T/W: Discussion of home/building fire and victims.
A/N: The first bits of the story are flashbacks. They're not written chronologically, so please be attentive to the dates and times. :)
IF you haven't read Ch. 37: Easter, DEFINITELY read that before starting this one.
More notes at the chapter's end. Lots going on here. My thanks to brenna-louise and Hogwarts Duo for their help.
I hope you enjoy this one - it answers quite a few questions, but produces several more.
xx,
CSotA
April 5, 2015 (Easter Sunday)
11:08 a.m.
Richard Carlisle stood stirring in another spoonful of sugar, cursing whoever had made the disgusting swill in his cup that was trying to pass as coffee. He heard the woman approach but chose to ignore her, knowing it was probably a lost cause; the thing was, he really couldn't have cared less about what she had to say. Not anymore. When she had gotten near enough that he could smell her revolting perfume, he crinkled up his nose, turning to see what she wanted.
"You were supposed to take care of her," Sarah whispered angrily. "And yet I had to sit through an entire church service looking at the back of her head from two rows back. Why is that, do you think? Did you get cold feet?"
"I have no idea what you mean," Richard said calmly, sipping his coffee tentatively and grimacing. He poured it down the sink and left the cup on the counter for someone else to wash. He moved over to the pastry table and selected a cookie that looked harmless enough, then headed back to his place in the back of the kitchen.
Always hang back in the shadows, he reminded himself (as if he needed the reminder). He was always watching, always noticing who was with whom, how everyone interacted; it was the trick of his trade, really. Well, both of his trades. But he found Sarah waiting for him; he wasn't surprised, really, as he knew she wasn't one to give up easily.
"You know exactly what I mean. We had a deal!" she growled.
He looked at her, his eyes taking her in from head to toe and back again: mussed hair, wan complexion, dowdy dress, and she'd lost weight recently, too.
"You look like shit, Sarah. Take some time off – get some sun, relax, read a book, find a man … or, perhaps, a woman?" he said, eyebrow raised in amusement.
"Don't be ridiculous," she spat. "Of course I look like shit. Got the kid living with me, don't I?"
"The 'kid' is a grown man. Kick him out if you can't handle him … or his proclivity for violence."
"I can handle him just fine," she muttered. "And he'd have handled her if you'd held up your end of the deal and gotten him the job at that damned hospital. It would have been so easy."
"He couldn't handle Becky Hughes and she's in a mental home; what makes you think he could take on her sister?" Richard laughed at her, shaking his head at her utter stupidity. "What is it about her that you hate so much, anyway? This can't seriously be because she got hired at the school over your brother."
"Shut up," Sarah said. "But listen here: I'm not standing by after doing all that work for you only to have you pull out at the last minute. My brother needs a job - hell, he needed a new life after that whole hospital incident. He could still have one if you could just manage to get rid of her!"
"Get rid of her how? You've provided me with nothing on her – nothing! The woman is spotless – she even paid all of the medical expenses for her sister's would-be rap-"
"She knows nothing about that," Sarah interrupted. "Besides, Timmy says the woman was coming on to him. She asked for it. Wonder what Miss Misty Cove would make of that?"
"Of course she knows nothing about it," he retorted. "Because I never told her. As I see it, Sarah," he said, taking a bite of the cookie and brushing the crumbs from his chin, "I think you owe me for keeping that silent. And you can't possibly tell me you believe your sick brother's story? Otherwise, why would he have been so roughed up?"
"Because the woman is crazy! And you promised to help him. We had a deal, Richard! I provide you with information on the others, you get Timmy a job. If you don't, so help me, I'll talk."
"Elsie Hughes isn't the crazy one here, Sarah. Disgustingly pristine, yes. But crazy? Not nearly as much as you, sweetheart."
She recoiled as though he'd slapped her in the face.
"You're not telling anyone anything," he said, his voice a combination of amusement and carefully-controlled fury. "Elsie Hughes's file is as much a file on you as it is on her – you and your piece-of-shit brother. You squawk and the whole town hears about Timmy O'Brien trying to attack a child-like woman in a mental home, about how she had to fight back and how he couldn't even defend himself against her. So I think you'll keep quiet for sure," he sneered. "Not good for the local third-grade teacher to be associated with all that."
He jumped a bit when his wife placed her hand at the small of his back.
"Miss O'Brien, isn't it?" she said calmly and quietly.
Sarah looked back at her, the ice in the younger woman's eyes sending a shiver down Sarah's spine.
"I hate to interrupt this sweet chat, but my husband and I have to make the rounds a bit before we head home."
Sarah looked at Richard who, she noticed happily, seemed a bit grayer now that his wife was present.
"This conversation isn't finished," she whispered, and she turned on her heel and stormed out the door.
"Don't ask," Richard warned Mary.
"I don't have to," she said. "I heard enough."
His eyes widened a bit. "How long were you standing there?"
"Long enough to see that you left your dirty mug in the sink for Joe Molesley to wash out," she said, walking away.
Mary heard Richard follow her after she'd taken about three paces, but it didn't matter; three paces provided more than enough time for her to decide exactly what she needed to do.
Sunday, April 5, 2015
9:47 p.m.
Richard was digging furiously through his desk and file cabinets, clearly angry at not finding what he was looking for. He didn't even hear Mary come down the hallway.
