Page 82 of The Bride Wore White

“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get the lug wrench out of the trunk of my car. I can use it to reach the paperweight.”

He went around the house, retrieved the lug wrench, and returned to the empty window. He crouched, leaned forward a little, and managed to use the end of the wrench to propel the crystal through the soggy muck all the way out of the library and onto the ground.

Prudence started to pounce on it with a flimsy little handkerchief she had taken out of the pocket of her trousers.

“Wait,” he said. “You’ll need something larger.”

He reached inside his jacket and produced a square of neatly folded white linen. She took it from him and used it to wrap the grime-covered crystal ball. He thought she looked ridiculously pleased. It was just a paperweight. Yes, it was a nice paperweight. But still.

“This is interesting,” she said. She closed one hand around the fabric-wrapped paperweight. “It feels a little different. I wonder if the fire changed the energy in it. Fire is a very elemental force.”

“Is that how psychics talk?” he asked.

She gave him a breezy smile. “Yep. Get used to it.”

He got lost in her eyes for a second, and while he was sinking beneath the surface, he allowed himself a flash of a daydream, one that envisioned a future with Prudence in his life.

“I could do that,” he said softly.

She blinked, breaking the small spell, and then gave him one of her overbright smiles. “I’ll wash off your paperweight when we get back to the hotel.”

“It’s yours now,” he said.

He turned back to the scene of the library and started cataloging more details and impressions. He infused them with his memories, building the picture in his mind. The sound of shattering glass. The smell of gasoline. The direction of the breeze off the ocean. The way the smoke had unfurled on the ground floor. The burn pattern. The firestorm that had followed.

And he listened to the chimes.

“The incendiary device was thrown through this window,” he said, indicating a spot on what was left of the floor.

“How can you be sure?”

“The burn patterns. Fire behaves a lot like a storm. So we know the arsonist stood here. After that, he ran back to the main road, where he left the car.”

“But we found Clara Dover on the other side of the house,” Prudence said.

“Yes, we did,” Jack said softly. “She certainly did not throw the device. The arsonist left her on the other side of the house, and then he came around to this side to throw the firebomb. He was running back to the car while you and I were on our way down the rear stairs.”

“Still think Harley is the arsonist?”

“Yes, but we’ll never be able to prove it. The question is, did he murder Clara in the hospital?”

“He said he wanted her to suffer in an asylum.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but he had to worry about what she might remember and what she could tell the police. And then there is his lack of impulse control. He would have been very excited by the fire. Euphoric, probably. And we know he hated Clara Dover.”

“She would have been helpless in that hospital bed.”

“Yes. I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.”

They walked back to the Packard. He got behind the wheel and started to turn on the ignition. But something made him pause. He studied the charred wreckage of House of Shadows, and then he looked out at the view of the sparkling Pacific.

“You’re right,” he said. “It’s a beautiful property.”

“Yes, it is,” Prudence said.

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