Authors: Catherine McKenzie
The door opens and closes behind us. A teacher I don’t know walks in, gives Ben a wave, and then retreats to the corner where the mail cubbies are.
“What kind of thing?”
“Has he ever said anything to you about Angus? Or about hanging out on John Phillips’s property? Maybe something that seemed innocent at the time?”
He rubs the bridge of his nose, and the pen mark gets worse.
“Nothing comes to mind. Maybe you should just ask Tucker what you want to know. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”
“You think that’s likely?”
“No. I do not.”
There’s a coughing sound near us, and I look up. The teacher who came in—twenty-five, fresh-faced, blonde hair in a bouncing ponytail—is standing at the end of our table.
“Hi,” she says, holding out her hand. “You must be Elizabeth.”
Her hand is slim and delicate in mine, which is still calloused and rough from my years working with heavy equipment.
“I am. And you are?”
“Stephanie. I teach English.”
I don’t look at Ben. I’ve never heard him mention anyone named Stephanie.
“How long have you been teaching here?”
She cocks her head to the side. “Three years now? Yeah, this is my third year.”
“And you teach with Ben?”
“Sure do. He’s been great at showing me the ropes.”
“Has he?”
“Couldn’t have made it without him. Say, were you two talking about Tucker Wells? Sorry, couldn’t help overhearing.”
“We were. Why?”
“Well . . . you’re the one investigating the fire, right?”
“That’s me.”
“This might interest you.”
She walks back to the cubby wall. Each teacher has a mail square and a deep drawer below. I watch her while she rummages around her drawer, then I turn to Ben. He’s lowered his head back to his papers.
I badly want to ask him what the hell is going on, who this Stephanie person is and why he’s never mentioned her, but now is not the time.
“Ah! Here it is.”
Stephanie walks a paper back to me. I can’t help but notice how her pencil skirt shows off her slim but curvy legs, and how the sweater she’s wearing makes her eyes stand out. Half the teenage boys must be in love with her. Does that go for my boy too?
She hands it to me. “This is something Tucker wrote in my class last spring after he switched out of Ben’s section after the . . . you know. Anyway, he never picks his work up, the little bugger, but this was actually quite good, though slightly gruesome.”
I look at the title.
Fire Starter
.
“From what I remember,” she says, “it’s about a kid who finds out he has an affinity for fire kind of accidentally—camping with his dad or something—and then he keeps building fires until one day, he goes too far and sets a town on fire. I might be getting some of the details wrong, but it’s definitely something like that.” She cocks her head to the side again, her ponytail swinging. “Funny,” she says. “I forgot all about it till just now.”
Tucker is sitting in the classroom when I get back, and his mother, Honor, is by his side. I know her vaguely, the way you do in this town. Like how I know that Mindy’s been hanging out with her this last year, along with Kate Bourne, a woman who dislikes me intensely because I tried to convince her to press charges against her husband for an incident she’s done a remarkable job of keeping quiet.
“Are we waiting for Mr. Wells?” I ask as I take my seat.
“He’s out of town on business,” Honor says, her voice tight. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
I nod to Deputy Clark. He goes through his usual preliminaries with the tape, then starts the questioning.
“Do you know a man named John Phillips?” he asks.
Tucker gives him a haughty look from beneath the fringe of blond hair that half-covers his left eye. “Everyone knows who he is. Because of the fire.”
“What about before the fire?” Deputy Clark asks. “Did you know him then?”
“I’d seen him around.”
“Around where, exactly?”
“Maybe I’ve been on his property once or twice.”
“Maybe?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, okay, so me and my boys have hung out there a couple times. So what?”
“What did this hanging out on someone’s private property entail?”
“Entail? Jeez, dude. Dictionary much?”
“Tucker!” Honor admonishes.
He slinks down in his seat. “Sorry, man. Just messing with you. Stuff, you know, hanging out. Talking . . . about things.
You
know.”
“Drinking? Smoking? Playing pranks on Mr. Phillips? That sort of stuff?”
“Nah, man. That’s where you got it wrong. We never did any of that.”
