Lani sat slumped at the table, her eyes cast down. Her slim shoulders heaved with furious breaths.
He set the pizza on the table and thrust fingers through his hair. He wanted to punch the wall, the pizza, something. “Lani, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t know why I did.”
She turned away, hiding her bandaged hands under her arms and hugging herself.
“I was kissing you, not Gail.”
“Maybe.” She pushed to her feet and turned toward the hallway. “Take the pizza and go. I’m not hungry any more.”
“This situation has us all churned up,” he gritted out. “The hit and run. The fire investigator’s death. True confessions. Chalk it up to emotional overload. But you need to eat. I’m not leaving until you do. Pizza’s getting cold. Where are the plates?”
With tight motions, she stalked to the cabinet. China clattered and she deposited blue-flowered plates on the table. “Another beer?”
He saw the wince as she handled the china. “Let me. You sit.” After delivering bottles, two glasses, and a basket of napkins, he sat opposite her.
They ate the spicy pie in silence, tense and awkward at first, then companionable as they settled into their food. His gaze slid to the dollop of pizza sauce at the corner of her mouth. His mouth watered as her pink tongue flicked out to lick it away. He lowered his eyes to his plate. Two slices remained in the box when their appetites were sated. One kind of appetite, anyway. The only one likely to be sated anytime soon. Hell of a thing.
“What?” Lani cocked her head and shot him a wary gaze. Still suspicious. He couldn’t blame her.
Temporizing, he rose and poured a glass of water. Enough beer. “Just realized the true confessions are on my side. You know my history. What about you? After you recovered.”
Her eyes flashed. “No need to tiptoe around me, Jake. I’m not afraid to speak my mind.”
“No kidding. Tell all then.”
Her lips curved in an oddly shy smile. “I needed a couple years of therapy and skin grafts before I felt recovered and presentable enough to face the world.”
Pain flitted across her features. Picking apart a discarded pizza crust, she appeared to shake off the emotion. “I took online college courses at first, then finished up at UNH. For the last six years, I’ve taught special education students in a Concord middle school.”
He could see how Lani could coax challenged kids to stick up for themselves and to achieve. “Why special ed?”
“It started with kids I saw in the burn center. One girl in particular who’d been burned over most of her body. A candle started a curtain fire that spread to her baby crib. Roni was five when I met her—back for more skin grafts—and so eager to read she memorized every book I read to her. She could barely hold a book because most of her fingers were gone.” Her mouth thinned and she blinked rapidly before continuing.
“As I took courses, I did internships in schools. The kids asked about my scars matter-of-factly. They accepted me as one of them. I guess I was. I knew the challenges they faced in everyday life and I wanted to give them skills to make it easier.”
“Did you ever see Roni again?”
Tears welled but didn’t fall. “Once more. When she was nine. She read two stories to me. She was so proud. But by then she was hunched over like an old woman and in constant pain. They couldn’t do enough skin grafts to keep up with her bone growth. She couldn’t walk and breathing was shallow.” Her voice rasped with emotion. “Finally her heart gave out. I went to her funeral. She was ten.”
He swallowed. “I’m so sorry.” Trite, but he couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t.
“Yeah, me too.” She stood and reached for the plates.
He started to take them from her but she waved him off, so he sat and nursed his beer.
Holding the plates by the tips of her fingers, she dumped the pizza dregs in the trash. Then she ran water on the plates in the old-style slate sink, likely original to the farm, like the one in his gram’s house.
She’d taken her tragedy and turned it outward to give to others. After his partner was killed and his leg damaged, he’d been too self-absorbed to think of anyone else. Past time he did.
He took his glass to the sink and leaned against the counter beside her. “I’ve been thinking. Rather than give you my conclusions, I’ll share the entire file from the fire marshal.”
When she turned toward him, excitement smoothed her brow. “Won’t that file have the information we want? Didn’t Tyson grill everyone back then?”
“The news clippings you showed me implied his investigation didn’t go much beyond conducting initial interviews, like the one with you.”
