I nodded and they rolled him out the door and into the ambulance.
“Where is Stephanie?” Spillman asked.
“In the living room. A neighbor came over to be with her.”
Spillman glanced past me to look at her. Stephanie was sitting on the couch, staring into space. A woman in an expensive outfit was next to her, holding Stephanie’s hand.
“Want to tell me what happened?” Spillman asked.
“Not really,” I said, but I did. When I finished, she gazed at me thoughtfully.
“The mob?” she asked skeptically.
I nodded.
“And you didn’t see the car they left in?”
I shook my head.
“Too bad,” she said. “But we’ll get them.”
“No you won’t.” I gazed at her. “He’s part of the mob. He’s gone.”
“You hit him, right?”
“Yes, I saw the blood,” I said. “But it wasn’t enough to slow him down too much.”
“Too bad,” she repeated.
Her partner Spats approached from the library. “You want to take a look?”
She nodded. “Get Stephanie’s statement.”
“Okay.” He started to ask a question but was interrupted by the appearance of a sturdy-looking man who was elegantly dressed in a pinstripe suit.
“Conrad Collins,” he said. He pinpointed Spillman as the official detective and handed her a business card. “I’m the McMahons’ lawyer and I’m here to take care of Stephanie.”
Spillman glanced at me. I shrugged. I hadn’t heard of the guy, but given Forrest McMahon’s secret organization, I wasn’t surprised that someone showed up so quickly. Tyrone or Stephanie probably had him on speed dial.
“She’s in the living room,” Spillman said. “You can wait with her and I’ll be in shortly.”
“Yes, and I’d like a word with you,” Collins said with an authoritative tone.
He marched away and she held out a hand to me. “I’m sure I’ll have more questions, so I’ll be in touch.”
I shook her hand and left.
The storm was now a full-blown blizzard as I drove up University Boulevard toward downtown Denver. The wind whipped flakes around and visibility was near zero. I was barely able to drive more than ten or fifteen miles an hour, and the 4-Runner slipped more than once on icy streets. By the time I arrived at my condo, there was almost a foot of snow on the ground.
I tramped from the garage and up the steps to my place. I shed my coat and sprawled on the couch, sitting in the silence for a few minutes. I finally had a moment to reflect on the events at McMahon’s house. I was relieved to be home and relieved that I’d survived my encounter with a gunman.
The phone rang and I hoped it was Willie. But it was my mother.
“Hello, dear, how are you? The news said there’s a snowstorm in Denver. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Mother,” I said. “Safe at home.” I wasn’t about to tell her about my gunfight. She wouldn’t believe me anyway.
“That’s good. You know I worry about you.”
“I know.” And I really did appreciate it … but I wasn’t going to let her know.
We talked for a few minutes, and then I hung up and immediately dialed Willie.
“Hey you,” she said, her chipper voice music to my ears. “How’d your meeting at McMahon’s go?”
“It could’ve gone better.” I filled her in, and quickly tagged on the end, “but I’m okay.”
“I’m coming over,” she said. “Let’s watch a movie and not talk about anything serious, or dangerous.”
“That sounds great,” I said.
I got a couple of beers from the fridge and was back on the couch when she tapped on the door, then came in, followed by Ace, Deuce, and Bob, the Goofball Brothers’ older, and much wiser brother.
“I ran into them on the porch,” Willie said, her raised eyebrows asking if it was okay. “And they were talking about watching a movie.”
“Yep,” Deuce said. He held up The Terminator, with Arnold Schwarzenegger. It was one of his favorite movies. “If you can’t go play pool, watch an Arnold movie.”
“Yeah, none of that film noir stuff,” Ace said.
Bob glanced at me, then at Willie. “Are you two okay with this?”
I would’ve preferred spending the time alone with Willie, but since I knew she’d stay the night, I shrugged. “Yeah, make yourselves comfortable.”
