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Authors: Marian Babson

Whiskers & Smoke (18 page)

BOOK: Whiskers & Smoke
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Rudi—the pyromaniac! I remembered the look on Lois's face the last time we dined at Gino's. She had watched the Steak Diane ceremony and there had been sudden comprehension—and fear—in her face. But she was young, modern and liberal. She would not report anyone on mere suspicion. Possibly she was not sure of her diagnosis. She would want to give him the benefit of the doubt. So she had agreed to meet him—perhaps to discover if he had an alibi for the times when the fires were started; perhaps to urge him to seek psychiatric treatment. Whatever the reason, that meeting had sealed her fate.
“It's him!” Greg lurched to his feet. “I'm going to kill the Christ-forsaken son-of-a-bitch!” he howled, starting forward, before we could catch him.
Then everything seemed to happen at once.
Rudi looked up and saw Greg rushing at him. With a wordless howl of his own, he tipped over the spirit lamp and spilled brandy and butter into the flames. He kicked the blazing trolley in the direction of our table before diving through the swing door into the kitchen.
The blazing trolley hurtled towards our table. With a violent oath, Noah leaped to his feet and kicked out at it as it rolled close. It rocked, tottered—spilling some of the flaming oils on to the floor, then reversed and headed off in another direction.
Screaming, the diners leaped up and scattered.
I sat frozen, with an unimpeded view of the kitchen door, and knew that worse was still to come.
There were shouts and screams from beyond the swing door, oaths and crashings of crockery. There was a violent hissing and muffled explosion. Then a blazing stream of vegetable oils cascaded under the door and out into the dining-room.
“No! No!” I screamed as people helpfully tilted the water carafes from their tables on to the flaming mess. The oil-based flames leaped and rode on top of the water into the heart of the dining-room, catching at the hanging tablecloths, setting them alight.
“I'll kill him!” Greg shouted, charging through the flames towards the kitchen door.
There was pandemonium in the restaurant as people
jumped up and collided rushing for the exits, the flames licking at their trouser legs and skirts.
“No!” I heard myself sobbing. “No! No!” I reached out for my children and, as in a nightmare, found Dexter clinging trustingly to me.
“This way!” Noah shouted. He had Tessa in his arms, Timothy holding to his coat-tail. He kicked out the window beside us and jumped through, hurling Tessa to the precarious safety of the little park. He disengaged Timothy and shoved him after Tessa, then stepped back into the blazing smoke-filled room for me.
“This way!” I felt my hand gripped tighter, I was propelled forward and tugged over the window-sill, Dexter still attached to me. We whirled through space and collapsed under the maples and pines with the children.
One-two
… pause …
one-two
… The air was rent by the fire whistle signalling the most dreaded code of all:
the center of town
… . “One-two … Sirens whooped and shrieked as the engines turned out to fight for Gino's Place.
“This way!” Noah kept shouting. “This way!” I realized that he had stayed behind. He had taken up a post by the window and was pushing other patrons of the restaurant to safety.
“My God!” Hank and Viv Singleton stumbled across the street. The town square had become a gathering place for the refugees. “My God—what happened?”
“The firebug—” I watched Noah anxiously. “It was Rudi—the waiter.”
“The one who always wanted to do Steak Dianes,”
Dexter said. “Nobody would let him tonight, so he got mad—”
“And decided to barbecue the customers instead?” Viv stared in horror as a shower of sparks shot upwards from the roof. There was a sharp cracking sound as the front plate-glass window buckled and shattered.
“Noah!” I screamed.
“Greg!” Dexter shouted.
“We're okay—” Noah was beside us, Gino half-carried on his shoulders. “I think we've got everybody out—as many as we could.”
“Greg—” Dexter said, staring at the blazing pyre of Gino's Place. “What's happened to Greg?”
“Let's hope he got out the back door,” Noah said. “Nobody could get through into the kitchen—it was an inferno in there.”
“It's not much better out here,” Hank said.
“No—” Mesmerized, we watched tongues of flame traverse the sloping roof of the kitchen annexe and entrench themselves in the eaves of the Gift Shop next door. Another shower of sparks flew into the sky and travelled outwards.
“Come on.” Hank caught Viv's arm as the fire engines rolled up. “Let get to the shop and see what we can save. This town is going to go up like a tinder-box!”
