Burn You Twice

by Burton, Mary

“We do not,” he said.

  “Nate said Clarke had a call last night,” Ann said.

  “That was the one. He was there most of the night.”

  “Boys, finish your breakfast,” Ann said. “We’ll go out for a ride in the back range once you’re finished.”

  “Can I ride Whiskey?” Kyle asked.

  Ann looked to Gideon, who nodded.

  “He’s a strong rider,” Gideon said with pride. “Whiskey will be fine.”

  As the boys scurried back toward the kitchen, Joan moved closer to Gideon, more drawn by curiosity over the fire in town than she was cautious of old emotions tangled up with guilt. The scent of smoke clinging to him stopped her a couple of feet away. “Have you spoken to Elijah? Where there’s smoke, there’s often an arsonist.”

  He rubbed the brim of his hat, already worn in several spots. “We haven’t proven arson yet.”

  “Just so you know, I came to town to see Elijah,” Joan said. “I thought he might act again, but never this fast.”

  “We don’t know if it’s him yet,” Gideon said.

  “Are you defending him?” Ann’s anger hardened her tone.

  “No. I just follow the facts. And right now, I have a fire with undetermined origins.”

  “Where was Elijah at the time of the fire?” Joan asked.

  “He has an alibi,” Gideon said.

  “I’ll bet,” Joan said.

  The thunder of the boys’ footsteps in the kitchen rumbled through the house and made glasses in an antique cabinet rattle.

  “I better go check on that,” Ann said.

  Ann turned and was calling out the boys’ names before her foot landed on the first step.

  “I’m going to talk to Elijah,” Joan said.

  “About what?” Gideon asked.

  “I’m not sure. But I’ll know when I get there.”

  “A few questions will reveal the truth in his heart?” he asked, baiting her.

  “No. Thinking maybe interrogation skills I’ve picked up along the way might ferret out a few deceptions.”

  “And then what? He’s already been tried, convicted, and served his time for the last fire.”

  Joan slid her hands into her pockets. Jesus. She’d been fired up and motivated when she’d boarded the plane yesterday. She had not formulated a clear plan beyond seeing Elijah. Now a suspicious fire had destroyed a building, and there was a crime scene to examine. And whether Gideon liked it or not, she would participate in the investigation.

  “I’m borrowing your mother’s car,” she said.

  He shook his head. “The clutch is out.”

  “Then I’ll get Ann to drop me at the rental car place.”

  He regarded her with a guarded steadiness, as he used to when sizing up a wild bronco. “You can ride with me and save her the trip into town. It’ll give us a chance to catch up.”

  A hint of challenge laced Gideon’s tone. He was daring her to spend time with him and perhaps, God forbid, converse about the unfinished business between them.

  To beg off would scream coward. She might regret the decisions she had made a decade ago, but she would not apologize for them. “I need to grab my coat and purse.”

  “Chop-chop,” he said. “Bus is leaving in five minutes.”

  “Right.” As she passed the hallway mirror, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Her hair stuck up, and yesterday’s mascara was smudged under her eyes. She looked like a cross between a rooster and an anime cartoon character.

  Minutes later, teeth brushed and hair tamed by a damp comb, she’d changed into jeans, a dark-brown sweater, and black boots. All work-wardrobe staples. She felt underdressed without her sidearm.

  The boys were gathered around Gideon. Both had donned coats and looked ready to head to the stables with Ann. Nate had a calculus book tucked under his arm. Algebra had nearly been Joan’s Waterloo in high school. “Some light reading, kid?”

  “Yeah,” Nate said. “Do you like math?”

  A quip died on her lips when she realized it might discourage the boy. “Nice. It’s good to be smart.”

  “Ready?” Gideon asked.

  “I am.”

  The four years Joan had spent in Montana had hovered in the shadows of her life for many reasons. Foolish to think all the baggage had centered on Elijah, when the bulk of it belonged to Gideon.

  Walking out the front door, as the boys raced toward the barn, Gideon unlocked the doors to the police-issue SUV.

  She slid inside the car, glancing in the side mirror and watching as Gideon hugged his son and whispered something to him. A part of her was glad Gideon had a child to love. Even in college, he had said he wanted children. Even though she had refused to discuss the possibilities of motherhood in those days, a part of her now wished they’d had a child together.

  She settled in the seat and hooked her belt. The dash was dust-free, as was the side console. There was a computer mounted between the seats as well as a two-way radio, which must have been convenient for when he was out of cell service.

  He slid behind the wheel, clicked his seat belt as he looked in the rearview mirror at the boys to make sure they were clear of the car. She found it strange to think how time and life had made this wild and reckless cowboy more cautious and deliberate.

  The engine throttled up as he pulled out of Ann’s driveway and onto the rural route.

  Joan shifted her attention to the stunning mountain peaks that ran along the entire horizon. The landscape was so vast that it left her feeling exposed and unsure of how to proceed. She missed the urban gray granite walls of Philadelphia that flanked her and blocked out old memories that now nudged to the front of her mind. Joan shifted in her seat and ignored the tightening in her chest. She had been so stubborn and hard on him because she had loved him. She thought if she left him, it wouldn’t hurt so much. But she had been wrong.

