by Girard, Dara
Victoria swallowed determined to maintain her composure. “Yes, of course.” She smiled bitterly. “See Aunty? He will not pray for me. In his eyes I’m already condemned.” She folded her arms. “Pastor, I will pray for you because you will need it. You need to know that truth is more sacred than popularity.”
Victoria abruptly turned then stormed out of the office, into the main hall. The congregation’s praise song fell silent. She walked proudly down the aisle. Halfway to the door she halted and slowly turned. “Please don’t stop. If you have such faith in God why should you fear me? You are to be the light of the world, correct? Shining brightly in a world full of darkness. It’s such a shame that your flame is so cold.”
The old man who’d smiled at her before, grabbed her arm before she could pass. “Don’t be so angry, child. The world is unfair. People can be cruel, but anger eats at your soul.”
Victoria felt tears spring to her eyes, feeling the warmth of his compassion, but unable to welcome it. “There are other things that eat at your soul.” She escaped his grasp and darted into the cool night air. Once again she heard the flames; saw them reaching the sky. The scent of ash filled the air around her. Danger lingered so close and only she knew it.
“Hey,” someone said.
She spun on her heel and saw the young man from behind the piano. He stopped in front of her. He smiled, but she did not trust the expression. “Good evening,” he said.
She stared at him uncertain. “What do you want?”
He struck her with the back of his hand, knocking her to the ground. “To do that. One day you will be taught humility.”
Victoria blinked stunned then began to laugh. He was so afraid he had to strike out in anger. She felt sorry for him.
He shook, angered by her laughter. “Who are you to judge anyone?”
She stood and bit her lip, not wanting to upset him more. “I do not judge. I merely see.”
“And what do you see?” he demanded.
“Your fear.”
“What do I have to be afraid of?” He moved close.
She took a step back until she bumped into the side of her aunt’s car. She could feel his anger rise to something more dangerous. She knew she needed to leave. “It doesn’t matter.”
He rested an arm on either side of her, trapping her against the car. “There’s no use struggling. You’re a sinner. Do not pretend to be pure. Especially when you tempt men with a body like this.” His voice deepened as his hand skimmed down her side. He covered her mouth with an angry, punishing kiss. She bit his lip. He leaped back and swore. “Whore. Don’t play games. I know why you were flaunting yourself in there. You know your power. But you will not hold that power over me.” He grabbed her hands and lowered his head to kiss her again.
“Brother Rogers,” Janet said. “You’re needed inside.”
He hastily stepped back from Victoria and went inside the church.
Janet sent Victoria a knowing look. “I told you to be careful.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I was. You can believe what you will. I will not waste my breath trying to defend myself.”
Janet opened the car door. Victoria was about to get inside when Pastor Fenton ran out of the church. “A moment please,” he said breathless.
Victoria gripped the doorframe ready for another battle. She relaxed her grip when she saw the look of remorse on his face.
“Tonight I will ask God’s forgiveness, but first I will ask for yours. ” He took a deep breath. “You were right. Mendacity is my sin. This is the first church of my own. I do want to please them so they will continue to trust me, but I cannot seek to please them and lead them at the same time. You taught me to be truthful in my ways and in my speech.” He grabbed her hands. “I don’t understand what you are, but God bless you.”
She felt her inside crumble and fought against tears. “Thank you.”
“I’ll continue to pray for you.”
She shook her head. “No. If you are to pray, don’t pray for me. Pray for the soul of a firestarter who’s all ready to set this county ablaze.”
CHAPTER TWO
Robert Braxton watched the crimson flames of the building’s blaze clash with the flashing red and white lights of fire trucks. The group of fire engines and ladder trucks continued to swarm into the maze of warehouses. The smell of acrid, bitter smoke coursed through the air. An enormous vertical tower of black smoke twisting like a captured arm of a raging fire monster fastened itself to the flat roof, eating away at the concrete block structure.
