Melanie Travis 06 - Hush Puppy (17 page)

Two firefighters followed it and a face appeared in the window below us. “I was told there was somebody down here.”

“That was me,” I said.

“How’s the fire?” Russell asked anxiously.

“Just about out. Getting right to the source helped a lot. You had more smoke here than flames. We’ve managed to contain it to this area of the basement, but you’re going to have considerable smoke and water damage.”

“Thank goodness it wasn’t worse,” said Russell. “Any sign of what started it?”

“I’d say so.” The fireman frowned. “Somebody set this blaze.”

“No doubt about it,” said Detective Shertz. “It was arson. Whoever set the fire used a bundle of rags soaked with paint thinner as an accelerant. Left them right outside the door. Lucky for you, there wasn’t much in the vicinity that would burn.”

I slumped back in the wing chair in Russell’s office, feeling numb. Maybe I was going into shock, I thought. It was bad enough knowing that the fire had been set deliberately. Now I had to contemplate who, or what, had been the target.

More than two hours had passed since Faith and I had been rescued from the basement. In that time, the firefighters had secured the area and made sure that the blaze was totally out. The arson investigator had arrived to have a look; Detective Shertz had shown up as well. School had been dismissed for the day, and the media was once again camped at the end of the driveway.

On a personal front, I’d just arrived back at Howard Academy after a trip to Greenwich Hospital to have my wrist attended to. Rita had driven while I’d held my arm upright and wrapped in a towel, so the blood wouldn’t ruin her upholstery. She’d been kind enough to let Faith ride in the backseat.

One tetanus shot and six stitches later, I had failed to see the humor when the ER doctor joked that, for a suicide, I had lousy aim. I almost told him I’d do better next time. But hey, why drag his day down to the level of mine?

As soon as we got back to school, Harriet had hunted me down. The detective and Mr. Hanover were in his office. They requested the pleasure of my company. Immediately. That’s the way things are done in private school—an iron fist inside the velvet glove.

I didn’t hurry. Instead, I walked Faith around outside and let her sniff a few spots in case there was anything she needed to do. I figured I could blame my tardiness on blood loss.

My dog seemed to have come through our adventure in fine shape. If you didn’t count the section of hair that was missing on the back of her neck, that is. Six inches or more gone, sliced off in an irregular line. I could trim the hair around it, but I was never going to be able to hide a hole like that.

Any Poodle person will tell you that in the show ring, neck hair makes the trim. Aunt Peg was going to have a fit when she saw what had happened.

It probably says something about my state of mind that I was thinking about Poodle hair when I should have been worrying about the larger picture. Things like life and death, and how slender the line between them sometimes seems. By the time I went inside, I’d almost convinced myself that the fireman had been wrong, that the fire had been a fluke, caused by old wiring or a faulty electrical system.

Detective Shertz managed to destroy my illusions with his first sentence. To his credit, he didn’t look too pleased about the situation either.

“Did you hear what I said, Ms. Travis?” he was asking now. “That fire was set deliberately, right outside a room where you were the only occupant. I’m wondering what you think about that.”

I let my arm dangle over the side of the chair, fingers scratching Faith’s ear. Usually, she’d have been content to stay somewhere in my vicinity; now she was lying on top of my feet, her body pressed hard against my legs. I knew just how she felt.

“I don’t know what to think,” I replied honestly. It was true I’d placed myself in jeopardy once or twice before, in the course of other murder investigations. But Krebbs’s death had nothing to do with me. Hadn’t I made that clear to everyone? “Maybe it was a prank.”

“Could be, although that wouldn’t be my first guess.” Shertz turned to Russell. “In your time at Howard Academy, how many other fires have there been?”

“None,” the headmaster said quickly. “As far as I know, this is the first such incident in the history of the school.”

“Following hard on the heels of the first murder,” Shertz said. “You see what I’m getting at? I’m not a big believer in coincidence.”

“I don’t understand what you want me to tell you,” I said. “Do you think I had something to do with the fire?”

“I know you have a tendency to get involved in murder investigations . . .”

