A Fair to Die For (27 page)

He changed the subject. “You said passports. Whose?”

“Mother’s and mine.”

“Not your father’s?”

“No, but if he was planning to go to Mexico, he’d have taken it with him.”

“Back then you could travel legally in and out of Mexico or Canada without a passport.”

“Oh, yes, that’s true.”

“Why passports for all of you?”

“We took a vacation to France when I was in my teens.”

“If he had his passport with him when he left home that last time, perhaps he planned to go further afield than Mexico.”

“Oh, I . . . well, I . . . uh, why?”

He sat across from her again and didn’t answer, leaving her to think about the possibilities by herself. Could her father have abandoned family and country for a life abroad? Was he the sort of man who might do that? Only Edie and her mother would know. Or guess. And, what about Milton Sales? Did he know more than he was willing to tell Edie?

After a silence, he said, “And now are you telling me all you know—the complete truth as you see it?”

“Yes, Henry, I am.”

He sighed, blowing out a whoosh of air. “After such a long time, I admit I’m as curious as you are about the interest in those papers.”

They were both silent for a few clock ticks, then Edie asked, “Henry, do you trust Milton?”

“Right now, Edie, I don’t trust anyone but myself, Carrie, and the Booths.”

“Not me?”

“No.”

For a minute she looked as if he’d slapped her. Then she nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said. “We’d better go finish cleaning up in the kitchen. You keep thinking about the papers. If they exist, where could they be hidden? And if they don’t exist, how can we convince the people looking for them that they don’t?”

“And, by doing that, get Carrie out of harm’s way?”

“Yes, exactly. And you, as well.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight
HENRY AT HOME

By five o‘clock Henry didn’t know how much longer he could stand the required secrecy about Carrie’s escape or, for that matter, stand more time with Olinda and Edie.

They weren’t offensive, just the opposite, but he couldn’t be comfortable in his own home. No sloppy dress—or undress—no rude comments or rude noises that Carrie would understand and tolerate. He had to act like a gentleman all the time. Worse, he had to keep up a façade of concern over Carrie’s safety.

Now he was sitting on the edge of the bathtub in his and Carrie’s bathroom, knowing he’d probably spent more time here than would seem reasonable. Still he sat, enjoying this private space.

Carrie didn’t wear perfume, but the room retained scents he associated with her—shampoo, hand and face creams, a Carrie smell. He took a deep breath. Though he knew she was safe now, she still wasn’t here, and the smells were comforting.

He wondered if Edie and Olinda felt uncomfortable too. All three of them were virtual prisoners in this house, and it might not be any easier for them than it was for him. He also wondered if Edie had come up with any new ideas about the missing papers. With Olinda always hanging around, they couldn’t discuss it.

Oh, well.
He stood.
Time to go back on duty.

He’d talked briefly with Roger, and learned, in a sort of awkward, limited code, that the trip to the Marshall’s had been productive. They’d be telling Cousin Norm about it tonight.

Other than the phone call, and an attempt to do a bit of vacuuming, with Edie and Olinda hovering to dust and wipe, Henry had spent most of his time reading. That seemed the safest neutral occupation, since the women were reluctant to bother him with conversation when he had his face in a book. He’d just finished Tony Hillerman’s novel,
Hunting Badger
, and was eager to begin the next in the series. For him this was light reading. He no longer chose the thrillers that were once his reading preference. There had been enough of the thriller stuff in real-life Kansas City, though he could now read tough novels without putting himself inside whatever awful action was depicted. His own haunting memories were over and done with. Mostly.

Well, anyway, he was enjoying his visit to the New Mexico-Arizona Four Corners area and learning about Navajo life as depicted by Hillerman. The man obviously knew what he was writing about. Or, at least Henry supposed he did. Sure seemed like it, though he’d never been to that part of the United States so couldn’t really judge.

Maybe he and Carrie should take a trip out that way next spring. He’d always wanted to see the Grand Canyon, and wondered now if she had ever been there.

