Pyrophobia
After stitching the head laceration of an eighteen-year-old college student who crashed his Ford Focus into the rear of a UPS delivery truck, Sarah Ryerson was in need of a break. With the emergency room far busier than normal, she had been working nonstop for ten hours. Thankfully, the boy with the head wound was the last patient—for now.
"You're all set," she told the young man. "I'll write you a prescription for painkillers, but only fill it if necessary. You don't want to become one of the statistics of opioid addiction."
"Don't worry about me, Dr. Ryerson. I'm a health food nut—organic all the way. I don't put chemicals in my body."
"Good. And remember to wear your seatbelt in the future. Windshields are as hazardous to your health as GMOs are."
Once the young man left the ER, Sarah stretched and yawned. What she wanted most was a nap, but she had a feeling the lull would be short-lived and that more patients would soon be on the way.
I might have time for a cup of coffee, though, she thought as she headed toward the doctors' lounge.
She was reading the messages on her cell phone as she opened the door and walked right into the woman standing on the other side.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she apologized.
"The fault is mine," the woman insisted. "I should have more sense than to stand in front of a door."
Sarah assumed from the olive skin tone that the stranger—Dr. Tanvi Kapoor according to her nametag—was of Indian descent.
"You must be new here, Dr. Kapoor. I'm Sarah Ryerson. I work in the emergency room."
"Yes, I just started working in pediatrics. I was about to make a pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?"
"Thanks. I'd love one. If you don't mind my asking, what are you doing here so late at night? Do you often visit patients past midnight?"
"Normally, no. However, there's a three-year-old who has been diagnosed with pneumonia. I got into bed and couldn't take my mind off him. So I got up, got dressed and drove over here to make sure he was all right."
"I'm impressed by your dedication."
"I admit I have a soft spot where children are concerned," Tanvi confessed.
Sarah noticed the wedding ring on her finger and asked, "Do you have any of your own?"
"Sadly, no. My husband and I wanted them, but we decided to wait until we were financially set. Then, he got sick—cancer. He died six months ago."
"I'm so sorry."
"That's why I'm here in your lovely little village. I left New York and all its memories behind to start a new life."
As the two women drank their coffee, their conversation shifted to less depressing subjects. By the time Sarah went back to the emergency room to treat a case of food poisoning, she had learned not only where Tanvi was born, how many brothers and sisters she had, where she studied medicine, who her favorite author was and what type of music she preferred.
I like her, Sarah concluded. I'm sure the two of us are going to become good friends.
* * *
The following Friday, in an attempt to help kick-start Tanvi's social life in Puritan Falls, Sarah invited her new friend to a girl's night out at the Green Man Pub. There, she would introduce her to Shannon Devlin, the pub's proprietor; Rebecca Coffin, owner of The Quill and Dagger bookstore; Abigail Cantwell, owner of the Bell, Book and Candle; Patience Scudder, the town librarian; and Martha Prescott, former TV personality who currently wrote a blog reviewing horror films.
"I'm not sure if you've ever seen Martha before," Sarah said, as she and Tanvi walked from Sarah's Subaru across the parking lot to the entrance of the Green Man. "Her stage name was Martha St. James, and she used to host Classic Horror Movies on Thriller TV Network."
"You don't mean Belladonna Nightshade, with the long black hair and the witchy outfits?"
"That's her. Only she isn't like her character. She's got blond hair and blue eyes—nothing gothic or witch-like about her. Anyway, it's her birthday today, and we're throwing her a little party."
"I wish you would have told me," Tanvi said. "I would have brought something, a bottle of wine or a box of chocolates."
"It's not a big party, just a few friends having cake and coffee."
When the two doctors walked into the dining room, Shannon jokingly called out, "As usual, Ryerson, you're the last to arrive."
Sarah introduced the pediatrician to the women seated at the table. Meanwhile, after setting another place for Dr. Kapoor, Shannon went into the kitchen to get the cake. When she returned, the women at the table stared in admiration at the three-tiered confectionery masterpiece.
"Where did you get that cake?" Martha asked.
