by Lyn Cote
Shirley wiped her eyes and tried to smile. “You’re right. But I know people are blaming him for the fires. Even though I’ve told everyone that I don’t believe that Chad is responsible. They keep bringing up Doyle and his sorry reputation. As if Chad doesn’t have the power to turn out different than his father.”
Carter listened with only half his attention. Would he have to bring Chad in for more questioning? The fact that he had firecrackers in his room proved nothing. Unless Chad admitted setting off the firecrackers, which Carter didn’t anticipate, Carter had nothing to link Chad to last night’s fire or any of the other fires. This case was like wandering through a maze on a moonless night without a flashlight. I have no clues to follow. Nothing but stupid pennies. But he was the law here and he had to move forward with the investigation.
“Shirley, with your permission, I’d like to search Chad’s room in case there’s more evidence either to clear him or implicate him in last night’s fire. Do I have your permission as the owner of this house and Chad’s legal guardian?”
“Yes, you do.” She walked from the room and closed the door behind her.
Carter scanned the cluttered room. He dourly pulled a pair of thin latex gloves out of his pocket and moved to one corner of the room. He began at the top of piles of magazines and CDs, lifting everything, systematically sifting for any more evidence of incendiary materials.
An hour later, Carter had finished. Nothing. He’d found exactly nothing. A brick of dissatisfaction settled in his stomach. In Shirley and Tom’s presence, he bagged the firecrackers and matches and labeled them. He gave Shirley a receipt for them and left. He was glad Tom had awakened and was trying to cheer Shirley up. But Carter had to face Chad now and find out why the kid had forbidden firecrackers in his room.
Wilma, owner of the bed-and-breakfast near Tom’s shop, hurried from her backyard and waved Carter down in the alley. He stopped his Jeep and asked, “What can I do for you, Wilma?”
“Is it true what I’m hearing about last night’s fire?”
“What are you hearing?” He tried to sound completely professional.
“That Chad Keski caused a fight at the carnival and then came back later and threw firecrackers into the crowd. Was anyone hurt in the fire?”
Carter felt like grinding his teeth. He’d hoped for a little time before accusations were leveled, but Winfield’s rumor mill had evidently been busy all night. “No one was injured beyond a few bumps and bruises, which resulted from the crowd panicking. And I have no evidence to connect Chad or anyone else to the fire last night.”
Wilma folded her arms. “I don’t want to make trouble for that kid, but my guests were at the carnival and fireworks last night. They were really shook up when they got back. I sat up with them for a long time, calming them down. Nothing like this has ever happened here. People come here to relax. They don’t want to be afraid that they’ll wake up and find my bed-and-breakfast in flames.”
“I’m doing my best, Wilma.”
“Well, your best better improve.” Huffing, Wilma turned and walked away.
Carter didn’t blame her. The fires were getting more dangerous. He couldn’t even be sure that the firecrackers last night were connected to the previous four fires—the first at Ollie’s convenience store, then Shirley’s back porch, Audra’s mother’s shed, and Tom’s shop. Bitter acid reflux scalded his throat.
He couldn’t accuse Chad of anything. Owning firecrackers was not a crime. He’d just disobeyed his foster mother. What to do? Carter drove to Audra’s and parked in the alley behind her café. He approached the open Dutch door and looked in. Part of him hummed to life. Audra is here. But duty shouldered past this flash of elation. Shirley had done her civic duty calling him to tell him about Chad and now he was forced to come here as follow-up, not because he wanted to see Audra. But he didn’t want to rile Chad and perhaps trigger more self-destructive behavior or cast more suspicion on him. How should I handle this kid?
Chad was taking a tray of rolls out of the oven. The delicious smell of baking breads and sweets drifted to Carter, making his mouth water and his empty stomach rumble. He focused on his reason for coming, marshaling his wits. Before he dealt with Chad, he wanted to speak to Audra. Again, the image of her face lifted to his, her soft lips parted, flowed warmly through him.
Carter waited until Chad set the baking sheet on the counter before announcing his presence. “Chad, where’s your boss?”
