by Leslie Meier
"Taking a paint sample, so I can figure out the original color."
"This is a lovely house," observed Lucy, looking around. "I love the proportions."
"It's a classic Georgian," said Bill. "The museum was smart to buy it. They got it for a song. It's a fine house, Captain Hathorn spared no expense when he built it. It was his statement to the world that he had arrived." Bill began carefully dismantling the window frame.
"I love the big front hall, and those stairs."
"That hallway told visitors the captain had money to waste on space that wasn't needed for cooking or sleeping."
"I wonder what the captain's wife was like," mused Lucy.
"Which oner asked Bill, carefully prying off a piece of window casing. "The first three all died in childbirth, not one lived past twenty-five. The fourth was a rich old widow who already had six children."
"My goodness," said Lucy, recalled to her grim task. "Bill, I've got some bad news. Terrible news."
He straightened up and turned to face her.
"Monica was there," said Lucy, her voice breaking. "She died in the fire."
He shook his head, refusing to believe her. "It must have been somebody else. A vagrant or something. Monica was never there except in the summer."
"She was there. They've identified her." Tears were now run¬ning down her face.
"Where did you hear this?" Bill's voice was sharp.
"On the radio."
His face went white and slack; he looked as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. Then his jaw tightened and he turned away, facing the wall. Raising his fist, he slammed it against the tough old horsehair plaster, raising a cloud of dust.
Lucy reached up and touched his shoulder. He spun around and drew her against him, burying his face in her hair. They clung together for a long time. Finally, he pulled himself away and began to pace.
"Dammit," he said, suddenly stricken with guilt. "It was my fault. There was no smoke alarm in that house. They changed the code a year or two later. If I'd thought to put one in she might have lived. At least she would have had a chance to get out."
"It's not your fault. You did everything you were supposed to. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Damn. I hate fires."
"I know," said Lucy, thinking once again of the flames, remorselessly consuming everything and leaving only ashes. And bones. She shivered. "Do you want to take the day off? We could go for a ride or something—something to take our minds off the fire." She wiped her face with a crumpled tissue she'd found in her pocket.
"Thanks," he said, gently caressing her shoulder. "I'd rather work. I've got some old ceiling tile upstairs that has to come down. Today seems like a good day to rip a building apart."
"Just be sure you stop with the ceiling tile," said Lucy, attempting a feeble joke. "I don't want you to tear down the whole place."
"I'm not guaranteeing anything," said Bill, pulling a crowbar out of his toolbox and picking up the battered old tape player he kept on the job. "You'd better get out of here if you don't want Zoe to wake up. I'm gonna play some AC/DC—real loud."
"Be careful," cautioned Lucy. "We don't need any broken bones."
"See ya later," he said, mounting the stairs.
Back in the car, heading for home, Lucy could think of nothing but the fires. Sue was wrong. These fires weren't just happening. She was sure someone was setting them. But who? What sort of person would do such a thing? Did he stand in the dark, watching as the flames grew stronger, listening for die wail of the sirens? Why did he do it? Was he frightened, now that someone had died? Or was he thrilled by the fact that he had taken a human life? Would Monica's death spur him on to set more fires?
Pulling into her driveway, Lucy regarded her own comfortable home. A spacious white clapboard farmhouse, it had been built in the 1850s, just before the Civil War. The builder was known to have had strong abolitionist sympathies, and some people believed the house had been a stop on the Underground Railroad.
Lucy loved her house. She loved the fact that it was old, and die thought of the many generations it had sheltered reassured her. To her the house was a tangible link to the past, and a launching pad for the future. More than a wedding ring, or a big diamond, it was proof of the commitment she and Bill had made to each other. The house had been in terrible shape when they bought it, a real handyman's special, and they had labored together to make it a home.
We could be next, she thought, feeling very vulnerable. The house, after all, was nothing but wood. Mostly old wood. Like the others, it would go up in a flash We're not safe. Nobody's safe, she thought, nobody who lives in an old house.
She shifted into park, switched off the engine, and began to unfasten the straps that held Zoe in the safety seat. Still sound asleep, Zoe didn't even blink. Lucy gazed at her beautiful baby and gently stroked her cheek. What if their house began to burn like the Hopkins Homestead? Would she be able to save Zoe?
She didn't want to find out. Whoever was setting the fires, this maniac, had to be found and stopped.
CHAPTER SIX
"Never, ever eat any of your trick or treat candy before your parents have a chance to look it over."
The next morning, Lucy kept her promise to Sara and visited the kindergarten. As she joined the other mothers in the back of the room, she felt remarkably light and unencumbered without the baby carrier strapped to her chest. She had taken Sue at her word when she insisted she would be happy to baby-sit and had left Zoe with her.
