Trick or Treat Murder (19 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Seated in Doug's aging Saab, Lucy felt unaccountably weepy.

Embarrassed, she brushed away her tears.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm an awful mess."

"It's probably the medication," said Doug, starting the engine.

That was probably it, thought Lucy, wondering what they had been pumping into her. Whatever it was, it was taking her on an emotional roller-coaster ride. "Thanks for the lift," she said. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

"It's nothing," said Doug, turning smoothly out of the parking lot. "So, what happened to you?"

"I don't know. I really can't remember much. They said I was in a fire."

"Like I said, the Hallett House burned down last night. It was a total loss."

"Oh." Lucy sat stunned. Poor Monica had died in a fire ... the same thing could have happened to her.

"A bunch of kids discovered it. They called the fire department. Probably saved your life."

"I was lucky," said Lucy, wondering what she had been doing at the mansion. She should have been home.

"Yeah," said Doug. "Say, why don't we take a look at the place? Survey the damage. It's right off this road."

"I don't want to go there," said Lucy, as her stomach gave a lurch. "Could you take me home first? It's just a little bit farther."

Doug's hand tightened on the steering wheel. "This'll only take a minute," he said, making a sharp turn. They bounced along the rough dirt road and pulled up in front of the blackened pile of rubble that had once been the magnificent Hallett House, the finest house in Tinker's Cove.

"Oh, my God," gasped Lucy, shocked at the sight. "I can't believe I survived that."

Absolutely nothing was left, even the chimneys had cracked from the intense heat and collapsed. It was all gone—the fanciful pillared tower, the widow's walk, the ornate portico. Everything was reduced to soot and cinders, surrounded by a thin ribbon of yellow tape.

"It was quite a fire," said Doug. There was an odd note of satisfaction in his tone. "You should have seen it," he said, nodding. "Flames forty, fifty feet high. It was something." He gestured excitedly with his arms, and Lucy caught a whiff of something pun- gent. What was it? she wondered. It was so familiar.

A small group of bystanders had gathered. They stood, exchanging only brief bits of conversation, occasionally shaking their heads.

"They had to call in fire companies from Wilton and Gilead and even Rockland," said Doug. "But even with all that extra help they couldn't save it."

"You sound almost pleased," said Lucy.

Doug jerked abruptly and looked sharply at her; she wondered if she'd said something wrong.

He shrugged. "The town's better off without it. It was an eyesore." He started the engine.

"I guess," said Lucy, yawning. She was very tired. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open. She leaned back and closed them, just for a minute. She felt the car begin to move. Soon she would be home.

A jumble of images crowded her mind. She could hear Zoe crying, but she couldn't find her. She was stumbling through a maze of rooms that opened before her, tilted at crazy angles like a carnival fun house. She was running uphill, then downhill and someone was pursuing her, laughing. It was Mrs. Birchall, her third-grade teacher. There was a horrible, choking smell. Mimeo fluid. She opened her eyes.

She was still in the car, but she was lying across the front seat. Through the window she saw dark green—balsam and fir trees— and blue sky. They were parked somewhere in the woods.

She felt a rush of cold air as the car door opened. She tilted her head to look behind her. She saw Doug. His face was red and angry. He was holding a length of two by four. "Nosey bitch," he said, raising his arm.

Instinctively, Lucy rolled away as Doug slammed the wooc down on the seat where her head had been. Grabbing the dashboard with her good arm she pulled herself upright. Turning, she spotted Doug outside the car and watched him warily, waiting foi his next move.

To her surprise, he dropped the two by four and fumbled in his pocket. Pulling out a book of matches he carefully and deliberately tore one off and struck it, then tossed it in the car. Lucy followed it with her gaze and saw it land in the back seat, which, she discovered, he had loaded with firewood and scrap lumber. The reek of mimeo fluid filled the air.

As she watched, the orange flame of the match grew larger. It turned blue, spreading along a piece of scrap wood, then leaped onto a branch of dry tinder that caught immediately with a snapping sound. A whitish gray column of smoke formed and began filling the car. Durning slammed the door and stepped back. His eyes were wide open, his expression eager with anticipation. He licked his lips.

Lucy reached for the door handle on the passenger side but couldn't find it. Blinking, her eyes already smarting, she discovered it was broken. Through the smoke she saw Durning laughing. Coughing, she grabbed the steering wheel and pulled herself toward the driver's side door. The horn blared. Awkwardly, she fumbled for the lock with her right hand. The back seat was now fully ablaze, the car was like a furnace. The smoke was so thick that she could no longer see. Groping with her fingers, she found the latch. She pushed against the door and the lock finally yielded; she fell out of the car onto her knees.

Retching and choking, still blinded by the smoke, she tried to crawl away from the heat of the fire. Durning stopped her, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her to her feet.

