THIRTY-NINE

Shortly after Dad delivered me to Udderly Kidding, a text arrived. If the subject line hadn’t read Fire Destroyed My Cell, I might not have opened a message from an unknown address. The anonymous texter had to be Amber.

I have no plans to leave Ardon County. Please go ahead and set up meeting.

Wrong on another front. Will call after AM chores, I typed. That’s when I realized the cottage fire must have burned up all of Amber’s belongings, not just her cell phone. U need clothes? Place to stay?

Her reply: No. Bunking w/ Jane Bonnie, Clemson police. Call me by eight.

I couldn’t decide if I admired Amber’s pluck and talent for discretion or felt annoyed her texts had the feel of a superior issuing orders to an underling. I shrugged. She’d been through hell. Deserved the benefit of the doubt.

  

I raced through my morning chores so I could phone Amber by eight a.m.

“Hi, you still at the hospital?” I asked.

“No, I’m at your parents’ house. I’ve already been to Walmart. Bought a burner phone, a toothbrush, and enough clothes to keep me clean and covered for a few days. Your mom loaned me cash. Called my chief to let him know my police ID, badge, gun, and credit cards were toast. He put me in touch with Jane, a police officer he knew in Clemson. She’s putting me up for a few days.”

I frowned. “Mom told me you were returning to Miami today. What changed your mind?”

“Didn’t change my mind. Ursula assumed that if she flew off I would, too. I never agreed though I haven’t broken the news to her yet. Can you try to contact Ruth today? She works till three p.m. on Saturdays. Maybe you can snag her as she leaves the clinic. Her apartment’s close and she walks to work.”

“You’re not worried Ruth might be involved in whatever is going on?” I asked. “Maybe she confessed to her dad that she’s been in contact with you, her illegitimate half-sister. Maybe that pushed Toomey to try and poison Ursula and, when that failed, hire someone to kill both of you in a fire.”

Silence on the other end of the line. “Toomey was in D.C. when the fire was set,” she said, “Both murder attempts were staged to make them appear to be accidents. So, let’s say Lawrence Toomey planned them. If he has any smarts—and he must if he’s a judge—he has to realize killing me and Ursula now wouldn’t do a bit of good.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Your mother would tell the authorities about Toomey’s motive if anything happened to Ursula or me. For Toomey that accusation would be far worse than if he simply admitted to a one-night stand. Lots of men have skated in similar circumstances. He’d ask forgiveness, characterize what happened as a youthful indiscretion when he was drunk.”

Amber’s assessment made sense. If she or Ursula died, my folks and I would definitely point an accusing finger at the Toomey clan. Until Amber noted both murder attempts were designed to look like accidents, I hadn’t given that aspect much weight.

If it looked as if Ursula and Amber were victims of an accidental fire, it’s unlikely that Mom or I would have made it our mission to reveal Toomey’s scurvy past. If it weren’t for the motion detector alert and the fact that Andy and I were on the scene, the fire might well have been labeled accidental. The deaths a sad tragedy, not a crime.

I shivered.

  

Mollye arrived on cue as Eva and I sat down for a late eight-fifteen breakfast. She poured herself a cup of coffee before she walked to the table and slapped a copy of the Ardon Chronicle in front of me. Moll set her coffee mug down so she could put her hands on her ample hips in her trademark I’m-really-peeved pose.

“Some friend you are. You practically burn to a crisp, and the fire chief says you saved the lives of two people renting your cottage—names not disclosed—and I hear about it in the newspaper. You’re pictured with both Andy and Paint on the front page, and do you call me? Not a word. Why is it I don’t know jumping jack junipers about all the drama?”

Aunt Eva laughed at her tirade. “It kills you, Ardon’s queen of gossip, that you weren’t first with all the inside details. Take a load off, and enjoy your coffee. Our heroine hasn’t shared with me either.”

Moll let out an audible, put-upon sigh and took a chair. “So give.” She tapped the newspaper. “Cute earrings by the way. Did your mom give them to you?”

I glanced at the newspaper photo taken just before Paint’s “tree root” boots tripped the photographer. The cropped, somewhat fuzzy picture caught me in profile as Andy hugged me. The cameraman must have snapped the second photo while sprawled on the ground. It caught me walking away with Andy and Paint. Swaddled in a blanket, I looked like a child between my six-foot-four escorts.

