Firesetter in Blackwood Township, a Winnebago County Mystery Read online

  He knew me well. “Both. We got a video of the intruder.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Probably a woman, but she was decked out from head to toe in beekeeper’s garb and Vince couldn’t make any kind of ID.”

  He shook his head. “A beekeeper? How about I go have a look-see?”

  “That’d be good.”

  “Want a ride?”

  “Thanks, no. Let yourself in with the garage door code. I left the flash drive with the video on the computer cabinet ledge.”

  Smoke nodded and took off. Queenie and I ran as fast as I felt comfortable pushing her in the heat. When we got back I filled her water dish and set it on the kitchen floor then got a tall glass for me. Smoke came in as I was pouring it down. “You’d be a worthy adversary in a beer-chugging contest.”

  I caught the breath the cold drink had taken from me. “Water I can chug, beer not so much.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I have to say your bee-keeping invader was well disguised.”

  “No kidding. On my run I dubbed her the ‘beekeeper creeper.’”

  Smoke laughed again. “Good one.”

  “We’re hoping the forensic folks at the crime lab can pull a clear enough shot for an ID.”

  Smoke squinted like he was trying to imagine it. “They do perform miracles from time to time.” Then his face relaxed and his eyes softened. “Change of subject. Corinne, you were obviously hurt when Marcella showed at my place—”

  “You really should get a good calendar app on your phone with reminder alerts to help keep your social life straight.”

  Smoke sucked in a deep breath and stepped in, up close and personal. “You’re right. Marcella sent me a text yesterday asking if she could bring over dinner. She wanted to run something by me. Between the fire and your concern over your mother, I just blanked it out.”

  “Not that’s it’s really any of my business, but did Marcella tell you what it was?”

  “No. She skedaddled right after you left.”

  “Sorry for acting like a baby. I’ll apologize to her.”

  Smoke put his hands on my shoulders and gently pulled my body against his. The anger I’d felt and the stress of the day melted in the heat of our embrace. Maybe it was my imagination or hopeful thinking, but it seemed Smoke was letting his guard down with me more and more. Like there was a chink in the armor of protection he had built around his heart. In the past couple of years our relationship had changed and evolved. We’d been trusted friends and confidants for years, and then one day I admitted the truth: I wanted much, much more. In my heart of hearts I knew Smoke did too, but he’d put up one roadblock after the next, preventing that from happening.

  He was too old for me, and he’d been friends with my parents in high school. It would make our working relationship awkward. Blah, blah, blah. A long-time love had broken his heart, and he didn’t want to go through that again. Who did? Most of the people I knew had been cut to the core by someone at some time in their lives.

  Smoke was at the top of his game professionally, and loyal to his family and friends. But the thought of giving his heart and soul, his essence, to another woman scared the bejeebers out of him. I clung to the hope that someday I’d convince him what we had together was the real deal.

  I pressed my body closer against his.

  Smoke slid his hands down my damp shirt, and his left one touched my holster. “You remembered. Good deal.” I’d been fairly faithful to arm myself when I went on runs after surviving a terrifying incident a couple of years before.

  “I do most of the time.”

  “Strive for all of the time. It even saved my life once.”

  I nodded as we tightened our embrace, but didn’t utter another word about that day. It was still too raw, too vivid. I eased myself back a step. “I’m sweating on you, sorry.”

  Smoke gave my chin a light pinch, and my cell phone interrupted whatever he was about to say. It was the ringtone I’d set for my mother, and we nodded at each other like it was the call we’d both been waiting for. I pulled it out of my pocket. “Mom?”

  “Corinne. Is it okay if I come in?”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the end of your driveway. I see Elton is there so I didn’t know if you were working, or what.” Or what.

  “No, come on in.” I hung up. “Mother’s here, so hopefully we’ll find out what’s going on.” Queenie heard her car pull up to the house and ran to the side door, wagging her tail and whimpering.