He watched the firefighters battling the flames, hoping there would be no casualties. He’d lost a friend to such a blaze, but could not become emotionally involved in what he saw. He had to concentrate and put his skills of observation to use. He had to understand his enemy to defeat it. The sound inside the warehouse roared like a rocket ready to launch or the furious cry of a dragon ready to devour. Flames escaped through the roof, blowing out of the cracks, clawing and cracking at the sky.
Firefighters continued to .rush toward the building dressed in their alienlike gear and began laying pipes and setting up ladders. They had to stop the flames from attacking the building next door. The fire could demolish the entire warehouse district if they failed to tame it. At least there was no residence nearby.
They knew they had a mean enemy on their hands. It breathed the oxygen the building structure provided. Air vents, heating and air condition ducts, and crawl spaces all helped the fire to travel, acting as journey routes and smoke shafts, taunting them as it sped past doors, snapping through the roof and office windows tossing ash everywhere.
It soon created its own source of energy, sucking in oxygen, feeding on papers and other debris across the docking yards, and maintaining its voracious appetite. They had to find the tail and teeth of this dragon to know how to handle and capture it.
Robert turned his attention to the crowd. He liked to arrive early to a suspicious fire to observe the onlookers. He could sometimes pick out the culprit. A pyromaniac always looked more intense than other casual spectators, their eyes as bright as the blaze. He looked for two extremes—an individual either oblivious to others around him or desperate to seek attention from anyone who was willing to listen to him. He also looked for guys with their hands in their pockets--masturbating; however, he didn’t see any of that sort in this group.
He couldn’t understand pyros. He should, considering his advanced degrees in psychology, but the psychological profile of a pyromaniac was beyond him. That’s why he’d switched careers from psychology to investigation. There was just too much about people he didn’t understand.
“Hey Braxton,” called detective Grant Elliot. “Early as usual.” He folded his arms and watched the action. A black man of average height and on the slim side, he gave the impression of being the exact opposite, with limitless energy and a quick mind.
“Hello, Elliot”
“Damn inconsiderate of the bastard to start a fire at this time of night.”
Robert glanced at his watch. It was nearly morning; fighters had been trying to tame the flame for hours with no relief. It felt as though the fire would last forever. “You don’t know if it’s arson. Could be accidental.”
Grant sniffed. “Right and my middle name is Frederica.”
Robert patted him on the back. “Really? I didn’t know.”
Grant frowned at him.
“I’ll call you Freddy from now on...” His voice faltered when he saw two firefighters helped into an ambulance. “I wonder what’s going on.”
“Something about the fumes is making them sick.”
He softly swore.
“I agree.” Grant put a cigarette in his mouth and pulled out a lighter.
Robert glared at him. “You planning on going up in flames too?”
Grant looked at the lighter chagrined. “I was a smoker even before I was assigned to arson.”
“Think about quitting. It doesn’t look good lighting up a ciga
rette at a fire scene.”
He pushed the lighter in his jacket pocket. “I guess you’re right.”
They turned. A flash of light briefly blinded them. Robert blinked a few times before making out the light of a news camera. His gaze fell on an attractive brunette wearing too much makeup, holding out a microphone. “Captain Braxton, I’m Susannah Rhodes of the Channel Six news. Could you say a few words about this?”
“Yes.” He paused thoughtful. “It appears to be a fire. Excuse me.” He walked to his car.
The pair followed. “Witnesses say they heard an explosion,” she said. “Do you think this is a bomb? Perhaps the work of terrorists?”
“No.” He jumped into his car.
Grant moved to the other side and said,” When we have information you’ll be the first to know.” He got in the car and chuckled as Robert sped away. “You should be nicer to reporters. it’s not good PR.”
“So? Their goal is to get a story. They call it trying to inform the public, which basically means scaring them.”
“Do you think the public should be scared?”