“One of the reporters called me back. That’s what he said. No follow-up. Tyson sure never came back to see me after that one time. Maybe Gail’s friends didn’t tell him about the other guy. Maybe they didn’t want to say anything back then. Sometimes kids are scared, afraid they’ll get in trouble. Her best friends might know about her new lover.”
“Or they might remember something new about that night.”
Lani blinked as if startled. “I remembered something new just now. Gail’s watch. She kept looking at her watch when she came in after your argument.”
The same memory flooded him. “She kept an eye on the time while she was outside with me. Damn! She was pushing me away so she could meet this guy in the barn.”
“They had sex. Then maybe they argued?”
“Another argument after me? She sure was in the mood.” He patted her arm.
The touch of her soft skin soothed the beast prowling inside him but hiked up his blood pressure. Wanting Lani was complicated but undeniable. She might slug him, but he started to pull her into his arms.
She slid away, breathless. “No, Jake. I can’t do this I need to be focused, in control. I’ll take you up on the case files and work with you, but that’s all.”
*****
Jake left his Cherokee in Tyson’s driveway, where he and Lani had parked yesterday. The overcast skies suited the pall over this destroyed house where the old man had settled into retirement.
Pulling up his windbreaker collar against the light rain, he ducked under the now sagging yellow police barrier and ambled toward the blackened ruins of the attached barn. The smoke and chemical stench had dissipated some. Not enough.
Starting with the first tragic fire, that smell had become a permanent part of his olfactory makeup. His senses had refined with experience and study so now he could discern individual odors—insulation and mold and wood and a dozen other elements. But no matter how many burned-out hulks he experienced, he never could get past the most overpowering smell, the stench of death.
He turned as he heard the crunch of tires on gravel as a vehicle pulled in behind his. Not the deputy sheriff’s cruiser this time, but Sergeant Paul Robichaud. The arson investigator unfolded his tall, lanky body from the state sedan. The yellow slicker he shrugged on did little to brighten the gray day.
Yesterday Robichaud had phoned that Jake’s credentials had cleared him of suspicion. The state fire marshal’s office would get a copy of the entire Cameron file to him as soon as someone could make copies. Most of it was paper, not digital. Then, strangely, Robichaud had called back later to ask Jake to meet him today at the Tyson place. Odd place to meet to hand over the report.
“Robichaud,” Jake said by way of greeting.
“Thanks for coming.” The investigator bent to cross beneath the tape. The two shook hands. “Got that report for you, but I want to show you something in the barn.”
“Good. So that was the point of origin?”
“The barn, yes. Black smoke and some of the burn looks like gasoline, but there are some anomalies. We put a rush on the tests.”
Their shoes swished through the grass and crunched on cinders as they crossed the lawn. They picked their way around fallen beams into the remnants of the attached barn. The fresh scent of rain mingled with t
he ashes and chemicals in a morbid stew.
“At first it looked like Tyson tripped over the gas can and got knocked out as the fire started,” Robichaud said.
Like the Cameron fire. The conclusion in Tyson’s report. It’d be interesting if what was left in this barn matched that conclusion.
The other man indicated the corner where a charred lawn tractor stood. Black greasy smears leaped high on the two walls and across the floor.
“I hear a but?” Jake said. He grasped the problem but wanted the other man’s take.
The investigator nodded. “There were two gas cans, two different brands, sizes. And you see the size of the flash.”
“More like an explosion than a fire spreading gradually from spilled gasoline.” Jake’s scalp began to prickle. He’d seen that particular kind of explosion before. That particular kind of flash pattern. “What did your GC tests tell you?”
Robichaud scratched his head. “Don’t get much in the way of sophistication with arson in these parts. Folks use gasoline or some other accelerant easily purchased in hardware stores. Most arson is for insurance or to cover some other crime.”
“I suspect this one’s related to another crime.” Jake would press the issue, but it looked like the investigator needed to do this in his own time.
“Remains to be seen. Fire seems to have been set with matches and gasoline. Maybe one can was Tyson’s and the arsonist brought another. But then he wanted to trigger a big bang. Lab did more than one gas chromatography test. Came up with cyclonite.”
