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“They’re investigating,” said Bob. “But it could be dozens, even hundreds.”
“And don’t forget the crimes that were missed,” said Rachel. “What if Dave’s suicide wasn’t a suicide? What if it was really a murder?”
“Doesn’t really matter how he died. Nothing’s going to bring him back,” insisted Sue, changing the subject. “We’re old friends and we’re here together, let’s drink to that.”
And they did, remembered Lucy, dropping the trash bag on top of the recycling bin and hoisting it all up and carrying it outside. But when she reached the cans out behind the house she discovered they were all full.
No problem, she told herself, she certainly didn’t need to rush to the office this morning. The story she’d intended to break had already broken. She had plenty of time to stop at the town dump, now designated a transfer center because the actual dump had been sealed and covered with an array of solar energy collectors. The recyclables were sent to specialized facilities and the actual garbage was hauled to a central processing center where it was incinerated. The transfer center was only a short drive away, which she decided was a good thing as she loaded her car with the malodorous garbage cans. Once in the driver’s seat she turned on the engine and immediately cracked the windows, to get some fresh air. Then she was off, heading toward Bumps River Road, eager to rid herself of several weeks’ worth of smelly trash.
She had almost reached her destination, and had stopped at the intersection, waiting for another car to clear the intersection. That car, which was coming too fast, was actually the Jasper Property Management van with Cathy at the wheel, and after it zoomed past she noticed it was trailing a black cloud of exhaust. Not good, she thought, fearing the engine might well overheat and burst into flame. Someone ought to let Cathy know the danger, she thought, realizing that nobody else was around and she was that person. Somewhat reluctantly, she turned in the opposite direction from her destination and followed the van along windy Bumps River Road. Driving along, she couldn’t help but notice the thick, cloying scent of burning oil and decided to call 911, obeying the rule forbidding the use of handheld devices while driving and using the connection in her car. Better safe than sorry, she thought, as she reported the van’s location. “Better hurry,” she told the dispatcher, “the smoke’s so bad that I’m afraid it could burst into flame at any minute.”
“They’re on the way,” replied the dispatcher, as Lucy ended the call and stepped on the gas, honking her horn and hoping to catch up to the van. They were some distance from town and she knew that it would take at least ten, maybe even fifteen minutes for the fire truck to arrive. The safest thing would be for Cathy to pull over and get out of the van while she waited for help to arrive.
The smoke was quite thick, so thick it was hard to imagine that Cathy wasn’t aware of it, but she was showing no signs of stopping. Instead, she was roaring down the road and Lucy was easily able to follow the van’s trail of oily smoke. That trail eventually led Lucy off Bumps River Road and onto Lakeside Drive, where she was just in time to see the van careen into the driveway of an A-frame house. The van wasn’t the only vehicle in the drive, there was also a Corvette and Sandy’s distinctive Audi. She quickly pulled to the side of the road and braked, watching Cathy Jasper leap out of the van and run into the house.
Lucy quickly lowered her window. “Your van’s on fire,” she yelled, but Cathy didn’t respond. Maybe she didn’t hear, thought Lucy, getting out of her car and following her up the short driveway, keeping a wary eye on the smoking van. “Cathy! Cathy!” she called, but her cries were ignored. The stench from the van was growing stronger, at the very least the other cars should be moved, and that’s what she intended to tell the people inside the cottage. Now she could see heat waves radiating from the van’s engine, indicating it was dangerously hot, and she feared the whole neighborhood would be in danger if it burst into flame.
She had reached the little porch and was about to bang on the door when she heard Cathy’s voice, raised in anger. “You cheat!” she screamed. Lucy hesitated for a moment and glanced through the glass window in the door. What she saw stopped her in her tracks. Sandy Lenk, dressed only in a scanty camisole, was cowering behind Des Jasper, who appeared to be pleading with his wife. Whatever he said, it was the wrong thing. Cathy was having none of it. She let out a shriek and lunged at her husband, attacking him with her fists.
Things were definitely getting out of hand, thought Lucy, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket and calling 911 again. “There’s a domestic here,” she told the dispatcher. Remembering the van, she turned her head to check on it and discovered flames licking out from beneath the hood. “Oh, my God. That van, it’s burning! We need everything you’ve got out here.”
