A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  She nodded, thinking about the best way to proceed with such little information. "I've worked with a private investigator on cases for my firm, Jeanne Randolph. She's an ex-cop with a lot of really good connections. I can call her and see if she can help."

  "I'll pay whatever she charges."

  "Okay." Wanting to lighten the mood, she added, "You'll like her. She's blonde."

  The shadows lifted from his eyes. "That's not actually a requirement," he said dryly.

  "Could have fooled me. I never saw you with anyone who didn't have golden hair."

  "Maybe when I was in high school," he conceded. He paused. "There's one other thing, Sara. I don't want my family to know what I'm doing, and that includes Emma. So if you don't think you can keep her out of it, we should stop right now."

  She had a choice to make. Emma wouldn't like her keeping a secret that involved her brother. Then again, she was trying to help Aiden. He didn't want to involve his family or his fire crew, which didn't leave him with many options. All that aside, it was Aiden, and he wanted her help, and there was no way she was going to say no. "I won't tell Emma," she said, meeting his waiting gaze. "This is your business, and I'll respect that."

  "And you'll respect that whatever we find out will be mine to decide what to do with? Because I may do nothing."

  "Not even if the truth will clear your name?"

  "That depends on whether that truth will hurt Kyle."

  She admired his loyalty to his friend, and she hoped he wouldn't have to make that choice. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

  "So how do we start?"

  "I'll call Jeanne. I'd like to get some of Kyle's information first, name, birthdate, any other information you have like a social security number or a driver's license?"

  "I don't know that I have any of that," Aiden said.

  "Jeanne is good at working with very little. Let's get some paper. I'm sure my father must have some in his study."

  They went downstairs and entered the room that had always been her father's private sanctuary. Stepping through the doorway, Sara felt very much like an intruder. "I can't remember the last time I was in here," she muttered, glancing around the room. Her father's den was very male with a big mahogany desk by the window, shelves and shelves of books, mostly law books, although there were a few other nonfiction and biographies in the mix. Her father was all about facts. No fiction for him.

  A brown leather couch and a coffee table were on the adjacent wall. Like the other rooms in the house, this one was neat and organized. The only sign of life was a stack of recent mail that her father had placed in his in-box. She smiled cynically. Her father had always been most comfortable when he was working, so he'd created an actual office in his home, his place of retreat.

  Aiden nudged her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

  "Just thinking about how this room was probably the only room in the house where my father felt at home."

  "It's a man-cave," he agreed. "A little on the boring side, but it suits your dad." He paused. "Not your mom, though. She was warm, friendly. I remember all the times your mom and Lynda would sit at our kitchen table with their tea and cookies. They'd talk for hours."

  "My mother was hungry for conversation and company. I think when I got older and was out of the house more, she felt the loneliness more deeply."

  "Why do you think your parents stayed together?"

  "Probably out of a sense of duty and responsibility. That's the kind of people they were. Once they made a promise, they kept it." She thought about all the times she'd wished her mother would run away with her. They'd go someplace warm where the sun beat down on their heads and people played music and laughed, and there wasn't icy quiet all the time.

  "Sara," Aiden prodded. "Where are you?"

  She smiled at him. "On a beautiful beach, watching my mom enjoy her life instead of suffering through it. She could have had so much more if she'd left my father. It's just so unfair. She loved life, and he barely tolerates it. But she's gone, and he's still here. And it's not that I don’t want him to be here," she said hastily. "That sounded bad."

  "I get it, Sara. You don't have to explain."

  "I feel disloyal, not just when I say the words out loud, but when I think them in my head."

  He smiled at her. "That's because you went to Catholic school and learned about guilt."

  "True."

  "Love and hate are complicated emotions," Aiden said. "Sometimes they're the same."

  "I don't want the kind of love my mom had. I want more for myself."

  "You should have more, Sara, a lot more. Don't settle for someone who isn't willing to lay down his life for you."

