Shadows and Ash: Pulp Friction 2014 Finale

by Harner, Laura

  “Don’t bother—I said I’d look and I did. In my opinion, Scott would stay on the list, but he wouldn’t be there alone.” She tapped her nails on the table.

  Robby looked down, surprised to see that despite the green and khaki of her uniform, her nails were painted a soft pink. His gaze shifted back to meet hers. “There is a lack of evidence…or at least documentation in the official record to warrant limiting the investigation to only one suspect, and frankly, Scott falls a little short for me.

  “From what I could gather, they have focused in on money as the motive, with extenuating circumstances of fire-related PTSD contributing to the on-going problems.” Her mouth puckered up as if she’d bitten down on a bitter pill. “It’s all fucking supposition,” she said, her voice layered with disgust. “There isn’t one shred of physical evidence tying Scott to the arson.”

  The whisper sharp sound of metal against metal was their only warning before the door swung open and Dennis stepped inside. With his pasty complexion and thin face, he reminded Rob more of a scarecrow than ever. His hand gripped the door so hard his knuckles turned white, his breath a harsh rasp in the suddenly too-quiet room.

  Rob waited while Chris and Dennis stared at each other, a silent battle between two combatants who knew each other well. After what seemed like an eternity, Dennis’s shoulders sagged.

  “I should have recused myself from the very beginning, but Kevin begged me not to. He said it was the only chance we had to get justice for Clay. It wasn’t fair—some people said it was his fault…”

  Rob struggled to put the words in context. The Kevin he was talking about had to be Kevin Driscoll—the insurance agent. But who the hell was Clay?

  “Dennis?” Chris asked, her voice gentle, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she looked at her boss…and friend. “Who are you talking about?

  Dennis took three shaky steps then collapsed into a vacant chair. Resting his elbows on the table, he twisted his hands into his hair, hiding his face. “Kevin Driscoll is my wife’s brother. Their youngest brother Clay was one of the men who died in the Prescott Fire.”

  ***

  “You two really didn’t have to come with me, I just want to grab a few things from the store for the lodge,” Jilly apologized for the eighth—or was it twenty-eighth—time to Mick and Charlie.

  Mick grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently as they walked to the entrance of Whole Foods. “Are you kidding? Rowen was completely driving me insane with his constant neediness.” He attempted a deeper more monotone voice. “Mick, take off your clothes. Mick, talk to me. Mick, touch me there…no—lower… harder…”

  Charlie laughed and grabbed her other hand. “I came because I knew you’d need a man—not a Mick—to help you carry everything.” He leaned back and winked at Mick.

  Mick humphed good-naturedly. The truth was that none of the guys felt comfortable with Jilly going off on her own while Carl obviously had his sick, perverted sights set on her and Maddie. Thankfully Maddie was still safe with Siggy, and that man would tear out Carl’s throat if he came near that precious little girl.

  “Rowen doesn’t sound like that.” Jilly laughed. “Nor would he ever say that stuff in front of anyone. He’s doing better around us, but he isn’t quite there yet. You on the other hand…”

  “Are a horny bastard,” Charlie interjected.

  Jilly’s laugh turned into a snort. “Well, I wouldn’t have said that…”

  “But let’s call a spade a spade, right?”

  Mick shoulder-bumped Jilly which sent her into Charlie’s side, the only thing keeping her from tumbling over was that both men still had hold of her hands.

  “Hey! I went without for a long time wearing that man down. Thank god it was worth it, if you know what I mean…huh…and I bet you do know what I mean…” He chuckled mischievously.

  “And on that note, we’re entering a very public building now, no talking about sex.” Jilly broke free of the two men and grabbed a shopping cart.

  “Well shit, that nixes all my go-to conversation topics,” Mick joked as he grabbed a bag of potato chips and turned to toss them in the buggy.

  “Don’t even think about it. If you need a snack, we can find something else.” Jilly stopped him with one raised hand and a seriously authoritative mommy voice.

  “But…” Mick and Charlie whined at the same time.

  “They are sour cream and onion…that makes them potatoes and onions…those are vegetables.” Mick moved the chips closer to the buggy, waving them in a hopefully enticing way at Jilly.

