eleven

Flames quickly engulfed the side of the house facing them. The house was plunged into a small inferno.

“Oh my God!!” Alice exclaimed.

They stared out the greenhouse windows in shock. It felt like an eon to Francine, but it was surely only moments before someone said, “Call 911!” It was Charlotte.

“What about Zed?” Alice asked. “Where did he go?”

Francine’s feet started moving. She hurried outside, pointing. “He went back in the house. I think he might have been in the kitchen when it exploded. He was moving fast, though. He might have made it into another room.”

The others followed. Charlotte grabbed at Francine’s phone. “Aren’t you going to call 911?” She managed to slip it out of Francine’s possession. “What’s your passcode? Have you changed it again?” She fumbled with the phone.

“I haven’t. You just can’t hold onto it. Let me do that.” Francine juggled the phone away from Charlotte. She punched in 9-1-1, grateful the number was simple. Her hands were shaking too. Not much less than Charlotte’s.

But there was nothing on the other end.

“I can’t get a signal.”

Mary Ruth wrung her hands. “What happened?”

“The signal booster must have been located in the house, and we’ve lost the connection.”

“No, I mean what happened? What caused that pop sound, and then the fire?”

“How should I know?”

Francine felt someone prodding her from behind. She turned to find Alice swooping them forward with her arms.

“We need to get back to the car,” she told Francine.

“Is it safe to go past the house?” Mary Ruth asked. “It’s on fire, for heaven’s sake. The trees could go up next.”

“How else are we going to get out of here?”

“This way!” Merlina’s voice sounded steady. They searched for where her voice had come. She was headed for the driveway, walking backward facing them, her hands beckoning them forward.

They followed. Merlina’s costumed silhouette was framed by the fire. She looked like some kind of creature from a horror film. But she’s not afraid, Francine thought. And she’s leading us to safety.

Francine helped Charlotte along the gravel driveway. Merlina’s path had them on the outer edge, as far from the house as they could get. Once they got past, they breathed a sigh of relief. But Merlina didn’t slow down. “Keep coming,” she urged them.

“Easy for her to say,” Charlotte grumbled. “She’s forty years younger.” But the complaint was hollow. Francine had a good grip on her, and the two of them scurried around the bend of the driveway toward Wheat Farm Road.

Alice was two steps ahead, her pant legs swishing together. She turned her head. “We can use William’s OnStar to call 911. It has satellite reception, I’m pretty sure.”

“It does,” Francine said. It was a great idea.

But when they got to the hidden copse, the only car there was Francine’s Prius. William’s Buick was gone.

“Where’s the car?!?” Alice flung her arms wildly as she danced around looking for it. “Someone took the car!”

Merlina grabbed Alice and took control of the situation. “It’s going to be all right. We all came in Francine’s car; we can all leave in Francine’s car.”

Alice tried to pull away from her. “But how will we call the fire department? What happened back there? What will happen to us?”

Francine fed off Merlina’s calm and not Alice’s hysterics. She dug around in her purse for the key to the car. “We’ll be just fine. Zed’s house won’t be. We need to head back to the Rock Run to get help.” She offered up a silent prayer for Zed. She hoped he survived. He might have been strange, he might have been dangerous, he might even have been guilty of what happened to William. But she wanted to hear him out. How did he know her grandmother? Why was he trying to make a connection with her? Was his version of the Doc Wheat legend true? And was he lying when he said he’d never found Doc Wheat’s fortune?

Francine found the key and unlocked the car. They piled in, each in the seats they’d had before. Francine wound back to Wheat Farm Road and they took it toward CR 350W.

Only a minute down the road they saw rotating red lights ahead of them. Moments later they heard the piercing sound of a siren and saw a fire truck rushing toward them. Wheat Farm Road was narrow. Francine pulled to the side. The fire truck, a pumper truck emblazoned Rosedale Volunteer Fire Department whistled past.

She let out a breath. “I guess we don’t have to worry about calling the fire in.”

“Makes me wonder who called it in, though,” Charlotte said. “There are no neighbors for miles.”

“Maybe it was Zed,” Mary Ruth said. “I hope so. He was a good amateur baker.”

Francine found herself answering grimly. “Let’s not hope that’s his epitaph.”

The women were silent. Francine didn’t move. Finally, Charlotte said, “So, are we going?”

“I was thinking maybe we should go back and tell them what we saw,” Francine said.

“The firemen will be too busy to deal with us,” Mary Ruth said.

A sheriff’s car, lights flashing and siren wailing, sped past them.

Charlotte’s head swiveled as she watched it go by. “That was Joy’s favorite detective in that car!”

