Neighing with Fire: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) (9 page)

Fawn giggled. “You should see your face.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not good at the whole shower thing.”

“There’s no shower. I promise. If I know my Aunt Autumn, the ceremony won’t be like anything you’ve been to before.”

“If you say so,” Colleen said, unconvinced.

“You’ll see,” Fawn said, and skipped off, leaving Colleen with Sparky at the back of the firehouse.

No good deed goes unpunished, she thought, and took a deep breath before heading inside. Time for an incident debriefing.

Colleen praised the men for their excellent work battling the blaze. Despite this, Chip felt bad about having left a person inside, still believing that he could have saved Denny in some way. More and more, however, she had a sinking feeling that Denny had perished before the fire and that there was nothing that her men could have done to save him—but she kept that to herself since the medical examiner’s findings had not yet come back.

It had been Bobby’s first big call on hoses and she commended him on the hard work he had been doing getting his weight down as well as on that day’s call. After months of exercising with Chip, Bobby had almost lost enough pounds to earn his nickname Little Bobby, passed the physical tests in the fall, and earned the respect of his fellow firefighters when he had saved a boy choking on a piece of chicken by performing the Heimlich maneuver. Even Myrtle, who was usually so critical of her son, had praised his heroics. Though his mother would never say so, Colleen could see her pride every time Bobby’s name was mentioned. Mother and son had come a long way.

The meeting adjourned and Colleen retreated to her office to do paperwork, answer e-mails, and write a thank-you letter to a benefactor for a generous donation he had made to the S.E.A.L.S. Ocean Safety Mini Camp for kids program. She grabbed the letter, shut down her computer, cut the lights, descended the stairs with Sparky, and dumped the letter into the outgoing mail box.

She spotted Jimmy leaning over the engine of his pickup. Time to apologize for teasing him earlier. “Hey,” she said, joining him. “Everything okay?”

“Thought I heard something rattling around in here,” he said, lowered the hood, and dropped it closed.

“What about with us?” she asked, genuinely concerned that she had hurt the feelings of her reliable captain.

Jimmy looked at her, puzzled for a moment, then realizing that she was referring to her earlier comment said, “Oh yeah, Cold-Hearted McCabe.”

“I suppose I deserved that,” she said with a smile.

“I know it’s not true,” he said. “But I might spread the rumor anyway.”

A truck pulled in and parked next to Jimmy’s pickup. Seconds later, a man with a farmer’s tan, hair bleached from the sun, and wearing jeans and a light blue T-shirt exited. “Hey, Jimbo,” he said and fist bumped with Jimmy. “I heard about the fire. Everyone okay?”

“We’re all good,” Jimmy said. “Aaron, I’d like you to meet my boss, Chief McCabe. Chief this is Aaron Lacy.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

“Aaron’s the guy who started the OBX Barbecue Stand,” Jimmy said.

“The food smelled wonderful today when I was driving to work,” Colleen said. “I’ve been meaning to try it.”

“Well,” Aaron said, blushing slightly at the compliment. “You’re going to get your chance.” He popped open the cab of his truck, revealing several foil-wrapped trays. “I brought dinner for the house.”

The smell of the barbecue floated toward them. “You know how to make firefighters happy,” she said, her mouth salivating. “What a lovely gesture.”

“It’s nothing,” Aaron said. “I’m just glad everyone’s safe.”

“Now you see why I recruited Aaron to do the cooking for tomorrow’s Junior Firefighter Game Day,” Jimmy said with pride. He patted his friend on the back. “Should help bring in some money.”

“I hope so,” Aaron said. “Care to help me transport this inside?”

They grabbed trays and made their way toward the station.

“So,” Colleen said. “You started that stand a few months ago. Did you move here recently?”

“Aaron’s been in Carova awhile. He’s the friend I told you about that worked for Denny Custis.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised. “What’s that been like?”

“Why do you ask?” Aaron asked.

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” Jimmy said, lowering his voice. “But we think the victim in the fire was Custis.”

“Wow,” Aaron said. “I hadn’t heard.”

“We don’t know for sure,” Colleen quickly added. “We’re waiting for an ID from the ME’s office. Since you worked for him, do you know of anyone who might have had trouble with Denny?”