“Hold tight, Lucy. Fire’s almost there and I’m sending police.”
“They’ve gotta get here quick,” said Lucy, turning back to the door. She was about to start pounding on the door to warn everyone about the fire when she peered through the glass and saw Sandy, who was now standing at the kitchen table. She had grabbed her purse and was pawing through it, Lucy saw, finally pulling out a handgun. “That’s enough! Stop it!” she snarled, pointing the gun at Cathy, who was still flailing wildly at her husband, pounding his head and shoulders. Des wasn’t fighting back but had curled into a fetal position as he tried to defend himself.
“No, you stop it, you bitch!” screamed Cathy, suddenly turning and lunging at Sandy. The gun went off and Lucy watched in horror as Cathy fell to the floor, clutching her shoulder. Des raised his head and gaped at his bleeding wife until Sandy grabbed him by the hand and dragged him away. He resisted for a moment, then grabbed the gun from Sandy and ran with her to the door. Lucy stepped away, the door flew open, and she raised her phone, catching video of Dave and Sandy running hand-in-hand toward the driveway. Seeing the flaming van, they stopped. “What the . . . ?” said Des, frantically looking all around and spotting Lucy.
“She saw everything!” he screamed, pointing at Lucy.
“So get rid of her!” ordered Sandy.
Des hesitated and she wrestled the gun from him. Lucy started to duck into the house for cover, but paused when she heard the blare of the siren announcing the arrival of the fire truck. Praise be, she sighed, noticing it was closely followed by a police cruiser.
Sandy and Des stood motionless on one of the paving stones that dotted the scrappy lawn. Officer Todd Kirwan was already out of his cruiser, gun drawn, and ordered Des to drop the gun. Des complied, getting a nasty look from Sandy. “Arms up!” he yelled, and Des raised his. Sandy, shivering in her silky lilac cami, merely unfolded her arms, which were across her chest, and displayed her empty hands. Lucy, heart pounding, leaned back against the shingled wall of the A-frame, capturing the scene on her phone as Officer Todd Kirwan took the pair into custody, with the flaming van in the background.
Officer Sally had joined Lucy on the porch and Lucy, suddenly remembering Cath, immediately told her that a woman had been shot inside the cottage. Sally called for an ambulance, then grabbed one of the firefighters who was an EMT and sent him inside to tend to Cathy while the others put out the fire.
Lucy’s heart was still pounding, and she was shivering from shock when she climbed into her car; her hands shook as she started the engine and fumbled with the knobs to turn the heat up as high as it would go. She sat there, watching as the firefighters spread foam on the van, the cruiser left with Sandy and Des, and the ambulance arrived. She was relieved to see Cathy alive and sitting up as she was wheeled out on a gurney to be transported to the hospital. Hearing a tap on her window, Lucy jumped, then realized it was Sally. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yeah,” said Lucy.
“Want to tell me what you were doing here?”
“It was the van. It was burning oil, a big black cloud of it. I was just trying to catch Cathy and warn her.” Lucy put her hands on the wheel. “Is she going to be okay?”
“I think so. Bullet hit her arm.”
“Good,” said Lucy, trying to muster up enough energy to shift into drive. She let out a long sigh. “I guess I better go,” said Lucy. “I’ve got a helluva story to write.”
“Drive safely,” advised Sally. She paused. “Good work, by the way,” then hit the roof of the car, sending Lucy on her way.
Ted was over the moon when Lucy reported on the morning’s events, especially when she sent him the video. He immediately posted it on The Courier’s online edition and assigned Lucy to write up the story. She found it harder than she expected, as various thoughts and images kept flooding her mind: the burning van, the screaming and shouting, the sound of the shot. It was late afternoon before she managed to create a coherent narrative and she was exhausted when she finally hit send. Her phone rang as she was packing up to leave and she was tempted to ignore it but the screen indicated the caller was Bob Goodman, and she decided to take it.
“I know you’ve had quite a day,” said Bob, “but I’ve got an update for you.”
“Just what I need,” said Lucy, sighing. “I was almost out the door.”
“Well, this is off the record, but I thought you’d want to know.”