“It did look like him,” Francine said. “He wears that distinctive Stetson. Maybe that’s a sign we should go back.”

“No!” said Alice. “I don’t want to go back!”

“If this were a John Wayne movie, someone would slap her,” Charlotte muttered in the front seat.

Two more sheriff’s cars went blazing past.

“Alice, I think we should go back.” Francine said it gently.

“I’m beginning to think you’re all voyeurs,” she retorted.

Just then, the Channel Six news van raced by.

“Now that’s the sign we should go back,” Charlotte said. “Joy and her crew are in hot pursuit of the story. We should give her the exclusive.”

Francine groaned. “Really, Charlotte. Hot pursuit?”

“I do what I can,” she answered.

“I think it’s all well and good that you want to give her a story,” Mary Ruth said, “but let’s not forget that I have a business to run tomorrow. I need to get back to Rockville. I need a good night’s sleep. And I have to get up early and do some baking. That’s a caterer’s life.”

Marcy’s SUV came barreling down the road next. She passed Francine’s car and left it in the dust.

“There’s your answer,” Merlina said, as though she had divined it. “You can borrow Aunt Marcy’s car, and she can ride home with us.”

No one objected as Francine did a three-point turn and headed back to Zed’s house.

Before they reached the scene of the fire, they encountered a blockade being set in place. A sheriff’s car straddled both lanes of the narrow road, lights flashing, preventing anyone from getting past. That included the Channel Six van, which was pulled to the side of the road, and Marcy’s car, which was behind it. Marcy was out of the car and arguing with the deputy, a tall, thin young man who looked like he needed to grow into his sheriff’s outfit. There was no sign of the Channel Six crew.

The young deputy wielded a flashlight. It was then Francine realized the sun was getting low in the sky and she checked her watch. It was nearly six thirty. The deputy used his flashlight to indicate that Francine should turn around and head in the direction she’d just come.

She couldn’t see the fire because of the trees, but the smoke drifting through the air was convincing evidence of the battle the firemen were waging down the driveway and to the right.

Francine wondered about the Rosedale Volunteer Fire Department. This was probably out of their league, especially coming on the heels of the Roseville Bridge fire. She hadn’t seen a pond or any kind of water near the house, which was too bad. They would need a bigger source of water to battle the blaze. She wagered more emergency vehicles from throughout the county would soon be on their way here.

She rolled down her window as the deputy walked up to the car.

“We need for you to move your car, ma’am. You can’t get through, and we need to keep this access clear for additional emergency personnel. Please turn around.”

Francine thought fast. “Where’s the Channel Six crew? We’re looking for our friend Joy McQueen. We have some important information for her.”

“We’ve set up a second barrier for the press that’s a little closer to the scene.”

“Can we go down there?”

He shook his head.

“Already tried,” said Marcy.

“What if I told you the important information I have for her?”

“Unless you have important information for either the fire department or the sheriff’s department, and I doubt that, you need to turn around and go back.”

Francine opened her mouth to say something, but just then Mary Ruth leaned up from the back seat and put her hand on Francine’s shoulder. “Be careful what you tell him. We don’t want to end up at headquarters being questioned. That would only delay getting me back to Rockville.”

Though Mary Ruth had clearly not intended it, the deputy heard every word. “Do I understand you ladies know something about this fire?”

Choruses of “yes” and “no” sounded once, then twice, with some of the voices changing their response. The deputy stared suspiciously. “So which is it?”

Charlotte cleared her throat. Everyone looked at her. “Some of us know something, and some of us don’t.”

“Which ones of you know something, and what is it that you know?”

“I don’t know anything,” Mary Ruth said. “In fact, I barely know these people.” She sat on the passenger side of the back seat. She opened the door and got out. Marcy loomed behind the deputy. Mary Ruth pointed at her. “But her, I know. She’s my publicist. She’s getting ready to take me home.”

Marcy looked more like she was getting ready to make a run for it toward the fire, where Joy was presumably broadcasting. But that got her attention.

“I’m your publicist?” Then, in a more affirmative tone, “I’m her publicist.” She used her thumb to point to herself. “Yep. That would be me.”

“And you are preparing to take me back to Rockville.”

Now she frowned.

“Because,” Mary Ruth continued, “we need to finish strategizing on how we are going to meet the demand for our corn fritter donuts in the morning.”

“I thought I recognized you,” the deputy said. “You’re the caterer, one of the Skinny-Dipping Grandmas.” He bent over and peered into the car. He examined their faces. “In fact, you’re all Skinny-
Dipping Grandmas.”

“Not quite,” Merlina said. “I’m not old enough to be a Skinny-
Dipping Grandma. Though I aspire to be some day.”

