bring our parents back? No! Leave it alone!”
Jerry handed me the phone. “She hung up.”
“Jerry,” I said, “that was some reaction.”
“Now you know why I don’t call her.”
“We’ll try again later.”
“What? Are you nuts?”
“To react that strongly after all these years? I think your sister is hiding something.”
“You think she set the fire?”
“Why not?”
“And blamed me? That’s crazy.”
“Why did she take care of you and your brothers? Why does she still send you money?”
“Until we started this, I thought it was because she loved me.”
“Or feels really guilty about something.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“That’s why you hired me, and I happen to know you can pay.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Harriet closed my account.”
When we stopped by the library to return the books, Joan was thrilled.
“I can’t believe you got all four! That’s wonderful. Would you track down some more?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Let me get the other list.”
Jerry grinned at me. “Madeline Maclin, Library Detective. Check her out.”
I looked around for Bernice Coleman, but she wasn’t at the desk. I did see a newspaper rack, which gave me an idea.
“Joan,” I said, when she returned with her list, “how far back do you keep newspapers?”
“I’m proud to say we have every issue of the Celosia News since it began in 1925. Of course, we’ve had them all put on disks.”
“Any old issues of the Parkland Herald ?”
“No, but you can access any one you want through our inter-library website. I’ll show you.”
She led us to a computer station and clicked on the website. “Right up here under Reference.”
“Thanks.” I sat down.
Jerry pulled up a chair. “All the newspaper reports say the same thing, Mac. Mysterious house fire. Tragic accident. You’ve read it before.”
“I just want to read it again.”
After a few moments searching and arrowing up and down, I found the account of the fire. Around midnight, Harriet Fairweather, age eighteen, had frantically called for help. Firefighters responded promptly, but the downstairs was destroyed, and the bodies of Victor and Lillian Fairweather discovered in the ruins. Police determined several large candles had fallen over, setting fire to the chairs and draperies in the living room.
I looked up from my reading. Jerry had taken a dictionary from the shelf and was leafing through the thin pages, avoiding the lines of print on the screen.
“Jerry, this says Harriet called for help around midnight.”
“Yes.”
“If you caused the fire by playing with matches, what were you doing up at midnight?”
“I don’t know. I was just six years old when this happened.”
“Exactly. If you were six years old, I think you would’ve been in bed asleep. Didn’t you tell me you remember Harriet pulling you out of the house? She got you and your brothers out of bed, didn’t she? Why would you have been downstairs in the living room, lighting candles?”
He frowned. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?”
“Why would anybody have been downstairs at midnight lighting candles?”
“Maybe Mom and Dad were having a séance?”
I read the account again. It was possible that someone in the family could’ve left candles unattended. There had to be someone else besides Harriet who knew what had happened.
“Let’s stop by the bookstore,” I said. “Maybe Georgia or Hayden know of another write-up of this story.”
***
“I remember reading about it years ago,” Georgia said, as she carried a stack of books to the back of the store. “There was an article in the paper. That’s it.”
“No one wrote a book about it?”
“Not that I know of.”
Hayden was up front at the counter. “I’m sorry,” he said when we asked him about the Fairweather tragedy. “I really don’t know anything about it. My apologies, Jerry.”
“That’s okay,” Jerry said. “But what about you? Mac
Jerry handed me the phone. “She hung up.”
“Jerry,” I said, “that was some reaction.”
“Now you know why I don’t call her.”
“We’ll try again later.”
“What? Are you nuts?”
“To react that strongly after all these years? I think your sister is hiding something.”
“You think she set the fire?”
“Why not?”
“And blamed me? That’s crazy.”
“Why did she take care of you and your brothers? Why does she still send you money?”
“Until we started this, I thought it was because she loved me.”
“Or feels really guilty about something.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“That’s why you hired me, and I happen to know you can pay.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Harriet closed my account.”
When we stopped by the library to return the books, Joan was thrilled.
“I can’t believe you got all four! That’s wonderful. Would you track down some more?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Let me get the other list.”
Jerry grinned at me. “Madeline Maclin, Library Detective. Check her out.”
I looked around for Bernice Coleman, but she wasn’t at the desk. I did see a newspaper rack, which gave me an idea.
“Joan,” I said, when she returned with her list, “how far back do you keep newspapers?”
“I’m proud to say we have every issue of the Celosia News since it began in 1925. Of course, we’ve had them all put on disks.”
“Any old issues of the Parkland Herald ?”
“No, but you can access any one you want through our inter-library website. I’ll show you.”
She led us to a computer station and clicked on the website. “Right up here under Reference.”
“Thanks.” I sat down.
Jerry pulled up a chair. “All the newspaper reports say the same thing, Mac. Mysterious house fire. Tragic accident. You’ve read it before.”
“I just want to read it again.”
After a few moments searching and arrowing up and down, I found the account of the fire. Around midnight, Harriet Fairweather, age eighteen, had frantically called for help. Firefighters responded promptly, but the downstairs was destroyed, and the bodies of Victor and Lillian Fairweather discovered in the ruins. Police determined several large candles had fallen over, setting fire to the chairs and draperies in the living room.
I looked up from my reading. Jerry had taken a dictionary from the shelf and was leafing through the thin pages, avoiding the lines of print on the screen.
“Jerry, this says Harriet called for help around midnight.”
“Yes.”
“If you caused the fire by playing with matches, what were you doing up at midnight?”
“I don’t know. I was just six years old when this happened.”
“Exactly. If you were six years old, I think you would’ve been in bed asleep. Didn’t you tell me you remember Harriet pulling you out of the house? She got you and your brothers out of bed, didn’t she? Why would you have been downstairs in the living room, lighting candles?”
He frowned. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?”
“Why would anybody have been downstairs at midnight lighting candles?”
“Maybe Mom and Dad were having a séance?”
I read the account again. It was possible that someone in the family could’ve left candles unattended. There had to be someone else besides Harriet who knew what had happened.
“Let’s stop by the bookstore,” I said. “Maybe Georgia or Hayden know of another write-up of this story.”
***
“I remember reading about it years ago,” Georgia said, as she carried a stack of books to the back of the store. “There was an article in the paper. That’s it.”
“No one wrote a book about it?”
“Not that I know of.”
Hayden was up front at the counter. “I’m sorry,” he said when we asked him about the Fairweather tragedy. “I really don’t know anything about it. My apologies, Jerry.”
“That’s okay,” Jerry said. “But what about you? Mac
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