Oh Say Can You Fudge (17 page)

“When was the next fire?” I asked.

Sandy walked out of the fudge shop with Liz’s box of apple pie fudge. She put it on the end table next to the settee and sat down on the arm of the couch. “Was it the early March fire?”

We all looked at her.

She shrugged. “I was in New York, but that fire was close to my grandmother’s home. My family was worried.” Sandy crossed her arms.

“Yes,” Liz said, drawing our attention back to the board. “The second fire was here along the edge of Great Turtle Park. This one was much closer to homes. It, too, was assumed to be a hiker or picnicker who’d started a fire for warmth or to cook hotdogs and such. The thing is that the fire was started on the ground, not in an empty grill. What caught the fire chief’s eye was the fact that the fire was set next to some brush stacked against a shed.”

I tilted my head. “The arsonist wanted to see if they could get the fire to leap?”

“There was accelerant found on the ground between the original fire and the brush,” Liz said.

“You said the first fire was in February and this one in March. Why do you think they are connected?” Frances asked.

“The two fires had the same shape. The first fire was set high, causing fear that the nearby trees would catch fire. This one”—Liz tapped the second
X
on the board—“was similar, but not as ambitious. This one was set to leap to the shed.”

“Do fires have signatures like bombs?” I asked.

“Yes,” Liz said with a smile. “But you have to look for them. This second fire was when the fire department started to catalog the fire signature. It was only because of the strangeness of the first fire that Frank remembered some of the details. After the second fire, he made notes for comparison. He told me that he had hoped his suspicions would come to nothing.”

“Sadly, they did not,” Frances said. “The next fire was two weeks after, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, the second week of April. Allie, were you on the island by then?” Liz asked.

“I was. Papa died about that time. I don’t remember any fire.” I frowned and shook my head.

“You had other things on your mind,” Mom said and patted my shoulder. “I remember a small article in the paper when we came up for Liam’s funeral. It started in a trash barrel, didn’t it?”

“Yes, the third fire was started in Harrisonville,” Liz pointed at her map. “It was set in a barrel meant to look like someone was burning trash.”

Frances turned to my mom. “You know that it’s not unusual for the locals to burn trash in burn barrels.”

“Yes, I remember,” Mom said.

“How did they connect a burn barrel fire to the other fires?” I asked.

“The barrel had a hole punched in the bottom and traces of accelerant that led to kerosene soaked rags held to the ground with a rock.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “What is the arsonist doing?”

“It looks like they want to see how the fire moves under certain conditions,” Liz said. “It’s almost as if they are studying the fire.”

“I read where some people see fire as an animal,” Jenn said.

“An animal?” Mom asked, drawing her eyebrows together.

“Yes, it is born”—Jenn raised her index finger—“breathes, consumes, reproduces, and dies.” She counted off the facts on her fingers. “Do you know of any other definition of life?”

“Strange,” Mom muttered.

“Our arsonist is trying to manipulate fire,” I said. “Why?”

“We don’t know yet,” Liz said. “The next fire was two weeks after that. It was a very slow burn of old bicycle tires near North Bicycle Trail and a boarded up cabin.”

“I remember that,” Frances said. “Didn’t the report say that trash had been built up next to the house?”

“That’s what it looked like,” Liz said. “It takes a lot to start rubber on fire, but once it starts it’s hard to stop. Frank thinks that the arsonist piled pitch filled pieces of bark and other tinder on the wet pile of trash. Then they started the fire, slowly feeding it until it burned through the pile to the bicycle tires below.”

“That was a heck of a fire,” Mr. Devaney said as he came in from the back hall. “What a mess. Luckily, a spring storm helped cool that down enough for it to burn itself out.”

“After that fire,” Liz said, “the public became watchful and the fires stopped.”

“They stopped?” I narrowed my eyes. “That would be why I hadn’t heard anything about them before I found the pool house on fire.”

“Why would an arsonist accelerate for a short time, stop for eight weeks, and then start back up?” Jenn asked. “Don’t they tend to continue to accelerate?”

“Maybe they were off the island,” Sandy said as she studied Liz’s map. “Maybe they were accelerating their fire starts elsewhere.”

“Yes!” Liz said, her eyes sparkling. “That is exactly what I thought. So I did some digging. I wanted to see if I could figure out who was on the island during the first part of the fires—”

“And who was not on the island when the fires stopped,” I said.

“Then who was back on the island when they started back up,” Jenn continued. “So, who is it?”

“Ten people fit that profile,” Liz said.

“Ten? Let’s see the list.” I said.

Liz went back to the board. Mr. and Mrs. Castor,” she said as she wrote. “They own a place near the airport. They also run the Boar’s Head Inn and Pub during the tourist season.”

I frowned. “Why were they off the island for the first four weeks of the season?”

“Their daughter lives in South Carolina and she was having their first grandbaby. It was a girl born June fifteenth,” Liz said as Frances opened her mouth to ask. “They just got back on Mackinac the day before the pool house fire.”

