Alex Bledsoe - Burn Me Deadly

Mrs. Talbot sat on the edge of the porch, her sullen grandson huddled against her. Something about that boy always gave me the creeps, like he’d seen too much for a child his age, and understood way more of it than was natural. “Hear about the murder last night?” she said as I left the building.

“I just got up,” I said, not giving anything away. “Who was murdered?”

“Found some woman dead in the alley. Cut up like a side of meat, they said.”

“Dangerous town.”

Her lips smacked disconcertingly when she spoke. “Heard somebody say they set the fire to distract people from it.”

“Not everything’s connected, Mrs. Talbot.”

She nodded. “That’s a true thing. But lots of things are, and most of us don’t even know about it.”

I’d gotten sucked into this discussion before, so I quickly excused myself. I went down the street to Angelina’s tavern, and my office. The breakfast crowd filled the counter, and rather than force my way in, I waited for an empty stool. When I finally sat, Callie slapped a plate of ham and eggs in front of me without asking. It wasn’t my usual breakfast-I didn’t really have a “usual”-but her harried glare warned me against any rebuke. She had the look of someone who’d worked all night and would snap off the head of the first person who crossed her.

I picked at the runny eggs and listened to the two merchants beside me as they discussed local gossip. I knew them by sight, but we’d never really interacted and they paid me no mind.

“They say the blacksmith burned it down because he was about to be arrested for rum smuggling,” Kopple the tailor said. He had a scar on his cheek that left a gap in his otherwise full beard. “It went up so fast because he soaked the place with his contraband first.”

“Can you blame him?” replied Kopple’s companion, the stonemason Walsh. He ate voraciously, heedless of the egg stuck in his long mustache. “The thought of gentle Muscodian justice scares the hell out of me, too.”

“Man, this is Neceda, not Sevlow,” Kopple said. “Every-body’s into something here, including the king’s men. If the guy wanted to smuggle ale no one would care, not like they would in the capital.”

“Nobody except the Big Mace,” Walsh pointed out, using Gordon Marantz’s nickname among the people who didn’t deal with him.

Kopple nodded. “Yeah, that’s true. He might care. But if the blacksmith had been doing it for a while, he was probably working for him.”

“Maybe, but did you see that officer from Sevlow poking around? I hear King Archibald is going to bring back torture chambers to get confessions and eliminate the whole appeals process he copied from Arentia.”

“Just like the good old days,” Kopple said wryly. “When I was an apprentice, you didn’t come to Neceda alone unless you wanted to leave bloodier and poorer than you arrived.”

“It’s almost that bad now,” Walsh said sadly. “My wife’s knocked up, and we’re thinking about getting out before the baby’s born. Did you hear that, besides the fire, they found some woman stabbed to death in an alley?”

“How do you hear all this stuff?” Kopple asked, irritated.

“I pay attention.”

“It was probably some whore who tried to cheat someone. That could happen anywhere.”

“Yes, but the way she was killed. They said she was lying in an inch of her own blood with her belly slit open and everything taken out.”

“Hey, I’m trying to eat here!” someone farther down the counter bellowed. My own breakfast suddenly looked less appetizing as well.

“Sorry,” Kopple said. “The way things work in the real world still amazes my friend.”

Callie suddenly appeared in front of me again. Sweat made her hair stick to her cheeks, and she had circles under her eyes. “You’ve got someone up in your office,” she said wearily. “A woman.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I first came in?”

“Hey, as busy as we are, you’re lucky I even saw her go up the stairs,” she snapped. Then she shot away down the bar to deliver tea to a demanding patron.

I scooped up the last of my eggs on a piece of bread, wiped my face and headed upstairs. Before the fire, Hank had told me Mother Bennings wanted to see me, so that’s who I expected. But instead Peg Pinster sat on the bench in my outer office, head down, clad in a long black dress with a mourning shawl around her shoulders. Her wavy brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun. In all the time I’d known her, it was the first occasion I’d seen her with no children nearby.

Despite her brood she was still an attractive woman, with the kind of earthy beauty that looked its best in dishevelment and kept husbands honest. Hank had loved her with a ferocity I’d never understood until I met Liz.

Peg looked up as I entered, then stood. “Mr. LaCrosse,” she said formally, and attempted a curtsy.

I scowled.“ ‘Mr.’?”

“I need to talk to you professionally.”

I nodded. “Okay, but you don’t have to genuflect at me. Come on in.”

We went into my inner office. I opened the window-even smoky air was better than stuffy-and indicated she should take the guest chair. I closed the door and sat behind my desk. “I know it’s early, but if you’d like a drink-”

She waved a dismissive hand. “No, that’s all right, thank you.” She slumped to one side, as if it took the last of her strength to simply stay in the chair. I doubted she’d slept at all. “Mr. LaCrosse-”

“What’s this ‘Mr.’ stuff, Peg? I’ve known you for years.”

She forced herself up straight and said with immense dignity, “Because this is business, and business has its own language.” I heard the echo of Hank in that statement.

“All right, Mrs. Pinster. What can I do for you?”

“I want you to find my husband and clear his name. He did not set fire to the stable, either accidentally or on purpose.”

“I know,” I said. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her how.

“There’s already talk. Nobody’s seen him since before the fire, and people mutter about arson after I walk past with the children. The ashes aren’t even cold yet.”

“Okay. But I need to ask you some questions about last night. And I need you to be honest with me.”

“Of course.”

“What happened just before the fire started?”

“We were eating a late dinner, just Hank and I. I’d fed the kids earlier and put them to bed. Someone knocked at the door. That happens fairly often; people get into town late and need to put up their horses. So Hank went to the door and answered it.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t see from where I was. Hank talked to them for a minute, then excused himself to go with them. He was gone a long time, and I dozed off. Then Cornelius, our middle son, woke up because he smelled smoke.”

“Any idea how much time had passed?”

She shook her head. “I would assume not long. But I can’t say for certain. I tried to get into the stable, but the fire was already out of control. I had to take care of the kids; I didn’t have time to find Hank.” New tears filled her battered eyes. “He was always so careful.

…”

I went around the desk, sat on the edge and took her hand. “Somebody set the fire, Peg. I could smell it when I went in. You couldn’t have helped; it spread too fast.”

She nodded, and dabbed at her eyes.

“Did Hank seem anxious before the person arrived? Like he was expecting someone?”

She shook her head. “No. In fact, he looked surprised when he opened the door.”

“Did he look up, like the person was taller than him?”

She frowned in concentration. “I don’t think so. I can’t say for sure.”