No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7 (4 page)

We chatted about ordinary
things as we ate, catching up on our lives.

Bosco ordered lemon meringue
pie for dessert and a couple of coffees. I had a couple of bites
from his plate before my cell phone rang. It was my neighbor,
Betsy.

“Dori, where are you? Are
you okay?” She sounded frantic.

“I’m with Bosco. We’re at
Milsen’s. Why?”

“Your house just blew
up.”

“What? What do you mean my
house just blew up? Blew up how?”

“You’d better get here fast.
The fire department thought you might be inside. Dori, it’s totally
gone, blown to smithereens.”

Bosco and I made the
ten-minute trip in seven minutes. The emergency vehicles lined the
road on both sides, and all the neighbors stood around at a safe
distance. We were greeted by the crowd. The firefighters stepped
back from the smoking embers. The first floor was in the basement,
the second floor where the first floor used to be, and the roof was
all over the yard. It didn’t look like we would ever be able to
rebuild.

“Thank God you’re okay!” It
was Randy Mickleson, my neighbor on the other side. “It made a hell
of a racket when it went up.”

“What happened?” Bosco
encouraged him to share his version. By the time he finished, the
fire chief approached us, wanting to ask questions.

“Evening,” said the man in
the heavy rubber coat and fire hat. “I understand you people
weren’t home at the time.

“No,” I agreed. “I wasn’t. I
can’t believe this.”

“Where were you?”

“My ex-husband and I were
having dinner.”

“Divorced?” The fire chief’s
eyes narrowed and he took a sideways glance at Bosco, who caught
the action and looked the man right in the eye, sizing him
up.

“But friendly. What caused
the fire?” Bosco asked.

“Not a fire,” responded the
chief. “Explosion.”

“That doesn’t make any
sense,” my ex-husband replied. “What blew up?”

“The kitchen was the point
of origin.”

“Oh!” I cried. “Not the new
gas range!”

“I’m afraid so. Apparent gas
leak. How new was it?”

“We just got it...I just got
it installed last week. I waited over a month for it.” I thought
about how George insisted that I convert the oil burner to gas, and
while I was at it, I should also have a line put in for a new gas
range.

“Why did you get a gas
range?” Bosco demanded. “What was wrong with the range you had? It
was only four years old!”

“George suggested we update
the house. I got a new gas burner, too, to improve the
heating.”

“Dori, there was nothing
wrong with that oil burner. It was only seven years old. Don’t you
understand that replacing systems before they wear out is a waste
of good money?” I shrugged off the criticism. This wasn’t the time
or the place for that. I was too miserable to fight with him. There
was nothing left of the place I called home.

“What time did you leave the
house?” the fire chief wanted to know.

“About fifty minutes ago,”
said Bosco, checking his watch and calculating the amount of time
we spent driving and eating.

“You didn’t cook on your
range tonight?” The fire chief looked at me expectantly.

“No, I didn’t. I made
coffee, but the pot has an automatic shutoff switch.”

“This wasn’t caused by an
electrical appliance. You didn’t smell gas before you left your
house?” I shook my head. Bosco jumped in.

“I was there, too. I didn’t
smell any gas. The house was fine when we left.”

“It’s not fine now,” the
fire chief pointed out. We looked at the smoldering ruins of the
house we shared for so many years. I couldn’t stop
crying.

“How could this happen? How
could a house just blow up?”

“It’s unusual. Who’s your
insurance agent?”

“Stanley Holstein,” Bosco
offered helpfully, “with the Carson Agency. I’ll call
him.”

“Tell him the arson
investigator will be in touch.”

“Arson investigator?” I
asked. We both turned to look at the man with the fire hat. “Are
you saying someone deliberately blew up this house?”

“Your gas line fed the
explosions in three locations, the range, the gas burner, and the
gas dryer. We can tell by the debris pattern.”

“You have a gas dryer? What
was wrong with the dryer we bought?” Bosco seemed more upset about
the new appliances than about the missing house. I ignored him,
trying to focus on what the chief was trying to tell us.

“It was just installed and
working fine,” I replied. My head was starting to hurt. “This
doesn’t make any sense. First, George robs me. Now the house blows
up. What’s next? I get hit by a car?”

“Who’s George?”

“My ex-boyfriend,” I sighed.
“He cleaned me out. He re-mortgaged my house, stole my 401K,
drained my bank accounts, and took cash advances on my credit
cards.”

“Did you report it to the
cops?” the fire chief demanded. I took the card out of my wallet
with the name and contact information for the detective handling
the case. He handed it to his assistant. “We’ll get this back to
you.”

“Sure.”

Half an hour later, with
news crews filming the wreckage, Bosco and I waited for the
insurance agent at Jana and Randy Mickelson’s house. Jana made a
pot of coffee. Stanley Holstein arrived a short time
later.

“Unbelievable,” he
announced, a tinge of excitement in his voice. “I’ve never had a
case like this before.”

“The fire chief says it
looks like arson,” Bosco told him. Stanley nodded
enthusiastically.

“I heard. We won’t be able
to pay you until the investigation has concluded, and provided you
two aren’t involved.”

“We’re divorced, Stan. Dori
owns the house now. And I think it’s safe to say we have a pretty
good suspect, since he took off with Dori’s money after he
re-mortgaged the house.”

“How did he manage to do
that?” Stan was more than a little curious. By the time Bosco
filled in the blanks, Stan and Randy were speculating on the
possibility that I would receive nothing for the loss of the
house.

“You’d have to prove you had
no involvement in the conspiracy,” Randy decided. “And that you had
no prior knowledge.”

“The police have a full
report,” I insisted. “I went to them as soon as I found the money
missing from my bank account and my credit cards maxed
out.”