She stood for a moment and watched him, wondering how in the world she had been able to stand being his wife for as long as she had. The man was revolting; ever since she'd figured out what he'd been up to this entire time – all the blackmail, all those files – she'd had to fight not to vomit every time he kissed her, touched her, made love to her.
No more.
She shifted her weight and the floorboard creaked, seeming to shout across the void of the hallway.
Richard whipped his head around, clearly startled.
"I thought you were in bed, darling."
"No," she said, tapping her nail on the doorjamb.
"Well, why don't you get up and get ready? I've got a few more things to tie up here before I join you."
"Looking for something?" she asked.
Richard narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps. I don't suppose you would know anything about that?"
"Me?" she asked with a harsh laugh. "Since when do you trust me with anything, Richard? No, whatever it is, I don't know where you might find it."
He stared her down for a moment, his eyes like blue steel. "You'd better not."
"Goodbye, Richard," she said, turning away from him.
"Goodbye? What in hell does that mean?" he called after her, getting up from his position crouched down by the file cabinet. His knee stuck a bit as it always did when he was squatting down for too long, and he swore softly.
"It means I'm going out. Don't wait up for me," she said as she continued down the stairs, the small suitcase already waiting for her at the bottom, out of sight.
"Mary? Mary! Don't you walk away from me!"
She slammed the door behind her and loaded the bag into her car before lowering herself into the driver's seat. She reached into her pocket, squeezing the flash drive to reassure herself that it was still there, then picked up her cell phone and slid open her contact list.
Monday, April 6, 2015
1:10 a.m.
The banging on the door woke him from a sound sleep. He rolled over and put the pillow over his head, determined not to give in. If the spiteful little bitch was stupid enough to leave her key at home, she could damn well stay out there and sleep in the Jag.
Minutes later, though, when the knocking had turned to pounding, he started to wonder if perhaps it wasn't his wife. Maybe it was a neighbor or, worse, the police.
He sighed and got out of bed, pulling on his robe as he shuffled down the stairs, the infernal pounding louder with every step.
"Stop! I'm coming!" he shouted as he reached the bottom step. He reached out and unlocked the door. "My God, Mary, what in the -"
"There you are!"
"Laura? What are you doing here?"
"Shut up," she said, shoving past him and heading toward the stairs. "You were supposed to see me today, Richard. I know you got the money I sent."
He shut the door and locked it. "I told you I didn't know if I'd be by, Laura. Something came up – it's Easter, for God's sake. I had to have dinner with Mary, you know that." He reached out for her arm, but she ripped it out of his grasp and headed up the stairs.
"She's not here, is she? Has she finally left you? I saw that her car was gone."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
She crested the top stair and turned to look at him as he stood two steps down. She swayed a bit and reached out for the banister, and it occurred to Richard how easy it would be to just reach out, pull her hand just enough, and …
"Where is it, Richard?" she asked, snapping him back to the present. She headed in the direction of his office, and he hurried after her.
"It's in the kitchen," he said quietly. "I'll go and get it – stay put."
Laura sniffed and wiped at her nose, but he saw the fear in her eyes, knew she understood the threat implied in those few words. She nodded, and he turned away and headed to the kitchen.
Stupid bitch, he thought. About time to cut those ties for good, old boy.
He opened the cabinet at the back of the pantry and pulled out two bottles, shaking his head at how ridiculous the entire situation was. If he hadn't been counting on better information from her lately regarding his pain-in-the-ass project, he'd have done away with her long before tonight.
As he placed the bottles on the counter, he thought he heard something - some strange, unidentifiable noise … and then it was gone. He cocked his head and listened, trying to see if he'd hear it again, and he did. It sounded as though it were coming from the office downstairs, and for one insane moment he thought the press was running.
No, he thought, confused in his groggy state, it's not that loud. What the hell? … It sounds like the damn wind ...
Hearing the floorboard creak in the hallway he snapped his head back to attention. He closed the cabinet and turned to make his way back through the kitchen, the sound from downstairs already forgotten.
Monday, April 6, 2015
1:07 a.m.
Sarah nipped behind the office as she saw someone walking down the street.
Who in hell is out at this hour? She leaned against the wooden staircase that led to the second floor, grateful she'd chosen black jeans and a black sweater, helping her to blend more easily into the shadows.
She set the gasoline can down and breathed slowly, making herself as silent as possible. She had to focus, to calm herself, and she reviewed through the plan for the hundredth time.
Letters written – check. Letters mailed – check.
She felt for her pocket.
Matches – check. Gasoline – check.
She forced herself to count to three hundred, figuring five minutes would be long enough for the person to have passed by but, when she got to two-hundred-forty-five, she suddenly heard knocking.
Oh, shit – she's here?
She almost laughed, her head spinning as she tried to maintain some semblance of control, the absurdity of the entire situation almost too much. She clamped her hand over her mouth and bit down on her tongue in a monumental effort to remain quiet.
He's never going to answer, she thought – but, seconds later, the pounding stopped and the door opened. Sarah decided she didn't even care that another person would be up there. She had to do two things, and two things only, and couldn't be concerned with anything else:
Step One: Torch the place.
Step Two: RUN.
She poured gasoline around the edges of the stairs – thankfully constructed out of wood, which Sarah thought might just be the most idiotic thing she'd ever seen. Who builds a fire egress out of wood?
One match, a swipe, and a toss – Poof!
