Charles was having trouble understanding that he wasn’t allowed onto our bed. In the Lighthouse Aerie he’d regularly joined me, and he clearly intended that custom to continue.
Although perhaps it’s not correct to say he didn’t understand his new boundaries. He understood perfectly. He simply didn’t want to comply.
He pawed at my face, pulling me out of a deep, comfortable sleep. I pulled the duvet tighter around me and muttered, “Go away.” He whined and kept whining, the sound low and rhythmic, almost urgent. “Stop that,” I said. He scratched my face, and I felt a stab of pain. He’d had his claws extended. I opened my eyes and stared into his brilliant blue ones. He crouched between Connor and me. Connor’s back was to us and his breathing was slow and rhythmic.
“Charles, you are a bad cat. You are not allowed up here. You have to learn.” Trying not to disturb Connor, I slipped out from under the covers and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Charles sailed through the air and ran out of the room. Satisfied, I was about to get comfortable again when something niggled at the edges of my senses. It must be later than I thought: the orange and red light of the sun rising in the east was slipping through a crack in the blinds. I was about to lie back down and allow myself to slowly come awake when I smelled something completely out of place.
Smoke.
Still befuddled from sleep, I threw a glance at the bedside clock. It was two a.m., and that light was no sunrise.
“Fire!” I screamed. I grabbed Connor and shook. “Fire. Connor wake up, the house is on fire.”
He was awake and alert in an instant. He threw off the covers and leapt out of bed, swearing heartily. “Get out of the house and call 911. Where’s your phone?”
I scooped it off the night table. “I have it.”
He grabbed his own phone, ran around the bed, and pulled up the blinds. Flames streaked past the window, lighting up the night. The section of the deck directly under the bedroom windows wasn’t on fire. Not yet. But the railings at the north end of the house by the living and dining room were burning.
“Lucy,” he yelled again. “Get out of here.”
“I’m not leaving without you. There’s nothing you can do.” The smoke wasn’t too bad, meaning the fire hadn’t penetrated the actual walls. Not yet. It wouldn’t take long. The house was made of wood, and old wood at that.
Connor grabbed my hand, and together we ran into the hallway. Shifting patterns of orange and red and yellow streamed through the uncurtained windows of the living room. I threw a panicked look over my shoulder as we ran. Flames lit up the night, streaking into the sky.
I punched the emergency button on my phone, called 911, and yelled, “Fire. Our house is on fire.”
“What’s the address?” a calm voice said.
I told her.
“Help is on the way. Is everyone out of the house?”
Connor twisted the lock on the back door and threw it open. Cool fresh air streamed in.
I skidded to a stop. “Charles. I have to go back for Charles.”
“No! Lucy, Charles can look after himself.”
“But he saved us. I can’t leave him.”
Moot point. A streak of tan-and-white fur flew past us. Connor and I stumbled after it out of the house. Sirens sounded in the distance, and people came running.
“Is everyone okay? Is anyone inside?” voices called.
“No,” Connor said. “Everyone’s out. We’re fine. Lucy, stay here. Send the fire department around the back. I’m going to have a look.”
I didn’t bother to protest as Connor slipped away, followed by a couple of the neighbors.
“Here, honey, you’ll catch your death.” A heavy woolen sweater was placed over my shoulders, and I smiled my thanks to the woman who’d brought it.
The first fire truck screeched to a halt, and people in bunker gear leapt out. Hoses were unraveled, instructions shouted. The flames were visible from where I stood close to the street, but they still seemed confined to the rear of the house. Our cars were parked in front of the garage, well out of danger for now.
“It’s the deck.” I jumped up and down and pointed. “The fire’s on the deck around the front.”
“Are you the homeowner, ma’am?” a firefighter asked me.
“Yes. I’m Lucy Richardson. This is Mayor McNeil’s house. His and mine.”
“Did everyone get out?”
“Yes. Yes. Connor—” I pointed. “He went that way.”
“My husband went with him,” the woman who’d brought me the sweater said.
“Here you go, honey.” Another woman pressed a warm, steaming cup into my hands. I took it gratefully. Hot chocolate, dark and rich with marshmallows melting slowly into the liquid. Yummy. I drank deeply.