  "I'm sure that guy won't be difficult to find," she said dryly. "Most men aren't willing to put down their phones for me."

  He grinned. "You haven't met the right guy."

  She had met the right guy—a very long time ago. He just didn't feel the same way about her. She moved to the desk and opened the top right hand drawer and pulled out a notepad. "Write down whatever you think might help Jeanne do some research into Kyle's life," she said, pushing the pad and a pen across the desk. "Go back in time, high school, college, fire academy, friends, addresses. If you know where he did his banking, put that down. Any gambling connections would be helpful." She paused, as he made no move to pick up the pen and start writing. "If you've changed your mind, Aiden, it's all good."

  He looked into her eyes. "I just have a bad feeling about this."

  "Afraid of what you will find, or what you won't find?"

  "Both." A moment later, he picked up the pen.

  Chapter Ten

  Emma felt sick to her stomach. Her job as an arson investigator required objectivity, but staring at the burned out classroom where she'd gone to kindergarten felt very personal. She had so many memories in this school, and in this particular room. She could remember sitting on the bright, colorful carpet listening to the teacher read stories about incredible places and kids having extraordinary adventures. She'd drawn pictures at one of the three communal tables, painted watercolors on the easels that stood at the back of the room, and built castles out of blocks.

  The kindergarten room had been a place of magic, a trip into imagination, a child's first entrance into the world of school and learning. Now the magic was gone, and there was nothing but blackened remnants of furniture and piles of ashes. She drew in a deep breath. She loved her job, but sometimes she hated it, too. But she would find joy in bringing whoever had done this to justice.

  "Callaway."

  His voice made her jump, spin around, and she was annoyed with herself for feeling so unsettled by Max Harrison's sudden appearance. She should have expected him to show up. He always seemed to be in her way these days.

  "Harrison," she said crisply.

  "Any clue as to who set this?"

  "Unfortunately, no. The arsonist covered his tracks."

  "Or hers," he said.

  "Ninety percent of arsonists are male. Your gender seems to enjoy fire more than mine. Do you have any information on Sister Margaret?"

  "Unfortunately, no," he said, echoing her words. "It's still possible she left of her own volition."

  "But you said there was some blood found in her parking garage."

  "A trace amount. She could have cut her finger."

  Despite his logical words, she sensed that he did not believe Sister Margaret had cut her finger. "Your instincts tell you something happened to her, don't they?"

  "From the interviews I've conducted with her friends and with her employer, it seems that her disappearance is out of character. The fact that there was a suspicious fire at her placement of employment is also concerning." He paused, tilting his head, as he gazed into her eyes. "Have you considered the possibility that Sister Margaret set fire to the school?"

  She was genuinely shocked by the suggestion. "No, of course not. Why on earth would she do that?"

  "I've had enough training in fire investigatio
n to know that arsonists, especially female arsonists, often target their homes or their places of employment."

  "That's true, but Sister Margaret is not an arsonist. She's a sixty-something-year-old nun. She teaches fourth grade and runs the choir. She organizes fundraisers for the school and the church. She's a wonderful, amazing person."

  "You don't sound very objective, Callaway."

  "I know her. She would never set fire to the school. She loves this place. It's her second home."

  "Which classroom was hers?" he asked.

  Her lips tightened. "You already know the answer to that question – the one next door, but this is the room where the fire started."

  "Her classroom was destroyed, too."

  "I thought you were trying to find her, but you sound like you're more interested in arresting her."

  "I'm just doing my job."

  "So am I," she said. "And there's no evidence pointing in Sister Margaret's direction."

  "There's no evidence pointing anywhere. You've got nothing, Callaway. But I have a missing nun, some blood evidence, and a fire at her place of employment. Her roommate also told me that the good sister had been replaced on the choir and was thinking of retiring because she didn't care for the new principal."

