Sight Shot (Imogene Museum Mystery #3) (16 page)

CHAPTER
17

We both clutched at the nearest solid thing — the windowsill, then Amos shoved me face-first to the floor and crashed down beside me. He flung an arm across the back of my head and cradled his own head with his other arm.

“
Window — glass — we gotta get away, in case—” Amos army-crawled on his elbows, dragging the rest of his body toward the kitchen.

I followed, the repercussion of the blast still pounding in my head and through my ears. Everything was fuzzy.

Smaller explosions ripped the air in short, staccato bursts like aftershocks. Amos pulled open the sliding glass door and stepped onto his patio.

“
Snead place is on fire,” he hollered. “Flames twenty feet in the air. Can see ‘em through the trees.” He stuck his head back inside and pointed at a phone on the kitchen wall, its kinked cord drooping almost to the floor. “Call the fire department.”

I dialed Sheriff Marge
— because I have her number memorized and because she’s faster at mobilizing forces than the 911 operators holed up in their bunker one county over. Sheriff Marge knows her resources, paid and otherwise — who to ask for what and when.

“
Be right there,” Sheriff Marge replied after I explained in breathless spurts. “Tell Amos not to do anything stupid — in other words, stay on his own property. That’s an order.” Sheriff Marge hung up.

Tuppence pressed against my legs, shaking, and I stooped to hug her.

“You felt it first, didn’t you, old girl?” I held her head in my hands and looked into her eyes.

Her tongue shot out and caught me on the nose.

“Alright. It’ll be alright.”

“
I’m going up for a closer look,” Amos shouted.

“
No, you’re not,” I yelled back and quickly hobbled to the open door. “Sheriff Marge says you’re to stay put.”

“
That woman,” Amos muttered.

“
You have to deal with this woman too.” I pointed to my chest. “There’s nothing you can do up there — no fire hydrants, no hose long enough.”

“
The pump house—”

“
From the look of things, the pump house is either engulfed, or it’ll be way too hot to approach. I saw what was inside that shack, and it’ll blow too if it hasn’t already.” I shook my head and linked my arm through his.

Amos wiped a hand across his brow, and his shoulders drooped as he leaned into me.
“Gone. My good friend.”

“
Spence?”

“
What was left of him.” Amos gestured vaguely toward the orange inferno.

I shivered as I realized I wasn
’t cold. Enough warmth roiled off the massive fire to make my face feel flushed even though it must’ve been below freezing. Maybe it was my nerves.

Tuppence whined from the doorway. Amos sank onto the stoop and placed a large hand on her head. She tucked her muzzle under his chin, and he held her close.

We watched the fire rage in silence. The explosions seemed to be over, and it crackled like a giant campfire. Every few minutes, a loud pop released a shower of sparks as something particularly combustible succumbed to the advancing flames. Low clouds crept across the dark sky, blinking out the stars in their path and joining the murky smoke billowing ever higher.

Rain? Rain would be very helpful right now.

A siren wail pricked my ears. It sped closer — on the highway — then stalled at the base of Four Forks Road as the fire engine began the steep climb. The siren stopped abruptly as though the driver realized he wouldn’t encounter any more traffic, and was replaced by the sound of the big lumbering engine chugging steadily onward.

White and red lights flashed through the night in swooping arcs, strobing against tree trunks and around Amos
’s house. The truck came to a stop at the entrance to the Snead driveway. With the weight of the truck and the rutted condition of the narrow access road, they probably couldn’t go farther.

Amos stood, grabbed my boot from the kitchen floor and handed it to me.
“Come on.”

Tuppence and I followed him around the end of the cabin to his wrecked truck. Tuppence jumped into the pickup
’s bed, then Amos gave me a hand up. I sat on the wheel well, and Amos perched on the truck’s side next to me. It was like sitting in a private box at the theater, the best view of the most spectacular fire of the year, maybe of the decade — it was certainly the biggest blaze I’d ever seen.