“So,” Charlotte said, “with the exception of Mary Ruth and Marcy, who were just leaving, the rest of us have knowledge of how that fire started.”

“Don’t throw me in that group,” Alice said. “You’re on your own.” She got out of the car and joined Mary Ruth and Marcy. “I’m her business partner. I don’t know anything, either.”

The deputy looked confused, but in the end, Mary Ruth, Alice, and Marcy were allowed to get into the SUV and leave. The deputy called for Detective Stockton, who walked back from the scene of the fire in about five minutes. Francine and Charlotte were still in the car. Stockton and the deputy stepped away and had a few words.

Stockton walked up to the car. “So, do I understand that you ladies started the day at the Roseville Bridge, where a man was shot at, and which burned down this afternoon, and now you have firsthand knowledge of this second fire of the day?”

“We get around,” said Charlotte.

“Yes, you do.”

Before they could say any more, additional emergency vehicles came screaming to a stop on Wheat Farm Road. In the space of ten minutes, Francine counted three fire trucks from neighboring departments, two additional sheriff’s cars, and a state police car.

The fire trucks were directed around the blockade. The deputies left their vehicles and were sent to the scene for assignments. The state policeman walked with a swagger, ignored Stockton completely, and headed down the driveway toward the fire, exuding self-importance.

“Well,” said Charlotte, “I sense tension.”

Stockton returned to the car. “You can get out now.”

They both started to get out.

“One at a time, please. I want to interview you independently.” He pulled a notepad out of his front pocket.

Charlotte was the first one out, which was fine with Francine. She hoped Charlotte would wear him out and when it got to her, she would be able to avoid divulging any of the personal details Zed had revealed—especially the appearance of the second diary, which Charlotte didn’t know about yet.

When it was finally her turn, Stockton didn’t make Charlotte get back in the car, but he told her she needed to be quiet. Francine focused on what happened after Zed went back in the house. She told of the popping noise, which only she had heard since the others had been behind the closed door to the greenhouse. She said the fire started immediately after.

“What color was the fire?” Stockton asked.

“Color? I don’t know.”

“It was a blue fire,” Charlotte said. “Definitely blue.”

“I told you to be quiet,” Stockton said.

Francine crossed her arms. “What does color have to do with anything?”

“It reveals what accelerant might have been used by the arsonist,” Charlotte said. “Blue would indicate gasoline.”

“Is that true?” Francine asked Stockton.

“We don’t know yet that it was arson. We haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“For heaven’s sake, Roy, you’ll never get anywhere with Joy McQueen if you’re going to be that tight-lipped,” Charlotte said.

Stockton seemed bemused by her statement. “What makes you think I need to get anywhere with Ms. McQueen?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes at him. “Be that way, then. But what else do you think it would be but arson? First the bridge, now this house. And Francine just testified there was a pop. I’m willing to bet you’ll find evidence that the fire was unleashed by remote control.”

“For the moment, the fires are of undetermined origin, and it is only a coincidence they happened on the same day and so close together. I would recommend you keep yourselves out of trouble by not speculating.”

“And I bet you’d like for us to keep this information to ourselves too.”

“In fact, I’d like for you not to discuss that you were here at all. Do you think you can do that, for the moment?”

“Depends,” Charlotte answered. “For example, suppose that we agree to keep quiet in exchange for a free-flow of information.”

“It won’t be a free-flow. I can guarantee that. But let’s say that I’ll let you in on what I know, when I can reveal it.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t think that will work, Roy. If we’re going to help you break this case, we’re going to need to know sooner rather than later. And keeping us informed will simply mean you’ll get to visit Ms. McQueen more often.”

Stockton appeared to consider her words, but Francine thought he was just humoring her. “Well, there’s that,” he said eventually.

He let them go.

Dusk had settled in as they left the scene. Francine turned on the light inside the car and checked her cell phone. Still no cell reception, as expected. “I bet Jonathan is frantic,” she said. “I was supposed to call when we left.”

“Then we need to get back to civilization as soon as possible.”

Before she gave up staring at the phone trying to will it to connect with the network, three bars lit up. She saw her phone was receiving a message.

Meet me tomorrow in Bridgeton.

Francine looked at who it was from. She took in a sharp breathe.

Charlotte fed off her reaction. “What?” she asked.

Francine didn’t answered. She immediately typed back.

You’re alive?

Yes.

Bridgeton will be packed with people.

Perfect place to hide in plain sight. Come alone.

Francine took two seconds to think about that.

Can’t promise that. I need a cover too. When?

Afternoon. Can you bring clothes? I need to disappear.

How will I find you?

I will find you.

Then the number of bars faded like a light being turned off at a switch.