Roast Mortem

I blinked. “No — ”

“Ovens?” Dante finished.

“All done in a microwave,” Wren said with a nod. “In Europe they make cone crust from scratch, but Americans only care about the filling, right? So my cones are really more like a cracker than a crust. They come prepackaged, too. No more training baristas for weeks on an espresso machine. A one- armed monkey can learn to make my cone pizza in five minutes!”

Dante and I exchanged looks. Now there’s an inspiring motto.

Wren paused. “Hey, is this the interview?”

“No, but...” I glanced at Dante. “We can get started now.”

Dante looked around the shop. “Why don’t you stand here, beside your porcelain Godzillas?”

“Dude!” Wren said. “Godzilla is Japanese. Those are Chinese dragons. Nine of them. For luck. My cousin’s traditional, says they’ll bring fortune to my new business...” He waved a dismissive hand. “I’m going to replace them before I open.” Wren pointed to a burnt orange chassis. “Shoot me by the Firebird. I’ll sit on the hood.”

“Sure, okay,” Dante said, shouldering the camera again.

“So, Mr. Jason Wren,” I said into the microphone, “it looks like you’re off to a great start rebuilding after the fire. You must have had lots of help. Did the insurance company jump in for a rescue?”

“Rescue?” Wren laughed. “Dealing with the insurance company involves miles of red tape, but with the arsonist coming forward in the papers, my situation should be resolved pretty quickly now.”

“But without an insurance settlement, how could you afford all of this? Were you maybe... forced to take on business partners?”

“I had some cash saved. Enough to get started.”

“What about the other business leaders in the community? Has the owner of the Dim Sum Palace offered to help? How about Mr. Dean Tassos from the Blue Mirage next door? Has he helped you? Or has Mr. Tassos and his club presented a problem for you? Now or in the past?”

“Well...” Wren’s brows knitted. “I don’t know Mr. Tassos, only by name. And the club guys are pretty good neighbors...”

Great... Now what?

“Mostly I’m doing the work myself,” Wren went on. “I used to work in a junkyard and later at an auto-body shop. And some of my friends have helped. One of them was here earlier. He ducked out for lunch.”

“I see...” Come on, Clare, another question. “I, uh, I guess you’re eating cone pizza for lunch, then?”

“Soon!” He laughed, pointed to a bright orange shopping bag. “I grabbed some Korean fried chicken on my way to work. That’s the way it is when you’re trying to get your business started. You work all the time!”

“Let’s talk about the arsonist who torched your coffee business.” Okay, here we go... “Any thoughts about who that person might be?”

“None at all. I just hope they get caught. I don’t want anyone else hurt.”

“Do you think the arsonist was one of your customers, Mr. Wren? Did you get a warning letter or a threatening message? A package in a backpack, maybe? Another coffeehouse received a threat like that. Did you know?”

Wren’s demeanor immediately changed. His open, friendly face went rigid; his smoky brown eyes went cold. “I didn’t read about any packages in backpacks or see anything like that on TV. How do you know about it?”

“Surely you read the arsonist’s letter. It was published. Do you — ”

Wren abruptly stood. “I don’t want to talk about the arsonist. I’ve talked enough about that — with the fire marshals, the insurance people, a whole army of officials. I thought you were here to talk about my new business.”

“Well, I just wanted to clarify — ”

“You know what? I have major work to do today so maybe you better go.”

I glanced at Dante. “I think we have enough.”

We couldn’t gather our stuff together fast enough for Mr. Wren, who looked at his watch three times before he hustled us back onto the sidewalk.

“He made us, right?” Dante said.

“Are you kidding? The guy didn’t even ask when his piece would air.”

The wind kicked up and I shivered. Dawn’s heavy gray clouds had ripened into an afternoon storm front. Holding down my wig, I glanced back through the pizzeria’s plate glass window. Jason Wren was making a cell call. Now who is he contacting so quickly after our interview?

“There must be some real motor heads around here,” Dante said, nudging me. “Check out that sweet number across the street.”

The restored Mustang hadn’t been parked there when we’d arrived. I would have noticed. The coupe gleamed redder than strawberries in a newly glazed tart. The convertible top and leather interior were white as castor sugar. Racing stripes ran from bumper to fender, and rising on the hood was a classic bonnet scoop.

“Are you okay, boss?” Dante asked. “You look a little pale, or maybe it’s the makeup. I’m not used to you wearing any.”

“That car,” I whispered. “I’ve seen it before...”

“Really?”

“That’s Glenn Duffy’s car. I’m sure of it.”

“That’s an odd coincidence — ”

“It’s not a coincidence.” I faced Dante. “I had the right triangle all along — but the wrong guy!”

“What?”

“Listen,” I said, excited now. “Wren was using matches to light his torch; Glenn Duffy’s car is parked across the street; and that old Hitchcock film that I saw inside? It was completely out of place with those car racing movies.”

Dante stared down at me. “Okay. I think you officially lost it.”

“No, I found it. I found our arsonists.” A chilly drop of rain splashed on the end of my nose. I ignored it. “Have you ever seen Strangers on a Train?”

“I’m into David Lynch.”

“It’s the story of two men who meet during a rail trip. One wants to marry his lover, but he can’t get a divorce. The other wants somebody dead so he can inherit a fortune. One suggests they swap murders.”

“Boss, maybe I’m slow, but — ”

“Jason Wren is friends with Glenn Duffy. Glenn is the man who stepped out for lunch! Don’t you see? The two swapped arson jobs. Jason burned Caffè Lucia. Glenn burned Wren’s business.”

“How does swapping jobs help them?”

“Alibis, Dante. The day the firebomb was set in Queens, Glenn could have set up an all-day alibi in Brooklyn. Then he picks up Lucia in plain sight at the Queens caffè and is off to Jersey. If there’s no sign of the guy anywhere near Caffè Lucia that day — even that week — how could he have set the firebomb?”

“And Jason Wren?”

“Same thing, only he sets up an alibi in Queens. Makes it impossible for a Brooklyn fire marshal to pin the firebomb on him.”

“What about the threat for you?”

“One of these guys must have set me up with that package the same night the other one set the bomb in the chain coffeehouse. Then they sent a fake letter to the papers to make it all look like some crazed fanatic...”

The wind was blowing harder now, the big drops falling faster.

“Okay, boss, you convinced me. So can we go back to the car now?” Dante eyed the violet sky. A white-hot slash seared the dark canvas. “I can’t let this camera get drenched. I borrowed it from a friend — ”

“Here, take my keys,” I said. “Put the camera in the trunk and come right back. I have to see Glenn Duffy for myself. Once I confirm his association with Wren, I can go to Fire Marshal Rossi with it.”

Dante took off at a run, shielding the camera with his coat. Unfortunately, we’d parked over three blocks away — so Wren wouldn’t see that we’d arrived in my clunker instead of a news van.

I went back to the corner and crossed the street. The water was really coming down now, and I was getting