Roast Mortem

He held up the cookie. “According to the guys I bought it from, it’s a ‘Stuck on You’ Linzer Heart.” Franco winked as he offered her a taste. “Yummy, huh?”

“Peanut butter and marshmallow. Not bad...”

“Ladder 219 has a thing for Elvis,” Franco said. “All their stuff has the King’s theme: Chocolate Hound Dogs, Love Me Tender Blueberry Corn Muffins, Jailhouse Rocky Road Bars, Big Hunk O’ Burnin’ Fudge. They even dubbed their firehouse ‘Graceland.’”

Esther licked some marshmallow off the corner of her darkly glossed lip. “Sticky, but good.”

“I wonder if Joy could bake this?” Franco said.

I was about to inform the sergeant that my daughter’s interest in Fluffernutters ended when she quit the Girl Scouts. But I bit my tongue. I’d learned a thing or two during Joy’s teen years. Better not encourage their relationship by discouraging it.

“So, Coffee Lady, I heard something about a free cuppa joe with a purchase.”

I nodded. “That’s right. And for a purchase that big he deserves a large.”

Esther presented Franco with his coffee — black, no sugar.

“Mmmm, hot stuff,” he said after a sip. “Kind of like that new batch of digital goodies Joy sent me from France.”

When he waggled his eyebrows, I nearly lost it. “Just what kind of photos is my daughter sending you?!”

“Calm down, Momma Hen.” Franco laughed over his coffee cup. “They’re pictures of some of the dishes Joy’s been making. A sweet roasted chicken, some pretty vegetable medleys, a glistening glazed duck, and a very sexy puff pastry.”

“Oh, thank God,” I said, relieved — until I noticed Tucker exchanging a look with Esther.

“Did you know Frenchies eat pigeons?” Franco asked, completely serious.

Esther folded her arms. “You mean squab?”

“Squab? Is that what — ” Franco suddenly stopped. He seemed to be listening to something that we couldn’t — like a micro radio receiver in his ear. “Sorry. I’d love to continue this discussion about what Frenchies call rats with wings, but I gotta go.”

“What a relief,” I said to Esther when Franco was out of earshot. “I thought my daughter was sending him... Well, never mind what I thought.”

“Oh, boss...” Esther gaped at me with pity. “You are so naïve.”

“What do you mean?”

“Franco may come off as a mook, but Joy’s really into him. She says he’s got these way wicked magic hands, and when they’re alone together — ”

“Stop! I don’t want to know!” Now I was the one holding my head like the kid from Home Alone.

Tuck put his hand on my shoulder. “Add it up, Clare. Joy’s a professional cook. It’s her passion. And she’s sending Franco pictures of her dishes.”

“So?” I said, still feeling clueless.

“Hello!” Esther’s eyes bugged. “You never heard of food porn?”

The thought of my daughter sending that cocky sergeant any form of porn left me sufficiently horrified. For a moment, I was so distracted, I didn’t notice what Dante already had.

“Boss...” He said, gently tapping me. “James Noonan is here...”

Dante lifted his chin and I looked in the direction he’d subtly indicated. The crowd was breaking up after the bagpipers turned the stage over to a local politician. James stood only a few feet away from our tent. He was surrounded by firefighters. I didn’t recognize the other men, but it was clear they knew James and were offering their condolences.

“He looks like a freakin’ zombie,” Dante whispered. “Even worse than at the funeral.”

It was true, James seemed to have recovered little since that heartbreaking day. He’d been inconsolable at the church — so overwhelmed by grief that he’d left the mass early. He never showed up at the wake, either, though his wife made a brief appearance. I’d hoped to see Captain Michael step in and help, but he had his hands full comforting Bigsby’s mother and two sisters.

I waited until the other firemen drifted away, and then I brought James a double espresso.

Twenty-Five

“Hey, Ms. Cosi.”

“Hey to you,” I replied, giving him a smile.

He brightened a little when he saw me, but his smile was barely there. In the strong morning sun, James’ complexion looked like stale bread dough, his bloodshot eyes were dulled and shadowed, the crimson webs as pronounced as wild mace growing over nutmeg seeds.

I pointed to a bench just vacated by a pair of EMS workers, and we sat down. “So, what do you think of the sale?” I asked, starting with what I hoped was a neutral question.

“It’s nice. Real nice. And thank you for the espresso.” James sipped once then stared across the park. “Bigs was looking forward to today. All the ‘tempting offerings’ as he put it.”

“He enjoyed home-baked goodies?”

“Yeah...” James glanced at me. “Those, too.”

He tipped his head and I followed his gaze to a trio of young women — chic, fashionable, and thin as celery stalks — flirting with two young firefighters. The Manhattan girls were shopping for something warm, sweet, and comforting, and it didn’t appear to involve chocolate, sugar, or pastry flour...

“This town’s raining estrogen, you know?” James said. “Ladies in hose and heels. Bigs loved them.”

“I noticed. So did Dante. The number of single white roses at Bigsie’s funeral was hard to miss...” (Not to mention the number of single, well-dressed women.)

“Yeah, Bigs liked to send a white rose to a girl after he had a nice, uh... evening with her.”

James paused and his frown deepened. “You know the worst part of it, Ms. Cosi? My best friend died for nothing. It shouldn’t have happened. He did everything right. It was someone else who screwed up...”

“I don’t want to cause you any more pain,” I said as gently as I could, “but I’d like to know more about what happened that night. I’d like to know exactly how your friend died.”

James rubbed his neck for a moment then finally spoke. “Two companies were fighting the flames when we got there. It had already spread to the ground floor of the building next door. Oat ordered us up the fire escape to vent the second structure — me, Bigs, Dino Elfante, and Ronny Shaw.”

A cloud crossed James’s pallid features. “Everything was going okay, by the book. The roof was flat with no apparent hot spots, not much smoke, either. Bigs kind of moved away from the rest of us, poking the roof with his Halligan tool. Then all hell broke loose. There was a blast, and a chunk of the roof flew into the air. It was like a volcano of fire that suddenly just blew.”

James paused, gulped at his double.

“The fire marshals said the basement had an illegal conversion. That’s what funneled the fire so fast from the coffeehouse to the office building next door. And the second floor of that office structure was undergoing some kind of unlicensed renovation. There were combustibles all over the place. So when the first floor started cooking the second, everything went up without warning.”

James drained his cup dry. “We hit the same fire escape we came up on. Dino and Ronny were long gone when I realized Bigs wasn’t behind me.”

He crushed the paper cup in his fist.

“I went back up. The roof was still partially intact. There wasn’t much smoke, but the heat and fire were unreal. I could see Bigs on the other side of that burning hole. There was no way he could make it back to the fire escape, but he was ready.”

“Ready?”

“Bigs had already found a heavy rafter and pounded down his roof spike. He’d hooked the safety line to the