Foal Play: A Mystery (5 page)

She scrutinized Myrtle’s charred body: hair burned from the skull; hands curled protectively over the chest; one leg bent under the torso. A horrible way to die, Colleen thought.

“Someone call the coroner. See if he’s still local,” Colleen said and stepped away. “And tell Bill he’ll need Rodney to get pictures before we cover her,” she added over her shoulder. “The coroner could be a while.”

There was a brief silence, then Rodney was summoned and the team got to work. As photos were snapped, Colleen collected herself and turned her attention back to the kitchen. She still had a job to do. She owed it to Myrtle to find out what had happened.

She put her hands on her hips and eyed the layout. She remembered what Bill had said about a broken window. She walked to the window frame and felt glass crunch under her boots. Given the explosion, the glass should have been blown out. Why was there so much glass inside? Something must have been thrown in through the window. Colleen’s brows furrowed as a new thought crossed her mind. Did somebody mean to start the fire? If so, that meant an arson investigation.

“Look at this,” Jimmy said, motioning to a soggy pile of debris near the stove.

Colleen glanced at a fire extinguisher still in its cardboard box and sighed. She suspected that the batteries in the smoke detectors, if Myrtle even had a smoke detector, probably needed replacing. She had seen it one too many times. Lives and property lost because someone forgot to perform a simple task like changing a battery.

Colleen rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. Perspiration dotted her face and ran down her neck and back. Her temples began to throb.

“Make notes for the report. Call me when we get word from the coroner,” she said and left the kitchen.

She crept down the long corridor that served as the spine of the one-story building. Boxes of junk lined the hall. Colleen switched on her Maglite. When Mr. Crepe was alive he had added several rooms over the years, resulting in a strange, funhouselike structure. The hallway turned abruptly in places and the height of the ceiling changed, which forced Colleen to duck at times.

The floorboards creaked as she went in and out of rooms. The bedrooms at the back of the house were relatively undamaged. Colleen rolled her eyes when she saw Bobby’s room decorated like a child’s, complete with Mickey Mouse lamp and cartoon character wallpaper. The black-and-white bedspread, laptop computer, and biker magazines were the few adult elements. She wondered how a man his age could live like that. Then again, as far as Colleen was concerned, a forty-year-old man shouldn’t be living with his mother.

The hallway ended with two doors on either side. She opened the door on the left first. Inside she found boxes, an old bicycle, a rusted beach umbrella, a tool box, bags of old clothes, yellowed magazines, and an incomplete dish set among the many items strewn about the room. Myrtle’s house was a good candidate for the television show
Clean House.

Colleen stepped across the hall and opened the final door. Myrtle Crepe’s heart and soul were contained within. The room was packed with Lighthouse Wild Horse Preservation Society materials. Pictures of and newspaper articles about the wild Spanish mustangs of Currituck Beach were tacked on the walls. Copies of the Society newsletter were everywhere. A plaque and painting of Star, a stud who was killed years ago, hung on the wall above a desktop computer.

Colleen skimmed an article on the wall that had been circled in red and remembered the stir it had caused when it was published. The reporter had claimed that the horses of Corolla were not descendants of the Spanish mustangs brought to the barrier island in 1523 but rather that of common farm horses taken across the water by their owners as a way for them to escape grazing restrictions on the mainland.

After the article had come out, Myrtle and Nellie had prepared a special edition of the newsletter exclusively devoted to defending the bloodline of the mustangs. Included in it was testimony from veterinarian Doc Wales, who diplomatically pointed out that the more important issue was that the horses somehow connected people to the past. In recent years, DNA evidence had finally put the issue to rest, confirming the Corolla horses’ Spanish bloodline.

Colleen was unexpectedly overcome with feelings of sadness and guilt. Myrtle was dead and it was her fault. If she hadn’t ordered Myrtle home, her former teacher might still be alive. Why, for the first time in her life, had Myrtle listened to Colleen instead of remaining at the fair? For all her annoying traits—and Colleen thought she had many—Myrtle Crepe had added color and life to the community. She was family.