"Victoria Broadbent made it," Rebecca answered. "Isn't it gorgeous?"
"It certainly is. She ought to have her own show on the Food Network. Victoria is every bit as talented as Duff Goldman and Buddy Valastro."
The pale green layers were trimmed with metallic gold accents and decorated with clusters of purple and lavender flowers. At the top of the cake was a delicate sugar gazebo that was dusted with glitter to give it iridescence, and inside the gazebo was a sculpted figure that bore a strong likeness to the birthday girl.
"It's almost too pretty to eat," Tanvi said.
"Isn't it?" Patience agreed. "But if you've ever eaten at Victoria's English Tea Shoppe, you won't be able to resist it. If you haven't, you're in for a treat!"
As Martha picked up the knife to cut the cake, Shannon stopped her.
"Wait a minute! Call me old-fashioned, but what's a birthday cake without candles?" she asked, removing a box from her apron pocket.
When Shannon struck a match to light the candles, Sarah felt Tanvi (who was sitting beside her) suddenly stiffen. She turned and saw the pediatrician's eyes glaze over as though she had retreated to a private, inner world.
It must be a painful memory, Sarah assumed. Most likely one associated with her late husband.
The women, with the exception of Martha and Dr. Kapoor, began to sing.
"Happy birthday to you."
As though in a trance, Tanvi slowly lifted her right arm and extended her hand toward the cake.
"Happy birthday, dear Martha. Happy ...."
There was a collective gasp around the table as Tanvi closed her fist on two lit candles.
"What are you doing?" Sarah cried, pulling her friend's arm away from the cake.
There was no response, no indication of pain, although the skin on the palm of Tanvi's hand was burned.
"I'll go get my first aid kit," Shannon announced and headed toward the pub's office.
By the time she returned, Tanvi had recovered her senses.
"I don't know what made me do that," she said, wincing with pain. "I've always been afraid of fire."
"It's a good thing Sarah is here," Martha laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "She's a great one to have around in an emergency."
Dr. Ryerson smiled at the compliment, but secretly she was beginning to believe Tanvi Kapoor might be helped more by her good friend Lionel Penn, Puritan Falls' resident psychiatrist.
* * *
Although she had learned to cook from her mother and grandmother, Sarah rarely had an opportunity to put her culinary skills to the test. Given the long hours she spent in the busy emergency room and her unpredictable work schedule, she usually ate at the hospital cafeteria. When not on duty, she frequently dined out, most of the time with Lionel. It was only when she invited friends or family to her house that she spent time in the kitchen.
After checking on her lasagna, Sarah began preparing a tossed salad. She was peeling a cucumber when the doorbell rang.
"Come on in," she called, knowing it was Lionel.
The good-natured banter began as soon as the psychiatrist entered the house.
"Punctual as ever," Sarah teased. "You know, I can set my watch by you. Are you ever late for anything?"
"Yes, but never when there's food involved. Smells good. What is it? Baked ziti?"
"No, lasagna."
Lionel glanced at the dining room table and asked, "Three place settings?"
"I invited someone to join us."
The psychiatrist immediately became suspicious. Both Sarah and his sister, April, often casually arranged for him to meet people they believed would benefit from his success in treating phobias.
"Do I detect a possible new patient in my future?"
"It's not like that this time," Sarah replied defensively, if not truthfully. "Tanvi just moved to Puritan Falls, and I've decided to show her around, introduce her to some people. I took her to Martha's birthday celebration where she met most of our female friends. Next I want her to meet the men, starting with you."
"Is she the new doctor at the hospital?"
"Yes, a pediatrician. She's really very nice. I'm sure you'll like her."
"If you approve of her, I'm sure I will, too. I take it by the one additional place setting that she's not married."
"She lost her husband six months ago to cancer."
The doorbell sounded again. Sarah invited her guest inside and made the usual introductions. While Lionel opened the bottle of wine that had been cooling on ice, she went to the kitchen to bring out the salad and garlic bread.
"You have a choice of dressings," she announced. "I know Lionel prefers bleu cheese, but I also have honey mustard, Italian, ranch and balsamic vinaigrette."
