Pier Pressure (16 page)

“You got the gate key with you?”

“No. I keep it inside on the key rack beside the kitchen door.”

“It doesn't matter. The house's a goner. Let's follow the fence and then the alley. We need to get back to the car.”

Punt took my hand and I followed his lead, feeling an exhausting numbness I couldn't describe. When he squeezed my hand, my ring cut into my finger.

“You're hurting me!”

He dropped my hand. “Sorry, but look.” He pointed to the ground and I gasped.

A black sweatshirt lay in the dirt beside the locked gate. I picked it up.

“That yours?” Punt asked.

“No, but I'm taking it with me.”

“Maybe you should leave it here and let the police or the fire chief find it. There's always some kind of an investigation into the cause of a fire. The sweatshirt might be a clue.”

“You think someone deliberately started the fire?”

“That's always a possibility.”

“If I leave the shirt here, the owner may realize he left it and return for it. Or if the police or fire chief find it, they may pay no attention to it, believing it belongs to me.” I slung the shirt over my arm, thinking of that instant flash of light gleaming against a bald head. “I've read that people who deliberately start fires sometimes hang around the scene—even offer to help the firefighters.”

We walked past the gate and headed down a narrow alley toward the car.

“So you think someone deliberately started the fire?” Punt asked at last.

“As you said, that's a possibility. Why would an empty house catch fire?”

“There could be many reasons. Faulty wiring comes to mind first. Or maybe an appliance left on accidentally.”

“I know I didn't leave anything on. I seldom iron. This's wash-and-wear country. I didn't leave a stove burner on because we planned to go out for dinner, remember? I didn't think to turn on a night light because we left for Key Colony Beach in bright sunshine.”

By the time we reached the car, the crowd had thinned. Punt skirted around a few stragglers who stood on the sidewalk discussing the blaze. When Punt drove down the street, turning toward Duval and my office, he squeezed my hand.

“I could stay the night if you're afraid,” he offered.

“Thanks a lot, but no thanks, Punt. This has been some kind of a day! We still don't know what Beau was doing the night of the murder, and now I suppose I'll be questioned about this fire.”

“No doubt about that.”

“What will I tell Mr. and Mrs. Moore? I hope they don't think me negligent. I feel so sorry for their loss. They had high hopes for that house.”

“Are you going to call them tonight?”

“No. There's nothing they can do right now. No use waking them up in the middle of the night with bad news.”

“I suppose you're right. You have enough clothes and things on Duval to see you until tomorrow?”

“Yes. I'll be fine. The Moores are due to arrive next week and I'd already started clearing some of my things from the house.”

“Think you'll be able to keep your appointment with Nikko in the morning?”

“I hope so. And Otto's, too. Once I've talked to those two, that's about it for checking alibis.”

“Except for Jude. I can't see any way that either of us can talk to Jude.”

“The police probably won't think he had any motive.”

“Unless I point it out to them,” Punt said. “Enough for now.”

Punt parked in front of my office, pulled me toward him, and kissed me. I returned the kiss, surprised that it seemed like such a natural thing to do.

Punt hadn't been gone two minutes before Gram tapped on my door. I supposed she'd seen Punt's embrace, but I didn't care. I felt too drained of all strength to care about anything, nor did I want to talk about my day or the fire. I only wanted to be alone with my thoughts so I could sort them out and maybe make some sort of sense of them. Or maybe I just wanted to go to bed and erase all my problems with sleep. I heard Moose's claws clicking on the floor overhead, heard Nikko's TV playing softly as I tossed the black sweatshirt onto the bed in my living quarters.

“What's up, Keely?” Gram knocked again then pushed her way inside almost before I could open the door. Without her scarlet caftan, her hoop earrings, her headband, she looked like—a grandmother. I smiled, doubting that she wanted to project that image to the public. “Radio say house on Georgia Street afire.”

At that point, Nikko appeared behind Gram in the doorway with Moose at his heel.

