Poison Heart (14 page)

She started to run and tripped over her nightgown. Sprawled in the dewy grass, she felt panic building inside her. She picked herself up, lifted her nightgown over her knees, and ran for the barn.

When she got inside, she didn’t know what to do first. The fire had dropped to the floor and was lapping up the walls of the barn. The goats were restless in their stalls, and all of them stared at her with the fire reflected in their large eyes.

She had to get the goats out but decided to try to put the fire out first. There was no time to lose.

They always left a hose next to the water trough. She got it, turned it on full blast, and aimed at the barn wall above the fire. She started up high, then sprayed downward. She had to save the roof. If the roof went, they would lose the building. She soaked the wall and then worked on the fire. Freezing-cold water ran down her arms, but she couldn’t stop.

Just when she thought she had control of it, the fire popped up again in the straw that covered the floor. She started spraying the floor. The smoke was getting pretty thick, and she knew that could do a person in—or a goat. She needed to get the goats out of the barn before it was too late.

She dropped the hose, which was still aimed in the direction of the fire, and hoped the stream would keep it under control. Then she ran from stall to stall and undid the latches. The goats started to push their way out, but they seemed stunned and sleepy. It was the middle of the night.

She sang to them the song she sang in the morning when she let them out to pasture: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.” They butted her and poked one another, and she started to slap them on their backsides and push them out the door. Twelve goats. She counted their heads as they went out in the barnyard, then left them milling about.

Margaret took a deep breath and plunged back into the barn. The smoke was dense and made her cough. She grabbed a bucket, dipped it into the water trough, and threw a bucketful of water where the remains of the fire crackled in a pile of straw in the far corner of the barn. That did it. The fire was out. The barn fell into darkness. She caught her breath and stumbled outside.

Margaret walked into the milling herd of goats. They talked to her in their soft language and butted up against her thighs, nibbling on the edges of her jacket. She pushed her hands into their soft fur and tried to stop trembling.

CHAPTER 17

Daniel Reiner’s black Lincoln Navigator sitting at the top of the driveway looked to Claire like a big block of coal. The chunky vehicle made the sleek silver-blue Citroën sitting next to it look even more foreign.

Reiner opened the front door and smiled at Claire. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite deputy sheriff!” He stepped aside, but without giving her enough room to walk through the door without brushing by him. Claire decided to stay where she was.

“I need to talk to Dr. Wegman. His office said he was here.”

“Come on in. He’s here. We’re having some coffee, and he’s giving me the lowdown on this fire. He told me you stopped by yesterday. Not really necessary. I think we’ve got it under control.”

“Mr. Reiner, when a crime is committed in this county, it is the sheriff’s department’s business. We need to be involved. You can’t take over the investigation.”

He smiled his big broad smile. Claire was sure he had had his teeth whitened, or maybe they were all caps. There was no way nature would allow a man of his age to have teeth that white.

“I guess I’ve been put in my place,” he said in a manner that told Claire he didn’t care what she had to say.

“Well, there’s been another fire,” Claire told him. “Probably set by the same person. I think it might answer some of Dr. Wegman’s questions.”

Dr. Wegman came up behind Reiner. “Claire, what happened?”

Reiner finally stepped back and gave her some space. Claire walked into the foyer and then followed the two men back to the living room.

When they all sat down, Claire told them what she knew. “I haven’t been over there yet, but a fire was started last night at Margaret Underwood’s place. She was the daughter of Walter Tilde, Patty Jo’s husband. I think Patty Jo is on a rampage. We’ve got to stop her. We need some proof that she’s behind this string of fires.”

“Tilde,” Reiner murmured. “But that’s the woman I was going to buy the farm from.”

“Exactly.” Claire felt like giving him a gold star. “And you reneged on the deal and then your barn burned down.”

“What do you know about this latest fire?” Wegman asked.

“Margaret was lucky to catch it before it got out of control. She managed to put it out. She told me it had been started with a candle.”

Wegman rubbed his chin. “Makes sense. A woman would use a candle. Simple, effective, right at hand. Tough to detect once it’s done its job. Let’s get over there,” Wegman said, standing up.

“I didn’t hire you for this,” Reiner said.

Wegman looked down at him. “Yes, you did. You told me to find out who had set your barn on fire. Have you changed your mind?”

Reiner settled back in the couch. “If you think it’s what you need to do.”

“We can take my car,” Claire suggested.

Reiner stood by the door as they were leaving. Claire got the feeling he was hoping to be asked along. Not on her watch, she decided.

“You going to come back?” he shouted at Wegman.

“I’ll come to get my car,” Wegman called back as he climbed in the squad car.

After Claire turned out of the driveway, Wegman asked, “Who made him president?”

