Chapter Four --

 

“We’ll have to wait and see, babe. It depends on how vigorously they checked his story out, especially since you weren’t present when he applied for the second mortgage, and especially since you’re not married to the bastard.”

“He got it online.”

“He impersonated you?”

“He forged the paperwork.”

“How much did he get?” Bosco wanted to know.

“Over two hundred thousand.”

“Hmmph,” he grunted, lost in thought.

“What do you think?” I was desperate for some little grain of hope.

“What I think is you should go pack your suitcase.” He gave me a hand up and walked me back into the kitchen. “Rather dark out here. How long has the spotlight been out?”

“A while,” I admitted.

“George didn’t know how to change a damn bulb?” Bosco was annoyed. “I’ll get the ladder out and take care of it while I’m waiting for you. Boy, the guy really was a loser. Not even changing a light bulb....”

I left him muttering to an imaginary audience about George’s many failings. In my bedroom, I took my overnight case, tucked in some slacks, dressy sandals, and a blouse for work tomorrow, threw on some jewelry, picked out underwear, and reached for my butterfly nightie. My hand paused, hovering above my lingerie drawer. I knew how much Bosco loved it and I didn’t want to torment him with empty promises. After all, we were still divorced, still divided. I settled on a pair of bright pink shortie pajamas, thinking that I hadn’t even worn them while I was with George. They were almost too safe, but tonight, I just needed to sleep. I took my toiletries case and loaded it up in the bathroom, grabbing my toothbrush, body lotion, shampoo, conditioner, and my moisturizer.

“Almost done?” Bosco poked his head in. “We’re coming back tomorrow.”

“I know. And yes, I’m ready.”

We headed out to his car, a 2006 silver Taurus. He tucked my case in the back and slid into the driver’s seat beside me.

“Want to grab a bite? We could hit Milsen’s Diner for a couple of club sandwiches and beer.”

“Sure,” I smiled, somewhat forlornly.

“Don’t worry, Dori,” he reassured me. “We’ll figure something out. It will all work out. It may not be the way you want it to be, but I won’t let you down.”

“I appreciate that.” I thought about it. It was true. For all we had been through, and even in our darkest days, when I knew I couldn’t change his mind, Bosco was still supportive of me. He just couldn’t live in our house. It came as a shock to realize just how sincere he was in saying that, and a part of me felt ashamed that I had been so angry. All I wanted after Kevin died was the chance to grieve with Bosco, but I always felt so alone, so shut out. I knew he was hurting, too, but I never understood just how painful it was for him to be in the house without our son.

The waitress greeted us cheerfully as we slid into a booth beside the front window. She seemed well acquainted with Bosco, so I suspected this was one of his regular haunts, especially when she brought him a glass of Sam Adams without asking him what kind of beer he wanted. I had asked for a glass of chardonnay and it arrived chilled. I ordered a turkey club, light on the mayo. She turned and gave Bosco a bright smile.

“What do you want on tonight’s burger?” she wanted to know. I wasn’t used to seeing other women flirt with him, and for a moment, I wondered how well he knew her, especially when they bantered back and forth about the last Yankees game and the one coming up on Tuesday.

“No burger. I’ll have what she’s having.” The waitress’s eyes flickered over me briefly and she nodded, jotting the order down before retreating.

We chatted about ordinary things as we ate, catching up on our lives.

Bosco ordered lemon meringue pie for dessert and a couple of coffees. I had a couple of bites from his plate before my cell phone rang. It was my neighbor, Betsy.

“Dori, where are you? Are you okay?” She sounded frantic.

“I’m with Bosco. We’re at Milsen’s. Why?”

“Your house just blew up.”

“What? What do you mean my house just blew up? Blew up how?”

“You’d better get here fast. The fire department thought you might be inside. Dori, it’s totally gone, blown to smithereens.”

Bosco and I made the ten-minute trip in seven minutes. The emergency vehicles lined the road on both sides, and all the neighbors stood around at a safe distance. We were greeted by the crowd. The firefighters stepped back from the smoking embers. The first floor was in the basement, the second floor where the first floor used to be, and the roof was all over the yard. It didn’t look like we would ever be able to rebuild.

“Thank God you’re okay!” It was Randy Mickleson, my neighbor on the other side. “It made a hell of a racket when it went up.”

“What happened?” Bosco encouraged him to share his version. By the time he finished, the fire chief approached us, wanting to ask questions.

“Evening,” said the man in the heavy rubber coat and fire hat. “I understand you people weren’t home at the time.

“No,” I agreed. “I wasn’t. I can’t believe this.”

“Where were you?”

“My ex-husband and I were having dinner.”

“Divorced?” The fire chief’s eyes narrowed and he took a sideways glance at Bosco, who caught the action and looked the man right in the eye, sizing him up.

“But friendly. What caused the fire?” Bosco asked.

“Not a fire,” responded the chief. “Explosion.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” my ex-husband replied. “What blew up?”

“The kitchen was the point of origin.”

“Oh!” I cried. “Not the new gas range!”

“I’m afraid so. Apparent gas leak. How new was it?”

“We just got it...I just got it installed last week. I waited over a month for it.” I thought about how George insisted that I convert the oil burner to gas, and while I was at it, I should also have a line put in for a new gas range.

“Why did you get a gas range?” Bosco demanded. “What was wrong with the range you had? It was only four years old!”

