Arson Takes a Dare: The Third Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 3) (19 page)

“Berea mentioned you took in your father.” Dreamus leaned back in his chair with his hands on the arms, his body relaxed and open. “Is that true?”

Larry nodded. “I’ll show you where he lived. Come outside with me. It’ll give us a chance to stretch our legs.”

The elderly man herded the group outside to the sturdy pier stretching from the bank and partway across the water. Under the bright sun, the lake was a glittering oval surrounded by the colorful autumn trees. The songs of birds mingled with the sounds of insects and frogs. At intervals, tiny log cabins dotted the landscape, tucked among the bright foliage. The sunlight seemed to transform Larry’s hair into a gentle white halo.

Dreamus looked down at the water. A curled red leaf floated by on a gentle ripple. A bug rode along, its black body shiny against the scarlet background.

“My father ended up destitute and alone. He had lung cancer from all of the years of smoking. He wasn’t able to care for himself. I asked myself many times why I built the little cabin for him and installed him in it.” Larry pointed at a tiny building with a miniature front porch. The rocking chair was empty.

Dreamus stared at the empty chair. A chilly wind blew across the lake and pier, sending the chair rocking. “What happened to your father, Mr. Kenton?”

“One night he was out on the pier.” Larry gestured to the far end of the structure. “He must’ve lost his balance. He fell into the water and drowned.”

Tara gasped.

Dreamus squeezed her hand to silence her. “Mr. Kenton, do you remember a man named Bert?” he asked.

“Bert?” Larry frowned.

“He said he worked for you here at the resort when your daughter was young,” the lieutenant insisted.

“I’ve had a lot of handymen come and go over the years.” Larry shook his head. “I don’t remember a Bert.”

“He’s difficult to forget,” Dreamus said. “He’s very tall, about seven feet. He works as a rodeo clown now.”

Landis’ head went up like a deer scenting a predator. “Bert the rodeo clown! After you proved Miss Daisy didn’t commit the murder, he leaned over to you and whispered in your ear.”

Larry was bewildered. “Sure, now I remember Bert. He worked at the resort a couple of summers here and there. He did odd jobs. I haven’t seen him in at least twenty-five years. What about him?”

“Bert made an interesting statement,” Dreamus said, his gaze focused on Larry’s round face. “He stated, ‘I’ll tell you something I thought I would take to my grave. Mayla Kenton wasn’t the perfect little angel her mother thought she was. I saw the little girl kill her grandfather.’ What do you have to say, Mr. Kenton?”

“Bert said he saw Mayla kill my father?” Larry licked his dry lips. “The night my father died, I was asleep. Berea, Mayla, and I lived in the apartment over the store. I awoke. I lay in bed for a second, wondering why I was awake. Berea snores like a freight train, but that night it was just a growly snore.

“I heard voices outside. It was early winter, the slowest season for us. We didn’t have any lodgers in the cabins at the time. I got up and dressed. I looked out the window. I saw two figures on the pier, a shorter one and a taller one. I realized it was my dad and Mayla. She was about thirteen and taller than my father.

“I ran outside and pounded down the pier. When I reached them, I saw the figures move. One fell into the water. Mayla stood at the very end of pier, looking down into the water. I yelled for my dad. Mayla grabbed my sleeve. She said—”

“What did she say, Mr. Kenton?” Dreamus asked.

Larry Kenton swallowed. “I don’t remember.”

The lieutenant slid into Larry’s personal space. “Did Mayla push her grandfather into the water?”

Tara jerked Dreamus’ sleeve. “What are you doing? Stop harassing the poor man.”

Larry waved his hands in conciliation. “No, of course Mayla didn’t push her grandfather into the lake. She wouldn’t do such a thing. Anyway, my daughter is dead. They’ve both been dead for decades.”

“Mr. Kenton, mental hospitals were operated under horrendous conditions,” Dreamus said. “Your mother died after years of misery in one. What if you pretended you had your father’s best interests at heart when you took him in? What if you actually gave him a home so you could make him pay for what he had done to your mother? Did Mayla see you kill her grandfather?”

Officer Landis’ eyes were huge in his face. His phone dangled in his fingers.