She backed away from the blaze but watched it intently for a few moments, mesmerized. She saw the flames dancing before her, spreading and licking the wood, and she was fascinated by how the paint bubbled and curled. After a minute or two, though, she moved to the front of the building. She took a chance – the only unplanned part of the entire ordeal – and broke the window pane; her heart skipped a beat at the sound of the glass shattering, and she reached in to unlock the latch, quickly raise the window, and climb in.
Making her way to the office's side door, she opened it a bit. The door faced the neighboring market and opened into the alley in between; no one would ever even notice that it was ajar. She needed the escape route, but she also needed the draft that it, combined with the open window, would provide.
She quickly poured the lion's share of the gasoline down in the office, concentrating on the areas where the stores of paper and chemicals were held. She dumped the last bit by the main door – the one that led to the stairs to Richard and Mary's apartment – and tossed the can onto the floor. Making her way to the door she'd left ajar, Sarah took a moment to appreciate the power of what she'd just done. After a lifetime of feeling that life had passed her by, that she was in control of nothing except the whiny children that sat before her on a daily basis, she was at least in control of this.
Just do it, Sarah, her mind whispered. Just. Do. It.
She pulled the small matchbox out of her pocket and withdrew one more match. She struck it against the sulfur, watched it light, and tucked it back into the edge of the box, tossing the entire thing onto the doormat. She watched as it lit the fibers of the rug, the small flames licking the floor until they grew just enough to catch on the gasoline.
Sarah removed her gloves and tossed them toward the fire. She heard the immensely satisfying whoosh as the flames raced across the floor and approached the back wall; she then exited through the alley door and ran off.
Just like a thief in the night, she thought. Goodbye, Misty Cove.
Stay put, stay put ... Laura heard Richard's words echoing in her head.
No. No more.
As soon as he'd turned down the hallway into the kitchen, she rushed into his office and quickly slid open the desk drawer, thanking her stars that it had been unlocked. She looked under the papers and saw …
Wait. Where's the other one? He always said there were two.
Her heart racing, Laura snatched up the one flash drive she found and slid the drawer shut, tucking the drive in her pocket as she raced back to her previous spot in the hallway … just before he came around the corner.
Richard took in the woman before him, her panicked look, and his eyes narrowed as he looked her directly in the eyes, those dark blue eyes that were identical to his own.
"Laura," he said slowly, the suspicion evident in his voice.
"Thank you," she deflected, reaching out for the bottles in his hand.
"I don't see why you don't just go to the store yourself," he sneered. "Oh, wait – that's right! They won't serve you there anymore, will they? And you without a driver's license to go elsewhere … tsk, tsk."
"No, they won't," she whispered, her head bowed a bit under his gaze, her fingers trembling as she clutched the bottles.
"Those are the last ones, Laura," he said quietly.
Her head snapped up in horror. "You wouldn't do that to me, Richard."
But he only laughed in her face.
"You've brought me nothing for weeks," he whispered. "You promised me more information months ago, said it would be so much easier to get it now because of him, but you've brought me nothing!"
Richard reached out and grabbed the back of her head, his fingers tight in her hair. "Don't make me tell the whole town about you, about your dirty little secrets, hm?" He gave her head a good shake and then pushed her away, noticing once again how dangerously close to the stairs she was. "Hurry along, now. And try to have something good in that envelope next week – besides the rent, I mean."
But Laura turned to look at him. "My secrets are your secrets, too, Richard. Do you think it would be so hard for them to figure it all out, to see how we're connected? Well, guess what? I don't even care anymore. As far as I'm concerned, you can go f-" She stopped suddenly, sniffing the air. "What in hell?" she whispered.
She turned and saw the smoke coming from below the door at the bottom of the stairs. "Richard?" she asked, her voice wavering.
He peered around her and saw the smoke, rooted to his spot as shock settled in, the strange sound coming from downstairs suddenly making so much more sense.
"Richard! Move!" Laura pushed him aside and ran for the kitchen, stopping short when she saw flames lapping at the sill of the kitchen window. She turned to the screen door that led to the deck but saw the flames flickering through the screen as more smoke began to creep into the kitchen.
"Oh, Christ," she uttered. "Richard! The phone – call 9-1-1!"
But Richard remained frozen where he stood.
"Richard!" She dropped the bottles, not noticing that one went rolling down the stairs and smashed onto the tile floor at the bottom, only serving to ignite the fire even further as it had now made its way into the small hallway, catching on the carpeting that lined the stairs and creeping up.
She reached for the phone on the wall and dialed, but the line was dead.
"No," she whispered, starting to cry. "No!"
Richard looked at her, his gaze fuzzy as realization dawned on him. The room was now filling with smoke, and one glance outside the office window confirmed his suspicion: The entire downstairs must be ablaze by now.
He reached into his pocket for his mobile and then remembered he was wearing his bathrobe. Finally springing into action, he headed back to his bedroom … and burned his hand on the door handle.
"Fuck!" he shouted, grabbing his wrist with his other hand. "I can't open it!"
"Richard," Laura whispered. She's slid down to the floor and was sitting clutching her knees, the full onslaught of what was going to happen suddenly, shockingly clear.
"No!" he shouted, heading to the other window. He tried to lift it but couldn't manage with the burn on his hand. "Laura! Open the window!"
But when he looked at her, her head was on her knees as she rocked back and forth.
"Laura!"
She didn't hear him. She had finally accepted the reality of their situation, and she was attempting to make up for a lifetime's worth of sins in one brief, soft prayer.