Robert thought about the blaze. His first thought was to say, no, but until he investigated he couldn’t be sure. He shrugged. “I don’t know”
They stopped at a nearby diner. The smell of sizzling bacon, frying eggs, and butter melting on a heap of mashed potatoes hit them when they stepped inside. They sat at a booth and grabbed the menu. The waitress on duty noticed the familiar pair and took their table. “Morning boys,” she said. Her nametag said Anna Jane, she kept her pepper red hair tied back with a rubber band while bold cat shaped earrings hit her cheeks.
“Morning,” they said.
“I heard that explosion in the warehouse district all the way here. I could see fire shooting into the air.”
“Hmrn,” Robert said.
“So what do you think caused it?”
“Don’t know,” Grant said, not in the mood to talk about work before eating. “Can I have the Brady Special?”
Robert set his menu aside. “I’ll have a hamburger. Well done. Dark, but not blackened.”
Grant smiled. “He doesn’t like his food burnt.”
Robert shot him a look. “You’re a sick—”
His smile widened. “Yea, I know.” He looked at the waitress. “Hey sweetie, also give me a cup of coffee. Better yet, bring me the pot.”
She hesitated. “We don’t usually—”
He winked. “We’ll make it worth -your while.” He jerked his finger at Robert. “At least he will. He’s got money to burn.”
Robert dismissed the jab, taking out a pen and pad from inside his jacket. He nodded. “We’ll pay the price.”
She smiled and left.
Grant lit up a cigarette and studied his companion. He’d worked with him for a couple of years now. Except for the fact that Braxton wore two-hundred-dollar ties and owned three homes, he could be considered a regular guy. He had enough money to do nothing for the rest of his life; instead, he’d become an arson investigator and now sat in a cheap diner waiting for a fire to cool.
Grant knew the job was the right fit for him. Braxton was too clever just to sit around. He already could see his mind working. Grant took a long drag and exhaled. “So what do you think?”
“We know three things at the start.”
Grant nodded. “Yep. Number one. Huge blazes in warehouses are always suspect.”
“Right and the building was almost totally engulfed in flames. Second, the smell of the fire overcame some of the firefighters. Which meant the fire had a chemical taste to it.”
“Hmm. Also, witnesses said the fire started with an explosion.”
Robert frowned and tapped the pad. “Or so they say. Some people hear exploding glass and think bomb.”
The waitress came back with the food. Robert thanked her then lifted up his hamburger bun. He swore. ‘What the hell is this?”
Grant looked at Robert’s plate and laughed.
The chef had put a piece of burnt meat and charcoal on his bun. “Get the chef out here.”
Anna Jane shook her head. “I’m not sure he can—”
“He can.”
A few moments later, the chef emerged from the back-----a willowy guy with huge glasses. He raised his brows looking innocent. “Is there a problem, sir?”
“Sebastian, one day this building’s going to go up in flames and I’ll be the first to cry arson.”
The look of innocence vanished. “You know I hate well done. You want to taste the meat not cook out the entire flavor. I like to cook my food, not destroy it. Try—”
“I like well done.”
“But—”
Robert folded his arms. “Get me what I want.” Sebastian yanked off his hat and crumpled it in his hands. “You want to give me a heart attack.”
He merely stared at him.
Sebastian sighed and returned to the back. Grant stubbed out his cigarette and looked at his companion. “You two like giving each other a hard time, don’t you?”
Robert didn’t reply, but a smile spread on his face.
* * *
They returned to the scene of the fire a few hours later. The cloudless morning shone down on the floating black lake that had once been a building. Robert controlled his initial eagerness. He had to do things methodically if he wanted to trace the trail back to the crime. If it was one.
“Look out,” Grant said annoyed. “There’s Arson ready to screw somebody out of their claim.”
