Neighing with Fire: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) (6 page)

“I gotta go,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Be careful,” she said, then thought how stupid the comment was since it was unlikely he’d encounter danger from teenagers on scooters.

Bill flashed a smile, leaned through the window to give her a kiss, got pulled back by his seat belt, and grazed her cheek with his lips. They chuckled at the uncomfortable moment. His phone buzzed again.

“That’s probably Rodney,” she said. “Let me know if you hear anything more about Fuentes.”

He nodded, started the engine, and maneuvered out of the driveway. She watched the emergency lights flash as he disappeared around the corner, then listened for his siren to kick on before going inside. One of these days, things aren’t going to be so awkward between us, she told herself.

Chapter 4

Sparky and Smokey
stared intently at the two bowls of food in Colleen’s hands, prompting her to recall the twentieth-century philosopher Martin Buber’s saying, “An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language.” She wasn’t sure how “great” the language her furry friends were speaking to her right now was, but it was crystal clear.

She set down the food—Fancy Feast Ocean Whitefish and Tuna for Smokey, Beneful Beef Stew for Sparky—and sank onto the kitchen floor, exhausted. She leaned against the refrigerator and observed her companions savoring their meals. Smokey briefly looked up while licking away a bit of food from her mouth, blinked a “thank you” to Colleen, and then returned to her dish. She rubbed the cat’s ears. Even though the chatty Siamese could annoy Colleen with her habits of sleeping on the dining table, jumping on the kitchen counter, and occasionally swiping at Colleen’s foot, Smokey was a loving kitty. And there was no sound she enjoyed more than listening to Smokey’s loud purr while falling asleep.

Sparky slurped up his food and then ogled the cat’s dish. Colleen admired her canine companion’s intelligence and loyalty. Unlike other dogs, Sparky wasn’t prone to making fast friends with every dog he met. In fact, quite a few dogs annoyed him with their enthusiastic sniffing and jumping. It had surprised her when he had taken to the golden retriever on the beach this morning. He could be cautious with people, too, until he trusted them. He had even been guarded with Bill at first—hard to believe now given how much he enjoyed Bill being around since his return to town in March.

Since Bill’s homecoming, she and he had been redefining what exactly they were to one another. She didn’t know why the transition felt so awkward. She had had boyfriends before, even lived with one. But this was different; Bill was different. He was her best friend. She didn’t want to mess that up. She suspected that he might be feeling the same, and it was for these reasons they had moments like the clumsy kiss good-bye.

She had had to adjust to Bill stopping by the station. When he did, she felt like all eyes were on them … and many times they were. Jimmy must have sensed this because one day he had taken her aside and told her all the guys were relieved that she and Bill had finally acknowledged what everyone had been able to see for some time. Jimmy was a good guy … even if he did tease her unmercifully.

Smokey finished her meal and retreated to the living room for her post-dinner bath. Sparky licked clean the cat’s plate, then trotted across the foyer to join his feline friend. She rinsed the dishes in the sink, placed them in the dishwasher, and plodded into the living room to watch television. She surfed the channels and found a news reporter interviewing a local painter and sculptor named Autumn about her work. She propped herself on the sofa pillows, listened to the artist, and drifted off to sleep.

Colleen’s cell phone buzzed. She groaned and blinked into the light streaming in through her living room curtains. Her head felt like it weighed fifty pounds. She forced herself upright and discovered Smokey and Sparky staring curiously at her. A local weather person was predicting a sunny, hot day on the television. She clicked the TV off. Had she really spent the entire night on the sofa?

She retrieved the phone from between the cushions. “Hello?”

“Good morning,” Bill said on the other end.

She heard the sound of a car pulling up to the house.

“Hey,” she said, rising to find out who would be coming by this early.

A door slammed and footsteps crossed the porch. Sparky lowered his head and growled at the knock on the front door. Smokey scurried under a side table. She peeked out the curtains and Bill waved. She hung up, brushed back her hair, and wiped the sleep from her eyes before opening the door.

“Please tell me that’s coffee,” she said, eyeing a large Styrofoam cup of steaming liquid in his hand.

“And doughnuts from Lighthouse Bagels,” he said holding up a white paper bag.

She moved aside to let him in. Sparky wagged his tail and sniffed at the bag.

