Cathedral Windows (3 page)

Chapter 5

“I don't know anything.” Jesse sat at his desk and closed a file on his desk, sliding it into the drawer. I couldn't see the contents, but the file itself was labeled “Davis.”

“You haven't seen him?”

“No, and I'd love to talk to him.” Jesse took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Jesse always looked to me more like a professor than a cop. And like the best in both professions, he was methodical, serious, interested in only what he could prove. We made an odd couple—the logical and the intuitive, but it worked. “What I do know,” he continued, “is that it wasn't faulty wiring or embers from the fireplace. It was arson. Started the old-fashioned way with newspaper on a pile of old junk in the backyard that spread to the house.”

“Who would do that?”

Jesse looked up at me as if I should already know the answer.

“Why would Charlie burn his own house down?”

“Money. The house was paid for, but it was old. It needed tons of work to get the kitchen and bathrooms up-to-date. Maybe he intended a little fire, something in the kitchen, and it got out of hand. Or maybe he wanted to burn the whole place down, collect the insurance, and walk away.”

“Why not just sell the house?” Even as I asked it, I knew why. A few years ago, New Yorkers were driving three hours north to buy weekend places in towns like Archers Rest, but as the economy soured, they put those homes on the market. And they were still on the market. An old house with no view of the river wouldn't stand a chance of selling quickly with that much competition.

“He was in your class at school, wasn't he?”

Jesse nodded. “He was a great guy. Friendly. He was captain of the baseball team in high school, drew cartoons for the school paper, was really into science. A well-rounded kid.”

“Do you think he's changed?”

“He joined the army as soon as we graduated and I haven't really seen much of him since. But two tours in Afghanistan have to change a person. He hasn't seemed happy since he's been home.”

“He was an only child, right?” I asked. “His parents are dead. Maybe that's why he's unhappy. He's lonely.”

“He hasn't done anything to make friends. Or rekindle old ones.”

“Maybe not, but it doesn't make him an arsonist.”

“So where is he?”

I didn't have an answer to that, but I was determined to find out. And Jesse picked up on that immediately. He'd known me for just over a year, long enough to not argue when I got an idea in my head. And I had an idea. Or, more accurately, a location.

* * *

Charlie clearly wanted to be alone. He'd stayed away from school all day, and from his house while the police and fire department were going through it. But they were finished, and unless he was willing to ask for help from someone in town, there was only one place left to go—home, even if there was only a little of it left.

I explained this all to Jesse on the way over, and he explained to me that parts of the house were structurally unsound and I should let him go first. But when we got there, I almost ran to the door. From the front, it looked pretty against the setting sun. The porch was untouched and the light yellow siding looked dirty and a little waterlogged but was still standing. As we walked around to the side of the house, though, the light yellow gave way to a dark brown, the effects of the smoke and fire on a frame house. At the back, where there had once been a door to the kitchen, there was a hole. What had been a pile of discarded furniture and old drapes was a black mass—the start of the whole horrible mess.

“Don't go in.” Jesse stood behind me, his flashlight already aimed at the darkness inside.

“Just one step. Enough to call his name and see if he's here.”

He nodded. Jesse was used to my stubbornness and I was used to his carefulness.

“Charlie?” I called out as I entered the back of the house. There was no answer. The kitchen was a disaster. Even in the dim light, I could see that the table and chairs were broken and burned, the wallpaper was covered in soot, the floor was black and the knickknacks that must have once been precious to Charlie's mother were now in pieces. I wanted to cry and I barely knew the Loftons. My heart broke for Charlie.

As I moved a few steps farther, Jesse pushed ahead and lit the way with his flashlight. He had one arm on the light and one on me.

“Stay right behind me,” he said. “We go five more steps and that's it. All of this was okay this morning, but the floor seems weak in the dining room and I'm not chancing it.”

“Okay.” I'm all for investigating, but I didn't want to break my leg going through the floor any more than he did.

We counted out the five steps. With each one, I called out Charlie's name. There was no answer. The farther we walked into the house, the more fragile the structure felt. I could hear the wood boards groaning under me. I could smell the combination of water and fire that had wrapped itself around everything. In every object we passed, shape, color, and form were all melted away, leaving a sort of freak-show effect to everything from a toaster to what looked like collection of family photos hung on the wall.

