Neighing with Fire: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) (17 page)

“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?” she asked, closing the door.

“Coffee would be great,” Myrtle said, carrying Smokey into the living room and making herself at home on the sofa.

She padded into the kitchen to prepare Myrtle’s coffee. The television clicked on.

“Did you see the report on the mainland arson?” Myrtle called from the other room. “Now that’s a real sicko. I read some people get their jollies from setting things on fire. Bet this guy is like that.”

“Myrtle!” she said, throwing her former schoolteacher a look of disapproval.

“What?”

Colleen was glad Bill wasn’t still at her house and that she had had time to straighten up the place and get ready before Myrtle’s unexpected arrival. She wasn’t sure he would have liked the teasing about being her boyfriend or the talk of men getting their “jollies” by setting fires. She carried the mug of coffee to Myrtle and set it on the table in front of the sofa.

“You got anything to eat?” Myrtle asked. “Maybe a pastry or doughnut?”

“All I have is cereal or a breakfast bar. Take your pick.”

“Breakfast bar,” Myrtle said, and rubbed Smokey’s belly.

She retrieved two breakfast bars from the kitchen, one for Myrtle and one for herself, returned to the living room, sat on the chair next to the sofa, and handed Myrtle a bar. “No disguise today, I see.”

“No need for it.”

“I don’t think there was ever a need for it.”

“Now you sound like Bobby.”

“I’m serious. If you were trying to keep Denny from recognizing you, you needn’t have bothered. From what I observed, the man was blind as a bat.”

“You know bats aren’t really blind. They can detect—”

“You’re missing the point,” she interrupted, not wanting to hear a science lecture on bats. “The man had terrible vision. He wouldn’t have been able to tell who you were, disguise or not.”

“Hmm, maybe that explains it,” Myrtle said, thoughtful.

“Explains what?”

“He kept peeking back over his shoulder when I was at Mr. Salvatore’s house. Maybe he was looking for his glasses.”

“He wasn’t supposed to be on Pinky’s property, so maybe he was acting that way because he thought he had been caught trespassing. How’d you know Denny was there anyway?”

“It took me a little while of cruising around but then I saw his truck in front of the house. Nobody gives Myrtle Crepe the slip for long,” she said with pride.

“From what I heard, he was thrilled to see you.”

“Actually, he seemed a bit relieved when I told him I was there to fine him for coming too close to the horses. Didn’t even refuse the paper. I thought for certain he’d put up a fuss.”

Colleen’s brows furrowed. “If he wasn’t angry about that, then what were you two arguing about?”

“He kept yelling at me to leave. Said if I didn’t my life might be in danger.”

“He threatened you? Did you tell this to Bill?”

“Yep. Funny though, it came across more like a warning than a threat. Like he just wanted me out of there.”

An idea came to her. What if Denny had been looking over his shoulder when Myrtle fined him because he wasn’t alone? What if he was worried Myrtle might see that person and start to question why he was there? “Do you remember seeing anyone else at the house while you were there?”

Myrtle squinted—thinking—and then, after a brief pause, said, “No. But the whole time I was there I got the feeling we were being watched.”

Colleen recalled Jacob’s story about seeing Myrtle and Denny from the window. Myrtle must have an awfully powerful Spidey sense, she thought. Then again, she had been an elementary school teacher for over thirty years. Nothing like teaching grade school to give one instincts when it came to children.

While Myrtle’s information was useful, Colleen had wanted more. “You sure there isn’t anything else?” she asked. “Anything unusual? Did Denny have anything with him?”

Myrtle shrugged. “The only other thing that I noticed was cigarette smoke.”

“Denny was smoking?” She remembered the matches found at the scene. Could Denny have used a cigarette to start the fire?

“Custis wasn’t smoking, not that I saw. It was more like the smoke was blowing from elsewhere. Perhaps someone smoking on a deck.”

“He could have left it burning when he went to talk to you.”

“Maybe,” Myrtle said, not convinced. “But he didn’t smell like smoke. Not that I was sniffing the man or anything.”

Colleen grinned at the mental picture of Myrtle sniffing Denny. She couldn’t imagine that either party would have liked the experience. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d be late for her meeting with Agent Morgan. He didn’t seem like the type that tolerated tardiness.