  "It's not unusual for someone of her age and long tenure at the school to consider retirement," Emma replied. "I understand why you're making the connection, but I don't believe there's a link between Sister Margaret's disappearance and the fire. Last month we had a similar fire at the high school. It's more likely we have a fire bug whose favorite target is a school."

  "Did you know that Sister Margaret used to work at the high school?" he asked.

  She didn't appreciate the gleam in his eyes or the fact that he had more information than she did. "I wasn't aware of that. It had to be a very long time ago."

  "Twenty-three years. She worked there for four years before transferring to St. Andrews."

  "You're on the wrong track, Harrison."

  "We'll see. So, I heard one of your brothers is playing a gig tonight for the smokejumper who died."

  "Yes," she said slowly, hoping he wasn't planning to go. It was bad enough she had to deal with him on the job. She really didn't want to spend her off time with him.

  "Are you going?"

  "Yes, of course. Kyle, the man who died, was very good friends with my brother, Aiden. They worked together for a long time."

  "So how many brothers do you have, Callaway?"

  "Five brothers and two sisters."

  "Big family. How many are in the fire department?"

  "Too many to count if you include first and second cousins."

  "Family tradition, huh?"

  "Yes. Speaking of family… She glanced at her phone a text message from Nicole flashing across the screen. "I need to make a call."

  "Maybe I'll see you tonight," he said.

  "Maybe not. I'm sure there will be a big crowd."

  His smile broadened. "Not a problem. You're a stand out, Callaway."

  Her nerves tingled at the look in his eyes. "Look, Harrison, I'm not interested in any kind of a relationship with you that isn't one hundred percent professional."

  "Did I ask you for anything else?" he countered.

  "I know when a man is interested in me. You need to stop. I am single now, and I intend to stay that way."

  With that proclamation, she left the classroom, hoping that she hadn't just made a complete fool of herself by assuming he was interested in her when he really wasn't. But she hadn't imagined the sparks between them. She knew what heat felt like. Max Harrison was one fire she was going to stay away from.

  ***

  Emma got into her car and punched in Nicole's number on her phone. "What's up?" she asked when her sister came on the line.

  "I need a break, Em. I was wondering if you wanted to go out and get a drink or something. Ryan is actually home and I need to get out of here."

  "Sure," she said, surprised that Nicole would actually consider leaving the house without Brandon. "I'm going to the Dunne fundraiser later tonight. Sara and I are going to meet for dinner before that. Why don't we make it a threesome?"

  "Are you sure Sara won't mind?"

  "Of course not. She was asking about you yesterday. It would be fun to have some girl time. I have to stop by work. Can I get you in about an hour?"

  "I'll meet you at Mom's. I have to run a couple of errands first. Thanks, Em."

  "For what?"

  "For saying yes," Nicole said. "I know I haven't been a very good sister lately."

  "Don't be crazy. You've had your hands full. I totally get that. I'm thrilled you're actually going to take some time for yourself."

  "Is Aiden going to be at the fundraiser tonight?"

  "I don't know."

  "I hope he goes. He needs to find a way to make peace with what happened."

  Emma smiled to herself as she set down her phone. Aiden and Nicole were a lot alike. Neither one of them could accept the unacceptable with resignation. They fought until they couldn't fight anymore.

  ***

  Aiden had just turned down Nicole's street, when he saw her car going in the other direction. Maybe that was a good thing. He wanted to talk to Ryan alone.

  Ryan greeted him with a tired smile. Tall and lean with light brown hair and dark brown eyes, Ryan wore navy blue slacks and a white button down shirt, part of his pilot's uniform. Ryan had been flying since he was fourteen years old. It was his greatest passion – after Nicole.

  "Can't say I expected to find you on my porch," Ryan said. "I heard the family had search parties out for you."

  He gave him a dry smile. "I'm sure they did."

  "Come on in. If you're looking for Nicole, she just left."

  "That's fine. I want to talk to you."