Chad looked up and managed to combine both guilt and belligerence in a single glance. “She’s out front.” He spat out the words. “Making coffee.”
With a curt nod, Carter let himself in and walked through the kitchen to the front foyer. There, Audra was completely involved in operating the growling coffee machine.
For a moment, forgetting his mission, he just enjoyed gazing at her. He took in her fair hair twirled into a tight knot at her nape, her slender shoulders, and crisp white apron. Her unadorned beauty suddenly rendered him tongue-tied. “Good morning,” he managed to say past the lump around his Adam’s apple.
Audra gave a little jump and turned toward him. Her unnerved expression reminded him of how she’d looked on the night she rushed him out of her kitchen when the phone rang. He still had to find out who was calling and upsetting her. Could there be some connection between the calls and the fires?
“Good morning,” she replied with a tentative smile. “You look as though you feel as beat as I do.”
Resisting the urge to draw her into his arms, he made a sound of amused displeasure. “It was a long night.” And he didn’t sleep much of it. He stiffened himself against her appeal and asked, “When does Chad get off this morning?”
Her smile vanished. She eyed him. “He should be taking the final baking sheets out of the ovens now. When all the baking is done along with the cleanup of the kitchen, he’s free for the day.”
Carter noted she didn’t ask why he wanted to know. But her large, sympathetic eyes avoided his. Did she feel guilty about calling him to report on Chad’s whereabouts? “I know your coffee is better, but I’m going to take Chad over to Trina’s for a full breakfast. I need to talk to him about last night.”
Her brow furrowed. “He slept here last night.”
“Oh. Shirley called me about something else.”
“Shirley?” Her blue eyes connected with his.
“Yes.” He said no more. Chad might be listening and, after all, he never discussed cases unless necessary.
Audra studied him as if trying to read more from his words. “Will I see you later?”
Carter hesitated, wanting to assure her. “Would it be okay if I called you later?”
She nodded, looking quietly pleased.
He wished he could make her smile again. But the weight of trying to help Chad dragged at him.
He said good-bye and then walked back through the kitchen. He stopped and stared at the kid, waiting for Chad to acknowledge him.
Chad looked up suspiciously. “What’s going on?”
“Finish up getting the baked goods ready,” Carter ordered, “and then I’m taking you to breakfast at Trina’s. I’ll be waiting for you in my Jeep. You can come back here after breakfast and do the cleaning then.” Carter didn’t wait for a response, but walked to the Dutch door.
Chad didn’t look as if he had the energy to make a break for it. In fact, he looked hungover. Maybe that would teach him to leave alcohol alone.
His own past sins stung Carter’s conscience. From the time he was fifteen, he’d been drunk every weekend—until that fateful night at a party in the local state forest campground, he’d hit another kid on the head with a full beer bottle and nearly killed him. That night Carter had learned first-hand how fear and self-disgust could overwhelm a person. The memory still had the power to grip him. How could he help Chad see that being drunk was not cool and could lead to dangerous behavior before the boy made a mistake that could ruin his life?
THREE BLOCKS AWAY FROM the
wharf, Trina’s Good Eats was an institution in Winfield. The current Trina’s grandmother had opened it in 1927. Trina’s served generous breakfasts and homemade pasties—those flaky pastry pockets filled with beef, gravy, and veggies for lunch. Trina’s had never known a day lean of customers. It opened at six o’clock, six days a week, year-round, and closed at two o’clock every afternoon. Trina never advertised. Smart tourists found it on their own. In the summer, the regulars only mildly resented strangers when they found them occupying their accustomed booths. After all, allowances had to be made during tourist season.
The 1927 bell above Trina’s door jingled when Carter led Chad inside. All eyes turned toward them, as was to be expected. After nodding generally, Carter looked over everyone’s heads and led Chad to an empty booth near the back. The mixed aromas of maple syrup, bacon, and butter hung appetizingly in the air. Carter hoped this setting would loosen Chad’s tongue and make the kid listen to some good advice.
