The Devil Makes Three (23 page)

Upon arrival at my parking lot we found it cordoned off with police tape, about fifty police cars and three fire engines. “What do you think is going on?” she asked, pulling up to the curb next to a group of gawkers I recognized as tenants.

“Oh no!” I hung my head in my hands and struggled to breath.

“What?”

“I think I left my iron on!”

“You think it was your place?”

I didn't respond, instead jumping out of the car and hurrying up the walk. The air smelled thick with smoke and ash.

“Gretchen, hey Gretchen!” Someone called my name, but I kept going, past the police tape to where I could get a clear view of the building. Sure enough, my apartment was a black hole, oozing smoke and ash.

“Hawkeye!”

I found the nearest cop and explained my identity. He nodded solemnly and pointed up to the destruction.

“It started about an hour ago. One of your neighbors smelled smoke and called us. We won't know what caused it for a while yet. The fire Marshall hasn't even gone through. We just barely got the blaze out.”

I nodded numbly, trying hard not to imagine my cat's carcass burnt to a crisp on his favorite section of blanket.

“I assume there was no one at home?” he asked.

“My cat.”

He said nothing, apparently at a loss for comforting words. It didn't matter anyway. It wouldn't have helped.

Katie showed up at my side, but I ignored her. Instead I chose to stare at the dark hole that had been everything I owned. I would have kept staring if someone hadn’t bumped my shoulder as they walked behind me. Turning to see who invaded my personal space, half expecting Corbin, I found myself watching the back of a familiar girl walk away. After a moment, she slowed her pace and turned, flashing me a devious smile.

“Candy,” I breathed. My vision began to darken and pop with red spots all at once. Without even realizing what I did, I began to chase her through the crowd of rubberneckers. The going was slow since I kept bumping into people, but I didn’t care. She had been the one to burn my apartment to a cinder, frying my cat in the process, and I had to find her and beat her to a pulp for it. 

“Hey, Gretchen!”

I plowed into a solid form attempting to intercept me. Both of us went sprawling on the ground and I cursed at whoever it was in my head while glancing around to see where she went. Unfortunately, she was gone.

The person that had run into me was back on his feet already, and offered me a hand. I blinked and looked up, recognizing my neighbor, Paul Devon, from down the hall.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to knock you down. Are you okay?”

“My apartment is fried. What do you think?”

I gave him my hand and he pulled me up, then stooped to pick up his box from the ground. He peered in the gap between the flaps and nodded as if satisfied, then glanced back at me. He and the box smelled strongly of smoke, making my eyes water, and he seemed to have a hard time keeping a hold on it. Whatever he had inside kept shifting its weight from one side to the other and I wondered if he had a pet in it, that he had brought with him out of the building.

Paul was about five years older than me and a loan officer for a local bank. Other than that, I knew very little about him other than he lived alone. I didn’t think he had a pet, but then cats are quiet so you never really know when they’re around.

“Was your place damaged too?” I asked, eyeing the box.

“I've got some smoke damage but that's it. The fire walls were pretty effective.”

I nodded and turned back to the building, wishing I had been able to get a few things out like he had.

“Gretchen?”

“Hmm?” I turned back to him, wishing he would go away.

“I found this. I figured you'd want it.” He proffered the box and it shifted slightly in his grasp again. A hiss and a low guttural growl came from inside.

“Hawkeye!” I practically screamed, throwing myself at the box. The beast of a cat inside looked purely pissed off. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” I cried, my heart starting to beat at twice its normal rate. “I thought maybe it was a pet you had. How did you get him out?”

Paul smiled. “I didn't. I found him in the hall hiding in a plant when we evacuated.”

“How did you know he's mine?”

“I've seen you chasing him around that plant before. Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, watching me nuzzle my cat, much to Hawkeye's dismay.

I clutched the mass of fur to my chest and looked back to the apartment. “Not unless you can turn back the clock.”

“Sorry. That's not one of my super powers.” He glanced at Katie, who had arrived at my side, and gave her a polite nod. “I can see you’re in good hands though. If you need a couch to crash on let me know.”