She leaned against Myrtle’s desk, exhausted. She picked up the whistle Myrtle had used to blow at people who got too close to the horses. She wondered how Bobby would take his mother’s death. She didn’t envy Bill. He would be the one who would deliver the unfortunate news.

“Chief? You back here?” Jimmy asked from down the hall.

“Yeah,” Colleen said.

“Coroner called. Says it might be a few more minutes but he’ll be here.”

“I’ll be right out,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. She made her way to the hall, took one last look around Myrtle’s room, and closed the door.

Colleen paused at the kitchen entrance and stole a glimpse of the now-covered body before exiting the Crepe home. As she emerged she noticed a small crowd gathered at the perimeter. There was something about a fire that attracted people. It didn’t trouble her. On the contrary, Colleen understood the fascination. When she was a child and living in an apartment complex on the mainland, there were only two things that got the neighborhood kids running—the ringing bell of the ice cream truck and the blaring siren of the fire engine. As soon as she heard the ear-splitting wail of approaching engines, she would race to the street, then sprint, first in front of, then alongside, then behind the engines. She was always faster than the other kids, including the boys. After chasing a few fires, Colleen got good at predicting where the trucks were headed and took shortcuts through playgrounds, terrace-level walkways, and storm drains, sometimes arriving just in time to see the engines pulling up.

She had cherished those rare moments when she arrived early, before the firefighters sprang into action. One time in particular, she had arrived several minutes before the firefighters, partially because of her intimate knowledge of the apartment complex and partially because the fire truck had been unexpectedly blocked down the road by a construction crew. When she realized the firefighters were delayed, she ran up the stairs of the building, knocked on doors, and screamed for people to get out. She even carried one family’s frightened dog down the steps before the firefighters finally arrived and dragged her back from the building. Colleen would never forget the good feeling she had had in saving the dog or the pat on the back she had received from one of the firefighters.

She noticed a commotion in the crowd gathering behind the yellow perimeter tape. She spotted Bill, arms folded and feet firmly planted two feet apart. Colleen recognized this stance. It was the one he took when he felt people were being unreasonable. It was the one he had taken this morning with her.

“What’s going on?” she asked Jimmy.

“Nellie’s insisting on coming in.”

Colleen’s heart sank. Bill was breaking the bad news. She made her way toward Bill to try and help.

“We don’t have an ID on the body, Nellie,” Bill said, trying to reason with Myrtle’s best friend. “You don’t know it’s her. Isn’t that right, Chief McCabe?”

Colleen nodded. “The sheriff’s right. We won’t know if it’s her until the coroner’s report.”

“She never showed at the fair. It’s not like Myrtle to miss manning the booth. I know it’s her,” Nellie said with a sob.

Colleen knew it, too. “Sheriff Dorman or I would be happy to call you as soon as we hear,” she said, gently touching Nellie’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you go home, Nell. We know how to reach you. And there’s nothing to be done here,” Bill said.

“But what about the Society documents? Myrtle kept the originals in her home office. I told her how foolish it was to keep them here, even offered to keep them in my store safe, but she wouldn’t listen. All because of that thing that happened with her and Edna,” Nellie said with disapproval.

Colleen’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Did she detect an unusual note of anger in Nellie’s voice?

Nellie caught Colleen studying her. “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe she’s gone,” she said and sighed.

“That section of the house is relatively unharmed,” Colleen said. “Once it’s safe, I’d be happy to have those materials removed for safekeeping.”

“How about you head home? You’ve had a long night,” Bill added.

Nellie paused, glanced at the scorched Crepe home, turned, and walked to her car with the dispersing crowd.

“I’d like your men to check for footprints around the property, particularly near the kitchen window,” Colleen said when she and Bill were alone.

“What’s on your mind?” Bill asked.

“Arson.”

“You think we’re dealing with a homicide?”

Colleen nodded. Bill studied her a moment. Colleen knew that look. It meant he thought she was asking him based on a hunch, on her dreaded gut. Oh well. It didn’t matter. She’d get the impressions with or without his help.

“Rodney, get the men around the house. Let me know if you find any footprints,” Bill called to his deputy and turned back to Colleen. “Anything else?”

