by Burton, Mary
“His wife is missing, so he said he drove up to the family cabin in the hills. Instead of finding her, he discovered the cabin had burned to the ground.”
“What?” he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “When was he there?” The cold from the floor crept into his bones.
“About two a.m. He had to drive to the nearest gas station to get cell service. An officer is bringing him into town.”
“Good. Keep him at the station. I’ll be out as quickly as I can.”
He dressed in minutes and, when he emerged from his room, walked down to Kyle’s room. He crossed the boy’s bedroom floor, littered with yesterday’s discarded clothes, socks, and shoes, and sat on the edge of his bed. The boy lay on his belly, his arm flung over the side with his mouth open. His face was relaxed, as if he had not a care in the world.
Gideon rubbed him on the back. “Kyle, you’re going to have to get up. Got to take you to Aunt Ann’s.”
“I’m sleeping.”
“I know, buddy. I got a call.”
He yanked the pillow over his head.
Gideon tugged back his covers. “Rise and shine.”
“Can I stay with Joan?”
“No. Aunt Ann.”
The boy’s groans of complaint followed him as he strode out of the room and flipped on the light.
As Gideon hurried down the stairs, he was hit by the scent of coffee. Joan, never a good sleeper, was addicted to the brew.
Leaning on the kitchen counter, she stared at the pot, probably willing it to work faster. His attention shifted to her bottom, still as round and firm as he remembered.
Gideon cleared his throat.
She straightened, turning as if he was interrupting a private moment. “Your little apartment has a good bed but no coffee.”
“How did you get in the house?”
“You have a set of keys in the apartment. I had to try three before the back door opened. You really should consider color coding them. They all look alike in the dark.” She had drawn back behind her trademark humor and sarcasm.
Maybe she was right. Distance was better for everyone. He reached for his phone and texted Ann. Her reply was quick. She would be glad to drive Kyle to school. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“The house rises early.”
“I got a call.” He did not hesitate to fill her in. “Jessica Halpern is missing. Darren drove to his cabin last night and discovered it burned to the ground.”
She folded her arms and blinked. “Really? And where is Mr. Halpern now?”
“An officer is bringing him into town. I’m headed to the cabin to survey the damage.”
“I want to come.”
No may I or please. “I leave in fifteen minutes. First stop is Ann’s so I can drop Kyle off.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“You ride with me. Hate to lose you in the dark up in the mountains.”
He reached around her for his travel mug. She smelled like the lilac shampoo left behind by Christie, a gal he had dated when he lived in the apartment. The scent had always suited Christie but smelled too fussy on Joan. Something spicy would have befitted her.
Gideon grabbed the travel mug, and as he reached for the pot, she did not shift out of his way, and his arm brushed against hers. Under the soft knit sleeve was sculpted muscle. He was not sure if she was just lost in thought or wanted him to touch her. That was the way it was with Joan. She always had him in a pretzel of emotion.
As if she had made her point, she pushed away from the counter and crossed to the refrigerator. She hefted the gallon-size jug and jostled the remaining contents around. “Does Kyle take milk with his cereal?”
“Yes.”
She replaced the milk without taking any.
“Go ahead and drink it. I can make him toast.”
“No, I’ll save what remains for him. It doesn’t feel right disrupting his routine. It’s his world. Not mine.”
No truer words. She was a visitor in his world, and he would be smart to remember it.
As Gideon drove, Joan watched as the sun rose above the eastern horizon and remembered her first winter in Missoula. It had been miserable. She had always thought Philly winters were brutal, but out here, the weatherman measured snow in feet rather than inches, and extreme wind drove temps well below zero. She had never really gotten warm that first winter, and by late January, she had been compiling transfer applications to colleges in Florida, Texas, and Arizona.
But a lack of funds to pay for her transfer applications had led to the diner job. The work was hard, but she liked Old Man Tucker. By spring break, she had her application money and had sent off her forms. In late May, she was accepted to both the University of Arizona and the University of Central Florida, but by then, the weather had warmed, bringing with it blooming flowers. Montana had seduced her into staying for another year. The cycle replayed during her sophomore year and her junior year. And then she had met Gideon, and the winters no longer felt the least bit cold.
Gideon downshifted and slowed to make the turn on a dirt road she would have missed if she were driving. “How did you find this place?”
“This county is my beat. You know all the back alleys and side streets in your jurisdiction.”
“Point taken.”
He wound up the washed-out road, and when he rounded the final corner, she saw the log structure. The walls were intact, but a portion of the roof had collapsed, allowing tendrils of smoke to hiss out. There was a fire truck on scene, with two firefighters pumping water into what had been the front door of the cabin.
“The old logs are harder to burn than most realize,” he said. “The inside can be devastated with an exterior still standing.”
Out of the car, Joan accepted a pair of protective gloves from Gideon. She worked her fingers inside and slipped on the mask.
“Rick,” Gideon said. “This is Joan Mason. Joan, this is Sheriff Rick Sexton.”
“Pleasure,” she said.
Rick was in his early thirties, tall, lean, and sporting thick blond hair. His gaze was wary, as if he was wondering what the hell she was doing there.
