tightly.
“Can I borrow twenty?”
Suddenly a low, hollow tone began emanating from the floorboards. At first it sounded as though the plumbing was groaning and preparing to burst. But the volume grew louder and the pitch grew higher and Tommy’s mother braced herself against the door.
“Sakes alive!” gasped Tommy’s mother. “What on earth is that insane racket and where is it coming from?”
“That’s the fat hermit downstairs blowing his Alpine horn,” said Tommy. “Now, how about that twenty bucks?”
CHAPTER
10
F RANKLIN WAS IN a good mood Wednesday morning and he didn’t care who knew it. He was blowing his alphorn and daydreaming of Swiss landscapes and majestic condors while his dog howled. He would not have cared if Mr. Allspice was home, but he knew that he was not. He had watched him leave at 8:30 that morning. That crabby bastard was probably up ten times during the night checking on the porch light, thought Franklin.
He set down his horn and went out into the breezeway to check his mail. In the street he watched a tiny lady in a flowered dress step into a blue Ford Taurus and speed away. He also noticed a little boy in a green T -shirt, strawberry hair atop his giant head, choking back tears as he plucked the mangled handle of his red wagon out of the shrubs. Franklin grabbed his mail, and Mr. Allspice’s
Buffalo News
, and strolled whistling back into his apartment.
On the front page sidebar was a teaser that read:
Lackawanna Fire Kills One, see B1
. Franklin opened the paper to the Local Section. There on page one above the fold was a colour photograph of the decimated barn. The headline above it read:
Three-Alarm Fire In Lackawanna Kills One
. He scanned the article.
Lackawanna – A late night barn fire Tuesday blazed into the early morning hours, claiming the life of one man in this suburb south of Buffalo. Fire departments from three local townships responded to the blaze at 340 Old Post Road that investigators have ruled as “suspicious” …
Albert Olivetti, 63, originally of Smithtown, Long Island, suffered fatal third-degree burns …
“Right now we are not certain of the circumstances,” said Erie County Sheriff Fred McNally. “All I can say is that it is an open investigation …”
Erie County Coroner Robert Fields … autopsy results …
Mr. Olivetti is survived by a daughter, Anna Bella Burton, of Phoenix, AZ and two granddaughters …
Franklin did not like what he was reading: “ruled suspicious,” “open investigation,” “autopsy results.” He flopped down onto his orange chair and tried to reason it out. Of course it’s suspicious, he thought. All fires are suspicious before they are ruled accidental. If it’s suspicious, then it has to be an open investigation. Besides, the truck is missing and they have to find that before they can wrap things up.
Neither of those problems lead back to me. And as far as the autopsy, I watched that guy burn to a crisp with my own eyes.
Franklin thumbed through his mail and realized he had a new problem to deal with, a serious one. Today was Wednesday and there was no letter from Bernard. His brother had not missed a letter on a Monday, Wednesday or Friday in four years. Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.
CHAPTER
11
B URT WALNUT DELIVERED two, short wraps with his knuckle on Sheriff Fred McNally’s open office door. Fred was on the telephone and motioned for Burt to come in and have a seat. Fred hung up the phone.
“How’d you sleep last night, Burt?” asked Fred.
“Got in pretty late. Was that Bob Fields you were talking to?” asked Burt.
“No. It was a town council member. People are concerned that this Olivetti barn fire might have been arson, and therefore homicide. What do you think?”
“I think they might be right,” said Burt. “Have you gotten that autopsy report from Bob Fields yet this morning?”
“He says I’ll have it this afternoon. After lunch.”
“After you left this
“Can I borrow twenty?”
Suddenly a low, hollow tone began emanating from the floorboards. At first it sounded as though the plumbing was groaning and preparing to burst. But the volume grew louder and the pitch grew higher and Tommy’s mother braced herself against the door.
“Sakes alive!” gasped Tommy’s mother. “What on earth is that insane racket and where is it coming from?”
“That’s the fat hermit downstairs blowing his Alpine horn,” said Tommy. “Now, how about that twenty bucks?”
CHAPTER
10
F RANKLIN WAS IN a good mood Wednesday morning and he didn’t care who knew it. He was blowing his alphorn and daydreaming of Swiss landscapes and majestic condors while his dog howled. He would not have cared if Mr. Allspice was home, but he knew that he was not. He had watched him leave at 8:30 that morning. That crabby bastard was probably up ten times during the night checking on the porch light, thought Franklin.
He set down his horn and went out into the breezeway to check his mail. In the street he watched a tiny lady in a flowered dress step into a blue Ford Taurus and speed away. He also noticed a little boy in a green T -shirt, strawberry hair atop his giant head, choking back tears as he plucked the mangled handle of his red wagon out of the shrubs. Franklin grabbed his mail, and Mr. Allspice’s
Buffalo News
, and strolled whistling back into his apartment.
On the front page sidebar was a teaser that read:
Lackawanna Fire Kills One, see B1
. Franklin opened the paper to the Local Section. There on page one above the fold was a colour photograph of the decimated barn. The headline above it read:
Three-Alarm Fire In Lackawanna Kills One
. He scanned the article.
Lackawanna – A late night barn fire Tuesday blazed into the early morning hours, claiming the life of one man in this suburb south of Buffalo. Fire departments from three local townships responded to the blaze at 340 Old Post Road that investigators have ruled as “suspicious” …
Albert Olivetti, 63, originally of Smithtown, Long Island, suffered fatal third-degree burns …
“Right now we are not certain of the circumstances,” said Erie County Sheriff Fred McNally. “All I can say is that it is an open investigation …”
Erie County Coroner Robert Fields … autopsy results …
Mr. Olivetti is survived by a daughter, Anna Bella Burton, of Phoenix, AZ and two granddaughters …
Franklin did not like what he was reading: “ruled suspicious,” “open investigation,” “autopsy results.” He flopped down onto his orange chair and tried to reason it out. Of course it’s suspicious, he thought. All fires are suspicious before they are ruled accidental. If it’s suspicious, then it has to be an open investigation. Besides, the truck is missing and they have to find that before they can wrap things up.
Neither of those problems lead back to me. And as far as the autopsy, I watched that guy burn to a crisp with my own eyes.
Franklin thumbed through his mail and realized he had a new problem to deal with, a serious one. Today was Wednesday and there was no letter from Bernard. His brother had not missed a letter on a Monday, Wednesday or Friday in four years. Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.
CHAPTER
11
B URT WALNUT DELIVERED two, short wraps with his knuckle on Sheriff Fred McNally’s open office door. Fred was on the telephone and motioned for Burt to come in and have a seat. Fred hung up the phone.
“How’d you sleep last night, Burt?” asked Fred.
“Got in pretty late. Was that Bob Fields you were talking to?” asked Burt.
“No. It was a town council member. People are concerned that this Olivetti barn fire might have been arson, and therefore homicide. What do you think?”
“I think they might be right,” said Burt. “Have you gotten that autopsy report from Bob Fields yet this morning?”
“He says I’ll have it this afternoon. After lunch.”
“After you left this
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