Free Whiskers & Smoke by Marian Babson Page A

gazed out of the window thoughtfully.
“You’re going to the cookout at camp, Celia tells me.”
    â€œThat’s right.” For the first time, there had been a certain reserve in her tone. “Why?”
    â€œOh, nothing. I suppose Greg knows what he’s doing, but I’m surprised he’s still having cookouts. I wouldn’t think it was quite safe with the woods so dry. He’ll have to watch where every spark flies—”
    â€œPerhaps we ought not to go—”
    The children immediately chorused protest.
    â€œOh, I’m sure it will be all right,” Pixie said. “Greg’s careful. In fact, you’d better go, if you want to see a proper cookout. By this time next week, the Park Rangers may have outlawed camp fires in the woods. I’m surprised they haven’t already, but I suppose they’re trying to hold off until after the Fourth of July. It wouldn’t be the same without the big bonfire and fireworks.”
    â€œThere seem to be a lot of fires around,” I said uneasily. “I was watching television last night and—”
    â€œOh, it’s turning into a major industry.” Pixie laughed cheerfully. “The one boom industry the recession has produced. It’s saved a lot of small businesses.”
    â€œSaved?”
    â€œSure. They all carry fire insurance, perhaps more than they need. Then, if the business looks like failing, they have a quiet talk with their friendly neighbourhood Torch and then make arrangements to be far, far away—preferably in the company of a dozen unimpeachable witnesses—on the night the business goes up. Everybody knows it’s going on. It’s just awfully hard to prove—unless you can catch the Torch in the act.”

    â€œThat’s appalling!”
    â€œDepends on how you look at it.” She shrugged. “It’s been worse. In the nineteen-thirties Depression a lot of men committed suicide so that their families would get the insurance money and be able to survive. I can sympathize with the ones who’d rather cash in on their fire insurance—even it does mean gaol if they’re caught.”
    â€œIs that what it’s all about? I mean, ARSONLINE and the appeals from the police—?”
    â€œWell, sure. Even without the insurance angle, it’s dangerous. Your Torch is a professional, starting fires for money. The problem is, he can set off the carbon copy nuts, the firebugs, who do it because they like to see the fire engines or—” She glanced at the children and lowered her voice meaningfully. “Or for kicks . They’re the dangerous ones. They don’t care what they set alight. An empty building, an automobile, somebody’s home—it’s all one to them. They aren’t fussy, either, about making sure the place is unoccupied.”
    I shivered. Last night’s nightmare suddenly had deeper import than I had thought.
    â€œOh, you don’t have to worry here,” Pixie said lightly. “Those things are just happening down in the cities. This is really a very law-abiding neck of the woods.”

Chapter 7
    C elia picked us up and drove us to Camp Mohigonquin, but dropped us at the gate.
    â€œLuke’s already there,” she said. “I won’t come in. I can’t stay. I’ve made arrangements with Greg, either he or Lois will drive you home.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œI can’t stay,” she repeated peevishly. “You’ve seen Patrick. He needs a quiet evening, just the two of us. That’s why I sent Luke on ahead—with permission to stay overnight.”
    â€œCelia—” The children had tumbled out of the car and were walking up the path. “Celia, what is the matter with Patrick? Is it … serious?”
    â€œSerious enough.” She laughed shortly. “But not in the way you mean. They call it Executive Burnout. He went too far, too