Dragonwell Dead

12

Legs akimbo, toenails scratching against vinyl, Earl Grey scrambled into the back of Theodosia’s Jeep.

“Watch your tail,” warned Theodosia as she slammed the rear hatch. Then, noting that Earl Grey had ignored the blanket she’d laid out for him in back and taken a flying leap into the front passenger seat, she sighed and climbed in.

“Nice to see you’re riding shotgun today,” Theodosia told him as she started the engine, then pulled into the alley. “But you’d better fasten your seat belt.”

Earl Grey leaned over and touched his furry muzzle to her ear, giving her a soft kiss.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Theodosia told him.

Once she had her talk with Angie, Theodosia planned to take Earl Grey for a good long walk. Let the old boy stretch his legs, breath in the sea air, and sniff the Civil War cannons that lined up along the Battery.

But just as she turned down Murray Street with its showcase of elegant homes, Theodosia caught a quick glimpse of someone hurrying along. A young woman with long brown hair who looked very familiar.

“Wait a minute!” Theodosia cried out as she slammed on her brakes so hard Earl Grey had to scramble to brace himself. “I think that’s Fayne Hamilton!” Earl Grey recovered, then gazed curiously at her as if to say Who? So Theodosia muttered, “Why would Fayne Hamilton be coming from the direction of the Featherbed House?”

Woof? responded Earl Grey.

“This is very strange,” said Theodosia.

She accelerated, determined to make a right turn and race around the block to confirm her sighting. But just as Theodosia glanced left and caught the familiar profile of the Featherbed House, she was stunned to see flames shooting from its roof!

What? Oh, my lord! A fire?

Gunning her Jeep, Theodosia turned left instead, cutting directly in front of a blue van and sending Earl Grey sprawling again. Then it was only seconds before she pulled directly in front of the Featherbed House.

The fire was much worse than she’d initially thought.

The entire second floor was engulfed in fire. Angry orange and yellow tongues licked and flicked at the roof line. A sudden loud explosion, almost like cannon fire, blew out a second-story window and shards of glass spattered the front walk like falling shrapnel.

Oh, my lord, what about Angie! Is she still inside?

Fear exploding within her, Theodosia threw her Jeep into park and jumped out. Closing the door firmly on Earl Grey, she sprinted for the front door, knowing she had to do something . . . anything!

Just as Theodosia hit the bottom step, the inn’s double doors exploded outward and Angie came rushing out. Black soot covered her face like camouflage paint, her hair was wild and slightly singed, her eyes were filled with desperation.

At seeing Theodosia, Angie flung herself into her friend’s arms. “We tried to put it out with fire extinguishers,” she shrieked, “but it got away from us!”

Theodosia grappled for her cell phone to call 911, but someone had obviously beat her to it. Already she could hear the blare of sirens, the whoop-whoop of police cruisers as they sped toward the burning house.

Ten seconds later, Teddy Vickers came stumbling out onto the front veranda, clutching a fire extinguisher, his face blackened by smoke.

“What happened?” asked Theodosia, as three large fire trucks, lights flashing, sirens blaring, roared up and men in asbestos-and-rubber suits piled out. She clutched at Teddy’s arm, trying to pull him away from the building.

Teddy coughed repeatedly, then shook his head. “No idea,” he managed to choke out.

“What about guests?” cried Theodosia.

Teddy shook his head again. “None. They’re all gone.”

Now Theodosia, Angie, and Teddy clung together, a little island of people surrounded by giant fire trucks, a melee of firefighters, and the burning Featherbed House. They watched as ladders were swiftly unloaded, hoses unwound and coupled. Then great gluts of water were suddenly being sprayed out in giant arcs.

“You’ll have to move back,” one of the firefighters told them. He had a kind face and a name tag that read Warren. He led them back to one of the trucks, instructed them to stay put. Since they were now at a safe distance from the fire, Theodosia went to her Jeep and brought Earl Grey out on his leash.

But pandemonium was ratcheting up by leaps and bounds. Gawkers arrived and pushed forward, TV news vans and rescue vehicles clogged the streets. Inside, the Featherbed House was rocked by a series of small explosions.

Angie was beside herself. “I don’t believe this!” she shrilled. “This can’t be happening!” She dropped her head into her hands. “Mark and I sank all our hard-earned money into this place . . . all our dreams, too.”

But it was happening. A deafening roar, like that from a blast furnace, filled the air as black smoke billowed from the top windows and hot flames danced atop the cupola. The updraft from the fire caused the little goose weathervane to spin madly, as if in utter panic.

Theodosia handed Earl Grey off to Teddy Vickers, then ventured twenty steps forward, edging toward the front lines, feeling intense heat prickle her face. “Can you save it?” Her fingers skittered off the rubber jacket of a firefighter who was muscling a giant hose, aiming his spurt of water directly through a blown-out window and into the interior of the building.

