Mr. Pug waddled up to him and sat down on his left shoe, glancing up with big pleading eyes for some lasagna. The dog was drooling seriously, and Vicky snapped him up before it could get on Everett’s neat gray suit. “I’ll put the dogs in the pen in the kitchen, Mom, until we’re finished eating. Michael is here too, for a bite.”
Claire frowned at her. “The lasagna stood too long and got sticky, I bet. I don’t know why these walks have to last forever, Vicky. The dogs look bushed.”
Coco was indeed panting as if she had run the marathon, but Vicky knew Claire suspected her of having met Michael Danning by design and whiling away the time gazing into his deep brown eyes. But the unexpected visitor prevented her mother from being more explicit in her disapproval.
“Well, when I got my share, it was perfect,” Everett said with satisfaction, checking his watch. “Of course it’s been half an hour since then. I recall the eight o’clock news was just about to start when I arrived.”
“Oh, all that bad news, just depressing.” Claire waved a hand. “I’d rather talk about something interesting like the new houses they are building on the other side of town. I guess you are handling the sales?” She cast a look at Michael as if to ensure he was going to hear all about Everett’s success.
“One moment, I’ll get our dinner.” Vicky quickly made for the kitchen. Everett not only handled all sales of property around these parts, but he could also talk about it forever. That and chess. He had been a county champion, who showed his trophies off at school. She had always been surprised he had never made grand master. That would have given him an awesome chance to travel. But his mother probably wouldn’t have let him. She had been known to guard her only son like a tigress. Poor Everett had never had a dime of his own to spend, as his mother controlled his allowance and decided what he could buy and do.
Vicky bet he missed his mother though, who had passed away three years ago. That had to be the reason he stopped by every other week and spent an evening with Claire, playing checkers or backgammon. It was something so…social for a man as intensely businesslike as Everett. Out of character.
But the company it provided for Claire had been very welcome when Vicky had lived abroad, and now that she was back, she’d simply have to put up with Everett’s fortnightly visits and his real estate successes.
The phone against the wall rang, and Vicky went for it, but she was too late. Claire had already answered the cordless in the den. As it was her main source of information, she always had a phone within reach.
Vicky could hear her say, “Really? When did they discover that?”
Her mother’s voice sounded shocked. Could it have anything to do with the sirens they had heard earlier?
The cold sensation returned full force and, forgetting that she wanted dinner, Vicky walked into the den to hear what was up. She glanced at Michael, who also seemed to sense some tension. He stared at Claire in concentration, listening to her answers to the caller on the other end of the line.
“No, I had no idea. But I’ll turn on the television to see if any local station reports it later tonight. Thanks for calling.”
Claire put the receiver down and looked at them, one by one, stretching the suspense before she shared her news. “There’s a big fire raging, at Perkins’ home. Seems his barn caught fire. The firefighters are keeping other properties wet to make sure it can’t spread. Perkins is out fishing, and his wife was with a friend for the evening, so no harm done to any people.”
“If there was nobody home, how did they discover the fire?” Michael asked. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Nobody has called me yet.”
Claire shrugged, gratified that she had been informed first. “A neighbor saw the flames I guess. The barn is all wooden and stuffed with paperwork, so it probably burned like dry tinder.”
“Paperwork?” Vicky repeated. She glanced at Michael. He had wanted to look through old police files that Perkins kept in a barn. Had those files burned tonight? It would be an enormous coincidence if they had. “It’s odd that a barn would just catch fire. There was no lightning tonight. Nothing to set it off as far as I can see.”
“Well, they do say,” Everett said, “that fires can start when products that are stored get hot. I suppose that in a barn there’s always paint or other chemicals.”
“Yeah, I’ve reported on a case where spray from an air freshener hit a hot light bulb and caused an explosive reaction,” Michael said with a nod. He tapped his fingers together a moment, then rose. “Sorry to be walking away like this. The lasagna smells great, but I better go see if I can get a half decent picture of the burned-down barn and a comment from the person who first spotted the fire. Maybe a nice quote from a firefighter? If I’m fast, it can still make tomorrow’s paper.”
Vicky stopped him in the doorway. “Do you mind if I tag along?” She wanted to ask him in private if he really believed this fire had just started by itself.
Claire hitched a brow at her. “I thought you always said you disliked people who go watch disasters. That it is sensationalist and inappropriate.” Her voice rose with each word.
Vicky flushed. “I do, but…”
“Well, I can keep your mother company,” Everett said, comfortably stretching out his long legs. “I don’t mind another portion of that great homemade lasagna.”
As Michael and Vicky arrived at the scene of the fire, it was all over. The barn had been reduced to a blackened carcass that stood up against the darkening sky, illuminated by a huge light the firefighters had put up to facilitate their work. A group of people watched from a safe distance, the excited buzz of their combined voices filling the air. There were no casualties and no damage to Perkins’ home, so the locals felt free to view this as an event. And Glen Cove always liked an event.
“You were right about one thing,” Michael said to Vicky. They had halted away from the crowd so they could speak privately. “There was no real reason why a fire would suddenly start in this barn.”
She held his gaze. “You said something about a chemical reaction, right?”
“Perkins didn’t keep chemicals like paint in his barn. He kept those in the attic of his garage. His barn was meant for one thing only. Storage. Of their old furniture, his wife’s book collection.”
Vicky said it before he could, “And…his old police files.”
Michael held her gaze. “You understood right away. I couldn’t believe it when your mother said what was burning.” He rubbed his hands as if he was cold. “I guess nobody will be reading the old files anymore, huh?”
He lowered his voice as he turned to face her. “I was about to let it go, Vicky, I told you tonight. But if I can prove that this was arson…”
She hoped with all of her heart it was not. Diane was already convinced everybody in Glen Cove was hiding something. And Mortimer Gill had wanted a look at those old files as well. A hustler like him might now be convinced that he had been onto something big. One anonymous call to an out-of-town news station that there was a relation between the fire and a cold case involving a missing college sophomore, and journalists would be descending upon their little town to dig up anything they could find. It could turn very ugly, fast.
“Where are the police when you need them?” Michael whispered to her. “They have to look for traces of arson. The site has to be guarded overnight to make sure nobody can tamper with the evidence.”
His voice rose in intensity. “If Cash Rowland screws this up, because he doesn’t take it seriously, I will personally ensure his career as sheriff is the shortest in the history of the Glen Cove County police