The Julesburg Mysteries

THE JULESBURG MYSTERIES

By

LORENA McCOURTNEY

THE JULESBURG MYSTERIES

Copyright 2023 by Lorena McCourtney

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author, except for brief quotations in reviews or articles.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

Printing History:

Whirlpool: Published by Fleming H. Revell, a Division of Baker Book House, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49516, copyright by Lorena McCourtney

Riptide: Published by Fleming H. Revell, a Division of Baker Book House, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49516, copyright by Lorena McCourtney

Undertow: Published by Fleming H. Revell, a Division of Baker Book House, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49516, copyright by Lorena McCourtney

Table of Contents

WHIRLPOOL

RIPTIDE

UNDERTOW

CONTACT THE AUTHOR

OTHER BOOKS

WHIRLPOOL

THE JULESBURG MYSTERIES: Book 1

by

Lorena McCourtney

Chapter One

Stefanie Canfield shouldered her way through the throng of people streaming along the street. Down on the beach, a fireburst of red stars exploded, followed by raucous whistles from the crowd. Beyond, the surf boomed in the darkness.

Not an ideal night for 4th of July fireworks, but Stefanie felt exhilarated anyway, glad she’d come. She smiled and returned a greeting from Eliza Ganzer, the nurse who with an iron hand ruled the office of the town’s lone doctor. A friendly wave from Lisa Benedetti reminded her that she should get her hair trimmed at Lisa’s shop next week.

Hey, Mark, the fire truck looks fantastic! she called to Mark Higgins, chief of the local volunteer fire department. The old fire truck was on display near the announcer’s stand, red paint polished to a showroom gleam.

Stefanie had skipped the previous two years of this small town celebration. The year before last she’d been beside her mother’s hospital bed, gripping her mother’s thin hand and praying. Two weeks before last year’s celebration, Hunter had dropped his bombshell on her. But those dark days were behind her.

The Stars and Stripes Forever blared with a squawk from the town’s ancient sound system, a squawk that had been there for as long as Stefanie could remember. The tangy aroma of wood smoke rose from bonfires on the beach, and a scent of barbecuing ribs drifted from the busy Do-Si-Do Square Dancers Club stand.

Stefanie paused at a strip of plastic tape marking a reserved parking space and scanned the crowd for her friend Val’s bright auburn hair. She and Val were supposed to meet there under the street banner that proclaimed these were Julesburg’s Celebrate Our Century Days.

A car nosed into the reserved space, and old Ben Mosely in his police uniform gestured it to the curb. Dismay jolted Stefanie as she recognized the silver Porsche. She tried to push the feeling aside. She would not let the occupants of the Porsche undermine her enjoyment of the night.

But that did not mean she had to put herself through a face-to-face encounter with them.

She turned and tried to melt into the crowd, but curious onlookers formed an impenetrable barrier, pinning her against the cold fender. Hunter’s blond head and tall frame emerged from the far side of the car. He, busily gladhanding people, didn’t see her. Or perhaps, she thought wryly, he expertly chose to shut her out of his line of vision. Smooth, Hunter, very smooth.

The gaze of the woman stepping out on the passenger’s side did not sidestep Stefanie. Her eyes met Stefanie’s with silver-blue malice. She added a pointed glance at Stefanie’s hip pressed against the car. With a peculiar feeling of guilt, as if she’d been caught trying to claim something that was not hers, Stefanie managed to open a few inches of space between herself and the fender.

The woman didn’t speak. Does the eagle speak to its prey? Well, maybe an eagle wasn’t the best comparison. The lift of eyebrows and the superior smile spoke predatory volumes, but honey-haired Trisha Duvall’s unscrupulous manipulations fell far short of that noble bird’s character. Even now, Trisha angled her ring finger so that the streetlight shot the new diamond’s glitter into Stefanie’s eyes.

Stefanie wanted to take cover in the throng, wanted to stomp this moment into insignificance. Yet her muscles seemed frozen, her body impaled under Trisha’s chilling gaze as she realized Trisha was enjoying this moment. A sudden surge of anger propelled her through the barrier of bodies lining the sidewalk. She ducked around the corner of the nearest building and leaned against it, breathing hard.

Stop it! It wasn’t as if Hunter and Trisha’s relationship was some shocking new revelation. Stefanie had learned about their affair and moved out of the house a year ago. Trisha had been living there for months now. I’m long over him.

So why, she asked herself with irritated impatience, am I standing here breathing as if I’d just run a marathon? Was it because Trisha was flashing that diamond ring now, the official symbol of a coming marriage? Hunter had made the not unexpected gesture of giving Trisha a far larger diamond than the stone in Stefanie’s old ring.

Is that upsetting me? Stefanie tilted her head and pressed it against the cold wall. No. I don’t care. I really don’t. Seeing them together was nothing new in tiny Julesburg. She remembered sweeping by Trisha without a second glance on the day she and the lawyer and accountant confronted Hunter at the Cougar Creek Timber Products office.

Yet her earlier sense of exhilaration felt contrived, like something huffed and puffed into a hollow shell of herself. She shook her foot, absentmindedly trying to revive circulation that seemed to have slowed.

Was her agitation at seeing Hunter and Trisha together caused by a subconscious guilt for not trying hard enough to save her marriage? Oh, but she had tried! True, her first instinct when she found out about Hunter’s betrayal was to throw a suitcase at him and end the marriage on the spot. Go, Hunter, I don’t want you any more!

But she’d not said the words. Instead, she’d looked to the Lord. She’d studied and prayed. About marriage. About forgiveness. She’d believed giving up on the marriage was not what the Lord would have her do. She’d vowed to fight for her marriage. And, of course, back then she’d still loved Hunter.

There was counseling. The marriage seminar in Eugene. The marriage-manual, revive-your-relationship strategies: gourmet meals, negligees, specially planned dates, determined efforts to communicate. And the prayers, so many fervent prayers.

She clenched her fists now as she remembered Hunter’s indifferent response. And you, Lord, you were indifferent too...

Let it go, she commanded herself fiercely. It’s over. Forget it. Just walk back up the hill to the house and watch the fireworks from there.

No! She straightened her spine against the gritty wall and dug her heels into the hard ground. No, she would not run. She’d locate Val and they’d sit and watch the fireworks from right here by the beach, exactly as planned.

