Clarets of Fire

by Christine E. Blum

  I gotta admit, Marisol’s good.

  “This place is a goddamn zoo today!” A different voice, also male. “You,” he continued, “I promise you that we never posted any ads anywhere. Tell me who sent you and what you are doing here.”

  He must be talking to Aimee.

  “I swear, it said that Providence Commerce Group was looking for help with word processing. Since I live five minutes away, I thought that this would be perfect for me. I could even go home at lunch and get the prep done for dinner.”

  “Ha hah!” I heard Marisol cackle.

  Kill me now.

  “This your business card, mister?”

  “How’d you get that?”

  “You got ’em out in this holder here. I assume this is a help yourself situation.”

  There was an exchange between the men in a language I didn’t recognize.

  “I ain’t got no BM degree or nothing,” Marisol continued. “But this card says PROVIDENT COMMERCE GROUP.”

  “So?”

  “So the lady said ‘Providence’; that’s a horse of a different color. Whatever, I’m not going to keep standing here yapping with you, my feet are killing me. Have a nice day.”

  “I guess I made a mistake,” I heard Aimee say as I felt the caddy move again.

  “Val, let’s get out of here. Now.” The man’s voice again.

  When I heard the door close, I figured that we were back in the hallway.

  “We’d better split too Marisol, before they figure out that we were lying.”

  “Good idea. Let’s take the stairs.”

  I heard running and then it stopped.

  “You coming, Halsey?”

  “I really hate you, Marisol,” I said, pushing myself up from under a blanket of trash.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What do you mean ‘you can’t be sure which car they drove off in’?”

  “Just that. Four people got off the elevator, and we followed the wrong two.” Peggy was frustrated and almost spat her words.

  “Were they all men?” Aimee asked, gripping the arm rest as Sally merged back onto the freeway.

  “Yes,” Sally said.

  “Just how do you know that these weren’t our guys?” It was starting to sink into me that this could have all been a waste of time.

  “We figured it out when they got into a truck with a JESUS EXTERMINATION sign on it and we heard one guy ask the other if he had the estimate forms.”

  “Maybe they were exorcists,” Marisol muttered.

  She really is nuts. Funny, but loca.

  “Rats, well that eliminates one license plate from the film you took. How many cars were down there?”

  “At least a dozen. I’m so sorry we let you down, Halsey.” Sally sighed. “I’m afraid that we aren’t even good enough for state work.”

  Wait, what now?

  “Oh, we’re going to come through. I’ve already sent the images to a friend of mine from back in the day.”

  Peggy means the CIA.

  “He’ll get me the names of the owners of all the cars we saw.”

  “Okay, good. Did I hear one of the guys call the other by the name ‘Val’ while we were in their office?” I asked Aimee.

  “Yes, the cute one was named Val I think.”

  “There was a cute one?” Sally shook her head.

  “Not by my book. They were both a couple of slick Willies thinking their mierda don’t stink.” Marisol put her thumb and index finger on her nose just in case anyone didn’t know what “mierda” was in English.

  “What are you thinking, Halsey?”

  “I’m thinking, Peggy, that we have surrounded ourselves with two-faced liars. Liza Gilhooly, the commercial realtor I just picked up as a client, first said that she thought that one of the owners of the strip mall was named ‘Valentin,’ then this morning she recanted, saying that was the name of her CPA instead.”

  “Interesting. You don’t have her real estate license number do you?”

  I handed Peggy Liza’s card.

  “You can keep this. I’ve put all her info into my phone. Should we call Isabella and see how things ended up with Augie and Rico?”

  “Yes!” everyone agreed.

  I held the phone to the center of the car so that we could all listen.

  “Hi, Isabella. I’m here with Sally, Peggy, Aimee, and Marisol. We’re driving back from a meeting and wanted to find out how Rico made out with the police.”

  “Hi, everyone!” she said. “Did this meeting have anything to do with wine?” Isabella giggled.

  She’s in a giddy mood. I hope this means good news.

  “Sadly no.” Sally switched lanes probably out of frustration from no wine and being stuck behind a slowpoke driver.

  “Aw, sorry, Sally. Rico is right here. Let me put him on.”

  “Good afternoon, ladies.” It was nice to hear Rico’s voice, although it sounded a little shaky.

  “I take it you’re a free man,” Peggy said.

  Rico sighed.

  “For now, yes. Although my fingerprints match those on the dough hook.”

  “We expected that, right?” I asked.

  “I suppose so, but I swore to Augie that I’d never been near that alley and I’d never seen the safe in my life.”

  “And Augie believed you, honey, correct?” Aimee actually reached out and tried to give the phone a pat. I pushed her hand away before she could accidentally disconnect the call.

  “I wouldn’t go that far, Aimee, but that was all the evidence he had so Augie let me go.”

  “You believe Rico, don’t you, Marisol?” I looked at her for any indication of a subsequent conversation with her “dear” nephew, Augie.

  She sat up tall and looked at me. “If it gets my wings back, yes.”

  “We’ll get your wings,” I said. “Sally, you were pleased with the work that lawyer did for Jimmy last year, weren’t you?”

