Read Online The Midnight Twins by Jacquelyn Mitchard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jacquelyn Mitchard
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she found the state fire investigator sexy and fascinating, though he was old, probably thirty.
The girls sat side by side across from him at the dining room table. From his briefcase, he took a stack of photos and a folder filled with dozens of reports detailing anonymous tips. He used a fountain pen, like Mallory’s father, and squared a clean stack of blank paper before he wrote down the date and Third Brynn Twins Interview .
“Now that you’re home and all well, think about it. Did you see anyone? Did you hear anything?” he asked. “The least little thing, something you wouldn’t think would matter, could be the key to all of it. Think hard.” He studied their eyes, to prompt them and to search for the hint of a lie.
“Not one single thing,” Merry said. “Not even one car went by that we saw.”
“Everybody else saw cars. Why not you?”
“We were taking care of the little kids, not staring out the windows,” Mally told him.
“There had to be a car. We saw tire marks, marks with mud in them. Someone pulled over and parked in front of your uncle’s house. They were new tires, though. No special wear pattern. Could match almost any car.”
Mallory loved the way he talked. She decided to try to talk in partial sentences herself.
Seemed normal. Could have been anyone. Possible stranger. No personal involvement. She liked the swagger of it.
In the end, nothing about the fire investigation gave up a scintilla of new information.
All they knew was that the fireworks had been placed in advance, and ignited easily—concealed by dry leaves with a barrier made of cardboard around them. They’d been lit by hand, probably with a cheap cigarette lighter, almost certainly by someone wearing work gloves. There were scorched fabric fibers that would have matched only every one of ten thousand or so pairs of gloves sold just in the week since Christmas.
Everybody in Ridgeline apparently had seen more cars drive up and down the dead-end cul-de-sac of Pumpkin Hollow Road than anyone had seen that night on the New Jersey Turnpike, judging from the number of phone tips. But not one had seen a single human being. No one had even seen the children playing outside the house! No one, even people just a block away, witnessed the fireworks. No one had seen an explosive device thrown onto the roof. Everyone was somewhere else. That was what the arsonist had counted on. Police figured the callers just wanted in on the excitement.
The neighbors next door had indeed been out, returning home at two a.m. to find, to their horror, their street clogged with fire trucks, firefighters, and squad cars from three villages. The only thing that turned up in the neighbors’ yard was the burnt end of what might have been a long fuse.
From the scorch mark, it was apparent that something big had flamed out on the back porch, evidently intended to block that route of escape. It was all planned to do serious damage, and yet, not serious enough to insure that kind of damage. Something about it was amateurish, but deliberately or . . . because it was the work of an amateur? The fire inspector told the locals that it was almost like someone was trying to scare the girls almost to death rather than kill them outright. The pyrotechnics might have gone further than the perpetrator intended.
A prank that got out of hand, the officials finally figured. The only question was, why that house? The isolated location was the best guess. The girls were well known, but their school friends called them nice and popular. The twins had no enemies. In fact, Edensau Cardinal, a beautiful, dark-haired sophomore, told officers, “No one would hurt Mally and Merry. Twins are sacred.”
And though the police officers thought the comment was about as nuts as everything else about this case, and warranted a long look into Eden’s background, she was just as pure as the twins. An athlete, a good student from a big family, she spent most of her time taking care
The girls sat side by side across from him at the dining room table. From his briefcase, he took a stack of photos and a folder filled with dozens of reports detailing anonymous tips. He used a fountain pen, like Mallory’s father, and squared a clean stack of blank paper before he wrote down the date and Third Brynn Twins Interview .
“Now that you’re home and all well, think about it. Did you see anyone? Did you hear anything?” he asked. “The least little thing, something you wouldn’t think would matter, could be the key to all of it. Think hard.” He studied their eyes, to prompt them and to search for the hint of a lie.
“Not one single thing,” Merry said. “Not even one car went by that we saw.”
“Everybody else saw cars. Why not you?”
“We were taking care of the little kids, not staring out the windows,” Mally told him.
“There had to be a car. We saw tire marks, marks with mud in them. Someone pulled over and parked in front of your uncle’s house. They were new tires, though. No special wear pattern. Could match almost any car.”
Mallory loved the way he talked. She decided to try to talk in partial sentences herself.
Seemed normal. Could have been anyone. Possible stranger. No personal involvement. She liked the swagger of it.
In the end, nothing about the fire investigation gave up a scintilla of new information.
All they knew was that the fireworks had been placed in advance, and ignited easily—concealed by dry leaves with a barrier made of cardboard around them. They’d been lit by hand, probably with a cheap cigarette lighter, almost certainly by someone wearing work gloves. There were scorched fabric fibers that would have matched only every one of ten thousand or so pairs of gloves sold just in the week since Christmas.
Everybody in Ridgeline apparently had seen more cars drive up and down the dead-end cul-de-sac of Pumpkin Hollow Road than anyone had seen that night on the New Jersey Turnpike, judging from the number of phone tips. But not one had seen a single human being. No one had even seen the children playing outside the house! No one, even people just a block away, witnessed the fireworks. No one had seen an explosive device thrown onto the roof. Everyone was somewhere else. That was what the arsonist had counted on. Police figured the callers just wanted in on the excitement.
The neighbors next door had indeed been out, returning home at two a.m. to find, to their horror, their street clogged with fire trucks, firefighters, and squad cars from three villages. The only thing that turned up in the neighbors’ yard was the burnt end of what might have been a long fuse.
From the scorch mark, it was apparent that something big had flamed out on the back porch, evidently intended to block that route of escape. It was all planned to do serious damage, and yet, not serious enough to insure that kind of damage. Something about it was amateurish, but deliberately or . . . because it was the work of an amateur? The fire inspector told the locals that it was almost like someone was trying to scare the girls almost to death rather than kill them outright. The pyrotechnics might have gone further than the perpetrator intended.
A prank that got out of hand, the officials finally figured. The only question was, why that house? The isolated location was the best guess. The girls were well known, but their school friends called them nice and popular. The twins had no enemies. In fact, Edensau Cardinal, a beautiful, dark-haired sophomore, told officers, “No one would hurt Mally and Merry. Twins are sacred.”
And though the police officers thought the comment was about as nuts as everything else about this case, and warranted a long look into Eden’s background, she was just as pure as the twins. An athlete, a good student from a big family, she spent most of her time taking care
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