by Lee Harris
“I suppose there was a big insurance claim.”
“You got me. I don’t know anything about that.”
“Was Ken at that fire?”
“I would guess so.”
“Fred?” a woman’s voice called.
“Hey, sorry. That’s my wife. We must be going down to the ferry now. I gotta close up the office.”
“Thanks very much, Fred.” I walked out of the office, and he locked the door as he closed it.
There was a large group now, and the men had put their ties on and were all wearing black armbands. They were as somber a group as I had ever seen. I ducked out of the firehouse as they were assembling into a marching group.
At home, Jack assured me there had been no phone calls.
“I have one to make,” I said. “I have to think who can help me. Mel’s probably back at school by now. I’ll have to call Arnold. He always knows the answer to everything.”
Arnold Gold, attorney-at-law, had become a surrogate father to me since I met him during my first murder investigation three years ago this summer. He is also my occasional part-time employer and as good a friend as I have ever had. I dialed his number at work in downtown Manhattan and a familiar voice answered. When I gave her my name, she switched me to Arnold.
“Haven’t heard your happy voice for a while. How’s my surrogate grandson?”
“Thriving. Arnold, I have to keep this line free because I’m expecting a phone call. I need a quick piece of information.”
“You’re not going to tell me you’re looking for a killer on your vacation?”
“Possibly a double killer, possibly two killers.”
“On Fire Island? New York’s great vacation spot?”
“Afraid so. Do you have an almanac handy? Or some reference book that’ll tell me what day of the week a fifteen-year-old date was?”
“I do indeed, if I can just put my hands on it. What’s your date?”
I gave it to him.
“Early September. Ah. Here it is. Just a second. I’m going to put the phone down.”
I waited impatiently, wanting both to get off the phone and to find out what he would tell me. I didn’t want Joseph to miss her chance to call from the other side of the bay.
“Here it is. It’s a Monday. The first Monday in September.”
“So that would be Labor Day.”
“Every year I can remember. Does that make you happy?”
“Happy isn’t the word for it. I’ll call you when I have a minute. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You owe me a story, Chrissie.”
“You’ll get it. Love to Harriet.” I hung up.
What were the chances of the two biggest fires in Blue Harbor taking place on Labor Day? Not very great, I thought, unless they were connected.
17
Five minutes later the phone rang, and Joseph said she would hop on the next ferry, which was scheduled to leave in about seven minutes. That gave me thirty-seven minutes to think about what I had just learned.
“You on the phone with Arnold?” Jack asked, coming into the kitchen where Eddie was crawling around and tossing small toys.
“He checked a date for me. You know that fire that Chief La Coste calls ‘the Great Fire’? It happened on Labor Day.”
“Very nice.” Jack opened the refrigerator. Eddie crawled over and grabbed Jack’s leg. “You thirsty, Eddie? Let me get you something.” He took out the apple juice and I found a clean cup.
While I talked to Jack, Eddie sat in his high chair and glugged down the juice, holding the cup in his two palms. “Somebody killed Ken Buckley because of something that happened fifteen years ago, Jack. I can’t believe those two fires happened on the same holiday by chance.”
“It sure raises a lot of questions. But nobody died in that fire. Why did someone kill Ken?”
“Especially since setting fire to the house would have been retaliation enough.”
“Well, this isn’t the day to ask anyone questions in this town. They’re all going to the funeral.”
“The firemen and their wives were assembling at the firehouse when I got there. Fred took me into Ken’s office and let me look at the files. I found an interesting note. The Great Fire started with something burning on the stove. Does that ring a bell?”
He whistled, and Eddie looked up from his juice at the sound. “Sounds like someone was sending a message. A double message.”
“I have the name of the family that owned the house. Fred said they moved to another town on Fire Island, west of here. I’m going to look them up. Maybe Joseph and I can trike over there later this afternoon.”
“Take a water taxi, Chris. Live it up. It’s our last weekend and we can afford it.”
I got out the little phone book and looked up Conrad Norris. The town was a few miles west of Blue Harbor. While it might make a pleasurable ride on a bike, Jack was right; we would take a water taxi. I dialed the number and hung up when a man answered. The Norrises were still on Fire Island.
I mopped up Eddie’s face, kissing both cheeks as I did so. Then I said to him, “We’re going to the ferry to get Joseph. Can you say Joseph?”
He looked at me.
“Joseph? Joseph? Joe?”
No comprehension at all. Oh well, I had tried. I carried him out to the stroller and started for the bay.
—
It was easy to spot her. Nuns at St. Stephen’s Convent still wore the traditional brown habit, albeit updated, and it contrasted with the casual, sometimes colorful, clothing of the handful of other passengers filing off the ferry.
“Here comes Joseph,” I said to Eddie. I knelt beside the stroller and pointed toward the group walking up the pier.
When she reached us, we hugged. She was alone, apparently having decided not to bring along a companion.
“Chris, I don’t believe this is the little baby I saw a month or two ago.” She knelt. “Are you Eddie? You look just like your daddy. I’m Joseph.”
He stared at her.
