The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire Page 5

  All eyes had turned toward Jane Dix-Strauss, and Trixie was delighted to see how uncomfortable she looked. Then everyone’s attention turned back to Pat Murphy as the attorney once again began to speak. “That journalist wrote a report of the fire that was more inflammatory than the fire itself. She dug up a bunch of facts and figures that made it sound as though all of Sleepyside is about to go up in flames. With her getting the populace all riled up, you chose the easiest way to get them calmed down — and that was to arrest an innocent man!”

  “I don’t let a hotshot reporter buffalo me!” Sergeant Molinson growled.

  “Prove it!” Pat Murphy said. “Release Nicholas Roberts!”

  “And you don’t buffalo me, either,” Molinson snapped. “I can hold Roberts for forty-eight hours for questioning without pressing charges. And that’s what I intend to do!” With that, the sergeant walked quickly out of the room.

  6 * At the Scene of the Crime

  AFTER SERGEANT MOLINSON LEFT, Pat Murphy turned and saw the four young people for the first time. Her look of stony determination melted into a warm and genuine smile as she walked toward them. “Nick?” she asked, holding out her hand to the young artist. “It had to be you — you look like your father.”

  “How is my father?” Nick asked.

  “I won’t say he’s fine, because nobody would be under the circumstances,” Pat Murphy told him. “He’s doing as well as can be expected. You can go in and see him, if you’d like.”

  “I will,” Nick said. “When do you think he’ll be released?”

  Pat Murphy looked at the floor and flapped her briefcase impatiently against her leg. “He should have been released already, and you probably have me to blame for the fact that he hasn’t been. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. It just made Molinson dig in his heels. My guess is that he’ll hold your father for a few hours, to save face, and then let him go. If he isn’t home by tomorrow morning, give me a call.”

  “I’ll do that,” Nick said. “And please, don’t think it’s your fault that they’re holding my father here. They probably would have done that anyway.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Pat Murphy said. “Well, if you want to stop in and visit your father, just go through those double doors back there. The clerk will take you to him. Only family and legal counsel allowed, I’m afraid,” she added, turning to the Beldens.

  “I should have introduced you,” Nick said apologetically. “This is Trixie, Mart, and Brian Belden. Their father was the one who called you.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Pat Murphy said. “Your father is a good man.”

  “He says the same thing about you,” Trixie told the lawyer. “I mean — that is —” She felt the dreaded blush creeping up her neck.

  “I know what you mean,” Pat Murphy said, laughing.

  Trixie smiled at the attorney.

  “I really have to be going,” Pat Murphy said. “Nick, I’ll be talking to you later.” She put out her hand again, and Nick shook it gratefully.

  The attorney walked briskly toward the door — only to be stopped by Jane Dix-Strauss, who approached her with note pad in hand. Pat Murphy drew herself up to her full height and glared at the young reporter. “I have no comment to make to you,” she snapped. “What’s more, it will be a cold day in June before I do have one.” She pushed past the reporter and made her way out the door. “Wow!” Trixie breathed. “I guess she told her.”

  “Your statement is correct,” Mart told her. “Nevertheless, the journalist seems unjarred by the barrister’s barrage.”

  “Cool as a cucumber,” Brian agreed. “Uh-oh — I think she’s thinking of heading this way. Nick, you’d better go in to see your father. We’ll run some errands and meet you back here in an hour.” Outside, the sky was cloudy and the air was cool for the first week in June. But the weather wasn’t the only reason for Trixie’s shiver as she got into the car. “Can you imagine having to go visit your father in jail?” she asked. “I don’t think I could bring myself to do it. Poor Nick — and he’s so calm about it.”

  “I don’t think he’s calm at all,” Brian said. “He’s just quiet. I bet there’s plenty of hurt under the surface. I worry more about people like that than I do about the ones who let go and show they’re upset.”

  “Speaking of letting go,” Trixie said, “where are we going now? What are the errands we have to run for an hour?”

  “I thought we’d go to the lumberyard and price the supplies we’ll need for the clubhouse,” Brian said as he turned out of the parking lot.