Lucy always enjoyed visiting the elementary school. Here, in the brightly decorated rooms, order prevailed. The children marched in lines, two by two. They practiced their round letters on lined paper. The answers were right, or they were wrong. There was none of the conflict and confusion that reigned in the real world. Here, for just a few minutes anyway, she could push the fire and Monica's death to a dark, back comer of her mind.
Catching Officer Barney Culpepper's eye, she gave him a little wave. He was standing in the front of the room, surrounded by the entire kindergarten class who were sitting cross-legged on the floor. At six feet, with a stocky build, he seemed enormous compared to the children. Lucy looked for Sara and found her in the front row, next to her best friend, Jenn Baker.
A hand shot up, and Culpepper leaned forward.
"Joey Wade, do you have a question?"
"What if my mom eats all my candy?"
The question set off a chorus of anxious laughter; Joey had voiced a shared concern.
"If you ate all your trick or treat candy yourself you'd probably get an enormous stomachache," said Culpepper, grabbing his beer belly and groaning. "I hate it when that happens, don't you?"
The kids laughed and nodded, and a few of the more active boys imitated him, grabbing their stomachs and groaning.
"John, Peter." The names were accompanied by a stern look from teacher Lydia Volpe, and the boys settled down. Lydia was a pro, she had been teaching for years. She had also taught Toby and Elizabeth.
"There's a reason why your parents should check your candy. They want to make sure it's okay for you to eat, that it hasn't been opened, and there are no germs." Officer Culpepper was doing his best to warn the kids without frightening them, thought Lucy.
"My cousin got an apple for Halloween and he bit into it and there were pins inside," volunteered a blond little girl dressed all in pink.
"My cousin bit into an apple and there was a razor blade," added a little brunette, already accomplished in the art of one- upmanship.
A general buzz ensued in which Lucy heard poison, thumbtacks, and broken glass mentioned. She was shocked. Where did five-year-olds hear these things?
"Now, children," reminded Mrs. Volpe. "Officer Culpepper hasn't finished. He has more to tell us." Her dark eyes flashed. "We listen with our ears, not our mouths."
"Some of the stories you hear about Halloween aren't true," advised the policeman. "But it's better to be safe than sorry." He turned the page o
f an oversized flip chart. "These are my safety tips for Halloween. Number one: Never go trick or treating alone. Who are you going with, Joey?"
"My brother."
"That's good. How about you, Heather?"
"With my mom."
"And you, Billy?"
"I don't know yet."
"Well, be sure you don't go alone," said Culpepper. "Here's tip number two: Don't wear a mask that covers your eyes and makes it hard to see. What can you use, if you're not wearing a mask? Samantha?"
"Makeup?" Samantha was enchanted with the idea.
"That's right. Makeup is better than a mask. Now for tip num¬ber three. If you go out after dark, carry a flashlight. Why should you carry a flashlight, Billy ?"
"So you can see where you're going?"
"You got it. And so the drivers of cars can see you. Ready for tip number four? Here it comes. You've heard it before. Have your parents check your candy before you eat it. Only one tip left. Sara, can you guess what it is?"
"You shouldn't smash pumpkins or throw eggs or things like that," said Sara, nodding virtuously. She obviously remembered an unfortunate incident last Halloween, when Toby had been caught toilet-papering the principal's hedge. Lucy felt a blush rising from her turtleneck and studied her shoes as her cheeks reddened.
"That's very true," agreed Culpepper, winking at Lucy. "Trick or treating is more fun if you leave out the tricks." He flipped to the last page, where a glowing jack-o'-lantern had the letters HAVE FUN carved into its face. "Tip number five is to have fun. Everybody, what are you going to do on Halloween?" he asked.
"Have fun!" the children chorused back.
"Thank you, Officer Culpepper, for visiting our class," said Mrs. Volpe in her teacher's voice. "Class, how do we thank Officer Culpepper?"
"Thank you, Officer Culpepper," they shouted in unison.
"We have a Halloween treat for Officer Culpepper and our other visitors today," announced Mrs. Volpe. "If Officer Culpepper will go to the back of the room with the others, the children can stand in the front."
Culpepper joined the handful of mothers in the back of the room, placing himself next to Lucy, while Mrs. Volpe quickly arranged the children in front of the blackboard. "First, we have a finger-play. Ready?" The children raised their hands in front of their faces. "Begin."
"Five little pumpkins sitting on a gate," chanted the children.
"The first one said." They each raised a finger. "My, it's getting late."
"The second one said." Another finger went up. "I hear a noise."
"The third one said." Three fingers were now up. "It's only some boys."
"The fourth one said." Only the thumbs were folded. "Having Halloween fun."
"The fifth one said." Out popped the thumbs. "Let's run, let's run!"
"When, OOH went the wind, and OUT (here they all clapped) went the lights, and away they all RAN (the hands went behind their backs) on Halloween night!"
The mothers applauded, smiling and beaming with pride.
"Now for our song." Mrs. Volpe clapped her hand once and the children began singing to the time of "Frere Jacques."
