Page 78 of Taming Lady Temperance

“It took me a minute to wake up,” Taggert said, his face thoughtful. “I’m a sound sleeper, but I felt groggier than usual.”

“Probably from the smoke you’d been breathing.”

“Maybe.” Taggert shrugged and ran a hand down the front of his face. “All I know is when I finally dragged myself out of bed, I started coughing. I noticed the smoke and hurried to open the windows. When I got to the one facing the alley, a stick of some kind knocked against the glass. I threw open the sash and yelled out the window. The stick clattered to the ground, and someone ran off. I heard the footsteps, but it was too dark to see anything. I threw my boots on and ran down the back staircase to the storeroom and tried to give chase, but by the time I made it to the street, it was empty. That’s when I turned back to the Salt Fork and realized it was on fire. I ran up the boardwalk and found your girlfriend’s hankie flappin’ in the breeze.”

James frowned but made no comment about the handkerchief. “It sounds like whoever started the fire wanted to make sure you didn’t die in the blaze. They made a point to wake you.”

Taggert raised a brow. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

“Just trying to get an accurate picture of who might have done this.”

“We already know who might have done this, and she looks a lot like Noreen O’Sullivan.” Taggert bent down, grabbed another crate filled with glassware, and slammed it onto the counter. “You aren’t going to convince me she’s a saint just because she couldn’t stomach barbecuing a man in his bed. She destroyed my saloon. Could’ve burned down the entire town. She needs to be locked up.”

James had expected the accusations and chose to ignore them instead of arguing. Taggert wouldn’t be convinced until they had another suspect in custody. Defending Noreen wouldn’t help him accomplish that goal. Gathering evidence would.

“Could you tell where the fire started?”

Taggert pulled a glass from the crate, frowned at its chipped rim, then used it to point across the room to the far side of the saloon. Directly at the area with the lighter colored floorboards.

“Over there. When I ran back inside, half the floor was on fire. I grabbed my mop bucket and started tossing water on it, but it made it worse. It spread even faster. I didn’t know what else to do, so I abandoned the bucket and started carrying anything of value outside. That’s when the church bell rang and the alarm sounded.”

The fire spread when he tried to douse it? But later when they’d worked the bucket lines, the water had extinguished the flames. A memory flashed in James’s mind from when he’d been a kid and knocked over a lantern in the yard. He’d gone to fetch water to put out the spreading fire, but his father had stopped him. He’d kicked dirt onto the flames instead. Said oil fires needed to be smothered, not doused.

“Did you notice any odors?”

Taggert raised his head, his brows scrunching together. “Now that you mention it . . . I did smell something. Kerosene, maybe?” His expression cleared. “That’s why I couldn’t put it out. That she-devil poured kerosene all over my floor!”

“Somebody did. I’m going to hold off on naming anyone until I have more details.” James made another note, then moved over to the section of floor where he’d noticed the markings. “See how the floor is burned less over here?” He pointed with his pencil to the wavy outline that matched the pattern of a spilled liquid. A lot of spilled liquid.

Taggert followed and peered over James’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

“I think that’s where the kerosene was. It protected the floorboards underneath while the flames combusted on top. After it evaporated, the wood was no longer protected, but by then it had spread to other areas, and we were able to extinguish it with our water line.”

James stepped to the window at the center of the spill area. The glass had broken out from the heat, just like the rest of the windows. Unless it hadn’t. He hunkered down. Shards of glass lay on the floor along the wall. James moved to the next window. No broken glass. The heat had broken the panes outward. He found the same pattern at the next window.

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

James moved back to the first window and kicked the glass shards with his boot. “This is the only window that broke inward. The rest broke outward. Do you remember if this window was broken when you first found the fire?”

Taggert wagged his head. “I just remember the fire, not the window. Why does it matter?”

“Because I believe our arsonist broke the window from the outside and poured the kerosene through the opening.”

Excitement spurred his pulse and his feet. James hurried out of the saloon, hopped down from the elevated boardwalk, and jogged down the alley until he stood in front of the window. A window that stood even with his shoulders.

“You there, Taggert?”

The bartender stepped up to the window, the bottom of the frame sitting at about his waist. The floor of the saloon stood higher than the alley. He peered down at James through the broken panes. “What are ya thinkin’, Paxton?”

“I’m thinking that whoever lit the fire probably emptied a five-gallon can through this window. That would explain the large spill area.”

“And?”

“And five-gallon cans are pretty heavy. Thirty to forty pounds, wouldn’t you say?”

Taggert scowled. “So?”

“Pretty heavy for a woman.”