“Sure,” Aaron said. “Practically everyone.”

“Antonio Salvatore?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“But you hadn’t heard anything specific?”

“No,” the man said. “But Denny was a lousy guy to work for, particularly when it came to long hours and time off. I know it’s not good to talk ill of the dead, but it’s true.”

“Jimmy mentioned he might have been engaging in some unorthodox zoning practices. You know anything about that?”

“I heard some of the guys did more than build houses for him. I don’t know what specifically, but I didn’t want any part of that. Planned on quitting as soon as I was sure I could make a go of it with this.” He held up the tray of food. “Guess I’ll be quitting sooner than I thought.”

“Speaking of the food,” Jimmy said, “we should get this inside. I’m starving.”

They entered the station. The men cheered at the sight of the barbecue and everyone hurried to the tables. It was a well-deserved treat for her men and helped them end the day on a lighter note. She half listened to them chatting about the bait they used for fishing, celebrity gossip, and how they thought teams would do when football pre-season came around. Her thoughts, however, drifted to the fire and Denny’s death. She didn’t know how he had died, but she had every intention of finding out. Right now, however, with her belly full of food, she suddenly felt exhausted. She cleared her plate, thanked Aaron for the meal, said good-bye to her guys, and headed home with Sparky for a shower and a good night’s sleep.

Chapter 7

Colleen felt warm
breath blow across her forehead and the soft, cool pad of a paw gently pat her cheek. She fought to keep her face still and her lids from fluttering, but it was no use. Smokey knew she was awake, purred loudly in her ear, and rubbed her furry head against Colleen’s chin. A cat wanting breakfast is better than an alarm clock.

“Hey there,” Colleen said, finally opening her eyes and rubbing the Siamese’s cheek. “Why can’t you be like Sparky and let me sleep?”

Smokey replied with an insistent meow, jumped from the bed, ran to the door, curved back, and meowed again.

“Okay okay,” she said. She climbed out of bed and made her way downstairs, trying all the while not to trip as Smokey darted between her legs.

Sparky wagged his tail and Colleen opened the front door to let him out to take care of business. She yawned and stretched from side to side before preparing Smokey’s breakfast and pouring food into Sparky’s bowl. Nothing like the smell of canned cat food in the morning, she thought, and wrinkled her nose. Sparky pawed at the front screen and she let him in.

Truthfully, she didn’t mind Smokey’s approach to waking her in the morning. It sure beat the irritating buzz of her alarm clock. She retrieved a bottle of vitamin water from the refrigerator and gulped it down so she’d be hydrated for her run. She checked the time. It would be early enough for a nice leisurely jog.

She dashed upstairs, washed her face, brushed her teeth, threw on her running gear, and rejoined Sparky, who was waiting by the front door with his leash in his mouth. She stroked Smokey’s back and headed out into the misty early morning. She strolled to the end of her driveway and stretched her legs. Sparky looked at her as if to say “You ready?” and they set off on Lakeview Court toward Route 12.

Running had always helped clear her mind. Right now there was quite a bit swirling around in there—Denny’s and Fuentes’s deaths, Agent Morgan and the arson investigation, Fawn and Chip’s wedding, the disguised Myrtle and her battles over the use of the sanctuary land, and Denny and Pinky’s feud.

She wondered if she’d hear from Agent Morgan today about any findings. More and more she suspected that Denny had been the one that had set the fire. Why else would he have been on Pinky’s property? Perhaps he hadn’t expected the place to burn so fast and, with his poor vision and the billowing smoke, had had trouble finding his way out. Too many times people died in fires because they couldn’t see their way to an exit.

And what about the man that had been seen arguing with Denny before the fire? Was it possible this person had killed Denny and his employee Michael Fuentes? Perhaps the first death had been a warning to Denny from an enemy—the developer had certainly made a few. But who hated him enough to kill him and, perhaps, one of his crew?

She approached Route 12 and made a right toward Currituck Heritage Park. The park was home to the Currituck Beach Lighthouse, the Whalehead historic house and museum, and the Outer Banks Center for Wildlife Education and was one of her favorite places in Corolla. Her phone vibrated in her armband. She slipped it from its pocket and glanced at the number.