"Balsamic is fine," Tanvi answered, accepting a wineglass from the psychiatrist.
"Sarah tells me you went to Martha's party the other night," Lionel said. "How did you like the Green Man Pub?"
"I enjoyed it very much, except for the incident with the candles."
"Don't tell me they resorted to that old chestnut with the relighting candles?" he laughed. "I thought that practical joke went out in grade school."
"No, they didn't," Tanvi said and then explained how she had grasped the lit candles with her bare hand, burning her palm in the process. "I can't image why I did that. I've always had such a fear of fire."
At the mention of the word fear, Lionel's accusing eyes darted toward Sarah, who smiled guiltily and then hurried out to the kitchen to get the lasagna. When she returned, she tactfully steered the conversation in a different direction.
"Have you found a place to live yet?" she asked.
"Nothing permanent," Tanvi answered. "I've got the local real estate agent, Jacqueline Astor, searching for a house for me, nothing too big, maybe a nice Cape Cod. She's lined up a few places for me to look at next week. Until then, I'm staying in an apartment above a garage on Conant Drive owned by a woman named Dwyer. Do you know her?"
The question elicited good-natured laughter from her two dinner companions.
"Yes, we do," Sarah replied. "Everyone in Puritan Falls knows Roseanne Dwyer. She's the local representative of the Welcome Wagon."
"As well as the town gossip," Lionel added. "Nothing goes on here without Roseanne knowing about it. She's a good-hearted soul, but watch what you say to her unless you're prepared to have it broadcast on the grapevine."
"I suppose I ought to be careful what I say when I'm around her then."
"If you've got any secrets, she'll find them out anyway," Sarah said. "There are people in Puritan Falls who think Roseanne must be psychic since she seems to know things before anyone else."
After the pleasant evening came to an end and Dr. Kapoor left to return to her apartment on Conant Drive, Lionel remained to help clean up. As Sarah was rinsing the sauce and cheese off the dinner plates and placing them in the dishwasher, she brought up the matter of Tanvi's fear.
"They call it pyrophobia, don't they?" she asked.
Here we go again! Lionel thought, rolling his eyes in exasperation.
"More people than not have a fear of fire," he said. "You'd have to be foolhardy not to be afraid of it. It can be a very destructive force of nature."
"I agree. But most people don't deliberately burn themselves."
"True. And that's a strong argument against your new friend suffering from pyrophobia. If she had such an irrational, deep-rooted fear of fire, she most likely would have had an anxiety attack when the match was struck. She would be more likely to pass out or to run from the restaurant than to try to pick up a lit candle."
"But she did have some kind of attack," Sarah persisted. "When she saw the flame from the match, her eyes glazed over and her face lost all trace of emotion. It was as though she went into a trance, and she didn't come out of it until I pulled her hand away. It was downright creepy! She had no reaction to the pain. It was as though she were completely insensate."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't there people who are physically incapable of feeling pain?"
"Yes," she reluctantly agreed. "There are some medical conditions that result in congenital analgesia or congenital insensitivity to pain, but such cases are rare."
"Rare, but not unheard of. It seems to me Dr. Kapoor is more in need of a medical doctor than a psychiatrist."
Sarah did not agree, but she wisely kept her opinion to herself.
* * *
In the following weeks, Tanvi was introduced to most of Sarah's friends as well as to the eateries and shops of Puritan Falls. The pediatrician had a mocha and Danish with police officer Shawn McMurtry at The Quill and Dagger's coffee bar, enjoyed Sunday brunch with Sarah and Lionel at the Sons of Liberty Tavern and had an old-fashioned high tea with Martha Prescott at Victoria's English Tea Shoppe.
In a surprisingly short period of time, she had grown to love the New England village and the people in it. It became her home in a way that New York never had. If only her husband were still alive to enjoy her new life with her.
