Karen MacInerney - Margie Peterson 01 - Mother's Day Out (22 page)

Five minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Peachtree Investigations.

All that was left of the building was a smoking pile of cinderblocks.

My body turned cold. 
Another bomb?

First, my husband’s car had been blown up.  Now my office.  I had thought Blake was the reason for the Molotov cocktail.  Now, I wasn’t so sure.

I swung open the minivan’s door and stared at the scorched remains of the building.  With those stacks of files, it must have gone up like a torch.  Then an awful thought occurred to me.  Had Peaches been there?

A cold knot formed in my stomach.  If she had, had she gotten out? I started to search the parking lot for her car.  Then I realized I didn’t know what she drove. 
Oh, God
.  Why would someone burn down Peachtree Investigations? Was it a coincidence?

It was always possible that the fire started on its own. Maybe one of the ashes from Peaches’ Ultra-Slims had landed on a file folder or a pile of dried-up doodlebugs. But the police tape made me think otherwise.  Peaches’ desk—1950s army issue, solid metal—was the only thing still intact.  What was left of her chair lay on its side in the middle of the rubble like a dead three-legged spider.

A prickle of fear crept up my back.  Had someone done this to warn me away?

I thought about my actions for the last few days.  I’d gone down to the Rainbow Room to talk with Cassandra about Maxted — had that been what motivated this? Someone telling me to stop asking questions about Evan Maxted? Personally, I would have preferred a nice handwritten note.

On the plus side, if it was Marcus Patterson who was unhappy about my asking questions, he wouldn’t be able to commit any more acts of arson from jail.  Looking at the remains of Peachtree Investigations, I was thankful that whoever had thrown that Molotov cocktail last night had aimed at my car and not my house.  Still, if bad things happened in threes, I didn’t even want to think about what might be next.

As I stared at the blackened rubble, a chilling thought crept into my head.

What about Elsie and Nick?

I fumbled for my phone and picked out the number for Green Meadows.  The line was busy.

Just like the line at Peachtree Investigations had been all day yesterday.

I dashed back to the minivan and gunned the engine, punching the redial button as the minivan screeched out of the parking lot.

Still busy.

I raced up South First, running two red lights and scanning the northwest horizon for signs of smoke.  Surely they wouldn’t go after my children.

Would they?

Horrible thoughts passed through my mind as I dodged slow-moving SUVs and almost took the front bumper off a mini, cursing the traffic lights.  The ten minutes it took me to get to my children’s school felt like an hour.  I roared off at the Enfield exit, then gunned the engine and ran the last red light, breathing a sigh of relief as Green Meadows Day School came into view.  No smoke, no flames.  It looked just like it had when I dropped the kids off.  At least something was going right today.

And then I saw the ambulance. 

I hurled myself out of the minivan and across the parking lot to where group of mothers huddled, looking white-faced and somber. 

“What happened?” I gasped.  “Why is the ambulance here?”

Nina Jeffreys looked at me with big, soulful eyes.  “Didn’t you hear?”

“No!” I yelled.  I resisted the urge to grab her by her scrawny throat.  “That’s why I’m asking you!”

Marina Helden said, “Relax, Margie.”

“How can I relax when there’s an ambulance in the parking lot? Will someone tell me what the hell is going on? Are my kids okay?”

Betty patted my arm.  “They’re fine, Margie.”

Relief gushed through me.  “Oh, God.  Thank God.”  I sagged against somebody’s SUV.  “But why is the ambulance here?”

“Mrs. Bunn collapsed in the office.”  As Marina spoke, a gaggle of paramedics and firemen staggered through the school’s front door, struggling to maneuver a stretcher over the rough stone pathway.  From a distance, Mrs. Bunn looked like an immense loaf of half-risen dough covered with a massive floral dishtowel.  I caught a glimpse of her face when one of the men carrying her stumbled on a rock. Under the oxygen mask strapped over her face, her skin looked like pork roast that’s been in the fridge a few days too long.

“Is she going to be okay?” Marina asked as they approached the ambulance.

One of the paramedics grimaced and shrugged.  As they heaved the stretcher into the back of the ambulance, I asked him, “Do you have any idea what’s wrong?”

