Fifth Night Page 7

  “I spoke to Abby’s friend Laurie today,” I said.

  Brit turned toward me. “And…?”

  “And I think we should discuss something she said.”

  “Okay,” Brit said with a tone of trepidation. She slipped onto one of the barstools. “What’s up?”

  “Laurie told me that prior to the fires, the firehouse where Bobby worked was looking at layoffs.”

  Brit let out a breath. “You think Bobby started the fires to save his job?”

  “He was under a lot of pressure financially, raising four children that weren’t even his, with a baby of his own on the way. Add the threat of a layoff to the mix and you have a cocktail that would cause a lot of people to snap.”

  Brit didn’t respond right away, but I could see she was thinking hard. We both wanted Bobby to be innocent of the deeds he seemed to have claimed in the suicide note, but now that we were starting to investigate, it seemed he might actually be guilty of setting the fires.

  “Did Abby mention the layoffs to you?” I asked Brit.

  “No. But she may not have known about them. Bobby might have kept the situation to himself to protect her from more stress.”

  I supposed that made sense.

  “Did Laurie say anything else?” Brit asked. “Anything less damaging?”

  “She did talk Bobby up. She admitted the relationship between the Bostons became strained after they found out they were expecting, but she felt they would have worked through it and been fine if Bobby hadn’t died.”

  I watched Brit’s face as she tried to process the information I provided. We both knew we needed to be honest about what we discovered with the group, and that it could change our opinion about whether Bobby had set the fires or killed himself.

  “I really don’t want to believe Bobby committed suicide.”

  I placed my hand on Brit’s arm. “I know. The idea isn’t sitting well with me either. The thing is, before I spoke to Laurie, one of my main arguments against the idea that Bobby was the arsonist was that he didn’t seem to have a motive.”

  “And now he does.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Brit normally wasn’t the emotional sort, so it really tugged at my heart when I noticed a tear in the corner of her eye.

  “Of course, having a motive doesn’t make a man guilty,” I added. “I’m fine with continuing the investigation, and I’m sure the rest of the group will be as well. We’ll keep looking until we know the truth for sure.”

  Brit’s smile was weak. “Thanks, Jill.”

  ******

  On a positive note, everyone loved my soup. On a less positive one, Jack didn’t show up or even call to say he wasn’t coming. I realized I probably shouldn’t have stormed out of his office earlier, but I didn’t think that would have a long-term effect on our relationship. I wanted to call him, but Brit had been right when she suggested I give him some space. I knew Jack cared about me, and I was fairly certain he wouldn’t let this become a permanent barrier between us. Intellectually, I knew I should wait for him to be ready to talk, but emotionally, I was a wreck. I struggled with the need to act versus the need to wait all through dinner. By the time I served dessert, I’d settled on a compromise. I texted him to say I was sorry about the exchange we’d had that afternoon, and that I understood his need for space and should take the time he needed. I told him that I cared very deeply for him and would be here when he was ready to talk.

  After I sent the text I returned to the kitchen, where I found Brit and Vikki, both looking as miserable as me.

  I put my hand on Vikki’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “I’m just a little tired.”

  I knew whatever was going on was more than being tired but didn’t push it. I turned my attention to Brit. “It’ll be okay. Whatever happens, I’m committed to seeing this investigation through.”

  The three of us headed into the living room, where the rest of the group seemed happy and in high spirits.

  “Are we ready to get started?” I asked.

  “I think we are,” George answered.

  Everyone took a seat. I glanced at Quinten. “Perhaps we should hear what you have to say first. If you’re ready, that is.”

  “I’m ready,” Quinten said. Our meetings were informal, so everyone remained seated, even those of us who were speaking, except me because I’d volunteered to man the whiteboard again.

  “I was able to have a look at Bobby Boston’s autopsy report,” Quinten began. “While reading a report written by someone else can in no way be compared to having the opportunity to look at the body, I can say that the attending medical examiner seemed to have done an adequate job.” Quinten cleared his throat before he continued. “Bobby died from carbon monoxide poisoning. There were no visible defensive wounds on the body, and I didn’t find reason to suspect foul play prior his getting into the automobile. The ME did find a very small bruise above Bobby’s top lip, which could indicate that an agent such as chloroform had been used to knock him out before he was placed in the vehicle by someone else, but the evidence was far from conclusive.”

  “But it’s possible,” Brit said.

  “Sure. It’s possible. However, the crime scene unit was unable to find fingerprints, clothing or hair fibers, or anything that would support that theory. I believe if a suicide note hadn’t been found, a more thorough investigation would have been conducted that may have turned up additional evidence. Or not.”

  “What about drugs or alcohol? Were either involved?” George asked.

  “No. Bobby was drug and alcohol free at the time of his death.”

  “So we have nothing?” Brit asked.

  Quinten paused.

  “You have something?” Brit amended.

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Mrs. Boston told the deputy who interviewed her that when she returned home from shopping she smelled exhaust and went into the garage. She saw her husband in the car and called out to him. When he didn’t respond, she approached the vehicle. She realized her husband was unconscious and opened the driver’s side door. She saw immediately it was too late to save him. She returned to the house and called 911. When asked if the car was running when she entered the garage, she said it wasn’t.”

