“In other words, she took her sleeping pills and dozed off with a lighted cigarette in one hand?” said Bill.
“Or in her ashtray where it could have rolled off onto the bed when she turned over in her sleep,” answered Wilkes. “Sometimes the smoker wakes in time, but not if he’s drunk, or taking sedatives as Mrs. Playfair was.”
“I don’t believe it!” said Tash. “I saw Vivian Playfair in this room a few hours before the fire. She was smoking then and it worried me. I made her promise she wouldn’t smoke in bed anymore. I think she meant to keep that promise.”
“Perhaps she meant to,” said Wilkes. “But she was subject to loss of memory. She may have forgotten.”
“Wouldn’t an arsonist need something more than a cigarette?” asked Bill. “Lighter fluid or kerosene?”
“Hardly necessary,” said Wilkes. “Cigarettes have started thousands of fires. Most of them have a chemical added to keep them burning when the smoker isn’t inhaling. If you’ve ever rolled your own without any chemical additive, you’ll remember how easily they go out.”
“Then what is bothering you if it isn’t the cigarette?” demanded Bill. “And don’t fob me off with vague stuff about Gestalt insight.”
“All right, I’ll tell if you won’t print it. Scout’s honor?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Why the hell didn’t that fire alarm go off sooner? It was heard first at three A.M. Our chemists think that the fire in this room had been burning then for at least a half an hour. It’s not the most modern fire alarm system in the world but it’s adequate, and we did check it once a week. We checked it three days before the fire, and it was in good working order then. It’s detectors don’t wait for flames. They are sensitive to heat and smoke. There was a lot of heat and smoke here before three o’clock. Why didn’t the alarm go off?”
“Have you checked the detectors since the fire?”
“They’re too badly burned for us to check them now. Arson has a way of destroying most of the evidence that it ever occurred. So what it all boils down to is a verdict of not proven.”
“What it all boils down to is no story I can print.” Bill sighed. “I’m used to that. When I retire I’m going to write a book called The Unprinted History of the Twentieth Century.”
“A better title would be The Unprintable History of the Twentieth Century,” said Tash.
“I’ll tell you what you can print,” said Wilkes. “An editorial article saying that Leafy Way must have the most modern and efficient fire alarm system in the world before any governor lives here again.”
When they were in the car once more on their way back to town, Bill said, “Tash, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you for some time. I know you liked Jeremy Playfair, but people who are not used to heights can get dizzy up there where the air is pretty rarefied. I’m glad you’re out of it now. You are out of it, aren’t you?”
Tash laughed aloud. “You, too?”
“Who else has broached the subject?”
“Gordon Freese. Did you really think I would stop seeing Jeremy now after all he’s been through? He probably won’t need me anymore when he comes back, but if he does, I’m not going to ignore him.”
“If he comes back,” said Bill. “There is a persistent rumor that he will resign now. After all, Job Jackman is doing a pretty good job as a governor pro tern.”
Tash was the first out of the car. Bill followed her into her vestibule. She looking into her mailbox.
“There’s a letter. No, it’s a cable. I’ve been out so much they couldn’t reach me by telephone.”
She took it in at one glance, and then handed it to Bill.
GOVERNOR RETURNING FRIDAY RESUMING RE-ELECTION CAMPAIGN STOP CAN YOU TAKE SAME JOB STOP WOULD BE APPRECIATED REGARDS CARLOS
Reply prepaid: Carlos de Miranda, Cayo Siesta, Sotavento.
“How will you answer this?” asked Bill.
“In just two words: DELIGHTED TASH.”
Next morning Hilary telephoned.
“I’ve persuaded Job to turn over his place, Fox Run, to Jeremy until Leafy Way can be occupied again. Job and Jo Beth are moving to a hotel in town. I thought it might be a good idea to go out to Fox Run today and see what needs to be done before Jeremy gets here, but I have a problem. My car’s is in the garage for a check up. Could you drive me in your car? . . . I’ll be ready and waiting for you in half an hour.”
In spite of the sultry August day, Hilary looked as cool and neat as usual in ice-green linen with dark green shoes and smoothly immaculate hair. Tash herself could never attain that each-hair-in-its-place grooming. Just looking at Hilary made her feel blowzy.
Hilary told her to take an interstate highway and go toward the eastern part of the state where there was seacoast and sandy beaches.
The end-of-summer feeling was everywhere in the dusty leaves, the breathless heat, the late-blooming goldenrod and asters and loosestrife edging ditches along the road. Most of all it was in a single branch of sumac that had already turned bright scarlet, looking weirdly unnatural in a world where everything else was green.
“Why Fox Run?” asked Tash.
“This used to be fox-hunting country. Have you ever read Bayard Taylor’s novel The Story of Kennett? It’s about fox hunting in Kennett Square long ago, and that’s just across the border in Pennsylvania. Job says his house is surrounded by a little wilderness, where foxes often went to earth. Fox Run is actually the name of a road.”
They left the highway for a rougher road winding through the woods. Suddenly, they came out into the sunlight, where trees had been cut away on both sides of the road. On their left a private road led through meadows and paddocks to a tall angular Victorian house, standing in a sweep of lawn about half a mile away. A few shade trees clustered around the lawn.