  “The only activity less fun than staying at the jail,” Mart said with a sigh.

  “I’ll grant you it will be depressing to find out how much the repairs will cost,” Brian admitted. “But we have to start somewhere.”

  “How could this place be depressing?” Trixie asked a few minutes later as she led the way into the lumberyard. “That wonderful smell of sawdust always makes me happy. And there’s so much to see.”

  “Let’s start with the shelving,” said Brian, always businesslike. “Should we use real oak shelving like this or get pine one-by-tens the way we did before?”

  “One-by-tens, of course,” Trixie said. “We’ll never be able to afford real oak. It’s beautiful, though.”

  “Right you are,” Brian said. “The pine boards are back this way.”

  The lumber was disappointing after the beautiful, fine-grained oak they’d just looked at. The price, although lower, was still astounding when Brian added it all up.

  “At least we know,” he said. “Let’s move on to the paint.”

  “Look at all these beautiful colors,” Trixie said, waving her hand at the sample swatches that were hung on the walls of the paint department. “Do we have to paint the clubhouse white again? I know white is a nice, practical color. It’s just that some of these others are so attractive.”

  “Well, take a sample card,” Brian said. “I think we have to stick to white for the clubhouse, but not for the trim. Another color might really add some zip if we used it for the window frames and the door.”

  “Oh, that’s a wonderful idea!” Trixie’s eyes gleamed, and she quickly took a color swatch card and put it in her pocket. “We can have a special meeting of the Bob-Whites to choose a color.”

  “We can also tell them how much the paint will cost,” Brian said, working out the final figure on his scrap of paper.

  “How much?” Trixie asked.

  “Too much,” Brian said, putting the paper in his pocket. “Let’s check the putty. That’s something I know we can afford.”

  “I figured we’d be able to do some shopping this morning,” Mart said. “So I brought along our club’s assets, such as they are.”

  “Good thinking,” Brian told him. “We might as well buy some putty while we’re here. That’s one project we can get going on right away.”

  The Beldens made their small purchase with a feeling of accomplishment. “Summer is officially here,” Trixie said, “since the repairs to the clubhouse have officially begun.”

  Outside, though, it was harder to believe that summer was on its way. A cold spring rain had started to fall.

  It’s too bad it wasn’t raining during the Memorial Day parade, Trixie thought. Then the fire couldn’t have done as much damage. Maybe it wouldn’t have spread to the warehouse at all. That thought reminded Trixie of something else. She grabbed Brian’s arm as he started up the car. “Do we have any time left before we’re to meet Nick?” she asked.

  “A few minutes,” Brian told her. “Why?”

  “We haven’t seen Mr. Roberts’s store since the fire. Let’s drive past it now.”

  “All right,” Brian said. “There probably won’t be much to see, though.”

  When they arrived at Mr. Roberts’s former store a few minutes later, Trixie couldn’t help but feel disappointed that her brother’s prediction had been so accurate. Plywood had replaced the windows and the glass in the door. The brick building its
elf showed few signs of damage other than some darkening around the window frames. Only some debris that still remained along the sidewalk and the sparkle of tiny bits of broken glass gave a hint as to what had happened there.

  “Do you suppose we could look around?” Trixie asked.

  “I suppose we could, but we don’t want to. Some of us, anyway, want to stay in the car where it’s warm and dry,” Brian said.

  “An admirable observation,” Mart agreed. “Well, would you wait here while I look around?” Trixie asked.

  “Oh, Trixie,” Brian said with a sigh. “All right. Be careful, though. Don’t trip on a loose brick or cut yourself on broken glass. Don’t be too long, either — we don’t want to keep Nick waiting.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Trixie said. She jumped out of the car and, turning up the collar of her jacket, walked along the side of the building. Away from the sidewalk, the rubble lay more thickly. There was, Trixie had to admit to herself, something eerie about the little building. Mostly, it was too quiet, the way Nick’s house had been too quiet that morning.