“Sparky, go find the rabbit,” she said, and the dog hurried outside to make his morning rounds and search for the elusive rabbit that lived on her property.

“Are those the clothes you were in yesterday?” Bill asked, more an observation than a question.

She closed the door, took the coffee from his hand, and trudged into the kitchen to get a plate for the doughnuts.

“Everything okay?” he asked, following her.

Smokey emerged from her hiding place, scampered to Bill, rubbed against his legs, and yowled.

“All right, all right,” Colleen said, opening the cabinet to retrieve food for the cat.

“Why don’t you let me feed Smokey,” he said, grabbing the can from her hand. “You work on waking up. I’ve got news.”

“News?” she said. “What news?”

“Drink the coffee and have a bite of that doughnut. Then I’ll tell you.”

“What is it?” she asked, impatient to hear what had brought him by so early.

“Eat,” he said, motioning to the bag.

“I know how to take care of myself.” She grabbed one of the restaurant’s famous homemade doughnuts and took a big bite for emphasis.

“Yes,” he said with a grin. “But I need that mind sharp and awake.”

Bill’s recent caregiving behavior could be wonderful … and downright infuriating—especially when she knew he had big news. She took another bite of the scrumptious doughnut and her irritation with him disappeared. Lighthouse Bagels & Deli really did make the best bagels, doughnuts, and breakfast in Corolla. She watched Bill feed Smokey, then smiled with appreciation when he joined her at the table.

“Good,” he said. “You awake?”

She took a swig of coffee to wash down the doughnut. “Let me hear it.”

“The ME’s office called about Fuentes. Preliminary findings suggest proximate cause of death was strangulation. Apparently the hyoid bone in Fuentes’ neck was fractured.”

“So it is murder,” she said.

“That’s not all. Fuentes was one of Denny’s workers. Last time anyone remembers seeing him was back in December.”

“Why didn’t anyone report him missing?”

“Turns out he doesn’t have any family in the States. When Rodney talked to some of the workers yesterday, they said they thought Fuentes went home to visit family in Mexico and decided not to come back.”

“An immigration issue?”

Bill shook his head. “Fuentes was legalized and a decorated Afghanistan war vet.”

She stood and paced. “Don’t you think it strange that Denny didn’t wonder why one of his guys stopped reporting to work?”

She could see Bill wanted to counter her argument. It was part of what he had called their pas de deux—telling her not to jump to conclusions, asking her if it was her gut rather than her head telling her this—but instead he surprised her.

“I do,” he said, rising. “Which is why I’m on my way to talk to Custis now. Fuentes may have told Denny why he wasn’t coming back.”

She walked Bill to the foyer. “That doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t Denny tell his guys, then?”

“Maybe it was personal and Fuentes didn’t want anyone knowing.”

She opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. “Something isn’t making sense here.”

“Again, why I want to talk to him,” Bill said, reaching his vehicle.

“I’ll ask around the station to see if anyone has heard anything about him.” Bill’s brows furrowed with concern. “Don’t worry. I’ll be discreet.”

Sparky tore around the corner, tail wagging, and paws and fur wet. He shook and sprayed them with a mist of brackish water.

“He’s been in the sound again,” she said by way of apology.

“He needs a b-a-t-h,” Bill said, knowing if he said the word it would send Sparky running.

She grabbed the dog’s collar to keep him from rubbing against Bill. “Call me after you talk to Custis. Thanks for breakfast.”

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. She held onto Sparky as Bill drove away, and then hurried inside to get ready for work. She took a quick shower, left Smokey sunning upstairs under an open bedroom window, and headed to the station with Sparky. With any luck, one of the guys might have heard of Michael Hector Fuentes.

Colleen made her way down Route 12. There were already a lot of cars on the road—residents heading to work and visitors making up for the day they had lost on their vacation because of the storm. She stopped to let bikers cross the road to Currituck Heritage Park and peered up at the Currituck Beach Lighthouse. People were already at the top, taking pictures and enjoying the spectacular view.

A woman with a stroller hurried from the parking lot of the shops across from the park to take advantage of the break in traffic. The plywood over the windows was gone and the spaces in front of OBX Barbecue Stand were full. OBX Barbecue Stand had made its debut in April and had been an instant success. The smells of pulled pork and barbecue chicken floated through the open window causing Sparky’s nose to twitch and his mouth to salivate. She inhaled deeply. It did smell good. Maybe they could stop by the stand on the way home and pick up dinner. The neighborhood was bustling with activity. She sensed today was going to be eventful.

