Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

Coughing, Chris staggered back from the smoke. He directed the hose toward the shed — aiming near the roof and working his way down the line of fire. For a few moments, it didn’t seem to do any good. The smoke only grew thicker. But then the flames started dying under the jet spray of water.

Chris heard Rachel clearing her throat, and he glanced over his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he gasped. “I think we’ve got it under control. Did you call nine-one-one?”

“No, I didn’t want to leave you out here all alone.” She fanned the air in front of her face.

Chris kept the hose on, dousing the side of the shed. The smoke started to clear. The corner of the little shed was charred black; it looked like the shadow of a ghost against the blistered wood. At the base of the door, amid a smoldering pile of soot, he could see some patches of wet newspaper that hadn’t burned up.

Chris finally twisted the hose nozzle, shutting off the flow of water.

“God, thank you, Chris,” Rachael said, squeezing his arm. “You’re a lifesaver. I wouldn’t have known what to do. Hell, I didn’t have a clue! If you weren’t here, I think the whole house might have burned down.”

She took a step toward the shed. “What is that anyway?” she asked, pointing to the mound of refuse by the door. “That wasn’t there earlier. I walked by this shed a half hour ago and didn’t see any newspapers there. What’s going on? Did you see anybody else out here?”

Chris just shrugged and shook his head.

“This is crazy,” she muttered, a hand at the base of her throat. “They — they must have snuck back here while I was planting the annuals. I don’t understand. Why would anybody do something like this?”

“I don’t know,” Chris said, baffled.

“Is this normal around here?” she pressed. “I mean, two days ago, those kids got cut up by all that glass in the vacant lot, and now, someone decided to set fire to my toolshed. What’s going on?”

Chris glanced over at the mound of burnt debris by the shed’s door.

He had no idea how to answer her.

Molly wondered where Lynette Hahn was.

Despite some residual tension after the glass-in-the-dirt incident, Lynette had offered to co-host the funeral brunch. Bizarre as the arrangement was, it made sense to Molly that Angela’s best friend play hostess in Angela’s old house. Molly really didn’t mind taking on the role of caterer. It kept her busy — and gave her an excuse to keep the awkward small talk with Angela’s friends and relatives down to a minimum. Lynette had invited some of Larry’s friends, too.

A light, misty rain had descended on the burial service in Lakeview Cemetery, where Jeff and Chris remained stoic and unshielded by the drizzle. But Erin sobbed quietly from and clung to her Aunt Trish, who held a red umbrella for both of them. Molly stood behind Trish.

Lynette’s husband, Jeremy, had a sudden business thing and couldn’t attend. But Lynette promised he would be at the Dennehys’ in plenty of time to set up the bar and start passing out drinks to the first arrivals. She’d brought Carson and Dakota to the cemetery. They were fidgety as ever, fighting over their umbrella and picking at the Band-Aids on their hands. Courtney had her iPhone out most of the time, texting through most of the service.

Molly slipped away early to set up for the reception. She’d asked Rachel if she would like to attend. “Thanks anyway,” Rachel had told her. “I didn’t even know Angela. Besides, I’m giving Lynette and her kids a wide berth for a while. I can’t help thinking those kids had something to do with my toolshed catching on fire. It’s not that big a leap from throwing dirt balls at cars to playing with matches and setting toolsheds on fire. The cops said it was definitely arson — and sloppy arson, at that.”

Just the same, Rachel had been nice enough to make a rice salad for the party — wild rice with sun-dried cranberries, smoked turkey, and green onion. Giving in to a craving, Molly had had three helpings that morning before the funeral.

She’d managed to set out all the food and plates before the first wave of guests started drifting in. Jeremy Hahn had never shown up, and Molly had played bartender for the first half hour — until Jeff had taken over, thank God.

Now she was playing hostess and fighting some morning sickness as she smiled through several Angela stories told to her by total strangers. For two hours, she made sure her guests’ glasses were filled and took their empty plates. All the while, she wondered what the hell had happened to Lynette. She even asked a few people. Apparently, Lynette and the three kids had disappeared right after the burial.

Molly started to feel so sick and light-headed that she snuck upstairs to lie down. But there were about forty coats piled on Jeff’s and her bed. Some woman — Molly was pretty sure she was Angela’s cousin — was breast-feeding her baby in Erin’s room. A man she didn’t recognize was sitting on one of the twin beds in the guest room, talking on his cell phone. Chris’s door was closed. She knocked and poked her head in. Chris was at his desk, and Elvis sat in the beanbag chair. They both had beers and plates of food. Chris’s sweet, four-eyed portly pal gave her a goofy smile. “Hi, Mrs. Dennehy. Great rice salad!”

“Thanks, Elvis,” she said weakly. She turned to Chris. “If your dad should ask, I’m not feeling well. I’m going upstairs to rest for a few minutes. And I never saw the beers.”

She closed the door, and heard Elvis call out: “Thanks, Mrs. Dennehy!”

As she turned away, Molly almost bumped into Jill Emory standing at the top of the stairs. The tawny-haired forty-year-old wore a loose black pantsuit that camouflaged her plump figure. She was frowning at Molly. “Why did you leave the cemetery early?” she asked.

Molly put a hand over her mouth and suppressed a burp. “I beg your pardon, Jill?”

“You left before the burial service ended. Why?”

“To set the food out for this stupid reception,” Molly shot back. She was feeling too sickly to be patient with her. “And I could have used some help from Lynette — or you. The two of you were better friends with Angela than I ever was. Where is Lynette anyway? Where’s Jeremy?”

“Oh, like you don’t know,” Jill sneered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Lynette says you’ve always resented her, because she was best friends with Angela. You’ve always been out to get her.”

“I don’t understand—”

“One of the reporters told Lynette that a woman phoned the police with a tip. The anonymous call came in not very long after you left the cemetery.”

“What tip? What are you talking about?”

“I was just on the phone with Lynette,” Jill said, clutching the post at the top of the stairs. “She’s still at the police station. She said the whole thing was a frame-up. The reporters were tipped off, too. They were waiting outside the hotel when the police brought Jeremy down in the elevator with that prostitute. Are you trying to tell me you had nothing to do with it?”

Molly shook her head. She almost wanted to laugh, she was so stunned. “So Jeremy Hahn was arrested — for buying himself a hooker? Was that his ‘sudden business thing’? Is that why he missed the funeral?” All she could think was, What an asshole, he deserved to be arrested!

At the same time, Molly wondered why the police and reporters were treating the incident as if it were a major sting operation.

Jill didn’t explain why.

Molly had to wait for an explanation from a reporter on the six o’clock news. It was a bit surreal to see the story unfold on television while two TV news vans were parked in front of Lynette’s house down the block. About a dozen people loitered in front of Lynette’s to see what the fuss was about.