Neighing with Fire: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) (4 page)

“I appreciate Fawn’s invitation, but I’m not really the bridesmaid-dress type.”

“That’s what I told Fawn,” Chip said, undeterred. “But she says you can wear whatever you like; says clothes are just a material shell and don’t reflect the true inner beauty of a person. I don’t even think she’d care if you wore what you got on now.”

Jimmy burst into laughter, then hastily stifled it.

“And what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” she asked, pretending to be offended by the comment about her jeans, station T-shirt, and boots.

Chip’s face flushed pink. “Nothing, I only meant…”

“Don’t you want to dress up for your date?” Jimmy asked, rescuing Chip.

Oh, geez. She hadn’t even thought about going to the wedding with Bill as a date. She was still getting used to their shift from being friends to, well, more than friends. The last thing she wanted was for Bill to think she was pressuring him toward the altar.

The phone in her office rang. “That must be the conference call. Shall we?” she said to Jimmy, and made a beeline for her second-floor office.

“But, Chief,” Chip called after her. “What do I tell Fawn?”

“You’re gonna have to give him an answer sometime,” Jimmy said quietly while marching up the corrugated metal steps behind her.

She paused on the stairs. “Fine, fine,” she said. “Tell Fawn I’ll do it.”

“Thanks, Chief! I can’t wait to tell her. Oh, you’re still helping me pick out the ring Tuesday, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, grinning as he bounced from the bay. It was hard to stay irritated at a man so obviously in love.

“Aw, you really do have a heart,” Jimmy teased her.

She swiped at him and they ascended the stairs to get an update on the ongoing mainland arson investigations in Currituck County. Thus far there had been few leads. North Carolina Department of Justice Special Agent Joe Morgan, the lead investigator, was fairly confident that whoever was committing the arsons was a county resident. The abandoned properties that had been burned were off the beaten path—an uninhabited house, an overgrown barn, and a long-deserted gas station—and the same accelerant had been used at all three scenes. The fact that the targeted properties were empty was a relief to everyone as it seemed to indicate that the arsonist had no interest in harming others. In Agent Morgan’s expert opinion, they were seeking a white male in his twenties or thirties who was only interested in committing crimes against property. The questions were why … and why now?

Colleen was impressed by the investigator’s ability to think analytically about every detail and piece of evidence. From the type of accelerant used to the time of day the crime was committed to the type of property destroyed, everything told him about the mindset and behavior of the arsonist. She liked to think that she shared some of Agent Morgan’s analytical skills. But where she differed from him was in his ability to be nonjudgmental about the act. No matter how hard she tried, the senselessness and selfishness of a person intentionally setting a fire got under her skin. Maybe it’s because the thought that someone would unnecessarily create an environment that might take a firefighter’s life was not only criminal, it was recklessly immoral.

While the motives for arson typically fell into one of six categories, the cases she was aware of only fell into one of three: profit in the form of fraudulent insurance claims, revenge or anger against a neighbor or former lover, and vandalism by teens. From what she had learned on the conference call, profit was out as a motive as the only connection the properties had was that they were all situated in Currituck County. It was unlikely that they were set as an act of revenge as the properties’ owners were all different. A teen or group of teen vandals seemed the most likely culprits. She had even known a few childhood friends who had liked to set fire to leaves with magnifying glasses. Special Agent Morgan, however, wasn’t convinced that it was teens. He finished his update somewhat abruptly and the call was over.

“What did you think?” Jimmy asked when he was sure they were disconnected.

“Agent Morgan is sharp. He’ll get the guy. Let’s just hope it’s before the arsonist strikes again.”

“You think we have reason to be concerned?”

“There’s always reason to be concerned when it comes to arson,” she said. “But it appears unlikely he’ll come over the sound to the islands. There aren’t as many abandoned properties here and we have tens of thousands of people visiting every week.”

“Which means tens of thousands of potential witnesses,” Jimmy said.

She nodded. “So, how about you help me change that tire.”

“Hey, Chief,” Chip called up the stairs.

“Not again,” she said.

“You got a visitor.”

She descended the stairs with Jimmy, spotted Myrtle waiting in the bay sans disguise, and groaned.