“So when Mr. Phillips reported to the police that you’d harassed him on numerous occasions, he was making it up?”
“Maybe some other crew was hanging there. I just know it wasn’t me or my boys. We don’t do stuff like that.”
“Of course you don’t, honey,” Honor says, patting his back.
He shoots her a look.
I’m handling this, Mother
.
“So,” I say, “that whole cutting up a ballet outfit and leaving it in Mr. Jansen’s cubby, that was just a one-off?”
“You can’t pin that on me.”
“I’m not hearing a denial.”
“We have already addressed this with the faculty, as I’m sure you know,” Honor says. “And I’d appreciate you not bringing it up again.”
“Right, sure. Well, how about this, then?” I pass Tucker’s story over to his mother. She sucks in her breath as she reads the title. “You fantasize about starting fires, Tucker? Maybe put that fantasy into action? Things get out of hand the other night?”
“That’s just fiction. You know, imagination. Jeesh. What is it with you people? You write one little story, and suddenly everyone thinks it’s about you. Like, is that what everyone thinks about Stephen King? He writes all kinds of crazy shit, and I don’t see him getting arrested.”
“Tucker!”
“You know it’s true, Mom. This place has it out for me.”
“We’re only trying to get to the truth,” I say. “No one has it out for anyone.”
“Then why are you even talking to me? Everyone knows who did it.”
“Who did what?”
“Who started that fire.” He crosses his arms across his chest. “It’s no big secret.”
“This is no laughing matter, young man,” Deputy Clark says with a sternness that takes me by surprise. “Property has been destroyed. People’s lives are at risk. If you know who’s behind this, stop playing games and tell us.”
“Or what?”
“Or we’ll have to charge you with obstruction of justice.”
“What?” Honor says. “That’s the most ridiculous . . .” She reaches into her purse for her phone. “When my brother hears about this—”
“Oh, relax, Mom. Honestly. Fine. Whatever.” He gives that shrug again. “I don’t believe in snitching, but seeing as you’re leaving me no choice . . . It was Angus Mitchell. He told me so himself.”
CHAPTER 22
Trust Issues
Mindy
Though it was only midafternoon
when she and Peter were driving Angus home from school, it felt like the end of a very long day.
As if Angus’s stony refusals during the first interview weren’t enough, all three of them had been hauled back into the room with Elizabeth and Deputy Clark to be told that Tucker had pointed the finger at Angus. He’d said that Angus had confessed to him that he’d started the fire. Angus denied it, clearly and repeatedly, and then returned to his clammed silence about anything else. Mindy wasn’t sure what worried her more: the fact that Angus had friends who might set him up for something he didn’t do, or that the possibility that he
had
done it was taking root in her heart.
“Don’t worry,” Elizabeth said after Angus was allowed to leave to use the bathroom. “We don’t believe Tucker.”
“Why are you so sure?” Peter asked.
“I read through those messages. Even if Angus had something to do with this, the last person he’d confess to would be Tucker.”
“Does that mean Tucker did it, then?”
“I don’t have any evidence of that either.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Back where we started, I’m afraid. Angus knows more than he’s telling us. I need you to try to find out what that is, okay?”
Mindy had stared at Elizabeth for a minute, trying to see past her professional exterior to the friend she thought she’d known so well. She’d caught a glimpse of her in the classroom, when Elizabeth had reminded Angus of his cake pop days, even though Mindy knew she was using it to try to get information out of him.
After that, although school was still in session, Mindy and Peter decided Angus had had enough for the day.
Mindy certainly had.
Her phone rang demandingly when they were stopped at the moose crossing near the game preserve. No matter how many times she saw these slim-legged creatures and the menacing palmate antlers of the males, she never ceased to be impressed.
Peter shot her a look when she reached into her purse. He hated when people talked on cell phones in the car. But when she saw Kate’s name on the call display, she knew she had to answer it.
“It’s Kate,” she said by way of explanation.
She swiped to accept the call, but Kate already seemed to be talking to someone.
“I said, put that down. Put that down now or there will be consequences!”