“What can you tell me?” Gideon asked.
“Fire was set in the living room. Appears to have been a small plastic tub of gasoline that was ignited. The flames caught the curtains and rug on fire. However, the furniture is ancient and stuffed with horsehair. It’s not as flammable as the modern stuff we buy.”
Joan looked toward the blue tarp that covered the shape of a human form. “Who’s that?”
Rick looked at Joan. “Who are you, Joan Mason?”
“She’s a homicide detective from Philadelphia,” Gideon said. “She’s worked several arson cases back east and is assisting.”
Rick did not look like the answer satisfied him. “The purse and ID we found in the vehicle matches Jessica Halpern; however, the body was badly burned. Whoever torched the place doused her body with gasoline first. She’s not recognizable, so the medical examiner will have to confirm the identification with dental records.”
“Any idea of the cause of death?” Gideon asked.
“Impossible for me to tell,” Rick said.
“By now, Darren should be at my office waiting to be questioned,” Gideon said. “I sent my officer to go get him.”
“He called in the fire,” Rick said.
“Many arsonists do,” Joan offered.
“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Gideon said.
“Perhaps,” she conceded.
“Can we walk inside?” Gideon asked.
“The fire is out, but it’ll be hot. I can’t speak to the integrity of the building.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Gideon said.
“Fine. But she stays out.”
“Why?” Joan demanded.
“Because this isn’t Missoula but Granite County, and they have vastly different rules,” Gideon explained.
“Out here, you’re a civilian,” Rick said.
“Ho
w about some professional curiosity?” Sure, she was on leave, but they had not taken her badge yet.
“Nope,” Rick said. “Too much liability.”
“Do I look like someone who would sue?” she asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Rick said.
“Stay,” Gideon said. “I’ll be right back.”
As Gideon stepped inside the water-soaked living room, Rick received a call that took him back to his vehicle. Joan immediately moved closer to the house, stopping short of stepping inside. She watched as Gideon approached the blue tarp. He squatted and carefully lifted the edge, his face drawing into a frown as he studied the body.
When he glanced her way, she shouted, “What does her neck look like?”
He dropped his gaze and then reached for his phone and took several pictures. Finally, he covered the body and rose. When he joined her out on the porch, his face was grim and a shade paler. One more image to carry.
“Do you think it’s Jessica Halpern?” she asked as they stepped away from the cabin. “How did her neck look?”
“Her head was twisted at an odd angle, but the skin was too blackened to make any visual determination. The damage to the body was extensive.”
Joan nodded as she followed Gideon’s train of thought. “This time, the killer wanted to make damn sure she was dead.”
“Her face was all but gone,” he said.
“Jessica took out the insurance policy, knowing she needed money. Darren could have snuck out of Chicago, killed Lana, burned the beauty shop down, and then returned. We have credit card receipts but no footage yet of him swiping any of his cards.”
“Jessica could have also hired someone to do the dirty work,” he said. “Burn down her business while she’s out of town, and then they return as the victims.”
“If we go that route, Jessica hadn’t counted on Lana’s death, and maybe she panicked. Maybe she got cold feet and said she was going to the cops.”
“You saw Darren when?” Gideon asked.
“Yesterday afternoon at about three. I brought up Lana but didn’t mention she was dead. My questions could have spooked him. Maybe he calls Jessica and they plan to meet up here. She’s no shrinking violet and calls him out for Lana. She suspects the affair with Lana, and their fight gets ugly. He strangles her and burns the place down.”
“Easy for him to get up here, kill Jessica, change, and return to the store to call for help.”
“Though why would Darren set the fire at the Bailey ranch?” she asked.
“Maybe he wants to shift the blame to Elijah, who is a very convenient scapegoat. Not a coincidence that the beauty shop burned after Elijah’s prison release. A fire at the ranch near you and Ann would circle back to the College Fire.”
“It’s plausible, but crime is rarely that complicated or that well planned,” Joan said. “Motivations, like most people, are generally simple.”
“That’s basically true,” Gideon said. “Wonder if John Pollock knew the Halperns?”
Joan shrugged. “Each agrees to torch the other’s property and provide an alibi.”
Gideon rubbed the back of his neck. “Now you’re straying back into complicated.”
When Gideon and Joan arrived in town, Becca greeted them in the hallway by the stairs. “Darren Halpern is waiting in the conference room. He keeps asking about his wife.”
“There was a body in the cabin,” Gideon said to Becca.
“Is it Mrs. Halpern?” Becca asked.
“We’ve not made an ID yet.”
Becca’s expression turned grim. “When a wife goes missing, my money is always on the husband,” Becca said.
“We’ll follow the facts, Becca,” Gideon said.
“You’re the boss,” Becca said.
“I’d like to be present when you talk to Darren,” Joan said.
“It’s one thing to walk a scene but another to participate in an official interview,” Gideon said.
“Darren has not been charged.” She hung up her jacket on a peg and rubbed her hands together. “We’re just having an informal chat, right?”
