Every Last Look

by Christa Wick

  He shook his head, his face bunching up.

  “You’re Leland’s father,” I said, matching the outlines of his face with those of one of the young ranch hands who had helped put on my new roof.

  “Yes, ma’am. He was real proud of the work he did up there.”

  Barrett’s arm tightened around my shoulder. “How bad is it?”

  “Completely torched. The house, a car with plates registered to Sutton, some kind of little trailer…even the outhouse.”

  Sutton had come into the hall, quietly listening as the fire chief recounted the destruction they had found.

  I shook my head. “How could it spread like that? The trees are gone, the outhouse is fifty feet away, the trailer…”

  The pace of my breathing accelerated as I spoke until I was panting. Barrett steered me over to a bench in the hall and sat me down.

  “Lower your head,” he coaxed, his hand moving between my knees to separate them.

  Sutton spit out the word that had already taken shape inside my mind.

  “Arson?”

  “Looks that way,” the chief answered. “Definitely looks like an accelerant was used. Got a fire line running from the cabin to the car, another to the trailer. Probably gasoline.”

  I looked at Barrett for explanation.

  “They were probably sloppy carrying the gas can,” he explained. “Or they intentionally let the liquid drip as they walked from the house to the car. Either way, the fuel burned a line where the gas was spilled.”

  The chief shoved his hands into the pockets of his black slacks.

  “Any idea who would do something like this? Ex-boyfriend or girlfriend that might not like how much time you two have been spending together?”

  The sound that left me was more bark than laugh.

  “My dance card was empty when I left L.A.”

  I kept shaking my head, my mind working to bury the possibility that this had anything to do with my life in California. I had been so careful not to let anyone know where I was going or why.

  “I put up a few trail cams,” Barrett told the chief. “Depending on how the perp went up the ridge, maybe we got lucky.”

  By now, everyone had left the dining room and hovered at the edges of the entry hall.

  “Quinn live here now,” Leah said from the comforting circle of Sage’s arms.

  I dipped my head to hide my tears. Sage whispered something to the little girl, but too much blood pounded through my head for me to make out any more words. I turned cold and numb inside, my flesh malleable as Barrett lead me out to Sutton’s truck and lifted me up to the back seat then fastened the safety belt.

  Barrett slid in next to me while Sutton climbed behind the wheel and followed after the chief’s vehicle.

  Smoke still hung over the ruins of the cabin and car when we reached Jasper’s ridge. I managed to rouse myself enough I could unhook my own seat belt and slide out of the truck as one of the firemen approached the chief holding a thin rectangle in his hand.

  In my shocked state, it took me a few seconds to realize he was holding a canvas backside up.

  With Barrett gone for four days, I had spent some of the time painting, finally finishing a picture on the third day of his being gone that I liked enough to show him.

  I had placed the canvas on a windowsill. It should have been ashes like the rest of the cabin, but there wasn’t even a hint of soot or any charring on the piece. Just a slash that almost reached from one corner to the other.

  A slash and “FAT LOSER” written in black lipstick on the white backing.

  “Found this propped up against a tree,” the man told the chief.

  I pulled away from Barrett, evading his attempt to close the distance I had opened up.

  “I don’t need to see the pictures from the trail cam,” I told the men. Hand shaking, I pointed at the black lipstick. “It’s not an old boyfriend. It’s my sister.”

  “Well, I still need to see if the trail cams picked anything up,” Finley said, nodding at the man who had brought the slashed canvas over. “You go on with Mr. Turk, let him show you where the cameras are at, but you need to haul them down and bag the memory cards.”

  Finley turned to me.

  “When we’re done collecting those cards, ma’am, we need to head back to Willow Gap and stop in at the sheriff’s office.”

  Signaling the young fireman to wait a moment, Barrett put his hand on my shoulder. Flinching, I shook my head.

  “Quinn, I know it feels like everything is lost.”

