Obsessed by Wildfire

by Autumn Jordon

"Listen to your mama. I have. She has always been right in her advice to me,” he said while passing by her.

  Isobel stared after him as he walked with his head bowed to the washroom. Why hadn't she seen it before? All these years she'd been fighting Papa's concern, thinking he was trying to control her the way he did Mama. And all along Mama wore the pants in the family.

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  Chapter Thirteen

  An hour and a half outside of Wayback, Warner's SUV bounced over a set of railroad tracks, jolting Isobel from her reverie. Her nails dug into the door handle and the console simultaneously as she hung on. “You better slow down. You'll knock your truck out of alignment."

  "I'm glad to see you're back.” His eyes danced her way before directing his attention to the long two-lane ribbon of road ahead. Below the cuff of his white dress shirt, his left wrist drooped lazily over the steering wheel. “Did you have a nice nap?"

  "I wasn't sleeping. I was thinking."

  He laughed. “Thinking while snoring."

  "I don't snore.” Isobel wet her lips, hoping Warner wouldn't notice and decided she needed a breath mint. She snatched her purse from the floorboard, tugged her denim skirt back into place and dug deep into her purse, searching for her tin of mints.

  "And you weren't sleeping, either. I take it after I left this morning you didn't get a chance to rest."

  The memory of their love making brought warmth to her cheeks. “No. I put up with Chicky for about ten more minutes. He tried to drag some information out of me.” She popped a mint into her mouth and offered one to Warner.

  He shook his head. “About us?"

  "No. Your plan to cover up our—last night—failed. Before you left, Chicky already was dreaming about lunch and the dirt he'd bring to his table at the Blue Bonnet."

  "Sorry."

  She shrugged. “Not your fault. I invited you in. Besides, next week they'll be on to someone else."

  Warner's eyes narrowed, staring at her.

  "What?” She pulled her long braid over her shoulder and sat back against the cushion. She knew what he was going to say before he said it.

  "Are you sure you're Isobel Trinidad?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The change of attitude. Not caring what people know about you."

  "People are always going to talk. Chicky also wanted to know about the fires. Where are we anyway?” She threw the flap over on her purse and tossed the bag to the floor.

  Warner's fingers tightened on the wheel. “We're in the outskirts of Lubbock. You didn't tell him anything did you? The sheriff asked us not to say anything to anyone until they find Derrick Stumal."

  "I didn't tell him a word. After he finally headed out to the barn, I finished dressing, fed and exercised Lizzy."

  "Good.” Warner relaxed against the seat. After a few seconds he said, “Why didn't you nap afterwards?"

  She tucked the fresh mint in cheek. “Because I headed into town and did some maintenance on my cab."

  "You work on cars?"

  "Why do you sound so surprised?"

  "I've never met a woman who was capable of changing her own tire much less working on her car.” He chuckled.

  "Are you one of those guys who think women can't—"

  "Stop right there,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “No. I'm not. I not a sexist. I just never met a woman who worked on her car."

  Isobel's eyes widened. “We all have our talents."

  Coming into Lubbock, Warner stopped for a red light and looked at her. “Can you cook more than the awesome omelets you whipped up for us last night?"

  "Of course. Mama won't let me leave the kitchen to go with Papa unless—” Her mind whirled back over the years. Unless she learned her lesson for the day, whether it be cooking a damn fine bowl of chili, or baking a light pound cake, or sewing a patch on a pair of jeans. Mama made sure she was well rounded as far as domestic duties. Mama was the one who ran the house. Mama was the one who dished out her chores and said, “Do them glad or do them sad, but you've got to do them."

  Warner dipped his head. His concern gazed locked onto hers. “Is something wrong?"

  She started to nod but quickly changed direction and shook her head. “My view of my life has been turned upside down in the last few hours."

  The driver behind them honked his car's horn. The light had turned green.

  Warner stomped on the gas. “Because of me, I hope."

  "It started with you."

  "You want to talk about it?"

  "Maybe later. There's a sign for the hospital,” Isobel said, pointing. “Take a right up here. Papa said the hospital is one block south. Look for the building with a cross. A parking garage is just down the block."

