Murder and Marshmallows by Rosie A. Point

Author:Rosie A. Point [Point, Rosie A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-24T16:00:00+00:00

11

Bee and I arrived at the scene of the fire, sweaty and out-of-breath. All those cupcakes and donuts on the truck hadn’t helped either of us with cardio fitness, that was for sure. A line had already been set up, and several firefighters herded the onlookers away from the blaze onto the opposite side of the road.

The Glassblower’s Emporium popped and cracked. The windows had already burst, and the occasional blast of a glass item exploding within brought shrieks from the crowd. Flames engulfed the interior of the building, licking at the door and the window jambs. Acrid smoke filled the air, and Bee and I held our coats over our faces, stepping further back.

Firelight reflected in the wide eyes of the locals, but Lyle Grace was nowhere around.

“Who would do this?” I asked, as we backed up even further down the road, and let our coats fall from our faces.

The firefighters had extended the perimeter, helped by the police that had arrived on the scene.

A shaft of water sprayed the roof of the emporium and stressed business owners from the stores either side of the burning building paced back and forth or tried to hail the lieutenant on duty.

“Someone who hated Mr. Grace,” Bee whispered. “Or maybe Mr. Grace himself. Insurance. You never know.”

“Or a ploy to allay suspicions?”

“That might be a stretch. But worth considering.”

Bee and I fell silent and looked on in awe.

There was something about fire—it was both mesmerizing and terrifying. The effect on the people who had gathered to watch it was clear. Every person to a man stood staring, either shaking their heads or transfixed by the sheer destructive power of it.

“Terrible,” I whispered.

A car door slammed nearby, and Bee and I turned.

Detective Boyd had arrived on the scene.

“He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think the fire was related to the murder, right?” I asked Bee.

“Let’s find out.” Bee set off before I could so much as yelp a complaint.

“Detective Boyd!” Bee yelled, waving at him. “Detective Boyd.”

He turned, frowning. “Miss… uh?”

“Pine,” she said.

The detective spotted me, and recognition sparked in his gaze. “Oh yes, Miss Holmes. Nice to see you again.”

“Is it?” Bee asked, gesturing to the burning building. “The circumstances aren’t great, are they?”

“Sorry, who are you?” The detective hadn’t met Bee because she’d been asleep when I’d found the body.

“This is my friend, Bee,” I said. “We were hoping to catch up with you.”

“Did you remember anything else about what happened on the hiking trail?” Sweat beaded on his brow and dribbled over his temples. The man ran hot, apparently. The fire’s blaze didn’t help either, but it was still a winter’s day.

“Unfortunately, no,” I replied. “But this is the glassblower’s store. Do you think the fire’s related to Mr. Hughes’ murder?”

The detective’s mouth dropped open. He snapped it shut again, shaking his head. “Good heavens, woman, do you think it’s appropriate to ask me that? You’re part of an ongoing investigation. I can’t just tell you what’s going on.”

“Why not?” I asked.

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