“You all right, Keely?” he asked. “We're guessing that the house was your rental. The announcer didn't give the exact address, but the description—everything fit.”

I opened the door wider so Nikko and Moose could come in.

“Right. My house. Or rather Mr. and Mrs. Moore's house. Punt and I just came from there. Nothing the firemen could do to save the place, but they did save neighboring homes. I'll be living back here sooner than I planned.”

“What start fire?” Gram asked.

“Too soon to tell. The police were busy trying to keep everyone back and out of the way. Maybe tomorrow they'll have some information.” I reached down to pat Moose, feeling his heavy hair, his thick leather collar. He licked my hand with his sandpaper tongue.

“You call me if police come with questions.” Gram shook a forefinger at me.

“I will. You'll be first to know—as usual. Nikko, didn't you and Moose investigate suspicious fires before you retired?”

“Many times,” Nikko said. “You think this was a suspicious fire?”

“Hah!” Gram said. “Any fire in Key West a suspicious fire. Street people break in. Druggies light up. Shoot up. Any fire suspicious.”

“What do you think, Keely?” Nikko asked. “Something special about this fire that makes you wonder about it?”

I wanted to tell Nikko about the sweatshirt, but not in front of Gram. No point in worrying her. Time enough to talk to Nikko tomorrow.

“No. Nothing special about this fire. I hate it that it happened at a house I feel responsible for.”

“You be tired now,” Gram said. “You get rest. Things look better in morning.”

“Right,” Nikko said. “Moose and I may drop by Georgia Street tomorrow to see what we can see. Or should I say sniff what we can sniff.”

Gram and I smiled at each other, I hugged her goodnight, and everyone left me alone. Everything about me smelled of smoke and soot. I hung my green silk up to be hand-washed later, then I showered and dropped into bed, but sleep wouldn't come. Scenes from the crazy day kept replaying through my mind. Too much had happened too fast. Why had Beau lied to everyone? I didn't want him to be the one accused of Margaux's murder. Nor did I want to find myself in that position. Big problems. And now this fire.

It seemed I had hardly hit the bed when my clock radio announced the new day. Tuesday. I yawned and stretched and wished I could sit this day out. Two patients to see and then the memorial service. My feet had barely touched the floor when the telephone rang.

“Foot reflexology. Keely Moreno speaking.”

“Keely! This's Ruth Moore. We just heard the news from the police down there. Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, Mrs. Moore. I'm so sorry about your house…all your plans for it. I haven't had time to go over this morning to view the damage again, but…”

“We're concerned and shocked,” she said, interrupting me, “but we've had time to calm down a bit. Insurance will cover the monetary loss, and we're so relieved that you weren't injured.”

“No, I'm fine. I'd gone out for the evening and I was away when the fire started. Thanks for your concern. Do you plan to come down?”

“Not today,” she said. “We'll see about plane reservations.”

“Sometimes planes are booked full at this time of the year.”

“We'll call our insurance carrier to take care of the details as soon as the offices open. Then we'll hire workers to do the cleanup.” Now Mr. Moore's voice flowed over their extension.

“We'll try to come down soon, find a rental while we take care of rebuilding—or perhaps selling. This's a real shock. It's hard to know what to do or which way to go.”

“I can understand that. If there's any way I can help you, please let me know. I've lived here all my life and I can put you in touch with salvage and clean-up people.”

“Thank you, Keely,” Mrs. Moore said. “I'm upset, of course, but I'm so, so relieved that you're okay. I'll let you go for now. We'll probably be in touch later after we've had more time to think and to adjust our plans.”

“Thanks for calling, Mr. and Mrs. Moore. Again, let me tell you how sorry I feel about your loss.” I began to hate those words. Why were they springing to my lips so frequently?

I'd hardly replaced the receiver when the phone rang again. “Detective Curry here, Miss Moreno. I'd like to speak to you about the fire on Georgia Street last night.”

My heart pounded. I'd expected this, but not so soon. I slid my warm feet into cool sandals, and when I didn't respond, he continued.

“May I stop by to talk to you?”