“They are friends with Pete Thompson,” Mr. Devaney said. “There was no reason for them to set the pool house on fire.”

“Next we have Oliver Crumbley.”

“Wait. His Mom runs the Old Tyme Photo Shop next door,” I said. “It can’t be Oliver. He porters for me sometimes.”

“He was off the island visiting his father in June,” Frances said. “He did get back the week of the pool house fire. He also lives close enough to have started the fire without being seen. Combine that with his mom Cyndy having trouble with Pete Thompson the week before.”

“I don’t buy it.” I shook my head. “He’s too nice a kid for that.”

“At this point, no one is too nice. We have to look at all the suspects or the real arsonist will continue and more people will get hurt.” Liz looked pointedly at my splinted thumb.

I winced. Mal jumped into my lap and I held her tight. Whoever was behind the fires was a neighbor. No one could be ruled out no matter how much I wanted them to be.

 

Butter 8x8x2 inch cake pan.

Mix cream cheese, milk, unprepared instant pudding, vanilla and lime juice. Add powdered sugar 1 cup at a time until you reach the desired thickness.

Scoop into prepared pan. Pat until smooth. Score into 1-inch pieces with butter knife.

Refrigerate for 2-3 hours until set.

Break into 1-inch pieces along score. Serve in individual paper candy cups or on a platter. Store leftovers in covered container in the refrigerator.

 

Enjoy!

Chapter 18

“Who else is on the list?” Mr. Devaney asked. “You said ten suspects.”

“Right, I’ll finish the list before we go into each case,” Liz said. “There is Henry Schulte.”

“Wasn’t he in jail for the shed fire?” Jenn said.

“Let her get out the entire list,” Mr. Devaney said as he studied the fires on the map.

“Bruce and Penny Miller and their sons Ethan and Michael,” Liz went on.

“But Bruce is the acting fire chief,” Frances pointed out.

Liz did not stop writing. “Daryl and Terry Cunningham and their daughter Amanda.”

“That’s eleven,” Mr. Devaney said. “You said ten suspects.”

“Plus Luke and Sherman Archibald.” Liz finished writing.

“That is thirteen suspects,” Sandy pointed out.

“I wrote down everyone who was off island during the appropriate time period. That said, I ruled out Daryl, Terry and Amanda,” Liz said drawing a line through their names. “They felt like outliers. Most arsonists are male and most between the ages of twelve and nineteen or twenty-six and thirty.”

“That’s right,” Jenn said, reading her phone. “This article says that arsonists are difficult to profile because a majority of arsons go undetected or unsolved.” She glanced up at us. “Wow, it seems arson is a crime you are more likely to get away with.” She glanced back at her phone. “Most arsonists are white males between the ages Liz described. The ones that are caught seem to be of lower intelligence.” Jenn raised her index finger as if to make a point. “That said, it says here that it could simply be that the less intelligent arsonists are the ones who get caught so you can’t count out intelligence.”

“That makes sense,” Mom said with a lift of her eyebrows.

“The prevailing emotion behind arson is anger,” Jenn read, “unless there is insurance fraud.”

“That’s not the case here,” I pointed out. “None of the fires have done that kind of damage.”

“Unless you count the fireworks,” Liz said. “That could be insurance fraud.”

I nodded. “That’s why Henry is on your list.”

“Plus he fits the time frame. After I spoke to Sophie about the dates that she flew him onto the island, they match up with all the fires, including the warehouse fire that killed Rodney Rivers.”

“Or they were set to look like arson so that Henry could kill Rodney and blame it on an arsonist,” I said.

“How did Henry start the last shed fire?” Jenn asked. “You saw Rex dragging him to the police station in cuffs and then fifteen minutes later, you were calling in the shed fire. There is no way that could have been started by Henry.”

“Unless he has a partner,” I mused.

Everyone was thoughtful for a moment.

“I suppose anyone could have a partner,” Jenn said. “In which case, we might have more suspects.”

“Darn.” Liz’s shoulders slumped and she sat down against the back of the settee that faced away from the board. “I didn’t think about a partner. That would screw up this entire list.”

The front door opened with a jingle. Dad came in looking windblown and bright-eyed. “What did I miss?”

“They just blew away my line of thinking.” Liz sighed.

“Great.” Dad came around to give Mom a kiss on the cheek. “That means I can help come up with a new theory.”

“It seems that statistically most arsonists don’t get caught,” I said. “Of those that get caught, the universal emotion behind the act is anger.”

“Okay.” Dad nodded. “I can understand that.”

“They are also more likely to be white males in their teens or late twenties and lower in intelligence,” I added. “At least the ones who get caught.”

“And this is our list?” He pointed at the names on the board.

“These are the people who were on the island during the fires and off the island during the times when no fires occurred,” Liz said. “I thought I had figured out who our main suspects were, but it was pointed out that the person who was causing the arsons might have used a partner and therefore the real person didn’t have to be on Mackinac.”

