a cat named Molly that had somehow gotten written into the family line as an ancestor. Charlotte had a real-estate story about people who took their poodle along to look at a house and then rejected the house because the poodle didn’t l
ike it. (“And I’m not going to tell you how that miserable creature expressed his disapproval.”) I was pleased that we made such a compatible group. Kelli didn’t have much to say, but she and Chris were holding hands under the table.

  After the meal Kelli and Chris went back to his office to look up a fine-print technicality on the insurance on Hiram’s house, and Charlotte said, with what I thought was more pride than exasperation, “See? What did I tell you? Always wrapped up in work.”

  The rest of us went on to the rehearsal. I got Magnolia and Geoff settled in one of the rows of folding seats, and then Abilene helped me carry more props down from the third floor. We had backstage lined with everything from a policeman’s nightstick to a phony ham.

  The first thing that went wrong was when DaisyBelle wiggled her leash out of Stella’s grasp, snatched a feather boa from one of the chorus-line dancers, and raced up the aisle with it. Charlotte took off in hot pursuit, her yells blasting even over the sound of music and dancing feet.

  I thought I’d do my part and barricaded the end of the aisle with my arms spread wide. A great move, except that DaisyBelle didn’t aim for my spread arms. She dove between my knees, and down I went. Charlotte crashed on top of me, and the three of us wallowed in the aisle like three hogs in a mud hole. DaisyBelle then made sharp little pig prints across both of us and sprinted on up the aisle, feather boa flying victoriously.

  All was not lost, however. Abilene, coming down the aisle behind me, grabbed DaisyBelle. The pig squealed objections, but Abilene, who I sometimes think could calm a charging hippopotamus, soothed her and carried her back to a grateful Stella, who was also running up the aisle now. They met where Charlotte and I were disentangling ourselves, and a Pig War appeared on the verge of erupting. All this time the chorus line had kept right on dancing, shimmying up a storm in their chemises and feather boas, apparently oblivious to the pig drama going on offstage. I was thinking Charlotte had been right. Pork chops it was. Maybe decorated with tiny feather boas.