Only one in Greenwich, I thought. Well, two, if you counted Uncle Max. The problem I’d dealt with in the fall had been in Stamford. And the one the year before that had been in Ridgefield, so there was really no reason Shertz needed to feel that his toes were being stepped on.

“. . . and I’m thinking maybe someone doesn’t want you involved in this one.”

“But that’s just it. I’m
not
involved. Aside from the fact that I teach at Howard Academy and knew the man slightly, I have no connection to Krebbs at all.”

“Would you mind explaining what you were doing down in the basement, where the fire just happened to take place?”

As Shertz’s tone had grown increasingly strident, Russell’s frown had deepened. Now he cleared his throat and stepped in. “That was my doing. Ms. Travis is a member of the committee that’s putting together our spring pageant. We’re planning a play to celebrate the lives of the school’s founding family. Many of the old Howard family records are stored in the basement, and I recommended she have a look at them, in case there was something we could use.”

“So the only thing in the room were boxes of old papers?”

“That’s right.”

“Were these papers valuable?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Perhaps a collector might have a small amount of interest in what’s housed there, but the chances of there being something of real value . . .” Russell’s voice trailed off as he shook his head. “I’m afraid I would find that hard to believe.”

“How about you?” Shertz turned back to me. “You’re the one who was reading the stuff. What did you find?”

“Old receipts and bills of sale, correspondence between Joshua Howard and his sister, Honoria. Pictures and mementos of the children’s early years. From what I’d been able to tell so far, it was all just mundane, day-to-day stuff. Nothing that would be worth committing murder over, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So we’re back to where we started,” said the detective. “If the fire wasn’t set to destroy the records, what was the arsonist after?”

“I’m telling you,
I don’t know.”

“Been doing a little digging around on your own?”

Russell glanced my way. His lips pursed as though he was considering the notion. I was pleased it hadn’t occurred to him earlier.

“No,” I said emphatically.

“What about that girl, Jane?”

“What about her?”

“Seen her hanging around anymore?”

“Once. Briefly. But her friend, Brad . . . ” I stopped, remembering. “He was here.”

“When?”

“Right after the fire started. He was the one who heard me yelling for help.”

“Is that the boy who came to get me?” asked Russell. “I wondered who he was. Then, in all the excitement, I forgot all about him.”

“By the time I was out, he was gone. I was going to thank him, but I didn’t see him anywhere.”

“That gives us something to start with.” The detective pulled out a pad and made a note. “We’ll hunt Jameson down and have a chat.”

“Do you think he might have been the person responsible for the fire?” asked Russell.

“Hard to know just yet, but it’s certainly worth looking into. The kid’s a troublemaker, though arson would be a new string in his bow. If he wasn’t involved, I guess he’s going to have to come up with a good reason to explain why he was out here hanging around.”

Shertz flipped the pad shut. “I guess that’s all for now. If either of you think of anything else I ought to know, you know where to reach me.”

“Thank you,” said Russell, coming out from behind his desk to walk the detective to the door. “We greatly appreciate the efforts you’ve made on our behalf and we look forward to the speedy resolution of our problems.”

Jeez, I thought. With rhetoric like that at his disposal, the guy ought to run for political office.

“There’s something I’ve been curious about,” I said. Both men paused. “Who tipped you off that there might be something hidden in the caretaker’s cottage?”

“Funny you should ask a question like that,” Shertz said slowly. “Seeing as you don’t have any interest in Krebbs’s murder and all.”

I might not be involved, but I wasn’t brain-dead either. Russell was looking interested as well.

“As it happens, we got an anonymous call down at the station. It came in through the switchboard.”

“Do you guys have caller ID?”

The only sign of Shertz’s annoyance was a slight narrowing of his eyes. “The call came from this school. The pay phone out by the front hall. Somebody here tipped us off. And whoever it was, he knew what he was talking about.”

 

As soon as Detective Shertz left, Russell told me to go home. The students had already been dismissed for the weekend and most of the faculty had left as well. There was concern in his expression when he asked if Faith and I needed any help. I’m sure I looked a little ragged around the edges. I know I felt that way.