But as Stefanie started to push herself away from the building, a wave of lightheadedness washed over her. She leaned back against the wall. She hadn’t had an episode in months. Oh, Lord, please, not here, not now. Don’t let me collapse and make some weird scene.

The prayer came unbidden. Instantly she chopped it off. Instead she drew on what the doctors had instructed her to do when she felt one of these attacks coming on.

Take deep, calming breaths. Keep eyes open to help retain balance. Relax each muscle individually. Stretch out the arms to assure yourself you’re not trapped. Don’t panic.

Easy for them to say. The dampness of her palms chilled against the cold concrete. She couldn’t stretch her arms, but she moved her hands a few inches. Her fingers trembled. How could she not panic when this approaching shroud of claustrophobia tightened her throat and numbed her hands?

And the worst part, not knowing what might come after this lightheaded claustrophobia...

Stef, what’s wrong?

Stefanie hadn’t realized her eyes had closed until she heard Val Halstead’s voice. With relief, she blinked and felt the gathering tide of the attack weaken and recede.

Stef?

Present and accounted for. Stefanie managed a smile. She rotated her shoulders to relax them. I’m fine.

Fine? If you clutch that wall any tighter, you’re going to come away with concrete under your fingernails. Val stepped closer, peering at Stefanie with shrewd green eyes. Oh-oh. I recognize the symptoms. An ex-husband sighting, right?

Stefanie stepped away from the building and busied herself dusting grit from her hands.

And it wasn’t just the ex, was it? You saw them together, the Plywood King and his Liposuction Queen, playing royal couple.

In spite of her shakiness, Stefanie had to laugh.

And I notice they arrived in the royal coach, of course. I wonder how the Queen will feel if the royal coach gets repossessed?

Stefanie had kept details of the mill’s financial problems to herself, but rumors were rampant. She did not intend to add to them, not even to best friend Valerie. She brushed her hands against her pants. C’mon, let’s go find a place to sit—

What are they doing here anyway? Val stepped out to the sidewalk and peered at the floodlit announcer’s stand. The streetlight brought out the red in her sassy auburn hair. I can’t imagine Trisha being eager to dash out here and mingle with the peasants. Or is this some civic duty Hunter does every year?

No, he’s never done it before. Early in their marriage, Stefanie had dragged Hunter to a couple of these celebrations, but he’d never come on his own. So why were he and Trisha here tonight?

Stefanie and Val moved with the flow of the crowd toward the grassy slope overlooking the beach. The 4th of July celebration of this small town on the Oregon coast always drew an astonishing number of people. Stefanie was pleased that she felt not even a twinge when she spotted Hunter and Trisha a moment later together in the announcer’s stand, blond heads tipped intimately together.

I’ll bet that between them they’re wearing enough hair spray to anchor a battleship, ever-loyal Valerie observed.

The rock wall overlooking the beach was already filled with people. Stefanie and Val found a good spot below the wall where they could lean back against it, under the dangling feet. Val, ever prepared, had brought blankets and vinyl cushions.

The announcer, Wally Greer, president of what passed for a Chamber of Commerce in Julesburg, was making chatty comments over the microphone about the origins of the upcoming pageant. This is our thirty-fifth year, folks, and in case you didn’t know it, I’m proud to say that yours truly was one of the original ‘Indians.’ Wally had taken over the announcing job after Stefanie’s grandfather died and would no doubt have it until his own passing.

You okay now? Val asked.

Sure, I’m fine. Stefanie draped a blanket around her shoulders and scooted the cushion into a more comfortable hollow. Couldn’t be better.

You really did look a little strange back there. I thought I might have to drape you over my shoulder and haul you off to Dr. Halmoose.

If necessary, big-boned, determined Val could have done exactly that, Stefanie suspected. She started to make some flippant remark, but changed her mind. A good friend like Val deserved a real explanation.

Since that car accident I had before you moved here, I’ve had several of these— Stefanie hesitated. I’m not sure what you’d call them. Episodes, I guess.

You’re talking about the time your car went over the edge of some mountain road?

Stefanie nodded. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Thinking back to that frightening time still made her edgy. I’d driven out there after a terrible argument with Hunter. I needed to get away for a while. But the road was muddy, and on a slick curve I just skidded over the edge. The car rolled several times before it hit the bottom of a ravine. I was trapped there with the car wrapped around me like a ... metal coffin. Her throat closed as she remembered the helplessness of being trapped. She flexed her fingers and waited a moment for the feeling to pass. The steering wheel was jammed so tight against my chest I could hardly breathe.

Valerie reached over and squeezed Stefanie’s hand under the blanket. Oh, sweetie, I’d never realized it was that awful.

A couple of hunters found me a few hours later, but it took a special crew with the jaws of life even longer to get there and extricate me.

You must have been terrified.

Yeah, I was. And after that I started having these ... episodes. Sometimes they come without warning, but usually I get this strange, light-headed feeling first. Then I get a terrible feeling of claustrophobia, as if I’m about to suffocate.

As if you’re trapped in the car again.

A few times, I physically collapsed. More often it’s simply several minutes or a half hour later and I have no memory of the time in between. It happened once at Fit ‘n’ Fun. Tina said I just got a glazed look on my face and sat on a bench for a while. Stefanie swallowed. She focused her eyes on a sparkler someone was twirling down on the beach. But another time, I found myself here on the beach, which was a shock, since the last I remembered I was talking on the phone at the house. Another time I went into a storm of cleaning and threw out everything from old photos to the bride and groom figurines from my wedding cake.

It’s one way to get housework done. Sometimes I wish I could just go into a trance when I have to vacuum and dust. Valerie’s tone turned earnest. Stef, this really does sound serious. Shouldn’t you see a doctor?

Oh, I have seen doctors. An army of them. Dr. Halmoose first, then specialists in Portland. I think they put me through every test known to modern science.

And?

Nothing definitive. They finally decided it was possibly something called a ‘dissociative reaction,’ in which some mental processes split off from the main body of consciousness due to shock or stress.

And stress is something you’ve had more than your share of.

They gave me tranquilizers and told me I shouldn’t drive for a while. They said the episodes would probably fade away, which they have. Until I started to feel ... odd tonight.