"Please watch over my boy," she kept whispering. "Just please … watch over my boy."
Sunday, April 5, 2015
10:10 p.m.
10:10 p.m.
Are you home?
Tom started as the phone buzzed beside him on the sofa. He muted the TV and grabbed the phone, hoping it was Sybil saying she'd gotten out early. He swiped the screen and saw … Mary?
10:11 p.m.
Yes … What's up?
Mary heaved a sigh of relief that he'd even answered her text at all.
10:11 p.m.
You busy? Need some advice.
10:12 p.m.
Sybil out at 1. I'm free now. Come over?
10:13 p.m.
Thx. See you in 5.
They'd barely spoken since he'd driven her home on New Year's, but they'd spent about an hour talking in the car that night and, with Richard having been away, she'd invited Tom up for a drink afterwards. He'd worried about what it might look like if anyone saw him sneaking up to her apartment in the middle of the night, but she had just laughed.
"Everyone knows I'd never cheat on Richard," she'd said soberly. "He'd kill me."
Tom's blood had run cold as it had occurred to him that she might be absolutely serious. They'd spent the rest of the early morning hours talking about anything and everything, each of them seemingly having found a friend in the other.
They had more in common that Tom ever would have realized: Mary was from a wealthy family, he knew, and he was just a kid who grew up poor. But they'd both come to the US fleeing a life they wanted no part of anymore, and they clearly both had secrets, things they wouldn't share with the other … not quite yet, anyhow. He had been surprised to realize over the course of that night that Mary was actually rather shy, her cold façade often masking a sense of unease; despite that (or maybe, he thought, because of it) he'd felt he could confide in her. Tom had few good friends in Misty Cove, despite being acquainted with most of its citizens because he owned the only garage in town; other than Andy, Elsie, and a couple of others, Tom Branson was very much alone.
For her part, Mary had felt as though a new facet of her life had opened up that night. Since moving to Misty Cove, she had always felt like an outsider. Her only sister was one of the most well-respected people in town, and Mary had done herself no favors when she refused to show up by Edith's side after Michael Gregson had died. She'd thought her saving grace would be Uncle Charlie moving to Misty Cove with Daisy. He'd always had a soft spot for Mary and, despite the fact that she was adamantly refusing to have a child with Richard, Mary absolutely adored Daisy. But then Uncle Charlie had met Elsie Hughes, and Mary stopped seeking him out, feeling like an intruder in his new life.
Tom may have thought he had few friends in Misty Cove, but Mary had none. She couldn't afford to get close to anyone at work, lest she be seen as being a soft touch - not when Richard was already harping on her about being too gentle with people whose accounts were behind. She'd tried to stay away from most of the social events in town, finding them too reminiscent of her former life in England, when there had always been an expectation that she'd circulate through the crowd and make beneficial connections. No, Mary usually kept to herself, which was why going out for a few drinks on New Year's Eve and having gotten a ride home from Tom had been a life-altering event for her: it had shown her that perhaps it was possible to have someone to confide in, someone to … trust. She certainly couldn't spill everything about her life to the mechanic, but she knew she could tell him some of it.
And so it had been that, over two pots of coffee and a plateful of leftover pastries from Christmas, Mary and Tom had become friends. He'd encouraged her to get out more; she'd encouraged him to finally drum up the courage to ask out the cute nurse he'd met at the hospital the week he'd cut his hand.
Mary pulled up in front of Tom's apartment and got out of the car. She set the alarm and headed up the steps, and he met her in the open doorway.
"What's going on, Mary?" he asked.
"No beating around the bush, I see," she replied, brushing past him as he held the door for her. "Please tell me you have something stronger than the coffee I offered you last time," she chuckled.
Tom headed over to his small liquor cabinet, withdrawing a bottle of whisky and two tumblers. "This okay?"
She nodded, and he poured them each a healthy measure.
"Sláinte," he said, clinking his glass against hers, and they both downed a healthy amount in one go. He motioned for her to sit, and she took the spot nearest to the small fire in the hearth, a sudden chill in her bones that she couldn't shake.
Tom took the chair across from her, sitting patiently as he waited for her to gather her thoughts.
"I've left him," she finally managed, staring into the dark, amber-colored liquid in her glass.
Tom sat up a bit straighter. "Have you?"
"Mm," she murmured, nodding. "But I'm going to need help … advice, perhaps, as I said in my text." She looked up, meeting his calming gaze with her own frightened eyes. "I may even need to go home, much as I loathe the idea."
"Mary," he asked hesitantly. "Have you done something? I feel as though I'm missing a huge chunk of information here."
"I've … taken something," she said slowly, "something of Richard's. He doesn't know yet, but he'll figure it out soon enough, perhaps in as little as a few hours, even, given that I won't be returning as he expects I will."
Tom leaned over and refilled her glass and topped off his own.
"You'd better start at the beginning," he advised her. "Just let me text Sybil and ask her not to come over tonight."
Mary's head shot up. "Oh, no, I don't want you to do that. I'll leave by then, I promise. I don't want her getting the wrong idea."
"You don't know Sybil," he smiled, pulling out his phone. "She won't mind."
"Actually, I have met her," Mary said. "At the hospital, when Elsie was there. Sybil helped my niece and I figure out where to get a decent cup of tea. She's sweet, I liked her."
He beamed. "That she is. And she's trustworthy, too. She'd never tell anyone you were here, not if I ask her to keep it to herself. But I understand you may not want her to know anything that's going on."