“Not much competition around here. He’s got the money to ride roughshod over everyone.”

Margaret came walking out of the house as soon as they pulled into the driveway. She looked as though she’d had a rough night. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and her eyes were pouched with dark shadows. Dr. Wegman asked her a few questions about the fire. Margaret offered them coffee, but he wanted to go right out to the barn to begin his work.

Claire took Margaret up on her offer and returned to the house with her. Margaret poured two big mugs of coffee and didn’t even ask if she wanted cream and sugar. She pushed a plate of oatmeal cookies toward Claire. Claire took one. Lunch might be a while.

“Do you think it’s Patty Jo?” Margaret asked.

“Do you?”

Margaret looked down at the table and smoothed the tablecloth with her hand. “I have no doubt.”

“I suspect you’re right. Now we have to prove it. Did you see anything before the fire started? Hear anything?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I wake up awfully easy these days. Almost any noise will get me out of bed. I might have heard something, but I don’t remember anything in particular.”

“Have you had any contact with her?” Claire asked.

“No. I haven’t even seen her since the funeral. I’ve been glad. I’m almost afraid to go to town. I worry that I might run into her, and I’m afraid of what she’ll say.”

“She’s got a mouth on her.”

Margaret looked nervously around the room, stood up and walked to the window and flicked back the curtain, then came back and sat in her chair.

“I don’t know where Mark is,” Margaret told her.

“What do you mean?”

“He was so mad about the fire. He took off early this morning. I’m afraid of what he might do.”

Claire hated to hear this. If Mark did something rash, it could make everything worse. “You have to talk sense to him. If we can pin this on Patty Jo, we’ll be headed in the right direction. He needs to leave her alone.”

“I know. I’ll try to talk to him.” Margaret looked at Claire. “Do you think she’ll try again?”

“I can’t say, but I doubt it. She knows you’ll be watching for her now. I think you’ll be safe, but you might want to rig up some kind of alarm to let you know if anyone comes near the house or barn.”

“Maybe that’s where Mark went. He would think of that.” Margaret’s voice said otherwise.

Rich picked up the clothes Claire had left in a pile on the floor last night. He threw them in the hamper in her closet. She wasn’t the neatest person he had ever met.

Claire and Meg had certainly stirred up his life. Not that he’d thought living with them would be all romantic and fun, but he realized what a staid life he had been leading before. Claire didn’t seem to ever let up on herself. Even when she did the dishes, she was thinking, usually about her job. Talk about taking work home—she carried it around with her in a backpack.

It was odd to be living with a deputy sheriff and learn about all the crimes that were being committed in this small county. He wasn’t sure if the county was getting more dangerous, but since Claire had moved down from the Cities there certainly seemed to be an increase in crime.

But then she wasn’t the only person who had moved down from the Cities. First the area had been discovered by the artists in the late seventies and early eighties. Then the tourists had followed. Once the artists had fixed up their houses and set up shops and restaurants, the rich folks had followed. He wouldn’t be able to afford his farm and land if he had to buy it at the going rate now. Thank goodness it was paid for and he could keep up on his taxes.

The mayor of Fort St. Antoine had told him that in 1990 there’d been fifty people commuting from Pepin County to the Twin Cities. Now over five hundred people commuted. It wouldn’t be long before the county would change from a farming community to a suburb of the greater metropolitan area.

Living with Claire on a daily basis, he found her more intense than he would have guessed, and also more crotchety. He liked it. If she didn’t care for something, she said so. He didn’t have to try to guess what she was feeling. It was right out in the open. But the downside was that he then had to deal with how she was feeling and do something about whatever it was.

When she came home from work that evening, later than usual, Meg and he had already eaten dinner and Meg had gone upstairs to work on some homework. Claire stomped in and slammed the door shut behind her. Her dark eyes were flashing.

He dished up a plate of mashed potatoes and meat loaf and sat down with her to watch her eat it.

“This looks great,” she said, and slammed a kiss into his cheek. He could tell she was seething about something. He decided not to ask, and wondered how long it would take her to burst out with it.

She asked how his day had been. She praised his mashed potatoes. He had learned, early on, that she loved mashed potatoes. She ate everything on her plate with great energy. And then she exploded.

“I’m furious.” Claire set her fork down on her plate.

“How unusual,” Rich said.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He wondered if he should try to explain. Sometimes he just dug a deeper hole for himself. “I’m learning that you often come home upset about something that happened at work.”

“I’m a cop. Yes, I do bring my work home. I thought you might be interested.”

“I am.”

Meg came galloping down the stairs. “Hi, Mom.”

Rich wanted a few moments alone with Claire, and he didn’t think Meg should have to hear about all the gory details of her mother’s job. “Meg, why don’t you give us some time alone?”