  As Aiden entered the house, he saw Brandon playing with Legos on the floor of the living room. "Hey, Brandon," he said loudly. The kid didn't even turn his head.

  "Don't waste your breath," Ryan said. "Brandon wouldn’t acknowledge you if you were standing on your head in a clown's costume. Believe me, I've tried. Do you want something to drink?"

  "Sure."

  Aiden followed Ryan into the kitchen taking a seat at the counter while Ryan opened the refrigerator door. "Vegetable juice, orange juice, milk, water."

  "I'll take some orange juice," he said.

  "Coming up." As Ryan poured the juice, he said, "So what did you want to talk about?"

  "Just wanted to check in and see how things are going."

  "Not well." Ryan set the juice in front of Aiden. "But Nicole will give you a different spin."

  "How so?"

  "She'll tell you that Brandon is improving, that she can see a light in his eyes, that he's coming out of his dark world."

  "And you don't believe that's true?"

  "I haven't seen it. I think she just wants it so bad to be true, that she's starting to believe her own spin."

  "Positive thinking can be good," he said.

  "But not delusional thinking. At some point, she may have to face reality. Brandon may never get better. We may never get our son back." He shook his head as if he couldn't believe he'd just said the words out loud. Then he let out a long sigh. "It sucks."

  "Yeah, it does," he agreed, taking a sip of his juice. "But you and Nicole will get through it. You're both strong, and you love each other."

  Ryan's gaze shifted slightly. "I'm not sure Nicole even knows I exist anymore, except when it comes time to pay for more therapy. That's where I seem to be the most valuable."

  "That's not true."

  "Hey, you haven't been around. So don't tell me what's true."

  Aiden could see that Ryan was getting wound up. "Take it easy. I'm not judging you. I'm just worried. Is there anything I can do to help?"

  "Short of finding us a miracle cure, I can't think of anything," Ryan said tersely.

  "Maybe you'll still get that miracle," he said, wishing Ryan had more
of Nicole's positive attitude. Then again, maybe Ryan was being more realistic and Nicole was just unwilling to accept the truth.

  "I hope so. I should get back to Brandon, not that he'll care, but I told Nicole I'd try to engage him in activity."

  "Where was Nicole headed?" Aiden asked.

  "She said she was going out with Emma, which shocked the hell out of me. She has really isolated herself from anyone who isn't connected to Brandon's treatment program. I'm glad she's going to step into the outside world for a few hours. Maybe it will give her some perspective." Ryan replied, as they headed to the living room.

  "You should take a break together. What about a long weekend away? I'm sure Lynda would babysit."

  "She's offered, but Brandon does best with Nicole. He doesn't interact with her, either, but she's still some sort of a safety net for him." Ryan paused as they entered the living room. Brandon was engrossed in his building blocks. "He likes to match stuff up," Ryan said. "When he finds a pair of the same shape and color, he actually looks happy for a split second. Some kind of minor victory, I guess."

  Ryan moved around the couch and knelt on the ground next to Brandon, careful not to get too close to his son. "How about I help you build something, Brandon," he suggested.

  Brandon didn't respond.

  Ryan picked up some pieces and started putting them together. "We could make a truck or a dinosaur," he said. "Maybe you could help me, Brandon. Can you find me a piece like this?"

  Brandon's gaze remained focused on the pieces he was rearranging.

  Ryan held the piece closer to Brandon, so that it was practically under his nose. "Can you find one that looks like this, Brandon?"

  Brandon's fingers stilled on the block he was playing with, and his gaze lifted ever so slightly. Then he went back to work on what he was doing.

  "It's okay. I'll look for it," Ryan said.

  Aiden had to admit he was impressed that Ryan's voice held no trace of the frustration and anger he'd shown when they were talking in the kitchen. He might be going crazy on the inside, but he wasn't showing that to his son.

  "Do you want to help me build something?" Ryan asked, directing the question toward Aiden.