She was dressed in bright-yellow pajamas, and her short blonde hair stuck up in all directions. “I’m Dale Abbott, and we own the house next door. We don’t spend as much time in Nags Head as we’d like, so we haven’t had a chance to pop over and welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“Lucy,” I said.
The woman who’d brought me the sweater said, “I’m Flora. I’m beginning to get the feeling you’re going to be exciting neighbors.” She was also in her nightwear, this time a fluffy peach gown.
I gave her a weak smile. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. Livens things up a bit. Don’t get enough excitement at our age.” She was in her eighties, with bright sparkling hazel eyes and silver hair tied into a long braid that draped over one shoulder. “You need to sit down, honey. Why don’t you come over to my house until you can get back into yours?”
“Thank you, but no. I’m fine. You’ve been very kind. Both of you.”
“It’s our pleasure, honey. There’s Angus now. We’ll get out of these people’s way and let them get on with their work. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to knock.” She joined her husband, and they crossed the street together.
“Goes for me too,” Dale said, before walking toward the house to the north of us.
I watched them go, and when I turned back, I realized that I could no longer see flames. Although smoke still hung heavily in the air, it was overlaid by the scent of water, mud, and wet ash. The firefighters came around the house, rolling up their hoses.
“Meow.”
I scooped Charles up and nuzzled my face into the warm fur. He purred. “You,” I said, “are the hero of the day. Once again. Unfortunately, hero of the day, you have to wait in the car until we’ve got the all clear to go into the house.” He stopped purring.
I shoved the protesting cat in the car and slammed the door on him. Feeling very guilty indeed, I tried to ignore the plaintive cries as I went to the front of the house to check the damage.
I found Connor standing next to the blackened, ruined boards of one side of the deck, chatting to the fire captain. Connor had also been provided with a mug of hot chocolate.
He put his arm around me. “You okay?”
“Fine. All’s well that ends well. What do you think happened?”
“I’m not going to say for sure until an arson investigator has a proper look,” the fire captain said, “but …”
“But?”
“It would appear the fire was set deliberately,” Connor said. “Not much doubt about it. It spread rapidly, and there’s nothing out here that would have got it started in the first place.”
I shivered, and Connor held me close. “If Charles hadn’t woken me …”
“But he did, and that’s all that matters.”
“Who’s Charles?” the fire captain asked.
“Our cat.”
He raised one shaggy eyebrow. “Smart cat.”
“Very.”
“You’re lucky the wind’s blowing offshore tonight,” he said. “If it had been coming the other way, woulda pushed the flames toward the house.”
I shivered.
“Can we go inside?” Connor asked.
“Yeah. Looks like some smoke damage to the exterior wall of the house, but the fire itself never reached it. You’re darn lucky, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Don’t mind at all,” Connor said.
I freed Charles, ignoring the ferocious scowl he threw me, and we went inside.
I put on the kettle, gave the hero of the day an extra serving of canned cat food, and Connor and I settled at the kitchen table. For a long time, we simply looked at each other.
Finally, I spoke. “Arson?”
“Looks like it. Whether it was intended to burn down our house—with us in it—or only give us a scare, doesn’t matter. The fire was started on the railing, so we got to it before it spread to the doors and windows and from there into the house. If they’d sprayed the accelerant on a wall instead, particularly on the bedroom walls …”
“Sam Watson needs to know about this,” I said.
“I called him. Heard him arrive a couple of minutes ago while you were fussing with Charles. He’s outside with Chief Sanderson.” At that moment a firm rap sounded on the kitchen door, and Connor got up to admit Detective Watson.
“Tea, Detective?” I asked.
The traces of a smile touched the edges of his mouth. “Not much of a man for hot tea, Lucy, but thank you anyway. A glass of water would be nice, though.” I leapt up to get it as he dropped onto a stool. Stubble was thick on his jaw, his eyes were tinged red, and he smelled faintly of smoke. “The fire department isn’t saying anything officially yet, but this is almost certainly arson. Accelerant was sprayed on a section of the railing and a match lit. You were lucky it wasn’t a lot worse.”
“Luck?” Connor asked. “Or was it intended to be minor and extinguished before it got very far?”