  Evidently she wasn’t buying it, the raised hand morphing into an accusatory finger, pointing at the bag. “What if I told you I could make you homemade kale and zucchini chips that taste better than that stuff without any of the preservatives and fats added in? Would you give them a chance?”

  Mick brought his hand back a bit and nudged Charlie. “What do you think?”

  Charlie scratched his stubbled chin, contemplatively. “I don’t know. Jilly is the queen of getting Damon and me to eat veggies that we actually end up liking, not just tolerating. She has this recipe for Brussels sprouts that I swear makes them crispy on the outside and buttery on the inside, and damn”—he popped his head up, looked at the signs hanging all over the ceiling of the store and aimed the cart toward the back right—“we need to go to the produce section and pick up some fresh Brussels sprouts.”

  Sighing heavily in defeat, Mick put the chips back on the endcap near the entrance of the door. “And some zucchini and kale.”

  “You’re gonna love them, Mick. Maddie is convinced they are crisps.” Jilly’s smile lit up the whole store.

  “Yeah well, Rowe also has her believing dried fruit is actually candy. I’m not putting my junk food needs in that kiddo’s hands,” Mick grumbled.

  Charlie slapped him on the shoulder right before he tossed into the cart a small block of parmesan cheese. “You’re just mad she beat you at Chutes and Ladders again.”

  “And she cheats.” Mick pouted.

  “My child does not cheat…much…”

  They all laughed as Charlie placed a bag of vine tomatoes, fresh basil, and a bunch of garlic in the cart.

  “Spaghetti?” Jilly watched the other man pick through the onions until he found a couple he apparently liked.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Chicken parmesan, it’s one of Amos’s favorites. I’m thinking after all this hubbub is over, Amos and I could use a nice quiet night in with some comfort food and each other.”

  “Hey, that’s a good idea!” Mick stopped his search for the ever-elusive kale—what did that stuff even look like?—and turned to Jilly. “Um, Jilly…what’s Rowen’s favorite meal?”

  “Ouch. The big guy still won’t let you cook for him? That’s harsh…” Charlie’s voice faded off when Jilly cleared her throat in a not so subtle way.

  “No, that’s not it…exactly.” Mick looked around at all the interesting vegetables surrounding them instead of focusing on the two set of eyes staring at him expectantly. “Okay, well, I’ve attempted to cook for him two times. The first time was grilling behind my cabin, and well, I thought small talk would be a good—”

  Charlie leaned toward Jilly and stage whispered, “And we all know that’s never good when it’s Mick.”

  Flicking him off, Mick smirked as he continued, “And the second time…well, let’s just say I’m the one that almost burned down cabin fourteen…in the kitchen…with the frying pan. Thanks to Rowe’s speed with a dish towel, pitcher of unsweet tea”—Mick made a gagging noise over the totally undrinkable beverage—“and some very useful wrist movements in and out of the bedroom, catastrophe was avoided.”

  Mick ducked his head in embarrassment. “Me cooking for Sugartree since then has also been avoided.”

  The tightness around Jilly’s eyes and mouth proved that she fought against the laughter Charlie had no problem letting loose.

  “Mick, you are a certifiable—”

  �
�You leave him alone, Charlie. I remember when you first got in touch with your domestic side. Should we share tales?”

  Charlie straightened up quickly and matched Mick’s blush. “Nope, I’m good. Need a carrot for my sauce.” He hurried over to the bunches of orange vegetables on the far wall.

  Jilly hooked her arm through Mick’s and shook him a bit, getting his attention. “So you want something simple this time to cook for Rowen?”

  “Yeah, like boxed potatoes and frozen meals.”

  “Rowen wouldn’t touch that stuff. No, let’s try an herb crusted pork loin with roasted veggies. The only real prep you have to do with that is the seasonings and cutting the veggies up some, everything gets thrown into one huge pan in the oven at three hundred and fifty degrees. It’s a nice meal that takes almost no work from you and is basic enough that Rowen won’t freak out.”

  “Aww, but Rowe’s freak-outs are so damn cute.”

