opened the door behind her. “Sarah, you’d better come in. The state police fire marshal is here to see you.”
Harvey looked startled, as well he might, and Sarah’s stomach seemed to do a somersault. She took a steadying breath. Mac must not have come with the man, or Allison would have said. Apparently Sarah would have to deal with the investigator on her own.
“SARAH, THIS IS Norman Fielding, the investigator Mac sent over to talk to you.” Allison gave her a reassuring look as she made the introduction. “I’ll just get back to work while you talk.”
The fire marshal turned out to be a diminutive man, barely her height, with the kind of wiry build that suggested he’d go on forever. Sarah guessed him to be about her father’s age, with a thin, noncommittal face and a way of looking suspiciously over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses as he took down her name and address.
“Now, then, Ms....um, Miss Bitler, I understand you were first on the scene at the initial fire.” In his clipped tones the fact sounded almost like an accusation.
“Yes, that’s right. I saw the smoke when I was driving into town that morning.” As often as she’d been over it, she’d begun to feel as if she could tell the story in her sleep.
“That’s what I was told.” He darted a glance around the shop. Allison was at the counter a few feet away, occupied with the quilt files but within easy earshot, and several women browsed through the racks. “Maybe you’d rather we talked in private,” he suggested.
Allison flicked a frowning look in her direction.
“This is fine,” Sarah said, trying to appear more at ease than she felt. “My partner knows all about what happened that day.”
She thought Fielding seemed dissatisfied, but he didn’t raise any objection. Sarah took a couple steps closer to the counter, which forced him to do the same. As Allison had pointed out a short time ago, she had gained a lot of confidence in dealing with the Englisch from running the shop. Still, her stomach seemed to churn at the idea of being questioned by this stranger and having everything she said put down in his report.
“Were you on your usual route to town?” He looked at her over the frame of his glasses. “You were coming here, I suppose?”
“Yes, that’s right. And it’s the way I normally come.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ve had a look at the area. That back road wouldn’t be the most direct route from your home to the store.”
Allison stirred, as if about to speak, but she didn’t.
“I drive a horse and carriage back and forth. There’s less automobile traffic on the road I take.”
Fielding gave a rather disparaging look at her plain navy dress and apron. “That’s an Amish thing, is it?”
Sarah nodded.
Allison took a step closer, and Sarah frowned at her. Nothing would be gained by challenging the man’s apparent ignorance of Amish customs. That is, assuming it was ignorance and not prejudice.
Fielding had moved on. “Now, about the smoke you saw. Can you describe it?”
Sarah blinked. How did one describe smoke? “It was just smoke. I thought it might be from someone burning trash, but it seemed too thick for that.”
“What color? Brown? Gray? Black?” He snapped the questions at her.
Determined not to let him fluster her, Sarah took her time, trying to picture in her mind the moment when she’d first seen smoke rising above the trees.
“It was dark,” she said finally. “Dark gray or maybe black.”
“What is the significance of the smoke color?” Allison’s curiosity had apparently gotten the better of her.
Fielding eyed her for a moment before deciding to answer. “Wood burns brown or lighter gray. Black signifies the presence of gasoline or some other accelerant.”
“But...” Sarah frowned, visualizing the scene. “There wouldn’t have been any gasoline stored in an unused barn. Anyone would know better than that.”
At least, she’d think so. Gus Hill drove a rattletrap old pickup that looked as if it were held together with binder twine, but surely he wouldn’t do something so foolish as to store gas in the barn.
Fielding made a noise that might have been agreement. “Did you approach the barn once you got there?”
“I checked the cottage first, looking for the caretaker, but it was empty. Then I went to the barn. I had to be sure the caretaker wasn’t inside, you see.”
Unlike Aaron, Fielding didn’t criticize that decision. “How could you see inside? Did you open the door?”
“No, I didn’t have to. The door was standing wide open.”
He nodded, and she understood now what he was thinking. Why hadn’t she seen it before?
“The doors are usually closed. I’ve passed that barn a hundred times and never seen them standing open before.”
“Why? I mean, what’s the point of the doors being open?” Allison didn’t bother to disguise her interest.
“Someone might have left them open to allow the air to get at the fire,” Sarah said. “That would feed the flames.”
“You seem to know a lot about it.” Fielding peered at her again.
Maybe she’d better not volunteer opinions so quickly, with the investigator writing down her words.
“Anyone who burns trash knows that much,” she pointed out.
He made another note on his pad. “Could you tell where the flames were concentrated when you first got there?”
Sarah tried to put herself back in the jolting buggy, urging the frightened mare up the lane. The image rose in her mind.
“The two back corners,” she said without hesitation. “At first I thought it was just one, but then I saw the other burning, too. I remember that’s how it appeared at first, and then after I’d checked the cottage and looked again, the whole back was in flames.”
“Moving fast?” He tilted his head to one side, his eyes intent, looking like a robin that spied a juicy worm.
Sarah shivered. “It seemed so to me. When I looked in the front to see if anyone was there, the flames seemed to race toward me across the floor in kind of a narrow path.”
Fielding made a satisfied sound and jotted a few more words in his notebook. Then he snapped it shut decisively. “Good. That’s all for now, but I might want to talk to you again.”
Sarah couldn’t imagine what else there was to say, but she nodded. “I’m usually here during the day and home in the evening.”
“Don’t
