I
lay there in the darkness for a long time mulling over what Evie had told me. My poor, sleep-deprived, middle-of-the-night brain refused to operate logically. All sorts of wild and random scenarios ricocheted around up there, and after a while they morphed into a series of wild and random dreams that made no sense, either.
I woke up in a tangle of wet sheets. My heart was drumming, and sweat drenched my body, and even as I lay there in my little motel room with my eyes open, the weird terror of my dream was still palpable.
I'd been naked, trapped in a dark cavernous room that was vaguely Mary Scott's barn, except ten times bigger. Evie was stalking me with a knife, except it wasn't Evie. She wore a man's felt hat and sunglasses and a long auburn braid, and in my dream I knew that she was some stranger disguised in Evie's body. She'd backed me into a corner, and the rough
plank walls were puncturing and shredding my bare skin. Billy and Joey, my two sons, were hunched over a workbench way over on the other side of the big room. A single lightbulb over their heads lit them up like a spotlight in the darkness. They were poking through a pile of body partsâhunks of wet flesh, shiny organs, bloody fingers and toes. One of my boys would pick up something slimy and drippy, hold it up to the light, and both of them would laugh. I kept trying to scream to them to help me. My throat ached from the effort, but no words came out of my mouth.
I sat up in bed, took several deep breaths, and finally managed to blink away the awful, vivid reality of my dream.
Sunlight was streaming in around the shades. I checked my wristwatch. It was nearly nine in the morning.
I stumbled into the shower and waited for it to wash away the lingering fragments of my dream. Then I got dressed, went out to my car, and headed for the diner.
As I drove, I pondered what Evie had told me. The person most likely to be able to fill in the blanks was Winston St. Croix. It was a Monday morning, and I figured he'd probably be seeing patients. I decided to get some coffee circulating in my system, have a leisurely breakfast, then go sit in the doctor's waiting room until he had time to talk to me.
I found an empty stool in the diner, and a minute later Ruth set a mug of coffee in front of me. I looked up at her. “Good morning,” I said.
“Is it?” she said. “You look like you rassled sheep all night. You're just supposed to count 'em, you know.”
“That bad, huh?” I smiled. “There were way too many of them to count, and they all had horns.”
I ordered a mushroom omelette with home fries, Canadian bacon, wheat toast, and orange juice, then spotted a newspaper on the seat of an empty booth. I snagged it, took it back to
my stool, and skimmed through the sports section while I sipped my coffee.
My omelette arrived before I finished my first mug of coffee, and I'd just about cleaned my plate when four men came stomping into the diner. All four of them looked to be somewhere in their thirties. They were wearing calf-high black rubber boots, blue jeans, and T-shirts. Their faces and arms and shirts were smudged and stained with what looked like a combination of sweat and soot. They were all talking and gesturing and laughing at the same time, full of adrenaline, or testosterone, as if they'd just played a big ball game. Their eyes were red, and none of them had shaved.
They settled into an empty booth, and although I couldn't make out their words, I caught the tone of jazzed-up excitement in their voices.
A couple of people got up from where they were sitting and went over to talk to the four guys, and then a few others joined them, and pretty soon a crowd had gathered around their booth.
When Ruth came over to clear away my plate and refill my coffee mug, I jerked my head in the direction of the four men and said, “What's all the excitement about?”
“Oh,” she said, “those boys are volunteer firemen. They're comin' from a big one.”
“A fire?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, they won the lottery.”
I smiled. “Sorry. I've only had one cup of coffee today.”
“Barn fire,” said Ruth. “Them old barns, you know? Dried timbers, full of hay.” She made an exploding motion with her hands. “They just go up.”
“They couldn't save it?”
She shrugged. “Nobody hurt, no livestock to worry about, and they saved the house. They did their job.”
“Where was the fire?”
She gestured vaguely. “North of town. Mary Scott's place.”
“Oh, shit,” I said. I dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and got the hell out of there.
If there had been a cop on my tail, he'd have pulled me over for speeding. But I didn't care. I drove fast.
Evie had been in that barn.
When I got to Mary Scott's place, there was a Cortland PD cruiser in the driveway and a red Subaru wagon out front. I recognized the Subaru. Charlotte Matley, Evie's lawyer, drove it. I pulled up in front of the Subaru, got out, and walked halfway down the driveway.
Out back beyond the house, I could see what was left of the barn. The front wall was still standing, but most of the roof had either burned or been torn off, leaving the charred beams and rafters of the old building's skeleton exposed. Slabs of black wood lay scattered around the backyard. It smelled like a campfire that someone had pissed on.
As I started toward the front porch, the screen door opened and Sergeant John Dwyer stepped out. He paused there on the steps, looking back inside and talking to somebody on the other side of the door. Then he glanced my way, lifted his chin at me, waved at the person on the porch, and came over to where I was standing.
“This a social call, Mr. Coyne?” he said.
“I heard about the fire,” I said. “Wanted to be sure everybody was okay.”
“Well,” he said, “that's right neighborly of you. Old Mel got himself some burns, trying to salvage his junk. Mrs. Scott just got herself scared. That's about the extent of it. Of course, between the smoke and the fire and the water, everything in that old barn was ruined.”
“There was nobody in there, then?”
“Mel and Mrs. Scott were sleeping when it went up.”
“The firemen looked all through it?”
“Sure. Of course.”
I let out a little breath of relief. “When did it happen?”