She half expected there to be an emergency at the station when she pulled in, but all was quiet … eerily so. Like the calm before the storm, except the storm had already passed. Sparky sensed her tension and licked her chin as she threw her SUV into park.

“Bill’s right,” she said, gently pushing him away from her face. “You need a b-a-t-h.”

The dog wagged his tail, blissfully ignorant of the future bath plans, and jumped from the vehicle after her. She slammed the door closed and made her way to the engine bay. The engines and ambulance gleamed. She inspected the garage … spotless. Not a piece of equipment was out of order. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they should review the equipment again.

Having organized everything late last night and then again at the shift change this morning, she knew the guys would grumble about another equipment check being unnecessary. And they’d probably be right. Maybe it was the fact that the arsonist hadn’t struck in two weeks—the longest hiatus between incidents—that was putting her on edge, or maybe it was the news that Michael Fuentes had been murdered, or maybe it was simply that she had had a bad night’s sleep on the sofa, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of something looming on the horizon. No, it wouldn’t hurt to do another check—just in case.

Colleen opened the door and entered the community room. Kenny and Bobby were playing Scrabble at a table, Chip was passed out on the sofa, and Jimmy was in his office doing paperwork.

“Hey,” she said, joining Jimmy. “How are things?”

“Pretty quiet,” he said.

“A little strange, right?”

Jimmy set down the paper. “What’s on your mind?” The two had known one another for quite some time. He could always tell when something was bothering her.

She shrugged.

He raised his brows, folded his arms, and sat back in his chair. “That bad?”

“Just a feeling. Probably the doughnut I ate this morning,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Doughnuts, huh?” Jimmy chuckled. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

She smiled but decided not to tell him that the doughnuts had been a breakfast treat from Bill. “Tell me something,” she said. “You ever heard of a guy named Michael Hector Fuentes?”

He shook his head. “Who is he?”

“The guy that was found under the walkway. Nobody seems to know much about him.”

“There are a lot of rather reclusive types in Carova. I imagine a person could stay pretty anonymous up there if he wanted to.”

“Maybe,” she said, remembering she had told Bill she’d be discreet. “Anyway, the reason I came to talk to you is that I’d like to do another equipment—”

He never heard her last words. Their pagers shrieked to life and their cell phones buzzed with an incoming text. Seconds later the dispatcher informed them over the pagers of a house fire on Sandcastle Drive. Bobby and Kenny leapt from the table, Chip bolted from the sofa, and she and Jimmy dashed into the engine bay.

Her men suited up and started the engine. Sparky barked as she hurried to her SUV. “Go to your bed,” she commanded and pointed inside. Her heart broke at the sad face he gave her, but he did as instructed and retreated to the firehouse. She didn’t want to be distracted by Sparky being near the danger. Her men would need her full attention.

She opened the back of her SUV, tied her hair back at the nape of her neck, and retrieved her chief’s helmet. The engine pulled out and the ambulance followed. She soon caught up with the ambulance and engine.

The emergency vehicles slowed in order to make the sharp right off of Route 12 onto Headwind Way and then a quick left onto Sandcastle. Sandcastle Drive was located in the northernmost community of Corolla, ran parallel to Route 12, and was lined on either side with beautiful oceanfront and oceanview homes. Kids often rode bikes on Sandcastle; she hoped they were all off of the road. Several people on balconies pointed down the road directing the engine. A band of teen boys raced alongside the engine—something she, too, had done as a child whenever there was a fire in her apartment complex—and then were soon left behind.

Black and gray smoke billowed across the Columbia blue sky and out to sea in a menacing plume. It wasn’t difficult to trace its origins to the windows and roof of an oceanside residence near the end of the road. Colleen parked behind the ambulance as the engine guys threw trucks under the tires, pulled hoses, and retrieved irons and self-contained breathing apparatus. The blue plastic coating on the windows and the Dumpster in the driveway confirmed that it was a house under construction. The initials “AS” on the side of the Dumpster indicated that it was one of Pinky Salvatore’s.