The thing was, Rob couldn’t even say what he was after with all these questions. So what if Jake had a gajillion crummy little crimes on his record? So what if some people’s sneezes lasted longer than some of Jake’s jobs? It didn’t make him an arsonist.
In the truck, Rob stared down at the inkjet photo of Jake that he’d printed from his mugshot. Even a mugshot photo couldn’t make Jake ugly. Rob could definitely see the resemblance between Kari and Jake—the eyes, maybe, and they both had dimples and golden-blond hair.
Beyond those similarities, though, the two were as opposite as a brother and sister could be.
Jake had a pattern of multiple run-ins with the law, of ticking off law enforcement, of skating on job responsibilities and court dates. And yet he’d never served serious time behind bars.
Kari? She’d put her nose to the grindstone, worked hard and had a steady history of employment. Her record was squeaky clean.
Well, except for felony arson.
Rob resisted the urge to ball up the photo of Jake’s smirking face. Maybe he simply didn’t like the guy, and that’s why he was trying to pin not just one arson but two on Kari’s brother.
Dislike could cloud your judgment, though. It could make you jam puzzle pieces together in ways that they were never intended to fit.
Rob had to face it. He’d spent all day chasing down info on Jake, and all he’d come up with was a picture of a completely irresponsible guy who ought to have grown up and got his life together. As much as he despised the guy for that, it didn’t necessarily follow that Jake was guilty.
You want it to be Jake simply because you don’t want it to be Kari.
And maybe it is him, a part of Rob shot back.
His cell phone went off, interrupting his internal debate. A sucker punch of dread hit him when he recognized the number.
Sam Franklin.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KARI SAT ON the rough wooden step as the light from the afternoon sun took on a golden hue. A woman farther down the block grappled with three Shelties bent on tangling up their leashes and barking at every squirrel they saw. Across the street a brother and sister still in grade school played tag on a pincushion front lawn.
Something about seeing the girl and boy playing together reminded her of her and Jake at that age. Before Jake was too cool to pal around with his kid sister. Before Dad had decided being a dad tied him down too much. Before the fire.
Way before the fire.
This is silly. You have no idea when Rob’s coming in. Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s on a date.
The idea of Rob Monroe on a date, teasing some other woman besides Kari, cut her to the quick. She pushed aside the wave of jealousy by peeking into the paper grocery sack sitting beside her.
Butter, sugar, flour, cocoa and eggs. She couldn’t wait on Rob for much longer, else the butter would melt and the eggs would spoil.
It had been an impulsive move on her part—completely unlike her. But after Victor Miller had left earlier that day, and she still hadn’t heard a peep from Rob, Kari had been driving herself crazy wondering if Miller had talked to Rob.
Ergo the thinly veiled brownie gambit.
I did tell him I’d show him how to make brownies.
So now she sat in the hot afternoon sun, her free-range eggs threatening to spoil and her butter turning into a drippy mess.
Kari had actually grabbed the bag to leave when she heard gravel crunching in the drive of the duplex. Rob’s pickup came to a stop. She clutched the grocery bag to her chest.
He made no move to get out of the truck, just sat there with an agitated expression and his cell phone jammed to his ear. It was rare that she ever saw Rob Monroe with a frown on his face, but this was one of those times.
His mouth was a thin, compressed line, his brows drawn together. As he listened, his face grew harder, and he slammed a palm down on the steering wheel so hard that she winced for him.
Rob ended the call a moment later and opened the truck door. Kari had half a mind to make her apologies and beat a hasty retreat.
But then he smiled. It was a tired, exhausted smile that only just reached his eyes. He gripped the open door of the truck as though he’d fall over without its support.
“This is a surprise,” Rob told her.
“I—uh—I did promise to teach you how to make brownies,” Kari said, lifting the bag a fraction of an inch.
“So you did. You’re determined to save me from the evils of my own baking, aren’t you?”
“Unless...you look tired. I should have called.”
“I am tired. But you’re a sight for sore eyes. And after the day I’ve had, I could use a brownie or three. If you don’t expect me to be scintillating company, come on in.” Rob shut the truck door and led the way up the stairs to the railed porch. As he unlocked his door, he explained, “I was working all day yesterday on some files, so don’t mind the mess.”
“Really, it’s okay if you want a rain check,” she rushed to tell him.
Rob stopped, reached out and touched her cheek. He took the bag from her hands. “Don’t go. I know there are a thousand reasons why you should, but...please. Don’t go. Finding you here, waiting on me, is the nicest thing about the whole bad day.”
She watched him for another moment as he headed into his apartment, clearly expecting her to follow him. Then she pushed aside her doubts and joined him in the compact space.
Aside from the small dining table that was thickly covered in files and printouts, the living-dining-kitchen area was spare to the point of Zen-like bareness. A philodendron clung to life in a clay pot on the ledge above the sink, but no canisters of flour or sugar graced the kitchen counters that she could see.
He placed the bag onto the counter by the sink and turned to take the space in, clearly seeing the apartment as he imagined she was. “It’s not much, I know, but I’m hardly ever here.”