Other people obviously thought the same. For every one who stayed watching the fire, two more slipped away to their cars. We tried to stare around and behind the flames, hoping to see Greg emerging in safety. But there was no safety anywhere.
One … two … three … four
… The fire whistle blasted
off again.
One … two … three … four
…
“Good God!—that's us!” Noah's fingers bit into my arm. “That's our side of the Lake!” He released me and raced for his car. “Pitti-Sing! She's out there all alone—with her kittens!”
“Errol!” Panting, Tessa and Timothy kept pace with him. “Errol's all alone, too!”
Nominally, Pixie Toller was cat-sitting Pitti-Sing and her kittens, but I did not feel sure enough of that to remind Noah. If Pixie was in the middle of some complicated ritual dance on the lake shore, I knew only too well that the whole forest could be ablaze before she noticed anything amiss. Even then, she might still consider it simply the darkness before the dawn—or, in her case, the firestorm before the cloudburst.
“Greg—” Dexter hung back as I tried to pull him into the car. “What about Greg?”
“We can't do anything about him right now!” Noah was developing a fine technique for hurling people about. Dexter went tumbling into the back seat.
“The firemen will take care of Greg,” Noah promised unconvincingly.
A
s we hurtled through the night the noise of whistles and sirens died away. The woods were uniformly dark and private with no pinpricks of light to disturb them; even the fireflies seemed to have gone to ground. We might have been in another, more peaceful, world; but danger was still all around us, seen or unseen.
“I'll drop you at your house,” Noah said, “and go on and collect Pitti-Sing and the kittens. Then I'll come back for you. Be ready.” In the intermittent light of the street lamps I saw his jaw tighten. “If the fire in the woods and the town fire link up—” He broke off and concentrated on the sharp turn leading up to the lake.
We could be trapped
. Mentally I finished the sentence for him. For the sake of the children, neither of us would voice the grim knowledge.
A low deep rumble sounded in the distance. We were all too jaundiced to pay any attention to it. We had heard it too frequently, trusted in it too often. It was just another
snare and delusion. Reality was the pall of smoke overhanging the woods; the flames creeping through the town.
“Of course,” Noah said thoughtfully, “we ought to have suspected Rudi.” Carefully he enumerated the points: “The classic arsonist is foreign, unsettled, male … The trouble is, we've had so many home-grown insurance frauds perpetrated by businessmen on the verge of bankruptcy, we tend to overlook the obvious textbook cases these days.”
“If I could borrow your boat—the Harpers' boat—” Dexter shook my shoulder, reclaiming my attention—“I could row across the lake and let Benjie know what's happened. Then we could get Camp Mohigonquin to safety.”
“Never mind the heroics,” Noah said grimly. “You're staying with us. A telephone call will do to alert the camp. The lines aren't out yet.”
“Mummy,” Tessa said, “Mummy, we'll get Errol out all right, won't we?”
“Of course we will,” I said definitely. “And Pitti-Sing and her kittens, too.” That was all I was willing to guarantee but, with luck, the children wouldn't notice that.
“Here we are.” Noah drew up in front of the house. “Get your things together and be waiting for me. I'll be right back.”
As we got out, I looked over my shoulder. Behind us, a red glow lit the sky. Even as I stood there, the Fire Alarm blasted its urgent message once again, with the added blast that meant it was calling in reinforcement from the neighboring towns. Edgemarsh Lake needed all the help it could get.
“Hurry, Mummy—” Tessa tugged at my hand, dancing with impatience. “Let's go and get Errol.”
“You telephone the Camp,” I directed Dexter as I unlocked the door. “Then I'll ring Celia and tell her what's happened. She knew we were eating at Gino's, she'll have started worrying when she heard the town code.”
“I'll get our cases, Mummy.” Timothy dashed upstairs.
“Eeerr-rroll …” Tessa called. “Eeerr-rroll …” She raced for the kitchen.
“What can I do, Mrs. Blake?” Dexter asked, putting down the telephone. Now that he had alerted the camp, he seemed lost and momentarily bewildered. “Can't I do something to help?”