“Heart attack, I’m guessing,” he huffed.  “We won’t know until we get her to the emergency room. 

Then they slammed the back door shut and hustled to the front of the ambulance.  A moment later, the siren started, and the ambulance pulled out of the parking lot, flashing its lights as it sped down Enfield Road.

I turned back to Nina, who I knew volunteered in the office on Fridays.  “How did it happen?”

Tears welled in her brown eyes.  “She had just come back from circle time and fixed herself a cup of tea.  I walked into her office to ask her whether she wanted to order
I Love Fire Trucks
or
Bluebonnet Bunny
for one of the birthday books, and she was sitting there in her chair, all purple, looking like she was choking or something.  I tried to help her, but then she fell out of her chair.”  She blushed slightly.  “I… I tried to help her up, but I couldn’t move her, so I called 9-1-1, and…” I put my arm around her as she started to sob.

“Could it have been a heart attack?” Marina asked.

I shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I’ve never seen one.”

“Well I have,” piped up Melissa Steck.  “And that doesn’t sound like a heart attack.  Maybe someone finally got tired of the old witch and poisoned her.”

A stunned silence fell over the little group.  Nina’s shoulders shuddered as she sobbed quietly.

“We’ve all had issues with Mrs. Bunn from time to time,” Marina said finally.  “But I just can’t imagine anyone would want to poison her.”

I could think of a lot of people.  But all I said was, “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

EIGHTEEN

I had just gotten the kids a snack and settled them in with
Lady and the Tramp
when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“It’s Peaches.”

“Peaches!” I gripped the phone.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said.  “But the office isn’t.”  Her gravelly voice wobbled a bit, and I could hear her sucking in smoke.

“Thank God you’re all right.  I saw it this morning, but I didn’t know how to get in touch with you.  What happened?”

“Arson.”

I sank into a chair.  “I was afraid of that.  How did they do it?”

“They think someone got in and soaked the place with gasoline.  Went up like a torch.”

“Any idea who?”

“Not a clue.  Thank God for insurance, though.  I’ve been meaning to get a new place for years, actually, but I was hoping to take my files with me.”

“Gosh.  I hadn’t thought about that.  What does that do for some of your cases?” My mind touched on Pence.  Would I have to follow him to the Como Motel again?

“Fortunately, all of my clients have copies of their reports and photos.  And I’d just done the billing on Wednesday.”  She sighed.  “I still lost a lot of important stuff, though.”

“Your office wasn’t the only place that went up in smoke.  Someone bombed my husband’s car last night.”

“What?”

“Yeah.  They said it looked like a Molotov cocktail.”

“Looks like you’re getting into some heavy shit.  Maybe you need to back off.  You got kids, don’t you?”

I swallowed hard.  “Yeah.”

“People like this, who knows what they’ll do? If I were you, I would just cool it with your ‘friend’.”

I bit my lip.  Since my friend slept in the same bed with me and was the father of my children, that was going to be tough to do.  “Wouldn’t it be better to find out what’s going on?”

“Honey, you’ve done a great job.  Better than I thought you would.  But this stuff is getting serious.  I’ve got a bad feeling about this.  I think you need to let things die down a bit.”

I gritted my teeth.  Italian music swelled in the living room. It must be the big spaghetti scene.  “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because the ‘friend’ I’ve been telling you about is my husband.”

“Shit.”  She sucked on her cigarette again.  “I was afraid of that.”

I told her everything I’d found out.  “What do I do next?” I asked.

“So, you’ve looked through his home office, but you haven’t gone to his office yet.”

“No.  Not yet.  I’ve been thinking about it, though.”

“Do they have a security person?”

“I think so.  But I don’t think they make you sign in or anything.  Blake just uses one of those security cards to get in and out.”

“Is the building open twenty-four hours a day?”

“Uh huh.”

“That would be my next move, then.  Wait till he’s sound asleep, then grab his keys and go.  I’d tell you to search his car, too, but I guess that ain’t gonna happen now.” 

“What do I do if the security guy asks me what I’m doing?”

“You got into a dead person’s apartment while the police were there and then snooped through his office and stole his appointment book, and you’re asking me how to deal with a security guard?”