  “You’re going to hell, Mick.” She giggled and pushed off his arm, then wheeled their cart over to Charlie who evidently thought they had a shitload of rabbits hiding out at Mountain Shadows with all the bunches of carrots in his arms.

  Chapter Nine

  “Is that smell what I think it is?” Mick pushed into the dining room, sniffing the air like a bloodhound on the scent. His head turned side to side until his gaze lit on the chafing dish Finn had just set up on the sideboard. “It is. You made it. I haven’t eaten that since…”

  “College?” Finn grinned, stirring the fragrant meatballs in their spicy sweet sauce. “You used to bogart the whole batch; I remember.”

  “I might just do that now too.” Mick grabbed a fork from the utensil tray and speared a meatball. “Mmmm.” He popped the hot morsel into his mouth and made appreciative moans as he chewed and swallowed.

  Finn watched in amusement as his friend rolled his eyes dramatically. “Good as you remember?”

  “Oh yeah. Better. Who could believe a jar of grape jelly and a bottle of chili sauce could make such an amazing sauce?”

  “Is that what’s in there?” Jilly put on a scandalized tone. “I don’t think that’s… It’s a good thing I…” She flushed and looked dubiously at Finn. “I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m just not sure that Rowe…or some of us would eat that.” She glanced away quickly and began fussing with a dish of salad greens and a corn casserole, switching their places with the Brussels sprouts and fruit compote.

  Finn laughed outright. “No worries. It’s not something I eat much anymore either. It’s good comfort food though.” He was surprised how different things felt tonight from the desperate concern of the morning. He was anxious to find out what the others had discovered, but he knew that what he himself had found would cast some suspicion on Watson. Was it enough to draw the police away from their irrational fascination with Scott? Maybe not on its own, but if everyone had something…

  “It’s perfectly fine if you all hate Finn’s Swedish meatballs.” Mick forked up another one. “I’ve got it covered.”

  “Has anyone seen Cannon yet?” Finn asked, eyeing the windows out onto the parking lot. The door opened, and Charlie strode in, Amos at his back.

  “His SUV is over at Park and Tanner’s.”

  “I didn’t realize they were back yet?” Finn asked, looking around the room for confirmation that the duo was still off testifying.

  “They aren’t.” Jilly stopped fussing with the food and met his gaze again. “I think he’s checking on something for Park. Park called earlier asking for him.”

  Rowe slipped into the room silently, Rob behind him. Finn greeted them both, but his gaze swept quickly back to the window, watching for his lover. Worry kept his attention keen. Cannon was a son of the South, in his own words. He had some experience living and driving in the snow and ice now, after a year here in Flag, but Finn wasn’t likely to forget the way the man’s car had slid right into the snowbank outside his cabin a year ago. He may have more practice now, but he was still a novice in bad road conditions.

  The other’s voices faded to the background until he caught a glimpse of shiny black zip in and out of view. Cannon was here. Finn turned back to the room, relieved. “That’s it then. We’re all here, everyone dig in and we can share while we eat.” He caught Rob’s raised brow and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, being in charge of a classroom has made me a bit bossy.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s what it is.” Cannon strode into the room, rosy cheeked and bright-eyed. His hair was mussed, a little static-y from the knit cap he must have removed. “Doesn’t have a damn thing to do with that dominant streak you hide so badly.”

  He headed straight for the food, grabbing a plate and filling it. Finn followed over behind him to fill his own plate. The others were pushing tables together, creating one long table that they could all sit around, but they would be over soon enough. “What do you know about my dominant streak?” he teased.

  Cannon flicked him a seductive glance under thick lashes. The color in his cheeks deepened, and his mouth parted on a soft gasp. “Not as much as I want to.” He jerked awkwardly and stalked away, choosing a seat at the end of the table. Finn stared after him thoughtfully for a moment.

  Maybe it was time. Maybe… Whistling softly, he put a scoop of the meatballs on his plate next to a pile of salad and casserole.

  Mick reached over his shoulder. “Hey, you’re holding up the line. Rowe…you gotta try this. Finn…tell him.”

  Finn shook himself and stepped away from the buffet table. “Don’t do it, Rowe. Guarantee you won’t like it.”