  As she narrowed her eyes, the landscape blurred, and she could pretend it was not so intimidating. She needed to find Elijah, figure out what his strategy was, and get the hell back to Philadelphia before she lost her mind.

  Confessions of an Arsonist

  This fire should have satisfied my cravings, but it has only created a hunger for more heat and more destruction.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Missoula, Montana

  Sunday, September 6, 2020

  11:00 a.m.

  Gideon noticed Joan shivering but was not surprised, given her flimsy coat. She had forgotten about the weather. He turned up the heat. “I’m assuming the regular rental car place?”

  “That’ll work.” She tapped her finger on her worn jeans, as if unsaid thoughts were scratching against her insides.

  “It’s about twenty minutes from the ranch,” he said.

  “How far is the rental car place from the arson scene?”

  “Ten minutes in the opposite direction.”

  When Gideon had first seen her at Ann’s, he was too taken aback to notice much about her. Now, with Ann and the boys gone, he’d had time to process. Time to remember what he had loved about her.

  Joan was as fit and trim as she had been in college. Her hair was shorter, but he liked the way it showed off her angled face and made her green eyes pop. She did not wear much makeup, but she still did not need it. He had always assumed that if he ever saw her again—and he had fantasized about it—he would not feel really strongly one way or the other about her. Just twenty minutes with her had told him that he’d been wrong.

  “Can you take me to the arson scene first?” Joan asked. “I want to see it before I talk to Elijah.”

  “Why? You can’t work it in an official capacity.”

  “Technically, no. But it may help. I’ve walked my share of arson scenes in the last few years.”

  He could drop her off at the rental car terminal now and get on with his investigation, but it would be only an hour before she showed up at the crime scene and started poking around. Better to keep her close.

  “Wonderi
ng if I’ll show up at the fire scene by myself?” she asked.

  “I am.”

  “Good guess. I will. I need to see it.”

  “You think this person left a calling card?”

  “Very few arsonists have signatures, but they leave clues about themselves,” she said. “It’s just a matter of identifying the patterns.” When Gideon did not acquiesce to her request, she challenged, “How many fires have you investigated in the last ten years?”

  “On this scale? Only one, and that was ruled an accident.”

  “You’ve had other fires in town?” she asked.

  “A dumpster fire last year and a few brush fires outside of town over the summer. None of them was particularly destructive.” He passed the turn to the rental car place and continued on to the arson scene.

  “That’s a no to a large-scale arson investigation, isn’t it?” she said, glancing up from the map on her phone.

  It was, but admitting to shortcomings was not always wise. “You’re strictly there as an adviser, Joan. I don’t care how much experience you have. Don’t touch anything.”

  A slight smile curled the edges of her lips. “I’ll be as good as gold.”

  He shook his head, fearing he was losing control of this case right out of the gate. “I’m holding you to it.”

  “When did the fire start?” she asked.

  “Last night. The first call came to the police station as I was finishing up my shift. I was less than a mile away, so I took the call. I rolled up on the scene at six fifty-five p.m. The building was fully engulfed. Fire crews arrived within a few minutes, but the building was a total loss.”

  “They shifted to containing the fire.”

  “Correct.”

  “Were there any fatalities?”

  Count on Joan to get right to the heart of the case. “Yes.”

  “Do you have an identity yet?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Does the evidence suggest the victim was the arsonist?”

  “Unsure.”

  When he pulled up behind Becca’s vehicle, he noted a television news crew filming the site. A fire this size in a small city was not going to go unnoticed, and he accepted their presence, even though he did not like it.

  Joan visibly tensed when she watched a reporter station herself in front of a news camera. “They’re everywhere.”

  “The press follows the news.”

  “And when there’s no news, they dig up unnecessary dirt to muddy the waters.”

  “Sounds like personal experience talking.” He’d followed her career for a couple of years, but when his marriage had really faltered, he’d had to let his preoccupation with Joan go in order to convince his wife and himself that he was working on their marriage.

  “It’s a long story,” she said.

  “I bet it’s a good one.”

  “Not for me.” She flexed her fingers. “Do you have gloves?”

  He fished black protective gloves from his pocket and handed them to her. “Stick close to me. You’re here as my guest.”

  “Sure.”

  Out of the vehicle, they crossed the street to where Becca stood watching two firefighters walking the rubble.

  “Detective Becca Sullivan, I would like you to meet Joan Mason. She’s visiting Ann and is also a detective in Philadelphia.”

  Becca thrust out her hand. “Good to meet you. You both just missed the medical examiner’s team. They transported the remains. The medical examiner on call has been contacted.”

  “Where was the body found?” Joan asked.

  Becca pointed to the front of the building near the display window. “Over there. There used to be a window and exterior door there.”

  Joan drew in a deep breath as her gaze settled on the site.

  Becca’s eyes narrowed as she studied Joan. “Do I know you?”

  “Not sure.”

  Becca snapped her fingers as if a memory had materialized. She glanced at Gideon, and he knew she had just assembled the puzzle pieces and connected Joan to him. “Glad to have you, Detective Mason.”