I thanked him and he left, back to the crowd of observers on the sidewalk.

“You can stay with me,” Katie said, forcing me to recognize her involvement.

“No. I'll be fine.” I gave Hawkeye another kiss and glanced around the crowd, wishing Candy was still around but knowing it was futile.

“Fine? Your apartment is a shambles! And what’s with you chasing that girl?”

I almost told her. After all, she was involved with Corbin as well, so she might even know who Candy was, by name if not by face. But then, what good would that do? It wasn’t as if Candy had anything against Katie. I seemed to be her only target.

As much as I didn't want to admit it though, I did need help from someone. But Katie wasn't exactly my first choice, nor was Paul Devon since I had already caused him a ton of trouble. Oddly, the person I really wanted was Corbin, followed closely by Collin. This personal revelation was followed shortly by some mental head smacking.

“My parents,” I said, forcing the image of both men from my mind. “Can you take me to the funeral home?”

#

By the time we got to the funeral home it was midnight. Luckily, my father's car sat behind the locked gate meaning he worked on someone down in the prep rooms.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Katie asked.

“Yes. I'll be fine. Thank you for your help.” Gathering Hawkeye up in my arms I got out of the car and approached the gate. Unlocking the wrought-iron monstrosity took some maneuvering with the cat in my arms, but eventually I got it done. The funeral home door was only slightly easier and by the time I deposited my cat in the office and went to find my father, I felt completely drained.

My father had an arrangement on my days off with another student named Dustin Taylor. My father stuck around until eleven every weekend then Dustin would come in to take over. Since weekends can be kind of busy, this gave them the opportunity to get caught up on whatever didn't get done during the week. This week, it was completing the finishing touches a late arriver with an early service.

I found my father in the workroom working on a Mr. James Madders. He seemed surprised to see me, but pleasantly so.

“Gretchen, what are you doing here tonight? I thought you told your mother you had plans with friends.”

“I have a problem, Dad.”

He stopped setting Mr. Madders features and looked up from the table. “What's wrong?”

I sighed and collapsed into a chair, ignoring the smell of chemicals. “My apartment burned down tonight.”

His eyes widened slightly and he straightened his posture. “Burned down? How?”

I could tell he wanted to hug me, but refrained from uncertainty as to my reaction. I felt grateful for it, since it would probably make me cry. “They're not sure yet, but I think I know. I think I left my iron on.” It was a lie of course, but would be good enough for my father. He didn’t need to know people were attacking me in such violent manners.

He grimaced and turned back to the body. I couldn’t help but notice that his hands had begun to shake. “That old iron out of Nana’s house? That's too bad. Your room downstairs is just as you left it. I'm sure your mom will be glad to have you back.”

“I was thinking more about this place. The apartment over the garage.”

“Oh.” He paused for a moment, thinking, then went back to setting Madders’ jaw. “I suppose that's alright. You're not going to leave the iron on here, are you?”

“Dad!” Hot tears spilled from my eyes and I buried my head in my hands. The stress of the night was too much. I couldn't take it anymore.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and shuffled his feet. Tears were not something my parents usually saw from me and this made twice in one week. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Of course you can stay here,” he said.

“I have a cat,” I said, sniffling quietly.

“Oh dear. I'm sorry. It was in the apartment?”

“No. It has a tendency to get out and one of my neighbors found it. It's in the office right now.”

“Oh.” I could hear the hesitation in his voice. My father hated animals.

“It could hunt for mice in the garage. But I wouldn't let it out on the grounds. I swear.”

“Mice!” The very idea insulted his mortician’s perfection. “We don't have mice.”

“Well he won't be any trouble. I swear.”

“Alright. We'll try it out for a little while.”

I nodded and got back to my feet. “Can I borrow your car? I need to run to the grocery store to get a few things. And I was hoping I could sleep on the office couch tonight.”

“That's fine dear. I'm almost done here but I can wait until you get back.”

“Thank you.”