I handed Watson a glass, and he accepted it with a nod. “Irrelevant, far as I’m concerned. It was two o’clock in the morning. That part of the property isn’t visible from the street. All the neighbors asleep. No one would be walking on the beach who could see the beginnings of a fire and call the alarm.”
I threw a grateful look at Charles, snoozing happily in his bed.
“Do you think this has something to do with the death of Jimmy Harper?” Connor asked.
He asked the question of Detective Watson, but I answered. “It has to. What else could it be? Connor has his rivals on the town council and there are people who don’t like some of his policies, but no one’s made any death threats toward him recently. Have they?”
“No,” he said.
“A man murdered in our house a week ago, by person or persons unknown. A fire set tonight, also by person or persons unknown. They have to be connected.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you, Lucy,” Watson said.
I’d told Connor that I’d seen Jo earlier on the street. I hadn’t told him what she’d said about how he might have been her son if her life had gone differently. I didn’t think she’d even been talking directly to me when she said it, just mulling the idea over in her mind.
“I hate to say it, Sam, but Jo Harper was here earlier,” Connor said.
“Jo? In your house?” Watson said.
“She didn’t come in,” I said. “I had to go out to my car for something I’d left there, and I saw her by the garage. She ran away when I called, but I ran after and caught up to her. She said she didn’t quite know why she’d come. I invited her in, but she said no. And she left.”
“You don’t think she could have been responsible for this?”
“Detective, I don’t know what to think,” I said. “It’s been obvious for forty years that she and this house have a somewhat strange relationship.”
“No kidding,” Connor said.
“Ralph told her we were fixing the house up, and she wanted to see it. She wasn’t angry or upset, not at all. I can’t see her trying to burn it down.”
I cradled my tea and thought.
Was Jo Harper playing mind games with me? At the time, she hadn’t known they’d sold the house to a McNeil. Only the other day she’d warned me not to marry Connor, later she’d wished us well, and later still she was thinking he could have been her son if she’d married Fred. Jo had been a total recluse since she was seventeen years old. That wasn’t normal. Whatever passed for normal, anyway. She seemed happy enough with her garden and her chickens, living with her brother. Phoebe seemed fond of her, and Mr. Snyder’s company was clearly welcome.
When the police had canvassed the Harpers’ neighbors asking if Jimmy had been seen in the area, they’d been told Jo often walked at night. Nothing wrong with that; exercise was always good, and Jo wasn’t about to join a gym or take yoga classes.
Did her walks often lead her in the direction of her family’s historic house? Had she lied to me when she said she hadn’t been on this street for longer than I’d been alive? Did she often come to see the house her grandparents had built, where she’d grown up, where her mother had died? It was several miles from Ralph and Jo’s house to ours, a long walk but not a difficult one for someone accustomed to the exercise.
She’d been here earlier this evening, no doubt about that. This house had stood empty for fifteen years. It was a lot easier to burn a house down when no one was inside to raise the alarm and put the fire out. Judging by what Connor and the fire chief had said, the intent hadn’t necessarily been to burn the house down.
Is Jo Harper trying to frighten me out of the house?
If so, I had to also consider that she’d known about the secret entrance all along and used it to come into the house before Connor sealed it.
Had Jo Harper been watching the house and seen her brother Jimmy sneak inside and then exacted her revenge for the “prank” he played on her all those years ago?
Did Jo believe the story of the family treasure? It had been fifteen years since her mother died and the house had been empty all that time, but had Jo believed this would be her last chance to get the treasure now that new owners had moved in?
“Lucy?” Connor said.
I pulled myself out of my thoughts. “I didn’t sense the slightest degree of animosity on Jo’s part toward me when we talked earlier or at any other time. I find it hard to believe she snuck back hours later and started the fire, knowing I was inside the house, although I suppose it’s possible. You’ve never met her, Connor, have you?”
“Never.”
“Jo’s not the only candidate,” I said. “No one’s made any threats toward Connor, but Shona Harper was here yesterday before he got home. She was aggressive, and she stopped fractionally short of threatening me if I didn’t give her … something.”
“I knew you were holding something back,” Connor growled.
“Who’s Shona Harper?” Watson asked.
“Jimmy’s wife,” I said. “Haven’t you spoken to her?”
