Lucky's Lady (20 page)

Mason came running from the house in pajamas and a robe, his thin brown hair standing up, his glasses askew. He wore a pair of polished oxfords but no socks.

“My God, this is terrible!” he said, tugging on the belt of his robe. He stared up at the blaze, the flames reflecting eerily in the lenses of his glasses. “I've called the fire department. They're on their way.”

“I was just praying for rain,” Serena said. Fat drops splashed down on them from above and she turned her face up to the heavens.

Mason stared at the fire as it consumed the huge shed like an angry, voracious beast, devouring the walls, lapping at the heavy equipment within. “All that machinery. I hope to heaven Gifford's insurance is up-to-date.”

The rain began to fall harder. In the distance came the sound of sirens.

Mason took Serena by the arm. “We ought to get out of the way. There's nothing we can do here.”

She reluctantly backed away from the heat, feeling helpless as she thought of Gifford. She felt as if she were failing him somehow. It was absurd, she knew, but that didn't stop the old feelings of inadequacy from surfacing. Somehow she should have been able to prevent this. She should have been able to stop the destruction.

The rain came beating down now, cold and hard, soaking through the silk blouse she'd grabbed at random, matting her hair against her head, blurring her vision. Still the flames leapt into the night sky, roaring and crackling, mocking mother nature's efforts to put them out. There came a splintering sound and part of the roof caved in, sending a cloud of orange sparks billowing upward. Mason pulled harder on Serena's arm.

“Serena, come on!” he yelled urgently. “There's nothing we can do. It's not safe here!”

He dragged her back a few more steps. Lightning lashed across the sky. Thunder exploded in a deafening blast. The wind picked up, shaking the trees and bending the tongues of flame that shot up from the burning building. The rain came harder in a fierce downpour, finally shrinking the fire, tamping it down. The first of the fire trucks roared up the driveway. Mason pulled Serena back another few steps.

“Let's go!”

They hadn't taken three steps toward the house when the second explosion came. In the periphery of her vision Serena saw the ball of flame burst through the ravaged wall of the building. From that point on what took only a split second in reality registered in her brain in slow motion—men running, fire rolling outward, lumber and shrapnel hurling in every direction.

She later remembered opening her mouth to scream, but not hearing anything. The invisible force of the explosion hit her in the back and flung her to the ground like a rag doll with Mason right beside her. She hit the ground with a bone-jarring bounce, gravel and crushed shell digging into her skin. Then everything went blessedly black.

“Total loss,” the claims adjuster said with the gravity of one imparting the death of a loved one. He stood in the doorway of the dining room, clipboard in hand, a small, apologetic man of forty-five with receding dark hair and eyes like a spaniel. There was soot on his hands and forearms and one big smudge of it across his high forehead.

He had arrived practically on the heels of the fire department, along with the neighbors. A fire was a major event in these parts, an occasion for people to gather and gawk and offer support to those who had suffered a loss. There was no two-week wait for the insurance man because chances were he would be standing there watching as the last of the rafters fell into the ashes.

“A total loss,” he repeated morosely. “The building and everything in it. It's still smoldering in places.”

“Cool!” John Mason exclaimed, scrambling down from his seat. “I'm gonna go see it!”

Shelby scowled at her son. “You most certainly are not. You stay away from there, John Mason. Just look what happened to your father and your aunt Serena!”

Serena sent her nephew a meaningful look. She sat in her chair, still trembling, her ears ringing, pain biting into her body in various places. There were cuts and scrapes on her hands, knees, chin. Her cheeks and forehead wore a dark blush from the heat of the fire. She had yet to make it to the shower, and her hair hung like damp strings around her head. She still wore her ruined fucksia silk blouse and red slacks.

All in all, she didn't make a pretty picture, and Mason had fared little better. She looked over at her brother-in-law as he sat staring down into his coffee cup with a vacant expression. His fine hair stood up in little shocks around his head. His robe was torn and dirty. There was a cut on his left cheekbone that stood out like a line of red ink against his ashen skin.

Serena imagined they both looked as if they had been mugged and left for dead, but they had to count themselves lucky. Two of the men who had been struggling to fight the blaze were now in the hospital, seriously injured by flying debris from the second explosion.