She rose from the chair. “I’m afraid I have to go, which means you have to go.”

“So I’m really not staying here?” Myrtle asked.

“No,” she said, trying not to sound mean but wanting Myrtle to get her derri
è
re off her sofa. “Sparky and I will walk out with you.”

Myrtle hoisted herself from the sofa and stroked Smokey. “See ya’ later, sweetie,” she said and set the cat down.

Colleen collected her keys, wallet, and phone, grabbed Sparky’s leash, and closed the door behind them. “Sparky,” she called, placing Myrtle’s suitcase in her pickup. The Border collie crawled from under a bush and shook himself off.

“You may not be staying with me, but I want you to check in since I am responsible for you.”

Myrtle climbed into the driver’s seat. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, and closed the door.

“And, please, stay out of trouble.”

“Now you really do sound like Bobby,” Myrtle said. She started the engine and disappeared down the road.

“Ready, boy?” Colleen said to Sparky once Myrtle was gone.

Sparky wagged his tail and into the front seat he went. Despite living in the area for many years, she had never visited the Digger’s Dungeon, home of monster truck legend the Grave Digger. Meeting Agent Morgan there to discuss the arson case would undoubtedly prove memorable.

Chapter 16

The Digger’s Dungeon
was an odd spot for a meeting with a federal arson investigator but, then again, Agent Morgan was a bit odd. Colleen had texted him yesterday after the most recent arson to confirm their meeting. He had suggested getting together in Poplar Branch, since it wasn’t far from the incident site and he would have completed the evidence collection and have more to share with her.

It was early in the day, so the traffic was light. She and Sparky quickly made their way down Route 12 with only a slight delay around the Duck shopping areas. Cruising the two-lane road gave her a chance to observe new construction, the latest in beach attire on vacationers walking along the path, and appreciate anew the Outer Banks and the place she called home.

She breezed over the causeway to the mainland and up US Highway 158. She had passed the Grave Digger tourist attraction many times but, not really knowing much about monster trucks despite Dennis Anderson’s Outer Banks roots, had never stopped to investigate. Anderson had become famous in 1982 for building the monster truck known as Grave Digger in a Kill Devil Hills garage from old parts of discarded vehicles. When first competing with his piecemeal truck against more sophisticated trucks, legend had it that Anderson had declared, “I’ll take this old junk and dig you a grave.” He had since gone on to win four Monster Jam world championships and erected the current attraction and diner for Grave Digger enthusiasts to see versions of the truck up close, take photos, and purchase merchandise.

She spotted one of the retired monster trucks perched proudly atop a mound of dirt and slowed to make the left into the parking area. She parked in front of Digger’s Diner and set off in search of Morgan.

Sparky pulled hard on his leash. She wasn’t surprised, given all the wonderful dirt that lay ahead on a truck course. She scanned the grounds. A woman took pictures of a man and his two children in front of one of the trucks, which appeared to sit precariously on its nose. The kids and father smiled broadly. Anything that could make people that happy couldn’t be all bad.

“You here to see the dungeon?” a man sporting a black baseball cap, black T-shirt, and cargo shorts asked.

“Actually, I’m meeting someone,” she said.

“You must be Chief McCabe. Come with me.”

She watched the man, stunned for a second that he knew who she was, then hurried after him toward a building that read Digger’s Dungeon. She had never been a fan of scary movies or haunted houses, and under normal circumstances would have been wary of going into anything called a dungeon, but the man seemed to be expecting her, which could only mean that Agent Morgan had asked him to keep a lookout for her and that the investigator must be inside.

“The dog’s welcome to come in if you’d like,” the man said, and held open the door.

She entered and turned to thank him but he was already gone, busy helping new arrivals. She cast an eye over the interior and was surprised to discover a working garage with various incarnations of trucks being assembled at bays. She heard men’s voices and traced them to what must be the latest version of the Grave Digger.

“Agent Morgan?” she called.

Morgan popped out from behind an enormous wheel. “There you are,” he said, and checked his wristwatch. “Right on time.” He peered under the truck. “Thanks for the tour, Eddie,” he said, and then shifted his attention to Colleen. “And who is this?” he asked, rubbing Sparky on the head.