  Trixie went around the corner to the alley. From the back the damage was more noticeable. Or maybe the back of the building looked worse because so much litter and garbage were mixed in with the rubble from the fire. Trixie kicked at a brick with the toe of her shoe.

  A glint of metal caught her eye. She bent down and picked up the small object that had been hidden under the brick. It was a gold button, the kind with a raised monogram on it. “JSD,” Trixie read the letters aloud. “Well, Mr. JSD, you must have a fancy sports coat that’s as ragged-looking as my Bob-Whites jacket.” Absentmindedly, she put the button in the pocket of her jacket and continued on around the building. Minutes later, she was back in the car with her brothers.

  “Well?” Brian asked. “Did you satisfy your curiosity?”

  Trixie shook her head. “It wasn’t really curiosity. It was more — I don’t know. I guess I thought it would make more sense if I saw the building. It didn’t work, though. It seemed too little and too shabby to cause so much trouble.”

  Brian patted his sister on the arm sympathetically. “Some things don’t make much sense. They just take some getting used to. Now, let’s go pick up Nick.”

  Nick was waiting under the eaves of the police station, his shoulders hunched against the rain. Brian honked as they approached, and Nick ran for the car and jumped into the back seat.

  “You didn’t have to wait outside for us,” Trixie chided him. “We would have come in for you.”

  “That isn’t why I waited outside,” Nick said. “Jane Dix-Strauss was still lurking in the hallway when I finished talking to my father. I didn’t want to deal with her, so I walked out. I hoped she’d think I’d kept on going.”

  “That woman!” Trixie growled.

  “How’s your father, Nick?” Brian asked, averting any further complaints from his sister about the Sleepyside Sun’s newest reporter.

  “He’s worried, of course,” Nick said. “More worried about Mother and me than about himself. I tried to tell him we’d be okay. He was glad you helped us find Pat Murphy. He liked her a lot.”

  “I did, too,” Trixie said.

  As Brian pulled out of the parking lot, his car was nearly sideswiped by another car that was pulling in. Brian slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid an accident. The other car stopped, too. The driver’s door opened and a short, pudgy man barreled out.

  “Oh, woe,” Trixie said. “I suppose he’s going to rant about teenage drivers, when he’s the one who almost caused the accident.”

  But it was to the back window of the car, not the front, that the man directed his attention.

  “It’s Mr. Slettom!” Nick exclaimed. He rolled down the window, and the little man stuck his head inside.

  Trixie turned in the seat, craning her neck to see the man whose two buildings had just burned. It was almost impossible to concentrate on what Mr. Slettom looked like, because the loud, red-and-green-plaid sports coat he wore was so overpowering. Once she got past the garish jacket, though, Trixie decided that the wearer was a very uninteresting-looking man. His round face looked even rounder because he was almost entirely bald, with just a fringe of pale blond hair that ringed the back of his head. He looked worried.

  “I just heard about your father, Nick,” he said breathlessly. “I came as soon as I could. Is he all right? Is there anything I can do? Do you need bail money?”

  Nick held up one hand to stop the flow of questions. “Thank you, Mr. Slettom. I really appreciate your offering to help. There’s nothing we need, though. We have a good attorney. We can’t use bail money because Dad hasn’t been charged, so he can’t be released on bail.”

  “He hasn’t been charged? How dare they hold him that way! Still, I suppose it’s for the best— I mean, if they don’t charge him, it will be better for his record in the long run.

  “Oh, Nick, I’m just so sorry,” Mr. Slettom continued. “I really feel as though it’s all my fault, because I told the police about your father’s wanting out of his lease. Are you sure there’s nothing more I can do?”

  Nick shook his head. “I’ll let you know if there is anything, though, I promise.”

  “Thank you, Nick. Thank you.” Mr. Slettom walked back to his car, got in, and drove away.

  “He certainly seems convinced of his own guilt,” Mart said as they once again pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Well, wouldn’t you have a guilty conscience if you’d said something that led to somebody’s getting arrested?” Trixie asked.

  “I would,” Brian said. “It must be a helpless feeling to know you have to tell the truth, even though someone’s going to be hurt by it.”