Was there anything, you know, suspicious about the accident? Did the police investigate it?

The questions startled Stefanie because she saw the implication behind them. Are you suggesting Hunter—?

Sweetie, the guy’s a scumbag, Valerie stated. Wouldn’t it be convenient for him if you were just out of the way?

Yes, it undoubtedly would be. But even if our relationship is hostile, I don’t think it’s that hostile. Both Ben and his deputy came out, but there wasn’t really anything to investigate.

Personally, I wouldn’t trust our local police force.... Which is, what? Two guys with a water pistol and a ‘79 Pinto? ... to solve a dognapping.

They’re okay. I’ve known old Ben for as long as I can remember. And the patrol car is a little newer than ‘79.

How come you never mentioned anything to me about these ‘episodes’?

I guess I didn’t want you to think I was weird.

Yet Stefanie knew there was another reason she hadn’t confided in Val earlier. Their friendship had started with a definite wariness on Stefanie’s part. Do I want a friendship founded on the fact that we both had straying husbands? She’d asked herself. But in time they’d gotten past that hurdle and become good friends.

Hey, look, Stefanie said, not really wanting to talk more about her problems. I think the fog is lifting. I can see Lighthouse Hill.

Good. Let’s get this show on the road.

As if Val’s word were command, the microphone suddenly squawked to life. Okay, folks, we’re about to get going now, Wally Greer said with his usual air of self-importance. But first I want to introduce someone I’m sure most of you already know. One of our leading citizens, Hunter Blackwell, owner of Cougar Creek Timber Products, has volunteered to help with the program this evening. So let’s have a big hand for Hunter and his lovely fiancée, Miss Trisha Duvall!

After the generous applause, Hunter’s smooth voice glided through the microphone. I’m delighted to be with you folks here tonight. I’m proud to be a long-time member of this fine community and happy to be carrying on its traditions. I’m looking forward to the pageant, and I hope you are too.

He sounded uncharacteristically folksy, Stefanie noted. His tone was warm and intimate, as if all these people were his good buddies. Her thoughts circled back to Wally’s words: Hunter had volunteered to participate here tonight. How strange, totally unlike him.

Stefanie focused her attention on the pageant, a reenactment of an early battle with the Indians in which Roman Jules had heroically saved the town. Indians in costume shot flaming arrows. An Indian princess shaded her eyes and looked out to sea. Settlers’ guns boomed with make-believe smoke. Wally narrated each detail with deadly seriousness. And at this point, with our brave settlers marooned without food or shelter on the Hill, all appeared lost.

Val doubled over, hooting with laughter in spite of glares from a couple of onlookers. Oh, this is fantastic, Stef. It’s so incredibly awful, it’s good.

The actors are just amateurs from here in town, Stefanie said, feeling defensive about her home-town’s pageant. But, as two settlers collided and sprawled in the sand, she had to admit that it was closer to a Keystone Cops skit than high drama. Ruefully she told Val about the role she’d once played in the pageant.

I was the Indian Princess years ago. I was supposed to climb up on that rock down there— She pointed to a dark blob on the beach. But a sneaker wave rolled in and swamped me, and there I was, sloshing around like an oversized mermaid in buckskin. My hair got caught on the rock, and I was coughing and gasping. The whole pageant screeched to a halt. She managed a laugh, although memory of her teenage embarrassment still touched a tender spot. Later she’d found out via overheard whispers that she’d been awarded the coveted Indian Princess role only because of her grandfather’s status in the community.

I still can’t picture you seventy pounds heavier. Val turned her head to appraise Stefanie in the dim light. I’d swear you’ve always had those elegant cheekbones and been slim and willowy as a model.

Then let me tell you about the miraculous benefits of working out at Julesburg’s finest health club, the appropriately named Fit ‘n’ Fun! Stefanie crowed with the infectious enthusiasm of the host of a late-night infomercial. Come one, come all, all you have to lose are your unwanted pounds and inches!

Val grinned. I don’t hear the fine print that Fit ‘n’ Fun is also the only health club in Julesburg, but you’ve sold me. Sign me up for another lifetime or two.

The pageant ended with the bang-up conclusion of a simulated firing of Julesburg’s old cannon. As the smoke cleared, Hunter took over.

Well, folks, wasn’t that great? Let’s show our hard-working actors and actresses how much we appreciate their efforts. He started clapping, then waited until the generous applause died down. Now, as you probably know, the fireworks display is financed by donations from you loyal citizens out there. We’ll be announcing dedications for those donations from time to time. And this opening shot of the fireworks is dedicated to my very own sweetheart of a fiancée. Trisha, this one’s for you!

A triple explosion of red, white, and blue lit the sky. Appreciative oohs and aahs from the crowd followed.

No ooh or aah from Val. What someone ought to do, she muttered, is light a couple of firecrackers under that cheating oaf and his greedy ‘sweetheart of a fiancée.’

The fireworks continued, though the drifting fog often softened the colorful explosions to pastel blurs. There was a dedication from Police Chief Ben Mosely to his wife Twila, and Wally honored his deceased wife with a burst of gold stars. The local bank sent a noisy blast of lime green to its good customers. Stefanie had given a donation from Fit ‘n’ Fun, but she hadn’t asked for a dedication.

Then, in a lull between fireworks, a murmur swept through the crowd. It started in the parking lot and moved like a rolling wave down the slope. People began to stand up and exchange questions.

What is it?

What’s happening?

Is it part of the fireworks, something special?

People turned to the north with a shuffle of feet and more murmurs. Stefanie and Val stood up, blankets still wrapped around their shoulders. The night sky had lightened and taken on an odd reddish tint. An acrid scent, stronger than fireworks, stung Stefanie’s nose.

What’s going on? Val stood on tiptoe. Can you see anything?

No ... Yes, there! Stefanie pointed at a reddish glow filtering through the fog at the north end of town. It briefly did look like some special fireworks effect, but the odd light hung on too long and brightened instead of fading.

The strange reddish glow expanded, covering the entire northern horizon. Stefanie’s skin prickled as the eerie infusion of color deepened.

A shout went up from someone standing on the raised announcer’s stand. I can see flames!

But it was Hunter’s hoarse voice blaring over the microphone that galvanized the crowd. It’s the mill! The mill is on fire!