  “Thank you.” Joan worked her hands into the gloves. “May I have a look, Detective Bailey?”

  “Follow the flags designating the path.”

  “Understood.”

  “I should have updates on the victim later this evening,” Becca said.

  “Good.” As he readied to follow Becca and Joan, his phone rang. “Detective Bailey.”

  “Detective, this is Jessica Halpern. I understand you’ve been trying to reach me.”

  “That’s right, Mrs. Halpern.” He watched as Joan and Becca stepped over black ash and collapsed timbers. “I have some bad news about your beauty salon. It caught fire last night and is a total loss.”

  Silence crackled over the line before she stammered, “H-how? I don’t understand.”

  “Still trying to determine the cause of the fire, ma’am. Can you come to the scene?”

  “Easier said than done. I’m in Chicago with my husband. He’s out for a run now, but when he gets back, I’ll tell him.” Another sigh. “A total loss? Everything?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Jesus,” she whispered. “What the hell happened?”

  “We’re working on that.”

  Mrs. Halpern took a ragged breath. “We put all our money into that place.”

  “I’m sorry. Mrs. Halpern, did you employ a Lana Long?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Her purse was found near the scene.”

  “I don’t know why. She was supposed to be back in Denver by now. What does this have to do with Lana?”

  “Can’t say right now. I also need a list of current employees who worked at the shop.”

  “Of course. Darren and I will try to get a flight out tonight, but I might not get back until Monday. You know how the flights can be on a holiday.”

  “I understand.”

  The call ended, and a second later, he had a lengthy text including a list of the other salon employees. He went down the list of employees and left messages with two of them and spoke to three others. He heard a mixture of shock over the fire, complaints about where some would work next, and pledges to get in touch with Jessica Halpern. All knew of Lana, but none had spent any real time with her.

  Joan stepped over the debris and stripped off her gloves as she approached him. “I want to see Elijah.”

  “What makes you think Elijah will even talk to you?” he asked.

  She looked at him. “Nine years ago, I wrote to him. And he responded. We’ve been corresponding ever since.”

  “You’re shitting me!” he said, louder than he intended. “Why would you reach out to him?”

  She shrugged but did not look away. “I wanted to know why he wanted to burn me alive.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask. Did he tell you anything that was of value?”

  “No.”

  “What a surprise.”

  “I thought a look inside the mind of someone like him would be informative. He started following my cases. He also offered a few interesting insights that helped me solve a couple of cases.”

  It was a kick in the balls to know she had reached out to Elijah and not him. “So you two are best pals?”

  “Hardly. When the parole board asked me three years ago if he should be released, I said no in as many ways as I could think of. But he has now served his full term.” She ran her hand through her short hair. “You remember the scorpion and the frog fable?”

  “Trusting a predator never ends well.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Just make sure you don’t forget that.”

  She rubbed her fingertips over the ribbed white scar on her palm. “I never do.”

  They got into his car and he started the engine. They drove in silence for a half dozen blocks before he pulled up in front of the boardinghouse.

  “It is within walking distance to the fire,” Joan remarked.

  “Yes, it is.”r />
  The two got out of the car and walked up the cracked, freshly scrubbed sidewalk to the front porch. All the faded traces of the graffiti were gone. He rang the bell, and Mr. Pickett answered it. His eyes were bloodshot, but he had shaved, and his shirt looked to be clean. The monthly six-pack appeared to have left him a little hungover.

  “Mr. Pickett, could I speak with Elijah?” Gideon asked.

  “He’s in the kitchen. He’s offered to cook up lunch. Making a tomato sauce. And for the record, he was here when that fire started.”

  “Are you sure?” Gideon asked.

  “Very,” Mr. Pickett said emphatically.

  The scents of oregano and garlic reached out to him as he and Joan moved toward the kitchen. The aroma had a warm, comforting effect, and it surprised him that Elijah could cook.

  “He’s a great cook,” Joan said, as if reading his thoughts again. “He worked in the prison kitchen and decided to improve the culinary standard. He even organized the prisoners to grow herbs in a greenhouse.”

  “Quite the Renaissance man.”

  “He can’t stand boredom in any shape or form.”

  They found Elijah at the stove, wearing a yellow apron covered in bouquets of pink bitterroot flowers bound together with twine. He was holding a spoon dripping with red sauce up to the mouth of an older, thinner man.

  The man opened his mouth to taste, but when he saw Gideon, he closed his mouth and nodded for Elijah to look. Elijah slurped up the sauce on his spoon. “Can I get you to try my sauce, Detective? The recipe came from a dear friend.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Joan stepped around him. Elijah’s expression turned quizzical, and then his lips split into a wide grin. He set the spoon down and opened his arms wide. “Joan! God, how I have missed seeing you.”

  Gideon expected her to retreat. She had been too shaken all those years ago to even talk to him about Elijah or the fire. But instead of fear, her expression softened. It was a far cry from the cool, awkward greeting Gideon had shared with her earlier. “Elijah.”

  Elijah took her hands in his, and his thumbs rubbed against her palms. He turned them up so that he could study them. “What happened to you in that fire was a travesty. Are you going to help me figure out who set your house on fire?”

  “That’s why I came,” she said.