  I shook my head harder, broke away from his touch and the gathering of men. I walked to the edge of the clearing and looked down the ruined hillside.

  Hearing footsteps behind me, I looked over my shoulder. Blinking through tears, I saw Barrett’s concerned face. I wanted to tell him to turn back, but emotion squeezed at my throat. I would have walked away, silently signaling my desire to be alone, but the ground was uneven, not all of the carnage of the original fire removed to allow me to walk and cry at the same time.

  Barrett wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug.

  “Baby, don’t shut down,” he rasped, his lips grazing the edge of my ear. “I promise I’ll make this right for you.”

  I squirmed in his embrace. He had told me the craziness in California wouldn’t follow me out here. I didn’t blame him that it had. It was my family, my problem.

  He had protected me all these weeks—from being homeless, from a mountain lion, from a bear. Now it was my turn to protect him.

  “It’s too much to ask of you,” I bit out when he wouldn’t release me from his iron hold. “Naomi doesn’t worry about getting caught. She’s certified crazy. What if next time she sets fire to a building someone’s in, someone like your mom or—”

  My voice broke at the prospect of mentioning Leah. But just because I couldn’t say the little girl’s name didn’t mean I could deny the possibility that every person around me was in danger from my crazy half-sister, even the littlest, most precious among them.

  “Finley’s chomping at the bit,” Sutton softly called from a dozen feet away. “I’ll stay with Quinn while you show Minot where the trail cams are.”

  “We’ll talk about this later,” Barrett promised, cupping my face and tilting my head even though I refused to meet his gaze. “This is not over.”

  Letting me go, Barrett walked silently past his brother. Sutton stayed where he was, giving me my distance as he kept a watchful eye on me.

  Feeling the air begin to cool as the sun neared the horizon, I wrapped myself in a hug and sank to the ground.

  By the time Barrett returned, the sun had disappeared entirely, my hope vanishing with it.

  21

  Quinn

  “Is this man familiar to you?” Sheriff Gamble asked, handing me several magnified images taken from the field cams.

  I had already identified Naomi. My sister had done nothing to hide her face. The only pictures from the camera where there wasn’t a good shot of the teen’s features were the ones in which she was clearly doing a victory dance, arms swinging, body twirling.

  Madness, pure madness.

  “Quinn?” Barrett prompted, his hand wrapping around the top of my shoulder. “Do you have any idea who he is?”

  “No,” I answered after staring at each picture for several seconds. “My sister acquires boys…sometimes men…who can get things done for her. The last one was a hacker. She went after all of my accounts, drained my savings…”

  I pushed the photos onto Gamble’s desk then stared at the floor.

  “I don’t know who she’s sleeping with now. If you find that out, he’ll probably be the man in the picture.”

  Gamble cleared his throat. “Let me get this straight, I’m looking for a male, possibly an adult, sleeping with your sixteen-year-old sister?”

  “Yes,” I said, then added a small correction. “Half-sister. We don’t have the same dad.”

  Even obliquely mentioning how Naomi us
ed her body to get men to do her dirty work made me feel permanently stained, like I should have been able to save my little sister from what the teenager had become.

  “Well, if they stopped for gas or anything else in Montana,” Gamble assured me, “there will be more pictures of both of them. We’ll find out who he is. And, if he is an adult, I will personally bury him.”

  Barrett picked up the picture of Naomi dancing, stared hard for a few seconds then slammed it down. He nodded at Gamble and Chief Finley in turn.

  “So this is an active arson investigation, yeah?”

  Both men nodded.

  “Meaning Jester’s property is going to be off limits for a few days.”

  “Well…the burn site—”

  “No, everything,” Barrett said, interrupting Finley. He pulled his phone from his pocket, navigated through his call history and pulled up the estate attorney’s number. “I want Charles Cross and Judge Harrison to know that Miss Whitaker may not legally remain on the property for the next few days because that’s your call. The suspects are at large, so it’s not safe for Quinn, plus you’ve got an investigation going.”

