The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire

journalist wrote a report of the fire that was more inflammatory than the fire itself. She dug up a bunch of facts and figures that made it sound as though all of Sleepyside is about to go up in flames. With her getting the populace all riled up, you chose the easiest way to get them calmed down — and that was to arrest an innocent man!”
    “I don’t let a hotshot reporter buffalo me!” Sergeant Molinson growled.
    “Prove it!” Pat Murphy said. “Release Nicholas Roberts!”
    “And you don’t buffalo me, either,” Molinson snapped. “I can hold Roberts for forty-eight hours for questioning without pressing charges. And that’s what I intend to do!” With that, the sergeant walked quickly out of the room.



6 * At the Scene of the Crime

    AFTER SERGEANT MOLINSON LEFT, Pat Murphy turned and saw the four young people for the first time. Her look of stony determination melted into a warm and genuine smile as she walked toward them. “Nick?” she asked, holding out her hand to the young artist. “It had to be you — you look like your father.”
    “How is my father?” Nick asked.
    “I won’t say he’s fine, because nobody would be under the circumstances,” Pat Murphy told him. “He’s doing as well as can be expected. You can go in and see him, if you’d like.”
    “I will,” Nick said. “When do you think he’ll be released?”
    Pat Murphy looked at the floor and flapped her briefcase impatiently against her leg. “He should have been released already, and you probably have me to blame for the fact that he hasn’t been. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. It just made Molinson dig in his heels. My guess is that he’ll hold your father for a few hours, to save face, and then let him go. If he isn’t home by tomorrow morning, give me a call.”
    “I’ll do that,” Nick said. “And please, don’t think it’s your fault that they’re holding my father here. They probably would have done that anyway.”
    “I hope you’re right,” Pat Murphy said. “Well, if you want to stop in and visit your father, just go through those double doors back there. The clerk will take you to him. Only family and legal counsel allowed, I’m afraid,” she added, turning to the Beldens.
    “I should have introduced you,” Nick said apologetically. “This is Trixie, Mart, and Brian Belden. Their father was the one who called you.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” Pat Murphy said. “Your father is a good man.”
    “He says the same thing about you,” Trixie told the lawyer. “I mean — that is —” She felt the dreaded blush creeping up her neck.
    “I know what you mean,” Pat Murphy said, laughing.
    Trixie smiled at the attorney.
    “I really have to be going,” Pat Murphy said. “Nick, I’ll be talking to you later.” She put out her hand again, and Nick shook it gratefully.
    The attorney walked briskly toward the door — only to be stopped by Jane Dix-Strauss, who approached her with note pad in hand. Pat Murphy drew herself up to her full height and glared at the young reporter. “I have no comment to make to you,” she snapped. “What’s more, it will be a cold day in June before I do have one.” She pushed past the reporter and made her way out the door. “Wow!” Trixie breathed. “I guess she told her.”
    “ Your statement is correct,” Mart told her. “Nevertheless, the journalist seems unjarred by the barrister’s barrage.”
    “Cool as a cucumber,” Brian agreed. “Uh-oh — I think she’s thinking of heading this way. Nick, you’d better go in to see your father. We’ll run some errands and meet you back here in an hour.” Outside, the sky was cloudy and the air was cool for the first week in June. But the weather wasn’t the only reason for Trixie’s shiver as she got into the car. “Can you imagine having to go visit your father in jail ?” she asked. “I don’t think I could bring myself to do it. Poor Nick — and he’s so calm about it.”
    “I don’t think he’s calm at all,” Brian said. “He’s just quiet. I bet there’s plenty of hurt under the surface. I worry more about people like that than I do about the ones who let go and show they’re upset.”
    “Speaking of letting go,” Trixie said, “where are we going now? What are the errands we have to run for an hour?”
    “I thought we’d go to the lumberyard and price the supplies we’ll need for the clubhouse,” Brian said as he turned out of the parking lot.
    “The only