“But that was all circumstantial evidence. Someone else could have placed the bottle there, and lots of families have money issues without resorting to arson and murder.” Unfolding his arms, he tapped his forefinger on the table. “The clinching detail was something entirely different.”
“Really?” She was openly smiling at him now, seemingly delighted by his observations. “Tell me.”
“Barron’s shoes,” he said with satisfaction.
Jesus, she could light the entire fucking school with that beam of hers. “I was wondering if anyone would catch that.”
“All the shoes were stored in the living room, just inside the front door, and they were all unlaced. Without exception.” He leaned forward to rest his weight on his elbows. “So if Barron woke up to a smoke-filled bedroom, saw the living room entirely aflame and realized he couldn’t save his brother, then panicked and fled out the window, how exactly did he manage to retrieve a pair of shoes? Much less have the time and patience to double-knot them once putting them on?”
Instead of answering, she waved him on with a grin.
He stabbed his finger into the table again. “The only possible answer: Hewasn’tin a hurry or panicked, because he set the fire himself. He stayed in pajamas to reinforce his story, but didn’t want to go barefoot outside. So before dousing his brother’s recliner with lighter fluid and setting it alight, he put on shoes and double-knotted them out of habit.”
She applauded. “Bravo, Mr. Burnham. You’ve solved the case.”
He gave a little seated bow, his own grin nearly cracking his cheeks. “There was only one thing I couldn’t figure out. Why the hair in the sink? At first, I figured it was another red herring, meant to indicate the ex-girlfriend’s involvement, but it didn’t match her hair color. It was Barron’s, not hers.”
“Ah. The wet hair in the sink.” She plucked at her cardigan, preening a bit herself. “That clue requires a bit of background knowledge or research.”
“Which you’ve done.” All those podcasts and books and television reenactments had taught her well.
“Which I’ve done,” she agreed. “Inexperienced arsonists are often surprised by how quickly accelerants flame up once lit, and they frequently burn themselves. Their fingers, their arms—”
“Or their hair.” Oh, that was a nice touch. “In the process of killing his brother, Barron set his own hair on fire. So he ran to the bathroom and doused his head in the sink, then cut off the burned parts so the police wouldn’t be suspicious. He probably thought the whole house would burn down, concealing the evidence, but it didn’t. The bathroom was almost untouched, so the hair remained.”
“Precisely.” She swiveled back and forth in her chair, eyeing him with open approval. “You’re a quick study. What do you want as your reward?”
“I have some ideas.” They involved privacy. A quiet bedroom. A soft mattress. Her plump thighs cradling his hips and his name gasped through her parted, swollen lips. “But first, I want to earn another.”
“Another reward?” Her brow crinkled. “I don’t understand.”
“I think I’ve explained Mildred Krackel’s disappearance as well.” He held up two fingers. “Two cases, two rewards.”
She only looked more confused. “But that’s not a mystery.”
“It was to me.”
“Simon…” Her snort made her breasts jiggle in an entirely distracting way. “You need to gossip more.”
Well, that was somewhat dampening. Still, he persevered. “Okay, so here’s what I think happened: Mildred didn’t simply retire due to old age. There was foul play involved.”
“Foul play?” Poppy made a sort of choking sound. “In—in a sense, I suppose that’s true.”
“Let me explain the likely sequence of events.” He glanced at his notes, then nodded to himself. “Mildred made enemies. Lots of them.”
“Also true.” Fingers interlaced, Poppy rested her chin on her hands. “Go on.”
“Students resented her lack of care. Other teachers resented her lack of hard work and lesson plans. Candy Albright, as I discovered after speaking with her yesterday, resented Mrs. Krackel’s insistence on having students make a Frankenstein collage every Halloween. Complete with green skin and bolts in the neck.”
Poppy cringed. “Mildred specified Frankenstein? Not Frankenstein’s monster?”
“Even after the English Department’s Frankenstein IsNotthe Monster puppet show. The assignment was a deliberate taunt, according to Ms. Albright.”
After the very strong, very loud case Candy had made in defense of that accusation, Simon had to agree. Mrs. Krackel had been mocking her colleague, which was a dangerous game indeed.
“But Ms. Albright wasn’t Mrs. Krackel’s most devoted enemy.” Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. “No, that would be…”
He paused, because apparently he harbored a heretofore unknown love for the dramatic.