  “Put your phone away,” Gamble said, picking up his landline and punching in a number.

  A few rings later, someone answered, the faint sounds of the person distinctively feminine.

  “Sherri Kay, this is Jude Gamble. Put your daddy on the phone, please.”

  A minute later, Gamble's face stiffened. “Evening, your honor, hope I wasn’t interrupting dinner. No? Good. Don’t know if you heard on the scanner, there was a fire up at Jester Carey’s place tonight.”

  Gamble paused, his head bobbing in silent agreement.

  “Definitely arson,” he said when the judge finished speaking. “Now, I need to shut that place down, but I’ve been hearing old Jester put something weird in the will…Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.”

  A few more seconds of silence transpired, a slow smile spreading across Gamble’s face.

  “Great, that’s what I was hoping for. Should I call Cross? Right, better he hears it from you. Thank you.”

  His smile ballooning into a grin, he put the phone down.

  “Miss Whitaker, Judge Harrison says he’s temporarily suspending the conditions of the will while I do my investigation. I’ll need to talk to you tomorrow, but right now, I want you to get some rest.”

  Pulling a card index over from the side of his desk, he began to finger through it. “County has a victim’s services—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Barrett said, his grip on my shoulder gently flexing. “I’ll make sure Quinn has everything she needs. Thank you for squaring things with the judge.”

  “No need to thank me,” Gamble answered. “Just doing what Jester would want me to.”

  Barrett’s hand slid down to wrap around mine. “Come on, baby. Let me get you home.”

  22

  Barrett

  The ride to my house was so quiet, I would have thought I was alone in the truck if I hadn’t constantly glanced at Quinn. Without a doubt, she was in shock or something very close to that state. My brain knew it was normal. Anyone would feel violated and betrayed. And Quinn had been so overwhelmed by gratitude to all the people who had helped build the cabin that she probably felt she had let them all down.

  That part was wholly irrational, but I had a feeling she’d grown up as the scapegoat in her family. The concept was absolutely foreign to me. Someone in my family did wrong, they got called on it, were helped to figure out how to fix it and then they were forgiven. No one bore the blame for something that wasn’t their fault, no one was held to a higher or lower standard than anyone else.

  Pulling up to my house, I parked the truck and turned the engine off. Sitting in the dark, I reached across the cab and covered her hand with mine. This time, she didn’t try to evade my touch.

  “Your hands are cold, baby. Let’s get you inside.”

  She nodded but didn’t move.

  “I’ll go unlock the door.”

  I wasn’t sure whether I might have to carry her in—or take her to a doctor. My mother had been sedated after she found out that she had lost her husband and only daughter in the same accident. Even if Quinn had been an hour’s drive away from Jester’s at the time the fire was started, it had been a vicious attack against her by someone she had once loved.

  Knowing Quinn, she probably still loved the sister that had done this to her.

  Unlocking the door, I turned on the light, went into my bedroom and turned on the bedside lamp.

  Returning to the front of the house, I pulled up short, surprised that Quinn had followed me in.

  A good sign, or so I told myself despite the blank face and hollow gaze staring at me.

  I walked her into the bedroom and sat her down on the mattress. Getting on my hands and knees, I took her boots and socks off. I started on her shirt next, unthreading the buttons, stripping her down to her tank top.

  I stripped the jeans away, leaving her in her underwear.

  Life moved too fast when it wasn’t moving too slow, I mused. Just that afternoon, returning to my mother’s home, I thought I had lost Quinn as anything more than a friend when she wouldn’t move off the couch. She had been shaky, her mind and body overstimulated from the news report that had her thinking I might have been badly hurt.

  But then we had kissed in the bathroom and exchanged a few deep, meaningful gazes during dinner. It had made me think it was time to talk with her about the next step in our relationship, to stop worrying about whether she felt obligated to me.

