Kill Me If You Can

17

I walked through the kitchen door. For a moment, the three of us just stood there looking at each other.

“Well, who’s up for a cup of coffee?” I moved toward the counter.

The men nodded and I poured three mugs full. Another round of silence followed.

My grandfather spoke first. “Let’s walk out to the shed and see what we can find.” He bolted out the door, never looking back to see if anyone came after him.

I glanced at Gerard as we moseyed toward the ruins. “I hope you can make sense out of that whole Bernard-Candice thing,” I said. “The best I can figure is they’re both professional grudge holders.”

“You got that right. It’d take an act of God to get one of those two to apologize to the other.”

We were almost to the pile of smoldering ashes. “It seemed to me like Puppa was trying to make amends.”

“It may seem that way, but there’s more to it than you realize.” Gerard took a sip of coffee and stared into the glowing coals.

“That’s what Candice said.” I stood next to him. Through the smoke, my grandfather kicked at some charred wood.

“There’s no doubt this was arson,” Puppa said.

“You’re sure?” I moved around to his side of the remains.

“The walls were doused in gasoline.” He pointed. “See that charred trail on the ground? Gas was spilled when the container was tilted.”

“How do we catch these guys?”

He shook his head. “We may not be able to. But chances are good the perpetrators would have gotten gas on their shoes and clothing, or a pair of gloves. Maybe even bragged about burning the shed. I’ll ask around. And I’ll have my contacts at the hospital get in touch with me if anyone comes in for burn treatment. These guys are amateurs, trying to make a statement. There’s a possibility they singed more than just their eyebrows lighting this thing.”

An approaching car crunched gravel on the drive behind us. I turned. A state police cruiser slowed and parked. The trooper got out and walked to the scene.

“Officer Segerstrom, nice of you to come,” Puppa said with an outstretched arm.

The officer shook his hand. “Sorry to see your shed burnt down.”

Puppa nodded my way. “Technically, it’s her shed now. This is my granddaughter, Patricia Amble.”

The officer tipped his hat in my direction. “You know my buddy Brad Walters. He’s an officer in downstate Rawlings.”

My eyes grew wide. “Brad? You know him?” I vaguely remembered Brad mentioning his friend in Manistique was a state cop. This must be the guy.

“When your grandfather got a hold of me with the news about the shed, I gave Brad a call. He sounded a little worried.”

“You talked to Brad?”

“He seemed surprised he hadn’t heard from you. You should probably phone him sometime today.”

I nodded, mute. Brad hadn’t heard from me because I’d called Candice right away instead. I guess that was a big indication of where Brad and I stood with each other.

The officer looked Gerard’s way and gave a terse nod. Gerard only glared back in his direction. I figured from the exchange that Gerard and his drug shenanigans had made a blip on the cop’s radar. The men couldn’t be anything but cool toward one another.

“Patricia,” Puppa said, “Mike’s got a few questions for you.”

I was thoroughly confused how my grandfather, a fired ex-cop, could be on a first-name basis with the next generation of law enforcement. I guess it showed there was good breeding somewhere in the bloodlines.

I focused on answering the officer’s questions: what time did you leave the house, when did you return, did you see any vehicles, did you notice anything out of the ordinary, has anyone threatened you, are you involved with local drug trafficking . . .

“Whoa.” I stopped him. “I resent your implication that I’m mixed up in anything illegal. I make it a point to mind my own business. In fact, I bend over backwards to be a law-abiding citizen.”

“Have you ever witnessed any drug deals?” the officer asked, undeterred.

I sputtered. “Drug deals?” My mind flashed back to the exchange on the bluff. I shot a glance toward my grandfather. “Ahh, not that I know of.”

“Perhaps you can clarify that statement.” Officer Segerstrom held his pen ready.

“It means, not that I know of,” I repeated.

A hint of impatience settled into the officer’s voice. “Whoever burnt down your shed is sending a message. It wasn’t just something they did for kicks. Now, you either know or saw something they don’t want you to tell. Speak up now and we may catch them, or keep it to yourself and hope you can get out before the next fire reaches your bed.” He glanced at my log home. “You’d be lucky to get out alive.”

“Okay, okay.” I glanced at my grandfather, wishing I didn’t have to hurt him by tattling on Gerard. “I did see something that looked like a drug deal. It was back in February. Some guy wearing camouflage clothes and riding a dark green four-wheeler was passing stuff off to some other guy in black on a red four-wheeler. They saw me, and the guy in camo almost ran me over.”

“Did you recognize them?” Puppa asked.

I gave him a look of discouragement, hoping he wouldn’t push me to answer.

“Well?” asked the cop.

“Yeah. I did.” I cleared my throat. “The man wearing black was my cousin Gerard.”

In my peripheral vision, I could see Gerard casually poking at some smoking charcoal with his foot. Then he turned and walked off.

Officer Segerstrom nodded, his head bent over his notepad. He didn’t even seem surprised as he jotted down my answer.

“And the other man?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I couldn’t see his face. Ask Gerard.”

“Did the other man get a good look at you?”

“Like I said, he practically ran me over.” I thought back. “But I had a scarf over my face to block the wind. I don’t think he would recognize me if he had seen me again.”

“Anything else happen that would put you at risk?”

Officer Segerstrom asked the questions as if he already knew the answers. I rolled my eyes. “I did help Melissa Belmont with her kids at church one day. She said she had something to tell me and asked if I’d meet her in Manistique. I agreed. She told me her husband was dealing drugs and beating her.” I tossed my head in Puppa’s direction. “She thought if I told my grandfather, he could help her.”

The officer glanced up from his notepad. “Does anyone else know what Melissa Belmont told you?”

My hands slashed the air. “Absolutely not. It took me awhile, but I finally got around to telling my grandfather.”

“So there’s nobody else who knows what she told you?”

Obviously the guy was getting at something.

I thought about it. “Uh, I guess I did tell one other person.”

He looked at me from under his brim. “And who would that be?”

My fingers twitched. “Candice LeJeune. But I’m sure she wouldn’t have said anything to anybody.”

I glanced at my grandfather. His eyes narrowed into two tiny slits.

“Candice,” he said under his breath.

I jumped in to explain. “Like I said, I’m sure she wouldn’t have told anybody. She’s a really good friend and I just wanted to get her take on the situation.”

“And what was her take?” Puppa asked.

I fought against the shame that crept up. I shouldn’t have to feel bad for running the scenario past Candice, but I had promised Missy that I wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone but my grandfather.

I gulped. “She had a few choice words for women like Missy. She wasn’t at all sympathetic.”

My grandfather’s face twisted with rage. “How dare she?” He paced in a mindless circle. He stopped and looked up. “If you’ll excuse me, Patricia, Officer Segerstrom”—he nodded as he said our names—“I think I’ll take a little ride and have a talk with Ms. LeJeune.”