Part 10 (2/2)
I felt a little nauseated and walked to the back door, opening it and walking out into the backyard. The air was cool and damp and I sucked it into my lungs, trying to steady my sudden onrush of nerves.
Oh, for heaven's sake, Sophie Mae. Stop being so paranoid. Sheesh.
How exactly do you make someone drink lye? At gunpoint, maybe? Only if the victim is stupid or believes they can survive the lye, but not the bullet. Or, you might threaten something, or someone, they wanted to keep safe. I could see Walter drinking lye to save someone else. Debby. Or-I had a horrible thought-Erin. Or maybe it would be possible to trick a person into drinking lye. Disguised as water?
When lye is first mixed, the chemical reaction results in heat. The lye on the floor had been room temperature, so it had been mixed long enough before to allow for cooling. How long was that? A couple hours, I thought, maybe more. I hadn't really paid attention. And, of course, you could speed it with ice, but not too much or the granules would precipitate out of the liquid. Also, the volume of the mixture would affect how quickly it cooled. So, the fact the lye had cooled to room temperature didn't mean anything more than it had been mixed at least some time prior to Walter drinking it. No, it didn't even mean that. Maybe he drank it hot, and it had then cooled on the floor before I got home and found him.
I grimaced. The only thing worse than drinking lye would be drinking hot lye. Still, it was a possibility.
I went back inside and continued filling lip balm tubes out of sheer stubbornness. My eyes were bleary as I finished the tedious and exacting process, and it was after eleven by the time I poured the last one. My bed beckoned, but I wanted to make a start on Walter's paperwork. On a tea run upstairs, I'd managed to pull Meghan aside and tell her Ambrose had at least implied Walter might have been murdered. Her face had pinched at the news, the fear of lawsuits replaced with a more primal one.
Settling cross-legged onto the wood floor of the spare room, I dumped one of the boxes of papers out in front of me. As I sifted each individual piece out of the jumble, it received a thorough perusal and my judgment regarding any relevance to anything. All I ended up with after an hour was a pile of charity receipts held together with a stray paperclip and a box full of unmitigated junk. Sure, a particular check stub or movie theater ticket might provide the telling clue, but not with the dearth of information I had. I'd be happy to turn the whole lot over to Ambrose.
Just as soon as I went through the other two boxes.
FOURTEEN.
I WAS HAVING ONE of those crazy dreams that you can't describe when you wake up but you know was crazy because you remember something about Captain Kirk and a pecan orchard and someone losing a piece of Swiss cheese. The siren in the background fit well enough, and it took me a while to realize it wasn't in my dream. Brightly revolving lights flas.h.i.+ng through my window added to the surreal effect when I got around to opening my eyes.
Groggy, I dragged myself out of bed and looked out. My bedroom was at the back of the house, overlooking the backyard and the alley and Walter's little house. Which now had flames licking out the windows.
I threw on my robe and a pair of tennis shoes and ran into the hallway. Erin stood in her bedroom doorway rubbing sleep from her eyes, Brodie woofing low in his throat beside her. Meghan rushed past me to her daughter.
”It's Walter's place,” I said. ”Fire”
She nodded and began speaking to Erin. I went past them and down the stairs, through the living room and kitchen and down to my workroom. I unlocked the back door and trotted out to the alley.
The smell hit me like an open-handed slap. Bitter, harsh, and acrid, it was nothing like the pleasant wood smoke from a friendly hearth fire. This reek contained destruction. Wisps of ash floated down like snow from h.e.l.l, settling on my shoulders and in my hair. My eyes started to burn.
Two figures in bulky fire gear appeared, lugging a huge hose around the corner of the little house. Another appeared behind them, speaking into a radio. They aimed, and a column of water gushed forth. They trained it on the roof. The hose seemed to flex and pulse with a life of its own.
Walter's old international Scout, painted the same bright yellow as the suspenders he'd always worn, flared like a torch. The firefighters, concentrating on the house, let it burn.
None of the windows had gla.s.s in them anymore; fire shot out of one, and black smoke poured out of the others, accompanied by flickers of flame. One of the firefighters shouted something, and the other one nodded. They s.h.i.+fted the plume of water to the left. The flames roared, as if trying to fight back, but the abundance of water tamed them somewhat. The roofing sputtered and steamed as water worked into the burning interior.
Up and down the alley and on the street in front, neighbors stood around watching in their varied night garb. Sensing movement behind me, I turned to find Meghan approaching, Erin's hand clasped tightly in hers. Erin wore sweat pants, and a coat over her nightgown, though heat s.h.i.+mmered through the air and made them unnecessary. She wrinkled her nose and blinked rapidly.
There wasn't much to say. We stood and watched as the firefighters worked to contain the fire, to keep it from spreading to any of the other homes. There was a bad moment when the siding on Mrs. Gray's house flared up near the roofline, but the men extinguished it in seconds. The whole thing took less than two hours, and half of that was spent soaking the dying embers. Walter's house was a complete loss, a charred skeleton reaching up from the soggy black mess of scorched furniture and unrecognizable flotsam and jetsam.
Meghan took Erin back to bed after the worst was over and came back to stand by me for a while. Then she left again. I couldn't seem to go inside, though. A gawker knot had gathered around Mrs. Gray at one end of the alley, but I ignored them, more stunned than morbidly curious. I was sure this fire hadn't been an accident any more than Walter's death had been.
I picked my way through the sodden detritus in the alley, walking to where the firefighters were packing up their equipment. After a few moments of watching them, I decided on who looked to be in charge. I walked toward him, but another man ran in front of me, shouting.
”Chief Blakely. Please, Chief, what can you tell us about this fire?”
Us? I looked around. A sudden flash of light blinded me, and I put a hand over my eyes. Squinting, I lowered my hand, and another flash went off.
”Stop that!” I said.
The photographer, a tall angular woman with short blonde hair, ignored me, turning to take a couple shots of the chief talking to the man I'd figured out was a reporter. I waited until she had moved on to the smoking mess behind me, then walked toward the fire chief.
He was saying, ”I have no comment, Randy. You know it's too early for me to be able to tell you anything more. We have to complete our investigation.”
”Anyone inside?”
”Nope. We didn't find anyone, and the owner confirmed it was empty.”
”Can you speculate on what caused it?”
”C'mon. You know better than that. Check with Lucy in a couple of days. We'll know more then.”
”That's past my deadline-we go to print on Monday night,” the reporter said. He must have been from the Cadyville Eye, our local weekly.
The fire chief shrugged. ”Sorry. Not a lot I can do about that.”
”c.r.a.p. All right, then. Can't blame me for trying. See you on the next one.”
”I'm sure I will.”
As the reporter picked his way to where the photographer stood arguing with another firefighter, the chief looked up and saw me.
”And what can I do for you, ma'am?” He sounded tired, and I could tell he wanted me to leave.
I said, ”I'm from across the alley there, and I saw how hard your crew worked to keep this house fire under control. I just wanted to let you know how much we appreciate it.”
His expression softened. ”Well, that's real nice of you. Offsets the three complaints I've heard so far about how we disrupted someone's sleep.”
”You're kidding.” I shook my head. ”Sometimes I wonder about people.”
”You and me both.”
”So the house was empty? No one got hurt?”
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