Chapter Two

Stefanie thrust the blanket at Val.

Hey, wait, Stef—

Stefanie didn’t wait. She ran, dodging onlookers, colliding into them. I’m sorry! Excuse me, I have to get through— She skidded and fell on the grassy slope. Someone stepped on her hand while she was down, but she ignored the pain and struggled to her feet.

The siren at the firehouse wailed, calling Julesburg’s volunteer fire fighting force to duty. Stefanie knew most of its members must be there at the celebration. Mark Higgins’s voice roared over the siren and noise of the crowd. C’mon, let’s move it! We gotta get the truck out of here!

Stefanie scrambled over a dip in the wall. People and cars already filled the street. The fire truck, siren also wailing, inched toward the exit of the parking lot.

Okay, folks, let’s keep calm and— The squawk of the sound system drowned the last of Wally Greer’s words.

Honking horns and the shriek of the town’s lone police car joined the din. Red and blue lights flashed an eerie counterpoint to the glow of red fog.

People already streamed in the direction of the mill. Those on foot passed the vehicles stalled in traffic. Stefanie caught a glimpse of Hunter dragging Trisha toward the Porsche. A fireworks explosion added a boom and shower of blue stars to the confusion. It went unnoticed. No one cared about the festivities now.

Stefanie had outdistanced much of the crowd by the time she passed the Nevermore, the town’s long-closed movie theater. Tongues of gold and red flames shot into the sky, and clouds of black smoke swallowed the red-stained fog. The wail of the fire truck moved slowly up the street.

Could the old fire truck accomplish anything when it arrived? Stefanie wondered doubtfully. She momentarily had to slow to a walk and clamp a hand over the stitch in her side. She knew this conflagration went far beyond anything the town’s amateur firefighters had ever fought. How had the fire gotten so big, so bad, so quickly? The mill had a modern sprinkler system. Her father had always been vigilant about safety.

Unless Hunter had cut corners there too.

The Porsche crawled past Stefanie just before she reached the bank building. Hunter blasted the horn as he wove in and out of traffic. The tires squealed when he found an opening and gunned the engine.

Stefanie cut across the school playground. The narrow wooden bridge spanning Cougar Creek shook as she pounded across it. The shallow pools below reflected the red stain in the sky. Burning ashes fell around her, smoking in the wet grass, sizzling in the water.

Stefanie’s short-cut route brought her to the back side of the mill, where the logs were stored before being peeled into veneer to make plywood. She paused, gasping for breath. She’d always loved the woodsy scent of the logs, but the acrid smell of the burning mill covered everything now. She coughed as smoke filled her nose and throat. Her tongue burned and her eyes watered with it. And the noise! Like thunder and avalanche and collision of roaring freight trains all rolled into one.

She circled the log deck. Beyond it the heat blasted her. She threw up a hand to shield her face. The fire truck was already in action, but the spray of water looked puny as a Water-Pik against the mountains of flame. Two pale green Forest Service vehicles that usually fought blazes in the woods arrived, a state police car behind them.

Oh, Lord, please, don’t let anyone be inside! Don’t let this cost any lives!

And there shouldn’t be anyone inside, she told herself hopefully. The mill had been closed for several days, making a week-long holiday of the 4th of July to conserve the company’s dwindling supply of logs. Which also meant that the veneer dryers and hot presses, where small fires usually occurred, were shut down. So how had the fire started?

Stefanie spotted Hunter near the fire truck. The flames gilded his blond hair as he frantically helped tear down the chain link fence around the equipment yard. She saw none of Hunter’s usual cool and polished demeanor now, none of the faintly amused, detached calm with which he greeted most crises. Including, she remembered, the time she confronted him with his infidelity. His shirttail hung loose, and his usually carefully groomed hair fell in a tangle across his face. A sudden swoop of wind enveloped him and several firefighters in black smoke. In spite of the hostilities between her and Hunter, Stefanie felt a spike of fear for him.

He emerged from the smoke, carrying the limp form of another man, his face blackened. Stefanie ran toward him. She could help. She’d had CPR training. The ambulance arrived before she did. Hunter handed the man over to the medics.

Ben Mosely had arrived too. Time to move back, folks, he said in his usual gruff voice. He swept his arm in front of him as he strode along the edge of the onlookers. His manner was calm and unhurried. Let the men do their job. Move back now.

Everyone moved back, including Stefanie.

More fire trucks arrived from the small towns both north and south of Julesburg. Yet within minutes, it was obvious the mill could not be saved. Stefanie saw efforts change from trying to put the fire out to keeping it from spreading to surrounding businesses and houses. Nearby homeowners were hosing down the roofs of their homes.

Even knowing there was nothing she could do, Stefanie couldn’t walk away and go home. With other onlookers, she climbed steep Clyde Street to a vacant lot overlooking the mill. The foggy mist had turned to a drizzle, which was a blessing to keep the fire from spreading, but the wet drops and smoke joined to form an unpleasant moldering smell.

Stefanie slumped to a promontory of wet rock. That was her family’s history going up in flames down there. The thought was numbing. The company her grandfather and father worked most of their lives to start and grow. All going up in smoke and ashes. She’d worked at the mill, too, but it hadn’t truly been a part of her as it had been of them. Even though there was a certain stage-set unreality to the scene, Stefanie was grateful her father and grandfather weren’t alive to witness it.

The roof and walls were gone. The metal skeleton of the main building still loomed within the flames. Would it stand? Stefanie wanted something left standing. Then one dark beam crashed, and others, like melting licorice, caved toward it. Ashes drifted down around her. An ember landed on her hand, and the pinpoint of pain made her vaguely aware of the ache of her stepped-on knuckles.

Stefanie tried to focus on something other than her own pain. Hunter’s family history was also burning, she reminded herself. She found a tissue in her pocket and wrapped it around her oozing knuckles. How did he feel, watching the spreading destruction? He’d been much closer to the mill than she had in recent years. Close, too, to the grandfather who had helped pioneer the company and brought him into it.

Onlookers glanced her way frequently. Many had known her father, some even her grandfather. She overheard questions and answers and theories about origin of the fire.

Isn’t Pete Dooley the guard? Where was he?

Knowing ol’ Dooley, probably sleeping.