“Not sure, ma’am,” he told her. “You gotta get back.”

Returning to their little clutch, Theodosia found that Drayton had somehow made his way through the lines and was doing his best to console Angie and Teddy.

“How did you know?” Theodosia asked him. Earl Grey, excited by the goings-on, pressed up against her.

“Everybody knows,” Drayton told her. “The news is all over the historic district. Timothy Neville phoned the tea shop, and so did Nell Chappel from the Chowder Hound. Look around, everybody’s here!”

Peering over the tops of police cars, Theodosia saw a crowd that numbered in the hundreds. They’d come to gape at the fire, to stand transfixed by its power and devastating force.

Thirty minutes crawled by and finally the firefighters seemed to gain the upper hand. Three of them, suited up in asbestos gear, entered the house armed with axes.

“I can’t stand this any longer,” exclaimed Drayton. He slipped toward two firefighters who were conversing with their heads together. They turned when he approached and turned again when Drayton spoke to them and motioned toward Angie.

Theodosia watched Drayton’s conversation closely, saw his look of concern change to dismay.

“It’s a complete and utter disaster,” said Drayton, when he returned to their little group. “The entire top floor has been gutted by flames. And of course there’s major water damage on the first floor.”

“What about the attached carriage house?” asked Theodosia. The second-story bridge connected the main building to the two-story carriage house where a restaurant and party room were housed. But Theodosia was unable to see that structure from where she stood.

“That at least was spared,” said Drayton. “But the greenhouse . . .”

Angie put a trembling hand to her mouth. “Mark’s orchids?”

Drayton looked distressed. “Pretty much devastated. If they weren’t fried by falling cinders they were pounded with water from the high-powered hoses.”

“Theo! Drayton!” called a voice behind them.

Their heads turned in unison.

“Haley?” said a surprised Theodosia once she caught sight of Haley’s young face. “What are you doing here?”

In response, Haley hoisted up a huge silver jug.

“Haley brought iced tea,” Theodosia told the group. Tears welled up in her eyes. She felt overwhelmed by the fire, yet heartened by this single kind act.

“I’ll run and help her,” said Drayton.

Thanks in part to Drayton’s persuasiveness and Haley’s welcome offerings, the police allowed Haley to back her little blue hatchback up on the curb and set up a makeshift commissary. Within minutes, firefighters with soot-stained faces clustered around, gratefully accepting glasses of ice-cold sweet tea and helping themselves to scones and muffins. There was nothing more they could do now except hang tough and make sure there were no flare-ups from the red-hot cinders and ashes.

“Do you know how it started?” Theodosia asked one of the firefighters. He shook his head, unwilling to meet her gaze. A sick feeling was beginning to grow in the pit of her stomach. She searched the crowd, spotted a firefighter wearing a badge, figured he must be a captain or lieutenant or something like that.

Theodosia grabbed a tray of scones and edged her way toward him. He was on his cell phone, muttering excitedly. As she pressed forward, she distinctly heard the words flash point and arson.

Arson? she thought. Meaning someone deliberately set this fire? Dear lord, no.

As she stood watching him, the man with the badge punched a button on his phone and stared over at her. “Are you Angie Congdon?” he asked.

“She’s over there,” indicated Theodosia.

“Thanks.” He moved off and Theodosia watched as he went over and introduced himself to Angie, put a hand gently on her shoulder, then lead her away to talk.

Theodosia passed out the rest of the scones, then headed back to Haley’s car. Remarkably, Harlan Noble was standing there. But he looked grim.

“The orchids?” Harlan Noble asked. His dark eyes glowed while his face was as white as a sheet. “The orchids are ruined?”

“Everything’s ruined,” snapped Theodosia. She wondered how Harlan Noble could worry about orchids at a time like this, when Angie’s only means of survival has just gone up in smoke!

“Give it a rest, will you, Harlan?” said Drayton, sounding more than a little cross. “And kindly move back.”

Theodosia dropped the empty tray to her side and scanned the huge crowd that was still gathered. There were lots of familiar faces among the people who’d come to gaze in awe at the ruined Featherbed House. Neighbors, people who worked at the Heritage Society down the street, shop-keepers from around the historic district.

Why, there’s Leah Shalimar, thought Theodosia, giving a little start as she spotted her in the crowd. She must have still been in the neighborhood.

And way over on the sidelines stood Fayne Hamilton.

Theodosia gave a sharp intake of breath. She’d completely forgotten about Fayne.

Could she have had a hand in this? Theodosia suddenly wondered as tendrils of suspicion crept into her mind. The love notes to Mark, the fact that Fayne had been in this exact vicinity when the fire started, and the mumblings about arson would seem to make Fayne a prime suspect.

Theodosia decided she’d better have a little chat with the fire captain once he was finished talking to Angie.

What was it fire investigators said about arsonists? Theodosia wondered to herself. Oh yes . . . that arsonists often show up to view their own handiwork.