  Within five minutes, Warner had pulled his truck into a parking slot. He grabbed his organizer and gun out of the console and tucked the gun into its holster at his hip. He looked very professional in his dress shirt, dark slacks and polished loafers. Isobel wished she'd worn something dressier than a tee shirt, denim skirt and sandals.

  They made their way toward the hospital's front entrance. Inside, they gained directions to the floor where Ivy Parkinson was a patient.

  In a crowded elevator, Warner stood shoulder to shoulder with Issy as they rose to the sixth floor, where the burn unit was located. He was happy she'd decided to come with him. Well, he'd cornered her into coming, but he knew enough about Issy to know if she hadn't wanted to come, she wouldn't have. Which meant she did want to be with him.

  Warner smiled. He looked down at her from the corner of his eye. The top of her head barely reached his nose. Tucked into the back corner, she stood military straight, her bag hung from her shoulder and was trapped between her elbow and waist. Issy's hands were clasped in front. Her breasts rose and fell in the V of her pink tee shirt. She angled her chin up and stared straight ahead, watching the display indicating the floors where the elevator stopped.

  Warner knew his time with Issy was running short. He could prolong the ride back to Wayback by suggesting they stop for an early dinner, but he had a feeling Issy would decline. He wanted to see her again, but how? She'd made it very clear she didn't do second dates.

  The signal binged for the sixth floor and the doors swished open. He had an hour to figure out how to convince her to see him again.

  Issy wasted no time. She bee-lined it to the nurse's station and asked for Mrs. Parkinson's room number. After Warner showed the nurse his badge, she grabbed a chart. Both he and Issy were surprised to learn Mrs. Parkinson was doing very well and had actually been moved to a private room where she could receive visitors.

  "I guess she wasn't burned as bad as the paramedics thought,” Issy said as they walked shoulder to shoulder down the corridor.

  "Maybe the sheriff got it wrong."

  Issy knocked and a second passed before she pushed the door open. Warner had expected to see a fragile old woman covered with wrinkles and bandages. What he saw was a regal looking woman, reclined on the bed. Across the hospital table from her sat a man. A splay of playing cards lined the table's plane.

  "Derrick?” Issy's wide eyes projected her fear.

  Warner dropped his organizer to the floor. It tumbled next to Stumal's foot, drawing the man's attention for a moment. Warner grabbed the gun from his hip.

  "Whoa!” Derrick put his hands up in the air at the sight of the gun. “What in the Sam Hill is going on here?"

  "Derrick Stumal, you are wanted in connection to the fires set outside of Wayback..."

  "What are you talking about?” both Derrick and Mrs. Parkinson said at the same time.

  Derrick jumped from the chair. “I didn't set any fires."

  Mrs. Parkinson winced as she pushed up on her elbows. The IV in her hand pulled and she readjusted her arm and clasped Derrick's hand, keeping him by her side. “Issy, who is that man?"

  "He's a state fire marshal. He found evidence someone set your barn and house on fire, and the other
s."

  "Put the gun away, Mr. Whoever-you-are. Derrick didn't set fire to my house and barn. Who's the damn fool who gave you that notion? I bet it was that county sheriff. He doesn't look beyond his nose for clues. Took Mayor Fremont and Lili to find out about Owen and Thad last year."

  "I found evidence that the fire was arson. When we searched the property hoping to ask Mr. Stumal questions, he was nowhere to be found. The sheriff said he'd be there,” Warner explained.

  "Warner called the sheriff and he called the chief,” Issy added. “They questioned some of the firemen. A few of them thought they'd seen you leave shortly after the helicopter took off with Ivy."

  "They flew me out of there in a hurry. Derrick wanted to come with me but they wouldn't let him."

  Stumal added, “She had a good amount of smoke in her lungs. Couldn't breathe."

  Warner noted Stumal's hand covered the woman's. Snapshots of the dusty cabin, the cobwebs on the air conditioner's vents, the empty refrigerator popped into his mind. There was more to their relationship than boss and hired hand.

  "Rumor back home is you were badly burned."