I’ll bet something’s been smoldering in the dryer ever since the mill shut down last week.

Course there’s the rumor that Blackwell— A glance at Stefanie and a jab in the ribs cut off the rumor in mid-sentence.

Lisa Benedetti came over to Stefanie and squeezed her hand. This is terrible, Stef. I don’t even know what to say. A retired foreman took off his hat in front of her and said gruffly, Your grandpa would be heartbroke, wouldn’t he? I kinda am myself.

Most of the crowd, Stefanie knew, were more than curious onlookers drawn by a spectacle of destruction. Their jobs were burning up too; the livelihood of much of the town depended on Cougar Creek Timber Products. She wondered, as they must be wondering, how they were going to keep up mortgage and car payments, feed their kids, pay their property taxes? Almost as an absentminded afterthought, more personal questions struck her: How would this affect her future? What would it mean in her dealings with Hunter? Yet such thoughts seemed petty, almost irrelevant at the moment, and she pushed them away.

She moved farther back on the vacant lot, taking shelter under a scrubby pine. She caught an occasional glimpse of Hunter. His blond head stood out among workmen’s caps and the firefighters’ sloping yellow hats. He seemed like a different man than the one she had always known. Heroic even, as he took an exhausted firefighter’s place with a hose. At this moment I admire you, Hunter Blackwell, she thought with an unexpected fierceness. This is the man I thought you were when I married you.

Eventually the flames began to recede. The fiery tongues licked lower. The roar diminished. People began trickling away. Stefanie stayed on, shoulders hunched against the drizzling rain, until, with a sense of shock, she realized she was alone. She stood up stiffly, brushing twigs and grass from her damp pants. How long had she been there? She was just about to step out of the shadows of the scrubby pine when a vehicle turned onto Clyde Street. She drew back, too emotionally frazzled to encounter anyone. A moment later she realized the vehicle was one of Cougar Creek’s tan-and-brown pickups. The man who stepped out of it was Hunter.

He walked toward her. She thought he meant to speak to her. Do I want to talk to him? She wondered uncertainly. Then she realized he hadn’t seen her. He was simply heading for the rocky promontory overlooking the mill. Smoke smudged his face, and one shirt sleeve hung loose, ripped at the shoulder. His bare knee showed through a hole in his slacks. Her heart filled with unexpected compassion. I’m sorry. I know the despair you must feel.

She started to step out of the shadows. Surely, in spite of the hostility between them, they could share a few words of comfort and consolation—

She stopped, foot poised, as a sudden flare from below lit his face.

While fighting the fire, his handsome features had shown grim determination. Up close, she could see the tired slump of his shoulders, the dark line of a cut on his arm. But his face...

Not horror, not defeat or despair or heartache.

Satisfaction. Even, in a small twist of his lips, a smile of triumph.

I must be wrong! That can’t be what he’s feeling. She froze in the shadows, unmoving as a mouse avoiding a cat. Disbelief conflicted with the reality of what her eyes saw.

The emotion lingered on his face for only a few moments. Then, as if he were deliberately censoring his expression, the strange smile left his mouth and grim determination returned. He climbed back in the pickup and drove down the hill. A moment later she saw him rejoin the men keeping vigil at the mill.

Feeling almost as if she were coming out of a trance, Stefanie collected herself enough to take a back-street route home. She began to think beyond the scene of leaping flames that felt branded on her brain. Her mind swirled with the questions she had asked herself earlier that evening.

Why were Hunter and Trisha in such high profile at the fireworks? Why had Hunter so uncharacteristically volunteered to help with the program? Was it some newly-acquired sense of civic responsibility? A character switch to caring about small-town causes?

Or was it an alibi?

Because if Hunter was at the celebration when the fire broke out, and hundreds of people had seen him and heard his hoarse cry of shock over the microphone, obviously he wasn’t at the mill setting the fire.

Setting the fire? Oh, come on, Stef, she snorted at herself. She grabbed the back door key from the hook under the steps of her old Victorian house. Where did you come up with that wild idea?

Hunter had huge flaws as a husband. He had his faults as the manager of Cougar Creek Timber Products. He was greedily trying to grab her share of the company out from under her. But surely he was not a match-happy firebug!

And yet ...

Where did Hunter stand, with the mill destroyed? Wiped out financially, his future shattered? Not necessarily. With a big insurance settlement, he could pay off the huge debts entangling the company, debts her accountant was only now uncovering. He could get Stefanie out of the way with a cash settlement. He wouldn’t have her part ownership of the company complicating his business dealings. And all the mill’s financial records were now ashes. Incriminating details her lawyer and accountant suspected, but hadn’t yet uncovered, were destroyed.

Stefanie realized the fire might well be financial salvation for Hunter. The solution to all his problems.

In her upstairs bedroom, Stefanie skimmed out of her clothes. She wrinkled her nose. The scent of smoke permeated everything from jacket to underthings. She slipped into a robe and carried her clothes and sneakers at arm’s length down to the washer in the laundry room. Then, wearily, she brushed her teeth to rid the acid taste from her mouth and showered the ashes and smoke out of her hair and skin. She also covered her two most painful knuckles with Band-Aids.

A curve of hillside hid full view of the mill from the house, but a faint reddish light from the fire lingered in the bedroom even with the drapes closed. The oval mirror on her old-fashioned dressing table shimmered a ghostly reflection of silver and shadows. Outside her window, a breeze gently clattered the wind chimes.

After she had washed up, Stefanie lay in bed, bone tired but sleepless. Did she honestly think Hunter could have done this?

He had maneuvered some tricky deals during their marriage. He had gotten her signature on various papers that were not what he’d told her they were. His financial tactics at the mill stretched creative accounting beyond ethical limits. But those maneuverings, unscrupulous as they might be, fell far short of wanton destruction. He also had an alibi.

She pulled the covers tighter around her neck. So am I convinced he’s innocent, that he had no part in this?

No.

Chapter Three

In light of morning, Stefanie’s suspicions seemed less believable.

A smoky pall hung over the town, but to the west, sunshine glittered on calm blue sea. White surf scalloped the offshore rocks. A seagull perched on the porch railing and squawked for the bread crusts she often tossed out.