  Brit jumped up. “So who turned off the car? If Bobby was intent on killing himself, it makes no sense that he’d turn off the engine before he was dead. And after he was dead…well, it would have been impossible.”

  I looked at Rick. “Is that correct? Was the engine off?”

  “According to the fire chief, who was first on the scene, the engine was off when he arrived and the exhaust in the enclosed area had dissipated considerably. The crime scene guys decided Mrs. Boston must have instinctively turned off the engine when she approached the car but had forgotten she had done so.”

  “That seems like a pretty big supposition to me,” Brit challenged.

  “Okay, wait.” I held up my hands. “Didn’t it occur to anyone that someone other than Bobby turned off the engine just moments before Abby came home?”

  “It was discussed, but it seemed unlikely,” Rick answered. “And don’t forget, we had a suicide note. The note seemed to explain a lot and was taken pretty seriously.”

  “But Bobby had no motive to start those fires,” Garrett spoke up.

  I glanced at Brit. She nodded at me.

  “Actually, he may have had motive.” I really didn’t want to say anything to cast additional doubt on Bobby’s suicide, but if we were to figure things out, we needed to have all the cards on the table. “I spoke to Abby’s best friend today. She told me that prior to the arson spree, the fire department was looking at laying off two men. Bobby was the most recent hire.”

  There was an audible groan in the room.

  “That doesn’t mean he started the fires,” I pointed out. “It only means he had motive to create some business for his crew.”

  The room fell silent. After a moment, Brit said, “I know it
looks bad, but I’m not willing to give up until we know for sure exactly what happened. Maybe Bobby is guilty of doing exactly what the note suggests he did, but maybe he’s not. Abby deserves to know the truth.”

  “I agree.” I sat forward. “Whatever we find out, good or bad, I’m in this until we know for certain.”

  “It does sort of feel like an uphill battle,” Alex said.

  “If you aren’t man enough for the job, we can do this without you,” Brit challenged.

  “Settle down,” Alex said. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help. I was just pointing out that we have a tough job ahead of us.”

  “Well, I’m in until the end,” Vikki said.

  “And I’m in until the fat lady sings,” Gertie seconded.

  “Where Gertie goes, I go,” Quinten said.

  “Let’s assign tasks,” George suggested. “We can check in with Jill if we find anything significant and then meet back here on Monday for our regular meeting.”

  “I can talk to Abby again,” Brit offered. “Maybe she knows more than she’s shared so far.”

  “I’ll go with you,” I volunteered. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

  “I know a couple of the guys at the firehouse. I’ll talk to them to see what they know,” Alex said.

  “And I’ll call a colleague to see if he can dig up some additional information that might not have been included in the autopsy report,” Quinten said. “Sometimes minor details are noted but not transferred to the official form.”

  “I’ll bring snacks to the next meeting.” Gertie clapped her hands together, making her bracelets jingle.

  Rick didn’t volunteer to do anything, but he never did. Vikki usually offered to do something, but tonight she was quiet. It scared me that she looked so pale.

  I turned my attention back to the group. “I wonder if we should speak to the fire victims. If they’re truly just victims and not accomplices, they probably won’t know anything, but I don’t suppose it would hurt to strike up conversations to see what comes of it.”

  “I have time tomorrow,” Brit informed me. “If you want, we can visit whoever we can track down after we talk to Abby.”

  “Okay. Does anyone else have anything?”

  “Did anyone get Bobby’s alibi for the time of the fires?” George asked. “I realize he was dead, so the investigator would be unable to ask him, but there are others who would know if he was at work or at home.”

  “Good question,” Rick answered. “I’ll check into it tomorrow.”

  Chapter 6

  Thursday, January 25

  Jack still hadn’t called, or even returned my text, by the next morning. I understood he was dealing with some tough issues, but I thought our relationship meant enough to him that he would reach out in some small way to let me know things were okay between us. The fact that he hadn’t terrified me. I wanted to try calling him but knew I should give it more time, as Brit had suggested. If he hadn’t contacted me by the end of the day, I would take the initiative and call him.

  In the meantime, Kizzy needed to go out despite the rain. The storm that had blown in hadn't been as intense as was first predicted, but it seemed it was going to linger longer than I’d hoped. After pulling on heavy jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a sweatshirt, I grabbed my tennis shoes and left the room. In the kitchen, I found George, Garrett, and Clara drinking coffee and discussing the latest news. I greeted them before pulling on my waterproof slicker and went out into the wet morning.

  Walking along the beach on a wet, cool morning actually did a lot to improve my mood. There’s something so relaxing about the waves as they roll on to the shore. Kizzy didn’t seem to mind the light rain in the least and ran up and down the beach, chasing every bird brave enough to dare landing in her line of sight. Initially, I’d planned to make our outing a quick one, but the more I walked, the more relaxed I began to feel.

  There were times I missed aspects of my life in New York, but most of the time the hustle and bustle of city life seemed like nothing more than a distant memory. I considered my time in the city to have been happy and worthwhile, but the longer I lived away from the fast pace and high energy, the more I realized my future was here amid the beauty and quiet of the island.

