The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire

Mr. Roberts’s store, but she didn’t feel like facing their disbelief, which would be so much stronger than Honey’s.
    For once, she was glad when bedtime came. She was sure she’d sleep well after her frantic bike ride. Instead, sleep came fitfully. She kept half waking from dreams she couldn’t remember. Toward morning, her dream took her back to the night of the Memorial Day fire. Once again she was in the throng of people on Main Street. Once again she could hear the sirens and see the fire truck, so close to the orange glow rising in the sky, but not close enough, and not able to get any closer. In her dream, she turned her back on the fire truck and put her hands over her ears. It didn’t help — the sirens were still just as loud.
    Trixie woke with a start and felt a flood of relief when she saw her own room, with sunlight coming in through the windows. It was just a dream, she reassured herself.
    Then, suddenly, she knew it hadn’t been — not altogether. Now she was wide awake, but she could still hear the sirens!



11* "We’re Going to the Police!”

    TRIXIE THREW BACK THE SHEET, jumped out of bed, and got into jeans and a T-shirt. She splashed some water on her face and ran a comb through her hair, then ran down the stairs.
    All the while, the sirens kept going. She wasn’t surprised, therefore, to see her parents and her two older brothers listening to the radio when she got downstairs.
    “What is it?” she demanded. “What’s — ”
    “Sh!” Brian said, making a “keep it quiet” gesture with one hand.
    “...is the second large fire in Sleepyside in less than a month,” the radio announcer was saying.
    “Oh, no!” Trixie said, sinking into a chair and covering her eyes with her hands. Through her self-imposed darkness, the radio announcer’s voice sounded even more ominous.
    “The fire is thought to have started at around seven-thirty A.M., when the store was unoccupied, so there were no injuries. A passing patrol officer spotted the smoke and called the fire department. The fire fighters arrived quickly at the scene, but the fire had spread quickly, causing massive damage to the store.”
    “What store?” Trixie asked, raising her head and looking around for an answer.
    Another “pipe down” signal from Brian was the only response in the room, but the radio announcer soon filled in the missing information. “... a complete loss, according to Mr. James D. Slettom, owner of the appliance store,” the voice said calmly.
    Trixie shuddered. “Mr. Slettom?” she echoed. “Is that the Mr. Slettom? The one who owned Mr. Roberts’s store, too?”
    Again the radio announcer provided the answer: “... marking the second time in a month that property owned by Mr. Slettom has been the scene of a major fire. Stay tuned to WSTH for further developments.”
    As a commercial began, Mart got up and turned off the radio. Mrs. Belden went into the kitchen to make breakfast. Mr. Belden went upstairs to shave and finish getting ready for work — a task he’d interrupted at the sound of the sirens. Brian went to the front door and brought in the morning paper.
    “At least this fire happened too late for Jane Dix-Strauss to get a scoop on it for the Sun,” he said. “That should make you happy, Trix.”
    For the first time that morning, Trixie remembered the scene she’d witnessed the night before: Jane Dix-Strauss and the mysterious man behind Mr. Roberts’s store. She remembered, too, one of the questions Honey had asked: “If the man was the arsonist, why would Jane Dix-Strauss wait so long before she paid him?”
    It had been a question Trixie didn’t have an answer for at the time. But this morning, a simple explanation came to her mind. What if it wasn’t that fire she was paying him for?
    The idea of it made Trixie gasp. As her brothers turned to look at her, she covered it with a hasty yawn. “Those sirens woke me out of a sound sleep,” she said.
    “I wish I were privileged to indulge in such prolonged slumbers,” Mart said pompously. “I, of course, have more pressing pursuits to attend to. I expect to equalize the situation by relaxing when the efforts at the clubhouse commence.”
    “Oh, fiddledeedee.” Trixie knew it wasn’t a very impressive counterargument, but it was too early, and she had too much on her mind, to do better. “Anyway, you guys knocked off early yesterday, while Honey and I did some of the most effective legwork we could have done.”