The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire Page 11

  “Well, no,” Slettom said slowly. “You see, I don’t plan for you to be able to make any countercharges. I guess that’s the one place where you figured it wrong — the part about me not getting you into serious trouble. I’m going to have to get you into the worst kind of trouble there is.”

  “Are you saying you’re planning to kill me?” Jane Dix-Strauss asked. Trixie was amazed at the coolness in the reporter’s tone.

  “Oh, well, that’s putting it kind of strong. I’d just say I’m not going to save you, once the fire starts.” From her hiding place, Trixie saw Mr. Slettom suddenly raise his arm, then lower it. There was a thud as something hit Jane Dix-Strauss on the head. The reporter seemed to crumple, then dropped out of Trixie’s sight.

  Mr. Slettom stood for a moment looking down at her. The expression on his face made Trixie’s stomach turn. He looked grim and sad and triumphant, all at the same time. Then he bent down and was also lost from Trixie’s field of vision.

  Not being able to see what was happening, Trixie strained her ears for clues. There were a couple of scraping sounds that were familiar, but she couldn’t identify them. Then Mr. Slettom stood up again. Trixie could see him looking down at Jane Dix-Strauss.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. This was the best way — the only way, although I suppose I can’t expect you to understand that. Nicholas Roberts has a family that needs him. So do I. You don’t. You don’t have family, you don’t have friends. I know all that, see — I did some interviewing of my own. All you’ve got is your work, and somebody else will take your place there. So it will all turn out for the best.” He hesitated for a moment, as if he really expected her to agree with him.

  In the silence, Trixie’s other senses once again became more acute. She was conscious of the ache in her muscles from sitting so long without moving. She was conscious of a smell, too — something that hadn’t been there before. Suddenly she knew what it was. Fire! He’s set the straw on fire!

  That thought had just come to her when the room suddenly went dark. Panic and confusion flooded through Trixie’s mind. Had Mr. Slettom left? In her distraction, she hadn’t heard the door close. Should she run for the door? Should she shout for help? What if Mr. Slettom hadn’t left. What if he was waiting just outside in the dark, to be sure the fire got a good start, to be sure Jane Dix-Strauss didn’t get away. She couldn’t let Slettom catch her. He’d make sure she died in the fire, too. It would fit right in with his story — Jane Dix-Strauss would have tried to silence Trixie and accidentally been silenced with her.

  Trixie’s mind raced through those troubled thoughts as she remained crouched and motionless in the closet. Her ears strained for any sound. All they heard was a crackle that told her the fire was spreading. It would take only moments for it to go out of control in the straw-filled stable.

  I have to risk it, she thought. She stood up and was struck by how much stronger the smell of smoke was away from the floor. She opened the door of the closet and walked out. She could see the flickering flames in a pile of straw near the door of the stable. The flames lit the ribbons of smoke that curled upward. They also let Trixie see the too-still figure of Jane Dix-Strauss.

  Once again, Trixie was faced with a hard decision. Slettom had, cleverly, set the fire close to the door. If she spent any time trying to rouse the reporter, the way out might be blocked for both of them. Yet, if she left to get help with the fire, she might not be able to get back in — not in time for the unconscious young woman. She could try to put out the fire herself, but if she failed, it would cost two human lives and the lives of all the horses in the stable.

  “I’ll go for help.” Trixie was surprised that she’d spoken out loud. She realized that she had, in fact, spoken to Jane Dix-Strauss. It was a promise, even if the reporter couldn’t hear it.

  For just a fraction of a second, Trixie felt as if she were frozen in place, with the fire spreading even closer to the door. Then she forced her knees to bend, forced herself to move. She would run from the stable to the Manor House as fast as she could, and pray that someone would hear her shouts.

  She saved her shouts, though, as she ran toward the house. She would wait until there was at least a chance that someone would hear her.

  When she got to the house, she saw the front door open and two figures appear on the top step. “Jim! Honey!” The cry was one of recognition and of gratitude. “Fire! Help!” She stopped running and half-turned back toward the stable. Her friends stared at her, too stunned to move.