"Pumpkin moonshines, pumpkin moonshines,
Where are you? Where are you?
Here I am this evening.
Boo, boo, boo! Boo, boo, boo!"
The mothers all laughed and clapped enthusiastically. Lucy caught Sara's eye and gave her a wave and a smile.
"That's the end of our program, thank you for coming," said Mrs. Volpe, indicating the door.
Leaving the room, Lucy walked down the corridor with Officer Culpepper. They had been friends for a long time, and they'd gotten to know each other when they had served together on the Cub Scout Pack Committee.
"So, Barney, what can you tell me about the fire?" asked Lucy.
"Not much," he said, smoothing back his hair and setting his cap on his head. "The chiefs taking this kinda personal. He likes to think he's got a quiet, law-abiding town. The fires are bad enough, but now that nice lady Mrs. Mayes got herself killed. He's doubled nighttime patrols—we've got two cruisers out instead of one—and he's got the state troopers helping out. But arson's tough. You can't prove anything unless you catch 'em in the act. We don't have enough manpower to cover every building in town."
"Come on, Barney. That's the official line. I want to know what you really think."
"Trouble is, nobody thought too much about it at first. Just figured it was kids."
"You don't anymore?"
"Nope. School started for one thing. Vandalism always drops once they go back to school. Don't have as much time to get into trouble. Fires oughta stopped, but they didn't. If anything, they've been coming closer together. The frequency is increasing."
"What does that mean?"
"It means we've probably got a nut on our hands. A pyro."
"That's what I think," said Lucy. "And he seems to go for old buildings. It makes me nervous. After all, our house is pretty old."
"I wouldn't worry too much. Guy from the fire marshal's office said he thinks we'll get this nut pretty soon. The more fires he sets the more likely he is to get careless. He'll make a mistake and we'll catch him."
"Somehow that doesn't make me feel a whole lot better. How many fires is it going to take? And it won't bring Monica back."
"That was a real shame," said Barney, holding the door for her.
"It sure was. See you around, Barney."
Lucy paused on the steps and watched as Barney climbed in his cruiser and pulled out of the school driveway. The holiday program hadn't taken long, it was only ten o'clock. There was no need for her to hurry back; Sue wouldn't mind keeping Zoe a bit longer. Making up her mind, Lucy crossed the street to the Broadbrooks Free Library.
The library had changed quite a bit since Miss Tilley's retirement. The polished wood floors that creaked whenever anyone moved, earning the transgressor a baleful stare from Miss Tilley,
had been covered with carpet. Fluorescent lights had been installed, and it was now possible to read the titles in the stacks; readers no longer had to guess which was the right book and then take it to the window to check the title. These changes were all instigated by Miss Tilley's successor, perky little Bitsy Howell
"My replacement" as Miss Tilley insisted on calling her, was breezy and casual. While Miss Tilley had emphasized order, and tolerated nothing out of place, Bitsy thrived on chaos. Her office was a mess, overflowing with papers and books waiting to be cataloged.
Bitsy greeted everyone who came in the door cheerfully, waived overdue fines with abandon, and resolutely ignored the three-book limit. Under her management, circulation had dramatically increased, donations were up, and a building drive was underway.
"Lucy, I haven't seen you for a while. We have some wonderful new children's books—I'm sure Sara would love them."
"I'll have to bring her in," promised Lucy. "I'm doing some research today. Tell me, do you keep old copies of The Pennysaver?"
"Sure do. All the way back to 1837. It was called the Advertiser in those days. Fascinating reading, if you've got the time."
"I'm only interested in some recent issues. The last few months."
"Sure. They're right here," said Bitsy, ushering Lucy into a workroom. "I'll just move these out of your way," she said, scooping up some magazines, "and you can sit right here. The most recent papers are in this box—we send them to be microfilmed at the end of the year. You're welcome to help yourself, just put them back the way you found them, okay?"
Pulling out a stack, Lucy thumbed through the old newspapers until she found the July 9 issue. Her eye immediately fell on the dramatic page one photo of the old movie theater, which had gone up in flames on Sunday, July 5, providing a fiery climax to the holiday weekend.
Ted's story emphasized the heroism of the firefighters, who had managed to save much of the grand old movie palace. Winchester College had been planning to restore the gilded walls, red plush seats, and ceiling murals to create a pe
rforming arts center.
"We're grateful to the wonderful volunteer firefighters," said College President Gerald Asquith. "This terrible fire has delayed the restoration project, but we plan to go forward as soon as addi¬tional funds are raised."
There was no suggestion that the fire had been deliberately set. Everyone Ted interviewed agreed the fire was an unfortunate tragedy, probably due to a faulty electrical connection, or perhaps a holiday firework that landed on the wood-shingled roof.
Flipping through the papers, Lucy soon found the story about the second fire, BARN BURNS, blared the headline of the August 28 issue, nearly two months after the first fire. This time, firemen were unable to save the building.
