Embers by Antoinette Stockenberg Page A

Meg's light-headedness passed.
    "Well?" she asked in a voice still faint. "What do you think?"
    "I think your Mr. Tremblay makes a convincing witness," Tom said carefully.
    "Do you believe him?" she asked, rejecting Tom's evasive answer.
    "I haven't decided."
    "You don't decide about believing someone. You either believe or you don't."
    "Okay; I believe I haven't decided."
    "Damn it, Tom! Why are you being this way?"
    "I'm just your ride, remember? That's all."
    "It's not all. You came in. You heard him. You can't just pretend —" She sighed and started over. "Let's just assume that a witness came to you who you thought was reliable. Wouldn't you have an obligation to investigate his story?"
    Tom said, "If I believed Tremblay's story, the only obligation I'd have would be to pass it on to the proper authorities, in this case, Chief Dobney."
    "Chief Dobney! Oh, but you can't do that! Not yet!" Meg said, aghast. "This is still a family affair!"
    "Look, Meg, this isn't The Rockford Files. I'm not a private eye — ah, there's Allie," Tom said, obviously relieved.
    ****
    Allie was sitting dejectedly on the bottom step of the front porch, her chin resting on one fist, her other fist clutching the forgotten white bakery bag.
    Wyler parked the car on the street, wondering how he'd let himself get sucked into this latest turn of events. God. If it wasn't one sister, it was the other.
    He slipped from the front seat to get Meg's door. No question about it, Tremblay's story had grabbed them both by the throats. But Wyler had managed to shake off the old man's grip. Meg, he could see, was having a harder time of it. She was still sitting in the front seat, upset and completely caught up in the tale.
    As for Wyler, he'd told Meg the truth: he didn't know whether to believe the old man or not. But even if he had believed Tremblay's story, he wouldn't have admitted it to Meg. He knew instinctively that she was the kind of woman who'd want him to investigate immediately and solve the crime in a day or two, just like on TV.
    He had his own unsolved mysteries, a drawerful of them:
    They were bloody, they were recent, and there was nothing speculative about them. He wanted to explain that to Meg — although he had no idea why it mattered — but right now Allie made that impossible. She'd taken one look at her sister's face and, dropping the abandoned-waif routine, had come running.
    "What's happened? Where were you?" she demanded to know.
    "Tremblay's," said Meg. "I'll tell you all about it." She turned to Wyler, her eyes bright and hard. "Thanks for the ride, Lieutenant," she said, clearly dismissing him.
    "Wait, Tom; you're not leaving?" cried Allie.
    Wyler turned from Allie's violet, don't-go gaze to Meg's get-the-hell-out-of-here look. One sister seemed to cancel out the other.
    "Will I see you later tonight?" Allie asked, breaking the deadlock.
    Wyler glanced at Meg. It seemed like a good time to make her understand that his interest in the Atwells family was social and not professional. "Love to," he said. "How about seven?"
    As he walked away, he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Whether it was from Allie's smoldering look, or Meg's, he wasn't too sure.
    After he left, Meg sat down on the bottom step with Allie and told her all she'd learned from Tremblay.
    When she finished, Allie, agape, said, "He must be senile."
    "I don't think so, Allie. If what he's saying is true —"
    "You're crazy, Meg! Camplin comes back here every summer; everyone knows that. Even divorce hasn't stopped him. And it's not like the guy has turned into a guilty recluse or anything. He's just as active in society as his ex-wife. Why would he come back to the scene of the crime year after year?"
    "What scene?" Meg asked. "There is no scene, not after the fire." She plucked a dandelion that was growing in a crack in the sidewalk. "If there really was a crime, we're going to have to tread carefully. I want you to promise me — promise me — that you