“Mrs. Scott called it in sometime after five.” He shrugged. “Guess by then it was going pretty good. The firemen left about an hour ago.”
“Any idea what started it?”
He shook his head. “Big old wood barn full of hay and paint cans, oily rags, gasoline and turpentine, and who-knows-what-else. Mel and Larry did the wiring themselves, never got it inspected. Mrs. Scott's going to have herself a time collecting insurance on it, I suspect. Damn shame is what it is.”
“I was wondering about arson.”
Dwyer smiled. “Why would you wonder that?”
“Well,” I said, “somebody killed Larry. Maybe they have a grudge against the family or something.”
“Like who?”
“I don't know.”
“Well,” he said, “Cortland isn't exactly Boston, you know. We've got an all-volunteer fire department. They're pretty damn good at putting out fires, but not a one of 'em's any kind of arson expert. Nothing valuable in there, nobody hurt. It's just an old barn.” He shrugged. “Maybe they'll call in one of the state fire marshals, I don't know.”
At that moment, the radio on Dwyer's belt squawked. He took it from its holster, turned away, mumbled something, listened for a minute, then said, “Jesus Christ.”
He turned back to me. “I gotta go,” he said, and he jogged over to his cruiser, climbed in, and backed out of the driveway. Then he switched on his flashing lights, and his tires spewed up gravel as he took off up the dirt road.
I watched until he disappeared, and a minute later I heard the wail of his siren.
I turned and went to the front of the house. Just as I put my foot on the first step, the screen door pulled open and Mary Scott was standing there.
She was looking up the road where Dwyer had left a cloud of dust. His siren had faded away. “What was that all about?” she said.
“I don't know. He got a call, and he took off.”
She shook her head. “If it ain't one thing, it's another.” She sighed. “Well, it's nice to see you.”
“I heard about the fire,” I said to her. “I was worried aboutâ”
Mary quickly put her finger to her lips and rolled her eyes back toward the inside of the house. “Everybody's okay,” she said.
I arched my eyebrows and mouthed the question, “Evie?”
She smiled quickly and nodded. “She got out,” she whispered. Then in a normal voice she said, “Please, come on in, join us for coffee.”
I followed her through the house to the kitchen. Mel and Charlotte Matley were sitting across from each other at the table. Mel had no shirt on. There were scratches and red marks on his bulky chest and shoulders, and his right hand and forearm were wrapped in white gauze.
Charlotte smiled and stood up when she saw me. She was wearing a gray pinstriped lawyer suit with a white blouse buttoned to her throat. She held out her hand to me.
I took it. “Chasing fire engines, are we, Counselor?”
She shook her head. “Of course not.”
“I was joking.”
“It's hardly a joking matter,” she said.
“You're right,” I said. I looked at Mel. “What happened? You okay?”
“Me?” He blew out a breath. “Oh, yeah. I'm okay. Lost a
lot of good stuff, though. Couldn't rescue it in time.” He held up his bandaged hand. “Barely got out of there before the roof came down.”
“He got a bad burn,” said Charlotte. “I wanted to drive him to the medical center, but he's a stubborn boy.”
Mel shrugged. “Insurance,” he said, which I took to mean that he didn't have any. “Charlotte patched me up.”
Mary handed me a mug of coffee. “Black, right?”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“Won't you sit down?” she said.
I looked at Mel. “I was wondering if you'd show me around outside.”
“It's a mess,” said Mary.
Mel stood up. “Let me get a shirt.”
I sipped my coffee, and a couple of minutes later Mel showed up wearing a clean T-shirt. “Okay,” he said. “Let's go.”
As soon as we got outside, I grabbed his arm. “What about Evie?”
“She got out.” He held up his bandaged hand. “How do you think I got this?”
“You tried to save her?”
He nodded. “She was already gone. She wasn't there.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where is she?”
He shook his head. “I don't know.”
We were walking around the side of the barn, and looking at it close-up, I could see that the back and one side wall had mostly burned down, and the inside had been gutted. The stench of wet burned wood was overpowering. Nobody inside could have survived.
“So what do you think happened?” I said.
“Oh, man,” he said. “Larry and me did the wiring. We
might not've done it up to code, you know? Charlotte's sayin' that my mother's house insurance might not pay her when they figure that out.”
“You think it was electrical?”
“What else could it be?”
I thought it could be arson, but I didn't see any reason to say that to Mel. “Who discovered it?”
“Me,” he said. “My room's on the back of the house. Something woke me up. I think it was the smell of smoke. I looked out my window and saw the flames comin' out under the edges of the roof.”
“So you called it in?”
“I yelled to my mother and she did,” he said. “I ran out to get Evie.”
“But you didn't see her?”
He shook his head. “I went around the back to Larry's room. Burned my damn hand pullin' open the door. She wasn't there. Her car's gone, so I guess she got out. Don't ask me where she went to.”
We continued around to the back of the barn, and I saw that the door to Larry's little hidden room was standing ajar. I looked inside. The floor was ankle-deep in water, and the inside walls were charred. Larry's computer and other equipment were scorched, and the papers and books on his shelves were big lumps of soggy ashes.
I didn't know much about how fire worked, but I knew it burned up, not down. It appeared to me that this one had started at the bottom of the barn in the rear. If not in Evie's room, then close to it. I figured it would have been going strong before anyone in the house or driving past, looking at the front of the barn, would've been able to detect it.