He left his sanctuary in the bathroom, walked to the living room and looked around for more reading. Ah, he could try some of
The
Message
Bible by Eugene Peterson that Carrie kept on the coffee table. Bible reading would look appropriate for someone in his supposed situation, and any reading passed the time. Besides, it cut off Olinda and Edie’s attempts to comfort and distract him from his pretend anxiety by engaging in rambling conversation.

A while ago Carrie had recommended beginning Bible reading with something in Psalms, and he quickly decided Peterson had an instructive sense of humor. The First Psalm began: “How well God must like you—you don’t hang out at Sin Saloon, you don’t slink along Dead-End Road, you don’t go to Smart-Mouth College.” Curious, he left his chair to get Carrie’s
King
James
Bible for comparison. He’d just started the First Psalm, reading, “Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly,” when Edie came into the room and stood, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence.

“You and Olinda doing okay?” he said, closing the Bible.

“We’ve been playing cards, but are getting hungry, and wonder what we should think about for supper. We have plenty of groceries in the house now.”

“Let me look through our cookbook. Something there may appeal to all of us.”

He got Chef John’s book, and the two women sat at the kitchen table with him while he paged through, stopping to read some of the recipes aloud.

“How about this? ‘Macaroni-Beef Casserole.’ I think we have everything it calls for.”

“Read it to us,” Edie said.

He did, got approval, and started assembling ingredients while Olinda began peeling and chopping an onion.

Edie put out the large kettle to boil water for cooking macaroni.

“I don’t mind doing this by myself,” he said, wishing they’d take the hint and get out from underfoot.

“Gives us something to do,” Edie said. “We’re as bored as you are, and anxious about Carrie, of course.” She looked into his face for a long moment before continuing, “though not nearly so anxious as you must be. Let us help.”

“What’s on TV tonight?” Olinda asked as she dumped the first batch of onions out of the chopper, then stopped to wipe her eyes.

“You two are welcome to the television,” he said. “I think I’ll read in bed.”

He ended up watching a program about whales on AETN with them, then headed for the bedroom to continue his Bible reading. Before ten thirty he was asleep.

The gunshots awakened him at midnight.

Chapter Twenty-Nine
FIRE

Two shots! What the devil?

Henry sat up, saw firelight through the bedroom window.

Conditioned by long experience, he was wide awake and moving in an instant. He grabbed the gun he’d been keeping in the bedside table and slipped into jeans and loafers.

As he opened the bedroom door he heard Olinda shouting, “Edie, someone’s set fires on this side too. I’m going after them. Call 911. Put shoes on and get out here to help. Get Henry. Don’t pour water on the fires. They used gasoline. Find some dirt and a shovel.”

The front door slammed shut and the shouting stopped. There were more gunshots.

He could hear Edie on the phone so he went to get the two fire extinguishers they kept in the house, ran to the front door, then stopped, dead still, his hand on the knob.

Wait. Wait a minute.

He moved his hand to the door lock. Turned it.

Then he ran through the house, looking out all the windows. The only place flames were evident was outside the bedrooms where he, Olinda, and Edie had been sleeping.

Now he was torn by indecision. What if the fire was a ploy to get everyone out of the house—out in the open, and vulnerable? What if some person outside wanted in the house?

He ran back to his bedroom, fire extinguisher in hand, cranked the window open, shoved the screen out, and sprayed foam into the fire below him. It sputtered, didn’t go completely out, but appeared to be dying. He looked along the wall of the house and didn’t see any other fire, though the smell of gasoline was strong.

Hurrying to the guestroom window, he opened it and used the second extinguisher to spray more foam. He was returning to check on the fire outside the master bedroom when Edie joined him.

“Where can I find a shovel? Olinda said to shovel dirt on the fire.” Her voice was high, almost a screech.

“I heard her. Stay inside. It’s possible the fires were set to get us out of the house. I only saw fire outside our bedrooms and I think they’re under control now. I’ll keep patrolling inside. Stay with me. I locked the front door.”

“Locked? But Olinda’s outside. She was shooting at someone.”