  My mother gave a single knock then stepped into the kitchen. She looked from Smoke to me then her eyes filled with tears, and a few spilled down her cheeks. Smoke was at her side in a second, and guided her to a stool at the kitchen island. I slid onto a stool next to her, and Smoke moved to the opposite side. Either to give her space or to observe her better.

  “Do you need some alone time with your daughter, Kristen?” he said.

  She shook her head and sniffled. “No.”

  I grabbed a tissue from a box on the counter behind me and handed it to her. “What is it, Mom?”

  She lifted her head and used the tissue to dab at her eyes and nose. “It’s Denny.”

  My body tensed, and the seconds ticked by then Smoke said, “Did something happen to him?”

  Mother’s shoulders lifted. “He broke up with me, ended our engagement.”

  I put my arms around her. She leaned her head on my shoulder and sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

  “He just hasn’t been the same since his stroke.”

  “No, he hasn’t,” I said.

  “I mean his rehab has gone well, but he’s not the man I fell in love with. Sometimes I wonder if I ever really knew him. I mean he owned a house in Iowa that he kept secret from me, and couldn’t even tell me why he did that. What else has he kept from me?”

  “Why did he break up with you, what did he say?” I said.

  “Just that things had changed between us, and he couldn’t marry me. Then he asked for his ring back.” The one he had custom made for her, with a diamond in the center, surrounded by emeralds. She wept some more, and my heart ached.

  Smoke eased his way over, and I backed away when he leaned over to give Mother a hug. “Kristen, I know that Denny was a much happier man after you came into his life, and I know he loved you. Why he didn’t tell you—or any of us—about his property is anyone’s guess. I’m not saying this to hurt you more, but maybe when the house business came out he realized he hadn’t really let his wife go, emotionally speaking.”

  Mother nodded. “I think you’re right, Elton.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I was angry with the sheriff for hurting my mother so deeply, first by keeping secrets, and now by ending their relationship. “Can I get you something, Mom? I have some white wine in the fridge.”

  Smoke released his hold on her and took a seat on a stool.

  “No thanks. I’m going to Gramps’ to tell him about it.”

  I nodded. “You want me along for moral support?”

  She shook her head and stood up.

  “Okay.” I gave her a parting hug, and she headed out the door.

  “Damn that Twardy,” Smoke said.

  I found the wine in the refrigerator and set it on the counter in front of Smoke. “If you’ll open this, I’ll be back in a few.” I went into the den, unhooked my holster and gun, and locked them in my safe. Then I hurried upstairs, stripped, showered, and dressed, wondering when would be a good time to ask Mother about David. I was back in the kitchen in no time.

  Smoke lifted his eyebrows a tad. “You showered that fast?”

  “It was my second one today, so it only took a minute.”

  He had two glasses of wine poured, handed one to me then raised the one he was holding. “Here’s to a better day tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” The wine was cold and crisp and downright good.

  Smoke cleared his throat. “Two things I need to get off my chest.” What, pray tell? “First off, I am not
in love with Marcella Fischer. I admit that I like her a lot, and I appreciate all the help she’s given me.”

  That didn’t exactly clarify the status of their personal relationship, like just how personal it was. But I was too worn out to ask for details, so I nodded and took another sip of wine.

  “And the other is about Kristen and Denny.”

  “What about them?” I said.

  “Denny did the right thing, calling off their engagement. If I was Kristen, I’d be wondering what other big secret he might be keeping from me.”

  “I’m struggling with that, too. Thank God the house secret came out before they got married.”

  “If they’d been hitched it would’ve been a whole lot worse.”

  I lifted my glass. “Here’s to near misses.”

  Smoke nodded, drank the rest of his wine in a long swallow then set his glass on the counter. “I should go since you have an early morning, and you need your beauty rest.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  Smoke chuckled. “I’m not even going to try to backpedal my way out of that one.”

  “I’ve got leftover pizza from Gregor’s if you want some before you go.”

  “Thanks, but I overdosed on pizza this week. Now if you’d offered me a delicacy your mother had made, I might’ve been tempted.”