I loosened the laces all the way down my boot and gingerly wedged my foot back into it. While tight, the support felt reassuring. Tuppence hunkered between my knees, also mesmerized by the scene.

A second fire truck climbed Beane Bluff, then a deputy sheriff’s cruiser, then Sheriff Marge’s Explorer, then another deputy, then a parade of private vehicles, pickups mostly — probably volunteer firefighters.

The ambulance arrived last, idled for a few minutes, then turned around and headed back downhill.

Every once in a while, I could make out a small human form between the trees, silhouetted against the fire, but there didn’t seem to be a sense of urgency. The firefighters were probably as helpless as we were to put out the flames.

A vehicle pulled away from the pack and slowly wound downhill. The headlights paused at Amos
’s driveway and turned toward us — Sheriff Marge’s Explorer.

She killed the engine, and her door slammed. Amos jumped up and offered his hand. After a couple practice attempts, a loud grunt and a straining heave on Amos
’s part, Sheriff Marge landed in the pickup bed.

I scooted over and gave her my warm spot on the wheel well.

“Total loss,” Sheriff Marge wheezed. “Too far gone when we arrived, and not enough water to fight it with. Guys’re using what’s in the tanker to keep the fire from spreading.” She lifted her Stratton hat and swiped a sleeve across her forehead. “They’ll let it burn itself out. Take all night at least.” She peered at me over her reading glasses. “Must be some kind of fuel involved. Too hot to be just a structure fire. Want to tell me what you were doing up there and what you saw?”

Amos leaned forward, elbows on knees.
“Tell her everything.” He nodded significantly, and I knew he meant Wade’s vigorous defense of the no trespassing stipulation.

“
I was being nosy,” I started.

“
Neighborly,” Amos corrected.

I wrinkled my nose.
“Maybe somewhere in the middle.”

Between the intermittent starlight and the fire
’s glow, Sheriff Marge’s and Amos’s faces were partially visible but inscrutable. I mirrored Amos’s pose and cupped my chin in my hand and talked.

Nosy and stupid were the operative words on my part, but they paled in comparison to the multiplicity of flammable liquids, mysterious wire through the window, aggressive shooting and rapid departure on Wade
’s part. As I listened to my voice — eerily distant and bland — recount the afternoon’s and evening’s activities, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on.

CHAPTER
18

An hour later, Sheriff Marge scooted off the tailgate. “Alright. I’m sure I’ll need to talk to you again later. But for now, go home. Put your ankle up. And you—” she aimed a stern finger at Amos, “—stay put. Let me know if you see Wade come back.” She stalked to the Explorer and climbed in.

Amos and I watched her back slowly out of the driveway and roll down
Four Forks Road. The orange glow from the Snead place was smaller, as from smoldering embers — the size embers that could be seen a few hundred yards away. My sense of scale and distance was out of whack in the dark and unfamiliar territory.

“
You up to driving?” Amos asked.

My headache had settled into a dull heaviness. I brushed a fingertip across the dry, crusty edge of the cut on my forehead then stretched my left leg out and tentatively rotated my ankle. I bit back a wince.
“Yeah.”

Tuppence stood and shook out her fur, her jowls, her ears, her tail
— a full-body spin cycle.

“
Dogs know best.” Amos jumped out of the pickup bed and stretched a hand toward me.

I accepted his assistance and slid to the ground, careful not to put much weight on my left foot. Amos clicked his tongue to call Tuppence, and she trotted ahead of us to my truck.

I eased behind the wheel. Amos held the door open, waiting for me to get settled.

I smiled at our reversed situation from just a couple days ago.
“Have you recovered from your accident?”

“
Huh. Doc says I have to be tested ‘fore I can drive again. Need to get a new truck too.” Amos scratched behind his ear. “Hate gettin’ old.”

“
You’re not old. You’re experienced. And your experience saved my bacon today. Thanks.” I stuck out my right hand.

Amos nodded thoughtfully and gave my hand a firm shake.
“Bring your dog ‘round again sometime.”