I found my father's keys in his coat pocket hanging in the office, and in the process lost Hawkeye. Knowing my father would flip out to find my cat running loose, I had to track him down before I could leave. I found him in the kitchen, scratching at a cupboard door, as if he knew it was the room the food was kept in. Picking him up, I cuddled him to my face and carted him back to the office, explaining that I would get him some supplies and then come right back with plenty of treats and a cat box.

The grocery store is one of my least favorite places in the world. During the day it's filled with mothers loading up for the week and dragging their multiple progeny behind them. In the evenings working couples shared the chore, usually with kids in tow. In the dark of night, the alcoholics and hoodlums filled the aisles, looking for their next drink or munchies.

I got what I needed quickly: cat box and litter, cat food and treats, toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo and conditioner, a brush and pick, and lotion. And lots and lots of comfort food. It was a good thing I had my father’s car to load the four bags into the trunk. I never would have made it back walking and I would be damned before I took a shopping cart with me back to the funeral home.

When I got back, my father was in the office. Alone.

“Where’s Dustin?”

“I sent him home since I’m fairly certain you’re not going to sleep much tonight. Besides, it’s not like you would want to hang out in here with him all night.”

“True. Where's Hawkeye?”

“Is that the cat? I wondered that too. I came in here and the door was open.”

I stared at him for a moment, wondering if he told the truth. Of course, what reason would he have to lie? That meant only one thing. Someone else had come into the office and I was willing to bet his initials were C.C.

“Well I didn't leave it open,” I said, refusing to take the heat for this one. “He's got to be around here somewhere.” Digging through the grocery bags I found a packet of kitty treats and began shaking the bag, calling for the cat. My father followed me around the floor as I searched, reminding me an animal couldn't be seen in the funeral home. Finally, I found Hawkeye hiding under a stack of folding chairs in an alcove. Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, I pulled him out, disregarding his claws. After all, I was able to understand what was going on and still felt like scratching someone's eyes out. I could hardly hold it against him.

#

By the time my father left, Hawkeye lay on a towel at the edge of the couch and I under a blanket, watching late night infomercials, trying hard not to think about what my apartment burning down meant.

Of course it was karma, but for what, I didn't know. Too many things qualified.

Just to torture myself, I began a mental list of stuff I would have to replace. Clothes topped the list along with another new laptop and eleven seasons of M*A*S*H. Then of course there were the things I couldn't replace like the nightgowns Corbin had given me. As much as I hated to admit it, these things held sentimental value for me. Another thing I couldn't replace was the ill-gotten jewelry, since only the necklace was on my person at the time. The earrings and bracelet were now melted into a pile of gooey memories.

My phone shimmied off the coffee table just as I drifted into an anxiety-induced coma. Staring at it numbly, I wondered who it could be but didn't care enough to answer it. Hawkeye looked up from his bed, but quickly buried his face in his paw, like me preferring to avoid facing anything else today. Instead, I dug in the grocery bag on the end table and pulled out some Reese’s chocolate peanut butter cups. The big kind.

Chapter 20

In which Collin displays his on-the-job training.

My mother woke me the next morning. As unpleasant as this was, at least she possessed the presence of mind to close the door so Hawkeye couldn't escape.

“Hi Mom.”

“Oh, my dear,” she said with teary eyes. I could tell she held herself back from hugging me. “Your father told me all about your apartment this morning. I'm just so glad you weren't there.”

“Mom, if I had been there I could have stopped it.” Maybe.

“You don't know that. What if it was faulty wiring?”

I sighed and covered my face with the blanket. This was the last conversation I wanted to have.

“Are you up for some breakfast?” she asked. I could hear her picking up my candy wrappers.

“Not really.”

“Then get up and pull yourself together. We've got to get you some clothes and things.”

“Mom, I can do it myself. Really, you don't have to.”

“You have renters insurance, right?”

“Yeah, but all my info burned up.”

“Never mind that. I'll get you started with a few things. Heaven knows you don't have much in savings, I'm sure.”