On the day Dr. Kapoor closed on her house and Jacqueline Astor handed her the front door key, a sense of permanency engulfed her. For the first time in her life, she was a homeowner. She was putting down roots that would hold her in place and bind her to Puritan Falls and its people. It was what she wanted most at this stage in her life. Why then did she feel a slight twinge of anxiety?
"I guess I ought to get back to the apartment," she told Mrs. Astor. "The movers will be there shortly."
"I'll bet you can't wait to get into your new house," the realtor said.
"I can't—not that I'm looking forward to all that unpacking."
"Well, if you need any help ...."
"Thanks, but Sarah and Martha have already offered their services."
As Tanvi drove down Conant Drive, she saw a wisp of smoke above Roseanne Dwyer's house. After pulling into the driveway, she ran to the back yard to see what was on fire. She found Roseanne there, dressed in denim overalls, rake in hand, standing beside a pile of burning leaves.
"Hi, Tanvi," she called. "Everything go okay with your closing?"
Again, the fire seemed to hypnotize the pediatrician, and she silently gazed into the flames.
"Are you feeling all right?" Roseanne asked when she saw the pediatrician's blank expression and glassy eyes.
Tanvi gave no reply as she walked closer to the burning leaves.
"I wouldn't get too close if I were you. You never know when the wind will kick up and blow sparks ...."
Mrs. Dwyer's warning was suddenly cut off by her screams.
* * *
Sarah Ryerson put down her paperback book and got a can of Coca-Cola from the vending machine in the doctors' lounge. It had been a slow night at the emergency room, and she relied on a Philippa Gregory novel to pass the time.
Only half an hour, and I'll be off duty, she thought as she popped the top of the aluminum can and poured the soda into a paper cup.
After only a few sips, one of the emergency room nurses ran into the lounge.
"Dr. Ryerson, come quick. The paramedics just brought in Dr. Kapoor."
When Sarah saw Tanvi's burned, wet clothing, she feared the worst. Thankfully, her examination revealed that the burns were not as serious as she had initially thought. Once her patient was treated and properly medicated, Dr. Ryerson went to speak with Roseanne Dwyer in the waiting room.
"How is she?" the frightened landlord asked.
"She has a few second degree burns on her legs that are beginning to blister, but nothing serious above the knees. I've given her something for the pain and applied an antibiotic ointment to the burns. We'll keep her here overnight just to make sure she doesn't get an infection."
Although relieved by the prognosis, Roseanne broke down in tears.
"She scared me half to death!"
"What happened?" Sarah asked.
"I was burning leaves in the back yard when Tanvi came home from her closing. I tried to talk to her, but she ignored me as though she hadn't heard a word I said. The next thing I knew she walked right into the fire! Thank God I had my garden hose nearby. When her clothes began to burn, I was able to quickly put out the fire. My neighbor heard me screaming and called 911."
"Thanks to you, she'll be fine."
The physician spoke these words of comfort automatically. They were part and parcel of her bedside manner. Personally, she was concerned for Tanvi's safety—not from the injuries she sustained in the pile of burning leaves but from what she might do in the future. Sarah feared that if Tanvi did not get help soon, her fixation with fire might cause her serious harm.
* * *
When Lionel met Sarah for dinner later that night at the Chinese Lantern, he anticipated having an enjoyable evening sampling the dishes at the buffet. One look at Sarah's worried face and he knew such would not be the case. He did not bother asking her what was wrong; he knew she needed no prompting.
"Didn't I tell you Tanvi Kapoor needs psychiatric help?" she asked as soon as she got into the passenger seat of Lionel's car: a Tahiti blue MG that he prized almost as much as he did his boat.
"Yes."
"Well, I was right!"
"Did she have another incident with matches or lit candles?"
"No. It was much worse this time. She literally walked into a burning pile of leaves. If Roseanne hadn't turned a hose on her, Tanvi could have been seriously injured."
"I'm still not sure she has pyrophobia, although it sounds to me like she might have a death wish."
"This isn't funny!" Sarah shouted.
"I never said it was. Dr. Kapoor obviously has a problem. I'm just not sure she has a phobia."
"Isn't there a way you can find out?"