Carter slid into the booth, facing the door, and Chad slid in across from him. The booth was the original high-backed dark wood bench with a worn matching table. Tourists considered the vintage 1920s decor a big part of the Trina’s dining experience. A decade ago, a food columnist had written about Trina’s in the Milwaukee Journal, and Trina had framed and hung the now-yellowed column prominently near the cash register.
Carter sensed a subtle shift in the restaurant’s atmosphere. Winfield was processing his bringing Chad here and not to the police station.
The now-presiding Trina, a thin blonde in her middle years wearing blue jeans, a denim vest, and a red-and-white-striped blouse, brought over menus and offered him coffee. He nodded and she turned over his mug and filled it.
Chad spoke up. “I’ll have some, too,”
“How about a cup of coffee and a tall glass of orange juice, Chad?” Carter suggested, hoping to get the kid hydrated.
“Okay,” Chad muttered.
Trina provided Chad with coffee and turned away “Coming right up.” Trina’s red plastic bangle bracelets clacked together as she walked toward the counter.
Carter opened the menu out of habit though he knew what he wanted already. Had this been a good idea or not? He prayed for wise words. “What are you in the mood for, Chad? My treat.”
“What do you want?” Chad asked in an undertone.
“Right now—” Carter closed his menu and put it down “—breakfast and some information.”
A hunted look flared in Chad’s eyes.
No, this wasn’t going to be easy or pleasant. Carter picked up his cup.
With the coffeepot in one hand, Trina appeared with a tumbler full of orange juice in the other. “You two ready to order?”
“I’ll have the Fisherman’s Special,” Carter said.
“Me too,” Chad muttered, his stomach suddenly growling loud and clear. The teen colored. He looked away.
Carter recalled being that young and so painfully insecure, like living with an exposed nerve. Or two.
Trina took the menus. “That was some commotion last night, Sheriff. Did anyone get hurt?”
Chad looked up, a question in his expression.
“No, no one was hurt,” Carter replied, keeping irritation out of his voice. Trina had every right to question him about public safety. “I’m still investigating.”
“That makes five fires since Memorial Day weekend started,” Trina commented.
Carter was aware that most conversations around their booth had faded away. “I’m aware of that, Trina,” he said mildly. Did everyone think he was enjoying these fires?
“There was another fire?” Chad asked in a thin voice.
“Yes,” Carter answered before Trina could. “After the fireworks last night someone threw firecrackers into the crowd and started a few of the booths on fire.”
Chad looked as though someone had punched him in the stomach.
“Well, I hope,” Trina said, “that you arrest this arsonist before some tourist gets hurt. We don’t need this kind of stuff getting on the news—you know in Milwaukee or Chicago news.”
Chad’s hands resting on top of the table became fists.
“Everything that can be done is being done,” Carter said in a tone of finality. Trina and Wilma were only voicing what he’d expected, what he’d said to himself. The fires had to be stopped. And it was up to him to make it happen.
“Okay.” Trina walked away and began refilling coffee cups on her way to put in their order. Conversations around Carter and Chad buzzed back to life. Carter had no doubt that last night’s fire, the previous fires, and now Carter’s overheard words would continue as the topics of discussion.
“Is that why you invited me to breakfast?” Chad hissed. “Because you think I set another fire? I was passed out drunk last night. I didn’t even hear the fireworks.” He lowered his head into one hand.
Carter viewed the teen over the rim of his heavy mug. “Chad, believe it or not,” he said in a low voice only for the kid, “I’m trying to keep you from being railroaded.”
Chad’s head snapped up and his mouth dropped open. “What? Why?”
“Because I think it’s just too convenient.” As Carter spoke, the truth of what he was saying became stronger in his mind. “With your past, you’re the perfect scapegoat, and I don’t buy solutions that are too easy.”
This closed Chad’s mouth. He picked up his orange juice and drained half of it. “Then why did you bring me here?”
“Partly to keep from calling you into the station for questioning and partly to show the town that I don’t consider you a suspect.”
