The week following the fire was a quiet one and I assumed life had returned to normal. Since Lauren McCabe had fired me, I no longer had to worry about Fritz and the extortion threat. I should have known it was simply the lull before the storm. In that lovely interval, I found myself reviewing the sequence of events—my discovery that Ned was camping under my office, my confrontation with him, and the shots I’d fired while he was splashing gasoline against the bungalow with an eye to seeing the structure engulfed in flames. Henry had picked up my aborted message mere moments after the line went dead. He’d put in an immediate call to the fire and police departments. I hadn’t had time to tell him where I was, but he claimed if I wasn’t home, I was always at the office, so that’s where he sent the cavalry, riding to my rescue. By the time the Mounties arrived, I had put the fire out myself, using the fire extinguisher I retrieved from under the sink in my kitchenette. I’d had it for years and it was gratifying to have the chance to test its efficiency. Worked like a charm. A cursory inspection of the framing on the bungalow suggested that good-sized splinters had been torn off when the three bullets ripped into the wood and I was hoping they were currently embedded in the flesh of Ned Lowe’s thigh. With luck, there was more injury to him than there was to me. The gasoline hadn’t had a chance to saturate the stucco siding and Ned hadn’t spilled enough of it to do much more than superficial damage. Nonetheless, I spent the following four days dealing with my landlord’s insurance company. The claims adjustor was having trouble understanding how this series of mishaps had come to pass.
The crime scene techs had been alerted and they got busy collecting evidence: Ned’s hiking boots, sleeping bag, and backpack frame, which would doubtless be impregnated with his DNA. Now, not only were there outstanding warrants for multiple murder charges, he was wanted for grand theft auto, arson, trespassing, criminal mischief, and animal cruelty. Ed wasn’t hurt, but he was traumatized by the experience and didn’t leave Henry’s house again for a week.
While the fire hadn’t spread, my office smelled like smoke, charred wood, and the heavy dousing of water the fire department had lavished on the bungalow to knock down any smoldering remains of the original blaze.
At that point, my paranoia had leapt into the red zone. I spent twenty minutes daily on my hands and knees crawling around on my office floor, looking for listening devices. Since the alarm system prevented Ned’s getting in, he’d have been limited to spike mikes and voice-activated tape recorders. I did a cursory search for eavesdropping equipment above waist level, but found none. True to form, I typed up a report of the incident on the theory that the necessity might arise for further review. I calmed myself with the knowledge that no real harm had been generated. Ed was safe. I was safe and for once being unemployed, instead of being worrisome, was a profound relief. I sat down in my swivel chair and entertained happy thoughts. When I heard the knock on my office door, I was tempted to ignore it. A quick look at my appointment calendar showed that it was Monday, October 2, and I wasn’t expecting anyone. I would have ignored my visitor, pretending I wasn’t in, but anyone standing at the office door had a clear view through the window to the desk where I was sitting.
Lauren McCabe.
I went to the door, disarmed the periphery, unlocked the door, and let her in. If she noticed the lingering odor of burnt bungalow, she made no mention of it. It was then that I realized how totally self-absorbed she was. Why this came as a surprise I do not know. I assumed she’d come to argue about the money I’d refunded and I was prepared, in the spirit of forgiveness, to put the twenty-five hundred dollars back in my own account. I returned to my swivel chair. She sat down in one of the two guest chairs across the desk. She placed her leather handbag on the chair next to her.
She didn’t look good. Technically, she was properly put together as befitted someone of her means. She wore a white tunic with a heavy silver belt, gray wool slacks, and black patent-leather flats that made her feet look huge. Maybe tall women are better served by high heels. Her complexion was blotchy and her lipstick was eaten away in the middle, leaving a strange outline of stark red around her mouth. Her gray hair, while still neatly framing her face, had lost its luster.
“I’m assuming you received my note,” I said. I felt it was a generous move on my part to introduce the subject of her having fired me, thus saving her the awkwardness of raising the issue herself.
Her look was blank. “What note?”
“The note I sent you, along with a check reimbursing you for the twenty-five-hundred-dollar advance you paid me.”
“I haven’t checked the mail in days. I’ve been too upset about Fritz.”
I said, “Ah.”
That felt like a setback. In truth, once I’d recovered from the insult, I was glad to be shed of the job, which had felt iffy from the outset. The only reason I hadn’t been dismayed at the sight of her standing at my office door was that I knew she had no further power over me.
Meanwhile, she frowned in bafflement, saying, “Why would you return the advance?”
“Because you fired me. In my note, I confirmed the severing of our professional relationship as of September twenty-third.”
Her now-blotchy complexion was suffused with pink and while her tone was calm, there was a stubborn undercurrent. “I think you misunderstood my intent. I may have disagreed with some of the steps you took, but there’s no need to return the advance when the job is ongoing.”
“Uh, not ongoing. That’s the point. In effect, I fired you back.”
“That was precipitous and completely unnecessary. I think you could at least have had the courtesy to sit down and discuss the matter with me before you took so radical a step.”
It was finally occurring to me that she was here for some other purpose altogether. “You’re upset about something else.”
“Fritz is gone.”
“As of when?”
“I’m not sure. We only realized he was missing a short while ago and then it was by a fluke.”
“What fluke?”
“I had five checks sitting on my desk, already endorsed and ready to be deposited. I know they were there Thursday afternoon because I was making calls and I remember seeing them. This morning, they were gone. I asked Hollis and he had no idea where they’d disappeared to. In fact, he thought I’d gone to the bank and I assumed he had.”
“You’re talking about this past Thursday, the twenty-eighth?”
She nodded.