A Minor Case of Murder Read online

  Spit watched as fire consumed his home, his thoughts his own, his emotions locked inside his shivering body. "We need to get out of here."

  Where can you go, Donna wondered, when you have already retreated to the very end of the earth?

  "I'm going to take us down to the Point." Spit turned the boat around and headed back out to the channel. "It's not very far. Of course, this old boat's not very fast."

  Donna stared at the fire. "What about your house?"

  Spit shrugged. "What house?"

  He eased the throttle forward. The pontoon boat picked up speed, leaving the charred remains churning in its wake. Donna took one final look back.

  At land's end, the volunteer firefighters stood by helplessly while the fire raged out of control. Sometime during the night, the fireboats arrived. Working at close range, the fireboats contained and finally extinguished the dramatic fire. Coming in behind the boats, fire investigators began the work of unlocking the secrets of the blaze.

  The investigators were extremely tight-lipped. They made no official comment, but by morning, rumors were already circulating widely.

  Some Men Could Make Your Heart Race

  When Cassie turned her Mustang into the condo lot, she recognized Andy's Lexus in a visitor's parking space. Then she noticed Andy sitting on her stoop, leaning back against her door. She pulled her car into the first available space, bumping the curb in her haste. Jumping from the car, she ran to give Andy a kiss.

  "I knew you'd be here."

  Andy stood up, stretching to unkink his aching back. "I'm glad you're here. I was starting to wonder if I was in the right place."

  "Tough day?"

  Andy smiled. "I'll tell you all about it. Can we go inside?"

  "I'm sorry. Of course. By the way, Andy, you look like shit."

  "I feel like shit. Or I did."

  Cassie unlocked her door, allowing Andy to enter her condo and another part of her life. "I love you, Andy MacTavish."

  It seemed to Andy that Cassie was more relaxed in her condo, but at the same time, nervous. She gave Andy a quick tour. In the bedroom, she slipped Rob's photograph back inside the bureau. Andy wisely decided it was not time to crack wise.

  "I'm sorry I missed the debate. How'd she do?"

  "She did real good."

  "I tried to call you. Your cell was turned off."

  Cassie tried to remember where she'd last seen her cell phone. "I think I left it in the glove compartment. I guess I should take the phone out and charge it. If I can find the charger."

  Andy laughed. "It does work better that way."

  Cassie and Andy sat down at the kitchen table with a pint of black raspberry ice cream.

  "I had another visit from Detective Sububie." Andy explained about the lab results. "They think they found something on the costume. Apparently, the detective believes it has something to do with Heather."

  "Did you tell her?" Cassie had warned Andy about this.

  Andy took a large spoonful of black raspberry ice cream.

  "Andy, whatever Detective Sububie thinks she found, you know and I know it has nothing to do with Heather. Did you tell her?"

  Andy stared at the black raspberry. "I wanted to."

  Cassie recognized how messy this was going to get, how unnecessarily messy. "You should have told her the truth, Andy."

  Andy knew that she was right, but he managed to rationalize his decision. Andy explained to Cassie that the police planned to exhume Heather's body. "So you see, when they test the corpse, they'll realize that whatever they found on the costume, whatever they think they found, it has nothing to do with Heather. So it'll all be okay and I won't have to tell them they tested the wrong costume."

  Cassie was unconvinced. "You should have told her the truth, Andy."

  Andy was not ready to surrender the point. "Can we talk about it tomorrow?"

  "I'm sorry, Andy. Of course it can wait until tomorrow. You're exhausted. Why don't we go to bed?"

  "First I'm going to get your cell phone, Cassie. It'll charge overnight."

  Andy retrieved the phone from her Mustang, located the charger and plugged the phone in on her bureau.

  By the time Andy was finished with the phone, Cassie was under the covers. All afternoon, she had worried about this moment. Would it be different in her bed? At Andy's house, Rob's hold on her had been weaker. Would she feel like Andy had taken Rob's place? Would she feel like she was cheating? She and Rob had married so young, children almost, playing house. Surely Rob would not want her to be alone. She watched as Andy got ready for bed. He was a good-looking man, but not excessively so. Some men could make your heart race, Cassie thought; Andy would make your heart race walk. He was a modest man, but he moved with a graceful confidence. He had warm eyes and soft lips. He had a smile that he saved for Cassie and Cassie alone.

