Free Murder in Burnt Orange by Jeanne M. Dams

been accidents. Oh, nothing serious,” he said when Hilda looked alarmed. “A few gallons of paint disappear and then are found where they don’t belong. A cart is left in a dark corner where someone can trip over it, and someone does, and cuts his head. Tools are found in someone’s pocket, never the same person twice, never someone who would have any reason to steal them. It is all just—odd. And I do not like it.”

8
    As if the storms could give repose...
    â€”Mikhail Lermontov, “A Sail,” 1841
    Mama was strict about mealtime conversation, especially on a Sunday. It was to be cheerful and uplifting. So there was no talk about the wreck or the fire until dinner was over and everyone was sitting, stuffed to the eyebrows, in whatever shade they could find. Hilda wanted a nap, but she wanted even more to hear everything Sven could tell her.
    â€œSven, if it was the brakes, who could have done that? And when?”
    â€œWe have thought about that, all of us who work there. It must have been done after the last stop, and that would have been Mishawaka—it was coming from the east.”
    â€œAt the Woolen Mills, I suppose. But Mishawaka, that is only a few miles away. Why would the train have been going so fast?”
    â€œThe men say maybe someone damaged the air hoses while the train was stopped in Mishawaka. That would mean that the train would just go faster and faster, and the engineer wouldn’t be able to slow it down at all. Mishawaka lies a little higher than South Bend, you know, so the train would get up speed going downhill, and—”
    â€œBut that is a terrible thing! Anyone might have been killed, at a crossing, or around a curve!”
    â€œMind, Hilda, we do not know that is what happened. But we cannot think how else the train might have derailed. It is fortunate that the fire was not worse, and that more people did not die.” He looked at her very seriously, glanced over at Mama, dozing under a nearby tree, and switched from the Swedish he had been speaking to English. “My sister, I know Mama asked you to study these things. But you understand, now, that if evil men did what we think, they have no respect at all for life. They are wicked and malicious. It is better that you leave it alone.”
    The baby gave Hilda a vigorous kick just then. Hilda sighed and put her hands protectively over her swollen belly. “Everyone says the same thing, everyone except Mama and Aunt Molly. I think maybe they wanted me only not to think so much about myself. I have done that. I am much better, even though it is still so hot I cannot breathe. Maybe I will do what everyone says and not try anymore to find out what has happened with the wrecks. Probably I could do nothing anyway.”
    * * *
    Later she thought that she had meant it, at the time. And she might have kept to her do-nothing plan, if it hadn’t been for the next thing that happened.
    * * *
    It didn’t happen immediately. That hot Sunday was followed by more hot, airless days. Fans waved, dusty trees drooped, day followed oppressive day. Hilda woke, dressed, ate, read the newspaper, napped, and wished the baby would hurry up. Her temper was greatly improved, but she was bored nearly to tears.
    Patrick fretted at the lack of business at the store, but Uncle Dan wasn’t worried. “It’ll pick up as soon as the heat breaks, and it’s got to, soon.”
    A week went by. Tuesday, July 4, dawned hotter than ever, with a gray-green sky that seemed to put a heavy lid on the stifling air. “Glad we’re not doin’ a picnic today,” Patrick commented as he sat at the breakfast table in his shirtsleeves. Even though it was a holiday, both he and Hilda had risen early, unable to sleep any longer, but Patrick hoped for a nap later. “There’s goin’ to be a storm, or I’m a Chinaman.”
    The city had planned no Independence Day parade, which was a