“Sparky,” she said with pride.

“Border collie. Smart dogs. Love to work.”

Her brows raised in surprise. “You have a Border collie?”

“When I was a boy,” he said, wistful, and for a moment became lost in the memory of a beloved pet.

She waited, uncertain how long this moment would last. Sparky must have been uncertain, too, because he gave a short bark and snapped Morgan out of his reverie.

“You know much about the Grave Digger?” he asked, motioning to the enormous vehicle before her.

“Not really,” she said, somewhat embarrassed to be admitting her ignorance, given where they were.

“A wonderful story of determination, ingenuity, and persistence.”

“Are you talking about the truck?” she asked, wondering if Agent Morgan was even stranger than she had imagined.

“Don’t be daft. I mean Dennis Anderson, Grave Digger’s builder.”

“Ah,” she said with relief.

“People first judged his truck by its appearance. But appearances can be deceiving. Like your arsonist back in Corolla.”

“That’s why you brought me here,” she said. “To help me draw comparisons to the case.”

“No,” he said, moving toward the door. “I’m a big fan. Have been since the eighties. I knew I’d be finished with the latest incident and figured I could grab a bite here before heading back to the lab. Always wanted to see this place.”

Colleen followed him outside toward the diner. They took a detour around the back of the garage and she was surprised to find a mini-farm complete with goats, chickens, and two pigs in the back. Sparky tugged against his leash, eager to give chase. Morgan studied the animals a moment before continuing toward the eatery.

“You hungry, McCabe?”

“I guess I could eat.”

She tied Sparky to a picnic bench under an umbrella where he could enjoy the goats and chickens from a safe distance. He sat, focused on their every move, and didn’t even respond when she told him to be good.

“After you.” Morgan ushered her inside and gestured for a table for two to the waitress behind the counter.

“Over there’s fine,” the waitress said, indicating a table by the window.

The diner was brightly colored with 1950s’-style vinyl counter stools and chairs, black and white checked linoleum flooring, televisions, and monster truck parts on the ceiling.

“Heard the food’s pretty good here,” Morgan said, and opened a menu.

Colleen perused the menu and decided on the Slap Wheelies—the diner’s fun name for pancakes.

“What can I get you two?” the waitress asked, bringing them two cups of water with straws.

Morgan motioned for Colleen to start.

“The Slap Wheelies and coffee please.”

“And you, sir?” the waitress asked.

“I’ll try the Digger Dogs.”

“Mustard, ketchup, onion, or relish?”

“All of it,” he said, pleased. “And water will be fine.”

“One Slap Wheelies with coffee and one Digger Dogs with the works coming right up.” The waitress removed the menus and retreated behind the counter.

Morgan checked out the surroundings, grinned, then said, “So. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to run some things by you regarding our arson case.”

“Shoot.”

She thought about how best to lay everything out. Morgan approached things scientifically, so it was probably good to stick to observations. “I went back to the house to see if there was anything I might have missed. Not that you missed anything,” she quickly added.

“Go on,” the man said, unoffended.

“When I was there, Sparky had an unusual reaction to the area, started pawing and digging around the scene. That in itself isn’t noteworthy, except he did the same thing with the fire yesterday—our victim’s pickup that had gone missing.”

“And you’re thinking…”

“That whoever burned the house used the same accelerant to burn the pickup.”

“Seems likely. That it?”

“Could a cigarette have been used to start the fire? I mean, did you find any evidence of that?”

“Yes to the first question, no to the second. We do know your fella used an alcohol-based accelerant. Once we have the specific chemical makeup, we’ll be able to identify the product down to the brand.”

The waitress set down the pancakes and hot dogs and poured the coffee. Colleen eyed her pancakes. They did look good. Agent Morgan lifted one of the two hot dogs stuffed with fixings and took a big bite. A mixture of relish, mustard, and ketchup dripped from the bun onto the plate and covered the outer corners of his mouth.

“Eat,” he said, chewing his hot dog.

She thought of mentioning the food on his face but figured there was no use since his next bite would do the same. She tried the fluffy pancakes. They melted in her mouth. I guess that breakfast bar wasn’t enough, she thought.