Precarious Summer

by Lyn Cote

  Chad settled back down on his bench seat, looking wary. “You believe me?”

  Carter nodded and went on eating his way through the delicious cholesterol on his plate but barely tasting it. Time to deliver some truth to Chad. “Yes, but I still think you’ve been acting like an immature kid.”

  He held up his fork, motioning Chad not to reply. “This is what I think. I think you’re stupid enough to drink alcohol from your dad, stupid enough to start a drunken brawl in public with Brent. But not stupid enough to leave firecrackers and matches lying around your room for Shirley to find.”

  “Thanks,” Chad said sullenly. “Thanks a lot.”

  Carter shrugged. “Just telling the truth. Now, besides Brent, who else doesn’t like you?”

  Chad imitated Carter’s shrug. “Does the guy setting the fires have to dislike me to do that?”

  This brought Carter to a pause. “You’re right. He doesn’t have to dislike you to cast suspicion onto you. Chad, I’m not going to railroad you. But you need to start thinking before you act. Shirley’s been good to you. And you should try to make things easier for her.”

  Slowly Chad nodded, his head down.

  “Chad?”

  “I hear you,” the kid muttered.

  Carter sipped his coffee.

  “If I told you something, would you believe me?” Chad asked, his eyes still lowered.

  “Is it true?”

  “Yeah, but... You—”

  “Just tell me.” Carter forked in a mouthful of bacon and egg.

  “Brent had firecrackers last night. I saw the end of a string of them in his pocket.”

  “A string of firecrackers?” Unwelcome news.

  “Yeah.” Chad sounded subdued.

  “Did you see matches, too?”

  “No, but if he had firecrackers,” Chad pointed out, “he’d have matches, wouldn’t he? Or a lighter?”

  “Probably.” Carter studied Chad’s body language. Truth or lie?

  “His dad was out of control last night.” Chad looked up then.

  “He doesn’t like me,” Carter deadpanned.

  Chad eyed Carter, a smile tugging one corner of his mouth. “Big-time.”

  Carter nodded. And it seems there’s nothing I can do about it.

  “He must have had one too many, too.” Chad drained his orange juice.

  This opinion took Carter by surprise. Had alcohol contributed to Hal’s outburst last night? Carter didn’t recall smelling liquor on Ramsdel’s breath, but Chad had reeked of it. That could have masked any liquor odor on Ramsdel.

  “Can you get fingerprints off the stuff Shirley found?” Chad asked.

  “Doubtful. Stuff was too small to get a whole print. Just partials.”

  Chad chewed and then said in a rush, “I would never hurt Tom.” He ducked his head protectively.

  “I feel the same way, Chad.”

  Chad met his eyes then.

  “Chad, if you don’t listen to anything else I tell you, listen to this. Stick with Shirley and Tom. They’re good people.”

  “Maybe I’ve gone too far.” Chad’s face twisted. “Shirley said I couldn’t keep on running away. I didn’t mean to last night. It just sort of happened.”

  “Want my advice?”

  Chad stared at him and then bobbed his head.

  “After breakfast, finish up your work at Audra’s. Go straight home, apologize, and tell Shirley everything about last night. And if you tell her the truth, that you didn’t leave those firecrackers in your room, she’ll believe you.”

  “Shirley’s different, you know what I mean?” Chad’s voice broke.

  “I know what you mean. And Tom, too.” And then, with a sinking feeling, he glimpsed a van passing the front window of Trina’s. Great. Just what I needed to make my day perfect.

  Chapter Ten

  After dropping Chad back at Audra’s, Carter drove to his office. With a sense of looming disaster, kind of like entering a dentist’s office and hearing the whine of a drill, he surveyed the scene in front of him. A reporter and cameraman waited just outside his entrance, right where he’d expected to find them. Trish was speaking to the female reporter. No chance of getting out of giving an interview. But he’d have to weigh every word he said, or endanger his investigation. Or look like an incompetent fool.

