The Principal Cause of Death (Tom & Scott Mysteries) by Zubro Mark Richard

Author:Zubro, Mark Richard [Zubro, Mark Richard]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 1993-09-14T16:00:00+00:00

6

I remember bits and pieces of the next few hours. I know Scott stood next to me, his closeness providing comfort. A couple of firemen eventually recognized him and tried to come over and talk, but he waved them away. Somebody handed us coffee and sandwiches. I only took a couple of bites before throwing mine away.

Finally the last fire truck sat at the top of the driveway, ten feet from the damp and blackened embers. I found myself sitting next to Scott in the front seat of his car.

“It’s three in the morning,” Scott said. “We should go. There’s nothing you can do here.” His voice was its softest and most soothing.

“In a few minutes,” I said. I got out of the car and walked to the place that had been my home for fifteen years. The smell of smoke and ash permeated the air. Under my feet the ground had been turned to mud by the water the firemen poured in their vain attempt to stem the flames.

A fireman met me a few feet from the house. He was a roly-poly man about twenty-five years old. “Mr. Mason,” he said, “there’s nothing you can do here now. It’s still too dangerous for you to go in. We’re going to stay here a while longer. We think it’s out, but we always like to be sure. There’ll be an arson investigation in the morning.”

“Was it arson?” I asked.

He looked doubtful. “I’m not the expert,” he said, “but it sure was caught good when we got here.”

“Arson,” I said.

I began to walk around the house.

The fireman said, “Here, Mr. Mason, I wish you wouldn’t. I could get in trouble if you hurt yourself.”

“I promise not to go next to the house. I just want to walk around.”

I noticed Scott was beside me. He accompanied me as I took the most painful journey of my life. Opposite where the back door used to be, I stopped. I said, “You know what I’ll miss the most?”

“What?” Scott asked quietly.

“The first gift you gave me. I’ve saved it all these years. You bought it back from Japan that first October. You remember that silk rose? It was unique. They only make them like that over there. It was so beautiful. Now it’s gone.”

Scott said what needed to be said: “Be thankful we weren’t in there. We’re alive. That’s what counts. And you’ve got a place to stay.”

I glanced at him in the darkness of the now-cool night. “I know that’s true.” I sighed. “I don’t care about the expensive stuff. It’s the irreplaceable stuff. Pictures of us together on vacations, family stuff.” I was too tired and in too much shock to cry. “If it was arson …” I began.

Scott interrupted, “If it was arson, we’ll find the person and make them sorry.”

“If it was arson,” I said, “I know who it was. Dan Bluefield.”

In the car on the way to the city, I raged about Dan Bluefield. How Scott kept silent so long, I’ll never know.

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