“George suggested we update the house. I got a new gas burner, too, to improve the heating.”

“Dori, there was nothing wrong with that oil burner. It was only seven years old. Don’t you understand that replacing systems before they wear out is a waste of good money?” I shrugged off the criticism. This wasn’t the time or the place for that. I was too miserable to fight with him. There was nothing left of the place I called home.

“What time did you leave the house?” the fire chief wanted to know.

“About fifty minutes ago,” said Bosco, checking his watch and calculating the amount of time we spent driving and eating.

“You didn’t cook on your range tonight?” The fire chief looked at me expectantly.

“No, I didn’t. I made coffee, but the pot has an automatic shutoff switch.”

“This wasn’t caused by an electrical appliance. You didn’t smell gas before you left your house?” I shook my head. Bosco jumped in.

“I was there, too. I didn’t smell any gas. The house was fine when we left.”

“It’s not fine now,” the fire chief pointed out. We looked at the smoldering ruins of the house we shared for so many years. I couldn’t stop crying.

“How could this happen? How could a house just blow up?”

“It’s unusual. Who’s your insurance agent?”

“Stanley Holstein,” Bosco offered helpfully, “with the Carson Agency. I’ll call him.”

“Tell him the arson investigator will be in touch.”

“Arson investigator?” I asked. We both turned to look at the man with the fire hat. “Are you saying someone deliberately blew up this house?”

“Your gas line fed the explosions in three locations, the range, the gas burner, and the gas dryer. We can tell by the debris pattern.”

“You have a gas dryer? What was wrong with the dryer we bought?” Bosco seemed more upset about the new appliances than about the missing house. I ignored him, trying to focus on what the chief was trying to tell us.

“It was just installed and working fine,” I replied. My head was starting to hurt. “This doesn’t make any sense. First, George robs me. Now the house blows up. What’s next? I get hit by a car?”

“Who’s George?”

“My ex-boyfriend,” I sighed. “He cleaned me out. He re-mortgaged my house, stole my 401K, drained my bank accounts, and took cash advances on my credit cards.”

“Did you report it to the cops?” the fire chief demanded. I took the card out of my wallet with the name and contact information for the detective handling the case. He handed it to his assistant. “We’ll get this back to you.”

“Sure.”

Half an hour later, with news crews filming the wreckage, Bosco and I waited for the insurance agent at Jana and Randy Mickelson’s house. Jana made a pot of coffee. Stanley Holstein arrived a short time later.

“Unbelievable,” he announced, a tinge of excitement in his voice. “I’ve never had a case like this before.”

“The fire chief says it looks like arson,” Bosco told him. Stanley nodded enthusiastically.

“I heard. We won’t be able to pay you until the investigation has concluded, and provided you two aren’t involved.”

“We’re divorced, Stan. Dori owns the house now. And I think it’s safe to say we have a pretty good suspect, since he took off with Dori’s money after he re-mortgaged the house.”

“How did he manage to do that?” Stan was more than a little curious. By the time Bosco filled in the blanks, Stan and Randy were speculating on the possibility that I would receive nothing for the loss of the house.

“You’d have to prove you had no involvement in the conspiracy,” Randy decided. “And that you had no prior knowledge.”

“The police have a full report,” I insisted. “I went to them as soon as I found the money missing from my bank account and my credit cards maxed out.”

“They might still wonder if you were a willing participant. How long have you been dating the guy?” Randy didn’t hold back his interest. Jana poked him in the ribs and frowned.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “We’re still trying to figure this out. Bosco thinks it’s because of his work as a forensic investigator. It’s payback for nabbing some powerful people. I think it was just a scam. The guy’s just a creep.”

“Well, I think he’s a fool,” Jana decided. “I can’t believe he did that to you.”

“Neither can I.”

“Let’s head out, Dori.” Bosco put a protective arm around me. “Thanks, folks. We’ll talk soon.”

On our way back to the street, where the car was parked, I took one last look at the house. My life was gone, obliterated by the explosion, and with it, the mementoes of the years.

“I can’t believe it.” I stood, watching a lone fireman checking the perimeter of the house. “All of the photos of Kevin are gone. All his toys, his soccer trophies, even his baby booties.”

Big tears rolled down my cheek. I brushed them away with the back of my hand. Bosco kissed my hair, cupping my head in his hand.

“Not everything,” he whispered softly. “Come on.”

We headed back to Rogerstown, past the diner. Fifteen minutes later, the silver Taurus pulled into a spot in front of Bosco’s apartment. I looked at the building, constructed in the nineties. Yellow brick, with wrought iron balconies and tiny patios, sliding windows, and some charm. The well-landscaped setting was also a plus. As I opened the car door, I caught the flash of my charm bracelet, with the little reminders of milestones in my son’s life. From the baby shoe to the soccer ball, there was a timeline of Kevin’s too-short life. After his death, I added the angel to the silver links.

“At least I grabbed some of my jewelry,” I told Bosco, my throat tight.

“Your diamonds?”

“They’re in the safe deposit box at the bank. Do you think he got those?”

“Probably not.” Even as he said it, I knew he was trying to comfort me, for at least tonight.

“The only clothes I have are in my overnight case,” I sighed heavily. “I have no money to buy new clothes.”

“I’ll lend you some.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to pay you back any time soon, Bosco.”