“I know how this looks,” I said to Kip, who had been waiting outside with half the cops and firefighters in town. “Mark Goodwin called me to meet him here. He thought we’d find a clue about why Mrs. Arlington died.”
Kip probably wasn’t shocked to see me emerge from the house—he would have seen my car. He might, however, have been surprised to see me standing there, cheeks burning with humiliation, in skimpy hot-pink bikini underwear.
When the firefighter led me down the back staircase and out the mudroom door, I was surprised to see that someone had moved my car out of sight to the service side of the house. Either it had been in the way of the fire trucks or Mark had moved it to give himself more time to run. Either way, it explained why no police had come to look for me.
With Kip on my heels, I was escorted to the waiting ambulance, where an EMT promptly wrapped my arm in a blood pressure cuff. From the surrounding chatter, I gathered the fire was out and damage was now limited to water and smoke.
I had no idea if the room where I had been held hostage was destroyed and along with it the folders I’d left on the desk. I didn’t even want to think about my jeans, though they were replaceable, as were Diva’s dog tags. Not so much the book club file.
Poor Mark Goodwin. He’d probably been telling the truth when he’d said he just wanted a head start. He must have seen the flames or smelled the smoke and come back to let me out. He would have ducked into the end room to get out of the smoke-filled hallway with the intent of reaching me through the Jack and Jill closet. Had he seen the arsonist? Was that why he had been killed?
“I don’t think you know how this looks,” said Kip, as an EMT handed him a blanket to wrap around me. “A firefighter found you taking something from a dead man’s pocket. The fire looks like it was started intentionally, and one of the firemen who cleared the house said some of the rooms had been ransacked. You were the only one inside.”
“Actually, not true. Mark Goodwin was inside, though admittedly dead. I was only taking my cell from his pocket.”
“I rest my case,” said Kip, and he did his brow sweep.
“Look, I went to meet Mark because he said that Mrs. Arlington blackmailed people, though he called it leveraging. Anyway, he thought he could find proof that her death wasn’t accidental. You can check my cell. Then he told me his story, took my phone, and locked me in the study. I wanted to call you, but he wanted a head start. I thought he started the fire, but he couldn’t, because he’s dead—so who did? We have to get back in there to get the files.”
“You’re rambling,” said Kip, and pulled the blanket more securely around me. “It looks to everyone who responded like you started the fire to get rid of Mark’s body.”
“You can’t seriously think I would do that,” I said. “What would be my motive?”
I didn’t add that if I were starting a fire to hide evidence, I’d start it in the room where the dead body was instead of on the other side of the house. And I wouldn’t trap myself in a room and then give up a good pair of jeans to keep the smoke from killing me.
I thought that the poor EMT who was taking my vitals must be having a hard time following our conversation. Professional that he was, he said nothing and continued with the job of checking me out.
“I’m just telling you what it looks like,” said Kip.
“I was locked in a room and fighting for my life. I can show you if we can get back inside. And I can show you the file I found if the room is still intact—the one that links Mrs. Arlington’s past with what has happened to her. In fact, I think someone returned to look for a file with secrets and wore a size-seven sneaker. That’s why Diva carries it around. She might not be able to talk, but she’s trying to communicate.”
Kip stared at me with troubled gray eyes.
“I think you’re in shock,” he said. Then, taking advantage of the EMT releasing me from the blood pressure cuff, he wrapped his arms around my trembling shoulders and gently rubbed my back.
I pushed away angrily. “You think I’m making this up.”
“You are really something else,” he said as he released his hold on me. “First you break and enter, now you’re close to being accused of murder and bordering on shock, and all you can do is be angry. Add to that you want me to go back into the house to retrieve files. Winter—that is not going to happen.”
“Fine. If you should ever decide to do your job, you will see that the door to Mrs. Arlington’s study is locked. You will also see that the room adjacent to her study has a closet that acts as a Jack and Jill between both rooms. It was in that room that I tripped over Mark’s body while I was trying to escape the smoke. If you want any more information, call me.”
“What is a Jack and Jill?” asked Kip, and I could see he was truly puzzled.
“You know, like when there is a connecting bath between two rooms—well, this is a connecting closet,” I said. “Now, I’m going home.”
“You’re not going home,” said a gruff voice behind me. “You’re coming downtown with me for questioning.”
I turned to see Tom. He was staring at me as if we had never met. Boy, he really must be mad at me for turning his dating offer down.
Kip rolled his eyes and shook his head, though Tom looked deadly serious.
“You were seen emptying the pockets of a dead man. Come with me without resistance, or otherwise I’ll arrest you.”