  Andy climbed into bed, wearing a pair of black pajama bottoms. Cassie rested her head on Andy's bare chest and fell asleep listening to his heart.

  That night, Cassie dreamt of rockets launching, of volcanoes erupting. She dreamt of submarines rigged for silent running, torpedoes set to fire in the torpedo bay.

  She dreamt of Andy, and when she awoke, she awoke with Andy, with his warm eyes and soft lips and … Outside her condo, at the edge of the pine forest, Cassie heard the unmistakable sound of waves crashing on the shore. It thrilled her to know that Andy had brought the ocean surf with him from his bedroom in WhiteSandsBeach.

  When the surf finally subsided, Cassie announced she was ready for breakfast. Half an hour later, Andy in the passenger seat, Jay McShann in the CD player, Cassie drove her Mustang to the Eggery. The morning after a debate, Cassie was surprised to find that Mayor Donovan was absent from his regular table. Cheyenne also had yet to appear for breakfast. Cassie and Andy found a table in the rear of the large room.

  "You want a cup of—grr—coffee, yes?"

  Andy studied the waitress, with her heavy pancake makeup, herky-jerky style and good-morning growl. He waited for Cassie's reaction.

  "Two cups of regular."

  As she poured the coffee, Andy studied her tics, impressed when the waitress got most of the coffee into their cups. It was, it seemed to Andy, another example of the triumph of the human spirit. She flung one menu at the table, a second onto the floor. "I'll be—grr—back in a minute to take your order."

  Andy waited for the waitress to disappear into the kitchen. "One time when I was in Mexico, I saw a mariachi band on blotter acid…"

  Cassie was surprised. "I can't picture you dropping acid."

  "Don't be silly, Cassie. You know me better than that. I don't mean I dropped acid and went to see a mariachi band. I was straight. The band was high."

  Cassie was still confused. "Is there a point to the story?"

  Andy thought it was obvious. The waitress reminded him of that mariachi band. "Never mind."

  Andy ordered Belgian waffles; Cassie ordered pecan pancakes. Breakfast arrived with maple syrup and an occasional growl, but otherwise without incident.

  In the rear of the room, a television was mounted on the wall. The TV had been purchased mainly to placate the local football crowd, but was also used on rare occasions to keep an eye on breaking news. This was such a morning.

  Andy's seat faced the set, so he saw the footage first. The sound was muted, but Andy didn't need to hear the report. Cassie turned her chair to watch the report—a dramatic nighttime fire somewhere along the coast. Cassie hoped that no one had been hurt in the blaze.

  There was brief footage of a commotion among the bystanders. A woman was pushing her way through, yelling at the firefighters.

  "Holy shit, Andy! I know her. I wrote a story about her."

  Before Cassie could tell Andy all about Madame Alexina, her cell phone began to vibrate. Cassie looked at Andy for an explanation.

  "When I charged your phone, I must have switched it from ring to vibrate."

  Cassie didn't like people who sat around in restau
rants and theaters, in grocery stores and coffee shops, living their lives attached to a cell phone. Cassie was about to become one of those people.

  "Hello."

  "Huh?" Morris had not expected Cassie to pick up. "Cassie, sweetie, it's me."

  "I want to finish my story, Morris."

  "Huh?"

  "You remember, the explosion on BlackTomIsland. I want to finish it. How much time can you give me?"

  "Huh?"

  It was not like Morris to be confused about a story.

  "Are you okay, Morris?"

  Morris had not called her to talk about the magazine. "Cassie, have you seen the news this morning? The fire?"

  Cassie glanced up at the TV. The morning news show had moved on to a cooking segment.

  "I just saw the footage. What's up, Morris? A story for the magazine?"

  "Forget about the magazine, Cassie."

  Forget about the magazine. Cassie knew this was serious.

  "What's going on, Morris?"