  "Issy didn't your grandmamma teach you not to listen to rumors? My arm has a second degree burn. Don't ask me how. I don't recall. But other than that I'm fine.” Mrs. Parkinson pulled the lapels of her housecoat together and rested her injured arm across her stomach.

  "She was coughing up a lung and her arm was burnt pretty bad. I drove straight up here, and I've been here ever since."

  "He's telling the truth. He never left my side for two days, except when Mrs. Barrows showed up. She was my only visitor. I had to tell him he was turning my stomach sour, from smelling his hide in order for him to go get a shower."

  Using his free hand, Stumal pulled a room key from his front jean pocket and dangled it in front of him. “I'm staying at the hotel right down the street. You can check with the staff."

  "I will,” Warner said.

  "Are you okay, Ivy?” Issy moved to the bed's side.

  "I'm going to be, thanks to Derrick. He pulled me out of the house. I made it as far as the kitchen before the smoke got to me."

  "Dang foolish woman. She went back inside while I was busy with the barn to get her mother's pearls. When I realized she was gone, I went lookin’ for her. Found her lying face down near the bottom of the steps. Pearls can be replaced. You can't."

  "I got them, didn't I?” Mrs. Parkinson reminded the man.

  "Almost got yourself killed too,” Derrick shot back.

  They badgered like a couple who'd been together a long time. Warner cleared his throat. “Excuse me. Can either of you tell me what happened?"

  "I'm sure you realize now, Mr. —"

  "Keyson."

  "Keyson. I'm sure you realize by now Derrick and I are a couple.” Mrs. Parkinson lifted their linked hands.

  Issy's eyes widened. “You are?"

  "Yes, for about a year now. That's why Derrick hid in the bathroom like a damn fool when Mrs. Barrows got here.” She giggled.

  "Why did you keep your relationship hidden?” Warner could see the romantic shimmer in Issy's eyes.

  Mrs. Parkinson shrugged, blush tinted her cheeks. “I'm an old woman. I had an old woman's notion stuck in my head. People would talk. Maybe think something was going on between Derrick and I before Ambrose passed on. There wasn't."

  "Fool notion. Anyone who knows you knew you'd walk over hot coals for the man,” Derrick said.

  "You would've too.” She smiled up at Stumal and then turned her caring eyes to Issy and Warner. “Ambrose had a lot of respect for Derrick. Well deserved too.” A few seconds of silence ticked off while her thumb worked across the top of Stumal's hand. Her tongue ran across her lips before she continued, “After Ambrose passed I was so lonely. Derrick was there for me. We worked side by side during the day. At night we had dinner together, played cards, watched a show once in a while and then he'd say good night and go back to the bunk house."

  "One night, I didn't."

  "Hey.” She slapped his arm playfully. “You promised me you wouldn't tell."

  "You were spilling the beans pretty good.” He lifted her hand to his lips and the woman's green eyes twinkled with delight.

  "That was ten months ago. We've been together ever since."

  "You two hid your relationship well.” Wearing a wide smile, Issy bent down and caressed the woman's thin shoulders. “You deserve to be happy. You and Derrick. I'm happy for both of you. And that you're okay. Seeing your place leveled and hearing the rumor, I imagined the worst."

  Seeing the admiration between the older couple, Warner holstered his gun. “Which brings us back to why we came here."

  Derrick scooped the leather organizer from the floor and handed to Warner. “Thanks."

  "Ask your questions, young man,” Ivy said.

  He liked Mrs. Parkinson. Warner flipped open his notebook. “Okay. When did you first notice the barn was on fire? And the house? Did you see anyone? Hear anything?"

  Her cheeks blushed. “We were sleeping. It was a nice night so we had the windows open."

  "All of a sudden, the animals started bellowing.” Derrick pulled his hand from hers, stood and stuffed his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans.

  Mrs. Parkinson shivered, pulling the thin cotton hospital issued blanket to her chest. “It was horrible. I never heard anything like it in my entire seventy years."