“Satisfied?” Jesse asked once we'd walked the five steps.

“Not really, but if it's not safe . . .” I stopped speaking when I saw a light move across the hall, a light that wasn't coming from the flashlight in Jesse's hand.

“Who is that?” Jesse called out.

“Don't come any closer.” It was Charlie's voice coming from what seemed to be the living room. There were heavy footsteps and the sound of something scraping against the floor. A moment later I could see a shadow outlined against the dining room window. In Charlie's right hand was a rifle, which he was dragging behind him.

“Why don't you put the gun down and come to us?” Jesse said. “We need to get out of the house. It's not safe.”

“There are no safe places anymore, Jesse.”

“Yes, there are. I'll take you to one.” Jesse sounded calm, but he turned to me and in a low, quiet voice said, “Get out of the house now.”

I almost protested, but he was right. There was no telling what Charlie might do. “I'll call the station,” I whispered, and made my way out the same way we'd come.

Once outside, I did as I promised and then I waited. I went to the front of the house, fully expecting Jesse and Charlie to emerge. Jesse was a strong police chief, but he was also a nice man. Hopefully they would talk it out as old schoolmates and then come out of the house before it fell around them.

But nothing happened for several minutes. All I could hear was the silence of Archers Rest at night. Until the gunshot.

Chapter 6

An Archers Rest squad car pulled up in time to hear the shot. Greg and Mike, two of Jesse's best officers, got out.

“Jesse's in there with Charlie Lofton,” I said. “Charlie has a gun.”

They pulled their weapons and headed toward the house. I waited and prayed, and tried hard not to panic. There had been only one shot, so at least one person was okay. I didn't want anyone to be hurt, but I couldn't bear the idea that Jesse . . . I wouldn't let myself finish the thought.

Just as the officers reached the front door, it swung open. Charlie came out, unarmed and looking nervous.

“Jesse,” I said quietly. I went toward Charlie. “Where's Jesse?” I could hear the fear in my voice. I could see from Charlie's confusion he heard it too.

“Inside,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

Greg handcuffed Charlie while Mike went into the house. I tried to push by them to find Jesse, dread growing with each step.

“Don't come any closer.”

I stopped. The house was dark, but that didn't matter. It was Jesse's voice. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, Nell. Get out of the house.”

“You too.”

“The floor. It's collapsing around me. Charlie was trying to warn us,” Jesse said. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I could see his shape. He was standing in what had been a doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. I was where Charlie had been. Between us there was a huge gap that had, just moments before, been a hardwood floor.

“Mike, go around back,” Jesse said to the officer. “Charlie said there's a ladder in the toolshed at the back. I'll try to make my way back toward the kitchen and maybe we can lay the ladder across the holes.”

Mike left quickly, but I stood there, watching Jesse, assuring myself that he was okay. “What was the shot?” I asked.

“When a part of the floor collapsed, Charlie's rifle fell into the hole and discharged,” Jesse said. “And who knows how much longer the rest of the floor will stand, so unless you want to fall into the basement, get out of the house. Now.”

I began a careful backtrack. The floor groaned slightly under my feet, and I got to the front door just as another section of wood cracked.

* * *

Charlie sat in the backseat of the squad car, his hands cuffed in front of him. I opened the door on the other side and sat with him. Greg and Mike were helping Jesse find a way out through the back door, and my watching would only make me more worried.

“What were you doing at the house?” I asked Charlie.

“Trying to get some things; you know, clothes and stuff. Whatever I could salvage.”

“What was the rifle for?”

“It was my dad's.” He rested his head back against the seat. “My house is gone, Nell. I should have done something to check the wiring. I just hadn't gotten to it and now there's nothing. My room was above the kitchen, my parents' room next to that. I tried to get up there to see if anything could be saved, but the stairs are shaky. I don't even know if I have a change of clothes.”

“Does someone have a grudge against you?”

“No, why?'

“Because it wasn't the wiring. Someone burned this down on purpose.”

Charlie blinked slowly, taking it in. “I haven't lived in town in more than twelve years. I've only been back about six months.”

“What about Bill Davis? He seemed pretty upset with you the other day.”