  "The girl, the one you're looking for…"

  "You want—grr—more coffee, yes?" The waitress suddenly appeared at the table with a fresh carafe, spilling coffee along the edge of the table.

  Cassie grabbed a couple of napkins, mopping up the small coffee spill.

  "I'm sorry, Morris. What were you saying about the missing girl?"

  "I think she was hiding in one of the shacks. I think she may have been caught in the blaze."

  "Are you sure, Morris?" Cassie didn't want to believe her editor.

  Morris didn't want to believe it either. "Do you think the fire had something to do with your missing girl?"

  Cassie didn't know what to think. "I'll call you right back, Morris."

  Andy could only hear Cassie's half of the telephone call. Still, he could tell it was important. He waited for Cassie to hang up the phone.

  "What's that about the fire?"

  Cassie didn't answer right away. "Ten minutes ago, I didn't even know that there was a fire last night. Then, we're watching the footage and I recognize Madame Alexina at the scene. I can't help but wonder what she's doing there in the middle of the night. Now I get a phone call from Morris talking about the fire."

  Cassie tried to finish making her point, but she was interrupted when Andy's cell phone began to ring. "You better get that."

  Andy picked up. "Hello."

  "Mr. MacTavish, this is Louis Garibaldi. I think we may have a problem."

  Andy groaned. "I know, Louis. Detective Sububie came to the ballpark yesterday."

  But Andy's attorney was calling about another problem. "Not that. There was a fire, sir. Have you seen the news this morning?"

  Andy wished he could spend a quiet morning with Cassie. He wished they had never got out of bed. "What's the fire have to do with me, Louis?"

  "It's the Pettigrew property. The land that Mrs. Patterson wants us to buy for her bird sanctuary."

  "Would you hold for just a moment, Louis?" Andy put the phone down and looked across the table at Cassie. "Do you have any aspirin with you?"

  Andy rubbed his forehead while Cassie rummaged through her purse. He swallowed a couple of extra-strength pain relievers and picked up the phone.

  "I'll call you back, Louis."

  Mr. Garibaldi had one question before he let Andy off the phone. "Do you think the fire could have something to do with the bird sanctuary?"

  "I'll call you back, Louis."

  Andy thought about spending a quiet day in the Pine Barrens with Cassie. He pictured them enjoying the fall foliage, antiquing, hiking, making love.

  "I'm afraid I have to go back to work, Cassie. Mr. Garibaldi thinks the fire may be related to our plans to buy the land."

  Cassie was thinking about Madame Alexina. "That's odd. Morris thinks the fire may have something to do with your missing mascot."

  A Simple Moment of Clarity

  As soon as she got word of the fire, Madame Alexina rushed to the scene, hoping for good news regarding Donna and Spit. She hung near the fringe of the fire activity, looking for information, trying not to draw attention to herself. She could not get the firefighters to tell her anything. The news crew, filming the disaster, were themselves pestering the firefighters, with the same lack of results. But it was obvious that the damage was extensive. It was unlikely that Spit and Donna could have survived the carnage.

  Madame Alexina tried to achieve a trance state. As a younger woman, she had been able to slip in and out of the trance state effortlessly, with the grace of a middleweight boxer slipping punches. With age had come osteoarthritis, weight gain and a certain calcification of the trance state. Like a pugilist unable to make weight, nearing retirement, Madame Alexina was unable to admit that her skills were diminishing with age.

  When the trance state failed, Madame Alexina sat in her van, listening to the chatter on her police scanner. There were reports of the fire, but none of the reports made mention of people, dead or alive, neither victims nor survivors. The authorities were describing the fire scene as an abandoned waterfront property.

  Getting out of her van, Madame Alexina pushed her way through the small crowd of bystanders, trying one last time to get someone's attention, needing to let the firemen know there were lives at stake. Looking across the marsh, Madame Alexina was forced to accept that there was nothing to be done for Donna and Spit. If they had not found a way to save themselves, no one else would be able to save them.

  Madame Alexina stood at land's end, watching the flames against the backdrop of the night sky. She watched as the fireboats arrived, imposing control on the raging fire. She watched the fireboats and finally it came to her, not in a trance, not in a police report, but in a simple moment of clarity. She remembered Spit's pontoon boat.