“You can’t make me believe that you don’t think I’m the one setting all these fires.”
“If I believed that”—Carter put down his coffee cup—“you’d be at the station in a cell.” He hoped that sounded serious enough to frighten Chad into telling the truth.
Trina delivered their platters of buttered toast, scrambled eggs, golden hash browns, four strips of crisp bacon, and four links of sausage. “These breakfasts will stick with you a lot longer than those fancy rolls at Audra’s.” Grinning, Trina didn’t sound aggrieved. She was teasing him now.
Chad picked up his fork. His expression made it obvious that the overflowing platter had instantly absorbed all of his attention.
Carter gave Trina a look he hoped told her nothing.
“But of course, Sheriff,” Trina continued in that sly voice, “you get Audra’s pretty face along with coffee and rolls.” Giving Carter a knowing look and a wink, Trina poured more coffee for Carter and some for Chad and walked away.
Carter felt his neck warm. He tried to look unfazed but Trina’s words had hit their mark. He and Audra were definitely on the gossip train in town.
“What was that all about?” Chad asked belatedly around a mouthful of toast.
Carter shrugged. He’d expected gossip if he showed interest in Audra. But he knew clearly now, no matter what, he wasn’t going to stop trying to get closer to her. This decision steadied him.
Carter began eating. He decided to use the public nature of this interview to his advantage. Perhaps it would help him get facts from Chad without all the backtalk and guff. “Now I don’t want you to fly off the handle in here. I need to ask you some questions and I don’t want a public scene. We don’t need to give the gossips any more to work with. Okay?”
Chad chewed and swallowed. “Okay. You’re buying.”
“Glad you see it my way,” Carter said, trying to lighten the conversation. “Now I know you got liquor from someone yesterday and I’m guessing it was your dad.”
Chad slid forward, ready to object. “I—”
Carter interrupted, “I don’t want to argue about that now. And remember, keep your cool. You can, can’t you?”
“Yeah,” Chad snapped sourly.
“After you had a few drinks, you and Brent exchanged words and a fight started. That much I—along with a crowd of witnesses—know to be true. When did you end up at
Audra’s?”
Chad chewed, taking his time answering. Then he focused on his food while speaking, “After the fight, I got sick in the alley and it made me feel...” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to go home to Shirley’s like that, so I went to Audra’s and climbed in the window. I must have passed out then. When I woke up, it was really dark. And quiet.” Chad finally looked at Carter. “How bad was the fire last night?”
Bad enough. Carter took a sip of hot coffee. “It did a lot of damage to the carnival and it scared a lot of people. You must have been really out cold not to have heard all the sirens and noise. Audra’s is just down the block from all the action.”
“I didn’t hear anything. I was out cold. And when I woke up, I wished I hadn’t. My head felt like it was going to split open.”
“And you didn’t go home because—”
“Because I was sick, throwing-up sick,” Chad finally confessed, sounding disgusted with himself. “I didn’t want Shirley to see me like that.” Though his head was down, his forehead went red.
This reaction bolstered Carter’s confidence that Chad wasn’t setting these fires. Obviously Shirley had gotten through to Chad on some level, enough to make him care about her seeing him drunk. “Chad, don’t disappear like that again. Shirley was really worried about you.”
Chad shifted on his bench.
“Another reason I invited you to breakfast has to do with Shirley, too. Now I don’t want you to erupt in public, right? Can you keep your cool?”
“Yeah, yeah, I can.” Chad gave him a contemptuous look.
“When Shirley went to your room to get your clothes this morning, she found firecrackers and matches on the floor on the side of your bed.”
Chad half rose.
Carter pressed down hard on one of Chad’s forearms. “Chill.”
“I never had any firecrackers,” Chad said low, but in a heated tone. “When it all went down, I was passed out inside Audra’s house.”
Listening to more than just the words, Carter nodded. He believed that Chad didn’t want to look bad in front of Shirley. Otherwise, he’d have gone home last night. “I believe you. But that leaves us with the question of how the firecrackers and matches got into your room.”