  “Absolutely . . . she had him out of jail and the cops eating crow in no time.”

  “Great. Can you call her and see if she could look into Rico’s case?”

  “Heck yes.”

  “Ah, ladies. We do not have money to pay for a lawyer. Right now, we have no income flowing in and who knows how long it will take to get an insurance check . . . if ever, now that the cops pegged me as a suspect in the fire.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Rico. We’ll take care of it and you can pay us back when you can.”

  “Thank you, but I, we, can’t take your money. We always pay our own way.”

  I could hear Isabella talking in the background.

  “We’re about to go into a tunnel and we might lose you,” I pretended, and disconnected the call to spare the Brunos further embarrassment.

  “Now who’s a liar?” Marisol said.

  It was a good thing that Sally still had the backseat child safety locks on from a recent visit by her nephew and his family.

  * * *

  I spent the next few days engrossed in work, not just for Liza, who frankly I’d lost my taste for, but also for my steady-paying clients. We could only barter so much, and this wedding wasn’t going to pay for itself. Since this was my second time around, I could easily have forgone the gown and the other pricey traditions, but Jack would have none of that. I understood, but I just kept putting off looking for a dress.

  Finally after lunch today, I decided to crack open that book. We’d decided on the first week in June and reserved that date with Penelope for the winery. Since we were now into October, I figured that I’d better at least nail one thing down.

  I wasn’t going to fool anyone with the virginal look, so I started by looking at dresses with plunging necklines. I ruled out anything with too much frill or that exposed side boob. That ship has sailed.

  When a general Google search yielded nothing but gasps and angst, I decided to look on J.Crew bridal. Shows you what I know; they stopped selling wedding gowns in 2017. The only other name that came to mind was Ve
ra Wang, and I was pretty sure that I couldn’t afford her designs.

  I lucked out when I found an online outlet store that had prices within this stratosphere. I opted for a low-back gown with a spaghetti strap camisole with organza flowers sewn onto tulle and lace. Thank you, Vera.

  I was reveling over my sense of accomplishment and commitment when there was a knock on my office door.

  “It’s open!”

  The last person that I expected to see walk in was Augie. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, if a little slightly built for a detective. With the exception of a bit of a paunch that hung over his uncharacteristic themed belts that he mostly kept hidden under his standard-issue gray suit jacket. Today I could just make out that the brown, leather belt had embroidered LA DODGERS logos all over it.

  “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

  “I didn’t come to accuse you of anything, Halsey, although I must admit you have a guilty look on your face.”

  “I shouldn’t . . . I’m about to become an honest woman.” I slid my chair back to let him see the computer screen and my wedding dress.

  “You’re getting married?”

  “See, Augie, you’re not such a bad detective.”

  He sat down at my conference table. Augie clearly had something on his mind.

  “Can I get you a water? Coffee or tea?”

  I was proud of my polite self.

  “I’m fine thanks. But I have some news that I know you’re not going to like.”

  “Is it about Rico and Isabella? You can’t possibly think that you can build a case around a dough hook.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what? Spit it out, Augie.”

  “I had a meeting with Inspector Mason and his team this morning. They have determined that the fire’s point of origin was in the attic that is open all the way through the mall. Some of the proprietors used it for extra storage. The fire was started above the drugstore.”

  “Okay, that should completely exonerate the Brunos. I can’t imagine them crawling over six stores’ worth of stuff just to point the blame elsewhere. And they’d have to crawl all the way back before the fire got to them. They are innocent.”

  “For now, maybe.”

  “And?”

  “Mason’s team found thick glass shards where the fire started and were able to piece enough of them together to determine that a so-called Molotov cocktail was used as the incendiary device.”

  “What do you want, Augie, a parade?”

  “There was a label on this bottle—it was a wine bottle. They found enough to be able to decipher the name. It was a claret and it was from the Abigail Rose Winery.”

  * * *

  “What did I just tell you, Augie? Penelope and Malcolm had flown in from their honeymoon and Andrew went to the airport to pick them up! All of this can be checked. Not one of those three could have started the fire, let alone have motive to. This time you’ve really gone too far.”

  “So how did that bottle get there?”

  I suddenly remembered Penelope telling us that while they were away, Malcolm’s cousin Andrew had worked out a deal with Rico’s Pizza to serve wine in their parlor. I needed to subtly find out if they had any bottles in the restaurant at the time of the fire before I let this news put Rico back in the hot seat, no pun intended.

  “I don’t know, Augie,” I finally said, “that’s why you’re the detective and I’m not.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “We can go after your Dionne Warwick special if that’s what’s bothering you.”

  “That was last week, and Sunday. Don’t you get TV Guide?”

  “I just need to test out a theory. We know we can’t get in there during the day, so I need your help and your night vision goggles.”

  “And Bardot, you need Bardot.”

  I was standing on Marisol’s front stoop talking to her through her black, wrought iron safety screen door. It always reminded me of being in the confessional, which was convenient because usually about halfway through a conversation with her I wanted to kill her.

  “So what’s your theory.”