“Gifford had his insurance paid up, didn't he, Mr. York?” she asked, unsure whether she was whispering or shouting. She felt as if she were wearing cups over her ears.

York regarded her with his spaniel's eyes, looking like he was afraid she might call him a bad dog and send him away. “Yes,” he said hesitantly. “The premiums were paid up. There's no problem with that at all.”

“Are we to take it there
is
a problem elsewhere?”

“Er—well—” He shuffled his feet, then glanced down quickly to see if he tracked in mud. “I'm afraid, yes, there is.”

“Oh, for pity's sake!” Shelby snapped as she poured herself a second cup of coffee. “Spit it out.”

She sat in Gifford's place at the head of the table, prim and lovely in a green silk dressing gown, her hair twisted neatly in back, looking as if an explosion and fire were nothing to disturb her normal daily routine.

York swallowed hard. “Well, I was just on the scene with the fire marshal, as y'all know, and there seems to be little doubt but that this was arson.”

“Arson?” Serena said in disbelief, a chill going through her. She shook her head, rejecting the possibility and all its ramifications. “No. It was lightning.”

York looked woebegone. “Ah—well—begging your pardon, Miss Sheridan, it wasn't. The fire was deliberately set. There really isn't any question of it. It was quite a sloppy job. You see,” he said, becoming more animated at the prospect of sharing some of his expertise, “there was one big hot spot in the southwest corner of the shed and trailers leading out from it. That is to say, lines indicating a fuel path. There was alligatoring in the charred wood, giving the indication of rapid, intense heat, and signs of spalling in the concrete floor. It's very apparent that someone poured gasoline or a like substance all around and simply lit it up. And from what we could tell by the remains of the one tractor, a fuel path led directly to it. I'd have to say someone meant it to blow up.”

Serena sat back in her chair, pressing one hand to her lips and banding the other arm across her aching ribs. No one at the table said anything. She looked across at the chair Len Burke had occupied the night before, eating their food, drinking their wine, telling them that Gifford would have to be persuaded to sell—one way or another.

“You understand that until this matter is cleared up, my company won't be able to make a payment on your claim, I'm afraid. I'm sorry,” Mr. York said, sounding reluctant once again. Delivering bad news was evidently not his forte. He squeezed his clipboard. “I really am sorry.”

“Mr. York,” Mason said, mustering a faint version of his affable politician's smile. “Surely you don't believe one of the family is responsible for this horrible crime?”

“Oh, no, well—er—that isn't my place to judge. There will have to be a full investigation, you understand.”

“But Mr. York,” Serena said, trying to pull her mind away from thoughts of Burke, “some of that equipment will have to be replaced immediately. How do you suggest we do that if your company isn't going to make good on the claim?”

York appeared to give earnest thought to the question, making a series of faces that caused the soot smudge on his forehead to wriggle like a shadow puppet. Finally he looked her in the eye and she thought he might burst into tears. “I don't know,” he said. “I'm sorry. Really I am.”

After several more rounds of questions, explanations, and apologies, the claims adjuster took his leave to have a second look at the rubble with John Mason hot on his heels.

“What a horrid little man,” Shelby said, selecting a muffin from the basket Odille brought in as if it were her most important task of the day. “No wonder his wife is having an affair with the vice president of the bank.”

Serena shot her a look. “Shelby, for heaven's sake, we have more pressing issues to discuss.”

“Serena's right, sweetheart,” Mason said gently.

“What's an affair?” little Lacey asked, staring owlishly up at her mother.

Shelby beamed a smile and stroked a hand over her daughter's blond curls. “That's something cheap, trashy women do, darling. No need to worry your pretty head about it.”

“E-vil,” Odille intoned dramatically, drawing back from the table with the empty coffee urn clutched in her long, bony hands. Her turquoise eyes burned like blue flame, settling on each face in turn. “Dat's what come dis house. E-vil. Lord have mercy on us all.”

On that ominous note she backed out of the room, her thin mouth stretched into a line of supreme disapproval.

“My God,” Shelby sniffed in affront, pulling together the lapels of her dressing gown. “I don't know why Gifford keeps that woman on.”