  Madame Alexina thrilled at the possibility that Donna and Spit might be alive, somewhere out on the water—scared, no doubt; injured, perhaps; but alive. No one else knew about Donna and Spit. No one else would look for them. Madame Alexina understood that she and she alone would need to find the unlikely pair.

  Where would Spit take them in the pontoon boat? Madame Alexina worried that a confused Spit might make landfall just about anywhere. She had to think like Spit.

  Madame Alexina's head hurt from all the smoke. Where was Spit heading? She knew Spit as well as Spit allowed himself to be known. She was confused. Where would he go? Madame Alexina tried to remember their many conversations, hoping to unearth a clue hidden in his words. She pictured them at the Point, midnight birding and talking politics. Where would Spit make landfall?

  "How much farther?" Donna hopped up and down in the pontoon boat. She needed to feel solid ground under her feet. She needed to wear warm, dry clothes. She needed to sleep in a real bed. Donna needed to pee real bad.

  Spit peered at the shoreline, looking for landmarks as the sky began ever so gradually to lighten. "I can't be sure. It can't be too much longer."

  Donna knew how easily Spit could get confused. "Are you sure? It seems like we've been on the boat for hours. By car, it's only about fifteen minutes to the Point."

  "It's okay, Donna. We're almost there. I can feel it. Wait and see."

  "Okay, Spit." Donna wanted to believe. "What are we going to do when we get there?"

  Spit peered at the shoreline, without answering.

  "There it is." Spit turned the boat in toward land. He had gotten them safely to the Point. What was next, he wondered.

  Madame Alexina parked her van in the empty parking lot. The chilly nights had brought midnight birding season to an end. They would not be back until spring, sitting in the salt marsh in the dark, listening for the migrating flocks. The midnight birders would not come back to the Point until spring, but Madame Alexina held out hope that two of them would make an appearance before morning. She stood at water's edge, sending her prayers out in ripples on the water. When she saw the pontoon boat approaching, Madame Alexina jumped, nearly falling in the surf, yelling in joy and relief. She ran into the icy c
old water, up to her knees, nearly dragging the boat the final few feet.

  She helped Donna and Spit climb off the boat. They could barely walk. They lay on the ground, soaking wet, exhausted, covered in soot and oil. Madame Alexina thought they looked wonderful.

  Spit sat up, still wrapped in the army surplus blanket. His corporeal form may have arrived safely at the Point, but Madame Alexina could see reflected in his eyes that Spit was sitting in a foxhole in Iraq.

  She turned to Donna for help. "C'mon. Help me get Spit to the van."

  The two ladies helped Spit to his feet and they walked slowly back to the van, Madame Alexina crooning softly in his ear.

  Donna stopped to use the Porta Potti in the parking lot and then they were safely on their way.

  Donna cracked the window open. The air seemed to revive Spit's spirit. He had made a promise to Madame Alexina the night she put Donna in his cab. He had promised to keep her safe. He looked at Madame Alexina behind the wheel of her VW minivan.

  "I kept my promise."

  Spit lapsed back into silence. Madame Alexina was worried.

  From the rear window, Donna stared at the familiar landmarks. She could see the boardwalk and the ballpark. It seemed odd to her that nothing had changed in her absence.

  "Where are we going?"

  Madame Alexina turned toward Donna in the back seat. "Om Depot."

  The boardwalk was deserted, the attractions shuttered for the winter. As the sun came up over the ocean, Madame Alexina unlocked her storefront.

  "There's a tiny apartment in back."

  Donna looked around at the psychic's place of business. "Do you live here?"

  "No. I'm not much of a beach person. I live inland."

  She led them to the back. As she said, there was a small apartment. "The zoning officer thinks it's a storeroom. You can stay here while we figure things out."

  Donna looked around. There was a bed and a sofa, a hot plate, a microwave, a coffee pot, a television, a card table and in the rear corner, there was what appeared to be an office cubicle, with its modular three-quarter wall. Donna peeked into the cubicle and found a full bath. "It's perfect."