Lillian’s fingernails dug into the skin of her palms and her heart raced. This was it. “Did you see who set the fire?”
Ignoring the question, he said, “The camera showed the flames starting in two places from inside the house.”
“Two?”
“The kitchen on the western end, closest to the Manns, and another room on the eastern end, on your side. Spread so fast, the fire destroyed the house before we could get here.”
“Well,” she said, “there you have it. Regina is nothing if not smart.”
“Regina Mann was in New York, Miss Parker. I told you that.”
“Mr. Mann then, or someone who works for them.”
“No.” Greg averted his eyes, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Do you have a gas can, Miss Parker?” Lillian’s heart thudded in her ears and cold fingers crawled up her spine. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. “I can ask for a search warrant if I need to.”
Anger flared again. “You will do no such thing, young man.” She touched a hand to her head, smoothing her already combed hair. “Of course, I have a gas can. The boy who mows my front yard on Saturdays uses it to fill the mower.”
“The tape showed someone leaving the Horning house.” He held up his hand. “No, the face isn’t visible. Whoever went in and out of that house knew to hide their face. But there are some things that help identify the, uh, arsonist.”
Seconds ticked by. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Spit it out.”
He shoved his large hands deep into his pockets. “This person was small, below average height, like you.” Her heart beat faster with each word. “The person moved very slowly, in the direction of your house, using a cane with one hand and carrying a gas can in the other. A bright yellow gas can with something painted on it.”
Lillian’s breath caught in her throat. Trudy’s children had decorated her gas can, given it to her for her birthday last year along with painted flowerpots and a new mailbox.
“What color is your gas can, Miss Parker?”
“Yellow is a common color.”
He took a step forward. The sky behind him darkened. “Where is the gas can now?”
She pressed her lips together.
“Mrs. Mann didn’t set that fire, Miss Parker. This vendetta you’ve waged against Mrs. Mann has worried a lot of people. According to the Thurmans, you called their children and their neighbors after they sold to Mrs. Mann. You threatened them. You’ve become unreasonable. It’s got to end now.”
“I never threatened anyone. They’re only saying that because they sold out.”
“They moved. It’s not a crime.”
She heard the steady plunk of rain against the large window.
“Mrs. Mann said Trudy agreed to sell her house last week, last Friday, in fact.” The color drained from Lillian’s face. “She told you Friday, didn’t she? Is that when you found out? When you took her the bread? Did you get angry? Is that why she left in such a hurry?”
Every part of Lillian’s body went numb. Her legs. Her arms. Her mind. She saw his lips move but heard nothing.
“Were you angry with her, Miss Parker? Angry that she would sell and worse, to the one person you hated most, Regina Mann?” He paused to take a breath. Lightning cracked in the distance and thunder echoed over the water. Rain pounded against the roof and windows. “You knew her husband was out of work, that they needed money. She was depressed. Did you know that? Did you know she was seeing a doctor?”
Lillian’s head came up. “Who told you Trudy was depressed?”
“Her husband. Their marriage is breaking up. He’s very concerned.”
Lillian snorted. Trudy’s husband had the sensitivity of a snake. If he thought she was depressed, it could only be because she wanted him to think that. Trudy had hired a detective and a lawyer, not a doctor. “What did Mrs. Mann tell you about buying the Horning house?”
“Why does it matter now?” Greg asked.
She almost laughed at the blank look on his face. “Indulge me.”
Greg hesitated, and then shrugged. “She only said they came to a verbal agreement on Friday. Trudy would sell her house to Mrs. Mann at the end of the month.”
“A verbal agreement.”
“The papers were supposed to be signed tomorrow.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know. Mrs. Mann seemed desperate to reach Mrs. Trimble.”
“I bet she did.” Lillian sat back again, a slow smile spreading across her lined face.
What a brilliant young woman Trudy was. How long had she been planning the fire? Lillian knew she’d been packing up pictures and mementos for weeks. “I need these at home with me,” she’d said. “With everything going on, they give me comfort.” Trudy had known about the Mann’s camera, even commenting on it once. “It gives me the creeps, you know, having this thing watching our every move. I look away every time I go in and out the door.” The cane was the perfect touch.
And Regina Mann had handed Trudy the perfect opportunity. By overpaying for every property on the street, she’d doubled the value of the remaining houses. Arson might not pay when you burned your own house down, but it did when someone else started the fire—someone on video with a yellow gas can and a cane. Trudy would collect and keep her land. The house might be lost, but Lillian wasn’t worried.
“I found the old house plans,” Trudy had told her not long ago. “The ones my great-grandfather used. If anything ever happens to this house, I’ll rebuild it exactly the same.” She’d squeezed Lillian’s hand. “I promise you that.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to it,” Lillian had said.
“I know,” Trudy had smiled, “but just in case.”
“Where is the gas can, Miss Parker?” Greg asked.
Lillian looked back at him. When had Trudy borrowed the yellow gas can? Last week? The week before? It didn’t matter. “I don’t remember,” she said. “It’s kind of a blur.”
“Is it empty?”
Lillian felt sure it was but said nothing. Outside, the rain had stopped. The sky was turning blue, the kind of blue that made Lillian want to drink it in, to fill her soul with its light and purity. Just for a moment, the pain fell away.
“I’m really sorry, Miss Parker. I’m going to have to put this in my report.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t know what will happen after that.”
She nodded. She knew.
There would be a scandal. They’d call her something like Crazy Old Miss Parker or something worse. That’s the way these things worked. But she was old and sick, and she didn’t mind. Lillian would stay in her house, and she’d die long before the case ever got to trial. And after she was gone, Trudy would get the house, thanks to Regina. It was her parting comment that had prompted Lillian to update her will, making Trudy her beneficiary. It was a fitting bequest, she thought. The Horning house and the Parker house. They were two of a kind after all. Regina might get most of the houses, but she’d never get those.
Lillian looked back at Greg, her eyes bright. “You do what you have to do.”
WHO KILLED BILLY JOE?, by Genilee Swope Parente
Chief of Police Clareese Guidry’s head was down in concentration and her mind was on the homicide scene she’d just left. She was headed to Verna’s Cajun Café, the local family diner and central hub of information in the small Louisiana town of New Iberia.