Bleeding Kansas by Sara Paretsky Read Free Book Online

hippies were doing. He said they had orgies, which Jim thought, in the confused way of children, meant the same thing as ogres, and he started watching for one-eyed giants coming out of the bunkhouse.
    One of the girls in the commune mooned Arnie’s mom when she went over to complain to the Fremantles about the hippies. Jim had been in the kitchen with Gram when Myra Schapen stopped off on her way home, shaking from head to foot in her fury.
    “We survived Quantrill,” Gram said to Mrs. Schapen. “Don’t you think we can survive a bunch of confused college kids?”
    That only got Mrs. Schapen mad at Gram. “Be your age. These people are Communists. Maybe they’re too naive, or too duped or indoctrinated over at the university, to recognize what these so-called hippies are up to, but they’re taking over our town. Now they’re trying to take over our farms, and Liz Fremantle thinks she’s hip or cool, or whatever their lingo is, because she’s helping them do it. There’s been a fire-bombing every day over in town for the last nine months, in case you hadn’t noticed, but you don’t care if a bunch of Commies blow us all up in our beds.”
    Gram said she had better things to worry about than a few college dropouts. “And how do you even know what they’re up to, Myra? I live closer to them than you do, and I’ve never seen one-tenth the stuff you’re reporting.”
    That had sent Mrs. Schapen away in a huff. Gram laughed about it with Grandpa over dinner. The fire had taken care of the problem for all of them. The Schapens said the bombs the kids were making blew up on them, but the sheriff figured they burned candles and incense when they were stoned and the place went up. He said there wasn’t any evidence to show they’d ever made bombs, or even owned a gun, although that didn’t stop Arnie’s folks from spreading the story.
    Jim remembered the fire. It was October, and he thought the Fremantles were making a bonfire for Halloween. He’d grabbed Doug, and they’d raced across the tracks and along the road to see if there would be marshmallows and cider. The two of them stopped when they saw the bunkhouse. It looked like some kind of fancy Fourth of July display, a house shape pulsing with fire.
    Then Grandpa came running, along with the Ropeses and the Wiesers, who lived east of the Fremantles, even the Burtons from their ramshackle place over near Highway 10, to keep the blaze from spreading. Jim and Doug had formed part of a bucket brigade.
    The kids from the bunkhouse, sobered up by disaster, pitched in, too, the girls working as hard as the boys. Only the Schapens hadn’t helped. Doug said later he saw Arnie standing with his folks in the background, watching all of them work but not lifting a finger. When it was all over and Liz Fremantle really did hand out hot chocolate, the Schapens took off.
    It was then that one of the girls started screaming that someone was missing. When the Fremantles and Grandpa got it all sorted out, they discovered that one of the boys had died in the fire.
    “Did you ever know the name of the kid who died that night?” Jim asked Doug.
    “Nope. Just that the girl blamed the Schapens for setting the fire, and Myra said they’d done it themselves. The girl was sure the Schapens were Minutemen or something,” Doug said. “No one ever proved it one way or another, but I think Mrs. Fremantle let the kids stay in the big house for a month or so while they sorted themselves out. Gram said Mrs. Fremantle always felt it was her fault the boy had died. She said she should have made sure they had a fire extinguisher out there, but I don’t see how she could have known they’d blow themselves up.”
    “So there was a bomb?” Mimi asked.
    “Oh, no, I don’t know. Not a bomb, but they were doing drugs and burning candles all night long, and a fire was almost inevitable. Jim, get your wife before she decides to reupholster the furniture—I’m freezing my ass off out