Stefanie sat on a tall stool at the breakfast bar, which was a modern addition her mother had made to the old-fashioned kitchen. Sipping black coffee and eating cereal topped with yogurt and strawberries, she thought about last night.

Actually, Stefanie had to admit, her middle-of-the-night suspicions about Hunter now struck her as suspicious in themselves. Paranoid delusions of the discarded wife? How could she possibly know what that expression on Hunter’s face really meant?

This was her usual day to go to the nursing home up in Dutton Bay, and she saw no reason to alter that schedule because of the fire. She dressed in casual leggings and added a pair of costume jewelry daisy earrings. She poked around in the cluttered jewelry box, as she always did, hoping that somehow her mother’s jade cameo necklace would turn up. She hadn’t been able to find the treasured memento when she and Hunter separated and she’d moved out of the house. At the time, she’d hoped the cameo was tucked in some box she’d already packed and would show up later, but she’d never found it.

She stopped in the laundry room to sniff the clean clothes in the washer. The smoky scent was gone. Good. She tossed everything but the sneakers in the dryer. Outside, the smell of smoke still hung acrid and heavy in the air. Soggy ashes littered the walkway to the garage.

The morning at Laurel Cove Nursing Center was, as always, rewarding. Her mother had spent a few weeks there after one of her surgeries, and Stefanie had seen then how physical activity brightened the lives of these sweet and lonely oldsters. Her time at the nursing home had been strictly volunteer at first, but they’d put her on the payroll a few months ago.

Her exercise class was waiting in the activity room when she arrived. Stefanie made a round of the group before beginning the exercises, offering hugs and teases and encouragement.

Bertha, are you ready to add a half-pound to your ankle weights today? Dan, look at those muscles! With a teasing squeeze of Dan’s stringy but still working bicep. Millie, you have a new perm, don’t you? Looks fantastic.

She spent several minutes chatting with a new woman, Gracie. She asked about Gracie’s grandchildren, and drew her out until Gracie shyly confided, What I’d really like to do is surprise my granddaughter Annie by being able to touch my toes.

Touch her toes? Stefanie eyed the tiny lady doubtfully. We’ll work on that, she promised.

She put a CD of ‘40s Glenn Miller music in the player and led the group through various exercises, tailoring them to individual abilities. Gentle aerobics, light weight lifting, easy bends for flexibility, ball tossing for coordination. Gracie was a long way from touching her toes, but by the end of the session she was tapping those toes to the music.

None of the class members mentioned the fire to Stefanie, but a couple of the older members of the staff asked about it. Just a terrible accident, was the only response Stefanie knew to make.

Back in Julesburg, she drove by the mill but found the street cordoned off. A clean-up crew was still spraying stubborn hot spots. Smoke still spiraled from the debris, but it no longer billowed in black clouds.

Stefanie didn’t head to work immediately. Her hopes to add a snack and juice bar at Fit ‘n’ Fun were still in an insufficient-funds status, so she went back to the house to eat a salad before going to lead an aerobics class. After the class, she called a repairman about a malfunctioning treadmill, and set up a special training program for a girl with Down syndrome. When she could avoid it no longer, she tackled the bookkeeping. She groaned as she looked at the computer screen. I hate numbers. Which was, she thought ruefully, one reason her financial affairs with Hunter and Cougar Creek Timber Products were in such disastrous shape.

She heard scraps of conversation about the fire all afternoon, but it wasn’t until late in the day that Tina, Fit ‘n’ Fun’s receptionist and girl-of-all-trades, peered into the office.

Got a minute?

Stefanie glanced up from the computer screen. Sure, c’mon in.

Tina was petite and trim, with a freckled face and long brown hair her husband didn’t want her to cut. She’d been working out on one of their new exercise machines so she could demonstrate it to clients. She toweled sweat off her face. Great machine. My abs feel strong enough to bounce a wildcat.

Good. I’m glad to hear buying the machines wasn’t wasted money.

Tina dropped the small talk. Will the mill be rebuilt, do you think? Her husband was a glue spreader, and her tone was anxious. That would mean construction jobs. Otherwise... The lines between her hazel eyes said it all. She and her husband had three kids and Tina’s wheelchair-bound mother to support.

Stefanie could only shake her head. I don’t know. I haven’t talked to Hunter yet. The loss of jobs at the mill could have a domino effect in the economy of tiny Julesburg. She didn’t know what that might do to Fit ‘n’ Fun’s future, either. But she didn’t want to lay that additional worry on Tina right now.

After finishing the paperwork, Stefanie picked up her mail at the post office and unlocked the door at the house just after five o’clock. She’d return to Fit ‘n’ Fun later to lead a couple of evening classes. The doorbell chimed while she was browsing through the bills and advertisements. Still wearing the blue leotard and draped overskirt in which she’d come home, she opened the door.

Ben Mosely stood on the porch, his police car parked in the driveway. Miss Stefanie, he said. He’d called her that since she was a little girl playing with his polished badge. His weathered face sagged with weariness, and red lines webbed his eyes. He held his police officer’s hat at chest level.

Ben! Come in. Stefanie tilted her head and scolded him lightly. You look as if you didn’t sleep more than ten minutes last night.

That’s about it, all right. Terrible thing, the fire and all. A real tragedy for both the company and the town.

Stefanie motioned to the floral sofa, and, in spite of his beefy frame, Ben perched almost daintily on the edge of the cushion. He turned the hat back and forth in his big hands, as if he felt awkward or uneasy.

Stefanie offered the platitude she had heard many times that day. At least no one was injured or killed. We can be thankful for that.

Mike Orland is in the Coos Bay hospital with smoke inhalation. But he’d be a lot worse off if it weren’t for Hunter carrying him out.

Stefanie nodded. Things might have been much worse all around if the mill had been operating and full of workmen when the fire happened.

Ben jumped on the comment as if he’d been looking for an opening. Yep, that’s true, and that’s what makes it a puzzle, you know. How it got started with everything shut down.

Wasn’t a watchman on duty?

Pete Dooley is usually there, but he’s got a bunch of grandkids, you know. Hunter let him take the night off so’s he could go to the fireworks with the kids.

How thoughtful, Stefanie murmured. And how totally unlike Hunter. Unlike him to be so generous. Unlike him to be dealing with the watchman personally. The suspicions she’d earlier discarded flickered at the edges of her mind again. Could I get you some coffee or tea? A soft drink?

