Death on the Diagonal - By Nero Blanc Page 0,50

Kelly,” Orlando said.

“Yes,” Rosco offered as they shook hands, “I remember you from Monday—at Mr. Collins’s house.”

“Oh, that was a horrible day,” she said with her lilting drawl. “I hope I never, ever have to go through something like that again in my life. That poor family. It seemed to bring out the worst in them, rather than the best. It was so, so sad. I couldn’t help but feel all broken up inside.”

“It wasn’t the best of circumstances.”

“No, it sure wasn’t. And on top of the fire and all . . . I just hope that old saying about trouble coming in packs of threes isn’t right.” Kelly shook her head. “Well, I’ve got some work to do, and you two don’t need a nosy woman eavesdropping, so I’m just going to mosey along. It was nice meeting you again, Mr. Polycrates.”

After she left, Orlando said, “Love of my life. She certainly turned me around.”

“I know what you mean. I feel the same way about my wife,” Rosco replied as he sat on a couch covered with a woven blanket striped with orange and earth brown lines. “And I appreciate you putting aside the time to meet with me. I gather it can get hectic around here with the Barrington competition coming up.”

“Hey, no problem. My doc says to take it easy for a week, and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do—kick back, ride my pony, and make sure none of the stable hands messes up too bad. But as far as the Barrington’s concerned, we’re out of it. That’s dead meat. No way we can replace our tack in time.”

“Too bad . . . I gather Mr. Collins told you I was investigating the fire for an insurance company?”

Orlando said, “Yep, sure did,” as he dropped himself into a wooden rocker across from Rosco.

“I’d like to start by getting a little background information if I could.” Rosco pulled a pad and pen from his jacket.

“Shoot.”

“How long have you worked for King Wenstarin Farms?”

“Almost six years now.”

Rosco noted the information. “So you and your wife arrived before Jack Curry returned to the farm, is that right?”

“Actually, I met Kelly here, at King Wenstarin. We were married a little over a year ago. She was hired as day help for Mr. C. and Ry—” Orlando stopped and corrected himself. “Mrs. Collins . . . Kelly got her job a few months after Jack got his old gig back. Maybe two years ago? Something like that, anyway. What’s all this got to do with the fire?”

“Dates are important for the pencil pushers reading the claims forms,” Rosco lied with an easy smile. “It’s simple, black-and-white stuff. But I suppose the polite thing to ask would be, how’s your head feeling?”

Orlando instinctively rubbed the back of his skull and gave a brief laugh. “I’ve still got a good knot there, I can tell you that. But it’s coming along. I’m just happy whatever beaned me didn’t break the skin. I’d hate to have to get a haircut just so the docs could throw in a few stitches.”

“Any idea what hit you?”

“You’d have to ask someone else that. I heard the crack more than I felt it. Mr. C. told me I managed to get the sprinkler valve turned on, but I don’t recollect doin’ it.”

“I suppose you’re aware that the consensus around the farm is that you started the fire—albeit by mistake?”

Polk diverted his eyes and gritted his white teeth, enough so that his jaw muscles popped out from his cheeks. “That’s right. Yeah,” he said.

Rosco suppressed a grin. Orlando should take lying lessons from a pro like Dawn Davis, he thought. The guy’s rotten at it. “Maybe you could walk me through the chain of events—what you believe might have happened to trigger the accident.”

“Well . . . it’s all . . . a little fuzzy in my head,” was the hesitant answer. Orlando was still unable to look Rosco in the eye, and he offered no further details.

Rosco tapped his pen on his knee. “Okay, I’m going to cut to the nitty-gritty, here. We’ve got a major blaze. And we’ve got a bunch of people who feel you started it. Now, it was either a true accident, or you did it on purpose—which constitutes arson and carries a hefty prison term. Insurance companies aren’t inclined to buy ‘accident’ when there’s a half-million-dollar settlement at stake. They’re looking for any reason that will let them balk on payment; which I personally