“She's a witch,” Lacey said nonchalantly, reaching for a muffin. She dug one out of the basket and scampered out of the room, calling for her brother.

Serena rubbed her temples and sighed. “Arson. Your Mr. Burke sending Gifford a little warning?”

There was a beat of stunned silence, then Mason came to life.

“Oh, Serena, you can't possibly believe Len Burke had anything to do with this!” he said with an incredulous laugh. “Mr. Burke is a respectable businessman representing a respectable company. You can't honestly believe he's an arsonist!”

Serena looked at her sister and brother-in-law with grave eyes. “Well, I certainly wouldn't want to believe the alternative.”

“That one of us might have done it?” Mason said, arching a brow above his glasses. “Really, Serena, you've been spending too much time with your patients; you've becoming paranoid. Shelby and I were in bed. I don't mind saying I highly resent your entertaining such an insulting notion. Just because we're in favor of selling doesn't mean we'd burn the place to the ground.”

“My stars, Serena, is that what you really think of us?” Shelby said, her agitation building visibly as she stirred sugar into her coffee. Dots of color bloomed on her perfect cheekbones; her mouth tightened into a thin line. She glared at her sister, her demeanor of calm vanishing as instantly as mist. “Accusing your own sister and brother-in-law! I don't know what's become of you up in Charleston. You're like a stranger to us!”

Serena pressed two fingers to her temples and sighed heavily. She was battered and exhausted. She felt as if all her tools for dealing with people had been stripped away from her. Certainly her energy for dealing with her twin's endless dramatic mood swings had been.

“Shelby, can we please dispense with the constant theatrics?” she said through her teeth. “I didn't mean to accuse you. I was only saying that Mr. Burke would stand to benefit by this fire. It could have been set as a warning or with the express purpose of destroying the machinery. Either way, Gifford is out of money he can't afford to lose.”

“Well, I think it's preposterous,” Shelby pronounced indignantly. “I find Mr. Burke perfectly charming.”

Serena couldn't find the strength to roll her eyes.

“The fire might not have had anything to do with the sale of the property,” Mason pointed out. “Gifford has cultivated his share of enemies over the years. Why, not a month ago he had to let go of some of his hired men. It caused hard feelings, I can tell you. Then again, plenty of people stand to gain by Tristar coming here, Serena,” he said, contemplating his coffee. “This is a small town; I imagine word is out by now. Gifford is preventing people from getting jobs. Someone might have decided to persuade him to change his mind.”

Serena pushed herself up from the table, her eyes on Mason, an unpleasant smile turning the corners of her mouth. “My, what an interesting choice of words.”

“What are you going to do?” Shelby asked, looking up at her with suspicion.

“First, I'm going to take a long, hot shower. Then I'm going to go out into the swamp and get Gifford to come back here if I have to drag him by his hair.”

Lapsing into unconsciousness seemed like a more attractive choice, but Serena didn't see that she could afford the luxury of sleep. Forcing herself to plant one foot in front of the other, she pushed open the dining room door and left.

Shelby stared after her, waiting in breathless silence for the sound of a door down the hall closing.

“Well, that's just wonderful,” she said sulkily. “She's going to bring Gifford back here. That's all we need. Damn her, why couldn't she just stay out of this?”

Mason reached for a muffin. “Don't worry yourself about it, peach. This could turn out just fine. Gifford is bound to get disheartened sooner or later. If he comes back and sees the kind of damage that fire did, realizes what he's going to have to go through to replace the equipment and so on on . . . he may just give up.”

“I certainly hope so, Mason. I certainly hope so.”

Serena let herself into her room, aching to fall across the bed and cry herself to sleep. Instead, she turned and nearly fell into Lucky. He grabbed her by the shoulders in a grip that could have bent iron and held her at arm's length, his gaze sweeping over her, wild and intense.

“
Mon Dieu
,” he muttered breathlessly. “Look at you. Are you all right?”

“Oh, I'm fine except for the heart attack,” she said sarcastically. “Is there something intrinsic in your makeup that compels you to frighten people? Did someone sneak up on you during your potty training or something?”