  “Hurry!” she shouted. “Get the police! Get the fire department! Go!”

  She didn’t wait for a response. She needed help, and now she had it. The next thing to do was to help Jane Dix-Strauss.

  Trixie ran back into the burning stable.

  13 * Who, What, When, Where, and Why

  THE FLAMES WERE LEAPING KNEE-HIGH inside the stable, and the smoke had already gotten so thick that Trixie could barely see. Her eyes started to tear as she peered through the smoke. Finally, she spotted the motionless form on the floor.

  Trixie took a deep breath and ran toward Jane Dix-Strauss. Her first-aid training told her it was dangerous to move the woman — but the sight and sound and smell of the fire told her it was more dangerous not to. Trixie put her hands under the woman’s arms and began to pull.

  It seemed to take hours to get to the door. Then, from behind her, Trixie felt the cool touch of fresh air. “We did it!” she said out loud. Her exclamation was answered by a groan from Jane Dix-Strauss.

  Trixie was overjoyed that the young reporter was alive. She was happy, too, that the fire in the tack room had not yet raged out of control. Leaving Jane Dix-Strauss on the ground outside the stable, she raced back inside, grabbed a saddle blanket that was slung over a rack, and began beating at the flames. She swung the blanket with all her might, releasing all the fear and anger and frustration that had been pent up inside her during the long period of hiding.

  She didn’t even know how long she’d been fighting the fire when she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head and saw Honey using another saddle blanket to beat at the fire.

  Beyond the tack room door, the horses were whinnying in fear and lashing out with their hooves at the sides of their stalls. If the fire isn’t out soon, they’ll destroy themselves, Trixie thought.

  In the distance, she heard the wail of the fire sirens. She looked over at Honey, who signaled with a nod that she had heard them, too. But neither of the girls stopped their vital work until a fire fighter in high boots, long coat, and helmet appeared.

  “All right,” he said, “we’ll take over here. You girls leave now.” He took the girls by the arms and led them firmly out of the stable.

  Only then did Trixie realize how tired she was, how much her arms ached. She looked down at her hands and saw that the palms had been scraped raw against the rough cloth of the saddle blanket.

  Jim came running up to them, and threw his arms around them both. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  The girls both nodded. Trixie opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out of her smoke-parched throat. She tried again, and what came out was a low-pitched croak: “Is Jane all right?”

  Jim frowned, and Trixie thought the worst, but he said, “I think she is — or will be. We took her into the house. The doctor should be here soon.”

  “You were busy,” Trixie said, “calling the fire department and the doctor and carrying Jane inside.”

  “That’s the least of it,” Jim said. “There’s my finest accomplishment right there.” He gestured toward the driveway.

  Trixie looked and saw what she hadn’t noticed before — three squad cars, in addition to the fire truck. Sergeant Molinson was among the policemen who were milling around. More important, though, was the single figure huddled in the back seat of one of the cars.

  “Mr. Slettom?” Trixie asked in amazement.

  “Mr. Slettom!” Honey exclaimed as her brother no
dded. “What is he doing here? What does he have to do with all of this?”

  “Absolutely everything,” Trixie said.

  “I hope that’s true,” Jim said, grinning in spite of the seriousness of the situation. “Otherwise I’m in big trouble. After you yelled for help, I saw someone standing a few yards down the driveway. He must have been making his escape when he heard you shouting. I’ll bet he was horrified to discover there had been another witness. He must have waited around, hoping there’d be a way to get rid of you, too.

  “I called to him, and he started to run. So I ran after him and tackled him and held him until the police got here.”

  “That was wonderful of you!” Honey said proudly.

  Jim smiled at his sister. Then his face got serious again. “It wasn’t so wonderful to leave you two to fight that fire alone,” he said. “I had no idea you’d gone back in until I’d already tackled Slettom. Then there was nothing I could do but wait until the fire department and police showed up.”

  “Well, anyway, it all worked out just fine,” Trixie assured him.

  “Oh, did it, now?” a deep voice asked. The three young people turned and saw Sergeant Molinson walking toward them. “Perhaps you’ll come in the house and tell me all about it.”