“There you are,” Myrtle said.

“I’ll take care of the tire,” Jimmy said with a grin, knowing full well how Myrtle could get under his boss’s skin. “Good to see you again, Mrs. Crepe,” he said all syrupy sweet as he passed Myrtle on his way outside.

“Hmpf,” Myrtle said, aware that she was somehow the subject of a joke.

“What happened to your nose?” Colleen asked, unable to resist ribbing her former teacher.

“It fell off, no thanks to you.”

Colleen chuckled, picturing the fake nose plopping into Myrtle’s lap.

“Yes, very funny, go ahead and laugh. I’ll have you know I worked hard on that nose.”

“How long have you been dressing up like that?” Myrtle waved the question away like it was an irritating nat. “And stalking Custis?” she asked, amused at Myrtle’s refusal to answer the question.

“Who says I’m stalking him?”

“He does.”

“Not everything is about that man,” Myrtle said, exasperated. “Sometimes people have other reasons for going undercover.”

“Really. Such as?”

“Such as…” Myrtle began but then, unable to come up with an explanation said, “Such as none of your beeswax. You always were nosey.”

She had been an inquisitive kid and sometimes that curiosity had caused her trouble. She hated that Myrtle could pull out her childhood and use it against her when needed. “Perhaps I’ve learned to mind my own business,” she said, determined not to let Myrtle bug her.

“That’ll be the day.”

“From what I saw this morning, it looks like the pot is calling the kettle black,” she said, teasing Myrtle.

“What I do is investigation.”

Colleen sighed. They could go around in circles like this all day. “I’m a little busy, Myrtle.”

“Busy with your boyfriend, Sheriff Dorman,” Myrtle said. She wrapped her arms around her back and made kissing noises.

“Stop that,” Colleen said, yanking Myrtle’s arms down. She looked out at the lot to see if any of her men had seen or overheard Myrtle. They hadn’t. “Bill is not my—” She caught herself. Why was she even getting into this with Myrtle?

“Mother,” Bobby said, coming around the corner. “What are you doing here?” His cheeks flushed pink and he lowered his voice. “I thought I told you not to come by.”

“I’m not here to see you,” Myrtle said.

Bobby glanced at Colleen, mortified. “You can’t bother my boss either.”

“Before Colleen was your boss, she was my student.”

“It’s okay,” Colleen said to Bobby. “Why don’t you go help Kenny with cleaning up out back.”

Bobby nodded, flashed Myrtle an expression of irritation, and exited the engine bay.

She considered telling Myrtle that her visits only served to give the guys material with which to rib Bobby but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Myrtle did what Myrtle wanted.

“I’m assuming you’re here to find out about my visit with Denny,” Colleen said once she was sure Bobby was gone.

“I’m not here to exchange pecan pie recipes,” Myrtle snorted. “So, let’s have it.”

Better to tell Myrtle and get it over with. “When I was at Denny’s, Raymond came onto the construction site with his harem, which I thought was strange given all the noise. Then one of Denny’s crew threw an apple to him. The way the mule responded, I don’t think it was the first time.”

“I knew it,” Myrtle said, triumphant. “I can’t wait to see his face when I give Custis the fine.”

“Don’t you have enough battles going on right now?”

“What battles?”

She wasn’t sure if Myrtle was playing dumb or whether her former teacher had been clashing with so many people that she didn’t know to which fight Colleen was referring. “The one between you and the piping plover folks.”

“Ridiculous,” Myrtle said. “To blame the horses for the nest destruction when those dinosaur-sized Tour-zilla trucks are rolling through the dunes ripping everything up.”

Over the last few months, Myrtle had become embroiled in a struggle with those protecting the piping plover. From what Colleen had heard, the piping plover advocates were insisting that the horses were trampling the bird’s fragile nests, which the birds built in the sand along the edge of the dunes. Myrtle insisted that it wasn’t the horses that were damaging the nests but the vehicles of one particularly aggressive horse tour company owned by the Snelling family. Duck hunters had soon taken sides with the shore bird defenders and now everyone was fighting over who had priority to the land that was shared by all involved. Colleen understood why Myrtle was against the Tour-zilla company with its oversized trucks, but she couldn’t understand why the two groups devoted to protecting endangered species couldn’t get along. Things had become a real mess, so much so that it had made the local news.