“Ms. Snow is going to the hospital,” said the deep, booming voice of the EMT. While his bold elocution didn’t go with his small, fit body, it stopped everyone in their tracks. “Smoke inhalation is nothing to be casual about.”
“I feel fine now; just a little raspy throat.” My voice sounded like I had spent the evening with Croak and his friends.
“How long were you trapped in there?” asked the EMT.
“I don’t know, though I was starting to feel light-headed,” I admitted.
“You need to get checked. Your blood pressure is understandably a little high, and we are not taking any chances,” said the EMT.
“Could I go in my own car?” Maybe I could swing home for some pants.
“Not advisable, miss,” he said. “We’ll take you in the ambulance.”
“Don’t leave town,” said Tom. “There will be questions.” He stormed away.
“I’ll get your car home for you,” said Kip, who then followed Tom.
The ride with Ridgefield’s professionals proved to have a tranquil effect, as they calmly provided me with information about smoke inhalation. Because Ridgefield’s EMTs are also firefighters, I quizzed them about how the blaze started. They wouldn’t provide any details except to tell me what I expected to hear. I was lucky they’d been able to knock down the fire so quickly and that it hadn’t gotten inside the walls. If that had happened, the entire place could have been gone in minutes and I would have been a goner.
Danbury Hospital checked me out quickly and provided recommendations to take it easy over the next few days. A kindly nurse had provided me with scrubs, so I didn’t have to go home half-naked. When I finally exited the ER, Uncle Richard was waiting, and his face registered relief when he saw that I was okay. By his side was Scoop.
As we rode home, I relayed the entire story that Mark Goodwin had told me.
“I think he thought there’d be something in Mrs. Arlington’s files that would show who was behind her death. Someone got there first,” I said.
“Well, it’s a darn good thing I had to stop home to trade my scooter for an Uber before going to the vet,” said Scoop. “I heard over the scanner that there was a fire on West Mountain. The sirens were already screaming on Catoonah Street. I put two and two together and called your cell, and there was no answer. I texted you about the fire. And then I kept calling. Finally, someone answered.”
“Mark. What did he say?”
“All I heard was some heavy breathing, like he was running, and a loud noise blasting—probably the fire alarm. Then he told me, ‘I’ll get her,’” said Scoop.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said Scoop. “I was already jumping on my Vespa to try to get to you myself. I got to West Mountain on the tail of the first fire truck.”
“Mark could have seen you calling on my caller ID and might have checked the messages to make sure you weren’t already sending the police,” I said.
“He could have heard the alarm, or maybe he saw the smoke,” said Scoop.
“Either way, wherever he was had to be close to the house,” I said. “He obviously had time to get back and get himself killed before the first responders arrived.”
“When I got to the Arlingtons’ driveway, it was already blocked and I could see smoke curling up over the treetops,” said Scoop. “I wove in as close as I could get on my Vespa, and when the fire police stopped me, I told them I thought you were still in the house on the second floor. After that I just kept calling your cell. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You saved my life, Scoop,” I said.
I repeated what the EMTs had told me about how the materials used in homes could influence how quickly a fire spreads. That and the fact that the Arlington house had a closed floor plan with multiple shut bedroom doors lining those long narrow hallways—all had been helpful in stopping the spread, although there was a heck of a lot of smoke. And smoke, they told me, is what usually kills you.
While my uncle maneuvered around traffic built up on I – 84 and Scoop checked his cell for messages, I pulled the paper from my bra accusing Mark Goodwin of starting the fire and crumbled it. Mark had said he wanted a head start, and yet he hadn’t traveled too far from the house.
“Mark would have been able to listen or read my voice mail transcription, because he had my pass code,” I said, and imagined him packing his bags and then dropping everything because he’d either smelled smoke, heard the alarm, or received Scoop’s message to me. He would have raced to get back to let me out. Someone was either still in the house trying to spread the fire or had followed him back inside the burning building.
“Do you think someone started the fire to cover up Mark’s death?” asked my uncle.
“No, the timing was wrong for that—Mark wouldn’t have returned to the house to get me unless he knew about the fire,” I said. “Someone might have been trying to cover up the fact that Mrs. Arlington’s bedroom and study had been ransacked.”
“Maybe they didn’t even know you were trapped in the house,” said Uncle Richard, no doubt reassuring himself that no one wanted me dead.
“Maybe,” I said, though I wasn’t sure. “Scoop, you need to tell the police what you told me about the phone call to Mark before they start thinking I’m the killer.”
Scoop laughed. “Right. Like you, who has a soft spot for everyone in the world, would murder another breathing soul.”
“Tell that to Kip and Tom.”