Part 7 (1/2)

She stepped out briskly, closing the car door behind her, her eyes leveled upon the fire, studying it intently, as if its thick smoke and red flames were a riddle she was determined to solve.

I recognized her instantly, of course. She was the young woman I'd seen first through the window of the barbershop, then later at Ed Dillard's house on the night of his death.

”I believe you've met Dora,” Billy said when they came up to me.

In the shadows carved by the fire, my brother looked older, more experienced, and I suppose I should have guessed that she was already beginning to deepen and enrich him, bestow upon him that sense of ”something to lose” that lies at the heart of all maturity.

”Yes I have,” I said. I touched the brim of my hat. ”Good evening, Miss March.”

”Mr. Chase.” She dipped her head slightly.

”Dora's working at the Sentinel now,” Billy told me. ”We were there when the call came in.” His eyes swept toward the house. ”Looks like a goner.” He pulled a notebook from his coat pocket and glanced at Dora. ”Well, let's look around.”

I watched them as they made their way toward the house, snow swirling thickly, cloaking the ruin in a robe of white. Billy stopped to point something out to Dora, scribbling a note into his pad as he spoke. She listened to him with the greatest attention, then, at his signal, moved forward again.

”Who's the woman with your brother?”

I turned and saw Hap Ferguson standing next to me. He was my boss, the district attorney of Jefferson County, a plump, gray-haired man nearing fifty, cheerful, sometimes bawdy, with a Highland flush to his cheeks.

”Dora March.”

”Name rings a bell,” Hap said.

”She was Ed Dillard's housekeeper. You probably read her name in my report. She was living with him when he died last month.”

Hap grinned slyly. ”Lucky Ed.”

I kept my eyes on Dora for a while. When I finally returned my attention to Hap, I saw that he was peering at me thoughtfully.

”You seem a little moonstruck, Cal.”

I waved my hand, dismissing the comment. ”I don't get moonstruck.”

”Already too old and world-weary for that, are you?”

”What's on your mind, Hap?” I asked bluntly.

Instead of answering, he yanked something from his coat pocket. ”This may not be the best moment, but take a look at this, will you? Her name's Rachel. Rachel Ba.s.s. She's a cousin of mine.”

In the leaping firelight, the photograph showed a lanky woman with broad shoulders and a frank expression, her face the type I'd seen as a boy, usually on women-in-war posters, the nurse who braves the fire and shrapnel, bears the wounded soldier home.

”Rachel's about your age,” Hap said. ”Her husband's been dead a couple years now. She's got a five-year-old named Sarah.”

Rachel Ba.s.s wore a cheap dress dotted with flowers, the sort that hung on metal racks in general stores. Her hair fell just above her shoulders, full and wavy, parted in the middle. In the photo, she stood on the porch of a wood-framed house, a tin thermometer nailed to the post she leaned against. A white cloth dangled from her hand, and the ap.r.o.n she wore seemed slightly soiled. A little girl stood beside her, the right side of her face pressed against her mother's left leg, one small hand clutching her stained ap.r.o.n. More than anything, Rachel Ba.s.s looked like a woman who'd put in a full day, cooked and cleaned and washed, explained to the grocer that she'd have the money by the end of the week. She needed rest, I thought, not a man like me.

”She taught English at Royston High School for a few years,” Hap went on. ”Now she rents rooms to keep things going.”

I brushed the snow from the photograph and offered it back to him. ”Not my type, Hap.”

”And what might that be?”

I dared not tell him, since I knew that for all the blue stories he told at work, my weekend visits to a waterfront bordello in Royston would not be welcome news from a prosecutor in his employ.

”I guess I'll know it when I see it. But it's not her.”

”h.e.l.l, I know she's no spring chicken. But she's still a handsome woman. And she's got a pretty good education. Reads anything she can get her hands on. I figure you might like her.” He faced the house, leaving the photograph still dangling from my fingers. ”So just hold on to that, Cal. Give it some thought.”

Before I could offer any further protest, he turned his attention to Carl Hendricks. ”Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d. His second wife died two months ago, you know. My G.o.d, what will he do now?” He shook his head at the mult.i.tude of misfortune that can befall a single life. ”Well, let's go over and extend our sympathies.”

We walked over to where Carl Hendricks stood with his daughter. The heat from the fire had sufficiently warmed the air immediately around it so that Hendricks had let the blanket drop from his shoulders. It now lay wet and crumpled at his feet, while he stood in s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, one large hand gripping tightly to Molly's shoulder.

”Terrible thing, Carl,” Hap said, gazing at the fire. ”Anything I can do?”

”Didn't have no insurance on it,” Hendricks muttered. ”Couldn't afford none.” Hendricks seemed dazed by his misfortune, stricken and befuddled. I suspected that even in the best of times, Carl Hendricks was a man of starkly limited resources, the sort who forever finds himself pushed, battered, backed finally into a corner, his life like a bar brawl he didn't start or know how to finish. ”Sprung up in the kitchen,” he muttered. ”Spread all over.” He snapped his fingers. ”Just like that.”

The house was little more than a scorched outline on a field of flame. Billy and Dora were walking back toward us.

”Fastest thing I ever saw, that fire,” Hendricks said as they came up. He nodded to Billy, his eyes glancing briefly toward Dora, then skittering away. He pointed to the blanket that lay curled at his feet. ”Tried to beat it out. Nearly caught fire myself. Seems like everything caught fire at once.”

As for Molly, she'd been upstairs when it started, Hendricks told us. The fire had moved so swiftly, she'd very nearly gotten trapped. But at the last moment, she'd managed to open a window, crawl out onto the roof, then jump into a saving bank of snow.

I saw Dora's eyes fix on the little girl. She started to touch her hair, then drew back and dropped her hands into the pockets of her coat.

”Everything I got.” Hendricks's fingers squeezed his daughter's shoulder. ”All caught fire at once.”

With a groan, the roof gave way. A geyser of glowing cinders exploded into the air, mingled briefly with the falling snow, then mutely fell to earth. Molly glanced up at Dora. It seemed to me that their eyes locked, Dora's suddenly agitated, as if she'd glimpsed something grave and alarming in Molly Hendricks's pretty, young face. With a quick backward step, she turned and walked to an isolated area some twenty feet away.

It attracted me, the way she stood so silent and solitary while others milled around her, and so after a time I also drew out of the circle and headed toward her, all but following the very tracks she'd left in the snow.

”You'll have to get used to seeing this sort of thing,” I said as I neared her. ”Since you're working at the Sentinel now, I mean.”

”Yes, I will.”

”And worse,” I added. ”Port Alma's a small community, of course. But even so, things happen. Fires like this one. Logging accidents. Drowning. We have a crime or two once in a while. We even had a ma.s.s murder about twenty years back. A whole family carved up. Man and his wife. A little girl.”

Her eyes shot over to me, then swiftly away, her gaze now fixed on the smoldering timbers.

I decided to pursue a less disturbing subject. ”You're going to need a more substantial coat if you stay here in Port Alma.”

”William said the same thing.”

”I'll bet Billy offered you his own coat,” I said, lightly mocking my brother's old-fas.h.i.+oned chivalry. ”He's a knight in s.h.i.+ning armor.”

Something in her face softened. ”Yes, he is.”

”Stray dogs. Stray cats. He was the one they were always following home,” I added.