“Oh.” Dad studied the map. “So you think there’s an argument for using a young man’s lack of intelligence and anger to light fires to hide a premeditated crime.”

“Such as the warehouse explosion,” I said. “And Rodney Rivers’ death.”

“Well, that definitely puts a twist on your list of suspects.” Dad shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “It could be anyone.”

“But it wasn’t just anyone,” I said. “Let’s rule out the partner idea for a moment. Remember, things are not usually as complicated as they seem. Do we know if there is any way that Henry could have started the shed fire before Rex arrested him? I mean, didn’t you say the tire trash fire was experimenting with slow burns?”

“Yes,” Liz said as she studied the map. She turned to me. “Did you see a pile of trash or a tire or anything when you called in the shed fire?”

I shook my head. “No, I saw smoke, but the fire was started inside the shed. The smoke I saw was thick and black and came through the gaps around the window.”

“We need to find out what started the shed fire,” Mom said.

“The official report was that the fire was set with an accelerant. The gas cans inside the shed along with a couple lawnmowers caused the explosion.”

“So it could have been a slow burn,” I said. “The smoke was quite thick and black. Not like paper fire or even wood.”

“I’ll double-check with my sources inside the fire department and see if the fire was a slow burn. If it was, we can’t rule out Henry. In fact, he may have set the fire knowing Rex was close to arresting him. That way, he would seem innocent in the whole thing.”

“Do you think Henry Schulte is that smart? I asked. “He didn’t exactly come across as a criminal mastermind. The man has blue-tipped, spiked hair for goodness sakes.”

“Desperate men can do desperate things,” Dad observed.

“He would have to be pretty darn desperate,” I said.

“He may have gotten the same death threats that Rodney did. Or worse,” Liz said. “Rodney could have discovered that Henry did something that caused the death threats. Perhaps Henry was cooking the books and not paying the bills, for example. In that case, Rodney may have threatened to go to the police.”

“There has to be a good amount of evidence that Henry killed Rodney or Rex would not have arrested him,” I said. “Do we have any details?”

“No.” Liz shook her head. “Rex is playing it close to the vest. What I do know is that Henry hired a lawyer who got him out on a hundred thousand dollar bail.”

“Only a hundred thousand dollars?” I said. “For murder?”

“There is no evidence of flight risk as Henry didn’t leave the island.”

“When does the trial start?” Dad asked.

“They go to the grand jury in two weeks,” Liz said. “Meanwhile, Henry is staying with his aunt on the island.”

“One hundred thousand is pretty cheap when you have a ten million dollar payday coming,” I said.

“That’s the thing,” Liz said. “The insurance company won’t pay as long as Henry is under suspicion for Rodney’s murder. They’re waiting to see what the outcome is in the murder trial.”

“Well, that’s enough to make a mad man even angrier,” Dad said.

“So Henry is still our main suspect.” Mom studied the board. “Let’s look at them all individually. “Frances, you know Mr. and Mrs. Castor. Can you find out if they know anything about the fires?”

“Sure. I’ll check in with them and see what they have to say. At the bare minimum, they might have seen or heard something on their trips back and forth to the island.”

“I’ll check with Cyndy about her son Oliver,” I said. “I haven’t really gotten to know her yet.”

“I can talk to Bruce and Penny,” Liz said. “With Bruce being the fire chief, it’s not very likely they are involved, but I want to rule them out, anyway.”

“If the arsonist is Bruce’s son, he has grown up around fires and knows about how they are set and grow and such,” Dad said. “He might just be an angry kid in trouble.”

“True,” Liz said.

“I can talk to Luke and Sherman,” Jenn said. “I got to know them pretty well when we were putting out the ashes from the fireworks explosion.”

“Great. Let’s reconvene tomorrow morning before the picnic,” Liz said. “How does that sound?”

“Sounds great.” Dad glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly noon. What say we go get some lunch?” He held out his hand to Mom.

She smiled, stood, and took his hand, then looked at me. “Come with us. We know you’re going to spend tomorrow with Trent. We didn’t come all this way to not have a good visit.”

“But the McMurphy,” I protested.

“Is in good hands with Frances and Sandy and Jenn,” Mom said.

I glanced at my friends who all nodded in turn. I sighed. I did trust them. I simply felt guilty not doing my share of the work.

“Go enjoy lunch with your parents,” Frances said. “The work will be here when you get back.”

“Fine. Thanks.”

“Let’s go out the back way,” Dad suggested and put his free arm around my shoulders careful not to bump my stitches. “Main Street is already filled with tourists.”

“Are you going to sit with us for the fireworks?” Mom asked as I bent to put Mal’s leash and halter on her.

“Sure,” I said. “Since I put so much work into the shows, I really want to make sure they go off well and that people are happy.”

“Are you still worried about the Star Spangled Fourth committee?” Dad asked.

“It’s Mrs. Amerson,” I said and straightened. “Wouldn’t you be worried?”

Dad laughed. “Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, I most certainly would be worried. That woman is a barracuda.”