  "I told Ivy to call 911 and took off for the barn. By the time I got outside the whole second floor was engulfed. It was so hot. The horses were kickin’ madly at their stall doors. I'd grabbed a shirt off the chair on the way out but hadn't put it on. Thank God I did. I drenched the shirt in the trough, got it soaked clean through and threw it over my head. I managed to unlatch the horse's stalls. They bolted out and took off for the hills.” Derrick hung his head. “But I couldn't get to the milk cows."

  Tears laced the rims of Mrs. Parkinson's eyes. “You tried your best."

  "One minute all you heard was their bellowing and the next there was a thunderous crash and a whooshing sound like the air was being sucked into a black hole. Sparks and smoke reached for the stars. Then the fire, it sort of crackled at you.” Derrick hung his head. “I've never felt so helpless."

  Warner knew exactly what he meant. The flames taunted their victory over you. At that point, you had two choices, lie down and die or get madder than hell and piss them down.

  "I don't know if I heard Ivy call or if I just felt she needed my help. I turned and the sparks from the barn had engulfed the house. It was on fire and she was inside."

  "Where? Where did the flames start? Think. It's important."

  Derrick's brow furrowed. His gaze drifted off into the distance as if he was looking back in time. All of a sudden his eyes widened into capital O's. “The flames climbed up the back corners of the houses."

  "And the roof?"

  "No. The roof was fine."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah. The flames crawled up the sides."

  He looked down at Mrs. Parkinson. “Someone had set the house on fire."

  "Who in Sam Jackson's hill would do such a thing?” Derrick asked.

  "I think I know,” Mrs. Parkinson said.

  Issy fingertips touched the blanket covering the woman's leg. “Who?"

  "The boy has always been bad news."

  "Who?"

  "Betty Towels’ kid, Wayne. He's always had a fascination for fire. Betty told me once how mad he became when they'd blew out the candles on his birthday cake. He was only five at the time and demanded to sit and stare at the flames. Then when he was only seven or eight, he used to set the brush on fire behind their house."

  "I never heard about any brush fires."

  "Betty and Shane put them out before they got wide-spread. Shane told people he was clearing off the land for a shed or something. I told them he needed to see someone, get some help, but they're his parents. Blind to his faults. No one knows about the boy's pro
blems."

  "How do you know it was Wayne Towels?"

  "I saw him. He was standing by the barn."

  "You didn't tell me you saw Wayne.” Derrick looked down at her.

  "I didn't remember until just now. After you ran down the steps, I grabbed my housecoat from the chair and glanced out the window. That's when I saw him. He was there and then he was gone."

  "Are you sure it was Wayne?” Warner flipped the notebook closed.

  "Yes, Mr. Keyson. I've known the boy all his life. It was him."

  "He probably circled to the back of the house and then lit it on fire.” Derrick's hand curled into a fist.

  Issy shook her head. “I know Wayne. He's not a bad kid."

  "Most arsonists aren't. They have this addiction and hide it very well.” Warner plucked his cell from his pocket.

  "Why would he do it?” Issy eyes darted to Mrs. Parkinson. “Why would he burn your house?"

  Mrs. Parkinson's eyes lowered. “I was out riding Star and saw him leaving the Turkson's fire. I called the fire in myself, anonymously. I rode over to the Towels’ and told them. They promised me they would get help for the boy."

  "Was he there?"

  She shook her head. “I didn't see him, but—” Her eyes rounded. “He must've overheard our conversation."

  "He tried to stop you from telling anyone else.” Warner turned to Issy. “Have you seen the Towels at all in the last week?"

  "No. I run into Betty now and then at the grocery store."

  "We better call the chief and the sheriff and let them know immediately.” He flipped open his phone.

  "You don't think he'd hurt his parents do you?"

  "I don't know. The boy has a sickness. I'm going out to call the sheriff. He needs to get out to the Towels’ place right away. If Wayne's there, they can pick him up for questioning."

  "I'll be right out."

  Warner had just finished relaying all he'd learned to both law officers when Issy touched his elbow. “You okay?” he asked her.

  "I'm relieved Ivy and Derrick are fine, but I still can't believe Wayne would do a thing like this."

  "Wayback is a small community. You've been assaulted by one of your own. But I wouldn't pity him."