  “You going to make me stand out here and tell it to you? What if someone hears us? I know Peggy wouldn’t approve.”

  That got her. Marisol fancied herself right up there in the spying echelons with the former CIA operative.

  “Hurry yourself, I don’t want to let the flies in,” she said, cracking the door open about six inches.

  I squeezed through and stepped into her living room.

  I’d been in Marisol’s house before. There were always at least three TVs playing at once, and one played surveillance video from whichever house she was currently spying on. She claims that a young relative set this up for her, but I suspect that somehow she taught herself or had someone teach her. She could be very persuasive, and if I ever go to Vegas, I’m taking her with me to raise walking-around money.

  I’d brought an iPad with me, and once she sat on her sofa, I sidled in next to her and fired it up.

  No pun intended.

  “I’ve been doing some online research about arson and arsonists and came across the name John Orr. He was a fire investigator here in California, working on arson cases around the late seventies and early eighties all over the state.”

  “What is this, history class?”

  “Stick with me, Marisol, I’m about to get to the good part.”

  She hopped off the sofa and went into the kitchen. I heard rustling and rattling for a couple of minutes and then she returned with a bowl of movie theater popcorn and two Yoo-hoo bottles. For some crazy reason she was in love with the chocolate “drink.” I tried not to look at the list of ingredients after popping the cap.

  “Okay, I’m ready, you may proceed,” Marisol commanded.

  “This guy was really good at identifying the points of origin of fires, and he discovered that a series of blazes set in box home improvement stores were started by using a time-delay device. In these cases it was a cigarette with a rubber band around the end that held several matches in place. The slow-burning cigarette gave the arsonist time to get away before the device ignited the matches and whatever flammable products he had chosen as fuel to spread the fire.”

  “Pretty clever. Did this John guy catch the bastard?”

  “That’s the kicker. Investigators that worked with him started to realize that John Orr was always within driving proximity to each fire. And we’re talking all over the state. It was when he was at a convention of arson experts in Fresno that a fire broke out in nearby Bakersfield. There was a fingerprint left on some notebook paper that had been attached to the incendiary device and it later proved to match John Orr’s prints. When all was said and done, he was convicted of being a serial arsonist and mass murderer. Four people had died during one of his blazes, including a two-year-old little boy.”

  “Jesus Christo,” Marisol said, and crossed herself.

  We both sat silent for a moment.

  “I’m still convinced that those creeps who own the building did this, maybe to empty the building of tenants, fix it up a little, and charge five times as much rent. You saw them the other day. Would you trust them?”

  “Not as far as I can throw them.”

  “You saw computers all around their office, didn’t you, Marisol?”

  She nodded.

  “Then if I could find out about this John Orr and his methods, so could they. And if they used a similar time-delay device, they could have been out of there before anything went up in flames. Being landlords, they probably had a key to the drugstore and could have set the device and then locked up again and left.”

  “What about that wine bottle they found, the one they used as a Mount Olive cocktail?”

  Another Marisol malapropism. I hadn’t had a chance to tell anybody about Augie’s news yet, so how did Marisol know? I made a mental note to sweep my office for bugs and cameras again.

  “Once the cigarette burned down, and the m
atches lit, they would have ignited the rag sticking out of the bottle. And whoosh. You very quickly have a hot, fast-burning fire.”

  “Whoosh.” Marisol tried out the word for size.

  Marisol had a point. I need to figure out how the mall owners got access to an Abigail Rose wine bottle or this all falls flat.

  “Do you still have the business card you took from the Provident office?” I asked her.

  She reached into her gaucho-style denim pants that looked kind of like a billowing skirt and pulled it out.

  “Great, this is a long shot, but if one of those guys had handled the card, then I’ll let Bardot smell it and we can see if she matches the scent from something in the burned strip mall. And we will also look for traces of the time device. The investigators just might have missed something if it wasn’t top of mind.”

  “Roger that. We’ll go at midnight.”

  “Why so late?”

  “Because Despicable Me is on cable tonight, duh.”

  Figures.

  * * *

  We decided to drive up there because Marisol had all this equipment and we didn’t want to attract attention to ourselves. A blond woman, an old lady, and a dog walking around after midnight was not exactly a usual occurrence. Especially when the wizened one was toting a bunch of spy paraphernalia.

  I parked the car far enough down a side street to be incognito just in case a nosy Augie happened to drive by. In addition to the night vision goggles, Marisol carried a metal detector—for what reason I don’t know. There would certainly be shards of metal everywhere. I let Bardot out the back and had her take a good long sniff of the business card.

  “You might want to have her smell this too,” Marisol said, producing a gold pen. “That one guy had been holding it and put it down on the reception desk.”

  “You stole it?”

  “I thought that it was complimentary, like a parting gift.”

  As much as I wanted, I couldn’t get mad at her. This could be the break we need.

  “Smell this real good, Bardot, then we’re going to go in there and you’re going to lead me to something with the same scent. You understand?” Jack had a command for this, but I was drawing a blank. The last thing I wanted to do was call him because he specifically hated it when I broke the law.