Mary smirked. "Well, perhaps it's still best that you not call her quite yet, then. Who knows? If Richard finds me, it might be good to be acquainted with an ER nurse."
She sat back and toed off her shoes, then tucked her feet underneath her legs and proceeded to tell him everything.
Monday, April 6, 2015
6:15 a.m.
"Charlie?" Elsie practically shouted as she answered the phone. "What is it? What have they found?"
"It's not her," he said right away, the relief evident in his voice. "It's not Mary."
"Oh, thank God," she breathed.
"I'm sorry, I should have called you earlier, but it took me a bit to get a moment alone."
"It's alright, I expected that. But … Charlie, who are those poor people?"
"They don't know," he said. "Mary's with the police now, she just arrived. Elsie, she's not slept at all."
"Where on Earth was she?"
He hesitated before answering. "She was with Tom Branson," he said quietly.
"Tom?!"
"Not like that," he explained quickly. "They're friends - she'd mentioned it to me ages ago but I had completely forgotten - and she'd gone over there seeking his advice after walking out on Richard."
"She walked out on Richard?" Elsie shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm having trouble following all of this, Charles."
"I know," he sighed. "I don't have enough details, but I wanted to check in and let you know I'm alright, that Mary is alright. She's safe, and the police are questioning her."
"Questioning her? Why - oh, my God, do they think it was arson? In Misty Cove? And they think Mary did it?"
"They seem to. I will say, this police chief -"
"Vyner," she said with some disgust. "Yes, I know - he's not the brightest bulb, is he?"
"No," Charles said, some amusement in his voice at her choice of description. "He has to question her though, doesn't he? I think even I'd start there."
"But Tom can alibi her?" Elsie pressed.
"I think so, yes. As long as they believe him. It seems he's seeing that nurse you had at the hospital, and she saw Mary at his house."
"Sybil?"
"Yes, that's her name. She corroborates that Mary was there when she arrived at a little after one o'clock. If they believe her and Tom, Mary's alibi is pretty solid. Vyner and the fire chief estimate that's about when the fire was set, give or take half an hour. Mary simply couldn't have done it, not if she arrived at Tom's just after ten last night, as they claim. Her texts to him corroborate that."
"Good. But why would she want to set fire to her own business, her own home? That makes no sense."
Charles took a deep breath. "I know," he said evasively, "and I can't answer that right now. Richard is also missing, though."
"Charles, what should I tell Daisy? All the children at school will be talking about it. Oh, shit - how am I to get her there? I still can't drive. Perhaps I can call Anna …"
Charles sighed. "No, keep her home, I think. You can tell her about the fire, and assure her that her Aunt Mary is safe."
"And Richard?"
She could almost feel his fear and unease coming at her through the phone.
"Tell her we don't know where he is at the moment. Technically it's true; they can't … they can't identify who the bodies are by looking at them."
"Oh, my God," she gasped, her fingers pressing into her lips.
"There will be DNA testing, of course. The Chief Medical Examiner was there when I drove by."
"Good, that's good. He's thorough, very much so. And quick. He's from Portland, nice man. And I'm rambling - sorry."
"Don't worry and, yes, Vyner also said he's excellent. Of course, anything Mary would have been able to access to provide Richard's DNA burned in the fire, so they'll need to get his records from his physician."
He yawned widely, and Elsie felt an emptiness that she couldn't describe.
"I miss you," she said simply. She was managing to control her voice, but he heard her distress nonetheless.
"I know, love. I've got to stay here until they've finished with Mary, and I have no idea how long that will be. If one of the bodies from the fire is Richard, she may be in trouble. She admits to having argued with him before leaving. The worst thing now would be for the M.E. to determine that Richard was, for some strange reason, dead before the fire started."
Elsie was silent, stunned at the thought that Mary Carlisle may have actually killed her husband before walking out on him, never knowing that all evidence of his death would quite literally go up in flames hours later. The chances of that having happened were slim, but it wasn't impossible.
"Well," she said. "You know where we'll be. Stay safe, Charles."
"I shall. I love you."
"I love you, too."
"More than anyone ever has?" he murmured, smiling a bit for the first time that day.
"You've got that right. Hurry home to me, Charlie. We have a wedding to plan."
After hanging up the phone, Elsie had managed to go back to bed for a couple of hours. She hadn't bothered waking Daisy, thinking it would be easier to let the girl sleep as long as she could.
Daisy slept until just after eight. She got up and went to wake her Papa to tell him she was late for school, but she only found Elsie. Wondering if he might be out tending the animals, Daisy woke Elsie gently.
"Elsie?" she whispered. "Elsie, wake up. Where's Papa? I'm late for school."
She watched as Elsie opened her eyes slowly and yawned. "He's out for the day, but he's fine," she reassured Daisy. "And you get to stay home with me today."
"Why?"
Elsie deflected the question for the moment. "Can you do me a favor?" she asked.
Daisy nodded.
"My phone is in the kitchen, on the counter, charging. Can you bring it to me?"
Daisy ran off to fetch it, and Elsie made herself sit up slowly. When Daisy returned, Elsie sent off a quick text to Anna asking for her to stop by and tend to the animals this morning and saying she'd explain everything when they saw each other. She knew Anna would know about the fire and, if she put two and two together (which Anna was so very good at doing), she'd figure Charles might be otherwise occupied and unable to be at the farm today.
