Embers by Antoinette Stockenberg

puzzled, stared at the two of them.
    "Well, think about it," Tremblay retorted. "The big estates was fallin' like dominoes ... everyone was half hysterical ...   confusion all around ... "
    It dawned on Meg at last. "Excuse me, wait a minute.   You're not talking about rape anymore, are you? You're talking about ... murder? You're saying that Gordon Camplin raped my grandmother and then murdered her?" Meg asked, breathless with shock.
    "Make him pay," Tremblay said grimly.
    "But—but what proof do you have?" Meg wanted to know. Her hazel eyes were wide with emotion. "You weren't even there! You were here, with this ... this dollhouse," she said, regarding it with sudden loathing.
    "That's right," Tremblay said, wincing, as if her words were a slap in the face. "I loaded the dollhouse onto the truck, threw a tarp over it and the furnishings, and left it as near as I could to the Field. Then I joined the rest of the town. By then there were a couple thousand people milling on the waterfront, waiting to be carried off by boat. In all the confusion I never did hook up with the Camplins and the others. Everyone'd got scattered."
    Tremblay didn't have to recount that last, legendary scene, which had since passed into history. All the world, and certainly Meg and Allie, knew of it: knew of the huge line of fire that enveloped the townspeople to the north and to the west, and the wild, gale-driven sea that offered their only refuge, to the east. Knew of the bright, moonlit sky that hovered over the black, billowing smoke, and the thundering roar of the wind that drowned out their anxious, awestruck chatter.
    Twenty-five hundred people survived a night of almost biblical terror. The devil had licked at their heels, and then — when the road to Hull 's Cove suddenly opened — angels had led them to safety. The twenty-five hundred were members of a very exclusive club — but her grandmother was not.
    Tremblay's strength was fading fast. "In the investigation," he said in a dry whisper, "Gordon Camplin told the police that the last he saw of Margaret was when they were on the way to the main house. Supposedly she changed her mind and decided to return to the carpenter's cottage, to evacuate with me."
    He shook his head. "What could I say? It sounded plausible. Even I wanted to believe it."
    Meg's mind was working clearly now. "How did they account for my grandmother's ending up in the main house?"
    "Anybody's guess. The Camplin family had already gone on to the Field. Gordon's version is he made a quick pass alone through the house and left. My version is he saw the chance of a lifetime and took it."
    "No witnesses," murmured Tom. "No crime scene ...   nothing left at all. I take it you didn't offer your version of events to the police," he said to Tremblay in that dry tone Meg knew so well.
    Again Tremblay shook his head. "Who woulda believed me? Gordon was one of the heroes of the evening. He was all places at once, helping the early ones onto the boats and then later, after the road opened back up, helping the firefighters make a stand at Eden and West Streets, even though his own Eagle's Nest was gone by then."
    "No, I'm sorry, I can't accept this, Mr. Tremblay," said Meg. "It's too crazy."
    "Don't call me crazy!" the old man said in a croaking roar. Tom silenced Meg with a single look and said, "What you've told us needs to be thought over very carefully, Mr. Tremblay. It's a very serious charge."
    "Make him pay," Tremblay repeated doggedly. And then, with sudden, unarguable fatigue, he said, "I'm done."
    ****
    On the other side of Tremblay's front door Tom gave Meg a sharp look and said, "Are you okay?"
    Meg took a deep draught of fresh air and let it out in a rush that left her weaving. "I ... don't know. I'm pretty overwhelmed."
    "You're white as a sheet," Tom said, alarmed. He slipped his arm around Meg to steady her. "Let's get you home," he said.
    He led her to the car and they drove in silence for a few minutes until