Authors: Gloria Repp
“How come?” Remi asked.
“They did a yearbook page about him and Miss Marshon.” She frowned. “And something else—a note Bria found. To Rhys, from Kent’s mother. It sounded as if she’d asked him to prove Kent’s innocence and then discovered something that changed her mind.”
“She died about three years ago, didn’t she?” Nathan said. “Did Kent come back for her funeral?”
“Yes,” Madeleine said, “according to Paula.”
He nodded, as if the pieces were coming together for him. “So Castell started his investigation. Maybe he talked to Kent after the funeral, and Kent thought he was trying to make trouble for him.”
“Maybe,” Remi said slowly, “Kent didn’t know that old lady was in the house. He didn’t mean to kill her. But he ran away, and the fear went with him.”
He pushed back his chair. “Is there any relish?”
“I put some in already.” Tara sounded miffed. “But there’s more in the fridge.”
Remi came back with a jar of Super-Hot relish. “This will make them even better.” He spooned a mound onto his plate. “Doc?”
“No thanks,” Nathan said. “Sid told me something else. One of his cousins worked in the police department, and he showed Sid the piece of evidence that made them think the Marshon fire was deliberately set—a tin can with half-burned matches inside.”
Remi put down his sandwich, reached for his water glass, and drank it dry. “I can’t believe this.” He combed his fingers through his hair until it stood up in black spikes.
Tara folded her arms, smiling. “Too hot for you?”
He shook his head. “Not that. I’ve been typing a manuscript for Kent—his secret novel—and all this stuff is in it. Along with a lot of porn.”
Tara eyed him. “What’s it about?”
“An arsonist. And get this: the tin can thing. The guy used something like that to start his fires. He called it his signature. Sometimes it was destroyed in the fires he set, but most of the time he arranged things so it wasn’t.”
“How did it work?” Nathan asked.
“He’d fix up this empty can with matches wired together inside it. Attached them to about a yard of waxed cord. The guy laid the cord out so the end of it was stuck into dry leaves or whatever.”
“How’d he start the fire?” Tara asked.
“One of those barbecue grill lighters—for the matches in the can. Then he dumped kerosene over the end of the cord in the leaves and got out of there.”
Tara frowned. “So it took a couple of minutes for the fire to burn down the cord and get to the kerosene. But what was the can for?”
“To protect the matches until the fire got going,” Remi said. “Maybe to keep his signature from being destroyed. From what I’ve heard, arsonists like people to know how clever they are.”
“A fictional confession,” Nathan said. “Did you read the whole thing?”
“As far as it went. He hadn’t figured out the ending.”
Madeleine looked at Remi. “So when Sid found that soup can in the fire, he recognized it. That’s why he sent it to Kent.”
Remi nodded. “I thought it might have something to do with Kent’s story. Now it sounds like blackmail.”
Tara got to her feet, took a bag of cookies out of the freezer and dropped it onto the table.
“Yes, help yourselves,” Madeleine said. She gazed at Remi. Forest fire. Something that was burned.
“What about—” The room began to swirl. “Nathan?”
Remi’s face had turned into flames that licked across the room, ash was falling, and she was falling with it.
Nathan’s arm went around her, and she slumped against him.
His quiet voice said, “Here’s some water.”
She drank, and after a minute, the flames faded away.
“Want to lie down?” Nathan asked.
She shook her head, rested it against him. “Let me think a minute.”
The burned car . . . Rhys Castell . . . that was it.
“Remi,” she said. “Does the hero of that novel burn up cars?”
He stared at her. “Sure does,” he said. “He has to stop this other guy from finding out that he killed the girl.” He paused. “Bria and Jude’s dad. It fits, doesn’t it?”
She nodded. Kent must have set that Escort on fire to cover himself. She thought about Bria, and her grief at the sight of her father’s car. Could this be the answer to
who
and
why?
Nathan’s voice was heavy with sadness. “The police need to see that manuscript.”
“Why did he ever come back?” Remi muttered.
“Maybe he’d set one fire too many, out West,” Nathan said. “He might have planned to disappear. In a place like this, it’s quite possible.”
Madeleine sat up, gazing at the bruises on her wrist. “He wanted me to go away with him. Said he’d be rich. Maybe he came back to get something he’d hidden.”
“That’s true,” Remi said. “Sam and Rhys were gone.” He glanced at Tara. “And he was going to get rid of your uncle.”
“He sure tried,” Tara said. “And now Uncle Sid’s going to stay in the hospital forever, and I’ll be an orphan.”
“Not quite,” Nathan said. “I made some phone calls last night.”
Her eyes blazed. “Not a foster home. I’ll kill myself first! I really will!”
“That might not be necessary.” He opened the bag of cookies and took out a handful. “How would you like to meet that aunt you’ve been looking for?”
“Aunt Minna?” Tara’s voice rose an octave. “She’s not dead? Where’d she go?”
“She’s living near Hampton Lakes, and she’d like very much for you to visit.”
“Only visit?”
“I guess that depends. Would you like me to take you over there?”
“Now?”
“After I’ve had a few more of these excellent cookies.”
“Oh wow! I’ve got to brush my hair.” She jumped up and ran out of the kitchen.
Nathan put an arm across Madeleine’s shoulders. “Nap time for you.” He grinned at Remi. “I guess that leaves you with the dishes.”
She slept for a while and was dozing with Mac beside her when Aunt Lin arrived with apologies, sympathy, and hugs.
Madeleine answered her questions as well as she could, and when she finished, her aunt said, “I was so blind about Kent. I should have seen this coming. Thank God, Mollie.”