“Help Tim with the cases—” I took possession of the phone. “You might look around upstairs and see if there's anything that fits you. You'll need something for overnight, at least. Look in Mr. Harper's wardrobe—” None of Timothy's things would fit him. “No—” I remembered that all the Harper family clothing was stored in the basement room. But there was Celia's Boston shopping—she hadn't retrieved it yet. “Look in the cupboard in the front bedroom—in the carrier bags from the Boston stores. There might be something in one of them you could wear, at a pinch.”
“And this is a pinch!” he agreed, darting for the stairs.
“Mummy—” Tessa returned, tearful. “Mummy, I can't find Errol anywhere. He isn't here. He's got out—”
“He couldn't have. Shh—just a minute, Tessa, then I'll help you look. Hello—”
“Hello—” It was Luke, sounding sleepy and faintly puzzled. No, I couldn't speak to Celia, or even Patrick—
his parents weren't there. “I thought they were with you, Aunt Rosemary. I'm sure they were going to have dinner with you.”
“Those plans were changed. They're not here.” Where could they be? And what was to be done about Luke, alone in the house with the fire spreading towards him? Should we try to get over to collect him, or were Celia and Patrick on their way home even now? If they returned to find Luke gone and wasted valuable time searching for him, they might be trapped themselves.
In the sudden silence, as I tried desperately to decide what was to be done, there came the familiar hollow thud—the sound of a coffin lid falling. An omen? It couldn't be—it was real. And somewhere nearby.
“Errol!” Tessa burst into sobs, putting her own interpretation on the sound. “Mummy, that man has shot Errol!”
“Don't be silly, darling. He has far more important things on his mind right now.” So had we all. “Luke, listen—stay where you are. We'll either call back with instructions or come and get you. If your parents get back, ring through and let me know. If there's no answer, you'll know we're on our way.” It was the best I could do. Noah might have a better idea when he returned.
“Prr-yah?”
Belatedly, Errol decided to respond to his name. Blinking sleepily, he crawled out from under the sofa and looked around inquiringly.
“There's Errol!” Tessa pounced on him, clutching him to her. Immediately he began to struggle to regain his freedom, yowling a protest.
Oh no—he was going to be difficult!
“Stay with me, Errol,” Tessa screamed. “Mummy, I can't hold him! He's going to run away and be burned!”
“No, he isn't,” I said, thinking frantically. I had looked everywhere for Errol's carrying case without success. I could not believe he didn't have one. The only place I hadn't looked was in the Bluebeard's Room in the basement. Furthermore, I might be able to save some of the more portable treasures Nancy had stored down there. If I couldn't identify the sentimental treasures, at least I could salvage the most valuable.
I shook the bunch of keys, singling out the one I had never used. There was no spot of blood on it, but it was brighter and shinier than the others—as though it had never been used, or had recently been duplicated from an original. I started for the cellar stairs.
“
Ta-taa-ta-taa
—” The horn sounded out front, along with a more sedate honk, as two vehicles drew up. I heard car doors slam and went to the front door to meet them.
“Rosemary—” Pixie rushed into the house. She was wearing a suede shift liberally bedecked with wampum beads. There were moccasins on her feet and a feathered headdress on her head, her face was resplendent with full war paint. I hadn't seen such colors and designs since the last time I had walked down King's Road. “Rosemary, are you ready? Let's get out of here while the getting's good!”
“We've got to go and collect Luke,” I told her. “Celia and Patrick have gone off somewhere—he's all alone in the house.”
“We can manage that.” Noah was immediately behind Pixie. His face was decorated by nothing more than a
bemused expression, but it was enough. At some later moment I must get him to tell me his side of the story. “There isn't that much rush. I checked with the Park Rangers at the lookout tower. The fire is breaking out of the containment area, but it hasn't reached the All-State Alarm stage yet.”
“Oh, good,” I said. “I'm going down to Nancy's storeroom to try to find Errol's carrying case. If you'll come with me, Pixie, perhaps you can tell me if there's anything special down there Nancy would like me to save.”
“Sure thing.” Pixie followed me into the cellar, so did Noah. The children trailed along behind us, unwilling to let us out of their sight. Fortunately Errol had calmed a bit and was quiet in Tessa's arms—but he couldn't be depended upon to stay that way.
“Oh—
tchach!”