  I shook my head. “All out. Mom hasn’t done a lot of cooking lately. Not much time with running her shop, helping Gramps, and being with Denny after work.”

  “No. Speaking of work, are you gonna have a problem with the boss because of all this?”

  “If I hadn’t worked for him for so many years, it’d be worse. I don’t have the same respect for him, but that’s more personal than professional.”

  “That about sums it up for me, too. He’s only there half the time anyway, and word is either he won’t run for reelection, or he’ll step down before that. Time will tell.”

  10

  I was on patrol two days later, an hour into my shift, when Ben from the regional crime lab phoned me. “Sergeant, that blood sample you submitted is human and from a female. Would you like us to run DNA on it?” Vincent Weber would not be happy to hear the blood results.

  “Female. Yes, go ahead and run the DNA, and see if she’s in the system. And can you tell if she was pregnant or not?”

  There was a pause. “Oh. Well yes, we can check. Human Chorionic Gonadotropin, or hCG, is a pregnancy hormone present in your blood from the time of conception. It shows up in a blood test about a week later.”

  I pulled over to the side of the road. “Can you spell that hormone for me? I’m grabbing my memo pad and pen.” When I was ready, he gave me the information. “Got it, thanks.”

  “I’ll let you know what we find out on the tests.”

  “We appreciate that, Ben.”

  I drove to the office, headed into the small sergeant’s office, and phoned Vince Weber. “Yo, Sergeant Corky, what’s up?”

  “I got a call about the blood drop.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’d they say?”

  “Human and female,” I said.

  “That’s just great. Does wacky or crazy show up in blood?”

  “Wishful thinking. No, but pregnancy does.”

  “Don’t even tell me,” he said.

  “We don’t have an answer to that one yet. They’ll be running the tests, both the pregnancy and the DNA to see if they find a match. Try not to stress yourself out too much. If it turns out the pregnancy test is positive, we’ll take it from there. Okay?”

  “You know how you’re always going on runs to help burn off stress? I may have to take it up myself.”

  “You hate running,” I said.

  “Doesn’t matter. I know I got a brick shithouse of a body, but that’s what I got to work with.”

  I snickered quietly. “You and your descriptions. Hang tight until we hear back from the lab.”

  “Thanks, Sarge.”

  I phoned Smoke next. “Hey, Detective, I was wondering if you’d heard from the vet yet, if he’d found out what caused the little rabbit’s death?”

  “Funny you should call three minutes after I got off the phone with him. The doc couldn’t find a specific cause. He said the rabbit appeared healthy with no recognizable abnormalities. No signs of parasitic or other diseases. No trauma. Possibly gassed or suffocated. He’s testing the blood for poison, but at this point it’s undetermined,” he said.

  “I don’t think it was natural.”

  “I’d say that’s a given.”

  Midway through my shift, an alert from Channel 4 sounded on my sheriff’s radio. “Paging Oak Lea Fire Department. Barn on fire in Blackwood Township. Thirty-five sixteen Ames Avenue. Paging Oak Lea Fire. Person reporting is a neighbor and states there are no livestock inside.”

  A few seconds later I got the call, “Winnebago County to Six oh eight.”

  “Six oh eight.”

  “Did you copy the fire page?”

  “Ten-four, and I’m en route.” Ames Avenue was about five miles east of my location. I flipped on my lights and sirens, did a quick U-turn, and pressed down the accelerator.

  “At fourteen thirty-nine,” Robin in Communications said. I would not be going off duty at 3:00 after all.

  The same feeling of dread returned. The one I had when the Harding fire call went out. Followed by serious suspicion that another barn, two miles from the Hardings’—as the crow flies—would randomly and spontaneously start on fire two days later. The weather had been hot and dry, but those factors alone didn’t generate a fire. My gut told me even though there was no evidence of an accelerant used in the Hardings’ barn, we had a firesetter on our hands.

  “Three forty, Six oh eight, on two.” Smoke was calling me.

  I switched to that radio band. “Go ahead on two.”