  Rowe leaned forward and sniffed the dish cautiously. “That’s obnoxiously sweet. You aren’t going to eat that, Mick, are you?”

  “Yes?”

  Rowe shook his head, and Mick pouted, but he let the spoon fall back in the dish with only one modest scoop on his plate. “Fine. But if I can’t get that kind of sugar, you’d better have a good substitute in mind.”

  Rowe’s eyes blazed, and Finn laughed, leaving Mick swallowing hard and Rob smothering chuckles behind them.

  At the table, he sat as close to Cannon as he could, letting their knees bump under the cover of the table. Their eyes met and his nostrils flared. The ever-present heat between them simmered a little hotter. Cannon’s flush deepened, and he hastily shoved a bite of food in, turning to Charlie on the other side of him.

  “So, what did you find?” Finn asked, drawing Cannon’s attention back to where he wanted it, squarely on him.

  Cannon immediately frowned, concern etching his brow. “Lassiter is in the psych ward, for the second time.”

  “How long?” Rob asked, sitting across the table from them.

  “A few days,” Cannon bit his lip. “He didn’t have anything to do with the fire. And I don’t think other than the firecracker last summer that he had anything to do with any of the other vandalism.”

  “He doesn’t have to confess to anything, just the possibility creates doubt.” Finn reminded Cannon.

  “I don’t like it. There’s something just…wrong about trying to implicate him in any of this. He’s got enough trouble of his own.”

  “It may not be necessary.” Finn smiled and put a consoling hand on Cannon’s knee under the table. “I found my visit to Watson quite productive.”

  “Oh?” Everyone’s attention focused on him and Finn realized he may have over-spoken.

  “Faen, it’s not like he confessed or anything; I didn’t mean to imply that. It’s just…well, aside from the fact that he’s a squirrely weasel in the first place, he was alone at the ranch on Saturday, there’s an easy access through a damaged border fence, and faen. I just didn’t like him and the way he insisted that he was willing to buy the campground.”

  Rowe’s head snapped up from contemplating his plate. “I’ve…noticed that Watson’s place is wired way beyond what is necessary. You’d have to be even more paranoid than me to need that kind of security setup.”

  “Watson? You know, something's been bugging me about t
hat guy all day, and I just remembered why. Isn’t he the one Tanner said he recognized from up at his dad’s place?” Robby frowned. “If he’s one of those vigilantes, he’s more dangerous than we’ve seen so far.”

  “That name…” Amos dropped his fork on the table. “That reminds me. I know that name. I think…hang on a second.” He left the room, practically running.

  “Anyone else find out anything interesting?”

  “Well,” Mick drawled. “I found a tunnel under cabin three.”

  “That’s an exaggeration,” Rowe muttered, glaring at his lover.

  “Oh pfft. Spoilsport.” Mick stabbed a meatball with his fork, missed, and sent it rolling across his plate.

  Finn watched in amusement as the meatball rolled off the edge, evading Mick’s attempts to regain control of it, leaving a sticky trail of sauce behind as it careened off his fork and into Rowe’s lap.

  Rowe grunted, seized Mick’s hand before it followed the meatball into his lap, and pressed it flat to the table. “That wasn’t an accident.”

  Mick batted pretty blue eyes coquettishly. “Just wanted to remind you that you owe me…”

  Rowe’s nostrils thinned, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and Finn had to look away, the connection, the intensity of emotion between the two was so powerful, so intimate. “Just tell them, Mick.”

  “Fine. Someone’s been hiding under cabin three. I found a crawl space and a bottle of Jack, empty.”

  “Now who…”

  Finn met Rob’s eyes and saw a flicker of knowledge there, remembering a night where they’d shared a bottle of Jack, here in this lodge. As his gaze traveled around the table, he saw similar reactions in Jilly, and a dark, simmering anger in Rowe’s eyes, swiftly hidden.

  They were all thinking the same thing, he knew. Nodding slightly, he turned his attention back to his plate.

  “Here they are!” Amos announced, bursting back into the room with a handful of papers. He sat down and pushed the stack of documents across to Rob. “While I was going through everything this afternoon, I came across these in a file. I meant to show them to you earlier, but this was the first chance I got.”