He looked blank. “Jimmy’s wife? Jimmy Harper wasn’t married.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Lucy, I’m sure.”
“I told you about her after she’d been in the library the other day.”
“No, Lucy. You did not.”
“Oh. Sorry. I meant to. I guess I got caught up in other things.”
“Jimmy was married at one time. Her name will be in my notes, but it wasn’t anything like Shona, and they divorced seven years ago. They had no children. She lives in Raleigh, she’s remarried, and she says she hasn’t heard of or from Jimmy for several years now. He might have had a common-law relationship with this other woman, but in that case, Harper would be unlikely to be her last name, and no one has come forward to inquire about him. I’ve never heard of this woman before now.”
“Goodness,” I said. “That seems … odd. She told me she’d spoken to you, but she got the impression you didn’t care about Jimmy’s death because he had a criminal record. I didn’t believe that, but I did believe she believed it.”
“Didn’t happen. Can you describe this woman for me?”
I did so.
“When and where did you first meet her?”
“She came into the library on Saturday. She was friendly enough. She said she wanted to meet me because I’d been the person who found Jimmy. She specifically introduced herself as Jimmy’s wife.”
“I asked Ralph if Jimmy was married,” Watson said, “and he said he didn’t know.”
“In fairness to Ralph, he might not have met Shona when you first spoke to him. He did tell me about her, and he said he hadn’t been aware Jimmy was married.”
“Then he should have come forward with that information later, shouldn’t he?”
“Again, in fairness to Ralph, you did accuse him of killing his brother. Maybe he’s not favorably inclined toward you at this time.”
“I don’t care if he’s favorably inclined toward me or not.”
“Let’s leave that until later,” Connor said. “What did she threaten you about, Lucy?”
I told them the details of the conversation as best I could remember. “She wants the treasure.”
“But she didn’t tell you what this treasure is?” Watson asked.
“No. She talked as though I know what it is and I have it.”
“Probably because she didn’t want to admit she doesn’t know,” Connor said.
“She came into the house. I didn’t see any reason to keep her out. Not at first. We went into the living room, and she looked outside. Said it was a nice view. She would have seen the unfinished deck.”
“That doesn’t mean much,” Connor said. “The front of our house is visible to anyone walking on the beach.”
“Is this Shona staying with Ralph and Jo?” Watson asked me.
“No. They weren’t all that thrilled at making her acquaintance. Which is understandable if, their sister-in-law or not, she wants a share of their inheritance.”
“About Ralph,” Connor said. “Is he in the clear for the killing?”
“No,” Watson said. “Not at all. I’ve nothing to charge him with, that’s all. He was seen in an altercation with his brother, and a lot of years of bad blood lay between them. I also have to consider that Jo Harper could have done it, for much the same reasons as Ralph. No one has come forward to say they saw Jo and Jimmy together, but he was on their street, in the vicinity of their house. Just because no one saw him going in doesn’t mean he didn’t.”
“I can’t accept that,” I said. “Of either of them. Ralph or Jo. Ralph’s a strange duck, with his old-man-of-the-sea persona, but he’s always been unfailingly polite toward me. And Jo—Jo’s life’s a sad story, but she seems happy enough with what she has. What are you two smiling at?”
Connor reached across the island and put his hand on top of mine.
“You’re quick to see the best in everyone,” Watson said. “It’s an admirable trait, but not helpful in police work.”
“Rubbish,” I said. “Haven’t you told me more than once that I have good instincts?”
“She’s got you there, Sam,” Connor said.
“So she does.” Watson hopped off his stool. “I’ll see what I can find out about this Shona Harper. I don’t suppose you happened to memorize her license plate.”
“Sorry. I didn’t even see her car. If she has one. Are you going to talk to the Harpers? I’ll come with you, if you like.” I started to climb off my stool. “I can change quickly.”
“I won’t go around to their house tonight. I need to talk to Jo, but she won’t be going anywhere. I am going to give them a call and ask if they know where I can find this Shona. Her I want to talk to as soon as possible, and as we don’t know anything about her, including her real name, she might be skipping town soon, particularly if she did start the fire.”
“When you do find out who did this,” Connor said, “better keep them well away from my dad. He’s going to be fit to be tied when he hears we have to start work on the deck all over again.”