“That was . . . no. It was a misunderstanding. He wouldn't torch my house. Whoever did it could have killed me.”

That brought up an interesting point. “The fire started when you weren't home, right? Because if you were home, you would have smelled smoke right away, stopped it before it got so out of control.”

“I was out for a walk.”

“Where?'

“By the river.”

“The river is pitch-black at night, especially in the winter. If you wanted to take a walk on a freezing cold night, why not go through town where there are lights, and people?”

“Because there would be lights and people.”

“So no one saw you?”

Charlie shook his head. “I didn't burn my own house down. I know that's what you think.”

“It's not what I think.”

“I bet that's what the whole town thinks.”

They didn't yet, but once word of the arson got out, it would be easy to make the leap. I patted his arm. “It's going to be okay.”

“How do you know?”

“Because.” I couldn't think of a reason, so I just left it at that. I looked out the car window at the mangers and snowmen and Santa Claus decorations adorning the other houses in the neighborhood.

Because Christmas is five days way, and this guy who teaches kids, fights for his country, and is thoughtful enough to salvage a box of old sewing stuff can't spend it in jail. That's why.

Chapter 7

The police station was only a few blocks from Charlie's house, and less than half a mile from mine. It didn't take me long to head home and return to town with a few things for Charlie. But in the time I was gone I'd gotten three calls asking if Charlie was under arrest for burning his own house down. I could see why people were wondering. He had been handcuffed and put in a squad car. And Jesse had brought him to the station, gotten his official statement, and showed him to Archers Rest's only jail cell. It's illegal to cross police tape, even to go into your own home, Jesse explained. And with Charlie's disappearing act yesterday, locking him up, even on such a small charge, was the only way to keep an eye on him.

When I got to the station, Jesse was waiting for me at the reception desk. He looked about as miserable as anyone could. I knew he took no pleasure in locking up his old friend, and if I could talk him out of it I was determined to. But that was a big
if
.

“What have you got there?” He pointed to the two quilted tote bags I was holding.

I put down one bag and took out a Jacob's ladder quilt from the other. The pattern is just four-patches and half-square triangles, but it looks more complicated than it is. It wasn't my prettiest quilt, or my most well made, but it was my largest. “I brought this for Charlie. Your blankets are prison blankets.”

Jesse smiled a little. “That's sweet of you. He's not a prisoner, though. Not officially. I'm not entering him into the books unless I have to, so Charlie doesn't have a record. I need to know where he is, that's all, and he just has nowhere else to go.”

“What about the bed-and-breakfast?”

“Full up. Some New York family rented the whole place through Christmas.”

“What about your place?”

Jesse hesitated. “I have a six-year-old daughter. If, and I'm not saying for sure he did anything, but if he did burn down the house . . .”

“I get that,” I said. Jesse was wrong about Charlie committing arson, but he had Allie to protect and I was all for his being careful. “He can come home with me. We have a pullout sofa in the sewing room.”

“Same answer. If anything happened to you or Eleanor . . .”

“What about one of his neighbors, or someone from the school?”

“I asked him. He said he wants to be alone to think things out. Besides, it's already all over town that it was arson. I don't think a lot of people will let him . . .” He left the sentence unfinished. “I mean, just in case . . .”

“Then we have to prove he didn't start the fire. He needs a place to live. He needs friends.”

“He has you.” Jesse nodded toward my quilt.

“He needs more than me.”

I grabbed my quilt and the second bag and headed toward the cell. It was locked. Insurance purposes, Jesse assured me. Apparently you can't let people spend the night in a cell and leave it open. But it still seemed cruel. Jesse unlocked it for me, leaned against the cell door, and I sat on the cot across from Charlie, who sat staring at the quilt I'd brought him as if I'd given him something worth millions.

“Oliver had a couple of sweaters at the house he said you could have.” I lifted them out of the bag and handed them over to Charlie. “He's almost as tall as you, but maybe a bit bigger in the middle.” I smiled, but Charlie seemed too overwhelmed to comment. “And Eleanor sent some ginger cake and a flask of coffee.” I took the items from the second bag. “It's decaf, so you can sleep.”

“Thanks. Don't think I'll sleep much, though.”