Gideon realized he liked working with Joan. She had a sharp mind, and it turned in directions his did not. He could follow A to B to C and could dig deep into the details. She saw the same facts but through a different prism. “Right.”
“Then why not have me along? He might be the type who underestimates a woman. Most men do.”
Becca’s eyes widened with amusement, but she did not comment.
Gideon shook his head. “Anyone who underestimates you does so at their own risk.”
Her grin contained a rare glimpse of humor. “I tend to agree.”
“I’ll let you in, but don’t talk.”
She held up her first two fingers. “I swear I will be quiet.”
“You’re not a Scout,” Becca said.
“The oath thing applies to everyone, right?” Joan asked.
“Don’t say a word, Joan,” Gideon warned.
“I promise.” She followed him down the hallway and paused while he made two cups of coffee.
“I don’t need coffee,” she said.
“It’s not for you. It’s for him.”
“And here I was assuming.” She shook her head.
“Can’t do that.”
“Won’t again.”
Inside the room, they found Darren sitting at the end of the table reading his phone as he tapped his foot. Gideon closed the door, and Darren rose immediately. “Did you find my wife?”
Gideon set the coffee cup in front of Darren and waited as Joan took a seat in the far corner. He sat and asked the man to do the same. “When was the last time you saw your wife?”
“Yesterday,” he said. “We were staying in town. She was very upset about the fire. She’d been on the phone most of the morning with the insurance company. I told her to be calm, but she lost it. She took off and said she needed time alone.”
“And you thought she went to the cabin?”
“It’s where she goes from time to time when she needs quiet.”
“Does she need quiet a lot?” Gideon asked.
“More lately.”
“No cell service ensures quiet,” Gideon said.
“The cabin is off the grid completely.”
“When did you decide to drive up to see if your wife was there?”
“After she visited me,” he said, nodding to Joan. “I knew it was a matter of time before the cops blamed us for the fire.”
“And now your cabin has burned,” Joan said quietly.
Gideon tamped down a rush of frustration as he shifted his chair, deliberately dragging the metal feet against the floor. “Go on, Mr. Halpern?”
“I saw the smoke above the trees as I was driving to the cabin,” Darren said quickly. “I floored it and raced toward it. I could see the fire had destroyed the building.”
“Did you go inside?” Gideon asked.
“It was still too hot. I drove back to the nearest landline and called the cops. Look, I’ve been calling my wife for hours, and no answer. I need to find her.”
Gideon sipped his coffee, taking an extra beat to gather his thoughts. “We’re looking for her. But if you don’t mind, I want to circle back to the Beau-T-Shop fire and Lana,” he said.
Darren’s brow furrowed. “What does Lana have to do with this?”
Gideon dropped his voice a fraction, as if he and Darren were allies and confidants. “Turns out she was pregnant.”
“Pregnant. Okay. A couple of the girls in the store have gotten pregnant.”
Darren was tense, but his lower limbs remained still and his hands relaxed. When folks lied, they might be able to control their face and hands, but the lower body had a tendency to shift and move, as if the truth needed to get released somehow.
“She was about eight to ten weeks pregnant,” Gideon said.
“What does that have to do with Jessica or the fires? Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
&nbs
p; Gideon ignored the question. “Would Jessica have known about the pregnancy?”
“Sure. It’s possible. The ladies in the shop told her things, and they came to her when they were in trouble. Look, if you want to know more about Lana’s life, talk to Nora O’Neil. I think they were friends.”
“Where can I find Nora O’Neil?”
“She lives on the west side of town.” He reached for his phone and pulled up her contact information and then texted it to Gideon. “Call her. She works at Tucker’s Diner.”
His phone dinged with the text. “I’ll talk to her today.” He turned his phone facedown on the table. “Tell me about John Pollock.”
“Who?”
“Pollock. He said he knew you.” Lying was a tool in his arsenal he used whenever necessary.
Darren shrugged. “I have no idea who he is.”
“He lives up in Helena. He told me to tell you to say hi when I saw you.”
“Okay. But I still don’t know the name. Should I?” Darren asked.
“His business burned to the ground last year,” Gideon said.
“What are you saying?”
“Both of you had similar fires and significant insurance coverage.”
“Are you saying I had something to do with any of the fires?”
“Now that you brought it up, did you?”
Darren sat back and held up his hands. “I don’t like the turn of this conversation. You still have not told me about Jessica. Have you found her?”
“We found a body in the cabin,” Gideon said. “We cannot make a visual identification. The medical examiner will have to ID the body.”
Darren raised his fingers to his lips as his eyes widened. “It can’t be Jessica. I just spoke to her yesterday.”
“We have transported the body to the medical examiner and are waiting on Jessica’s dental records.”
“Dental records?” He closed his eyes. “Jesus.”
“You’ll need to stay in town and keep your phone with you,” Gideon said.
He fingered his phone as if it were a lifeline. “Do I need an attorney?”
“That’s your call,” Gideon said, matter of fact.
“You’ve accused me of arson.”
“I have not,” Gideon said. “I’m just gathering facts now.”
“You both think I had something to do with all this.”