"I can't simply give her a Rorschach test or an EEG. Psychiatry doesn't work that way."
"Don't you think I know that? I'm a doctor, not an imbecile."
"Where did you get that line?" Lionel laughed, hoping to diffuse the argument. "You sound like classic Leonard McCoy, right out of Star Trek."
His attempt at humor worked. Sarah was suddenly contrite.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jump down your throat. I'm worried about Tanvi's safety, and I don't know what to do."
"If it will make you feel any better, I'll have a talk with her."
"You know it will. I have all the faith in the world in you."
"More faith than I have in myself," the psychiatrist admitted, and squeezed her hand in a gesture of affection.
Once Lionel's stomach was comfortably full, he dropped Sarah off at her house and headed for Puritan Falls Hospital, having promised he would speak to Tanvi as soon as possible. He walked into the patient's room, secretly hoping to find her asleep. She wasn't.
"Lionel!" she exclaimed with surprise. "How nice of you to come and visit me!"
"Sarah asked me to stop by," he admitted.
"So you're here in an official capacity then?"
"She's worried about you, and so am I. Neither of us wants you to hurt yourself."
"You think I'm suffering from a mental disorder that might lead me to attempt suicide?"
"Honestly? I don't know what to think. You mentioned that night at Sarah's that you were afraid of fire when you were a child. Do you want to talk more about that?"
Tanvi proceeded to describe in detail her childhood dread of fire. It was such an intense fear that her parents had bricked up their fireplace and replaced their gas stove with an electric one.
"There were never any campfires, no candles, no glowing jack-o-lanterns on Halloween. No one was even allowed to smoke cigarettes in my presence. But as I grew older, I began to overcome my fear and lead a normal life."
"And that changed when you moved to Puritan Falls?"
"Before that actually. Not long after Satish—my late husband—died, I burned my hand on one of those little Sterno burners caterers put under chafing dishes. I was later told I tried to pick one up with my hand, just like I did with the candles on Martha's cake."
"But you didn't have any incidents between the time you were a child and the time your husband died?"
"No, none."
"Based on what you've told me, there's a strong possibility the trauma of losing your husband brought on a recurrence of your childhood fears. Perhaps grief counseling will make them go away again. I can recommend an excellent psychologist who specializes in such therapy—if you're interested."
"Thank you. I'm definitely interested. I'd like to stop this odd behavior before I harm myself or someone else!"
* * *
When Lionel stopped at Dr. Ryerson's house before heading to Tanvi's housewarming party, Sarah suggested they take her Subaru Outback rather than his two-seater sports car.
"I told Martha we'd give her a lift," she explained. "Her car's in the shop."
On the way to the party, the conversation centered on Dr. Kapoor's recent trip to the hospital emergency room.
"Roseanne told me she walked right into the fire," Martha said.
"Yes, she did," Sarah confirmed. "It's a miracle her burns weren't more severe, but at least now she's agreed to get help. Lionel gave her the name of an excellent therapist."
"I can't help wondering ...," Martha began and then fell silence.
"Wondering what?" the psychiatrist inquired.
"Tanvi's parents were from India, right?"
"Yes. So?" Sarah asked.
"Well, with her husband having recently died, I can't help associating her behavior with the old Hindu practice of sati."
"Sati? What's that? I'm a doctor, not an expert on Indian culture," Sarah said, again reminding Lionel of Dr. McCoy.
"It's an old—now obsolete—custom that dates back to the first century. When a man died, his wife threw herself—or sometimes she was thrown involuntarily—onto his funeral pyre."
"What horror movie did you get that from?" Lionel laughed.
"None. You forget that before I donned my black wig and began working for Thriller TV Network, I earned a master's degree in history."
Sarah appeared horrified.
"You're talking about self-immolation. How barbaric! Did things like that actually happen?"
"Yes. Sati was deemed an act of extreme piety and was believed to purge the widow of all her sins, release her from the cycle of birth and rebirth and ensure the salvation of her dead husband. Originally, even the British Raj tolerated the custom. It was Queen Victoria who issued a general ban throughout India in 1861. However, the practice must have continued secretly because in 1988 a Sati Prevention Act went into effect, making it illegal to aid, abet or glorify sati."