  Trixie surprised herself by shivering suddenly in the cool evening air. “Going in the house sounds like a good idea, anyway,” she said. She turned and led the way inside.

  A worried-looking Miss Trask, in bathrobe and slippers that somehow looked as businesslike as her usual tailored suits, met them at the door with hugs and led them into the den. There, Jane Dix-Strauss was propped up on a couch, her hands wrapped around a blue mug. A pot of tea, more mugs, and some cookies were on a tray nearby. “Are you all right?” Trixie asked.

  Jane Dix-Strauss started to nod, then winced and put her hand to her head. “I was a little shaken up on the play, as the sportscasters say. I’m alive, though — thanks to you.”

  “I’m glad I was able to help,” Trixie said as she poured herself a cup of steaming tea and took two cookies from the tray.

  “So the schoolgirl shamus was in the thick of things, as usual,” Sergeant Molinson said. “Suppose you tell me what happened.”

  “They’ve been through enough for one night,” Miss Trask said. She looked ready to tackle the whole Sleepyside police department, not just Sergeant Molinson. “Why don’t you leave them alone until tomorrow morning?”

  “I really don’t mind talking,” Jane Dix-Strauss said. “In fact, it’s probably a good idea. If I have a concussion, I should do whatever I can to stay awake.”

  “I don’t mind talking, either,” Trixie said. “I couldn’t possibly calm down for a while — talking might help.”

  “All right,” Miss Trask said reluctantly. “But you’ll let them talk, Sergeant — not interrogate them.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sergeant Molinson said sheepishly. He looked relieved when the doorbell rang and Miss Trask left the room to answer it. “Now,” he said, trying to regain his dignity. “Who wants to start?”

  “I suppose I’d better,” Jane Dix-Strauss said. “I’d suspected —”

  Her story was interrupted by shouts in the hall. “Trixie? Where are you? Are you all right?” Brian and Mart burst through the door, stopping suddenly when they saw the sergeant and the reporter.

  “We heard the sirens,” Brian said, making his way more cautiously into the room. “We tried to call and couldn’t reach anyone, so Moms and Dad sent us over here to make sure everyone was all right.”

  “We’re fine,” Trixie assured him, “except that there’s a fire in the stable.”

  “Not any more,” Brian told her. “The fire fighters were packing up their hoses as we came in.”

  “Well, then, everything is terrific,” Trixie said. “Sit down. Jane Dix-Strauss is just about to tell us how she figured out that Mr. Slettom was the arsonist.”

  “Mr. Slettom?” Brian asked, sounding as amazed as Honey had earlier.

  “Jane Dix-Strauss?” For Mart, the presence of the once-loathed news reporter was the biggest mystery.

  “Listen and learn,” Jim said, gesturing toward empty chairs.

  “Meanwhile,” said Miss Trask dryly, “I’ll call Mr. and Mrs. Belden and tell them that Trixie says everything is terrific.”

  Trixie’s brothers settled down and looked expectantly at Jane Dix-Strauss. The young woman cleared her throat and began again.

  “I’d suspected Slettom almost from the first. The Memorial Day arson reminded me immediately of another fire I’d heard about when I was researching for a magazine article. You see, Mr. Slettom started the fire in the basement of the trophy shop so that Mr. Roberts would be suspected. But the real purpose of the arson was to burn down the building next door, which was used as a warehouse by Mr. Slettom.

  “I suspect, Sergeant, that if you can find any records that weren’t destroyed during the second fire, you’ll see that Mr. Slettom claimed to have a huge inventory of new appliances stored in that warehouse. They’ll be valued at thousands of dollars and insured for that amount.’’

  “But they weren’t new appliances?” Sergeant Molinson guessed.

  “No,” Jane Dix-Strauss said. “They were old ones, nearly worthless.”

  “So the idea was to burn down the warehouse and collect the insurance on the inventory shown on paper,” Jim said.

  Jane Dix-Strauss nodded. “The warehouse was to burn so completely that the appliances would be heaps of molten metal. No one would be able to tell whether they were new or used, working or useless. But the plan didn’t work because Slettom bungled the arson. The building blew up instead of burning down. The old appliances in the warehouse were still identifiable. That led to the second fire.”