"What's happened? Where's Papa?"
Elsie patted the bed, encouraging Daisy to come up and join her.
Daisy crawled up, uneasy about what Elsie was going to say. Her Papa was never just gone in the morning, and Elsie didn't look very well.
"Daisy, there was a fire in town last night. At the newspaper building."
"Aunt Mary's newspaper?" Daisy whispered, horrified, eyes wide as she stared at Elsie.
"Yes," Elsie said. "Your Papa is with Aunt Mary now. She's completely fine, she wasn't home when it happened, but the building was destroyed."
"Where are they?"
"At the police station, trying to help the police and fire chiefs figure out what may have happened."
"Where's Uncle Richard?" Daisy asked, wondering why Elsie hadn't mentioned him.
Elsie licked her lips. "We aren't sure, Daisy. They're trying to find him now."
"Okay," she said softly. "And then Papa is coming home? When?"
"Well, he may be busy most of the day, and he'll be very tired when he gets home. He'll call you later, though, when he can."
"Alright. And I get to stay home?"
"That's what he said," Elsie said, smiling at her. "So, what do you think … breakfast, movies, maybe a visit with Anna and your Monday afternoon ride?"
Daisy's face lit up. "Yes! Can we make pancakes?"
"Sure," Elsie laughed. "Let's go!"
Elsie and Daisy spent the rest of the morning relaxing. Anna had stopped by during breakfast and had seen to the animals, having then promised to return by three for Daisy's riding appointment. She would end up coming by at half past two and staying until five, though, which would allow a still-exhausted Elsie to take much-needed nap.
An enormous breakfast meant that Daisy and Elsie skipped lunch. Elsie had Daisy choose a couple of pay-per-view movies, and they spent the afternoon in Elsie's bed, watching them and laughing quite a bit. Charlie called during one of the movies, speaking to Daisy for a few moments and promising to be home after dinner in time to kiss her goodnight. When he spoke to Elsie, he had a little bit more news. Mary had been deemed free to go for the moment, provided she surrendered her passport. The fire inspector was certain it was arson and, until the bodies had been examined and identified, no one associated with the building was allowed to leave town. Mary would be spending the night at her beach house, Charles said, and he would head home after taking her to dinner and making sure she ate something substantial.
Elsie woke from her nap around four, looking out the window to see Daisy still riding around the paddock. Her phone rang but she couldn't get to it in time, and she let it go to voice mail. Two minutes later, though, it rang again. She picked it up and answered.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Hughes - Elsie?"
"Tommy? Hey, how are you?"
"Um … not so good, actually. Do you mind if I come by?"
Odd. "No, not at all. It's almost dinnertime, though, are you sure it's alright with your Mum?"
He paused, and she thought she heard him sniffle. "It'll be fine," he said gruffly. "But I need to talk to you about something. It's important."
"I'm here," she said. "Daisy and Anna will still be outside, I'll tell them to look for you. You're taking your bike?"
"Yeah," he answered. "See you in about fifteen minutes?"
"Alright," she said, and she hung up the phone.
That was strange, she thought, getting up and changing her clothes. She ran a brush through her hair and headed into the kitchen to pull one of Beryl's meals from the freezer and pop it in the oven. She really shouldn't be bending too much, but the pan wasn't heavy. She set the oven temperature and timer and examined the remaining contents of the freezer, which finally seemed to be decreasing as the days went on. Elsie shook her head and smiled as she thought of her best friend; Beryl was nothing if not over-prepared, and she'd brought about thirty meals over throughout the course of Elsie's recuperation.
Elsie texted Anna and let her know to be on the lookout for Tommy. She put some water on for tea and, when it was ready, decided to make a cup for herself and bring it down to the sunroom. She sat gingerly in her chair and looked out over the pond, a layer of fog covering it as the day changed into evening.
Fire. Two bodies, likely arson. Not Mary. Richard? Unknown, but likely one of the victims. The other one likely female - how do they know? Maybe because she was smaller ... I wonder about insurance, what they had. Oh, God, the employees - they'll all be out of jobs. But they should have been out of the building long before the fire, so it's likely not one of them …
The knock at the door went unheard, but Max's bark alerted Elsie to Tommy's arrival.
"Come in!" she called to him, and he obeyed, letting Max out as he did so.
"Down here, Tommy," Elsie said kindly, and he came into the sunroom to join her.
"Would you like some tea?" she asked, and he nodded.
One glance at him told Elsie that Tommy Barrow was decidedly not well. She handed him the cup, having added his sugar and milk the way she remembered he liked it, and sat back.
"Tommy? What's the matter, dear? Did something happen at school?"
"I didn't go," he mumbled, taking a sip of the tea and relishing the hot, burning feeling as it slipped down his throat.
"Why not? Were you ill?"
His bottom lip quivered. "No. It's my Mum. She … she's disappeared. I said goodnight to her when I went to bed, and she was gone when I woke up. I stayed home to wait for her, because sometimes she goes out late, but she never came back." A huge tear spilled out of the corner of his eye and he furiously wiped it off of his nose, but others only followed.
"The fire," he choked out. "You know about that, right? It's Mr. Carson's family that owns the building, isn't it?"
"Yes," she said tentatively. What kind of mother leaves her son to go out gallivanting at night?
And then her heart skipped a beat, and she found herself covered in gooseflesh once again.
Oh, no … It couldn't be …
But of course it could. There was no reason at all to think the female victim of the fire hadn't been Laura Barrow.