I took a deep breath as I glanced at my watch. I didn't want to talk to this man at this time—or any other time. Nor did I want to seem reluctant to answer his questions. “I have a patient scheduled at nine. Could you arrive before or after that?”

“I could come right now if it's convenient.”

“That will be fine, sir.”

“Thank you. I'll be right there.”

I barely had time to dress and make us some coffee before he knocked on my door. When I let him in, I saw a curtain move at Gram's shop. No need to let her know anything; she had an inner antenna tuned for news.

“Good morning, Detective. Please come in.” I motioned him to the chair beside my desk where he had sat before, surprised that my voice sounded steady and unafraid. “Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

“No thank you, Miss Moreno, but do have some yourself if you care to.”

I shook my head and sat down behind my desk. I usually felt that the behind-the-desk position helped me control any situation. Again, that feeling vanished when Detective Curry spoke.

“Of course you know there's always an investigation of any fire. It's routine.” His laser-beam eyes bored into mine.

“Yes, I understand that.” I decided to keep my responses brief.

“You rent the Georgia Street house?”

“Yes.” He knew that. Why was he asking again? “The Moores called me moments ago. They'd heard the news.”

“Where were you last night when the fire started?”

I'd expected that question, yet hearing it verbalized shocked me. I countered with a question of my own, stalling for thinking time. “What time did the fire start? It looked full-blown by the time I arrived.”

“The fire chief's estimate is around ten o'clock. Where were you at that time?”

Fat chance I had of diverting his attention! “I was somewhere on Highway 1 between Little Torch Key and Key West.”

“Alone?”

“No. With a friend.”

“The friend's name, please?”

“Punt Ashford.”

“You'd been away the whole evening?”

“The whole afternoon and evening, Detective.”

“The fire investigator thinks the fire started in the attic. Have you ever been in the attic of that house?”

“No. Mr. Moore said getting to the small crawl space in the attic required climbing a ladder propped against the kitchen wall. He saw no need for me to go up there.”

“So you never did?”

“No. Did you find an indication of arson?”

Detective Curry straightened in his chair and his eyes bored into me until I felt like an ant under a microscope. “Do you have reason to suspect arson, Miss Moreno?”

I wished I could withdraw my question. Thank goodness he couldn't read the thoughts that swirled in my mind concerning the black sweatshirt.

“I know little about arson.” Mentally, I congratulated myself on having avoided his question without lying. “Since the house was in rather deplorable shape, I thought some homeless person might have entered, perhaps deliberately started the blaze. That happens in Key West now and then—especially if the night's been chilly.”

“The temperature last night reached the seventies.”

Detective Curry stared at me until I wanted to squirm, but I managed to keep meeting his gaze until he looked away. “Miss Moreno, I find it rather remarkable that you have been so closely aligned with two recent disasters.”

It wasn't a question, so I made no response.

Sixteen

DETECTIVE CURRY LEFT, and Nikko arrived for his appointment almost before I'd had time to regain my composure and hide Curry's insinuations deep inside myself. As usual, Moose accompanied him, walking sedately at his heel. They made a formidable pair, Nikko with his heavy black eyebrows and piercing eyes, Moose with his lean muscular body and pointed ears on the alert. The police force lost two good workers when those two retired. Nikko was too macho to admit to any physical failings. At first he said he came in for treatments to help me get my business started, but he still stopped by for monthly tune-ups. At least that's what he called his sessions.

While Nikko sat enjoying the scented footbath, we talked about the fire.

“Rotten luck, Keely. I know you enjoyed getting away from the hustle-bustle of Duval Street part of the year. Maybe you should find a house of your own. I try to look at setbacks as opportunities.”

“Right now I feel safer right here on Duval. It's noisy and full of all kinds of people, but it's also full of police who keep a sharp eye on things.”

“You've been afraid?”

“Let's just say I've felt apprehensive. Go figure. We know for sure there's a killer at large, and now I think there may be an arsonist running loose, too. Maybe they're the same person.”