“That’s Joseph,” I said. “Joseph is coming to stay with us.”
He watched as she rose, his face very serious. Then he shouted, “Doe!”
I nearly shrieked with delight. “Yes, that’s Joseph,” I said.
“Doe!” He pointed. “Doe, Doe.”
“Chris, you didn’t teach him to say that since last night, did you?”
“I guess I did. I’m as surprised to hear him say it as you are. Every time I tried to get him to say it, he kept looking at me as if I were crazy.” I took her bag, which was a soft nylon zipper bag, and stuffed it into the basket at the back of the stroller, and we started walking.
Eddie seemed excited with his new accomplishment. He kept shouting “Doe!” as we walked, sometimes pointing to the sky with his fingers.
“This place is wonderful,” Joseph said, as we turned onto a wooden walkway. “And the ferry ride was absolutely invigorating. The breeze was so pure and cool. I can’t believe I’m actually somewhere where there aren’t any cars.”
“You’ll get used to it very quickly. The only thing that can run you down here is a bike or tricycle. We have two trikes at our house if you’d like a ride.”
“I would just love it. Will we have any time to talk about your murders if we indulge ourselves shamelessly?”
“We’ll talk first and do everything else afterwards. I’m so glad you’re here, Joseph. It was such short notice I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to come.”
“I had to cancel a vacation earlier in the summer when we had a severe plumbing problem in the college dormitory and I wasn’t able to reschedule it, so I thought I was owed at least a few days. I just love all these little houses and curled-up trees.”
“Ours isn’t so little. It belongs to Melanie’s uncle, and it’s quite grand.” Joseph had met Mel some time ago, uniting the two friends of my two lives. “We’re almost there. This house on the right is where the second murder took place, just out back. The crime-scene
tape’s probably still up.”
“It is.”
“And there’s Jack.”
He came toward us with a big smile, and he and Joseph exchanged their hellos. Jack is always very formal with Joseph. Most of his life experience with nuns was in school, where they both taught and terrorized him. He probably deserved some of the terrorizing, but the feelings they inspired have never quite worn off.
“I thought Eddie’d be fast asleep by now,” he said. “It’s getting to be nap time.”
“I think he’s just very excited. You know all the work I did trying to get him to say Joseph? Well, Joseph introduced herself and he’s been yelling ‘Doe’ all the way home.”
Eddie gave us two loud examples, complete with finger pointing, and Joseph laughed.
We showed her to her room and the nearby bathroom, and then I got Eddie changed and ready for his nap. He had worn himself out and was only too happy to roll up in a little ball in the crib and close his eyes.
Downstairs, we briefed Joseph on the two homicides. She had come prepared with several pencils and unlined paper and I gave her a book to rest it on while she took notes. She had positioned herself on the sofa so that she was facing the ocean, and she said more than once that she felt overwhelmed by the place, the house, the view, and the ambience. When all our notes had been exhausted in our narrative, we sat back and waited.
“You certainly seem to have latched on to a connection in the dates of the two fires,” she said finally. “I gather the earlier one was much more devastating.”
“The house was burned to the ground, if what they tell me is true. The Buckley house was saved, although there’s smoke and water damage and holes in the second floor and the roof. I would guess in fifteen years the firemen have learned new techniques or bought better equipment. Maybe that’s what saved the Buckley house.”
“Also, it was larger,” Joseph said. “It was two stories. The Norris house was one floor.” She looked down at her several pages of notes that included two quick sketches of the houses. “The lawyer, Murchison, I gather no one’s spoken to her since the second murder.”
“I tried her home number several times last night and again this morning. She doesn’t answer. The police chief said that the NYPD had spoken to neighbors who said they hadn’t seen her. If she shows up at her apartment, I’m sure there’s someone there to pick her up.”
“But in the meantime she’s disappeared and she’s a suspect.” She looked down at her notes again. “It looks as though the only new source of information, if they have any, will be the Norrises. Do you know if they’re on Fire Island?”
“I checked just after you called from the ferry. A man answered.”
Joseph looked at her large, round-faced watch. “Then I’d say that’s the place to begin.”
18
Jack called for a taxi and we walked down to the bay pier to wait for it.
“I can’t believe this is the only means of motorized transportation,” Joseph said. “It’s as though everyone on this island has rediscovered their legs and their muscles.”
“You’ll get a chance to use yours when we get back. There are plenty of places to see that we can walk to or trike to. Jack only uses the two-wheeler—I think he thinks a tricycle is an old man’s transport—but I enjoy it.”
“That must be our taxi now,” Joseph said, as a motor-boat much smaller than the ferry came toward the pier and turned in to the dock. “I am really getting an education on this trip.”
The trip over bumpy waters took less than ten minutes, and when we got to the town where the Norrises lived, the taxi captain directed us to their street.
It was a short walk. The houses were somewhat larger than the ones on the street the Norrises had left behind, and there were some pretty gardens in the front yards. We found the address and walked up to the front door.
The door opened almost immediately in answer to our knock. The woman who greeted us looked to be in her fifties and happily plump. She also seemed more than a little surprised at Joseph’s appearance.