“Kate? Hello?”
Mindy had never heard Kate so frazzled. Had she already heard about Angus?
“Mindy?”
“I’m here.”
“Oh, thank goodness. I’ve been trying you for
ages
.”
“I had my phone off.”
“Have you seen the e-mails?”
Mindy’s first thought was that Kate was referring to Angus’s messages, but then reason kicked in. Kate was calling about the Fall Fling fall-out, of course, which must still be going on despite how far Mindy felt from it.
“I saw some of them last night . . . have there been more?”
“I’ve spent the whole day on the phone, but I think I’ve finally got it all sorted.”
Mindy looked back at Angus. He had his earbuds in and was listening to something angry, loudly enough that Mindy could hear it.
“Does this mean we’re going back to the original plan?” Mindy asked.
“We most certainly
are not
. We gave our word to that poor man, and we’re not going back on it. So what if a few people won’t show up? The tickets are nonrefundable.”
“That’s great, Kate, thank you.”
“You sound distracted.”
“I’m in the car. I really should go.”
“Did you know Honor had to go into school today because the police wanted to interview Tucker?”
Mindy felt sick to her stomach. “Yes, I heard that.”
“Isn’t that just too much? As if he had anything to do with it.”
“I really have to go, Kate. I’ll call you later, okay?”
Mindy didn’t wait for Kate’s permission; she just hung up and stowed the phone in her purse.
“Sorry,” she said to Peter.
“What was that all about?”
“The Fall Fling. Everyone’s pissed off we’re using it to raise money for John Phillips’s new house instead of the hockey rink—”
The car lurched forward, then back, as Peter applied the brakes sharply. Mindy felt her body snap against her seatbelt, followed by her head hitting the headrest.
Peter threw his arm out across her breast to hold her steady.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I think so,” Mindy said, bringing her hand up to her neck. She turned in her seat to check on Angus. He was still looking out the window, his head bouncing to the beat as if nothing had happened. “Did you see a moose?”
“What? No, I . . . You’re using the Fall Fling to raise money for John Phillips?”
“I didn’t tell you?”
Peter dropped his arm, gripped the steering wheel, and put his foot on the gas.
“No.”
“Goodness. I could’ve sworn I did. It’s all this stuff. The fire. The Fling.” She nodded over her shoulder toward Angus. “There’s too much going on in my head.”
“Did you know his house was being foreclosed on?”
“You mean, by the bank?”
“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but . . . yes. It’s one of my files, the one I mentioned to you the other day.”
“You mean the one you had to call the sheriff about? You called the sheriff on John Phillips?”
“His house was about to be repossessed, and it burns down in a fire? You’re damn right I did.”
“But he didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, if the police thought he had, they wouldn’t have been doing those interviews at the school today, right?”
Peter’s hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles showed white.
“We have no idea what happened that night, Mindy.
No idea.
”
Mindy wanted to say something to contradict him, but she stopped herself. Because what could she say, really? That she was halfway convinced Angus had something to do with burning down that poor man’s house? That knowing this was a possibility made it all the more important for Mindy to make sure John Phillips was taken care of?
How do you say something like that out loud about your son, even if it’s to your husband?
How do you even think it?
When they arrived home, Peter sent Angus to his room to “think about his refusal to cooperate,” though Mindy doubted it would have any effect. They went into the kitchen, but as soon as they sat down, Peter was up and pacing.
“Can you stop that, please?” Mindy asked. “It’s driving me nuts.”
Peter sat back at the kitchen table, staring at his hands as they flexed and unflexed on its surface. The depth of his silence made Mindy feel afraid. Not afraid for her safety or anything like that, but afraid for Peter. Afraid for her family. It was a feeling she was used to, of course. Sometimes she thought she felt more comfortable afraid than not, but this had a different tinge to it.
“What’s going on, Peter? Talk to me.”
“What else aren’t you telling me?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Fall Fling. The messages. Going to talk to Ben this morning. You’ve never kept things like that from me before. We don’t keep secrets. At least, I thought we didn’t.”