“As soon as I’m sure the fires are out I’ll stand here by the door. I’ll let her in the minute she comes back.” He said no more, but wondered if Olinda was innocent in all this. Tonight’s events might prove that, one way or another.

“Oh, I hope she’s okay. Henry, we should go check, no matter what.”

“Calm down Edie. Olinda is obviously armed, and she’s trained to handle dangerous situations. I’m not going to put you in harm’s way outside, and I will not leave you alone in this house.”

She eyed the gun tucked in his waistband, said nothing more, and leaned against the wall, covering her face with her hands.

He said, “What woke you up?”

She moved her hands, looked at him. There were no tears.

“Olinda did. She shot out our window, then ran for the front door, shouting at me. I heard more shots after that.”

“How was she dressed?”

“She sleeps in . . . oh. She had her official windbreaker on over, well, I suppose over the t-shirt she sleeps in.”

Edie was following him now as he hurried from window to window around the house, checking for any evidence of fire. Several minutes passed with no sounds but their footsteps, then he asked, “What else did Olinda have on?”

“I didn’t notice. Shoes of some kind I suppose. Jeans? Her running shoes? Oh, Henry, I don’t know, but she may be in danger, and you locked her out.”

“I said I’d let her in the minute she returns, and there doesn’t seem to be any more evidence of fire now. We stay inside. The doors stay locked.”

She chewed the inside of her lip, staring at him.

Then they both heard a heavy rumbling sound. Help had arrived.

Henry looked out the window, saw a volunteer fire department truck pulling up at the edge of their drive. Flashing lights announced a patrol car turning into the lane. He went to open the door, steeling himself against about-to-explode chaos.

An hour and a half later everyone but Investigator Holbrook Burke and a female deputy named Anderson had left the house, though two deputies stood guard outside. Burke sat in Carrie’s favorite chair next to Henry’s. Edie and a drooping Olinda sat on the couch across from the two men. Deputy Anderson stood behind the couch. The entire room reeked of gasoline.

The investigator said, “Deputy Rosten, I suggest you change your shoes and socks before you tell us more about your actions tonight. Ms Embler, if you will, get something for the deputy to put on her feet and then carry those shoes and socks to the porch. In the meantime, Major King, bring me up-to-date on why you chose to not leave the house, even though, for a time, it seemed to be on fire.”

“No fire threatened the inside of the house at any time. I think many people believe, if a home is made of logs, it will burn easily, but I knew that wasn’t the case. The type of dense tree trunks used in this log home are almost impossible to set on fire in the manner the arsonist chose. I felt we were safe, at least for the present. The fact fires had been set only under the bedroom windows also made me suspicious. If the intent was to start a real house fire, wouldn’t the gasoline have been spread over a larger area, even into the woods, and the fires started as far from the bedrooms as possible so they could get going before we discovered them?”

Burke nodded. “I see what you mean.”

“I also knew that there were people interested in finding papers they assume Edith Embler has in her possession. She’s just told you about that. You already know the room where she’s staying here has been searched by the intruders who abducted my wife. I don’t know what the arsonists were thinking, of course, but maybe they assumed someone would grab those papers when leaving the house, or that they could capture Edie outside and make her tell them where the papers were. That’s all guessing, of course.”

Edie returned, set a pair of white cotton socks and house slippers in front of Olinda, then went to the kitchen to get an empty trash sack. When Olinda had removed her shoes and socks, Edie dropped them in the sack and put the sack on the front porch.

Burke continued, “Weren’t you afraid someone might shoot at you through a window?”

Before Henry could reply, Edie said, “Of course he wasn’t. I was following him the entire time and we walked with only nightlights to guide us. How could you check on fires outside if there were bright lights inside? Besides, if whoever started the fires only wants papers I’m supposed to have, what good would shooting either Henry or me do? I’m a real coward, Detective Burke, and, believe me, I wouldn’t have been anywhere near a window if I thought there might be danger.”

Henry suppressed a smile at this outburst, and was startled when Edie looked his way and winked.

Burke crossed one ankle over a knee, leaned back in the chair, and said, “I see.”