"Do you mean as late as thirty years ago women were dying needlessly from excruciatingly painful deaths all because of some archaic ritual?"
"I'm afraid so. In 1987 an eighteen-year-old woman named Roop Kanwar burned to death the day after her twenty-four-year-old husband of only eight months died. Several thousand people watched the sati and did nothing to save her. In fact, she was hailed for her purity afterward. Later, there were conflicting stories as to what extent the widow's actions were voluntary."
"You think it was homicide?"
"Some witnesses claim she told her brother-in-law to light the pyre beneath her. Others say she was forced to die by her in-laws. Whatever the case may be, forty-five people were charged with her murder, but all of them were acquitted."
"As horrible as this practice may have been, I don't see what it has to do with Tanvi Kapoor."
"Nothing, I suppose," Martha admitted. "But I can't help wondering if she isn't experiencing some form of genetic memory since her husband died."
"What's that?"
Lionel, who had remained silent during the conversation, suddenly spoke up.
"It's a term used in psychology to refer to a memory present at birth that has been incorporated into the genetic material over long spans of time. It's based on the belief that common experiences of a species become incorporated into its genetic code and are passed down to succeeding generations, leading them to respond in certain ways to certain stimuli. For instance, an animal may be born with the inherited instinct to run when it smells a predator. Some scientists speculate that such genetic mechanisms can be linked with phobias, anxiety, PTSD and other neuropsychiatric disorders in humans. So, I assume what Martha is implying is that Dr. Kapoor inherited the belief in sati from her ancestors."
Sarah thought the idea was absurd.
"I'll bet two thousand years ago my Celtic ancestors were committing human sacrifices to their pagan gods, and yet I'm a healer. I'd cut off my own arm before I'd deliberately hurt someone."
"I'm not suggesting Tanvi is going to douse herself in gasoline and light a match," Martha argued. "I'm saying her husband's death might be creating images of sati in her subconscious mind. These thoughts then might have triggered her old fear of fire. What do you think, Lion?"
"I think you should have been a psychiatrist, Dr. Freud," he laughed. "But one thing I've learned during my years of practice is that most people's emotional or mental disorders are not as simple as they seem."
Moments later Dr. Ryerson pulled up in front of Tanvi's house. She and Lionel were both relieved to arrive at that point: Lionel because he had not eaten all day and he knew Shannon Devlin was catering the party; and Sarah because talk of women committing suicide upon the death of their husbands put her in a melancholy mood, and she hoped the party would brighten her spirits. However, the classical music playing on Tanvi's stereo was far from cheerful.
"I'll go get us a drink," Lionel told Sarah after the two were greeted by the hostess. "Would you like something, Martha?"
"Not right now, thanks. I have to talk to Rebecca."
"Is that your husband?" Sarah asked Tanvi when she saw a large painted portrait on the wall.
"Yes. That is my Satish."
"He was a handsome man."
"Yes, he was. He is buried in a cemetery in New York," Tanvi said, her eyes brimming with tears. "I should have had him cremated. It's the Hindu custom for all adults, unless they are saints, to be cremated. Why did I go against his beliefs and put him in the ground?"
Sarah did not have an answer for her. Thankfully, Lionel appeared with their drinks and spared her the need to reply.
"Why don't you both go get something to eat?" Tanvi suggested.
"Let's hurry up before Shannon's meatballs are all gone," the psychiatrist whispered in his friend's ear.
After filling their plates, they joined Shawn and Penny McMurtry who were seated at the dining room table. As she ate, Sarah kept an eye on Tanvi in the living room. The pediatrician never smiled, and her eyes kept going to the portrait of her husband.
"Excuse me," she said and went to join her friend on the sofa.
"You're not leaving yet are you?" Dr. Kapoor asked.
"No. I just wanted to see how you're doing. You look like you use some cheering up."
Tanvi lowered her head and sobbed softly.
"What's wrong?"
