Faye Kellerman - The Burnt House

“How long did dinner last?” Marge inquired.

Christie shrugged. “I don’t remember.” She brightened. “I can tell you that we were back in my place before nine because I went out that evening. I invited Roseanne along, but she declined. She was calling it an evening.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Mostly likely I went to one of the local clubs.”

“What time did you get home?” Decker asked.

“I can’t honestly say, but Roseanne was still up. We talked a little bit. She seemed calmer and I remember saying: you look better or refreshed or something like that. That’s when she told me that she had finally decided to leave Ivan.”

“Did she seem happy about her decision?”

“Happy isn’t the right word. More like…at peace. I think she felt that this was the only way to move her life forward. I just gave her support. I went to bed late that night: that much I remember. She was gone when I woke up. I suspect she never even went to bed. She left the key and a real sweet note on my dining room table.”

At last! Marge thought. Maybe they’d have something concrete from Roseanne. “Do you have the note?”

“Sorry, no. I threw it away.” Tears formed in the flight attendant’s eyes. “Maybe it’s better that I threw it away. It’s so painful when I think about her.”

DECKER PUT THE car key in the ignition and glanced at the clock in the dash. It was almost eight. He still had time before his flight took off, but not as much time as he thought he’d have. “Are you sure I can’t drop you off somewhere?”

Marge said, “No. Will seems perfectly okay with meeting me at the airport.”

“He’s a good guy.” Decker started the car.

“That he is.” She sank against the passenger headrest and closed her eyes. She really needed a good dinner and a fine bottle of wine. Marge furrowed her brow. “What’s that noise, Pete?”

Decker heard it just as soon as she asked the question. A loud thump, thump, thump as the car wiggled and wobbled. “Not good.”

“No, it’s not.”

Decker braked carefully, slowing to a crawl and pulling over to the curb at his first opportunity. They both got out of the car to inspect the damage.

There was not one, but two flat tires-passenger front and rear.

“Holy moly,” Marge said. “This is serious stuff.”

“Shit!” Decker stamped his foot. He looked at his watch.

Marge placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of it, Pete. You call a taxi and catch your plane.”

Decker was still staring at the drooping car frame. “I can’t believe it!” He bent down to further examine the flats. “Son of a bitch!” He got up from a crouch. “Some motherfucker cut the tires!”

Marge was stoic as she dialed Will Barnes’s cell. “It happens. Go call a cab and get out of here.”

“No friggin’ way I’m leaving you to take care of this mess alone!”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Will.”

Decker ignored her and dialed information for the toll-free phone number of WestAir.

“Hey there, it’s me,” Marge said into the receiver. “We have a setback here. Someone slashed the tires of our rental…No idea, only that it had to have happened while we were at our last interview because the tires didn’t go flat until we drove…Yeah, we didn’t even notice it until we were several blocks away. Where are we? That’s a very good question. Hold on and I’ll get my GPS…” She pushed several buttons on her phone. “Hi, Willy, are you still there?…Okay, it looks like we’re on Bradford Street.” She hunted around for the nearest address. “We’re parked in front of 13455 Bradford. It’s a residential area…No, you don’t have to come down. I’ll cab myself to you, but I want to wait until the police…Thanks, honey. If you insist, then I’ll see you in about fifteen.”

She hung up and regarded Decker, who was on the phone. “I’m on hold.”

“Will’s coming down.”

Decker said, “Are you going back on the five-thirty A.M. WestAir?”

“Yep, but you really don’t have to stick around.”

Decker held up his hand and spoke into the phone. “That sounds fine. Yes, I’d like the confirmation number. Can you hold a minute while I get a pen?” Immediately Marge handed him a pencil and her notepad. Decker whispered thank you. “All right, I’m ready now.” He wrote down the number and hung up. The next call was to Rina. By the time he was done explaining the situation to his wife, Marge had called the police and the car rental company.

Ten minutes later, Will Barnes pulled up behind the deflated rental. He got out, thumbs locked under a thick leather belt that held up a pair of faded jeans. A white shirt with a bolo tie completed the image. Barnes was tall and muscular, in good shape for a man in his late fifties. He shook hands with Decker and gave Marge a peck on the cheek. Barnes’s round ruddy face had been treated to a very smooth shave. His dark eyes grew smokier as he assessed the situation. “Damn, that’s a pisser!”

“Do you know if there’s a vandalism problem in this area?” Decker asked him.

“Can’t say for sure, Pete. The local police would know that better than me. But I do know that this is Silicon Valley. There are lots of teens here with too much money and too little supervision.”

“Looks like kids to me, too,” Marge said. “Some ass riding by in a convertible, slashing passenger tires as he goes.”

A squad car pulled up behind Barnes’s car. Five minutes later, a tow truck from the rental car service joined the festivities. After introductions were made all around, the cops assessed the wanton vandalism and began writing their reports. Neighbors began peeking through windows and opening front doors. Suddenly people began to walk their dogs, asking questions, looking woefully at the sorry rental. A few had had minor incidents-a smashed window and occasional graffiti. Most were quick to say that the neighborhood was safe.

It took a little under an hour for the police to finish up. By the time order was restored, it was almost ten and Marge was famished. She looked at Will. “I’m still up for dinner, although I have no idea what’s open.”

“The place I originally wanted to go to closes at eleven,” Barnes said, “but I managed a reservation for three at Sarni’s. Great, basic Italian food and it’s open until midnight.”

Marge slipped her arm around Will’s waist. “My hero.” She smiled at Decker. “I take it that’s okay with you.”

Decker said, “Thanks for the invitation, but I’m beat. If it isn’t too far out of the way, just drop me off at my motel.”

“You’ve got to eat, boss,” Marge said.

“I’m fine, really. You two go have a good time.”

Barnes didn’t try to talk him out of it. “Where’s your motel?”

“The Airport Foundation Inn.”

“It’s right on the way.”

The three of them piled into Barnes’s Honda Accord. Twenty minutes later, Decker found a nearby coffee shop and ordered an egg-salad sandwich on rye toast and decaf coffee. He doodled on his notepad as he thought about what had become of Roseanne.

He made a chart entitled “The Last Day of Roseanne Dresden’s Life” and summed it up in the following steps.

Sometime before 10:33 in the morning, she has a fight with her husband, and calls up Christie Peterson to crash at her pad for the night.

Then she calls up WestAir in San Jose and asks for an interview. According to Christie, Roseanne wants to transfer to San Jose to be closer to her parents. She goes for an interview. There’s a position available.

She goes out to dinner with Christie around six in the evening.

Christie goes out at nine and returns late. Roseanne is still up. She tells Christie that she has decided to file for divorce.