“Mrs. Norris,” I began, “I’m Chris Bennett and this is my friend, Sister Joseph, who’s visiting me. My husband and I are spending a couple of weeks in Max Margulies’s house in Blue Harbor.”
“Where the murders were,” she said, and I realized everyone on Fire Island must know about them.
“That’s right. In fact, we’re here to ask you some questions about the fire at your old house in Blue Harbor.”
“Why?” she asked with a note of hostility. “We haven’t lived there for fifteen years or more.”
“I know, but I think the fire at your house may have some bearing on these murders.”
She looked at us as though deciding whether to shoo us away or invite us in. Perhaps her curiosity won, because she said, “You’d better come inside,” and we followed her to a living room where her husband was sitting with his feet up and reading a book.
We introduced ourselves all around and I thanked them for letting us intrude on their vacation.
“Not much we can tell you about that fire in Blue Harbor,” Conrad Norris said. He was wearing jeans and a collared red knit cotton shirt. He had closed the book and put his feet on the floor when we sat down. “We weren’t there when it happened and there was nothing left to go back to. We just started looking around for another house and we bought this before the next season.”
“This is a lovely house,” I said.
“We were lucky it came on the market when it did,” his wife said.
“I understand the fire took place on Labor Day.”
“That’s right,” he said. “And we’d left for home that afternoon.”
“So you weren’t there when the fire started?”
“We were gone,” Mrs. Norris said.
“The records showed it was a kitchen fire. How can that be if you weren’t at the house?”
They exchanged glances and Mrs. Norris’s face looked strained. “I must have left something on the stove.”
“Is that what they told you or did you remember it yourself?”
She looked at her husband again. “I didn’t remember it, but they investigated and that’s what they came up with. So it must have happened that way.”
“Did anyone else have the key to your house?” I asked.
“My kids.” She looked at her husband. “Where were the kids that day, Connie?”
“They’d left. They got bored pretty quick. They were in their teens then. Lying on the beach doesn’t suit teenagers.”
I’d heard that before. “What about neighbors? Did you leave a key with the people next door? In case of emergency?”
She looked very pained. “We probably did,” she said. “And we had theirs.”
It was interesting that she hadn’t said a definitive yes, although she was indicating that she might have left her own key. “Can you tell me the name of those neighbors? And where I could find them?”
“They’re still there,” Conrad Norris said. “The Hersheys. Wilma and Harry. We haven’t seen them for years but I don’t think they’ve moved.”
“Did they have reason to go into your house when you weren’t there?”
Mrs. Norris seemed to be struggling. “We were good neighbors,” she said. “We were friendly. If they needed to put a watermelon in my fridge, they were welcome to. If they weren’t home, I’d do the same thing, an extra six-pack, a gallon of milk, whatever. They said at the time that they hadn’t been in our house. I believed them then and I believe them now. They had no reason to use our stove. It was Labor Day, for heaven’s sake. Everyone was either gone or getting ready to go home. They weren’t cooking anything in our house.”
“So no one could have left the stove on but you.” I wanted to hear her say it.
“That’s the way it looked. It was my fault.”
“Did the insurance pay off?”
“Without any trouble,” Conrad said. “It was an accidental fire. It could have happened whet
her we were there or not.”
“Did you know Ken Buckley?” I asked.
“I may have heard the name,” she said, and she didn’t look quite so uptight any more. “Isn’t that the man who was burned to death a few days ago?”
“That’s the one. He was shot first.”
“You think there’s some connection between—?” She looked at me, then at her husband.
“I think there may be. It seems an odd coincidence that the two biggest fires in Blue Harbor both took place on Labor Day. And the fire in the Buckley house started on the stove.”
“I hadn’t heard that,” Conrad said. “That’s quite a set of coincidences.”
“That’s why I’m here,” I said.
“What exactly are you thinking?” he asked.
“I wondered whether Ken Buckley could have been involved in the fire in your house and whether someone decided to get even.”
They both spoke together, denying the possibility that I was right.
“We didn’t know him,” she added.
“Maybe he knew the Hersheys.”
“Makes no difference,” Conrad said. “Everybody in Blue Harbor knew everybody else. You’re talking arson. I don’t believe that’s possible.”
“Maybe negligence,” I said. “Maybe someone came into your house and turned on the stove and forgot to turn it off.”
“Nobody had the key,” Norris said firmly. “The house was locked up good and tight. Sandy left something on the stove and after we left, it started a fire. That’s it.”
—
The taxi picked us up where it had left us off half an hour earlier. Joseph had said very little to the Norrises, but she had taken notes as we spoke.
“It’s amazing to see how they respond,” she said, as we bounced over the waves back to Blue Harbor. “Mrs. Norris’s face signaled every answer she gave. It’s clear she doesn’t believe she left anything on that stove. But they certainly defended the Hersheys vigorously.”
“I would, too, if they were trusted neighbors. After all, you don’t give the key to your house to just anyone.”
“I would guess they’re next on your list,” Joseph said.