  The rain had begun to come down harder, so I called to Kizzy to let her know it was time to go back. The puppy was adorable and looked like she was having so much fun, but she was completely covered with sand. I hoped I could contain her in the kitchen until she dried out. At least that way I’d only have one room to sweep up.

  “Looks like our girl had some fun.” Garrett chuckled when the sandy dog and I returned to the warmth of the house.

  “She didn’t seem to mind the rain in the least.” I took a mug from the rack and poured myself a cup of coffee. “I’m going to detain her in here until she dries off and I can brush the sand from her coat.”

  “Seems like she’ll be fine with that idea,” George said as Kizzy settled down on her bed in front of the fire.

  “Is anyone hungry?” I asked. “I can make us some eggs, and I think we still have sausage from the other day.”

  The others were hungry, so I began to assemble a meal.

  “What time are you and Brit heading over to Abby’s?” Clara asked as I fried the sausage links.

  “We didn’t discuss it. I’m guessing midmorning if Abby is available.” I cracked several eggs into a bowl for scrambling. “I really want to help her, but I’m afraid reopening old wounds as we go over the details again and again has to be hard on her. Given her advanced pregnancy, that worries me.”

  “I don’t suppose all the stress she’s dealing with can be good for the baby,” Garrett agreed.

  “I’m hoping we’ll catch a break in the next day or two so we can wrap this up sooner rather than later.” I set the sausage onto a plate covered with a paper towel before pouring the eggs into the pan I’d prepared.

  Clara got up and gathered the plates and utensils we’d need. George refreshed everyone’s coffee. When I lived in the city, I almost never ate breakfast, preferring to grab coffee on my way into the office. Having a family to share a meal with most mornings was nice.

  “I’ll be interested to hear what Rick has to say about Bobby’s work schedule and how it compares to the fires,” George said. “It seems unlikely he would be able to sneak away to set the fires if he’d been on shift with two other firefighters.”

  I scooped the scrambled eggs into a bowl and set it on the table. Then I transferred the sausage to a clean plate and set it on the table as well. “Does anyone need anything else?”

  “Do you think we should call Vikki to see if she wants to join us?” Clara asked.

  “I thought about calling her, but she looked so tired last night. If she’s sleeping in, I think we should let her. If she doesn’t pop in at some point this morning, I’ll go over to her place to check on her.”

  “Speaking of checking on people, has anyone spoken to Nicole lately?” George asked.

  “I chatted with her briefly maybe two weeks ago,” I said. “She was on her way out as I passed her cabin while taking a walk. I invited her to join us for another of our group meals because she seemed to enjoy the time she spent with us over Christmas, but she said she had a lot of work to do. Why do you ask?”

  “I noticed the light in her cabin has been on for the past three days. It doesn’t look like it’s been turned off at all, although I haven’t been awake in the middle of the night to notice.”

  I hadn’t seen the light, but I’d been busy and not really paying attention. Garrett hadn’t been out much with the weather we’d been having, and Clara had seemed content to stay inside as well. George’s cabin was closest to Nicole’s, so it made sense that he would be the one to notice the light.

  “Maybe I should check on her too,” I said. “She’ll be irritated that I bothered her if everything is fine, but if it isn’t, maybe she needs some help.”

  “That might be a good idea,” George said.
“I realize she’s made it clear she doesn’t welcome company, but it does seem odd that she’d leave her light on for such an extended period of time.”

  George and Clara offered to clean up after breakfast so I could check on Nicole. I considered bringing Kizzy, who she seemed to love, with me, but she’d only just dried off.

  As George had said, the overhead light in Nicole’s living area was on. I knocked on the door and waited, but there was no answer. I knocked again, but when there was still no response, I used my master key to open the door.

  “Nicole,” I called, waiting at the threshold for a reply. “It’s Jill,” I added, taking a step inside. The cabin appeared to be empty, but I took a minute to check all the rooms just in case. The cabin was clean and appeared undisturbed. Perhaps Nicole had left town for a few days and had forgotten to turn off the light.

  I turned it off now, and relocked the cabin. I thought about checking on Vikki while I was out but didn’t want to wake her if she was sleeping in, and returned to the main house.

  “Is everything okay?” George asked.

  “Nicole isn’t home. I’m wondering if she didn’t go out of town for a few days and just forgot to turn off the light.”

  “Her car is in the drive,” George pointed out.

  “She might have left with a friend or called for a taxi if she was going to the airport. I have her cell number. I’ll give her a call just to be sure.”

  Nicole didn’t answer, so I left a message, asking her to call me, then went upstairs to change. I found that our current investigation was making me anxious. Combined with my worry about Jack, I felt like a walking time bomb about to explode.

  ******

  Brit had called Abby to explain that we wanted to come by to speak with her, so she was waiting when we arrived. The house she was trying desperately to save was clean and well maintained, although the furniture looked to be secondhand and decorative items such as knickknacks and artwork were noticeably missing. Abby invited us to sit down on the sofa before taking a seat herself in a chair across from us.