Death Night

Kat leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “How many members does the historical society have? I know there were you and Constance. Who else?”

“It was just the five of us. Father Ron is the secretary. Claude Dobson is the treasurer. And Mayor Hammond is the honorary member, as were all the mayors before him.”

Kat had seen Father Ron and the mayor outside while the fire was still raging. As far as she knew, Claude Dobson, a retired high school history teacher, wasn’t with them. She wasn’t sure if that worked in his favor or not.

“When was the last time you saw Constance?”

“Tonight.” Emma checked her watch, seeing they had entered a new day. “I mean, last night.”

“What time was that?”

“A little before eight. I drove past the museum and saw the lights were still on. I popped in and found Connie still here, just like I thought.”

“In the gallery?”

“In her office. It’s across the hall.”

Kat looked past Emma to the doorway behind her. An office sat on the other side of the hallway, its door closed. Someone had been smart enough to criss-cross it with police tape.

“I’m assuming she was alone,” she said.

“It was just Connie at her desk, as usual.”

“What did you two talk about?”

“Chitchat, mostly,” Emma said. “I asked if she planned on going to the Chamber of Commerce fund-raiser later.”

The fund-raiser was the premier social event of the year in Perry Hollow, which wasn’t saying much. It probably looked like a rinky-dink affair to people from more metropolitan areas, but in a town where most wedding receptions were held in the Elks Lodge, the fund-raiser was a very big deal. Those who could afford it put on their best clothes, sipped cocktails, and gossiped the night away. Kat had been invited but politely declined the offer. She wasn’t good at schmoozing, nor did she enjoy it. Besides, it had been movie night with James—part of her renewed push to spend more time with him. That night’s selection was Toy Story, one of his favorites.

“Is the fund-raiser where you were headed when you passed the museum?”

Emma’s nod turned into a flinch as another burst of flashbulbs shot down the hall. “It was. Connie told me she’d be there in a little while. But she never showed.”

“Were any other members of the historical society there?”

“Yes,” Emma said. “All of us.”

“What time did it end?”

“I’m not sure. I left close to midnight. The others were still there.”

The fire, Kat had learned, was first reported by Dave and Betty Freeman, who saw it from their bedroom window. The 911 call was made at 12:52. Whoever was still at the fund-raiser at that time was in the clear. Emma Pulsifer, however, wasn’t one of them.

“Where was the fund-raiser held this year?”

“Maison D’Avignon,” Emma said, referring to the French restaurant that had helped turn Perry Hollow from a crumbling mill town into something slightly more upscale. It was located on Main Street, five blocks up and four blocks over from the museum.

“And did you pass the museum on your way home?”

“I took a different route.”

“Did you stop anywhere along the way? A place where someone else could verify your presence. A gas station, perhaps? Or maybe at the ATM outside Commonwealth Bank.”

“No. I went straight home.” Suspicion crept into Emma’s voice. “And I don’t see why any of this matters.”

“I’m just trying to place your whereabouts when the fire started.”

“I was in bed,” Emma said, tugging absently on her pink nightgown. “I heard the sirens, looked out the window, and saw the flames. I didn’t even know it was the museum that was on fire until I got closer.”

Since Emma was also a widow, there was no one at home to back up her alibi. Kat had to take what she was saying at face value. She didn’t want to, but for the time being, she had no choice.

“One last question before you can go,” Kat said. “Why was Constance here so late on a Friday night?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Emma said.

“Was she normally here at night?”

“In the past, no. But in the last few weeks or so, yes.”

“Was she working on something?”

“Maybe.”

Emma made no effort to elaborate, prompting Kat to say, “Either she was or she wasn’t.”

“She was. Possibly. On Thursday, she sent an e?mail to the rest of us in the historical society calling an emergency meeting.”

“About what?”

“No one knows. But I have a feeling it had something to do with all the time she was spending here lately.”

“And when did she want to have this meeting?”

“Tonight,” Emma said. “She wanted to have it tonight.”

Kat felt the yawn coming on as she guided Emma Pulsifer out of the museum via the back door. She managed to stifle it as she told Emma to expect more questions in the morning, both about Constance and about the museum itself. But once she was back inside the building, heading down the hall to the main gallery, the yawn erupted—jaw-stretching proof of just how tired she really was.

A sallow-faced man with gray hair standing in the middle of the gallery noticed—it was hard not to—and gave her a knowing smile. The man was Wallace Noble, the medical examiner, and Kat had known him since the days when her father was Perry Hollow’s police chief.

“Long night, eh?” he said in a voice made raspy by forty years of smoking.

Kat replied with another, more modest yawn. “Yep. And I’m afraid this is just the beginning of a very long morning. This case looks like it’ll keep me up for days.”

“I thought you’d be used to it by now,” Wallace said. “First the Grim Reaper killings. Then the Olmstead thing. You seem to get all the good crimes.”

“I guess I’m just lucky,” Kat said, although she knew the opposite was true. A lucky cop would be one who spent an entire career avoiding such cases. The only reason Kat felt fortunate was because she had somehow managed to survive them.

“This is far cleaner than those Reaper killings,” Wallace said. “No amateur embalming here, thank God. Remember how he attacked his victims?”