Free Guilty Until Proven Innocent by Sarah Billington Page A

door opened and I smiled in greeting at Fiona Herman, taking a deep breath of the crisp autumn air that blew into the stifling heat.
    “Peter Gabarski.”
    “Oh, right,” I said. “Yeah, have they contacted him yet?”
    “Well that’s the thing, he was supposed to be home last night.” Garry said, shoveling a forkful of bacon and hash brown into his mouth.
    “Apparently Shana’s worried sick,” Mrs. P said. “She was calling him all night at the hospital in between tests, and his phone keeps going to voicemail. He’s vanished. My Nina’s a nurse there, she told me,” Mrs. P puffed up with pride.
    “I know Nina,” I said. “I went to school with Nina, remember Mrs. P?” I said.
    She touched her forehead and sighed to herself. “Of course, yes, sorry, Dustin.”
    “Doug.”
    “Doug!”
    It wasn’t unusual that I knew her daughter. Most of Carringwood were born, raised, schooled, worked and died in Carringwood, and I wasn’t special enough to get out. Everyone knew everyone here. Sometimes when they got to be Mrs. Pomphrey’s age, they started to forget everyone too. But not the gossip. I smiled to myself as I wandered over to the table in the corner where Fiona was unloading her outerwear onto the chair beside her.
    “Is it unusually hot in here?” she asked, fanning her face with the menu as I approached.
    “Yeah, Noah opened.”
    “Oh,” she said. “Well that explains it. I’ll just have the porridge and apple juice this morning hon. Did you hear about the Gabarski house?”
    “You mean the fire?” I said as I scribbled her order onto my pad. “Everyone’s heard about it.”
    “Yes, well three white vans pulled up outside this morning and Sherriff Taylor and the Deputy cordoned off the whole lot. It’s completely barricaded with police tape all the way up to the edge of the property, stuck in the grass which is all water-logged because of those hoses.”
    “Who was in the white vans?”
    “They looked like space aliens, I tell you,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “Covered head to toe in white radiation-looking suits. Deputy Kelley told me they were arson experts and forensic investigators but I never saw them dressed like that on CSI.”
    Joel Hatherley swiveled in his seat. I noticed we had the whole room’s attention. “So they think it was done on purpose?”
    Fiona shrugged. “Kelley wouldn’t tell me. But they must do, right?”
    Bodecker in the kitchen rang the bell and slammed some plates on the counter. “Order’s up!”
    I weaved through the tables and over to the plates. Hanging Fiona’s order I scooped up Table Five’s eggs benedict and granola and wove back through.
    “Who would want to burn their house down?” Someone said.
    “Do you think they knew there were people home?”
    “Of course they knew, it was one o’clock on a school night. They knew.”
    “So it was attempted murder, then.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding. In Carringwood?”
    “We’re not capable of that.”
    “Have there been any strangers through town lately? Any tourists?”
    “Tourists? Here?”
    “Passing through, I mean.”
    There was a pause in the conversation. I glanced up. Everyone was looking at me, or Noah, waiting for an answer. If there had been strangers in town, they would have stopped here. We would have known about it.
    “Nah, man,” Noah said. “No newbies around since August.”
    I shook my head and picked up Mrs. P’s empty plate. “No one that I’ve seen.”
    “So it has to have been someone from here,” Garry Saunders said. He pushed back his coffee and looked suspiciously around the room. An uncomfortable silence grew as the breakfast crowd studied each other.
    “Peter’s still missing, remember,” Mrs. P said quietly.
    Eyes widened.
    Hands went to mouths in shock.
    Hushed conversation took over.
    “Peter?”
    “It couldn’t be.”
    “Why would he want to hurt his family?”
    “He loved them. He loves them.”
    “But why isn’t he here? Where is