"What's your hurry?" he asked. "Don't you like the pretty fire?"

"Let me go!" she screamed. "You're crazy! You're going to get us both killed!"

"Not both of us," he said, shoving her back toward the car and raising his arm to hit her. Staggering, she threw up her good arm to block the blow, but it never came. Instead, she saw Bill materi¬alize in the smoke and grab Durning by the shoulders, throwing him back against a tree. He hit him twice in the stomach, and then punched him in the face. Durning's head snapped back and he slid to the ground. Bill stood over him, fists clenched, breathing hard. His eyes were narrow slits, and his jaw was clenched. Lucy could see a vein in his neck pulsing.

A sudden roar made her turn her head, and she saw the Saab disappear in a rush of bright orange flames. Black smoke filled the air. Bill grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the burning car.

"Oh my God," she said, feeling her knees start to buckle underneath her. He caught her in his arms. Lucy leaned against him, drinking in his strong, sweaty smell. She nuzzled her face against his beard, and felt the smooth flannel covering his chest under het fingertips. He tightened his arms around her.

"I want to go home," whispered Lucy.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Being home was bliss, thought Lucy later that afternoon as she looked down at Zoe's sweet little head. She was sitting sideways on the couch, with her legs stretched out. Zoe was propped on pillows, because of Lucy's taped arm, and was enthusiastically making up for missed meals. Edna, Bill's mother, hovered nearby, ready to assist.

"Would you like some more juice?" she asked. "How about some lemonade?"

"That would be great," said Lucy. She had an enormous thirst; she couldn't drink enough.

Edna bustled off, pleased to have an errand.

"I told Bill," she said, when she returned. "I told him the hospital wouldn't know what to do with you. Bring her home, I said, so she can be with the baby. If Lucy takes care of the baby, we can take care of Lucy. That's what I said."

"All I could think of was getting back home," said Lucy, aftei she'd gulped down half the lemonade. "I felt like one of those trapped foxes that chews off its leg to get back to her babies."

"It's mother love, dear."

"It's instict," said Toby. "Learned about it in school."

"It's probably a little bit of both," said Lucy, reaching foi Toby's hand. "Is everything okay? You look worried."

"You're gonna be okay, aren't you, Mom?"

"Sure," said Lucy.

Toby shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "Are me and the guys in trouble f* he asked.

"What do you mean?" asked Lucy. "Sit down and tell me about it." She patted the side of the couch.

"Are they gonna think we started the fire?" he asked, perching next to her.

"Why would they think that?" A horrible thought flitted through her mind. "You didn't, did you?"

"No. We wouldn't do anything like that. But last year, remember the toilet paper? Everybody thought me and Eddie put it on Mr. Reid's hedge, but it wasn't us. It was really Tim Rogers. He said we'd be real sorry if we told."

"This is different," said Lucy, covering his hand with her own "This isn't kid stuff."

"I was scared," confessed Toby. "Really scared."

"Me, too," said Lucy. Now that she remembered what hac happened last night she didn't want to think about it. She pushed the dark thoughts away, and smiled at Toby. "You boys really gave me a fright."

"Yeah, that was funny. You jumped a mile. You yelled at u; and we ran behind some bushes. We heard some footsteps and we thought it was Officer Barney, coming to take us home. We were

gonna make him look for us, and then jump out and scare him. But it wasn't Barney—it was some guy. He started carrying cans into the house and we figured he was the one setting the fires. Stubby called the fire department on his walkie-talkie."

"He knew what to do?"

"Sure. Officer Barney lent him a real police radio for his costume. Showed him how to use it and everything."

"I'm surprised the dispatcher believed you—didn't he think it might be a Halloween prank?"

"Yeah." Toby nodded. "He took our names and said we'd be in serious trouble if it was a false alarm. That scared us a little bit, because we waited and waited and nothing seemed to happen. Then the guy ran out and drove away, and still nothing happened. Richie and Eddie said maybe we ought to go home and tell our parents, but I didn't want to leave you there. Then it started to smell like the charcoal fire when Dad lights it, you know there's a fire in there but you can't see much. That's when I really got scared. I wanted to go in and get you, but the guys wouldn't let me. We looked through the window and there were blue and orange flames racing around, up and down the walls and across the floor. They'd start up and go out. It was weird.

"That's when the fire truck came. They made us stand back and we saw them go in with oxygen tanks on their backs. They went in and then the whole place seemed to explode. There was a big whoosh, and all at once it was really on fire. That's when the fireman carried you out. I saw him in the doorway, with the red flames behind him."

"Wow," said Lucy, reaching up and pulling his head down for a quick kiss. "You boys did the right thing. You were really brave."

"I'm just glad you're okay. You really are okay, aren't your'

"Yeah," said Lucy. "I'm gonna be fine."

"That's good," said Toby, " 'cause Mom, you don't look too good right now."