  “You mean Mr. Slettom tried to burn more appliances so he could create another falsified insurance claim?” Mart asked.

  “No. The point of the second fire wasn’t to burn appliances. It was to burn records,” Jane said.

  “Of course!” Brian sat forward in his chair. “Mr. Slettom would have created some pretty fancy paperwork for the fake inventory in the warehouse - something convincing enough to collect insurance on. He’d have already destroyed the records of the old appliances, because he wouldn’t want an insurance investigator to stumble across them. But when the warehouse blew up instead of burning down, it was the fake ones that were dangerous. They showed new appliances, but the contents of the warehouse could be recognized as old ones.”

  “Couldn’t he just throw the phony records out?” Trixie asked.

  “Not unless he had something to replace them with,” Brian told her. “But he didn’t, because he’d already destroyed the real records. No, he had to come up with some excuse for not having records of the warehouse inventory at all.”

  “So he staged another fire,” Trixie concluded.

  Jane Dix-Strauss nodded again. “I was afraid he would, eventually. There was nothing I could do about it, though. Proving arson takes more than suspicions and a good motive. It requires showing exclusive opportunity, which means that no one else could have started the fire; or intent, which means that the fire was started on purpose. I hoped to prove one of those by continuing to investigate and looking for evidence. I missed the only real clue, though. Trixie found that.”

  “The button,” Trixie explained as all eyes turned her way.

  “So it really was a clue!” Honey exclaimed proudly.

  “Would you care to elucidate on the history of this infamous fastener?” Mart asked.

  Trixie briefly told Jim and her brothers about finding the gold monogrammed button behind Roberts’s store, about assuming that the initials were Jane Dix-Strauss’s, and about confronting the reporter and losing the evidence as a result.

  “I knew, of course, that it wasn’t my button as soon as Trixie handed it to me,” Jane said. “I really don’t go in for anything as flashy as monogrammed buttons.”

  “Mr. Slettom goes in
for everything flashy,” Trixie said. “I should have picked up on that.”

  “I had a big advantage, though,” Jane said. “Slettom and I have the same initials, and that’s the kind of thing a person notices right away.

  “Anyway, when Trixie said she’d found the button under a brick in the alley, I realized that meant Slettom must have lost it before the fire, when the bricks came tumbling down.”

  “Then Mr. Slettom started the second fire and Mr. Roberts looked even guiltier and I stormed down to the police station and accused you,” Trixie said ruefully.

  “You what?” Brian asked.

  “Our sibling is developing her propensity for secretive actions,” Mart said.

  “I was in too much of a hurry to tell you before I went, and I was too embarrassed when I got back,” Trixie explained. “The whole thing really blew up in my face.”

  “It wasn’t a total loss,” Jane Dix-Strauss said. “It was your accusation that brought us all here tonight.”

  “You’re going to have to explain that a little more thoroughly for those of us who were kept in the dark,” Jim said.

  “Well, in front of both me and Slettom, Trixie told the sergeant that I’d written an article on arson two years ago, that a button with my initials on it had been found in the alley behind Roberts’s store, and that I’d been seen in the alley talking to a mysterious man the night before the fire at Slettom’s store.

  “The sergeant didn’t think twice about the accusation, but Slettom did. It made Slettom more desperate because he realized I’d know whose initials those really were on the button. It also gave him a way out. He could cast suspicion on me as he already had on Mr. Roberts. He had his secretary call me tonight as she called Mr. Roberts last night. She said she was Honey Wheeler and that she and Trixie Belden had more proof that I was the arsonist. She said she’d tell the police unless I came to the stable to talk it over.”

  “Why would he ask you to meet him in the stable?” Brian asked.

  “Where else?” Jane Dix-Strauss countered. “If two fourteen-year-olds want to arrange a secret meeting, they can’t say, ‘Come on over and have my mother show you to my room.’ They also can’t risk trying to get too far from home. That part, at least, made perfect sense.”