  Then Finley showed up and ripped the rug out from under us.

  Now I wasn’t just afraid of losing her as a lover or friend. I was afraid she would leave Willow Gap forever.

  Not happening, I vowed.

  “Baby,” I said, my fingers tapping once against the back closure of Quinn’s bra. “You need to get out of this or let me take it off.”

  She reached behind her, unsnapped then drew the straps down her arms, all without revealing anything under her tank top. It was a mesmerizing female magic trick, but I was too sick with worry to appreciate the moment.

  I coaxed Quinn onto her back then drew the covers up to her chin. Still dressed in the clothes I had put on after my shower, I stretched out next to her, my body on top of the covers. I draped my arm across her chest, my hand cupping her opposite shoulder.

  “Love, you’re in shock right now,” I whispered, hoping the softly voiced words would reach her. “Anybody would be. But, whatever you’re thinking, just give me a chance to fix things.”

  My hand moved up to her head, my fingers stroking at the side of her face and her hair. By the dim light of the lamp, I watched her eyes grow heavy and close. Her breathing fell into the deep rhythm of sleep a few minutes after that.

  Easing out of the bed, I shut the door, went into my office and grabbed a spare blanket and pillow from the closet. Putting a pot of coffee on to brew, I went out to the truck and grabbed Quinn’s bag.

  Beyond a few clean clothes in the dryer, Quinn’s habit of taking her laptop with her was the only lucky break of the day—well, that and the fact she hadn’t been at the cabin when her sister decided to play firebug. From what I had seen on the camera’s memory card, I agreed with Quinn that the girl was capable of almost anything.

  That didn’t mean I was going to let Quinn run away in an effort to protect those around her. That part of her life was over.

  I put the bag down on the table in the entry hall, locked the front door, then poured a cup of coffee. Opening my laptop, I found the email Quinn had forwarded with the terms of Jester’s will.

  Two cups of coffee later, I was finished reading and re-reading the document. Next to me was a pad of yellow paper, dozens of notes written in bold, black handwriting.

  Clicking over to my web browser, I opened up FINDLAW and JUSTIA and plugged in search terms.

  I finished the pot of coffee, made another one. I wrote down
new questions on my notepad, added answers to the original queries, and kept searching.

  A little after midnight, I went into the Montana section of a wills and probate forum and searched through the threads. Another hour later, I sent Adler an email asking him to set up a meeting with the head of the Real Estate Management division of the state’s Trust Lands division.

  With the email sent and the last of my coffee consumed, I drifted off to sleep, the laptop balanced on my chest and the notepad full of questions and answers across my thighs.

  23

  Quinn

  Early morning light streaming through lace curtains, I pulled on clothes from the prior day. Dressed but for my boots, I sat and listened. If Barrett was awake, he was tiptoeing around.

  Grabbing the pillow I'd slept on, I wrapped my arms around it and pressed my face to the material. It smelled like Barrett, his comforting scent bringing me close to tears.

  A night of deep, dreamless sleep had done nothing to change my opinion. If I stayed in Willow Gap, my sister Naomi would be a threat to everyone I had come to care for.

  I wondered how far the last of my credit cards would get me in Mexico. Growing up in L.A., I knew enough Spanish to get by. I could maybe pick up a job waitressing at one of the resorts, the income from my tips and book cover business enough to keep my head above water.

  I pushed my face deeper into the pillow, tears wetting the fabric.

  The people in Willow Gap were amazing, had treated me better than anyone in L.A. despite my being a complete stranger with no pre-existing friends or family in the area. There were all those people who had swung a hammer, poured concrete, and hauled off the burnt remains of the original cabin. And there was Dotty, so generous in covering the materials, and Barrett’s family giving me flexible part-time work with the promise of all the hours I needed once the curfew out at Jester’s was over.

  Leaving would disappoint everyone. More than anything, leaving Barrett and what might have been between us would crush me.