“No, it’s nice... I don’t know what I was expecting. Big leather couches and posters of muscle cars, maybe.”
“Eh?” He lifted a shoulder. “I outgrew those by the time I was old enough to vote. So...how’d you know where I lived?”
Now Kari was mortified. “I called your mom.”
“Huh? I should have guessed.” Rob shook his head and began emptying out the bag. “Organic wheat, organic sugar. Man, I’ll bet this stuff cost a fortune. But hey, I know these eggs—they’re the ones Ma sent you.”
“I know it sounds like I went all stalkerish on you,” she said, rounding the table to take the eggs. “But your mom had given me her number, you know, when she offered the oven, and she’s really nice. And I—well, I wanted to do something nice for you, too. To say thank you.”
And also to see if Victor Miller had turned you against me, but, yes, mostly to say thank-you, Kari amended silently in her head.
Now Rob held the tin of cocoa powder. He turned it over in his hands at it as though it were some alien artifact he’d never seen before. “I don’t know which I like better,” he said, “the idea of homemade brownies or the idea that you wanted to make them for me.”
“I meant it when I said I’d show you how to make brownies.” Kari tapped the cocoa powder, then moved to the sink and washed her hands. Drying them briskly, she asked, “So where’s a bowl?”
He pointed to a cabinet door. “Check there. I seem to dimly recall a bowl or two lurking in there.”
“Don’t you ever cook?” She pulled back the cabinet door to reveal a smallish plastic bowl. “I guess this will do.”
“We can go to your mom’s and use her kitchen if you like. I probably know it better than my own.”
“Don’t you know? It’s always more fun to play in somebody else’s kitchen.” Kari set the bowl down and started opening and closing drawers.
“No, and if you’re looking for a mixer, you won’t find one.”
“Don’t need one, thank you very much, but I do need—aha! Here you go, one spatula.” She extended it to him with a flourish. “I dub thee Sir Chocolot.”
Rob swept into a deep bow and accepted the spatula. “M’lady, I was unaware I was graced with such a utensil.”
“An old girlfriend’s, perchance?”
“Probably one of my sisters’—they fixed me up when I moved out on my own, not realizing that I knew Ma’s cooking was far better than anything I could attempt.”
“Well, this is the day that you learn how to make brownies all by yourself. Your first solo baking.”
“Wait, I thought you were going to bake them.” Rob raised his eyebrows. “If I cook them, they won’t be fit to eat, and then what will we have for supper?”
“You need something besides brownies for supper, silly. And I have faith in you. After all, you helped me decorate a wedding cake—not just any wedding cake, but Mattie Gottman’s wedding cake. So...what do you maybe have lurking in your fridge?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Help yourself. If you can come up with anything remotely edible...”
Kari peeked into the fridge, as bare as the counters were. “You really don’t cook, do you? All you have in here is milk and a block of cheese.”
“I have cheese? Wow. The milk’s for my cereal. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“I can make us a cheese omelet.”
“Let’s wait and eat the brownies first,” he told her. “I mean, they have flour and eggs, so can’t we think of them as really good muffins?”
She didn’t bother to suppress a chuckle. “Oh, all right. We’ll get the brownies whipped up, and then we’ll make the omelet.”
“Don’t make me learn two dishes in one night—my poor brain might explode.”
“You’re a wheedler, aren’t you?” Kari asked. “You’re going to try to wheedle me into cooking these brownies for you. Well, sir, it won’t work. I intend to sit down and supervise.” To underscore her point, she skirted the table and sat down on the far side. “So what do you think your first order of business is?”
“Don’t I at least get a recipe? The box would have directions.”
“It’s in the bag. I printed it out for you.”
Rob dived back into the bag and surfaced with the slip of paper. “Okaaay. And you really think I can do this?”
“You made roses on a stick. You can do anything, Sir Chocolot.”
He busied himself with reading the recipe, something she heartily approved of, but he was too cute to bear watching. Something about a big strapping man wielding a spatula made her heart melt like butter.
So she occupied herself with trying to figure out a way to broach the Victor Miller subject. She had considered and discarded a half dozen segues when something in the paperwork scattered across the table caught her eye.
It was a crime scene report. The foggy edges indicated that the report was a photocopy of a photocopy half-buried in a stack of papers. “...Propane tank was used as an accelerant and improvised explosive device...” she read.
A quick check reassured her that Rob was still engrossed in the recipe. As unobtrusively as possible, she nudged the stack blocking the rest of the report over so she could read what he’d written.
But a few seconds more of reading revealed that it wasn’t the downtown fire at all. This was a different fire, one in a warehouse. But the description of it sounded a lot like the downtown fire—and the fire that Jake had set.
A chill coursed through her.
This wasn’t any fire. This was—
“The fire that killed my dad.”
Kari looked up to see Rob staring at her, the recipe forgotten in his hand.
“I didn’t mean to pry—”
“I didn’t say you were. I’ve been comparing those three fires. They’re a lot alike, Kari.”
“Just because of the propane tank?”
“It’s more than that. It’s the setup. It’s how the arsonist communicated his main message. He wanted to be noticed. He wanted to be front and center.”