No, thanks. I’m fine. Ben ran his thick fingers through his bushy thatch of white hair. You were there last night?

At the fireworks? Or the fire?

Both, actually. We’re just trying to find out where people were and what they saw.

My friend Valerie Halstead and I went to the fireworks.

Together?

No, we met there, under the street banner. I was standing just a few feet away when you opened the car door for Hunter’s fiancée.

Ben didn’t acknowledge seeing Stefanie, and he probably hadn’t. Trisha’s personal charisma tended to dazzle males of any age.

You said your friend’s name is Valerie? Halstead?

Yes.

He took out a small notebook and wrote Valerie’s name in it. Surprised, she added, Val comes to Fit ‘n’ Fun. She works for Volkman Laser Systems.

Ah, he said, in an I-see tone. He wrote Volkman in parentheses after Val’s name.

She lives in one of those new condos up on Lighthouse Hill.

Another meaningful, Ah.

The condos were a sore point with many local people, who didn’t like the city-type development invading their small town. Stefanie sometimes felt exasperated with the locals for acting as if the Volkman people were unwelcome outsiders. A number of them were regulars at Fit ‘n’ Fun. But then she was also sometimes annoyed with the Volkman people for being so cliquish.

And then you and this Val went to the fire?

No. I heard Hunter yell over the microphone that the mill was burning. I left Val behind and ran over there by myself.

Did you see anything unusual when you arrived? Notice anyone or anything unfamiliar or suspicious looking?

No. Although, I did notice that the sprinklers weren’t running on the log deck. I wouldn’t think they’d be turned off just because the mill was shut down.

The logs were continually kept damp. Otherwise they’d dry out and crack and not be usable for peeling veneer to make plywood.

But perhaps, by the time I got there, the fire had already burned through the control system.

Another line in the notebook. Before going to the fireworks, you were ... where?

Here at home.

Alone?

Yes. Fit ‘n’ Fun was closed for the holiday. I was just catching up on a few things around here.

He eyed the Band-Aids on her knuckles. Hurt your hand recently, did you?

She flexed the fingers on her injured hand. When I was running to the mill, I slipped on the grass down below the wall. Someone stepped on my hand before I could get up.

Another of his noncommittal but somehow meaningful Ah murmurs. He tapped the ball point pen on his thigh.

Ben was the same polite, old family friend he’d always been, but Stefanie felt an uncharacteristic reserve about him now. His meandering questions suddenly lit a spark of apprehension that skittered along her nerves.

Feeling a sudden need to lighten things up, Stefanie smiled. So I don’t think I’ll be going around socking anyone in the jaw for a while.

He didn’t smile. Was he, she wondered, maneuvering her to reveal her suspicions about Hunter and the fire? And feeling uneasy about doing so?

I suppose you still know quite a lot about the mill. Ben’s words hovered between statement and question.

I worked in the mill office for several years after I dropped out of college. You remember that, I’m sure. But I haven’t been around there much in recent years.

I understand you stayed quite a long time watching the fire from that vacant lot on Clyde Street.

The remark surprised her. How did he know that? His tone of voice almost sounded as if he thought her actions peculiar. As if she were some unsavory voyeur hanging around until the last flame died.

I did stay a long time. It was three-thirty in the morning when I got home. It was ... strange, watching the family history go up in flames.

And even more strange was the odd, triumphant look that had been on Hunter’s face. She looked away, toward the fireplace in the corner. Should she tell Ben about that?

But how could she suggest something so appalling when all she had to go on was a moment of dimly-lit facial expression? Although there was also Hunter’s high-profile appearance at the fireworks, and his equally unlikely action of offering the watchman the night off. And the fact that the company was in an appalling financial tangle.

She didn’t have to make accusations, she decided. She’d just confide her concerns to Ben. Yet when she glanced back his steady blue eyes regarded her with a guarded watchfulness. His big hand held the pen poised over the notebook as if to capture some incriminating statement.

Incriminating?

With a jolt that jerked her spine ramrod straight, the incredible truth hit her.

Chapter Four

Ben, you think I started the fire at the mill? Stefanie gasped the words, more astonished than angry because the idea was so preposterous. She looked down at her fingers again. You think I hurt my hand while I was setting the fire?

A deep red suffused Ben’s face. His gaze shifted to her feet. His own big feet shuffled on the old Oriental carpet.

Stefanie shook her head. "Ben, this isn’t some gasoline-toting arsonist, it’s me, Stefanie, remember? She jabbed a finger at her own chest. You were the one who taught me how to drive! How can you think I had anything to do with this?"

Ben’s gaze lifted to meet hers. Embarrassment still reddened his weathered cheeks, but the jut of his jaw said embarrassment wouldn’t stop him. Ben Mosely was not one to shirk his duty just because an old friend was involved. He’d hauled in his nephew for a house break-in. He’d arrested his brother-in-law for drunk driving. Ben made no exceptions for personal relationships where the law was concerned.

I’m sorry, Miss Stefanie, but we have to check out all the possibilities.

Then you’d better start checking out Hunter!

He nodded. We’re doing that. And other people too.

Such as?

There have been layoffs at the mill. Could be someone holding a grudge. Or maybe a transient passing through, a firebug who just likes to see things burn. Or could be it was just an accident.

But how could you have even a smidgen of suspicion I’d burn the mill? It was my grandfather’s life’s work. My father’s too! It’s the lifeblood of the town. What would I have to gain by burning it down?

Nobody’s accusing you, Miss Stefanie.

This sounds awfully close to an accusation!

It’s just that sometimes people don’t act rationally when it comes to ... affairs of the heart. Ben stumbled over words that were not in his usual vocabulary. Sometimes people do strange things and don’t think about the consequences when they want to get even.

So you think this is all about Hunter and me and Trisha Duvall. That I’m furious because he left me for her, so I’m going to get back at him by burning the mill.

What Hunter did was pretty terrible, Miss Stefanie. Everyone knows that—

If Wally Greer’s speech to Hunter and his ‘lovely fiancée’ last night is any example, most people in town are quite willing to welcome the next Mrs. Blackwell with open arms!

Ben didn’t comment on that. He simply added, Some people wouldn’t blame you for wanting to do something drastic to get even.