Bob grabbed a chair from the kitchen. “We were at B 52’s and it was snowing so hard, I told the brothers we’d better leave or we’d get stuck there, and now I think I’d better stay with Ace and Deuce tonight. They wanted to play video games but I suggested a movie.”
“A good choice,” I said.
Willie came and cuddled up with me on the couch, pulling a blanket over us. “We can talk later,” she murmured in my ear. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Me, too,” I said.
Ace put in the movie and while the snow continued, we settled in for the night. And I relaxed for the first time in days.
THE END
Turn the page to keep reading Torch Scene, Reed Ferguson mystery book 6!
Torch Scene
The Reed Ferguson Mystery Series, Book 6
Chapter One
It woke me out of a deep sleep. I stared up at the ceiling and noticed a dancing glow penetrating the darkness. I blinked and turned my eyes toward the window. The light through the cracks in the blinds was too bright and too red to be the moon’s luminosity. I propped up on an elbow, trying not to disturb Willie, who was cuddled beside me. We were lying on the couch in my living room, and we’d both fallen asleep while watching a movie. The television screen was glowing neon blue, the movie over. I sat up carefully, noting Willie’s soft, regulated breathing. Then another noise carried through the stillness. Sirens, growing louder.
There was a fire, somewhere close by. Wow, I was some detective to have figured that out.
I pushed myself off the couch, tiptoed in my socks to the window, and peeked out through the blinds. My jaw dropped. Fire raged through the top story of an old Victorian house across the street. It was a beautiful structure, although lately it was suffering from the rundown blues. It still had lots of charm, with a long balcony, arched windows, and plenty of original wood. I watched, hypnotized by the red, orange and white flames that licked at that old wood. Brilliant flames soon enveloped the roof.
I stared at the blaze for a moment, too stunned to act. It was quite a sight, and I held up a hand to block the glare. Dark shadows raced along the sidewalk as my neighbors poured out of their houses to watch the sight.
Behind me, Willie stirred. “Reed?” She yawned. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. I should go home.”
I turned around and shook my head. “You can’t.”
“Nice try, but I shouldn’t stay.” She stretched and groaned. “I’ve got to be up early and I don’t want to disturb you.” A puzzled look crossed her face. “What’s wrong?”
I felt pressure on my chest, and for a moment I couldn’t find my voice. “Your building is on fire,” I finally managed to say.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
I pulled up the blinds and the fiery glow burst into the room.
She flew off the couch and rushed to the window. “Oh no!”
I suddenly found my faculties. “Come on.” I grabbed her arm.
We both slipped on shoes, then ran outside and down the stairs. The wail of sirens grew to a crescendo as we rounded the corner to the front of my building. My neighbors, Ace and Deuce Smith, emerged bleary-eyed from their first-floor condo. Both wore nothing but white boxer shorts and socks.
“Hey, Reed, there’s a fire,” Ace said, stating the obvious.
“A big fire,” Deuce said as he crossed his arms over his beefy chest to ward off the chilly April night air.
This level of insight was typical from the two, whom I’d affectionately nicknamed the Goofball B
rothers because they were, perhaps, a few snowflakes short of a blizzard. Ace had worked at Blockbuster until they closed, and now he was job-hunting, and Deuce was a construction laborer. Their parents helped them financially, which explained why they could afford to live in this neighborhood. Their older brother, Bob, who lived a few miles away, watched over his younger, intelligence-impaired brothers, and tried to make sure they stayed out of trouble. As far as the younger sons’ goofy names, apparently their father had discovered his love of poker only after Bob was born. Lucky Bob.
We stood on the porch and watched the spectacle unfold. Two fire trucks pulled to a stop on the street in front of us, and firemen poured out of the trucks, rushing to and fro, yelling as they hooked up hoses and maneuvered ladders. The sirens died a slow death, and a couple of police cars screeched to a halt behind the trucks. Four officers shot from the cars and began shouting orders for everyone to stay back. Not that they needed to tell us. Even from across the street, the heat from the blaze was intense. A couple of our neighbors sidled up near the porch and watched with us.