“No, we’ll be fine,” I said, though I was grateful for his interest.

My shoulders were throbbing; and now that the painkillers I’d had at the emergency room were beginning to wear off, my wrist hurt like hell. Still, if there’s one thing a single mother learns how to do, it’s cope with adversity. I was sure we’d be able to manage.

“I imagine the pageant committee will need to have another brainstorming session on Monday,” Russell said absently. “The archives in the storeroom were nearly a total loss.”

I glanced up, surprised. “I thought the fire never reached them.”

“It didn’t, but the water damage was extensive. Even if anyone wanted to go through the task of separating the papers and drying them out, I’m not sure it would be possible to salvage most of what was there.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said quietly. “I know those records were an important part of the school’s history.”

Russell shrugged slightly. “A week ago, I imagine I’d have found the loss devastating. Now I find myself putting things in perspective. At least this time nobody was seriously injured.”

He looked so forlorn that I found myself blurting out a small confession. “Not everything was destroyed. Joshua’s youngest daughter, Ruth, kept a diary when she was a teenager. It talks quite a bit about the family life in Deer Park. I took the book home with me last night and forgot to bring it back. It wasn’t in the room when the fire started.”

“I guess that’s something,” said Russell. He thought for a moment. “Does anyone else know about this?”

“I mentioned the book to Michael Durant, and maybe a couple other people. But nobody else knows that it wasn’t ruined with the rest of the stuff. Do you think it matters?”

“It’s hard to know what to think, isn’t it?” Russell closed his eyes and pinched his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “The fire might have been somebody’s idea of a sick joke, but like Detective Shertz, I’m not inclined to think so.

“That leaves us with two options, neither of which is very appealing. All I can say is, if we do have a monster in our midst, the sooner we discover his or her identity, the better. I want your assurance on something.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Detective Shertz seemed concerned that you might feel the need to take part in the murder investigation. I must say, for a number of reasons, that I think that would be a very bad idea.”

“You’re right,” I agreed quickly. Though I’d only been at Howard Academy six months, I already knew this was where I wanted to spend the rest of my teaching career. I had no intention of jeopardizing my position at the school. “I promise you, I haven’t done anything but try to stay out of the way.”

“I wouldn’t say your efforts have been entirely successful.”

“I’ll try harder.”

“Do that. And one more thing. I’d appreciate it if you’d bring Ruth’s diary back to school. Perhaps you could deliver it to me first thing Monday morning?”

“Certainly.” I stood up. Faith, ever the trusty companion, did the same. Together, we headed for the door. “I wonder if you’d answer one more question.”

“Perhaps.”

“Reading through the Howard family records has made me curious. Whatever happened to Joshua and Mabel’s children? There were six of them. Are any still alive? Do their descendants take an interest in the school?”

Russell shook his head sharply. He didn’t look pleased by the topic I’d chosen. “The Howard family has all but divorced itself from this institution. Their interests and ours ceased to coincide many decades ago.”

“Why?”

His frown grew. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“I gather there was a good deal of acrimony about the financial decisions Joshua made at the time. Some, if not all, of the children seemed to feel that the school received money that by rights should have been their inheritance.”

“That was their father’s decision.”

“Quite so, but that didn’t alleviate the bitter feelings that arose. While Joshua was still alive, there were plenty of resources to go around. The children, who were of course quite grown up by the time the school was established, felt they had nothing to lose by indulging their father’s ‘hobby.’ It wasn’t until later, when his will was read, that they realized how total his commitment to Howard Academy had been.”

“It seems a shame,” I mused.

“Yes, it does,” Russell said brusquely. “But it all happened a long time ago. It’s nothing you need concern yourself with now.”

He was right. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have plenty of bigger, and more immediate, problems.

A phone call when I got home arranged for Davey to spend the night with Joey Brickman. Joey’s mother, Alice, stopped by to pick up some of his things. She saw the bandage on my arm, heard a much-abbreviated version of what I’d been up to, and promised to keep my son until late afternoon Saturday.