Kari shivered. “I don’t like to think about it.”
“Who—”
She held up her hand. “No, Rob. Can’t we just bake brownies and pretend all this doesn’t exist? Just for tonight?”
Some of the fatigue she’d seen earlier came back to his face. “Sure. But I’m running out of time, Kari. You have to know that. We’re both running out of time.”
“What do you mean?” Instantly she was at full alert. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He abandoned the brownies and came to sit in the chair beside her. “Not to sound more than a little like you have on occasion, but did you just come here to quiz me?” Gentle amusement took the sting out of his question.
“No, of course not—I wanted to see you.” Her hands went all fidgety on her.
Now his eyes twinkled with genuine pleasure. “I like the sound of that.” He reached for her hands to still them. “But the real question is, why did you feel the need to cook up an excuse to come see me?”
For a moment, she was confused. “But—didn’t you want the brownies?”
He leaned over, moved his fingers to her jaw, and she found herself closing her eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers. She let her hands settle on his chest, then move up to his shoulders. One kiss, what could that hurt?
He pulled away. “Kari, I’d have been excited to see you if you’d shown up completely empty-handed, never mind the brownies.”
“Yeah?” she breathed.
He kissed her again, the sweetest, most patient kiss, laughing as he sat back. “Okay, maybe, just maybe, you had the right idea with those brownies after all. Otherwise...”
Otherwise, I’d sit here and let you kiss me for another couple of hours at least, Kari thought to herself. With hands that trembled far more than she’d like to admit, she pushed herself up from her chair. “Well, then, Sir Chocolot. Let’s get those brownies baked.”
* * *
ROB EYED THE man through the one-way mirror and popped a brownie in his mouth.
The perfect balance of sugar and chocolate brought to mind Kari and last night.
“So how long you plan on letting the poor guy sweat it out?” Lieutenant Tim Clarke asked him. He reached over and helped himself to one of Rob’s brownies. “Mmm, these are good. Ma make ’em?”
Rob swallowed the last of the brownie. He thumped himself on the chest. “I did, thank you very much. But I had some help.”
On the other side of the glass, the guy was indeed sweating—pale and pasty. He’d pace for a moment or two, then collapse into the chair, then hop back up to resume pacing.
“What’s his name again?” Tim scooped up another brownie, hesitated, and then grabbed a third one for good measure. “This has got to do with the downtown fire, right?”
“Sort of. This guy—Ethan Blaire—used to run with Jake Hendrix back in the day. But unlike most of Jake’s crew, he straightened up and flew right.”
Tim’s mouth curved in appreciation. “I get it. You figure he’s got something to lose. I’ve used that trick myself once or twice.”
Rob gave the detective a friendly punch in the shoulder. “Where do you think I stole that move, huh?”
“But what could somebody who doesn’t hang with Jake now tell you about the downtown fire?”
“Maybe nothing. But I think Jake did the fire that my dad was in. And I’m betting Ethan probably knows something about that.”
He’d better. Franklin gave me forty-eight hours to show him a viable suspect other than Kari for the downtown fire, and almost twelve hours of that are gone.
“So...is he d
one yet?” Tim inclined his head toward Ethan, who had resorted to biting his knuckles.
“Stick a fork in him. You want in on this?”
“Heck, yeah, if you think he’s got info on your dad’s fire. That’s an open homicide.”
Once in the interrogation room, the introductions and the Miranda rights taken care of, Rob flipped a plastic chair around and straddled it as if he had all day to chat with the likes of Ethan Blair. “So, Ethan...you know why you’re here?”
“Man, I haven’t got a clue. I swear. I hadn’t done anything—this is the first time I’ve been in a police station in years.” Ethan protested.
“That’s right. Last time you were here, you and some buddies were booked on a street-racing charge.” Rob tapped the cover of a manila folder he held in his hand. “You were what, twenty?”
“No, man, nineteen. Young and dumb. I got my act together now. But my boss...he’s gonna want to know why the cops picked me up.”
“So you’ve got a whole new life, huh? New job? New friends?”
Ethan nodded his head vigorously. “New everything. I had to, or I would have kept getting in trouble. Like my granny always said, birds of a feather flock together.”
Tim leaned forward. “And those birds you flocked with...who were they exactly?”
Ethan swallowed. Rob could see the man’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Just pals, man. Guys I hung with back in high school.”
“Guys like...” Rob flipped open the folder as if to study something in it. He snapped it closed. “Jake Hendrix?”
“Maybe, yeah. But I haven’t seen Jake in years. We went our separate ways.”
“Why was that?”
“I told you, man. I wanted something different. I wanted to stay out of jail.” Ethan clenched and unclenched his fingers, his left thumb touching his wedding band as if it were a talisman.
Rob exchanged a meaningful glance with Tim, and Tim did not disappoint. “Yeah? What switched the lightbulb on for you?” the detective asked.
“Huh?” Ethan wrinkled his forehead. He passed a hand through wiry hair that reminded Rob of a piece of steel wool.
Rob leaned forward over the back of the chair he was propped on. “Was there some sort of bust-up between you two? I mean, it was a beautiful friendship, after all.”
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