“
You bet.”

I aimed for the center of the potholed road, peering through the windshield to the far reaches of the headlight beams while gripping the steering wheel like a nervous old lady on her Sunday drive. I
’d already had my share of accidents for the day and didn’t want to add a collision with a startled deer to my tally. Tuppence curled up on the seat with her nose on my thigh. Apparently, being chased and shot at, surviving an explosion and watching a cabin go up in flames had exhausted us both.

Sheriff Marge had hinted at arson, and my own observations, reviewed after the fact, seemed to support the idea. But why? Wade owned the cabin free and clear as far as I knew. If he was a responsible homeowner, he
’d have insured it, but the structure couldn’t be worth much. Was he that desperate for cash?

No one seemed to think there was anything valuable inside the Snead cabin, neither from Spence
’s time or Wade’s more recent habitation. In fact, Wade had brought me what he thought might be valuable.

Wait a minute. If Wade brought everything he thought was valuable to me for safekeeping
— what better place than a museum? — then he could burn down the cabin without risking much loss. But there wasn’t anything valuable among the Snead family papers and photos. Unless I’d missed something.

I got the impression Spence Snead was a bit of a hermit, certainly not the type to throw dinner parties or even host stag poker nights. The only other person I knew for sure had been inside the Snead cabin before Spence
’s death and the ensuing investigation was Edna. I wrinkled my nose. What had she said? Something about that’s when she’d started taking things.

What had Edna taken from the Snead cabin?

I gunned the truck past the entrance to the Riverside RV Ranch and home, heading for the county road to the Garmans’ place. No time like the present.

The small white house was completely dark
— no front porch light, no flickering blue glow from a television. But both cars were in the carport. I poked my phone to check the time — 10:46 p.m. No sign of movement from the house. My headlights and the sound of my truck engine hadn’t seemed to disturb the occupants.

I opened the door and slid out. Tuppence reluctantly followed, and I closed the door quietly without fully latching it. I scuffed through the grass to the back of the house, not wanting to aggravate my ankle by tripping over a hose or other obstruction in the dark. In the faint starlight, I picked out which window I thought belonged to Edna
’s bedroom and stepped under it.

The bottom of the aluminum window frame sat even with my chin. I tapped on the single-pane glass with my fingernails and prayed Edna wouldn
’t come barreling out of the house with a shotgun. Out here people take self-defense, property protection and wild animal predator control pretty seriously, and usually have the necessary guns on hand to make their point. I was still trembling from my earlier encounter with an irate homeowner. And I supposed I was trespassing again.

I took a deep breath and repeated the tapping.

A dim light flicked on behind the curtain, revealing a scattered dot pattern on pale fabric. A shadow moved across the light, and a hand pulled back a corner of the curtain.

I couldn
’t see clearly who it was, so I stepped back a foot and smiled encouragingly, hoping I was giving the person an adequate look at me to feel comfortable with further contact.

Hands fumbled with the latch and slid the window open halfway, then Edna
’s head and shoulders appeared. She must have pulled her little stool over and stood on it to see out.

“
Meredith. What’re you doing?” Edna’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

“
Sorry. Didn’t want to wake your mother.”

“
She’s probably awake. Insomnia. Come to the back door. I’ll let you in.”

“
But—”

Edna
’d disappeared, so I felt through the weeds and skirted a seatless iron patio chair. A door opened, casting a wedge of yellow light. Tuppence trotted directly for it and wriggled her way inside.

“
Hurry up. It’s freezing,” Edna said.

I stepped into the kitchen and faced both Edna and Mrs. Garman, looking so much like twins of different ages. They were both wrapped in faded bathrobes and blinking at me with watery, pale blue eyes.

“Visitors,” Mrs. Garman murmured.

“
I know this is a very rude time and way to call, and I’m sorry,” I said.

“
Not at all. This is a treat.” Mrs. Garman pulled out a dinette chair with a cracked turquoise vinyl seat and gestured for me to sit. She moved to the sink and filled an electric tea kettle from the tap.

