The Murder of Miranda

There was, in fact, a fire.

Little Frederic Quinn, acting on the advice of his older brother, Harold, who was taking the advice of his best friend, Bingo Firenze, whose uncle was a hit man for the Mafia, always carried a packet of matches even though he had given up smoking when he was seven. Bingo had figured it out. Fire was the best attention-getter in the world and no matter where you were something was flammable, not merely the more obvious things like paper and wood, but stuff like Grady’s polyester warm-up suit hanging on a hook in the first-aid room. It took nearly all the matches in the packet before the warm-up suit finally ignited.

“Ha ha, Grady,” Frederic said just before he passed out from smoke inhalation.

In the excitement following the discovery of the fire nobody could find the key to the first-aid room. Grady tried to pick the lock with a nail file. When that failed, the engineer pried the door open with a hatchet and put out the fire by tossing Grady’s warm-up suit into the pool.

Frederic was given artificial respiration, and in a few minutes he was conscious again and coughing up the pizza, doughnuts and potato chips he’d had for breakfast.

Miranda Shaw knelt beside him and pressed a wet towel to his forehead. “Poor child, what happened? Are you all right?”

“I want a chocolate malted cherry Coke.”

“A glass of milk would be more—”

“I want a chocolate malted cherry Coke.”

“Of course, dear. Stay quiet and someone will bring you one. How did the fire start?”

“I don’t know,” Frederic said. “I got amnesty.”

“What’s that?”

“I can’t remember.”

“The little bastard set it himself,” Grady said. “And I’m going to kick his butt in as soon as his pulse is normal. Give me the rest of the matches, Frederic.”

“What matches? I don’t remember any matches. I got amnesty.”

“You’re going to need amnesty, kid, if you don’t hand over the evidence.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?” Miranda repeated. “Why would a child want a lawyer?”

“I’m pleading not guilty and taking the Fifth.”

“A fifth of what, dear? I don’t understand.”

“Hey, Grady, this is a far-out chick.”

Miranda stood up, looking helplessly at Grady and holding the wet towel at arm’s length as if it had turned into a snake. “He seems to be acting so strangely. Do you suppose he could be delirious?”

“No, ma’am. He always acts like this.”

“When I get my lawyer,” Frederic said, “I’m going to sue you both for libel.”

Miranda’s silk robe was stained with smoke as well as the remains of Frederic’s breakfast, and the flower had fallen out of her hair. Grady picked it up. Some of the petals came loose in his hand and drifted down onto the tile floor. He hadn’t realized until then that the flower was genuine and perishable. He thought of the baby duck that had died in his hands and all the soft delicate things that shouldn’t be touched.

“I’m sorry,” Grady said. “I didn’t mean to wreck it like that.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I thought the thing was — oh, plastic or something you can’t wreck.”

“Forget about it, please. It simply happened.”

“Like the fire,” Frederic said. “Honest to God, Grady, one minute I was sitting there doing my transcendental meditation and the next minute I was surrounded by leaping flames.”

“There were no leaping flames.”

“I saw leaping flames. I must have been delirious.”

“No flames, no delirium. Just a little creep with some matches, and a smoldering warm-up suit which will cost the club twenty-five bucks to replace. A new door lock will bring the tab to two hundred, and cleaning and painting, fifty extra. Maybe I should add ten bucks for my medical services. I saved your life.”

“Who asked you to?”

“Nobody. People were on their knees begging me to let you croak. But I have a kind heart.”

“Yeah? Well, bring me a chocolate malted cherry Coke, double whipped cream.”

“Get it yourself,” Grady said.

“I can’t.”

“Try.”

“I bet you want me to split so you can come on with the chick. Well, ha ha, I’m not going.”

“You just changed your mind, Frederic.” Grady grabbed him under the arms and jerked him to his feet. “Ha ha, you’re going.”

“All right, I’m going, I’m going. Only don’t pull any of the mucho macho stuff till I get back, will you? It’s time I started my education. The kids depend on me for info.”

Miranda leaned against the wall, watching Frederic skip down the corridor toward the snack bar. Her braid was half-unraveled and her face had already started to sunburn.

“He’s a very strange little boy,” she repeated. “I find it difficult to understand what he’s talking about, don’t you?”