Out of the Ashes (9 page)

“People don't go out as much in the winter.” I willed him away with all my might while watching the door for Nick.

“I guess not. Well, my burger should be ready. I called it in a few minutes ago. See you later.”

“Yeah, see you.”

The door was opening then, and I thought I was going to scream. Of all the bad luck, Jane Goodfellow stood in the doorway. It was almost comical, like everyone in town was working against me. She looked around and then walked over to my table.

I wondered what I could say to her. It would be so awkward when Nick got there.

She stopped and took a seat directly across from me. There was something different about her, and it only took me a few seconds to realize that it was her hair. She'd worn it long and parted in the middle ever since I could remember, but now there were bangs over her forehead. They were way too short, and I thought the new style made her look silly.
She
probably thought it was chic though.

“Thanks for coming.” She smiled thinly. “I didn't know if you'd happen to check your e-mail in time to get my message.”

She
had sent the e-mail? I hardly had time to adjust to this bit of news before she dropped another bomb on me.

“Anyway, I heard that you did Nick's essay for him yesterday.”

“Who told you I did Nick's essay?” I asked, startled.

“He did. I saw him last night when he was on his way home from practice, and we talked for a bit.”

So
Jane
was the friend who needed him for something personal! I was so angry I could hardly speak, considering that some of the time I'd been working on his essay he'd been with Jane. I could picture him with her, not caring that I was alone in his kitchen while she probably flirted with him shamelessly.

“You aren't doing him any favours, you know.”

“I really don't see what business it is of yours, Jane.” I knew I'd spoken more harshly than was necessary and that it was really his fault that I was so upset.

“It's my business because I care about him. He has to learn to do his own work or he'll never get anywhere.”

“But he'll get cut from the team.”

“So let him. That'll be his problem, not yours. He knows what he needs to do to stay on the team.” She paused and looked hard at me. “You probably think I'm jealous or something, but it's not about that.

I would-n't go back out with Nick if he asked me to.”

I just bet you wouldn't, I thought. I was just about to say something that may not have been very nice when Greg caught my attention, waving as he headed out the door on his way back to work at Broderick's Gas Bar. My eye was drawn to something blue sticking out of the pocket of his jacket.

It was the other mitten, the mate to the one I'd found near yesterday's fire!

You can just imagine the thoughts that were racing through my head by the time I got back home that night. The fact that Jane was being a busybody and interfering in my upcoming romance with Nick would normally have had me steaming, but after seeing the mitten in Greg's pocket it was the last thing on my mind.

A few different theories presented themselves to me, and I suddenly realized that this was exactly what the whole town did. They got an idea and ran with it and expanded it until it grew into an actual story. In my case, though, I was just trying to figure things out, not spread random gossip under the pretence of it being based on fact.

Well, there were a few possibilities all right, and only one of them could be true. I studied the whole thing
from different slants, until my head started to hurt from the effort.

The most likely theory, of course, seemed to be that Greg was the Little River fire starter. Why else would the mate to the mitten I'd found near last night's fire be in his pocket?

He'd already admitted that he was off work early, and that gave him plenty of time to set the fire and still be home at the usual time. The more I thought about it, the more positive I was that I'd solved the crime.

The question was, what was I going to do about it? I knew I should go to the police, but something held me back. Maybe it was the way I'd treated Greg at times, or it might have been the fact that I felt sorry for him because his mother was dead. In any case, I decided to wait for just a little while before doing anything.

I figured that if Greg was indeed the one setting the fires, the chance that he'd strike again in the next week or two was low. After all, there had been none at all for months. Maybe this one would even be the last.

Then I got to wondering what made a person do something like that. I guess it would be easy enough to understand how a kid in Greg's position might flip out and do weird things after his mom had died in a fire.

A really chilling thought occurred to me then. What if he had set the fire that had killed his mother? As impossible as it seemed, I had to face the fact that a few days earlier
I'd have laughed at the idea that anyone as mild mannered as Greg Taylor might be involved in the local fires.

Even if I was wrong about Greg, at least one thing was pretty clear. One of the Taylors was the culprit. The mitten I'd seen couldn't belong to anyone else, since it was handmade in that unusual pattern.

As much as the evidence pointed to Greg, I didn't rule out his father completely. He could have been wearing his son's coat the night before, but there was no way for me to find that out.

Or was there?

It suddenly hit me that I was in an ideal position to find out things that no one else could, partly because of the evidence I had, but mostly because if I was careful I could do it without arousing suspicion.

If the police started nosing around asking questions, Greg and his dad would certainly clam up. But if I started hanging out with Greg, it would be normal for me to stop by his place now and then. That would give me opportunities to look for clues and ask innocent sounding questions.

It was at that moment that I decided for sure I was going to keep what I knew to myself. Once I had more proof I would go to the police.

I might as well admit that the thought of being a hero of sorts had its appeal. I'd go from being just another student at the school to being someone everyone
talked to and wanted to be around. I'd never had that kind of popularity before. I thought I could stand it.

Of course, there was a downside to the whole thing, and that was how I'd keep working on getting Nick to ask me out if I was spending time with Greg. It would certainly complicate things, but there had to be a way to convince Nick that Greg and I were just friends. And as Greg himself had pointed out, it might even pique Nick's interest.

I started planning my next move.

It was pretty exciting, but I also knew it might be dangerous. I thought I should have some kind of insurance in case I ever found myself in a tight spot. That was when I decided to start writing all this down.