Edna opened a cupboard door and grabbed a box of saltines. She slid into another chair, took a handful of crackers and handed the packet across to me.
“Mom and I do this all the time when we can’t sleep.”

Mrs. Garman set three mugs on the table.
“Chamomile?”

“
Perfect.” I nodded.

“
I didn’t introduce myself properly when you came before. Please call me Ramona.” She hunched into her bathrobe, hands knotted in the pockets, and she looked at me shyly from under her brows.

“
I’m so pleased to meet you.”

“
Edna told me about your offer of a special job doing restoration and repairs of museum pieces.”

“
I decided,” Edna piped up. “I’m coming to see you tomorrow.”

I grinned.
“I hoped you would.”

The tea kettle whistled, and Ramona filled our mugs. I dunked my tea bag and chewed my lip, wondering if I could bring up my question in front of her. If Sheriff Marge made periodic visits to retrieve items, then Ramona must realize the extent of Edna
’s kleptomania.

“
This isn’t just a social call, is it?” Ramona asked.

I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. Apparently my thoughts are obvious to the casual observer.

“Then I’m going to clean that cut on your forehead, and you’re going to tell us what’s wrong.” Ramona held up a finger in a wait-a-minute gesture and shuffled down the hallway.

I fingered the scab. I must be a disheveled mess. I was still trembling
— the whole night seemed unreal, and I wondered when I’d wake up.

“
Does your mom know about your — about the animal collection in your closet?” I whispered.

Edna sighed.
“Yeah. I cause her no end of worry. Every time, I think it’s my last time, but then—” She shrugged.

Ramona returned and scooted a chair next to me. She opened a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and took my face in her hands, turning it toward her.
“I used to be a nurse. Hold still.”

She dabbed at the cut while I squeezed my eyes shut.

“How’d this happen?”

“
Wasn’t watching where I was running.”

Ramona
’s eyebrow quirked, but her lips were pressed together in concentration. She opened a box of tiny butterfly bandages. “It’s a clean slice, but deep. Leave these on for a few days and don’t get it wet.”

I sighed.
“Thanks.” I hated it, but I had to tell them. “The Snead cabin burned down — or is in the process of burning down.”

“
Now? Tonight?” Edna blurted, her hand halfway to her mouth with another cracker.

Ramona gripped the table edge. She pressed her other hand over her eyes. For a minute, she just breathed, her shoulders rising then falling heavily.
“Perhaps it’s fitting,” she murmured, swiping a tear from her cheek as she removed her hand.

Edna pushed a mug of tea toward her mother, then looked at me.
“You were there.”

I inhaled, nodding.
“Last week, Wade brought me his family’s papers, photos and a few other items. He wanted to know if there was anything of value.” I shook my head. “I’m missing something.” I leaned across the table and grabbed Edna’s hand. “Which is why I really need to know what you — what you removed from the Snead cabin all those years ago. Do you still have it?”

Edna darted a glance at Ramona and slid back from the table. She disappeared down the hall without a word.

Ramona twined her fingers around the mug handle. “Edna’s had a hard life. She doesn’t have many—” she sighed, “—any friends.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Spence was a good man. I never thought—” Another tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

Edna gently set her boot box on the table and lifted the lid. One by one, she removed the tissue-wrapped bundles, then she pulled out the sheaf of pictures and papers I
’d seen earlier. She slipped three pages from the bottom of the stack and flipped them around so they were right-side up for me.

I spread them out. Three shareholder certificates for the Capilano Silver Mine Company in
British Columbia, Canada issued on different dates — April 1, 1856; January 15, 1857; November 20, 1860. They were in amazing condition, but better than that — and what must have attracted Edna to them — intricate engravings of native animals framed each certificate. Each one was different, and I leaned in to examine them. Moose, wolverine, loon, great blue heron, Kermode bear, fisher polecat, bison, peregrine falcon and many more.