  Sizing up the opposition, Carter got out of his Jeep. If the reporter, a perky little redhead in a light green blouse and darker green slacks, was older than twenty-two, he’d kiss Florence LeVesque. Would the reporter’s inexperience work to his advantage or not?

  As he approached, he heard Trish say with some relief, “Here’s Sheriff Harding now.”

  Hoping he exuded confidence, Carter strode up to the reporter and offered his hand. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Shelley Hallstock from WFJW-TV in Rhinelander. We’ve been following reports of the string of arsons you’ve been having up here. We’d like a taped interview with you about the progress of your investigation. We’d like to reassure our viewers that you’re busy solving the case.”

  We’d like to reassure our viewers. Yeah, right. But he smiled at her as if he truly were delighted to see her and said, “I’d appreciate the chance to reassure everyone, Miss Hallstock.”

  The young woman signaled her cameraman. She glanced around and then drew Carter over toward the squat redbrick building so he’d be recorded standing in front of the words, Winfield County Sheriff’s Department. She then turned toward the camera and said, “This is Shelley Hallstock from WFJW-TV. I’m in Winfield County speaking to Sheriff Carter Harding about the events here after last night’s fireworks.”

  She turned to Carter and held her microphone toward him. “Sheriff, we’ve heard that last night there was a fire during the Fourth of July celebration. What happened?”

  He stared into the camera. “Someone threw firecrackers into the carnival area. Unfortunately, a booth of stuffed animals and some others caught fire as a result. But no one was hurt, and the firefighters put the blaze out within minutes.”

  “I heard there was a stampede and some people got banged up and bruised.”

  Great. “There was a brief rush, but as soon as I explained the situation over my bullhorn, calm was restored.” People from the nearby realty office had come out to watch the interview. Why not call your friends and neighbors, too, he invited silently.

  “This isn’t the first fire since the beginning of summer, is it?” she prompted.

  “I wish I could say that it was, but no.” The people from the office were muttering, leaning close to each other. Carter refused to let this get to him.

  “As our viewers know from previous stories, you’ve been having a string of suspicious fires in Winfield this summer. What progress are you making in finding the culprit?”

  “First, I’d like to make it clear,” Carter said smoothly, “that the fires have been mostly nuisances—”

  “Wasn’t there a person injured in one?” she interrupted.

  Two, actually, but he wasn’t going to enlighten her. “Yes, my stepfather was burned.”

  “Your stepfather?” Her voice lifted in eagerness. “That makes this sound personal.”

  Carter shrugged. “I doubt it, since I had no such connection to any of the other fires. My investigation is ongoing, so I can’t give you any particulars. I’m sure you understand that.”

  “Is this having any effect on Winfield’s tourist trade? Earlier, I spoke to a few of the local business owners here, and they are all concerned about the effect of these fires on tourism.”

  Then when you showed up, they should have kept their mouths shut. Carter made himself smile politely. “I don’t think any of our summer residents or visitors need to be concerned about their safety.”

  A car drove into the parking lot and a man got out. Carter saw with sinking spirits that it was none other than Hal Ramsdel. Great. Just outstanding. “None of the fires,” Carter continued, “have involved any businesses such as res
taurants, motels, or campgrounds that serve tourists. All the incidents have involved local people. Tourists have nothing to lose sleep about or any reason to change their vacation plans.”

  “But the fire last night definitely involved tourists,” the reporter pointed out.

  “Last night’s fire was the result of someone’s carelessness with firecrackers.” Carter watched Ramsdel’s approach.

  “I see. But that leaves unsolved the previous four fires which, as you admit, have primarily affected locals. Is someone here—how shall I put it?—settling old scores with arson?”

  “That could be one explanation,” Carter replied, his stress rising with Ramsdel’s every step toward them. Who knew what the man would open his mouth and come out with? “The two most common motives for arson are profit and revenge.”

  “I hear that you have a teenager in town who has a history of fire-setting.”

  Carter wished the good citizens of Winfield could keep their lips zipped. And Ramsdel was within hearing distance now. The more the merrier. Carter tensed, expecting the man to come charging up, naming Chad as the teenager in question. Carter tried to think of some way to avert this, but with the camera rolling, what could he say? He couldn’t arrest Ramsdel for speaking to a reporter.

