Robert B. Parker's Slow Burn (Spenser, #44)

“Absolutely,” I said. “But keep this circle tight.”


Ramaglia drank some coffee. It felt very good to be in the air-conditioning and drinking hot beverages. I planned to stop back by the new farmers’ market again tonight. That place was the best thing to hit Boston since Carl Yastrzemski. I also could use several new shirts, khakis, and jeans. Underwear, socks, bullets.

“Rob’s wife’s not doing so good,” Ramaglia said. He looked out the window at a group of children from a summer day camp jumping and jostling. “She held up good for the wake and all. But now it’s over, she’s a fucking mess. They were together a long time.”

The kids continued to make a lot of noise, like a crazy parade, and continued toward the waiting doors of a school bus. Everyone waited in a neat and orderly line for the bus to let them inside. A few of them pounded on the side of the bus; others took in the scenery around them.

“Call me if you can find out about the third guy,” I said. “Or get a first name on Teehan that I could check out.”

“Rob was good people. Ain’t nobody deserves to die like that. Whoever did this and torched your apartment is a real coward. I sure hope you can help.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.”





39


Pearl barked and circled as I entered with bags from Whole Foods and set them on the upstairs kitchen counter. Susan had on a loose linen skirt and a navy silk tank, her hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head.

“How bad is the apartment?” she said. She stood in front of me, placing both hands on my face. She wanted to look into my eyes.

“Do you remember that fantastic white suit I used to wear?”

“Do I?”

“Whoosh,” I said. “Gone.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said. “And the black leather trench coat?”

“All the old wardrobe is gone.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Maybe there is an upside.”

“If I don’t go shopping or do some laundry, I may have to dip into your closet.”

“There’s a little give in some of my wrap dresses,” she said. “But not that much.”

“How about I cook dinner and we can discuss?”

“A roomie with benefits?”

I rolled my chambray shirt up to my elbows and started to wash the greens. They were local and very fresh. I let them drain in a colander and laid out the rest of the salad: a carrot, a purple onion, red pepper, and some candied walnuts. I mixed some Creole mustard with some olive oil and balsamic vinegar as requested by Susan and placed the baguette in the oven to warm.

As it heated, I opened a beer and began to stir up some pimento cheese. I grated a nice hunk of smoked cheddar from American Provisions, added a bit of cream cheese, some Blue Plate mayo, and pimentos. I liked to use a lot of black pepper and some spices from Boudreaux’s.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll stop by Ball and Buck tomorrow for some shirts. I’ll need some new workout gear, too.”

“And pants, socks, shoes, new furniture, and a place to live.”

“Oh,” I said. “And that, too.”

I made the salad and set the table. I sliced the bread for sandwiches from the hot baguette. She turned off the television and joined me in the dining room. I continued on my Narragansett kick while eating two large sandwiches and a side salad. I had yet to tell her about the lemon meringue.

“Have you learned anything new?”

“After two days of watching video at the TV station, we turned up a couple of suspects.”

“That’s promising.”

The sandwiches were so good, I immediately began to make more. I set two small ones out for Susan while I let Pearl lick the bowl.

“Both of them have ties to the fire department,” I said. “One of them is just a kid. He wants to be a Boston firefighter.”

“Starting off as an arsonist won’t look good on his application.”

“If it’s who I believe, I can’t figure out what they hope to accomplish,” I said. “I’m going to talk to the younger one tomorrow. He seems the most promising.”

“And the other?”

“Not so much,” I said. “Other than the fact that he is a frustrated wannabe firefighter and the Sparks Association people thought he was a total nutjob. And he once screamed at a man who’s now been murdered.”

“Haven’t we all?”

“There’s a third man who was seen with them. But no one knows who he is.”

“Harry Lime?”

I lifted an eyebrow and drank some beer. Pearl had finished with the bowl but continued to nose it around the kitchen floor. I picked it up and set it in the sink to wash.

“We believe there’s three of them,” I said. “If I can get just one to talk, it’ll all come apart.”

“If one out of three isn’t a complete sociopath,” she said. “After all they’ve done.”

I nodded. “I can’t imagine they wanted it to go this far,” I said. “Three firefighters dead.”

“And a man who supported the department.”

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