“Good morning,” she said after hitting the
ANSWER
button.

“You’re up already?” Bill asked, surprised.

“Smokey.”

“Ah,” he said.

“What’s up?”

“ME called with preliminary findings on Custis. No soot or ash in his airways and a fracture at the back of his skull. Looks like we’ve got a—”

“Homicide,” Colleen said with him, and tapped Sparky’s rump to signal him to stop.

“I’m on my way to pick up Salvatore.”

“You’re arresting Pinky?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But I’d like to question him, see where he was yesterday.”

She understood why Bill wanted to speak with Pinky. The real estate developer had been evasive about where he had been when the fire broke out, had been involved in recent disputes over land with the victim, and owned the property where Denny had died; but Colleen didn’t believe for a minute that Pinky was responsible for the fire or the death.

“You there?” Bill asked.

“Yep.” She looked north up Route 12 and got an idea.

“I gotta go,” Bill said. “Thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks. Keep me posted,” she said, and jogged north instead of south along Route 12.

There’s no way Pinky killed Denny, she thought. She picked up her pace, checked for traffic, crossed Route 12, turned onto Headwind Way and then onto Sandcastle Drive. Time to return to the scene of the crime.

She slowed upon reaching the remains of Pinky’s construction site. Sparky cocked his head and his nostrils twitched. He had an especially sensitive nose when it came to fire. He whimpered to be let free and she unhooked his leash. It wouldn’t hurt to have a canine detective on the case. He sniffed at the ground and the pylons holding up the house, then zigzagged toward the back. She ducked under the crime-scene tape and stared up at the charred building.

Burned structures always came across as angry to her with their jagged edges, tarnished and twisted metal, and crusty blackness that covered everything. She walked around the side, examined the V-shaped burn marks coming from the window, and continued to the ocean side of the house. Sparky burrowed his nose into the sand near where they had found the matches and scratched the ground with his paws. She backed away until she reached the foot of the dune. Maybe getting a different perspective would help her figure out what had happened here.

Sparky barked and she searched for him on the property.

“Bring me the ball,” came a boy’s voice from behind a dune that stood between the neighboring house and Pinky’s property. A ball flew high into the air on the other side of the dune, fell back to earth, and was followed by a “Good dog.”

She trudged up the sand berm and caught sight of Sparky playing with the boy who had witnessed Denny arguing with the mystery man. “Hello,” she said. “I see you’ve met Sparky.”

Sparky licked the boy’s face. The boy laughed and said, “Stop that, Sparky.”

Colleen beamed. Sparky had always had a way with children. She carefully made her way down the other side and onto a manicured backyard complete with hot tub, badminton net, and shuffleboard.

“I’m Colleen,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Jacob.”

“Nice to meet you, Jacob. Do you remember me from yesterday?”

The boy looked at her puzzled and then his face brightened. “You’re the lady firefighter. I like your engine.”

“Everyone does.” She hadn’t met a child yet that didn’t love seeing the inside of the engine and ambulance.

“Jacob?” came a woman’s voice from above them. “Who are you talking to?”

“The lady firefighter. She’s got a dog!”

The boy’s mother hurried down the stairs and joined them. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

Colleen held out her hand. “I’m Chief McCabe. I understand Jacob witnessed an argument yesterday before the fire.”

“That’s right,” Jacob’s mother said.

“I was wondering if I might ask him a few questions, to help me better understand the circumstances surrounding the incident.”

“You okay with that?” the mother asked her son.

“Sure.”

Colleen squatted next to Jacob so they were at the same level. “You mind telling me everything you heard or saw? Even if you don’t think it’s important, it might help me figure out how that fire started.”

“Is Sparky a firehouse dog?” Jacob asked, stroking the dog’s neck.

“Kinda,” Colleen said, wanting him to get to her question but not wishing to rush him. “But he lives with me, not at the station.”

“That’s cool.”

“Jacob, tell Chief McCabe what you saw,” the mother said.

“Well,” he said in a tone that indicated he was about to tell a long, once-upon-a-time story. “It all began with a lot of banging around.”

“What type of banging?” Colleen asked.

“I don’t know. Banging like when people build stuff.”