“Damn,” Mr. Darmody said. He must’ve been in his eighties and he and his wife lived next door. “Never seen anything like that.” His wife, Mrs. Darmody – I didn’t know her first name either – nodded mutely as she tugged a sweater around her shoulders.
It was amazing how the fire brought us all out, like this was a Fourth of July fireworks display, and not someone’s home dying before our eyes.
Crackling and popping sounds split the night air as wood burned and electrical circuits exploded. Smoke billowed into the air and ash fell around us like spring snow. Two firemen pointed a hose at the house, then a stream of water fanned back and forth, spraying the flames. It was hard to tell if it was making a difference. Two more firemen in fireproof suits and oxygen tanks stormed up the front porch, broke down the door with axes and rushed inside.
“Is anyone in there?” a man who lived down the street asked.
“I hope not,” someone else replied.
Willie choked back a sob as tears streamed down her cheeks. I put my arm around her. She was trembling, and it wasn’t just from the chilly air.
The blaze intensified, engulfing much of the top floor interior. Streams of water poured down on the fire. Then a loud groan broke through the cacophony, and we jumped as the cracking sounds of collapsing joists burst from the building. The two firemen emerged from the building just as some windows exploded. Someone screamed. The firemen dropped to the grass, then scrambled away from the house.
“Wow,” Deuce said, awe in his voice. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Sparks danced in the night sky, and black plumes of smoke rose up, obliterating the moon. A breeze shifted direction, and suddenly a fireman shouted and frantically gestured at the house next door. Flames were crawling up the roof.
A crew of firemen shifted focus and doused the new blaze, then covered surrounding roofs with water to keep them from catching fire. Then they aimed the hoses at the towering maple tree in the yard. The first unit still focused on the third floor, trying to get the blaze under control.
Willie’s other next-door neighbor, a guy named Rusty Householter, came running up.
“Oh my god!” he said as he ran a hand through thinning blond hair. “I can’t believe this.”
“You’re not the only one,” I muttered.
“Willie, are you all right?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, her eyes focused across the street, a helpless look on her face.
“Reed,” Rusty murmured, throwing a slight nod at her. “Where are the other tenants from her building?”
Willie stiffened. “Oh.” She emitted a little yelp and covered her mouth. “You don’t think…”
We stepped off the porch and approached the street. Before we’d taken five steps, an officer standing on the sidewalk hollered at us to stay back.
“We’re looking for the other tenants,” I shouted at him as I pointed at the inferno.
He cupped a hand around his ear and I yelled again. He nodded, then signaled us over. “How many tenants in the building?” he asked.
“Three,” Willie said. She coughed and waved at the smoke around us. “I live on the ground floor. Darcy Cranston has the second floor apartment, and Nick O’Rourke lives in the studio apartment in the attic.”
“What about the basement?” he asked.
“Laundry and storage,” she said.
“I saw Darcy earlier,” Rusty said as he joined us. “She was going out with her boyfriend.”
“She spends a lot of time at his place,” Willie said. “I hope that’s the case tonight.”
“What about Nick?” I asked.
She shrugged.
“I don’t see him anywhere,” Rusty said as he scanned the people nearby.
The officer – his name tag read ‘Adams’ – turned and shouted a name. Another officer ran up.
“Ask around, see if you can find a man named Nick…” Adams glanced back at us.
“O’Rourke,” Willie said.
The second officer nodded and headed off to canvas a small crowd down the street. We stepped back, waited and watched. The firemen appeared to be making some progress, keeping the blaze confined to the attic. But even as I thought that, one attic wall moaned, then shuddered and collapsed. Another wall soon followed. The officer returned and spoke to Adams, then shook his head. Adams came toward us, his mouth a grim line.
“No Nick O’Rourke,” he said.
Willie’s lower lip quivered. “Was he…” she couldn’t finish the sentence.