Colleen was stunned. He had done what she asked without question. He made it hard for her to stay mad at him when he acted like that. Maybe she should be the one who started the apologies.

“Bill, about this morning,” she said, but before she could continue a car rounded the corner and blinded them with its headlights.

Colleen and Bill raised their hands to shield their eyes from the light. The car slowed and stopped before them. The engine and lights still on, they heard the car door open and slam closed. Colleen squinted and tried to make out the driver.

“Hey, cut the lights,” Bill said.

A hulking shadow emerged from the dark and waddled into the light.

“Bobby,” Colleen said to herself, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Mind turning off those lights, Bobby?” Bill asked, gently this time.

Bobby disappeared and the lights went out. He shuffled toward them.

“I’ll handle this,” Bill said to Colleen and walked to meet Bobby halfway.

Colleen watched Bobby as Bill talked to him about what had happened. In her experience, when people arrived to find their home damaged or destroyed by fire with a loved one having perished inside they were distraught, an expression of anguish on their faces. Colleen found it curious that the younger Crepe seemed oddly calm. But everyone reacted to loss differently, she reminded herself. Perhaps she misread Bobby’s reaction. Perhaps his lack of emotion meant he was in shock.

Colleen surveyed her team to see how they were doing with the salvage and overhaul—a critical stage in the firefighting process. A rekindled fire was something to be avoided at all costs. If firefighters had to return to a scene due to a rekindle it often meant the loss of resident lives and firefighter jobs. Her guys were nearing completion and would be able to take-up soon. Movement from the azaleas near Myrtle’s house caught her eye. Colleen stared at the bushes and waited. The plants rustled again. Something or someone was in the shrubs.

Colleen cautiously approached the foliage at the edge of the property. The image of the man with the gun at the Currituck Beach Lighthouse flashed through her mind. She hesitated then moved forward, reasoning that nobody would shoot her with so many emergency and law enforcement personnel present. She inched closer to the brush.

“Hello?” she said. Nothing. “Is someone there?” Again nothing. Colleen exhaled and tipped her hat back. She was tired. Her mind was playing tricks on her. It was probably a possum or raccoon. She turned away.

“Burn burn burn,” came a voice from behind her.

Colleen whipped around and came face to face with Crazy Charlie. Charlie Nuckels was a large, thick man, the kind who could have been a strongman in the carnivals when they still traveled up the East Coast from Gibbtown, Florida. Unfortunately for Charlie, the community, and vacationers, Charlie had no awareness of his immense size. After Charlie had accidentally jumped on children twice while playing in the sand and once nearly drowned a nine-year-old girl while boogie boarding in the surf, Colleen and Bill had agreed that Charlie needed to be barred from the beach. They hadn’t wanted to ban him but it had become unsafe not to. Charlie wasn’t so much crazy as mentally different. The local kids had nicknamed him Crazy Charlie decades ago, mostly for the bizarre things he said, and the name had stuck.

“What are you doing here, Charlie?” Colleen asked.

“Burn burn burn,” he said, bouncing up and down.

“It’s okay. The fire is out. You don’t need to worry,” she said, trying to reassure him.

“Burn burn burn!” Charlie screamed back at her.

“Shut him up!” shouted Bobby, storming toward her and Charlie. Bobby was no longer calm. He was enraged.

“Burn burn burn!” Charlie squealed again with delight.

Bill reached out to grab Bobby, but Bobby was too quick and waddled toward Charlie at full speed. Colleen stepped in front of Charlie to block him from Bobby’s attack. Charlie giggled wildly behind her. She prayed she didn’t get sandwiched between the two men before Bill had a chance to pull Bobby away.

Colleen put her arm up to stop the approaching Bobby. As his chest pushed into her palm, Bill got a secure hold on Bobby and yanked him back.

“I want him arrested!” Bobby yelled, pointing at Charlie and attempting to break free of Bill.

“Bobby burn burn burn! Bobby burn burn burn!” Charlie shrieked.

Colleen’s men noticed the ruckus and rushed forward to pull Charlie away so he couldn’t antagonize Bobby. It took several of them to accomplish the task but eventually they got him a safe distance away. After Colleen made sure Bill still had Bobby, she faced Charlie.