  “He could just as easily be angry, since the fire in the store spread to his appliance warehouse,” Nick said. “He’s a nice man, though. He’s been very kind to us since we’ve been renting the shop from him. I should say, ‘While we were renting the shop from him.’ I can’t get used to the fact that it’s gone.” Nick’s brown eyes darkened as if the full truth of his circumstances had, in fact, just begun to sink in.

  “Everything will be all right, Nick,” Trixie said. “You’ll see. Your father will have a bigger and better store before very long.”

  “I hope you’re right, Trixie,” Nick said as the car pulled into his driveway. He tugged at the door handle, opened the door, and climbed out. “Thanks for everything.”

  “No problem,” Brian said as he put the car into reverse. “Keep in touch, you hear?”

  Nick nodded and walked into the house.

  “It certainly is mysterious, isn’t it?” Trixie mused aloud.

  “Aha!” Mart shouted. “The eventuality I had anticipated has at last arrived! Our sibling shamus has surfaced once again!”

  “Oh, Mart,” Trixie said, “I don’t mean detective-type mysterious. I mean — well, mysterious-type mysterious. The way people behave. Nick seemed unfriendly when I first met him, but he’s really a warm, caring person. Mr. Slettom, who has every right to be suspicious and angry at Mr. Roberts, is actually sympathetic and eager to help. Pat Murphy, who’s probably spent more time around criminals than most criminals have, is also a nice, warm person. And then, on the other hand—”

  “There’s an anti-reporter diatribe coming,” Brian interrupted. “I can feel it!”

  “Well, that reporter deserves one,” Trixie said.

  “There was a brazen aspect in Jane Dix-Strauss’s attempt to interview Pat Murphy,” Mart agreed.

  “Being thick-skinned is part of her job,” Brian said. “If she were being that persistent in trying to interview some crooked politician, we’d love it. The only difference between that and this is that someone we know is involved. Otherwise, it’s the same — a reporter doing a thorough job of reporting.”

  “I hope she is as competent in writing about Mr. Roberts’s release from jail,” Mart said.

  “I hope so, too,” Brian told him. “But I won’t hol
d my breath. Arresting a suspected arsonist is of interest to everyone in Sleepyside, so it makes the front page. Releasing an innocent man is really of interest only to his friends and family, so that usually gets hidden in the back. It isn’t news.”

  “There’s one way to make Mr. Roberts’s release newsworthy,” Trixie said.

  “Uh-oh,” Brian said.

  “Well, it’s true,” Trixie said defensively. “If Mr. Roberts is released because the real arsonist is caught, that will be news —just like you said.”

  “I follow your logic, Trix,” Brian said. “But I can also take it a step farther and see you deciding to catch the arsonist yourself. I don’t want you even to think about doing that. It’s too dangerous. You’d be literally playing with fire!”

  “Did you hear me say I was going to try to catch the arsonist? Did you?” Trixie demanded.

  “No,” Brian admitted. “But I do want to hear you say you won’t try. Promise me, Trixie.”

  “I promise,” Trixie said reluctantly. To herself, she added, But that wont stop me from trying to figure out who it is.

  7 * Trixie Has a Plan

  AS THE CAR HEADED DOWN GLEN ROAD, Trixie once again reached out to touch her oldest brother’s arm. “Brian, would you drop me off at the Manor House? I know it’s a little bit out of your way, but you can drive it faster than I can walk it, and I have to talk to Honey about all that’s happened.”

  “There is never a dearth of detours with Beatrix directing,” Mart said.

  “That’s okay,” Brian said. “I said earlier that getting things out of your system is best. I’m sure that’s what Trixie has in mind.”

  A few minutes later, Trixie was hopping out of the car in front of the Manor House. “Thanks, Brian,” she said. “Tell Moms I’ll be home soonest to do my chores. I promise!” She ran up the wide steps and knocked on the front door.

  Celia let her in and told her that Honey was in the den. Trixie shouted another “Thanks!” and went to find her best friend.