“You can understand why the piping plover folks have concerns,” Colleen said.

“Did Rosalinda get to you?” Myrtle asked, pointing an accusatory finger. “Whatever she said, it isn’t true.”

“I’ve never met Rosalinda. All I’m saying is that I understand their concern for the plover.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“The side of harmony,” she said with a sigh. “Now, if there’s nothing further…” She held out her arm to usher Myrtle from the garage.

“All right, all right,” Myrtle said. “No need to bum-rush me.”

Colleen smiled despite her annoyance. She never could predict what would come out of Myrtle’s mouth.

“Tell your boyfriend, Sheriff Dorman, I’ll be calling him about the citation,” Myrtle said loudly over her shoulder as she walked past Colleen’s men.

The men peeped at one another and snickered.

Colleen turned away before they could see her cheeks redden. Geez. What was it with everyone teasing her about Bill? Was it so wrong to want to keep some things private? The one person that she knew she didn’t have to worry about razzing her was, of course, Bill. She was looking forward to having dinner with him. There was nothing better than sharing a meal with someone with whom you could fully be yourself.

Chapter 3

“To truly eat well
in the Outer Banks, one should dine at The Blue Point,” Colleen had told visiting friends many times and, as Bill pulled into the parking area, her stomach growled with anticipation of a meal at the restaurant.

Bill crept along searching for a parking space in the lot of Duck’s Waterfront Shops, a quaint boardwalk shopping village that was home to over a dozen boutiques, eateries, and The Blue Point. He passed what was once the Powder Ridge Gun Club—a waterfowl hunting club built in the 1920s—that was now Duck’s Cottage Coffee and Books. Duck’s Cottage was a favorite stop for vacationers and known for its delicious coffee, tea, and pastries, its diverse selection of newspapers and books, and the pond behind it where children fed fish and ducks.

“The place is packed,” Bill said.

“We can always go to Metropolis if we can’t get in,” she said, untroubled. She was just enjoying the fact that they were out together after her busy afternoon.

Once Myrtle had departed, she had spent the remainder of the day doing a review of Tropical Storm Ana damage, preparing for the upcoming Junior Firefighter Game Day, and tracking down when the new engine would be arriving. She had dropped Sparky off at home, fed him and her Siamese cat, Smokey, and changed in time for Bill’s arrival.

She was still adjusting to Bill picking her up rather than meeting him places. She had been on her own for so long that it was strange to have someone looking out for her. On more than one occasion, Bill had had to fight to get her to allow him to help her with something. The most recent example was when she had been repairing loose boards on the pier that led from her house to the Currituck Sound. It had taken three rather forceful offers from him before she finally conceded that the task would go a lot quicker if she let him help.

It was good to have him back in town. He had been one of a select group of law enforcement officers invited to attend a prestigious training detail on homeland security and terrorism and had been away from mid-November to the beginning of March. While Bill was gone, they had talked on the phone regularly, sharing stories about their lives that, prior to last summer, they had kept to themselves. In some ways, his absence had brought them closer … and, Colleen had to admit, her heart fonder.

“Here we go,” Bill said, finding a spot at the far end of a row.

“Now let’s hope we can get in,” she said. She hopped out and slammed the door.

There was a reason The Blue Point’s parking area was packed. The restaurant featured Southern cooking with local, sustainable seafood, the best seasonal ingredients, a tasty blue margarita, and spectacular sunsets over Currituck Sound. Colleen reached for the restaurant’s doorknob but Bill beat her to it and held the door open for her. Yes, she was still getting used to things like that.

“Have anything available for two?” she asked the young woman at the entrance podium.

“It’s a thirty minute wait,” the hostess said in a Ukrainian accent.

Colleen suspected the woman was one of the many exchange students from Eastern European countries who came to work in the United States each summer. Colleen found the Outer Banks to be the most beautiful place in the world, but she often wondered if the exchange students were disappointed that their opportunity to see America ended up in the Outer Banks of North Carolina rather than New York City or Los Angeles.