“Dreamus! Have you lost your mind?” Tara’s chest puffed under her pink summery top and her fair face reddened. “Why would you make those awful insinuations? Mr. Kenton has been through hell without you verbally abusing him.”

Dreamus tried to take her arm. He unclenched his jaw. “Tara, this is my job. I question people. I follow leads. I solve cases. You knew what I was before we started down our path.”

She angrily shook off his hand.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss Ross. A policeman has to ask hard questions.” Larry squared his sloping shoulders. “I wanted my father to love me and to want me and to protect me. He had abandoned me and my brothers and sisters. I thought if I took him in when I could have turned my back on him, he’d love me and be sorry for what he did. He wasn’t sorry, and he never told me he loved me. When he died, the hope for those words died. I would never have killed my own dream. Life had already killed enough of them.”  

Tears fell from Tara’s eyes and dropped on her pink shirt. The splashes darkened the pink fabric to blood red.

As they turned to leave, Dreamus looked back at the lone cabin. A cold wind whipped across the lake and sent the rocking chair into motion. With the sun slanting across the surface of the water and into his eyes, Dreamus thought he saw a thin figure in the rocking chair. The old fashioned suit and hat were pale against the dark wood. A curl of smoke rose from the low brim. The hand slapped the knee, and the mouth curved in laughter. Under the brim of the hat, a dark, emotionless void seemed to trap Dreamus in its malevolence.

* * * * *

Inside the store, Larry flipped the sign on the door from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ and turned the lock. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you folks.”

“I think you can give us more help, especially with the circumstances of your father’s death.” Dreamus reached across and flipped the sign back to ‘closed’. “I want you to come back with us now and make a formal statement, Mr. Kenton.”

Tara put her hands on her hips. “Dreamus, if you drag that poor man back to the police station and interrogate him, I’ll never speak to you again.” She turned to Landis. “Josh, please help me!”

Officer Landis cleared his throat and looked trapped. His eyes rolled toward the ceiling. He brightened. “What if Mr. Kenton wrote out his statement for us in detail, Lieutenant? Then he could email it to us. If we have follow-up questions, he could visit us at the police station.” He craned his neck toward the back of the store. “I noticed an old computer and a dialup modem. You do have the internet, don’t you, Mr. Kenton?”

Tara was on the idea like a duck on a June bug. “Excellent idea, Josh.”

Landis glowed with pleasure until he met his superior’s baleful stare.

Tara defiantly flipped the sign back to ‘open’. “I’m sorry you’ve experienced such heartache in your life, Mr. Kenton.” She reached up and hugged the old man. She peered around his arm to glare at Dreamus.

Larry pulled away from Tara and patted her shoulder. The ticking of an antique grandfather clock was the only sound in the store. He glanced at it. “My greatest fear in the world is that Stephen Hawking is right. His theory is time is not linear. Rather, time is circular. If time runs in a circle, does that mean eventually I’ll be five years old again? Am I doomed to relive my own life over and over?”

Retired Sheriff Luke Creeter sat in the straight-back, wooden chair on the wide porch. He held his gun in one hand. His gnarled hand looked like a tree root that had grown around the grip. He stared down the barrel. He fired. “Yee ha! Got me another one!” He pulled the clothesline next to him. The paper target fluttered as he hauled it toward him.

“Why do you have silhouette targets with photos of real faces on them?” In a rickety chair next to the former sheriff, Marisa massaged her pounding forehead. A sharp slat dug into her butt. She wiggled her behind in an effort to get comfortable. The chair creaked.

“Be still, Marisa.” Diana whispered, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I don’t think that chair is very sturdy.”

The old man cackled in response to Marisa’s question. “I have pictures of every person who voted against me in the last sheriff’s election. I put them on my targets and show them what I think of them.”

“Sheriff Creeter, we’d like to ask you some questions.” Alex’s tone of authority was at odds with his white shorts and navy golf shirt.

Under the baseball cap, the former lawman’s face hardened. “You want to ask questions, fine. Ask all the questions you want. You’ll have to earn the answers.” The old man dug into the box of paper targets at his side. He dragged one out, removed the used target from the line, and hung up the new one.

Marisa squinted at the image on the target. She straightened. The chair popped under her. “That’s Sheriff Knox Creeter.”

