Клео Коул - Roast Mortem

“Is that right?” Diggy scratched the roots of his beard. “I have two myself. Wife number three’s got custody of the first. Wife number four’s bringing up the second.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Dare,” I said, moving to the partitioning curtain. “Would you mind very much if I had a private word with my ex-mother-in-law?”

“Naw, no problem. Pull it.”

I did, hoping the wall of white on both sides of her would help Madame’s grappa-happy mind to focus — on something other than alcohol-soaked meat, anyway.

“What is it, dear? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t forget!” Diggy-Dog’s voice boomed through the drapery. “I sure would like that recipe for bourbon steak!”

“Okay!” I called, then took a breath and approached Madame with my serious face. “Enzo’s in the ICU.”

“What? Why didn’t your young man tell me?”

“For the same reason you didn’t call Otto. Mike didn’t want to upset you. Enzo’s stable now, but they’re monitoring him. It’s his heart...”

Madame closed her eyes. “If anything happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“That’s absurd. Why would you say that?

“We arrived at the caffè an hour late, Clare. If we’d been on time, we all might have been out of harm’s way before the fire started.” In a rare show of naked anxiety, Madame wrung her hands. “If only we’d gotten there earlier — ”

“Listen to me — ” I took hold of her shoulders. “If Enzo dies, the person that killed him is the arsonist who set that blaze.”

Madame’s hand-wringing stopped. “Arsonist?”

I nodded.

“What are you saying, Clare? Did you see someone set the fire?”

“No. But I witnessed the start. I think someone set off a bomb in Enzo’s shop.”

“A bomb in Enzo’s shop!”

Crap. The laughing voices beyond the curtain fell silent. I waited a few seconds, until the muffled sound of men chatting drifted back through the thin material again. Then I turned back to Madame.

“Try to keep your voice down, okay? Tell me what you remember about the fire.”

“There was a whoosh at first, that’s what I recall, a very loud whoosh. Enzo went up the stairs, felt the door, and knew there was a terrible blaze on the other side. Smoke began seeping through the floor.” Madame shook her head. “Enzo kept us alive, Clare.”

“He did?”

“Yes. He was a rock. We couldn’t get out of that basement. But Enzo kept assuring me the basement’s metal door was a fire door and we’d be all right as long as we could get fresh air. The man didn’t show one moment of panic. I can’t say the same for myself.”

“Given what was happening, Madame, panic would have been normal.” And that thought made me pause...

Had Enzo planned, all along, to end up trapped in the building, behind a fire door, to make himself appear innocent?

“And then smoke began to fill the room, and he used all his strength to move some heavy crates. He helped me down onto the floor and made me move my head all the way into an old air vent. The smoke in the room became unbearable. There was only room for one of us to get fresh air. I wanted us to switch off, but he refused. He physically forced me to lie with my face in that vent for fresh outside air...”

Madame’s voice trailed off as her eyes filled with tears. “And now he’s in the ICU... he’s in there for one reason, Clare, because he did everything he could to make sure I wouldn’t be...”

I fell silent as Madame composed herself. I grabbed some tissues, handed them to her, one after another. Finally, she wiped her cheeks.

“Thank God those two young men came down when they did to carry us out... When they told me you were all right, I nearly fainted. I was so worried about you, Clare... You’d gone up there to the caffè to let Dante in, and we didn’t know what had happened...”

We hugged again and I sat down on the edge of her stretcher. Madame grasped my arm, looked into my eyes. “Who do you think set that bomb? An enemy of Enzo’s? Someone with a vendetta?”

“I think it was someone who had something to gain.”

“Gain?” Madame frowned. “You’re not suggesting Enzo did this?”

“No,” I said, thinking not anymore. “Enzo put himself in the ICU to save you. That doesn’t add up to a snake-blooded arsonist.”

“Then who?”

Madame’s big, blue-violet eyes were fixed on me. She wasn’t making the leap. Because she doesn’t want to...

“I need to speak to Enzo,” I said carefully. “I need to find out more about...”

“About?” she prompted.

“I just need to speak with him.”

“We’ll do it together!” Madame announced so loudly the men next to us quieted again.

“Madame, please — ”

“If someone deliberately set fire to that beautiful caffè and put all of our lives in danger, we are not going to let that bastard get away with it! Are we, Clare?”

“No, of course not, but please calm down...” Not only wasn’t the woman calming down, she wasn’t staying down. “ Please . Don’t tax your system — ”

“What’s going on here?” A middle-aged nurse with iron-gray hair instantly materialized. “Where are you going, Mrs. Dubois? You haven’t been released yet.”

“But I need to speak with my friend — ”

“What you need to do is get your butt back on that stretcher — ”

Madame shook her head.

I took firm hold of her upper arms. “Madame, think . Enzo is in the ICU. They’re not going to let us both in there at the same time, and they’re certainly not going to let in another patient.”

I felt her muscles relax under my hands. She stopped fighting

“Yes. Of course, of course... you’re right, dear.”

“It’s okay,” I told the nurse. “She’s not going anywhere.”

The nurse nodded and hustled away.

“Now rest, okay?” I kept my voice pleasant as I helped Madame return to her hospital sheets, but I really wanted to kick myself. I’d brought up the arsonist to relieve the woman’s guilt, not give her a heart attack, too. “Why don’t you pass the time by talking to Mr. Dog Dare again?”

I pulled back the curtain to her left.

“Bourbon steak?” Diggy sang in greeting.

“When I come back,” I promised.

“Clare,” Madame called as I turned to go. “Tell me. Who do you think set that bomb?”

Enzo’s bratty little witch of a daughter, who else? And I didn’t think she did it alone . But was Glenn her accomplice? Or someone else? How many other lapdog beaus did that woman have on a leash?

I wanted to tell Madame what I thought and what I was beginning to fear — if Lucia had been ruthless enough to torch her father’s caffè, what other crimes would she be capable of committing? Would she harm her own father to get her hands on her inheritance faster? Was she capable of setting him up for an “accident”? Poisoning him?

I needed to know more before I started accusing anyone, even through speculation, and as Mike had warned me outside, this was not the time or the place. So my reply to Madame was —

“I have a few people in mind.”

“Who?”

“I’ll let you know.”

I took off fast after that , to avoid any further questions. But after just three steps, I stopped dead.

On the other side of the partitioning curtain, a big man stood, ear cocked against the snowy fabric.

“Oat?”

Lieutenant Oat Crowley had been listening to every word we’d said. Propped up on the stretcher next to him was Ronny Shaw, the firefighter who’d landed in here thanks to a chunk of ceiling.

Crowley and I stood staring at each other. His craggy, roundish face betrayed a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. Finally, beneath the slightly shaggy crown of his oatmeal-colored hair, the man’s features hardened into an iron mask. His eyes narrowed like a shooter’s gun sight, and I was in his crosshairs.