Believe me, if I were interested in getting even, it’s Hunter or Trisha I’d go after, not the mill, she said.

She shook her head, and her fingers absentmindedly smoothed the edge of the wraparound skirt. As an adolescent she’d sometimes had vindictive thoughts about calamities happening to classmates who ostracized or teased her. She’d hoped Bucky Anderson would get eaten by a shark. She’d wanted the arch of roses to crash down on Debbie Olsen when she was crowned Spring Prom Queen. She’d wished an earthquake would open the ground and swallow everyone who called her Porky Princess. But even before she became a Christian, she never saw herself actually committing acts of vengeance. Not even against Hunter and Trisha for what they’d done.

What happened between Hunter and Trisha and me doesn’t matter any more. She determinedly injected a firm confidence into her voice. We’re all moving ahead with our lives.

There are rumors you’re still battling over the mill ownership. Getting a chunk of insurance cash could be pretty convenient for you, Ben suggested. Easier than trying to split Cougar Creek Timber Products.

More convenient for Hunter, too! she countered.

He nodded, but she saw the crease deepen between his thick eyebrows, as if he disapproved of the comment. She could see how the situation might look to him. Hunter had been out there on the front lines the night before, heroically fighting the fire and rescuing people. And what had she been doing? Standing on the hill. Watching too long, like some mesmerized firebug. Showing up with a hurt hand.

Now she realized what was behind Ben’s comment about her knowing quite a lot about the mill. He was speculating that she knew her way around the mill well enough to burn it down.

She jumped to her feet. Is this all Hunter’s idea? Did he suggest I started the fire?

No. Ben held out a hand, palm down, as if to soothe her. He thinks it was an accident. Something electrical.

That didn’t quiet Stefanie’s suspicions. Making accusations wouldn’t be a smart move for Hunter. To avoid complications with an insurance settlement, he’d want the authorities to think it was an accident.

Like I said, right now we’re just checking out various angles. Ben stood and closed the notebook. The county sheriff’s office will probably take over most of the investigation. Someone from the State Fire Marshall’s office is coming. The federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms may get involved. Randy and I don’t have the manpower or know-how for an arson investigation.

I’ll help any way I can. I have nothing to hide.

The sharpest investigative guns may come from the insurance company. This is going to cost them a bundle if they have to pay off. So you can bet their investigators will be here with a magnifying glass and a fine-tooth comb.

Just let me know if there’s any way I can help.

He picked up his hat from the sofa. Twila says she hasn’t seen you in church much lately.

Twila, Ben’s wife, was the backbone of Julesburg’s Community Church, but she had never been able to convince Ben to share her spiritual convictions. Ben probably didn’t know it, but a lot of people prayed for him. They’re probably praying for me, too, Stefanie thought, because Ben was right. She hadn’t been in church lately. Twila had called several times.

Lightly she said, Is that part of your investigation, Ben? Whether or not I’m a backslider at church?

A twinge of embarrassment returned. No, of course not. He put the hat on his head, briskly switching to officer-on-duty mode. She wondered about his granddaughter, who had cystic fibrosis, but it didn’t seem the right time to ask.

Just one more thing... Do you remember what you were wearing last night?

Jeans, a Fit ‘n’ Fun sweatshirt, purple jacket, sneakers. Why?

Would you mind if I take a look at the clothes?

The request puzzled her, but she saw no reason not to cooperate. I’ll get them out of the dryer—

The dryer? You’ve washed them already? When?

Last night when I got home.

You did a washing at three-thirty in the morning? The question was almost a yelp. Even the sneakers?

Under different circumstances Stefanie would have laughed at how old-fashioned Ben sounded. Oh, this younger generation! Doing laundry at three-thirty in the morning. Blithely throwing all sorts of things in together. Not something Twila would ever do. But then she realized he was shocked because he saw the possibility of ulterior motive behind her hasty laundry work. He thought she could have washed everything to get rid of any trace of something flammable she’d used to start the fire.

Everything was so damp and smoky. The explanation sounded limp and weak. Stefanie felt dazed as she slumped into the wing chair again. I’m a suspect. Do you still want to see the clothes?

No. That won’t be necessary.

She straightened in the chair. Am I under arrest? Don’t I have a right to have a lawyer present when I’m questioned?

You’re not under arrest. We’re just trying to interview anybody who might know anything. But if you don’t want to answer questions without a lawyer present, that’s your right.

He had earlier asked what she’d been doing before the pageant and fireworks. The reasoning behind that question was clear now. The fire could have been set earlier, before the celebration. If the fire started where it could engulf the windowless interior of the building, it could have burned for some time before becoming visible outside.

Have you investigated Hunter’s activities earlier in the evening? she demanded.

Hunter and Miss Duvall had dinner at the Singing Whale, with drinks in the lounge first. They were there for some two and a half hours. The waitress and bartender remember serving them.

Two and a half hours during which Hunter was making sure he and Trisha were highly visible. Hours during which she had no alibi at all.

Ben turned toward the door. Well, I think that’s all for now. You’re not planning to ... uh ... leave town in the near future, are you?

I can check my calendar, but I don’t think there’s any ‘disappear to deserted island in the Caribbean’ scheduled on it.

Her lame attempt at a quip fell flat. Ben didn’t smile when he said, Good. And it might not be a bad idea to think about getting yourself a good lawyer. He paused at the door. If you don’t mind, we’d appreciate if you’d come in and get fingerprinted as soon as possible.

Fingerprinted? Why?

If we do find any usable fingerprints at the mill, we can check yours against them and maybe settle this without any more fuss and bother for you.

He made it sound as if comparing fingerprints was solely for her benefit, to remove suspicion from her. She saw the opposite possibility lurking within the request; fingerprints could incriminate rather than exonerate her.

But incrimination was impossible; she wasn’t involved in the fire in any way.

Still, she hesitated about complying. She was reasonably certain Ben couldn’t demand her fingerprints without something stronger than suspicions, and she suspected a lawyer would tell her not to do it.

Stefanie hedged. From the looks of what’s left of the mill, there isn’t anything to fingerprint.

You never can tell.

* * *

Stefanie made up her mind within minutes after Ben’s departure. After all, she was innocent.