Free The Case of the Poisoned Eclairs: A Masao Masuto Mystery by Howard Fast Page B

get out of my way.”
    She pushed past him, and Laura pleaded, “Can’t you stop her?”
    â€œI have no right to stop her.”
    She ran after Alice Greene. Masuto and Beckman followed. Alice was fumbling with the locks on the door.
    â€œHow do you open this stupid thing?”
    Laura Crombie stood back and whispered to Masuto, “She’s in no condition to drive. Can’t you arrest her for drunken driving?”
    â€œOnly if she commits a violation while driving,” Beckman said.
    Alice Greene finally opened the door and walked to her car with long steps. She got into the Mercedes and with the light on from the open car door, the two men and the woman in the doorway could see her fumbling in her purse for the car keys.
    â€œSy,” Masuto said to Beckman, “get into your car and follow her. Anything—even a rolling stop at a stop sign—anything. The moment she steps out of line, pull her in for drunk driving.”
    At that moment, just as Beckman took off for his car, Alice slammed her car door, switched on her lights, and turned the ignition key. The explosion rocked the house and the burst of flame lit up the driveway. Laura screamed. Masuto and Beckman rushed toward the car and then were physically repelled by the curtain of heat.
    â€œCall the fire department!” Masuto shouted at Laura Crombie.
    He and Beckman circled the car, looking for some opening, and then Beckman pulled Masuto back. “Your eyebrows are singed, Masao. It’s no use. She’s dead.”
    â€œWhy didn’t I stop her? Why?”
    â€œBecause you didn’t know.”
    People were beginning to come out of their houses, to stand watching. A prowl car pulled up, then a second one. In the distance the siren of a fire engine sounded.
    â€œGet inside with the women,” Masuto told Beckman. “Keep them in the house and keep the door closed. They’ll be hysterical by now, so quiet them down.”
    People were crowding onto the driveway, and one of the uniformed policemen was ordering them back. The fire truck screamed its way into the street, and a moment later a fire hose opened up on the burning car.
    â€œTwenty-seven grand for that heap,” Masuto heard someone in the crowd say. Evidently no price was put on the human life. The uniformed officer who had come in the second prowl car said, “For Christ’s sake, Sarge, what in hell goes on here?”
    â€œGet on your radio and patch it through to downtown. I want the L.A. bomb squad up here, and tell them to bring their truck.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œAre you in charge here?” a fireman asked Masuto. “We’d like to move those two cars,” pointing to the Seville and the Porsche. “You got the keys?”
    â€œDon’t touch them. They may be wired. Can you get the woman out?”
    The fire was out now, the car a blackened, smoking heap.
    â€œWe’ll try. The ambulance will be here any minute. But she’s dead. No question about that. That heat would kill her in ten seconds if the blast didn’t.”
    Another police car with two more officers pulled up. “I want those people back in their houses,” Masuto said to them. “There’s nothing they can do and there’s nothing for them to see.”
    â€œWho’s in the car, Sarge?”
    â€œA woman,” Masuto said shortly. “Does the captain know about this?”
    â€œThey called him from the station. He’ll be here any minute.”
    â€œWell, get those people back into their homes. If they ask, tell them it was an accident and that’s all you know.”
    â€œThat
is
all we know,” one of the cops said.
    The firemen had pried open the door of the smoking car, and Masuto walked over and forced himself to look at the charred figure that a few moments ago had been a vital, living woman. The metal of the Mercedes was still hot and the firemen were wetting it down with a