  Carter kept his voice even, his temper on hold. “In response to that question, you understand that, by statute, I have to be very careful in speaking about suspects, especially underage ones. So I prefer to say nothing. And I would caution”—he made eye contact with the camera—“everyone to not jump to conclusions. If I had conclusive evidence against any one person, I would have already charged them.”

  “Well, Sheriff, people are concerned.”

  “My deputies and I are investigating each fire exhaustively. Unfortunately, the person setting these fires doesn’t follow the same MO or pattern each time.”

  “You mean no two fires are alike?” She wrinkled her brow.

  “Exactly. The only fact connecting them is that they’ve all taken place in Winfield.” Ramsdel was inexorably nearing and there wasn’t anything Carter could do to prevent another public scene. Keep your cool, he told himself. Don’t let him goad you into showing temper for the camera.

  “What about the pennies then?” the reporter asked.

  Surprise rattled him. “Pennies?”

  “There’s a rumor that a handful of pennies has been found at the scene of each fire.”

  Just in time, Carter stopped himself from showing how unwelcome this news was. Who had let the pennies clue slip? He took refuge in repeating the true but completely noncommittal statement, “I really can’t comment on the specifics of an ongoing investigation. I think that’s about all I can tell you, Miss Hallstock.”

  Ramsdel halted behind the cameraman, rocking back and forth on his heels.

  Carter’s jaw clenched. He caught himself and consciously relaxed his face and continued, “We’re having trouble with a few arsons, but I’d like to reiterate that every tourist is safe in Winfield. They are not the target.” He smiled for the camera and hoped the filming would stop now—before Ramsdel had a chance to blast off.

  “Poor comfort for the rest of us,” Ramsdel commented, stepping forward from the small circle of people who’d gathered to watch the interview.

  Carter eyed Ramsdel.

  The reporter turned and gave Ramsdel an appraising look.

  “I’m Hal Ramsdel of Ramsdel Insurance Agency, one of Winfield’s local businessmen,” Ramsdel said. “I understand that the sheriff is faced with a difficult case.”

  Carter couldn’t believe his ears. Ramsdel was taking great pains to sound businesslike, calm, and even diplomatic.

  “But,” Ramsdel cautioned, “some of us believe that this string of fires could have been solved”—he paused to give a very phony smile—“by a more competent man. Sheriff Harding has only been in office for a few months and many of us, at the time of his winning the spring election, thought Harding as sheriff would be a mistake.”

  Carter burned in aggravated silence. He tried to keep his expression placid and his lips together.

  Even the perky redhead looked a bit nonplussed. Obviously she hadn’t expected something like this. “I see,” she said, evidently stalling for inspiration.

  “I’m going to begin a petition to have the sheriff relieved of his duties and another election held,” Ramsdel continued. “Winfield needs someone who can solve this quickly.”

  Upon hearing this, the reporter was no longer at a loss. Conflict was her stock-in-trade. She swung the microphone from Ramsdel to Carter and asked, “What do you have to say to that, Sheriff?”

  Carter forced his taut shoulders to relax. “I don’t know if that’s even a legal avenue for Mr. Ramsdel. But if he strongly feels that I should be recalled, he has every right as a citizen and resident to make his dissatisfaction public and official.”

  The redhead looked back and forth between the two men, looking for a way to egg more indiscreet words from them.

  “I really must go on with my duties now.” Carter forestalled her. “You’ll have to excuse me.” He nodded to the reporter, the camera, and Ramsdel and made a tactical retreat inside and shut the door. He could do nothing to silence Ramsdel, and standing there any longer would make him look less competent, not more.

  Would others in town go along with Ramsdel and sign his petition? Carter’s gut tightened. Yet maybe Ramsdel was right. Maybe someone else could do better, solve these fires. But Carter’s instincts and training instantly denied this. No one could have done better with the paltry clues he’d found. Not even Hal Ramsdel.