Meg didn’t pay any attention to his request. She sat down at the table with them. “What’s up? Mom, you have a hard day?”

Meg got a smile out of Claire. “Yes, Meg. Thanks for asking. I’m a little pissed off.”

“Don’t worry about me, Rich.” Meg turned back to her mother. “What’re you mad about, Mom?”

“I’m just getting frustrated. I was over at Margaret’s. It was their turn for a fire last night. . . .”

Rich had heard about it at the bank. “Stanley told me about that.”

Meg nodded. “Mariah told me at school.”

“So I was over there nearly the whole day, combing through her yard for any evidence. That arson investigator took back bagfuls. I’m mad because I think we know who’s doing this and she keeps getting away with it. I’m hoping he can find something that links this fire with Patty Jo Tilde.”

“See, Rich,” Meg said, “I told you about her. That’s the woman Mom and I saw at the nursing home. She looks like she could have been a school principal.”

Claire started laughing. “Oh, Meggy. I think you’re right. She does a little. Why does that make me feel better?”

Rich tried again. “Meg, have you finished your homework?”

She shook her head.

“Go on up and finish it. You can talk to your mom later.”

Meg wrinkled up her face as if she had eaten something rude. “What’s with you tonight?”

Claire nodded at Meg. “I’ll be up in a little while.”

Meg snorted and ran up the stairs.

Claire pushed away her plate. She hadn’t quite finished her meatloaf. “I like to see Meg when I get home from work.”

Rich felt he needed to stand his ground on this one. “I don’t think you should talk to her about your work as much as you do.”

Claire took her dishes into the kitchen. She came back out with a glass of water and stood looking at Rich. “I know how to raise my daughter.”

Rich didn’t say anything right away. This was dangerous territory. He needed to weigh his words. “Yes, but sometimes all she has is me.”

The Grand Casino was located a few miles outside of Red Wing, Minnesota—about a thirty-five-minute drive for Patty Jo. First the Prairie Island nuclear power plant came into view, then right across the street the bright lights of the casino appeared. The one time she had taken Walter to the casino, he had laughed when he saw the two huge buildings were right next to each other on the banks of the Mississippi. “If the power plant blows, what’ll go first is a bunch of gamblers.”

Walter didn’t approve of gambling and they’d stayed only a little while, long enough for him to lose $10 in the quarter slot machines. Patty Jo hadn’t let him know how often she went. After he had his stroke, she had become a regular. One night she had won $2,000 in the dollar slots, her biggest haul. She didn’t want to think about how much money she had lost since then.

Sitting in the casino’s parking lot, she worried about selling the farm. A real-estate agent was coming out to meet with her early next week. She had to have that money. She had seriously racked up her credit cards, but maybe that would all change. Tonight she felt lucky.

When she walked in the front door of the casino, the first thing she saw was the new car they were giving away—a silver Mercedes. Patty Jo could see herself behind the wheel of such a vehicle. She would stay only three hours, she promised herself. Long enough to be there for the drawing for the car. Long enough to take advantage of her lucky feeling. All it took was being at the one right machine at the one right moment.

Patty Jo started out at a row of slots in the back room, the
Bewitched
row. She had once won a thousand dollars on a
Bewitched
slot machine. She remembered every machine she had ever been lucky at. She didn’t like to stay at any one machine too long. Moving around gave her a sense that she was in control. The right place at the right time was her mantra.

At the end of two hours, Patty Jo was down over $1,000. She had to get back to even. When she did that she would leave. She needed to take out a little more money on her credit card. One thousand would get her back in the clear. She went to the cashier and got the necessary money.

Just as she watched her last twenty credits disappear from the screen of the slot machine, she heard them calling the numbers for the drawing. She sat stunned. She had lost over $2,000. Her worst night ever.

Patty Jo held the entries for the car in her hand. Every time she had come into the casino in the last week she had been given an entry. But the numbers called were never hers. She knew she shouldn’t keep sitting at a slot machine when she wasn’t playing. That was considered bad manners at the casino. But she didn’t want to leave. She felt so empty, as if she had been gutted.

She walked out the door of the casino and was surprised by how dark it was outside. She hated the idea of going back to that cold and empty farmhouse. She hated that place. If it wasn’t for Margaret and her friend the cop, she would have already sold the farm. Why was that deputy Claire Watkins sticking her nose in? She was ruining everything.

As she drove, she remembered the address she had written down before she went to the casino, Claire Watkins’s address in Fort St. Antoine: 159 High Street. She had come across it when she was looking for someone else’s number. Maybe she should swing through Fort St. Antoine to see what the deputy sheriff’s house looked like. See if she had any outbuildings.