“Good point.  I’ll think of something.”

“And make sure you get into his computer, too.  People hide lots of stuff on computers.  I’d go with you, but it might look a little weird, the two of us going up to McWatson and Kinks at three in the morning.”

“Jones McEwan,” I said.

“Whatever.  Anyway, let me know what happens.  Then we’ll figure out what to do next.  Want me to run a background check on him?”

“On my husband?”

“Can’t hurt.  You never know.”

I sighed.  “I suppose you’re right.  It can’t hurt, can it?”

“I’ll see what I can do.  And let me know what you find out tonight.”  Her voice was suddenly serious.  “Be careful.”

“Thanks.  I will.  Are you going to be okay?”

“Once that insurance check comes through, I’ll be right as rain.  What do you think… should we move downtown? Or maybe one of those redone bungalows, over where all the lawyers are?”

“How much was the place insured for?”

“Let’s just say it’s a good thing I called my ex last night.”

“Why?”

“’Cause the insurance company is going to do everything it can to wriggle out of paying up.  But Buck and I were dancing at the Broken Spoke till they closed it down.  We were probably doing the Schottische while some asshole was torching the place.”

I grinned.  “Normally I’d say going out with exes is a bad idea, but in this case…”

“Yeah.  Now go find out about your hubby and call me in the morning.  Okay?”

“I don’t have your home number.”

“Oh.  I guess you’re right.” 

She reeled it off to me, and I jotted it down.  “And Peaches?” I said.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re all right.”

She took another drag off her cigarette.  “Thanks, honey.  Me too.”

#

I couldn’t wait for Blake to go to bed.  I briefly considered adding the contents of a few antihistamine capsules to his Friday night Amstel Light.  Then I remembered Marina’s poison theory from this afternoon and changed my mind.

After the kids went down, Blake parked himself in the living room and stuck
Gladiator
into the DVD player.  I picked up the case: One hundred and forty minutes.  Why were movies so much longer these days? I poured myself a glass of leftover Chardonnay and sat down at the kitchen table, listening to the tinkle of the wind chimes on the back porch and the sound of swords clanging in the living room.  Everything looked just like it had last week—the lace curtains over the kitchen window, the kids’ rock collection decorating the sill, the front of the fridge thick with family photos, finger paintings and school reminders.

But nothing was the same.  In just a few short days, everything I had spent the last eight years building—my marriage to Blake, the little house that was the center of my family’s life—had been thrown into jeopardy.  Rufus growled at the laundry room door, and Snookums snarled back.  I had just poured myself another glass of Chardonnay when my mother called.

“How are things with you and Blake, darling?”

I gritted my teeth.  “Fine,” I lied.  “Just fine.”

“I can tell you haven’t started taking that tea yet.”

“Mom…”

“I think maybe you’d better go see someone.  Let me talk to Karma. I’m sure he knows a good herbalist in the area.  Have you thought about Rolfing?”

I sighed.  I knew she meant well, but this was one of those marital situations where eating weird plants or having my spine readjusted wasn’t going to make much of a difference.  “Mom, thanks for thinking of me, but everything’s okay.”

“I still hear gray in your aura.”

I took a swig of my wine.  “Why don’t you have Karma look up a few names, and I’ll think about it.  And I promise I’ll drink that tea.  Can we talk about this in a day or two?”

“Oooh, Blake must be there.  Well, I understand.  Let me know when I can come down to see my sweethearts! And maybe you and Blake can take a weekend and go to the ashram.”

I almost snorted wine through my nose at the image of Blake at an ashram.  “Thanks, mom.  I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too.”

  A few minutes later, Becky called.

“You doing okay?”

“My mother-in-law is giving me sex manuals and my mother thinks my phone aura is too gray, but other than that, as well as can be expected.”  I glanced toward the darkened living room and took a slug of wine.  “Any word on Attila?”

“She’s still in ICU, but no word on what happened.”

“I hope she’s okay.  Are you still up for a trip to the school office tomorrow?”

“Yeah.  Is ten o’clock okay?”

“Perfect.”

“And when we’re done there, I’m taking you clothes shopping.  You need a pick-me-up.  And then we’ll do a makeover, and you can put in your order.”