"04 - Mortal Remains in Maggody Txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hess Joan)

"Does this mean we'll have to miss Tanya Makes the Team? darn it, you know how much I enjoy sports stories." He was already putting the speaker on the stand and starting the engine, however, alleviating me of the necessity of making a comment about his sordid taste. After all, I was the one who savored the antics of nature's finest mutants. That in itself might have merited some introspection, but I was more concerned about the recent spate of fires.

"What do you know about firebugs?" I asked as we pulled onto the highway.

"Not much. You ought to talk to Merganser about it. He's done a couple of special courses with the FBI and knows more than anyone else at the barracks."

"He came out to investigate the last fire, but the shack was so dry that it burned to the ground before the fire department arrived. We both agreed it was arson, though. You can't blame faulty wiring when the place had no electricity."

"Maybe some derelict was holed up there and made a fire to cook," suggested Plover.

"Four times in the last month? You'd think he'd learn something about campfire safety along the way." I stuffed my mouth with popcorn and thoughtfully chomped my way through it. "These fires are being set deliberately. Our nut case, as Harve so politely calls him, could be a derelict. He could also be a kid or a drunk from the pool hall or a real, live psycho. What frightens me is that he seems to be heating up rapidly. Eventually someone's going to get hurt, or the fire's going to spread and do serious damage."

All Plover could do was repeat his suggestion to talk to Merganser. We turned on the county road that led to Hasty, and had no difficulty finding the scene, in that roiling smoke deposited ashes on the windshield long before we caught sight of an orange glow above the treetops. Sheriff's department vehicles blocked the road, thwarting the growing line of trucks and cars filled with spectators.

We parked and joined the parade of pedestrians, some of whom had the foresight to bring coolers and folding aluminum chairs.

"What's burning?" Plover asked me.

"A barn," I said, trying to picture something I'd driven past a million times. "There used to be a house, but it was torn down years ago. The roof of the barn collapsed and it wasn't much more than a pile of gray lumber and a home for mice and snakes."

"Evenin,' Arly," said a voice from behind us.

I looked back at one of the Maggody magpies. "Hi, Eula. What are you doing out here?"

"Lottie called me when she heard about the fire, and I thought I'd come take a look at it. Oh, there's Elsie and her daughter walking with Larry Joe and Joyce. I don't think it's good for Joyce to be exposed to smoke when she's"--Eula noticed Plover and lowered her voice--"in a family way."

"Don't worry about him," I said. "He's my gynecologist. You wouldn't believe some of the things he's seen. Tell her about the contortionist who--"

Eula fled. We wound through the crowd, went past the police line, and found Harve glumly watching the volunteer firemen hosing the fire, which by now consisted only of isolated sputters of flames. "Any evidence?" I asked.

Harve plucked a cigar butt from his shirt pocket. Once he'd gotten it going, he said, "Not a darn thing. Some kid spotted the fire about an hour ago, but it took him another ten minutes to find a telephone. By the time the boys got here, all they could do was contain the darn thing."

Wade Elkins, the fire chief, joined us. His face was streaked with soot and his curly dark hair dotted with ashes, but he was still attractive, and he moved quickly for someone who'd roused his troops, driven ten miles, and battled the fire for most of an hour. "How many more bonfires are y'all planning to have this month, Arly? I'd like to see the end of a baseball game just once."

"Sorry, Wade," I said, not sure why I was apologizing. "I know you and the guys are getting tired of our fires. Maybe we can arrange for the arsonist to set a few over in Emmet so you won't have to drive so, far."

"But then I wouldn't get to be your hero of the hour." He winked at me. "I'm beginning to look forward to our little romantic, firelit trysts. Just you and me and--oh, yeah--нeverybody this side of the Missouri line."

Harrumphing under his breath, Plover tapped Harve on the shoulder. "Where's the kid who reported the fire?"

"You think he might have seen something?" I said.

Harve shrugged. "Said he didn't, but you're welcome to ask him again. He's the one in the plaid shirt."

I recognized Billy Dick MacNamara in the huddle of high school boys and pointed him out to Plover. "He's a Maggody boy, lives with his mother out past the high school. I questioned him once about some tools missing from the shop room, but it turned out he wasn't involved."

"He was kinda stuttery when he called," Wade said. "Took me a while to figure out what he was talking about and where the fire was. There wasn't anything left when we got here, so it didn't make a rat's ass of difference."

I called to Billy Dick, who came over with a leery expression on his plump, round face. He was a bleachy kid, with hair so light it was invisible, and eyes that were pale to the point of being almost colorless. He moved clumsily, as though the ground were covered with a sheen of ice. "This is Sergeant Plover," I said to him. "He's assisting the sheriff and me."