Better known as C-4.
Chapter 8
Nora taped a gauze pad on Lani’s left palm. “You can probably go without bandages after today. Your scrapes have nearly healed.”
Lani smiled warmly. Nora’s patio was the perfect spot on a sunny morning. “Great. I don’t mind not being able to do dishes but the pile’s attracting flies.”
“No dishwasher? Heck, I’d buy paper plates. No washing dishes for this gal if I had injured hands. Not my fave chore in any case.”
Lani knocked the back of her other hand on her forehead. “Well, duh. Not very eco-friendly but temporary. I’ll add them to my shopping list.”
“Speaking of shopping, I need a new dress and maybe so will you. Kevin’s dad and his campaign manager arranged a big fundraiser for him at the Blueberry Head Resort the Saturday after the Fourth. You and Jake can come together.” As Nora shaded her eyes from the sun, her wide grin showed her dimples.
Lani had no interest in furthering Kevin’s political ambitions but she’d attend. For Nora. She’d donate a minimum. “I’ll be up for shopping as soon as my hands heal a bit more.”
She lifted her face from the Meaghers’ faux-glass patio table to the clear blue sky. A breeze had blown the rain clouds out to sea. Sunlight danced off the water in the swimming pool and the remaining puddles on the flagstones around it. Gary and Sam splashed each other from inflated polka-dot dinosaurs.
“Thanks for the invitation and the hairdo. Cooler this way.” Lani patted the French braid that barely tickled her neck.
“My pleasure. I’m grateful for your company. Kevin’s off in West Paris speaking to some civic club or other. I’ve forgotten which one.” Nora poured them both more coffee and added a splash of cream to Lani’s. A sly look narrowed her eyes. “I thought maybe you’d bring Jake along this morning.”
Lani knew that look. “Forget it. No matchmaking. Not Jake. That’s over the top, even for you.” She put on a scowl, hoping Nora wouldn’t perceive her ambivalence.
Nora chuckled. Then her eyes widened. “Wait. I just remembered something.” She dashed inside.
Lani stretched out her legs and sipped her coffee. Jake and her? Twice Jake had kissed her. Twice she’d let him, had participated with enthusiasm. But no. The wall between them was too high and too wide. Unfortunately she couldn’t kid herself about the attraction. He roused emotions she never thought to feel.
When he let down his guard, the pain and determination in his eyes squeezed her heart. And he was more. Still funny and kind. Protective. That, she didn’t want, although, dammit, she probably needed protection. And steady, unswerving. That, she liked. She needed his expertise. And he didn’t back down from her mouth.
She felt her cheeks heat as she caught the double meaning. But she wasn’t Gail, so it didn’t matter.
“Here’s today’s Portland Press Herald. I forgot about this until just now.” Nora tossed the front section on the table and pointed to a story below the fold.
Lani couldn’t miss the headline—Retired Fire Investigator Dies in Blaze.
“It was on the eleven-o’clock news last night too.” Nora looked over Lani’s shoulder.
Popping her knuckles, Lani skimmed the initial reporting of the fire and the efforts to douse it and stopped to read when she came to the reporter’s interview with the investigator.
State Fire Investigator Sergeant Paul Robichaud said the fire was set deliberately but would divulge no details on the accelerant or other evidence. The home owner, Frank Tyson, a retired state fire investigator, died at the scene. Arson means the perpetrator will be charged with murder. When asked if Tyson might have had enemies, Robichaud replied, “Who doesn’t?”
The piece continued with background on Tyson and his long career. His daughter had been contacted. Toward the end, Lani saw her own name. And Jake’s. The story mentioned them as “persons of interest” who had shown up at the scene of the fire. She read on.
Lani Cameron’s sister died twelve years ago in a barn fire in Dragon Harbor. Frank Tyson was the investigator on that case and declared it accidental after a brief investigation. When asked if Ms. Cameron was a suspect in this fire, Robichaud said, “We’re looking into all possibilities.”
