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39
ST. LUMIS
TUESDAY MORNING
Mrs. Filly was no longer a gypsy. She was all businesswoman: black slacks, a slouchy black linen jacket over a white sweater, a string of pearls around her neck. She was explaining to a couple of parents why she didn’t carry Winnie the Pooh puzzles while trying to keep an eye on their four children roaming around the store, yelling and pointing, praying they wouldn’t try to pull any of the puzzles apart.
Pippa’s cell buzzed with a text from Dillon. She read it and looked up at Chief Wilde. “Dillon says he’s sure Marsia Gay is behind the fire at his house, says it makes sense Black Hoodie could have struck me down to lure him away from his house, then driven to D.C. and set the fire while he was away. He wants us to find out how Black Hoodie’s connected to Marsia Gay here in St. Lumis.”
“Marsia Gay? Who’s she?”
“All I remember is she was arrested for attempted murder some months ago. I’ll read up on her on my tablet when we get back to Mrs. Trumbo’s. It was Dillon who arrested her. She’d be in the D.C. Jail awaiting trial.”
Wilde said, “But why lure him away? Wouldn’t she want him in the house? See him in the flames like Major Trumbo? Wasn’t that the point?”
“I don’t know, but whoever set the fire knew Sherlock and their little boy were there.”
“It’s about revenge, then, and she went after family first. It would have been possible for Gay to communicate through a visitor, her lawyer, or maybe through another prisoner. I had one prisoner in Philadelphia who asked his priest to mail a letter for him. Did Savich tell you how he connected the fire specifically to Gay?”
Pippa said, “He’ll tell us when we see him again. Did the priest mail the letter?”
“You bet. The priest felt sorry for him, believed he was falsely accused, which he wasn’t. And yes, he’s in jail now for fifteen to life. The prisoner, not the priest.”
She reached into her pocket but came up empty. “I keep forgetting Black Hoodie took my cell. Call up the photo of the red-box puzzle Dillon sent to you. Let’s compare it to the original.” She pointed toward Mrs. Filly’s Major Trumbo puzzle on a shelf next to them. Wilde stared from it to Dillon’s puzzle. He said, “Aside from Major Trumbo getting burned alive and the dead birds on the pier and human bones on the sidewalk, the main difference is it looks homemade.”
“Good morning, Ms. Cinelli, Chief Wilde. A bit on the nippy side this morning, isn’t it?”
Pippa looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Mrs. Filly. Let me introduce myself properly. I’m Special Agent Pippa Cinelli, FBI. I can’t show you my credentials—they were stolen yesterday—so Chief Wilde has to vouch for me.”
Maude gaped at her. “What? You’re an FBI agent? But—I don’t understand, Ms. Cinelli.” She looked at Wilde, who nodded. “But you’re here visiting, aren’t you?”
Pippa said, “I was here in St. Lumis undercover, Mrs. Filly. I couldn’t tell anyone.”
“But you’re not undercover today? Why? What is going on? Why are you here to see me?”
“The people I’m here to investigate already know I’m here. Let me explain.” Pippa told her about being struck on the head in the abandoned grocery store and left there, unconscious and tied up, and how she’d escaped. “I ran to Chief Wilde’s house last night. My boss, Agent Dillon Savich, drove here from Washington.”
Maude blinked at her, slowly nodded. “That’s horrible, but I don’t understand. Are you all right? Were you hurt?”
“My head aches a bit, and my wrists are still raw, but nothing debilitating.”
Mrs. Filly was shaking her head. “I’ve never heard of such a thing, not in St. Lumis. What about your boss, Agent Cinelli? Is he still here?”
“No, Agent Savich had to go back to Washington.”
“Why on earth are you talking to me? What is this all about?”
Pippa pointed to Major Trumbo’s puzzle. “It all started with this puzzle, Mrs. Filly.”
“That silly puzzle of Major Trumbo? I remember you were very interested in that puzzle when you were here on Sunday morning, asked me all sorts of questions, but what does it have to do with the FBI? Why you were hit on the head?”
“The man who struck me also took my cell phone, so Chief Wilde will have to show you.” Wilde held his cell phone out to Mrs. Filly. She pulled a pair of glasses out of her jacket pocket and leaned close.
“Oh dear, is that a copy of my puzzle? But wait—” She gulped. “Major Trumbo is burning. And all those birds and bones are scattered on the pier and sidewalk.” She took off her glasses and looked from Pippa to Chief Wilde. “What is this all about?”
Pippa told her about the three red boxes and how the third had arrived only yesterday, the same day Pippa was attacked. “Agent Savich drove here when I called to tell him what happened. While he was at Chief Wilde’s house, his own house was set on fire in Washington with his wife and son inside, asleep. Yes, they’re all right, but Agent Savich drove back immediately. Mrs. Filly, we need to know the names of everyone who bought this puzzle.”
Mrs. Filly fiddled with her pearls. “Well, I’ve sold maybe half a dozen, mostly to locals who knew Major Trumbo and got a kick out of seeing a puzzle of the town with the major in it. I remember I sold one to Joyce Sleeman for her husband’s birthday. Mr. Sleeman and Major Trumbo had what you’d call a complicated relationship. She thought he’d get a kick out of seeing the major all paunchy and sneering, wearing a Grateful Dead T-shirt.”
