Lye in Wait by Cricket McRae Page B

skeleton reaching up
from the soggy black mess of scorched furniture and unrecognizable flotsam and jetsam.
    Meghan took Erin back to bed after the worst was over and
came back to stand by me for a while. Then she left again. I
couldn't seem to go inside, though. A gawker knot had gathered
around Mrs. Gray at one end of the alley, but I ignored them, more
stunned than morbidly curious. I was sure this fire hadn't been an
accident any more than Walter's death had been.
    I picked my way through the sodden detritus in the alley, walking to where the firefighters were packing up their equipment.
After a few moments of watching them, I decided on who looked
to be in charge. I walked toward him, but another man ran in front
of me, shouting.
    "Chief Blakely. Please, Chief, what can you tell us about this
fire?"
    Us? I looked around. A sudden flash of light blinded me, and
I put a hand over my eyes. Squinting, I lowered my hand, and another flash went off.
    "Stop that!" I said.
     
    The photographer, a tall angular woman with short blonde
hair, ignored me, turning to take a couple shots of the chief talking
to the man I'd figured out was a reporter. I waited until she had
moved on to the smoking mess behind me, then walked toward
the fire chief.
    He was saying, "I have no comment, Randy. You know it's too
early for me to be able to tell you anything more. We have to complete our investigation."
    "Anyone inside?"
    "Nope. We didn't find anyone, and the owner confirmed it was
empty."
    "Can you speculate on what caused it?"
    "C'mon. You know better than that. Check with Lucy in a couple of days. We'll know more then."
    "That's past my deadline-we go to print on Monday night,"
the reporter said. He must have been from the Cadyville Eye, our
local weekly.
    The fire chief shrugged. "Sorry. Not a lot I can do about that."
    "Crap. All right, then. Can't blame me for trying. See you on
the next one."
    "I'm sure I will."
    As the reporter picked his way to where the photographer stood
arguing with another firefighter, the chief looked up and saw me.
    "And what can I do for you, ma'am?" He sounded tired, and I
could tell he wanted me to leave.
    I said, "I'm from across the alley there, and I saw how hard your
crew worked to keep this house fire under control. I just wanted to
let you know how much we appreciate it."
     
    His expression softened. "Well, that's real nice of you. Offsets
the three complaints I've heard so far about how we disrupted
someone's sleep."
    "You're kidding." I shook my head. "Sometimes I wonder about
people."
    "You and me both."
    "So the house was empty? No one got hurt?"
    Chief Blakely nodded toward the few remaining onlookers.
"Lady who owns it says no one was in there, and from what we
could find, she's right."
    "The man who used to live there died last week, and my housemate and I had been helping his mother by boxing up his things.
You never know, though."
    He nodded slowly. "I'd like to get your name, if I can. Since
you've been in the house recently, I might have some questions for
you in the next couple of days."
    "Happy to help. My name is Sophie Mae Reynolds, and I live in
that house right there." I pointed.
    Taking a battered notebook out of his pocket, he scribbled a
couple lines. "What's your house number?"
    I told him, then asked in the most casual voice I could muster,
"How did it start? Since no one was there, it was probably something electrical, right?" I looked at the charred remains of the
wine-colored sofa in the halogen lights, spongy brown stuffing
erupting from the cracked upholstery.
    "We don't know yet," he said.
    Pulling my gaze away from the wreckage, I met his eyes. "Was
it arson?"
     
    He crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the ladder
truck. "What makes you say that?"
    I checked to make sure the reporter and his obnoxious photographer were still out of earshot. "Because, unless it was electrical, I
can't think what else it would be.