"She … She used to … go there sometimes," he stammered, trying and failing to gain control of his emotions. He balled his fists tightly, feeling his fingernails digging into his palms. "To the newspaper building. She used to send me there, too. He owns our house," he explained. "She'd send me to bring the rent, but sometimes she'd go herself, because he'd give her …"
"Alcohol?" Elsie supplied, something clicking into place in her mind. Barred from the town's liquor store years ago, after an altercation with another customer ...
He nodded, then looked up at her.
"She was trying to quit, honest, she was!" he almost shouted. "She wanted to be able to do more things with me, wanted to feel better again," he said.
Elsie rose up from her chair and moved to sit beside him, attentive to the softness of the loveseat but worrying more about Tommy. She looked at him and then did the only thing she thought to do: once more, Elsie Hughes opened her arms to the sad boy before her, and he practically crawled into her embrace, tucked himself away, and cried his heart out.
"Shh," she soothed him, patting his back. "We'll figure it all out, Tommy, alright? Do you trust me?"
She felt him nod against her chest.
"Alright, then. We're all here for you, Tommy. We'll figure out what to do - I promise."
Charles finally made it home just after eight that evening. He kissed Elsie on the cheek, waved to Tommy (who was still seated in the sunroom and talking on the phone with Jimmy), then made a beeline for Daisy's room.
"Papa!" she shouted. "Finally!"
He sat on the side of her bed and leaned down to receive a tight hug and a kiss.
"Hello, petal. I'm so sorry I wasn't here today. It was a long day, and I am so glad to be home with you now."
"Tommy's here," Daisy said. "His Mum's missing."
"Yes," Charles said carefully, "that's what Elsie told me. We'll figure that out, too, but you need to get some sleep, my dear."
"Yeah, I'm tired. We watched movies today, and I got to ride Scarlett."
"How is your favorite girl?" Charles asked, tapping Daisy on the nose and making her giggle.
"She's good," she said happily. "And Elsie had me take a shower and she braided my hair. She said it'll be wavy tomorrow!"
Charles looked at her fondly, his smile widening as he contemplated his daughter.
"What?" she asked.
"I love you," he said. "That's all."
Daisy leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you, too, Papa."
"Try to sleep, alright? I promise, I'll be here when you wake up."
"Am I going to school?" she asked.
"You are," he insisted. "Marigold missed you, you know."
"Yeah, she called me today after she got home. She said all the kids were talking about the fire."
He hid a shiver as he asked the inevitable question. "Did she have anything to say about it?"
"Nope, not really," Daisy said.
Thank God, he thought. They didn't hear about the bodies, then. That won't be the case tomorrow, though.
"Do you know why Tommy's here, petal?"
"Yeah," she said sadly, fiddling with her bedspread. "His Mummy didn't come home last night, and he's scared."
"He is. Will you keep an eye out for him tomorrow, make sure you're extra kind to him?"
She nodded furiously, and his heart almost shattered. Yes, of course, he realized almost too late. She understands.
He leaned over and kissed her forehead, then tucked the blankets around her, Fred, and Beauty.
"Good night, Papa."
"Good night."
Charles closed Daisy's door softly and made his way out to the kitchen. He peeked through the doorway to the sunroom to see Tommy still on the phone, and was happy to hear that it sounded as though Tommy would be staying at Jimmy's house tonight.
"Jimmy's Mum is picking him up in half an hour," Elsie said softly from where she stood by the sink.
Charles approached her wearily and opened his arms, tucking her into her spot by his heart as he held onto her for dear life.
"I don't know what I'd have done if I didn't have you to come home to tonight," he whispered, his voice catching.
"Shh. Half an hour, Charles. Half an hour."
She felt him nod against her head before dropping a kiss to her hair.
They stood like that until they heard Tommy get up, then pulled away as he came into the dining room. He looked at them from across the counter, and it struck Elsie that he looked completely lost.
"Jimmy's Mum is on her way," he said quietly. "Daisy go to bed?"
"She did," Charles confirmed, "but she'll see you at school tomorrow. She can meet you and Jimmy out front, if you'd like."
He nodded. "Yeah, maybe."
Elsie moved over to him. "I know it's all so confusing now, Tommy. But we've called the police and told them she's missing, and they're looking all over for her."
"She wouldn't have just left me," he said, his lip quivering again.
"No, I don't believe she would," Elsie answered, squeezing his shoulder. "Come on, let's see if Max wants to go out and we can wait for Mrs. Kent, alright?"
"Sure."
She walked him out the door, her hand resting gently on the back of his shoulder: protective, Charles thought as he followed them out, but not overly mothering. She always knows just what to do.
Julia Kent arrived as planned, thanking Elsie for allowing Tommy to call her and promising to stop by his house and get enough things for a couple of days. The women shared a meaningful look, and Elsie knew that their thoughts matched: it was looking more and more likely as the hours went on that Laura Barrow was, indeed, the woman who'd perished in the fire. What on Earth she'd been doing there was anyone's guess. Elsie remembered that the boys were lifelong friends and that their mothers had been close, too, and she was impressed that Julia was holding herself together as well as she was.
"Thank you," Elsie said, and the woman nodded.
"No problem. He working here this week?"
"Tomorrow, actually, but if he can't -"
"No," she interrupted, looking at the boys as they talked quietly by the car, "it'll probably be good for him. I'll drop him off after school."