  “I’m on my way to Ames.”

  “Copy that.”

  I heard Deputies Amanda Zubinski and Vince Weber tell Communications they were reporting to the scene also. Oak Lea Fire was rolling by the time I turned south on Ames Avenue. Smoke was billowing dark and high into the sky, orange sparks were spitting in all directions. I pulled to a stop by a driveway across the road from the burning barn where a husky middle-aged man stood watching the blaze. I knew him casually. “Hey, Lonnie, you the one who called it in?”

  “Yeah, but man, I can’t believe what I’m seein’ over there. I was workin’ in the garden and happened to notice some smoke comin’ out from around the door there.” He pointed at the barn with the cell phone in his hand. “I called nine-one-one as soon as I could punch in the numbers, and look at it now, not five, six minutes later.”

  “The wood in these century-old barns is so dry they’re engulfed in no time. It’s awful.”

  “You’re scarin’ me.” He glanced back at his old barn. “First it was the Hardings’, now it’s the Simmonds’.”

  “You told the dispatcher they don’t have animals in there?”

  “Not yet, anyways. They moved in not two months ago,” he said.

  “Where are the Simmonds, do you know?”

  He nodded. “On a camping trip with their kids. It’s a heck of a thing to happen when they’re away and all,” Lonnie said.

  “Do you have their cell phone number by any chance?”

  “Yep.” He swiped and tapped his phone a few times. “Here you go. His name is Brandon, hers is Angela. I got his number.”

  I had my pad and pen ready when he recited the number. “Thanks, I’ll give them a call.” I walked a short distance away and dialed the number. After six rings, it went to voicemail. I left my name and number, requested a return call, and then went back to Lonnie. “I had to leave a message. Did the Simmonds say where they were staying?”

  “Sorry Sergeant, no they didn’t. They’re camping near Alexandria, but didn’t mention the name of the place.” Alexandria was about 100 miles northwest of us.

  “Okay. How about other family members, any nearby?”

  �
��That I don’t know, but the farm had belonged to Angela’s grandparents. They moved out here from the cities. You know, to get away from the hustle and bustle. Now they got all this to deal with. All I can say is at least it wasn’t the house.”

  Sirens screamed louder and louder around us, then were silenced as squad cars and fire trucks arrived on the scene. Zubinski was first, closely followed by two fire rigs. Weber and Smoke each rolled in a couple of minutes later. The fire trucks pulled into the Simmonds’ yard, and the others parked on the road in a line behind my car. Smoke, Weber, and Zubinski joined us and I filled them in about the owners as we watched the firemen’s futile efforts.

  Smoke moved closer to Lonnie. “We’ll be back to talk to you. Are you going to be around for a while?”

  “Yes sir, all afternoon,” Lonnie said.

  Our team of four walked across the road to the Simmonds’ farmstead and waited in the shade under a large maple tree. A slight breeze moved the hot air and cooled us by a fraction. The Simmonds’ barn was one of the smaller ones in the county. It was constructed primarily of wood, with a few courses of block at the base.

  “This doesn’t seem real. Those barns have been part of the landscape all my life. Built to last centuries,” I said.

  “Raise your hand if you’re a believer in coincidences,” Weber said.

  “If you’re talking about two old barns blazing in Blackwood Township, then not me,” Zubinski said.

  “There is a snowball’s chance in hell it is.” Smoke said. “I talked to Fire Chief Corey when the call went out and told him to do what he could to preserve the immediate area around the barn so we could search for footprints and other evidence. He figured they wouldn’t be using much water, if any, on the barn itself. The biggest concern is keeping the fire contained. And since it’s not too windy, that helps.”

  Paul Moore, the stocky, middle-aged star reporter for the local paper, Oak Lea Daily News, got out of one of the cars parked on the shoulder of the township road. I hadn’t noticed him until then, and wondered if he’d captured some first-class shots of the fire. “Detective Dawes, or Sergeant Aleckson, can I ask you a couple of questions?” Moore called out.