“Sherriff Knox Creeter is my son, current sheriff, and the damned pup who whipped my ass in the election.” The former sheriff was enraged. “My own son used dirty tricks to beat me.”

The previous targets had been grainy photographs of faces. The picture of Knox Creeter was full-length, of professional quality, and nearly life-sized. He was dressed in his uniform, complete with a gun at his side and a hat on his large round head.

Creeter pulled on the rope until the target was some distance away. He turned to Alex. “If you can hit Knox between the eyes, then I’ll answer all of your questions.” The retired lawman offered his weapon to Alex, grip first.

Alex backed up, stumbling over stacked firewood. “I’m not much with guns.”

“What are you, a sissy?” Luke Creeter sneered.

Marisa wondered if she should use the ‘sheriff’ title, since the old man had lost the election. “He’s a city boy, Sheriff Creeter. I’m a country girl.” She tried to rise from her chair. It was stuck to her behind. Diana gripped the chair and yanked it free.

Marisa took the gun and examined it. She flipped the safety on, and placed it carefully on the porch railing, pointing toward the target area. “I’ll use my own gun.” She reached into her purse for her nine millimeter Firestar. “I’ll take a couple of warm-up shots.”

“Marisa, stop toting that gun around with you like you’re some kind of a boondocks gangster.” Alex put one hand to his heart.

“Shut up.” His joints creaking and popping, the old coot rose. The top of his grimy baseball cap barely reached Marisa’s shoulder. “No, you won’t, Missy. You’re either warmed up, or you’re not.” He motioned to his empty chair. He leaned against the railing and pulled a pouch of tobacco from his pocket. He opened it and stuffed a handful in his mouth.

Marisa stepped around old spots of tobacco juice. She sat in the vacated chair. She chambered a round and flipped off the safety. With a two-handed grip on her weapon, she took careful aim. She fired her weapon twice.

“I said no warm-up shots.” The gnarled hands hauled the paper to the porch and up to the weathered face. “Huh. One between the eyes.”

“And one right in the groin, where it belongs.” Diana pointed with a slim, pink-tipped finger.

The old man laughed so hard he choked on tobacco juice. “Sounds like you ladies have met my son.” He gestured for Marisa to move. “Get out of my chair.”

* * * * *

“Ever since that old bat Berea Kenton was on television, everyone wants to ask about those ancient arson cases.” The old man laughed, blasting the trio with his tobacco breath.

Marisa’s eyes watered. “What can you tell us about Mayla Kenton’s death?”

“The volunteer firefighters responded to the blaze, their fourth that summer,” the retired lawman answered. “The previous three had wrecked the properties, without the loss of any lives. This one was different. They found that girl’s body in her room. Her parents’ little dog was lying next to her, like the game little critter tried to save the human.” He shook his head.

“What did the autopsy show?” Alex leaned against the worn railing.

Creeter snorted. “What autopsy?”

“How did you know the cause of death? Didn’t you need an autopsy?” Alex straightened.

Marisa hid a smile when she saw the dirty black streak across the back of his white shorts.

The sheriff rose from his seat and threw up his hands, sending the smell of sweat to mix with the tobacco smell. “The coroner examined the body. He was the director of the funeral home and did coroner work on the side. Who better to check out dead bodies than someone who worked with them all day?”

“No autopsy,” Alex said. “Great. What did the coroner say?”

“What do you think he said, you young whippersnapper?” Creeter answered. “A young woman was charred to a crisp in the fire. The parents said the daughter stayed behind in the apartment over the store while they went on vacation without her. At the time, the resort was closed. No one was staying in the cabins. She wasn’t supposed to be there, but she’d told her parents she was sick and would stay behind until she felt better. The arsonist didn’t know anyone was in the building. When he read about the girl’s death, it must have been a shock. The fires stopped.”

Alex closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He promptly choked, and his eyes flew open. “Did you ever figure out the identity of the arsonist?”

“I thought I did, but I couldn’t get any evidence. Plus, the fire that killed Mayla Kenton didn’t fit in with the others.” The old man spat over the side of the porch into the dusty red clay dirt. “Five brothers ran a house painting operation. On the last job they all did together, they got into a fight. It started with words, went on to thrown cans of paints and supplies, and then fists. I had to go out there and break it up. Four of the brothers went on to paint houses without the fifth, disgruntled brother. What do you think happened?” Ignoring Alex, Creeter stared at Marisa in expectation.