"That would be fine, thank you."
The woman nodded, then turned back to the car. "Okay, boys, let's go! Everybody in!"
"Bye," Tommy called softly, waving his hand.
Elsie and Charles waved back, and Elsie felt his hand as it brushed across her hip and landed at the small of her back.
"How are you feeling?" he murmured as they watched the car drive off.
"Tired, but not as tired as you. Come on," she said, taking him by the hand. She whistled for Max, who obediently came in and brushed up against Charles's leg until he got the scratches he wanted.
"Good boy," Charles said, crouched down. Max wagged his tail and gave Charles a wet kiss on his chin.
"Thanks," he laughed, and Elsie smiled as she watched them both.
"My boys," she chuckled.
Charles stood up and took her hand again.
"Shower," he said, and she nodded. They peeked in Daisy's door to be sure she was asleep, and then headed to their bedroom. They removed their clothes without speaking; simple, mundane movements before tossing them all in the hamper.
Elsie got into the shower stall and turned the water on - hotter than normal, to help them both sleep and to help Charles feel as though he really was scrubbing away the horrors of the day.
They didn't speak at all; no words were needed at that moment anyhow, not really, and Charles wasn't quite ready anyhow. Elsie motioned to the shower chair that still sat in the stall and he sat. She grabbed the shampoo and washed his hair, slowly massaging his scalp, applying firm pressure before sliding her hands down to his neck and shoulders, trying to work out the knots and kinks that had been put there by a day's worth of worry and fear.
The second he sat down, Charles allowed himself to finally relax. He let Elsie take care of him, feeling no shame in his weakness and fatigue, knowing he could trust her fully like he'd never trusted another person. As she worked the tension from his body, he emptied his mind as much as possible. As he was rinsing she quickly washed her own hair and body, then he finished up and they got out. He helped her to dry off and went to get them each a drink as she dried her hair and brushed her teeth.
Ten minutes later, Elsie came out to find Charles sitting up in the bed, a glass of brandy in his hand. He helped her in beside him and handed one to her, then went back to finish getting himself ready for bed. He shaved and brushed his teeth, then combed his hair, the routine things helping him settle his mind a bit. When he got back into bed they sat quietly against the pillows, holding hands; she refused to push him to speak, knowing he would when he was ready.
"There's barely anything left," he said quietly after a while. "Almost the entire building burned; only the frame remains, really. The siding on the grocery store next door was melted, but thankfully it didn't catch. Whoever did it used a tank of gasoline; the fire inspector found remnants of it. The entire top floor caved in; the bodies were buried under some debris, I think. I'm not sure - I drove by, but the M.E. was there."
She stroked the back of his hand, saying nothing. She didn't remind him that he'd already told her some of this; she just waited patiently.
"Mary is a mess," he continued. "She's in complete shock. They'd argued before she left, but no more than usual. She'd packed a small bag, intending to spend the night at the beach house."
He turned to her then, and Elsie saw true fear in his eyes. "She took one of his flash drives of files with her," he whispered. "It has digital copies of everything. He had two, according to Mary, but this one had the information about her, too."
"Wait," Elsie said, speaking up for the first time. "About Mary?"
He nodded. "Yes, about Mary." He turned to her and leaned over, kissing her sweetly on the lips before sitting back again. "She told me to tell you everything."
"Not tonight," Elsie said. "Tonight you sleep."
The corner of his mouth turned upward, and he nodded as he took her empty glass. "You're the boss," he teased.
"I am tonight," she answered, smiling softly at him. "You can be the boss tomorrow."
"Deal."
Charles helped Elsie lie down comfortably, and she lifted her arm for him to tuck himself in by her side. She cradled him almost like a child as he rested his head on her chest; she ran her fingers through his hair, soothing him as he allowed the brandy to finish taking effect and make him drowsier as the minutes wore on.
"I love you, you know," she said softly.
"I do," he whispered, kissing her belly.
She didn't realize he was crying until she felt the wetness on her nightshirt, but she said nothing, merely continuing to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck until they both drifted into a deep, much-needed, dreamless sleep.
Okay, PLEASE let me know what you think by leaving a wee review for me. HUGE THANKS for all the ones you've all left so far. I know a ton of you review as guests and I truly appreciate each and every word you write. I wish I could reply to the guest reviewers directly but I cannot do so unless you set up an account. I promise to reply if you do that, though. :)
Kudos go out to lemacd who was the only person to guess the identities of both people who died in the fire.
Final tally of your guesses:
Richard Carlisle – 22
Sarah O'Brien – 20
Timothy O'Brien – 4
Mrs. Barrow – 1
Unknown/Unimportant character – 5
Vera Bates (very, very creative and wish I'd thought of that) – 2
Below, please find the recipe I promised, which many of you asked me for. I'll go back and paste it into the Easter chapter, too.
Pineapple stuffing (PM me for metric equivalents):
2 sticks softened butter
2 C. sugar
8 Eggs
1 Lg. or 1 Sm. Cans crushed pineapple
1 loaf day-old challah bread (or another sturdy bread)
1. Cream butter and sugar together.
2. Add eggs one at a time, mixing between each addition.
3. Add cubed bread. (You can cube the night before or just before adding in, but recipe works best if bread is a couple of days old.)
4. Drain pineapple (reserve liquid) and add fruit to mixture.
Bake at 350 degrees for one hour. Save pineapple juice to drizzle on prior to reheating.