Lani’s pulse pounded in her ears. Nora’s coffee sat greasy in her stomach. Had Jake seen the paper? She had to know what he thought.
A frown creased Nora’s round face. “What does ‘persons of interest’ mean?”
“It means suspects.” Lani already knew that. Now the whole state knew.
She slapped the paper back on the table. “Thanks for the coffee, Nore. I have to go.”
*****
Jake set down his mug and his cream-cheese-smeared everything bagel from Cuppa-’n-Suppa on the plastic table beside him in the Amy Jo’s cockpit. Propping his bare feet on the stern rail, he inhaled the sea air. Glistening at low tide, the flats reeked of rotting fish and old mud, but even that aspect of the harbor smelled sweet. On such a bright summer day, in contrast to the recent rain, drizzle, and fog, the recreational boaters had sped out early past Dragon Rocks. Only the fishing boats rested at their moorings.
All was peaceful except for a great black-backed gull perched atop a nearby piling. The bird eyed his bagel.
“Don’t even think about it, bub.”
He read the fire story in the Press Herald for the third time. Halfway through, he tossed the paper. Damn, he was worrying too much about Lani. He wasn’t supposed to worry about her. She didn’t want him to worry about her.
You’re a natural protector.
She wasn’t the first to voice that accusation. Maria Soriano had said something like that. And look where it got him. She was dead. Because of his lack of protection.
He wasn’t protective; he just preferred having control over...certain situations. Being damned lousy at the job equaled no protection. So he was out of that mode. Finito.
Especially this time. Not this woman. She could die. When he failed her, it’d kill him too.
He’d counted on avoiding working with her, protecting her—except for one problem. Robichaud’s news nuked his resolve to avoid working with her into oblivion. Jake had no choice in the matter. The prospect scraped his insides raw. Explaining it to Lani would be no fun.
The seagull swooped down with a swish of wings and made off with half the bagel in his yellow beak.
“You can have it, you thief. My appetite’s gone.”
**
***
“Fifth slip down to the left. The Amy Jo,” the harbormaster said, with a tip of his cap, khaki with the black dragon logo on the brim. “Can’t miss her.”
Lani glanced at the brass nametag pinned to his green work shirt—Ed Pascal. “Thanks, Mr. Pascal. I see it, a sort of lobster boat.”
“That’d be the one, Ms. Cameron. And make it Ed.”
She couldn’t place him. At least ten years older than her, unless his sun-leathered skin aged him. Maybe someone’s older brother. “I used to spend my summers here when I was a kid. Should I remember you?”
His smile dug creases around his small eyes. “Not a bit. Been here less’n two years. But I know who you are. This town has plenty o’ flapping mouths.”
Lani laughed. “You got that right.” She counted on those flapping mouths—and the owners’ memories.
Rows of lobster and other working boats tied to floating mooring balls rocked in tandem with the tide and wind. She smiled. They were like a flock of synchronized seabirds.
Amy Jo, she mused as she neared Jake’s boat slip. A lover? None of her business if he named his boat for a woman. An older lobster boat, about thirty feet, with the typical round bottom, small forward wheelhouse, and open cockpit aft. And a For Sale sign. Interesting.
Hauling the front section of the Sunday Telegram from beneath her arm, she sidled down the narrow plank walkway. She’d been helpless for too long after the fire. No more. With someone trying to harm her, she had to be strong, at the same time eliciting Jake’s take on the fire story.
“Ahoy, Jake. I found something you have to see.” She waited, pulse dancing as she listened for noises below. Conversations from a dozen other boats floated over the water.
A moment later, he appeared in the companionway, a towel draped around his neck. His damp hair rioted with its natural curl. Golden brown hair dusted the smooth contours of his chest. His torso was bare, lightly tanned and just as mouthwatering as she’d suspected. Seeing him framed in the companionway stopped her breath. The sight took her back to days when the group would swim off the dock at Birch Brook Farm. She’d worn dark shades then so she could ogle Jake without him—or Gail—knowing.
Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) Page 7