She got up from where she’d been sitting on Madeleine’s bed. “Sleep all you can. I’m going to go see what Remi’s up to. ”
She and Remi seemed to get along well, because they talked for an hour. By the end of the afternoon, she had offered him steady employment at the Manor, with time off to help Timothy as needed.
After he’d gone for the day, her aunt said, “I get the impression that Remi is at loose ends right now.”
“I guess so.” If Remi was unsettled, what must Bria and Jude be feeling?
She had tried to phone them and couldn’t get through. Bria would be at the store, and Jude must have gone back to school. Even at night, the line was busy. Maybe they’d taken the phone off the hook.
She didn’t even know how to pray for them.
She must have sighed without realizing it because her aunt was gazing at her, looking worried. “Madeleine, I’m prescribing chamomile tea for you, and early to bed. Snuggle down with your kitty and stay there as long as you want.”
She couldn’t tell Aunt Lin that her sleep was haunted by Kent’s voice, and his face, wreathed in flames.
At least she had Mac. She would awaken, whimpering, and find him nestled beside her. Each time, his rumbling purr slowed her pulse and lulled her back to sleep.
The next morning after breakfast, Madeleine talked to herself about the baking course. Maybe she should watch a video.
Where was Nathan? What was he doing?
Mid-morning, he arrived with something bulky wrapped in newspaper. He checked Madeleine’s stitches, and then he gestured to the parcel on the kitchen counter.
“Wild turkey,” he said. “From one of my patients. I’m hoping you’ll know what to do with it.”
Aunt Lin, pouring coffee for him, answered, “Of course.” She frowned. “Does it still have feathers on?”
“No feathers.” He grinned. “It’s been plucked and gutted, soaked and salted. All ready for the expert’s attention.”
He looked at Madeleine. “If you don’t mind?”
“Of course not,” her aunt said quickly. “And perhaps you could help us eat it tonight?”
He inclined his head. “Thank you, ma’am. I would like that very much.”
Madeleine gazed at the mound of newspapers and pictured the huge bird inside it. Perhaps she should be alarmed, having never cooked a wild turkey, but she couldn’t summon up the energy.
“That’s settled, then.” Her aunt put the coffee down in front of Nathan, poured a cup for herself and Madeleine, and joined them at the table.
Madeleine asked him the question she’d been wondering about. “How did Tara get along with her aunt?”
He gave her an apologetic glance. “I meant to call. They did fine, as far as I could tell. Aunt Minna seems to be a storybook aunt, the plump, motherly type, but from the look in her eyes, she’ll tolerate no nonsense.”
“That would be good for Tara,” Madeleine said. But how likely was it that she’d see her again?
“The plan is that Tara will stay for two weeks, a trial run, I suppose. I left them chattering back and forth like a pair of chickadees.”
Aunt Lin said, “I hope she’ll have a better life now. This has been such a sad time.” She poured milk into her coffee. “Especially for Paula Castell and those two children.”
How Jude’s eyes would flash to hear himself described as a child!
“I haven’t seen either of them,” her aunt said. “Are they doing okay?”
“They’re busy,” Nathan said. “Bria’s nursing Timothy for me, and Jude helps around the store. He thinks you don’t need him any more since you’ve hired Remi.”
“But I do,” she said. “He’s a good worker. Will you be talking to them today?”
“Definitely.”
“I wonder if they’d like to come to dinner too.” She gave Madeleine a quick look. “Do you feel up to it?”
“It’s a great idea.” Madeleine ran a quick mental check on the contents of the freezer. “And how about Remi?”
“Perfect,” her aunt said. “Too many ghosts in this old place. Let’s liven it up.”
That afternoon her aunt made a trip for groceries and afterwards showed Remi the upstairs rooms. They stayed there, talking, and Madeleine was thankful to have time in the kitchen with no interruptions.
When Remi left to go home and change, Aunt Lin bustled in. “How can I help the chef?” She dipped a spoon into the cooling cranberry sauce. “Mmm, this tastes wonderful.”
Madeleine looked up from mincing an onion for the corn pudding. “Orange rind. None of that canned stuff at Cranberry Manor.”
Her aunt took another lick at the spoon and put it down. “Remi has quite an unusual background.”
“I’ve wondered about him,” Madeleine said. “Want to chop things for the salad?”
“That might push the limits of my cooking prowess, but I’ll do it.” Her aunt took out the cutting board. “I never did think he looked like the product of an orphanage. And now I find out he’s got this whole adopted family back in Seattle.”
She scrubbed the celery and carrots. “I showed him my photos of kids, and he told me about his brothers and sisters and the dogs. Remarkable dogs. He left Seattle because he was worried about something—he never quite said what—and he wanted to see the East Coast, but I think he misses them.”
Madeleine, wondering whether she’d added the salt, nodded.
Aunt Lin picked up a cucumber and began to slice it. “Mollie, are you doing okay? I haven’t seen you smile since I got back.”
“I guess so.”
How could she explain what it felt like, to kill another human being? “Tired, probably,” she muttered. “I’ll catch up.”
“I’m sure you will. Want me to check the turkey?”
“Please. This one doesn’t have a pop-up timer. I braised it in chicken broth so it should be tender.”
“What’s for dessert? You had frozen cherries on the list.”
“Just cherry pie. Streusel topping. It’s done. Ice cream if they want it.”
Her aunt’s eyes glowed. “
Just
homemade cherry pie,” she said. “I can’t wait.”
At supper, Bria was paler than usual and Jude was quiet, but Aunt Lin and Nathan kept the atmosphere light. Remi was the most entertaining, perhaps because of Bria, who sat across from him, and she finally began to smile at his jokes.
Over the cherry pie, they talked about hunting wild turkeys, which, Jude said, were both elusive and wily. Aunt Lin mentioned the local game pies, made of deer, or rabbit, or muskrat.