Robert looked at the man across the parking lot. His name wasn’t really Arson. It was Allen Caprican. He earned the nickname “Arson” because that’s what he liked to prove most cases. That way the insurance company he worked for didn’t have to pay. His company loved him because he knew how to work the system. Arson investigation was not an exact science, and it could be easily misconstrued.
Robert put on a pair of gloves.
Grant noticed. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t want to leave marks around his neck.”
Allen approached them. He reached Grant’s shoulder, but didn’t feel intimidated by the pair. The morning light made his slick black hair look onyx. “Captain Braxton, nice to see you here. Ready to make a little pocket change?”
Grant frowned. “Lay off, Caprican.”
“I’m just curious, Elliot. I mean you’d think a guy like him would be able to find another hobby to fill his time. He’s got a nice big house and a lot of cash, why doesn’t he give this job to someone who really needs the money? You know, like helping his people instead of taking jobs away from them?”
Robert folded his arms and smiled. A dangerous smile. “Keep going. You might succeed at making me angry.”
“Is that a threat?”
He blinked. He didn’t need to make threats and Caprican knew it.
Allen stared at him for a moment then turned. “I’ve got work to do.”
Grant called after him. “You’ve got to wait until it cools or did you forget procedure?”
He flashed them a crude gesture.
“Bastard.”
Robert nodded. “Yea, and he knows it. That’s why he’s so upset.”
Grant laughed then glanced around. “Doesn’t seem like the monster’s going to cool off anytime soon. We’d better-----”
“Hold on.” Robert walked away and picked up an object. “Look at this.”
Grant studied the walkie-talkie. “Well, that’s a nice sign.”
“Hmm.” It was a sign, but it could mean different things. Radios could be used for communication between the firestarter and his look out, or be used as a detonating device.
“Unfortunately, not a big enough sign, unless it’s got a name scrawled on it.”
Robert turned it over. “No such luck.”
“The building still needs to cool. We’d better go home.”
Grant patted Robert on the back as he stared at the walkie-talkie. “I’m not worried. If it’s arson-for-profit we’
ll have this case solved in no time.”
Robert sighed, wishing he could agree.
CHAPTER THREE
The uniform squeezed her like a boa constrictor. Victoria scowled at her reflection, resting her hands on her hips, careful not to move too quickly in case the material tore. She wanted to make a good impression. Right now she wasn’t sure she would. Red eyes stared back at her and makeup barely covered the bruise on her jaw. She hadn’t slept well and the lost hours showed on her face. However, the uniform was the worse.
If she hoped to persuade Mr. Braxton to hire her as a housekeeper she had to look smart, not as though she were an overstuffed beef patty. She stared at the black shift dress with white lace butterfly collar and blue apron. It had been kind of her aunt to loan it to her; however she would have to make adjustments.
She let out the hem, so it fell to her knees, and folded in the collar. She glanced at herself again and frowned. Unfortunately, nothing could be done about the rest of it. She cautiously lifted her arms above her head. At least the fabric was flexible. She wouldn’t embarrass herself by ripping anything.
She went to the stairs, glanced around, and then slid down the rail to the bottom. She met her aunt in the living room.
“I suppose you’ll do,” she said, giving Victoria a brief inspection.
“Don’t worry Aunty, I will impress Mr. Braxton.”
The scent of banana cake teased her nose as she passed the living room. She looked at the vanilla colored wallpaper, shiny wooden floors, and the cream sofa with matching chair stuffed with cotton yellow pillows. She was happy to call it her new home.
“Come on you can daydream later. Here.” She handed her something wrapped in a napkin and a thermos. “You must be hungry.” She opened the door, ushering Victoria ahead of her.
Victoria stepped outside and glanced up at the little stone carriage house with green shutters where her aunt lived. Huge, sweet scented peonies, bleeding hearts and mounds of bushes lined the walk path.
She was pleased her aunt hadn’t mention anything about last night. She wouldn’t return to the church. She was certain there was nobody here who knew about her past. That meant she was safe. “You have a lovely garden,” she said.
