“Oh, no, I haven’t.” Lillian had tried, phoning both Trudy’s home and cell numbers but getting only voice mail. “I don’t know what to say. Her husband was let go from his job last year, her son broke his leg in a car accident, and now this,” she said, lifting her palms. “That house meant everything to her. She might be the only other person on this island who loves this place as much as I do.”
He was quiet a moment. “You told one of my men that the fire wasn’t an accident.”
She sat up straighter. Now they were getting to it. Good. “It wasn’t. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
He ran a hand over his head and brushed back his thinning hair. “We don’t get many fires like this. Whole place burned to the ground. Only other one I can think of is the one out at the old Crosby place.”
She remembered. The Crosby fire had been a doozy, the talk of the town for weeks. Some said Skeet had it coming, but Lillian had never been one to spread gossip. Smokin’ Skeet they’d called him, even before the fire. Every day except Sunday, he’d park himself on the bench outside the grocery, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, a brown paper bag in his hand. Most days, he’d nod off in the heat, waking only long enough to take another drink and smoke another pack of Luckys. She’d always thought it was a wonder he hadn’t burned down the whole town and not just the pile of wood he called a house. He’d moved off the island after that. Good riddance was all she’d had to say. “Skeet Crosby was an idiot, but he didn’t mean to burn down his own house.”
“No, I don’t suppose he did.”
“This one wasn’t an accident,” she said again.
“I’m interested to hear why you would say that, Miss Parker.”
“Because I know who set it.” His gaze met hers. “Regina Mann. Do you know Regina?”
“We’ve met.”
She pointed out the window. “Then you also know that horrific thing she calls my house. Regina Mann wants every house on this street, you know. She plans to turn them all into little versions of her house for all her guests. Can you imagine? She probably wants to rename the street Mann Road. She might even get away with it.” Her nose wrinkled as she spoke. “The Thurmans sold last month. I did everything I could to talk them out of it, but they said they were planning to move anyway. Going to live with their daughter down in Orlando.”
“She wants to buy all the houses on the street?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
His face flushed pink. “Has she offered to buy your house?”
“More times than I can count.” Lillian wagged one finger. “I told her I wouldn’t sell to her if I was taking my last breath. She’d do anything to get her hands on every house on this block. Anything.” Lillian’s voice shook. Regina wasn’t above strong-arm tactics and a fire was right up her alley. “That includes the Horning house.”
“You don’t like Regina Mann.”
“The feeling is mutual. I promise you that.”
“Any reason other than that she wants to buy your house?”
“No one around here with an ounce of sense likes that woman.” Lillian looked him in the eye. “She’s not an islander, Greg, and you know it. She doesn’t belong here.”
He held her gaze a moment, and then he shook his head. “Who belongs here and who doesn’t isn’t our decision.”
Lillian opened her mouth to argue, saw the look on his face—as though he’d eaten something sour or rancid—and thought better of it.
“Look, I’ve spoken to most of the owners on this street, including the Manns, to let them know about the fire. Mrs. Mann is in New York and has been for the past week. She didn’t set that fire.”
Lillian shrugged. “Then she hired someone to do it for her.”
“Why would she do that?”
“To force Trudy to sell.”
“Miss Parker, I know you don’t want to hear this, but Mrs. Mann seemed quite upset about the fire. I believe her when—”
“Of course, you believe her. Regina Mann could skin a coon without it even knowing. I’m telling you, that woman cannot be trusted. After this block, it will be the whole neighborhood, then the whole island.” Lillian shuddered. “I won’t let that happen. I won’t.”
He leaned forward, the space between them shrinking. “Would it surprise you to know that Mrs. Mann expected you to accuse her?”
“Nothing that woman says or does surprises me.”
“You can’t blame Mrs. Mann for everything. You’ve sent countless letters to the editor about her.”
“Your wife tell you that, Greggie?” Lillian didn’t wait for an answer. “Shouldn’t she be out reporting instead of reading my letters?”
“I didn’t say she read them,” he said.
“Well, I sure wish someone would. Not one of them has been printed. Carl Jenkins is a weak excuse for an editor if ever there was one.”
He let out a long breath, plucked at the fabric of his pants. “It’s not just the letters. You’ve phoned the radio, hounded your neighbors.” He paused. “You’re lucky Mrs. Mann doesn’t have you charged with slander.”
“She doesn’t dare. She wants my house.”
He shook his head. “How far are you going to go with this vendetta, Miss Parker?”
The blood rushed to her face. Even if she had sent letters and made calls, so what? She’d done nothing illegal. “You have no right to speak to me that way.”
Outside, the wind whipped up and flecks of ash floated past the window and out to the dunes. She squeezed her eyes shut, blinking back the tears. She couldn’t smell the ocean air or the sweet summer breeze, only the acrid odor of charred timber and melted plastic. It wasn’t right. She couldn’t let Regina get away with it. She couldn’t let Regina win.
When he spoke again, there was sadness in his voice. “The island has changed, Miss Parker. It doesn’t matter whether we want it to or not. Nature does her thing and we do ours. Families come and go; new houses are built. Old houses are bought and sold. There are new businesses to replace the old ones. That’s just the way it is. We can’t stop change any more than we can stop time.” He hesitated. “You can’t stop it.”
Lillian stiffened. He sounded like Regina.
Greg cleared his throat and she raised her eyes to his. The pain in her back throbbed and she winced. The doctors had said the tumor was inoperable, terminal. They’d offered chemotherapy, of course, but she’d declined. Why did she need it at her age? Regina had been right though. She wouldn’t live forever. She wouldn’t live out the year.
Out loud, she said, “I’m an old woman, Greg. Set in my ways. Isn’t that what they say? When you get to be a certain age, you just get set in your ways.”
“Maybe, but you can’t stop change. It happens whether you want it to or not.” He paused. “When was the last time you saw Trudy Trimble?”
Lillian sat back, dizz
y with the change in subject, dizzy with the pain that never stopped. “Friday, I guess. I took her some zucchini bread when she got in for the weekend. It’s her favorite. I’ve been making it for her since she was a girl.”
“Did you talk about Regina Mann?”
Lillian frowned again. They’d talked about Regina several times before, but not that night. “No. It was late by the time she got in. After ten already.”
“What did you talk about?”
Lillian’s shoulders drooped. They hadn’t talked about anything. Trudy hadn’t invited her in, claiming she was tired. “Nothing.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure,” she snapped. “I gave her the bread, and I went home. When I woke up the next morning, she’d slipped a note under my door saying she’d had to go back home.”
He rose, moving to the large window that faced the ocean. The waves crashed and washed over the sand, stopping only feet from the tall grasses that protected the dunes. Behind the dunes, the houses hugged the narrow strip of beach.
“It’s high tide,” he said.
Gray clouds hung low over the horizon. An afternoon storm would blow in and out again, leaving a stretch of rainbow over the sea. Like the dramatic tides, the storms were a way of life. Lillian wouldn’t have had it any other way. Looking past him, she could see the orange marker protruding from the tallest dune, marking a nest of sea turtles. They needed protecting now, the baby turtles. That’s all she was trying to do with the letters and the phone calls. Protect this way of life she’d grown to love. Protect her home. Protect Trudy.
Greg looked over his shoulder. “Did you know that the Manns have a security system?”
She exhaled, wincing. “Of course, they do. They have everything.”
“Their security system includes several cameras. One of them faces the Horning house.” He turned, searching her face, scrutinizing her as if he didn’t know her. His voice was flat, emotionless. “The footage we’ve been able to access gives us a pretty good idea of when the fire was started. And how.”