“The houses the four brothers painted after the big fight were burned to the ground.” Marisa stared out across the old man’s backyard beyond the homemade gun range. The weeds would have reached her hips. Beyond, the trees seemed to form a high, impenetrable yellow and red wall. “But the brothers didn’t paint the Kenton’s building, the store with the apartment over it. Right?”

Sheriff Creeter laughed in delight. “You’re a smart girl. I knew you’d get it.” He reached around Alex and slapped Marisa on the back.

Diana grabbed Marisa as she teetered at the edge of the porch. “Be careful, you nearly knocked her down.”

The old man peered up into Diana’s outraged face. “I know you. You’re a stripper at the club my son is determined to buy.” He stared up and down her striped suit and frowned at her glasses. “You dressed up for some kind of role playing game?”

“I’m going to buy that club out from under your son,” Diana vowed. “I’m going to make major changes. The dancers and other employees will get better working conditions. They’ll also be part of a profit sharing program. They’ll earn a percentage of the profits they bring into the club.”

“You have spunk.” Creeter shook his head, nearly dislodging his baseball cap. “But that’s not going to happen. He’s got a backer, what they call a silent partner. You can’t hope to win against them both.” He started to turn away.

“Sheriff Creeter, would you have been the sheriff in a case about thirty years ago?” Marisa asked.

“Nope.”

Marisa sighed in disappointment.

“I was a deputy then,” Creeter said.

“Do you remember hearing the name Alisa Atkins?” Marisa glanced at Alex.

Alex was bewildered. “What does Alisa Atkins have to do with this? She was a bully in school. She broke my arm.”

Creeter snorted. “Why am I not surprised you let a little girl break your arm?”

“I’ll tell you about it later, Alex.” Marisa wondered what he’d say when she got to the part about the gun in her mother’s purse. She inwardly cringed and turned back to the retired lawman.

“A little girl named Alisa Atkins and her parents went to the sheriff,” Marisa said. “She’d been molested by a teacher at the elementary school. Alisa says now that the sheriff at the time lost the evidence. Do you remember the case?”

“No, I never saw any files or even heard anything about it.” The old man’s seamed face hardened. “I didn’t let pedophiles get away with their crimes. The sheriff was competent but he was for sale. If he said he lost evidence, it’s because he was paid to lose it.”

The retired sheriff shuffled through the papers in the box at his side. He grunted and pulled out a picture of an elderly man. “That’s Alisa’s dad. I’ve got her mom in here somewhere. I remember him talking about his little girl. He said when she was born, he couldn’t decide what to name her. He finally decided she looked like a Lisa, and he named her Alisa.”

Creeter pinned the target to the clothesline and pulled on the line. “Sure is a coincidence. Thirty years ago is about when he hit his streak of good luck. He went from poverty and foreclosure to prosperous farming. Those are two words that generally don’t go together.” He picked up his weapon.

“Allow me, Sheriff Creeter.” Textbook perfect, Marisa completed the steps with her gun and put five shots in Alisa’s father’s photograph.

“Marisa Adair!” Alex was shocked. “If you shoot that gun one more time, I swear I’ll take it away from—”

“You are one whiny pup, boy.” Creeter hauled the target back to the porch. He unpinned one side of the target. He stopped, staring into space. His mouth fell open.

“What is it, Sheriff?” Marisa touched the wrinkled shirt sleeve.

“I never made the connection. That has to be it.” He looked up at Marisa. “You kids get on out of here. I have to get in touch with Knox right now. Skedaddle!”

* * * * *

In the backseat of Alex’s car, Diana leaned forward. “Why did Sheriff Creeter call you back, Alex?”

He glanced at Marisa. “He said when I figured out I couldn’t handle Marisa, call him. He’d take her off my hands.”

Marisa choked. “Why, that old—”

Diana laughed so hard she fell back against the seat. Sobering, she righted herself. “Sheriff Creeter had an epiphany of some sort. It seemed to be triggered by Marisa’s questions about Alisa. It was connected with his son, since he had to get in touch with him immediately. I wonder what it was?”