Adams shrugged. “Do you know his phone number?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said as she pulled out her cell phone. Her hand shook as she touched a couple of buttons and put the phone to her ear. “It’s ringing,” she said in answer to quizzical looks. A moment later, she spoke into the phone. “Hey, Nick, it’s Willie. Can you give me a call as soon as you can? Thanks.”
“Voice mail,” Adams said. I guess he was taking his cue from Ace, pointing out the obvious.
“Where could he be?” Willie asked.
“We’ll find out,” Adams said. “We’ll need to talk to the owner of the building, and we can ask if they have more information on O’Rourke. You know who owns the place?”
“That would be me,” Willie said.
Chapter Two
I stared at her. “You own the building?” I blurted, completely taken aback.
She nodded.
That was news to me. She’d moved into the first floor apartment a few years ago, and I’d just assumed that she was a renter. We’d been dating for a while and she’d never said anything about owning the entire building. Not that it was something she had to mention. Oh, Reed, now that we’re dating, you should know that I own the building. Still, you’d think it might have come up in conversation at some point. Paranoia crawled through my veins and I didn’t enjoy the feeling, nor did I understand why I was feeling that way. Especially right now. Willie didn’t need that from me.
“Do you have any other information on Nick O’Rourke?” Adams interrupted my thoughts.
I threw him an odd look, wondering how he knew I was a detective and why I would have pertinent information about O’Rourke. Then I felt my face burning as I realized he was talking to Willie.
She shook her head. “All my paperwork is…was…in the house.”
“Let’s hope he calls,” Adams said. “The fire inspectors will want to talk to you.”
“Right,” she said. “We’ll wait for them.”
Adams glanced back at the blaze across the street. “It’s going to be a while.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go.” Her voice was barely audible above the chaos.
Someone shouted for Adams. He tipped his head at us and dashed off.
Willie suddenly pulled out her phone again. “I should call Darcy.” She dialed another number and again had to leave a message, this time asking Darcy to call
her. She held the phone, as if hoping it would ring right away. Then she wiped her hands over her face, but the worried look remained. “What if Darcy was in there, too?”
“Think positive. She’s usually with her boyfriend, right?”
“This is a nightmare,” Willie said.
She was in a fog, so I guided her slowly back to the porch and we sat down. Ace and Deuce stood nearby. No one said a word as we watched the firemen work to contain the fire. After a while, I heard a loud yawn from behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Why don’t you guys go back to bed,” I said. “There’s nothing to do here.”
“Okay,” Ace said, stepping forward, shifting from foot to foot. “Willie, are you going to be okay?”
She didn’t say anything. I nudged her. “Oh.” She turned around and nodded. “I’ll be okay, Ace, thanks.”
“If you need any help, you let us know.” He nodded, then tugged at Deuce’s arm. They shuffled across the porch and inside their condo. A square of light from their living room window briefly illuminated us, then blinked out.
I put my arm around Willie again as we watched the firemen. A couple of times she would open her mouth to say something, then without a word, her jaw would clamp shut. I couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. And again, I couldn’t imagine what I was thinking. I still wanted to ask her about the building. When did she buy it? Why hadn’t she told me she owned it? And I again chided myself for my lack of focus. Then other questions popped into my head. Did she have insurance? If so, was it enough? How were her finances? Would she have enough to cover what insurance didn’t? And although I didn’t know much about fire investigations, I knew that the fire inspectors would take a good hard look at her.
My mind wandered to the old Alfred Hitchcock classic, Rebecca. I wouldn’t call it film noir, as some did, but it was a great movie, with one helluva dramatic house fire at the end. Unlike the movie, I was thankful the firefighters had gotten this blaze under control before it consumed the entire building.
Willie rested her head on my shoulder and sighed, and it broke my reverie. The fire eventually died down and the gawkers trickled away to their homes. Willie and I continued our vigil from the porch. Amidst shouts and clanging of equipment, one of the fire trucks rumbled to life and soon pulled away. The other truck remained, dousing what fire was left and searching for hot spots.
Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 2 Page 30
