“Not at all. Tell your wife to be sure and watch The Homewreckers. That’s the show we’re filming here right now. It’ll air in September.”
“I’ll do that,” the inspector said. “The Homewreckers. Got it.” He looked at Hattie. “You should be hearing something from me about your settlement by early next week.” He headed for the door and was about to leave, but then he doubled back. “Might as well get your autograph, too, young lady,” he said, handing the paper to Hattie. “Who knows? Someday you might be famous, too, and this will be worth something.”
* * *
The fire marshal’s name was Steven Parkman. He was short and round and had a full, luxurious white beard and wore a black baseball cap with the Tybee city insignia on it. He and Makarowicz had been circling the dumpster, poking at it with a shovel, and snapping photos while Hattie was occupied inside with the claims adjuster.
“Hattie, this is Steve Parkman,” Mak said, when she joined them outside.
“Mr. Parkman,” Hattie said. “Thank you for coming.” She noticed that both men were wearing thin, disposable latex gloves.
“Sparky,” Parkman said. “Everyone calls me Sparky.”
“Fire department humor,” Mak said, not cracking a smile. He pointed at a misshapen lump that the two men had separated from the contents of the dumpster. “Your painter assured me that his son was storing oily rags in a bucket that was on the porch back here. We found what’s left of it. In the dumpster.”
With the toe of his boot, Sparky nudged a blackened rectangular object. “And here’s your accelerant. A gallon can of paint thinner.”
“We were right. The fire was deliberately set,” Hattie said.
“Arson,” Sparky said. “I’ve seen the photo of the fire taken by our anonymous ‘concerned citizen.’ I’ll speak to Howard Rice to see if he has any more information, but I’m guessing that’s a dead end.”
“What happens now?” Hattie asked.
The jovial-looking fire marshal’s tone was grave. “We’re going to find out who set this fire. And why.”
* * *
After Sparky left, Makarowicz looked up at the painters, who were already scrubbing down the rear wall of the house. “How bad was the inside?”
“Come see for yourself,” Hattie said. She and Cass led him into the kitchen. Two large industrial fans were aimed at the wooden floors, and one of Jorge’s crew members was wiping down the new kitchen cabinets with a strong-smelling degreaser.
“Not a total disaster,” Makarowicz said.
“Bad enough,” Cass said. “We can’t afford to lose these cabinets. If the smoke damage can’t be mitigated, we’ll have to order new ones. We really can’t afford the delay.”
“Damn shame,” Makarowicz said.
“Have you found anything new about Lanier Ragan?” Hattie asked.
“Did you know a St. Mary’s teacher named Deborah Logenbuhl?”
“Mrs. Logenbuhl,” Hattie exclaimed. “How could I have forgotten about her? The flaming red hair and the wacky glasses and colorful outfits? She was like an exotic bird in a flock of gray pigeons.”
“We talked on the phone,” the detective said. “She was apparently good friends with Lanier.”
“Right. They always ate lunch together,” Hattie said. “Have you talked to her?”
“Yeah. She told me that in the fall of 2004 Lanier was busy, tutoring students, helping girls get their grades raised so they could get into the right college. And, she said, Frank Ragan got his wife to tutor some of his football players, too.”
“Ohhh,” Hattie said. “So, you think maybe what Molly Fowlkes heard was true?”
“Could be,” Mak said. “Maybe Lanier was teaching more than adjectives and adverbs.”
“Yeah,” Cass said, “maybe she was helping some dude bone up on sex ed.” Her tone was more bitter than funny, and Hattie did a double take.
“Sorry, not sorry,” Cass muttered, leaving the room.
“Did Mrs. Logenbuhl know which football players Lanier was tutoring?” Hattie asked.
“No. All she knew was that Lanier was preoccupied.”
“Can you get a list of all the guys on the Cardinal Mooney football team that year?”
Makarowicz reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a neatly folded square of papers. “For good or bad, the internet knows all.” He unfolded a printout of an old black-and-white photo and placed it on the sawhorse worktable.