Connor went outside with Detective Watson.
I nursed my tea and thought. Normally when I’ve got a case to think through, I like to make out a list of suspects. Writing things down on paper helps to focus my thought process. This time, I had no one to put on the list. The setting of the fire seemed to make no sense, particularly if it wasn’t intended to do more than frighten us and cause a bit of excitement in the neighborhood.
I hadn’t thought to ask the fire captain if he knew of any unsolved arsons lately. Our fire might not have anything to do with the death of Jimmy Harper. I found that hard to believe, and my thoughts returned to the murder.
It was possible, I had to admit, that Ralph or Jo had killed their brother. Ralph came across as laid-back and easygoing, but I didn’t know him all that well. Jo in particular had a lifetime of reasons to want revenge on Jimmy if she believed he’d been the one who pulled that “prank” in her youth, but she’d also had a lifetime to get her revenge. Jimmy had wanted half of the proceeds from the sale of the house, but he wasn’t entitled to it. Ralph and Jo didn’t have to share with him, so they had no reason to kill him. All they had to do was tell him to go away.
Most of all, I couldn’t see Ralph or Jo doing anything that would endanger Connor and me. They scarcely knew Connor and had always acted friendly toward me. As far as I knew, neither of the siblings had a record of that sort of troublemaking. Certainly not Jo, who never left the house except for her solitary nightly walks.
I’d seen her here, outside my house. Everyone said she’d never stepped foot inside this house since she ran out of it when she was seventeen. Had seeing new people in it, people being happy, a young couple in love making plans for their future, upset the balance of her mind so drastically she decided she had to burn the place down? Had seeing Fred McNeil, whom she might have had her own dreams of making plans with, working on what had been her house, and Connor, Fred’s son, who might have been Jo’s son but for that fateful night, pushed her fragile mind over the edge?
Jo had told us at book club that for a long time after the supposed appearance of the ghost of Ezekiel Froomer, she had felt him in her mind, planting poisonous thoughts. That was seriously weird. Did Jo believe Ezekiel had ordered her to force us out of the house?
In the drama of the fire, I’d almost forgotten about the person who’d been watching me as I stood at the shoreline, who’d (assuming they were one and the same) stared into our bedroom window as we slept while lightning and thunder raged overhead. Had that been Jo, trying to frighten us out of our house—her house? I had to admit it was possible.
Shona? I didn’t know a thing about Shona except I didn’t trust her. I could see no reason for her to stand and stare at me or to peer in the windows. She hadn’t been shy about approaching me and asking straight out for what she wanted. She had absolutely no reason to try to frighten me, and if she was checking the place out prior to breaking in, she’d been mighty obvious about it.
As for the so-called treasure, if she wanted me to give it to her, burning me out of my house wouldn’t be the best way to go about it. Did she think I’d grab the treasure and run out with it, as Irene Adler almost did when tricked by Sherlock Holmes in Scandal in Bohemia, so she could then snatch it from me in the chaos of the fire? I hadn’t seen Shona in the watching crowd, and if she’d been there, she hadn’t come close enough to grab something off me. Then again, I didn’t have anything, because I hadn’t grabbed any treasure to take with me, so she might have simply slipped quietly away.
Connor came back inside. He stood behind me, put his hands on my shoulders, and began to massage them gently. I purred. “The arson investigator will be here in the morning,” he said. “I’ll work from home so as to be here. It’ll be morning soon. Are you ready to go back to bed?”
“No.” I wiggled happily into the pressure of his hands. “I won’t be able to get to sleep. I can’t stop thinking about who. Or why.”
“Me too. That’s quite a pile of books and magazines you’ve got there, and I see sticky notes posted all through them. Want to show me what you’re thinking?”
“Let’s do that. I’ll show you the ideas I like in the books, and you can tell me what you think. Never mind the magazines. They lean more to Louise Jane’s grandmother’s taste than mine. Still, she’s trying to be helpful. Oh, one thing. If Diane Uppiton offers you her services as an interior decorator, under no circumstances are you to accept.”
“There’s a story there,” he said, “but I don’t want to hear it. I’m thinking a bright sunny yellow would be nice in the front rooms.”