"I don't feel too good, either," admitted Lucy. "I wonder where your dad is with those prescriptions."

Lucy ached all over, her throat was raw and she was uncomfortably aware of her chest as she breathed. Her shoulder throbbed, and her head was pounding.

"You look bushed, Lucy. Let me take the baby and put her down in the crib," offered Edna. "She's sleeping like an angel."

Toby wandered off, and Edna carried the baby upstairs, leaving Lucy alone. She glanced around the room—it was getting a bit shabby. The couch was worn, the rug needed a cleaning, the pictures were just a bit askew. Magazines were piled in an untidy heap on the lamp table, a pair of Elizabeth's shoes lay forgotten under the coffee table. It had never looked better.

"So, how ya doin'?" asked Bill, appearing in the doorway.

"Fine. It's great to be home. Baby's sleeping."

"About time," said Bill, sitting down heavily in the recliner, still holding a plastic shopping bag.

"Did you get everything?"

"Yup." He began unpacking. "Antibiotics, pain killer, ice bag, heating pad, disposable diapers. You know, I couldn't find a single diaper anywhere in the house!"

"I know—that's why I went to the Hallett House. I left the diaper bag there."

"I knew there had to be a reason. I thought you might have gone after Toby. That was some night." He shook his head. "Phone call woke me up, I didn't know what was going on. Girls were frantic, baby was soaking wet and screaming, cops brought Toby home, you were at the hospital. It was crazy."

Lucy nodded. She was content to look at Bill. Always the same outfit—jeans, plaid flannel shirt, work boots, beard. Except in summer. Then it was shorts, T-shirt, work boots, and beard. He never changed. He was steady and reliable. Strong. Always gentle with her and the kids. In all the years they'd been married she'd never seen him strike anyone, until today.

"I didn't know you could fight," said Lucy.

"Neither did I. Pure adrenaline." Bill's cheeks reddened and he fingered a brown plastic medicine vial. "I didn't want to stop hitting him. I coulda killed him."

"How did you find me?"

"Mom sent me to the hospital to bring you home. I saw you getting in the car with him. I called your name, but I was too far away and you didn't hear me. I decided to follow. I couldn't figure out what was going on. Why did you leave with him?"

"Nobody would tell me anything and I was going crazy— I thought they were keeping something from me. I was afraid Lenk had burned the house down and I was the only one left. I had to get home and find out what had happened."

"Why didn't you call?"

"I tried and tried but all I got was a busy signal."

"Oh." Bill blushed. "I was on the phone for quite a while trying to get things organized, and as soon as I got off the phone the kids took over."

"I should have thought of that," said Lucy.

"Anyway, I pulled into the parking lot and saw you getting into Doug's car. I figured he was just bringing you home, but I didn't feel good about you being in the car with him. I don't know why— I just felt uneasy. I started thinking as I was following you and it was pretty clear that he had the most to gain from the fires."

"He did?"

"Sure. Because of the bylaws. Getting rid of his house gave him a clean slate. He could pretty much build what he wanted, long as it was white and had shutters."

"The Red Zone!" exclaimed Lucy. "I can't believe I was so dumb."

"I don't get it."

"It was on the movie marquee. The Red Zone. I looked right at it."

"Zoning by fire," said Bill thoughtfully. "That's what he was doing. Come to think of it, I heard something about him buying the Hallett House."

"I heard him talking to Krissy at the party—all about how the property was worth more without the building!"

"That's right. Burning it down gave him a very nice piece of commercial property. It was a pretty clever plan—everybody thought there was a pyromaniac loose. Then Lenk started spouting off and everybody thought it was him."

"I think it started out as a rational plan," Lucy said, "but it got out of control. He liked setting those fires. I'll never forget the ex¬pression on his face when he started the fire in the car. It was creepy."

"I think he had some idea of killing you at the Hallett House but there were too many people so he headed off down that old dirt track into the woods. That was scary. I couldn't get too close or he'd see me but I was terrified of losing him. I called the cops on the phone in the truck and decided to follow on foot. Then I saw the smoke and panicked—I was afraid I was too late. When I saw him trying to hit you it was like a movie or something. I didn't even realize what I was doing."

"You were great," said Lucy.

"I wouldn't want to make a career of it," said Bill, flexing his hands and massaging his knuckles. "Thank God for cell phones—I was real happy when the cops came and took him off my hands." He reached for the remote control and pushed the chair back so the leg rest came up. He flipped through the channels until he found the NFL game.

In her nest of pillows and blankets on the couch, Lucy snuggled down and closed her eyes. She started to drift off, then jerked awake. She blinked. She was home. She could hear the girls' arguing upstairs. Edna was running the mixer in the kitchen. Bill was snoring in the chair, a shaving cream commercial was playing on the TV. Everything was fine.