“Charlie, tell me exactly what happened last night. When did you leave the house?”

“About seven-thirty. I wanted a smoke and my mom would never let me smoke in the house. So even now I leave the house when I want a cigarette. Dumb, I know, but it's still her house, you know, so it's her rules. But when I got about half a mile from home, I realized I'd forgotten my lighter.”

“So you went home?'

“No. I needed to think.”

“About what?”

He shrugged. “I don't belong here anymore. I've been gone too long and everyone is dead. I mean, I guess I don't have anyone here anymore.”

“You have friends,” Jesse said.

Charlie nodded but didn't look convinced. “I was trying to figure out if I should just pack up. Go somewhere for a fresh start.”

I had done exactly that myself. Just over a year ago, after a broken engagement, I'd come to visit my grandmother in Archers Rest, and stayed. I started a new, and better, life that included quilting, Jesse, lots of new friends, and an occasional attempt at amateur sleuthing. I didn't disagree with Charlie that maybe his happiness lay outside the boundaries of town, but his problems were no longer going to be solved by a change of address card. Our surroundings were proof of that.

“What time did you get back to the house?”

“Maybe eight-thirty. I'm not sure.” He stopped and took a minute to find his voice again. “When I got back to the house, I tried to go inside, but it was too smoky. When I came back out, Mr. Schultz, across the street, told me he'd already called the fire department.”

“Where did you go last night? I saw you leaving when the fire was being put out.”

“I drove to Peekskill and got a room at a motel. I called the school this morning, and they told me to take some time off to deal with things,” he said. “What they meant was they didn't want me around the kids.”

“That's not true.” I looked up at Jesse to second what I'd said, but he nodded slightly and it told me all I needed to know. The school was pushing Charlie out for fear he was a danger to the students. With Allie in the first grade there, as much as I wanted to rail against the unfairness of it, I could see why parents would need to be certain of Charlie's innocence.

“Everything's gone,” Charlie said. “My mom's stuff, her photos, everything. I went back tonight to see what I could save, and the only thing that didn't seem too damaged was my dad's hunting rifle. And now that's in the basement, and who knows when I'll be able to get it back.”

Charlie seemed to lose whatever strength he had just thinking about the scope of his loss. He lay back on the cot, wrapping the quilt around him, and stared up at the ceiling.

Jesse locked the door as I left the cell, and we went to his office to chat. Something had to be done. I just didn't know where to start.

“You had a file labeled ‘Davis,' ” I said when Jesse and I were alone.

“Did I?” He sighed. “Nell, that has nothing to do with this.”

“But if Bill Davis . . . They were fighting at the school and he seems like a bit of a hothead.”

“They had some differences about after-school programs. You really think that would lead to arson?”

“No.” I hated to admit it, because it was the only lead I had. “What about Mrs. Davis?”

“Because her husband had an argument with Charlie? Really, Nell, I know you want to help, but you're grasping at straws.”

“No. Well, maybe. I just meant . . .” I didn't know what I meant. “Allie had Mrs. Davis last year, didn't she? As her kindergarten teacher. What was she like?”

“She was great. She's really given her heart and soul to those kids. I don't know what she's going to do once the Archers Rest kindergarten class joins up with Morristown.”

“When is that happening?”

“September,” he said. “There's only about a half a dozen kids entering kindergarten next year, so it just makes sense.”

“The fire department and now the kindergarten. We're being taking over by Morristown.” It all seemed so sad. “I wonder what we'll lose next.”

“It's a good thing Archers Rest has so many crimes, or else I'd be gone too.” He winked at me. “So how's your Christmas shopping going? I'm all done.”

“I still have a few gifts to get.”

“I hope whatever you've gotten me is as good as what I got you.” He was teasing. Nothing could be solved tonight and I could see he was ready to lighten his mood after a long, difficult evening. But as much as I wanted to, I couldn't play along. Charlie was sitting in a cell with a quilt and some hand-me-down sweaters as his only possessions, and Archers Rest was being swallowed bit by bit by the larger town next door. We were losing something important, the sense that Archers Rest wasn't just a dot on a map but a community of people who supported one another, and believed in one another. How to get that back seemed a bigger mystery than the identity of the arsonist.