“They might still wonder if
you were a willing participant. How long have you been dating the
guy?” Randy didn’t hold back his interest. Jana poked him in the
ribs and frowned.

“It’s okay,” I told her.
“We’re still trying to figure this out. Bosco thinks it’s because
of his work as a forensic investigator. It’s payback for nabbing
some powerful people. I think it was just a scam. The guy’s just a
creep.”

“Well, I think he’s a fool,”
Jana decided. “I can’t believe he did that to you.”

“Neither can I.”

“Let’s head out, Dori.”
Bosco put a protective arm around me. “Thanks, folks. We’ll talk
soon.”

On our way back to the
street, where the car was parked, I took one last look at the
house. My life was gone, obliterated by the explosion, and with it,
the mementoes of the years.

“I can’t believe it.” I
stood, watching a lone fireman checking the perimeter of the house.
“All of the photos of Kevin are gone. All his toys, his soccer
trophies, even his baby booties.”

Big tears rolled down my
cheek. I brushed them away with the back of my hand. Bosco kissed
my hair, cupping my head in his hand.

“Not everything,” he
whispered softly. “Come on.”

We headed back to
Rogerstown, past the diner. Fifteen minutes later, the silver
Taurus pulled into a spot in front of Bosco’s apartment. I looked
at the building, constructed in the nineties. Yellow brick, with
wrought iron balconies and tiny patios, sliding windows, and some
charm. The well-landscaped setting was also a plus. As I opened the
car door, I caught the flash of my charm bracelet, with the little
reminders of milestones in my son’s life. From the baby shoe to the
soccer ball, there was a timeline of Kevin’s too-short life. After
his death, I added the angel to the silver links.

“At least I grabbed some of
my jewelry,” I told Bosco, my throat tight.

“Your diamonds?”

“They’re in the safe deposit
box at the bank. Do you think he got those?”

“Probably not.” Even as he
said it, I knew he was trying to comfort me, for at least
tonight.

“The only clothes I have are
in my overnight case,” I sighed heavily. “I have no money to buy
new clothes.”

“I’ll lend you
some.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be
able to pay you back any time soon, Bosco.”

Chapter Five --

“I’m not worried,” he
replied, opening the fire door at the back of the building for me
and ushering me through. We walked down the corridor and stopped at
the third door on the left. “You haven’t seen the place in a while,
have you?”

“No,” I agreed. I remembered
that night I knocked to deliver the divorce papers.

“Come on in.” He unlocked
the door and opened it, revealing a large living room with a dining
area. I looked around, noticing the new paint on the walls. It was
brilliant white. He still had his brown leather recliner, but now
he also had a beige recliner sofa upholstered in microfiber. He was
using a small chest as an end table. A glass-topped contemporary
coffee table sat in the middle of the room. There was a large flat
screen TV mounted on the wall. I saw the small dinette set we used
when we were first married sitting under a contemporary glass
chandelier. “The kitchen is this way.”

He led me into the tiny
galley kitchen next to the front hall closet. With room enough for
a small sink, a dishwasher, narrow range, and apartment-sized
refrigerator, it was perfect for a person who didn’t cook
much.

“Your bathroom is down the
hall.” He led me to a small room with a single pedestal sink,
toilet, and claustrophobic shower stall. “As you can see, no one
actually expected anyone to use this on a regular
basis.”

“It will be fine,” I
replied, all too aware of the fact that I was one step away from
homelessness and bankruptcy.

“Your bedroom. madam,” he
announced, opening the flat slab door to a room barely big for the
twin bed in there. It looked like something you’d find in the dorm
room of an accounting student, except for the light blue comforter
with cartoon characters emblazoned all over it.

“Kevin’s,” I sobbed, feeling
the cotton between my fingers. “I can’t believe you have it. I
thought it was up in the attic.”

“Sorry.” He looked sheepish,
standing in the light of the hallway, still holding my blue
overnight case.

“Don’t be sorry. If you
hadn’t taken it, it would have been gone forever.”

“Well, in that case, you’ll
probably be happy to see the closet.” Bosco set the case down on
the bed. “I’ll leave you to it. There’s an alarm clock in the top
drawer of the dresser. There are sheets in the second drawer down.
Towels are in the linen closet. Let me know if you need
anything.”

“Thanks.” I smiled at my
ex-husband. “Good night.”

“Sweet dreams,” he told me.
“Don’t be afraid to wake me.”

I pulled the comforter back
and got to work making the bed. Not surprisingly, the sheets
matched. I thought about the day Kevin and I picked them out at
Target. He was so excited to have a “big boy” bed. A small, hard
knot formed halfway between my heart and my throat and settled
there. I remembered what Bosco said, and with hesitation, I
approached the closet. With a slow twist of the door knob, I opened
a memorial to Kevin. Bosco had added shelves, to hold all of
Kevin’s trophies and treasures. There was the junior championship
cup from the year before he died, as well as his first baseball
trophy from his t ball league. I saw the dinosaur project Kevin
made with Bosco in second grade, as well as the wooden race car my
son carved with his Cub Scout pack. Hanging in the corner was the
Packers jacket Bosco bought him for Christmas when he was ten. I
examined every item, grateful that I didn’t know Bosco had taken
these things. I would have been angry. I would have raged at his
need to take away pieces of Kevin. And I would not have been
standing here, with the last remnants of Kevin’s life.

“Are you okay?” I heard my
ex-husband speak from the doorway. I didn’t trust myself to reply,
but I nodded. “Are you mad?”

A small, tear-choked chuckle
escaped from my lips as I fought to keep my composure. I shook my
head in response. I was holding Kevin’s favorite race car in my
hands, remembering his face when he opened the birthday package.
“No.”

“Good,” was all Bosco said
before he disappeared into his bedroom.