"Everyone in this town has been so nice to me, and now I've got my own house and a job I love. But nothing means much without Satish."
Sarah put her arm around the other woman's shoulder and asked, "Have you started seeing that grief counselor yet?"
"I have an appointment on Wednesday afternoon," Tanvi replied, wiping the tears from her eyes and putting a brave smile on her face. "Do you know what I need?"
"A good stiff drink?" Sarah laughed.
"No, a day out in New York, but I'll settle for Boston. Care to drive into the city with me tomorrow? We can do some shopping and go out to lunch afterward."
"Sounds great! I'm not on duty, and I haven't made any plans with Lionel."
"Can you meet me here tomorrow at nine? And bring Martha along if she wants to come."
"It's a date," Sarah said and then saw Lionel signaling her to join him for dessert.
* * *
At five minutes to nine, Sarah pulled into Tanvi's driveway, and she and Martha followed the brick walkway to the front door. Martha leaned forward and rang the bell. A few minutes later she rang it again.
"I hope she's not still in bed," Sarah said when no one answered.
"She was the one who wanted to go to Boston, wasn't she?"
"Yes, but perhaps the party ran late last night and she overslept this morning."
After turning the doorknob, Martha announced, "It's not locked."
Sarah opened the door, stuck her head inside and called out to Tanvi. Her voice echoed through the silent house.
"Is she home?" Martha asked.
Suddenly Sarah's eyes widened with fear.
"I smell something burning!" she exclaimed.
The two women entered the house and followed the acrid odor to the master bedroom.
"Tanvi, are you all right? Can you hear me?" the doctor called.
She opened the bedroom door and stifled a scream. Satish Kapoor's portrait was lying on the queen-size bed, still smoldering after having been set on fire.
"This was no accident," Martha contended.
"Who would have done such a thing? Surely not Tanvi," Sarah insisted.
"I'm not so sure. She was awfully upset last night."
Once over the initial shock of finding the burned portrait, Martha examined the scene around it.
"Why didn't the bed catch on fire?" she asked. "The sheets are slightly scorched, but they should have gone up in flames."
"I don't understand any of this," Sarah admitted with frustration. "I suppose we'll have to wait for an explanation until Tanvi returns."
"I don't want to stay here. Let's go get coffee somewhere," Martha suggested.
The two women drove to The Quill and Dagger where they joined Shawn McMurtry at the coffee bar. Sarah quickly told him what they had found at Tanvi's house.
"Did you try phoning her?" Shawn asked.
"Yes, but all I get is her voicemail."
"Why would she burn her husband's portrait?" asked Rebecca Coffin as she refilled her customers' cups. "With him gone, I would think she would treasure it."
"I don't understand any of this," Sarah said with a shrug of her shoulders.
As she nibbled on a chocolate-filled croissant, Martha noticed Roseanne Dwyer pass by the bookstore's window. Seeing the three people at the coffee bar, the Welcome Wagon lady turned round and opened the door.
"Did you hear about Tanvi Kapoor?" she asked.
Sarah stiffened. What did Roseanne know?
"She's dead. The New York Police got my number from her purse and phoned me an hour ago. They found her body on top of her husband's grave—burned to a crisp. It sounds like a case of spontaneous human combustion since there was no damage anywhere near the body."
More like sati, Martha thought, sticking to her original theory. Two thousand years of ritual runs deep in the collective memory of a culture.
"Well, I'd better get going," Mrs. Dwyer said, eager to leave once she had delivered the news. "I've got to welcome the new owners of the house on the corner of Winter and River Streets to our village."
"See you, Roseanne," Shawn said, with the two women echoing his farewell.
Rebecca returned to stocking her shelves with new releases, and her three customers silently drank their coffee. Not one of them questioned how Tanvi Kapoor could set her husband's portrait on fire and then travel from Massachusetts to New York City and kill herself all in such a short period of time. Nor did they discuss her possible motives. Some questions were better left unasked—especially in Puritan Falls.
Salem isn't afraid of fire. In fact, whenever he sees one, he gets a craving for s'mores (with plenty of chocolate).