  Carter strode toward his office, motioning Trish to come with him. After this interview, many unanswered questions nagged him. Who had let the pennies clue slip? How would Ramsdel feel when Carter questioned Brent about Chad’s allegation that there had been firecrackers in Brent’s pocket last night?

  And what had altered Ramsdel’s behavior around him? The calm, rational man who’d responded to the reporter was a completely different man than the one who’d caused an outrageous public scene last night. Was this a good sign or the portent of something worse from Ramsdel? What gives, Lord?

  THE NEXT NIGHT AT TEN o’clock, Carter parked his Jeep in the alley behind Audra’s Place. The unusual muggy weather had lingered, wrapping around Winfield like a warm wet compress. Off duty at last, he shed his hat and jacket and tossed them into the back. The lake breeze wafted through the car window and cooled the perspiration on his forehead.

  Yesterday had only gone downhill after the TV interview and Ramsdel’s appearance. Knowing that Audra wouldn’t have repeated what he’d told her, Carter’s dispatcher had admitted telling her sister about the pennies. He’d given her a stiff warning that another lapse would result in her losing her job, but it was too late now.

  Tonight another unappealing task awaited, questioning Brent. Carter had decided instead of getting into Ramsdel’s face again, a casual question to Brent at Audra’s would serve his purpose of getting Brent’s alibi for the Fourth of July blaze.

  Also, if things fell into place, he might be able to put an end to the mystery of Audra and her unwelcome, and from the sound of them, abusive phone calls. If he couldn’t solve the fires, he could at least help Audra. Whoever you are, please call tonight while I’m there. Please.

  Along the quiet alley, Audra’s Dutch door was half open to the night. White light spilled out. What must it be like working in this heat beside two commercial ovens without air conditioning? Something inside his chest tightened almost painfully. Audra deserved an easier life, one where she’d be with her daughter all day. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t even date. Why hadn’t she married someone by now?

  The question ignited an instant and intense denial within him. He didn’t want any other man in Audra’s life. He got out of the Jeep. For months, he’d been telling himself that he and Audra didn’t have a future. But was that true?

  He walked to the door and looked in
side. Brent and Audra were cleaning up after the pizza trade. Again, she looked out of place here. Her pert nose sported a dot of pizza sauce and her eyebrows had collected flour. “Good evening,” he said. “My pizza ready?”

  Both Brent and Audra swiveled to look at him. “Howdy, Sheriff,” Brent drawled.

  Audra smiled, but ducked away and wiped her face with a kitchen towel. She turned back. “Hi, it’s in the warming oven.”

  He’d detected a special welcoming glint in her eyes just for him. Carter let himself inside. “Anything I can do to help out?”

  “We’re almost finished,” she replied. She swept off her sauce-smeared apron and smoothed back loose golden tendrils around her face.

  “Go ahead,” Carter said. “I’m in no hurry.” In fact, he’d ordered the pizza for them to share, to be here when another call came again.

  “Saw your interview on TV last night,” Brent said, baiting Carter. “Did you like my dad’s idea?”

  Carter ignored Brent’s dig. “I don’t think I have a future in television,” he said dryly.

  A laugh burst out of Brent. “Good one.” The kid gave him a thumbs-up. “I don’t think my dad has one, either.”

  But Carter wouldn’t say something negative that Brent could repeat to his dad. Instead, he casually asked the question he’d been saving for over a day. “I hear you had some firecrackers on the Fourth of July.”

  “Yeah, me and most of the rest of Wisconsin. Firecrackers aren’t against the law, right?” Brent taunted.

  Audra looked at Brent and then Carter. “Brent, stop being cute and tell the sheriff that you had nothing to do with the fire on the Fourth.”

  “I had nothing to do with the fire on the Fourth,” Brent parroted and grinned.

  Carter shrugged. “Fine.” Brent just didn’t seem worth the effort tonight. And the kid was right. Having firecrackers wasn’t against the law. To make something of it, Carter would have to have a witness to Brent lighting and throwing them. Just the same as he’d need to charge Chad.