Pixie made an impatient exclamation as we walked through the playroom. “Rosemary, do you mean to say—” she detoured over to the shadowy steps—“you've been leaving the bulkhead door unlatched?”
“I don't know,” I said honestly. “Is it? I haven't noticed. We never use it.”
“That could be dangerous!” Pixie mounted the steps half way, bending over, then straightened and pushed the doors upwards to demonstrate. They moved easily at her touch.
“You see,” she scolded. “They weren't locked.” She ducked again and let the doors fall shut. They fell smoothly and in perfect unison, making a small hollow thud—like the sound of a coffin lid falling.
“This house has been wide open—” Pixie reached up
and slid home a large iron bolt. “Anyone could have got in here any time they wanted. You're just lucky that crazy Rudi didn't decide to sneak in and start one of his fires here.”
“He'd have to know about it first,” I said weakly. The implications were more than I could face at this moment. I had to concentrate on the present danger. Somewhat unsteadily, I walked over to the storeroom.
I inserted the key in the lock, it turned easily. Nancy had obviously oiled it before her departure. Suddenly conscious of everyone behind me, I made a feeble joke:
“I declare this bazaar open—” I intoned, throwing wide the door. Pixie snapped on the lights and we moved forward into the room.
I almost tripped over a Victorian rosewood tea-trolley.
“There's Errol's carrying case!” Tessa's sharp eyes spotted it in a far corner of the room. She dashed to get it.
I stood rooted, spotting other things. A Chinese Chippendale mirror leaned against one wall. A Landseer stag-at-bay dominated a corner. A carriage clock and a silver-topped claret jug stood atop a Pembroke table …
Oh, there were lots of items I didn't recognize—presumably Nancy's. But the others … What were they doing here? How had they got here?
“That's Nancy's mother—” For an insane moment, I thought Pixie was heading for the stag-at-bay, but she veered off and pulled a Forties' pastel from beneath the Pembroke table. She straighted with it and looked around in some confusion.
“And that's Arnold's Do-It-Yourself tool kit,” she
identified. “But it would be a favor to Nancy if you let that get burned up. She'd want her grandmother's ivory manicure box—it's going to go to Donna someday, but—” Pixie frowned. “It's strange. There's a lot of stuff here that's not Nancy's. It seems vaguely familiar—but I can't quite place it.”
It did not seem the moment to tell her that I could.
“Errol's all right,” Tessa said with satisfaction. She had unceremoniously dumped Errol into his carrying case; he was wailing protest and grievance. “We can go now.”
“Yes …” I agreed blankly.
“Don't worry,” Pixie said comfortingly. “Even if the fire reaches the house and demolishes it, the cellar ought to be all right. They used to be called storm cellars, you know—because you could ride out a hurricane or a cyclone down here, no matter what happened to the rest of the house. You can probably leave everything here and it will be quite safe.”
“Probably—” Noah had been prowling the farther reaches of the room—“but I wouldn't like to bet on it.” He paused by a large packing crate and inquired of it politely, “Would you, Mrs. Meadows?”
“Oh,
there
you are, Rosemary!” Celia emerged from behind the packing crate quite as though she' had been expecting to find me there. Only a note of hysteria in her voice belied the attempted social tone. “Patrick—here's Rosemary!”
“Oh, uh—” Patrick crept out from behind the matching packing crate. “Hello, Rosemary. We've been looking everywhere for you.”
“Try again,” Noah suggested drily. “That one doesn't quite hold water.”
“Celia—Patrick—” Pixie was agog. “What are
you
doing down here?” She looked again at some of the semi-familiar objects, this time placing them in context. “Oh …” she said, then abruptly enlightened,
“Ooohh!”
“I'd suggest we leave now,” Noah said, “and sort this out later. Pitti-Sing and her kittens are waiting for me in the car and she'll be getting worried if I'm not back pretty smartly.”
Rebuked, we followed him upstairs. Dexter and Timothy brought up the rear with much whispering, nudging and snickering. They were taking an inordinate interest in Celia and Patrick.
“I don't understand,” Celia said. “Why have you come back so early? And what were you all doing in the storeroom?”
It seemed that we might more fairly ask that question, but Noah countered with a different question:
BOOK: Whiskers & Smoke
7.05Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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