I envisioned a scene where Greg had knocked me unconscious and dragged me into an empty building. He would splash gasoline around, all the while feeling this awful anguish over having to kill me, the only girl he had ever really wanted. Just as he lit the match, my eyes would flutter open and I'd say weakly, “I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

“Oh, yeah? And why not?” he'd ask, because that's the way it always happens. Killers can never resist talking to their victims; I'd seen enough movies to know that much.

“Because if you do, you'll be going to jail for murder instead of just facing arson charges. Guaranteed.”

“They'll never catch me!” he'd insist, his eyes half mad.

“They won't have to. I already did, and once I'm dead everyone will know it.”

“How?” he wouldn't sound so sure of himself then. He'd blow out the match, waiting for my answer.

“Because I have it all recorded and hidden away in a place where it will be found if anything ever happens to me.” I'd smile to show him just how unafraid I really was.

“I don't believe you.” His voice would be shaky though, and I'd know he was wavering.

“Well, believe it or don't believe it, it's still true. It's all there, every last detail, starting with the mitten I found near the fire at the Lawfords'.”

“Mitten?” he'd gasp, remembering that he'd lost one that night. Sweat would break out on his forehead, and his face would be pale and frightened.

“Yeah, it's hidden too, and my notes will lead the police right to it. I'm afraid you're heading for prison for a long, long time, if you kill me.” As he looked more and more worried, I'd continue.

“On the other hand, if you let me go, things will probably go pretty easy for you. After all, you're young and you lost your mom in a fire. The court will probably be understanding and just give you probation or something.”

Then he'd put his face in his hands and tell me how sorry he was and that he never wanted to hurt me. Of course, I'd be kind and understanding.

Afterward we'd go to the police, and he'd confess to the fires and tell the police how I'd solved the crime single-handedly.

The newspapers would do some front page stories about me then. Heck, I might even be on the six o'clock news. But through it all I'd be modest and just insist that I had only done my civic duty, or whatever it is that heroes say at times like that when they want everyone to know how humble they really are.

After that much excitement, even if it was only in my imagination, it was kind of hard to get to sleep.

By the end of the next week, things were coming together better than I could have imagined. First of all, Nick had asked me to go to a movie with him on Friday night. That was on Wednesday, but on Thursday he had to cancel because his aunt was coming to visit, and his mom said the family should stay home to make her feel welcome.

I was a little disappointed, but I didn't let it bother me too much. After all, it proved he was interested, and he was sure to ask me again before long.

At the same time, I'd been talking real friendly to Greg, making it clear that any hard feelings I'd had in the past were over with. He warmed up quickly, and we chatted a few times at school. Since Nick was going to be stuck in the house on Friday, I figured it would be a good time to start my investigation in earnest.

I casually asked Greg if he was working that evening, and when he said no, I told him I was going to The Scream Machine for a while if he wanted to get together for a soda.

“Just as friends,” I added quickly to make sure he didn't misunderstand. He said sure, and at seven-thirty that night we met there.

The first thing I noticed when he came in was that he was wearing the jacket he usually wore to school, not the one he'd had on the evening he'd come in to the soda shop when I was waiting for Nick. Well, Jane actually, but I'd thought I was waiting for Nick.

“Is that the same coat you had on last week when you were in here?” I asked casually, as if I'd just noticed that it was different.

“No, that was my work jacket. I only wear it when I'm at Broderick's.”

“Do you ever wear this one to work?” I asked, nodding at the one he had on.

“Naw, this one's new. I don't want to ruin it.”

It was pretty exciting to have the answer to one of my questions that easy. Now I knew that Greg had been wearing the jacket that held the mitten I'd seen on the night of the Lawfords' fire. That pretty much eliminated any chance that his father was the one who'd set the fire, since they couldn't both have been wearing it.

Then I realized that didn't prove that the mittens were in that jacket that night. Still, it was a piece of the puzzle. I was sure that once I'd gathered all the facts I'd have the whole picture.

“Something wrong?”

I started when he asked that, and realized that I'd been lost in thought and not paying any attention to what he was saying. It wouldn't do to make him suspicious.

“Oh, sorry,” I laughed nervously and took a sip of my root beer. “I get daydreaming sometimes.”

“Don't apologize,” he smiled and leaned forward. “I do it all the time. The worst is when I'm in school and I realize I haven't heard a word that the teacher has said the whole class.”

That kind of freaked me out. I thought I was the only one who got lost in my own head that way. It felt strange to know that this pyromaniac did the same thing.

Well, I wasn't about to let something like that distract me from my plan. I plunged forward with the next part, trying to look as though something had just occurred to me.

“Darn! I meant to ask you to bring me a couple of books.”

“What, tonight?”

“Yeah, I have nothing to read right now,” I sighed heavily, wondering if he was buying it.

“I could bring you some tomorrow,” he offered.

“That would be okay, I guess.” It wasn't the answer I'd been hoping for, so I didn't even have to pretend to be disappointed.

“Did you really want something for tonight?”

“Well, no. It would be a bother for you to have to go all the way home and back.” I perked up as if I'd just had a sudden thought. “Unless...;,” I hesitated, then said, “never mind.”

“No, tell me what you were thinking.” He was making it so easy!

“We could walk out to your place and get some, I mean, if you don't mind or anything.”

“That's a great idea! Then you could have a look and pick out whatever you want to borrow.”

“That would be awesome, if you're sure you don't mind.”

Of course he insisted then, and we set off toward his house. It was about twenty minutes away, but the night was nice: cold, but clean and fresh. The walk actually took away some of the fatigue I'd felt from having so much happen and not getting enough sleep lately.

Halfway there I had an inspiration.