My fingers flew to my earlobe. The orphaned earring. What did I do with it? I sort of remembered it getting caught when I got back to Udderly and pulled off my top. Had I left it on my nightstand?

“Come on, give,” Mollye goaded, forgetting all about her jewelry question and jumping ahead. “What the heck happened last night? Was it really arson?”

I filled Eva and Mollye in on most but not all the drama. Neither my best friend nor my aunt knew why Ursula was visiting Mom. Since I’d kept my lips sealed, neither had the slightest clue that Amber was Lawrence Toomey’s daughter and Ruth Toomey’s half-sister. If Toomey withdrew his name from high court consideration, they’d never know. Once again I asked myself if Ursula’s confrontation and demand constituted blackmail. I chose to consider it akin to a plea bargain. Like most folks, my conscience came equipped with exception clauses, especially if the deed in question seemed just.

Eva and Mollye were all ears as I explained how we believed the prowler set the fire.

“Someone really has it in for you, Brie,” Mollye said. “First, the poisoning. Then, the vandalism. Now, arson. What will they do next?”

I shrugged. “I don’t think it’s about me.”

While I couldn’t tell them why someone might be targeting Ursula, I could share Dr. Swihart’s theories, and the consensus opinion that Ursula was the target, not me. I also shared Ursula’s plan to leave town today. My intent was to forestall any Mollye-fueled hysteria about a killer gunning down anyone who got in the way.

“Does the discovery of that prescription drug in the urine samples exonerate you as a food poisoner?” Eva asked.

“Not entirely.” My fingers traced the smooth curves of my coffee cup. “Only proves theophylline was added to the chocolate mousse. Not a shred of evidence about who added it, when or why. In all likelihood the True Believers will continue to insist I knocked off Karen and Harriett as revenge for the goat yoga protest. Not sure who could swallow that motive. It’s awfully thin.”

“Oh,” Moll put up her fingers to signal she wanted to speak as soon as she finished chewing a hunk of pumpkin bread. “I have news, too. The Temple folks can’t blame Karen’s death on you any longer. The sheriff and Danny arrested her estranged husband today.”

“Eureka,” Aunt Eva exclaimed. “Glad they nabbed him. Was he just getting his revenge because Karen kicked him to the curb?”

“Maybe, but he was also after insurance money. Wanted to cash in before she changed the policy. What a creep! Bad enough he killed her, but it was really sick that he tried to make it look like some sexual fetish did her in.”

Moll finished off her second piece of pumpkin bread and downed a third cup of coffee.

“All’s forgiven by the way.” She dusted some crumbs off her ample bosom and stood. “Guess I get why you didn’t think to call your best friend last night.” She wagged her finger. “But don’t let it happen again.”

After Moll left, I helped Eva package more out-of-town specialty orders for FedEx. Since it was Saturday, I technically had the day off though I’d agreed to drive to Jamieson Gorge for the afternoon goat rental meeting.

On Saturdays, Tess, a retired school teacher, staffed the retail cabin and our part-timers gave tours to families who came for weekend visits. However, since I’d spent quite a bit of time away from Udderly lately, I felt I owed Eva a little extra. I moved stockpiled bales of hay into the horse barn, and groomed Lilly’s mule, Rita, and Eva’s horse, Hank. Since Rita and I had come to a meeting of the minds, I’d ceased to fear the mule nipping or kicking me when I invaded her space.

Those sweaty chores mandated a long hot shower and shampoo before I drove to Jamieson Gorge. As I rinsed my hair, I swore it still smelled of smoke. I gave my scalp a second generous scrubbing and rinse. If it were only that easy to get rid of bad memories—and uneasy vibes. It would be a long time before I forgot the fire’s heat on my bare skin and the choking smoke in my lungs.

Still dripping from the shower, I phoned Andy. “Mind if we stay in and spend the evening with Eva and Billy? Eva says they’re ready for a Hearts revenge match.”

“Fine with me,” Andy said. “Can I talk you into a game of strip poker after they trundle off to bed?”

“Nice try, but no,” I said. “Figure we can use a sedate evening after last night’s excitement. We won’t light a log in the fireplace, and I’ll keep Eva away from the grill and the stove.”