by Debra Erfert
“Why would you say that?” Joshua suddenly shouted.
He hadn’t moved from his spot, but she got a good rise from him, got his heart pumping and his brain thinking.
“Hey—” she held out her hands— “I just said that would be a really good reason why he hasn’t called, that’s all.” She leaned back and asked, “Can you think of any other excuse why a father wouldn’t break his neck to hear his son’s voice?”
“Maybe . . . I . . . did something bad.”
“Or maybe . . . he did break his neck and he’s lying in a hospital someplace in a coma.” Candice lifted her legs and crossed them under her body, leaning her knees against the arms of the chair. “Oh, come on, you know that would be a really great reason why he hasn’t called you, huh?” He leaned his shoulder against the leather binding of books unread for a decade or more and seemingly thought about what she’d said.
“I guess,” Joshua said quietly.
“Can you think of another reason why he wouldn’t have given you a ring once in a while?”
He lifted his chin. “He forgot my phone number.”
Candice gasped quite dramatically. “Amnesia! Of course, he didn’t break his neck. He hit his head in a crash and lost all of his memory.” She leaned over her legs and said in her most serious voice, “I once read where this man was in a bad car crash and he hit his head so hard he got amnesia. He couldn’t remember his name or where he was from. They told him to try to make a new life.
“One day, twenty years later, he was walking down a street in New York City where he was visiting for the week, and he passed by one of those hot dog vending carts. A woman had just ordered her dog with sauerkraut and hot mustard. When the amnesia man smelled the aroma of that particular combination, he suddenly got his old memory back all at once. As luck would have it, amnesia man was originally from New York and he was standing right across the street from the apartment building where he lived before the crash. He was so excited about remembering his wife and five kids, he ran out into the street toward the front door of the building—and was hit by a bus. He never knew what killed him.”
Candice sat back and waited to see what kind of reaction he’d have to her preposterous story. It didn’t take very long before a smile broke onto the once angry face of a pre-teen abandoned by his own father. She felt like she could fly! Since she knew she couldn’t do that, she giggled instead.
“You made that up,” Joshua said.
She controlled her silly giggles and took a deep breath. “Maybe. I do have a very good imagination.” She pointed toward the shelf he used as a prop. “I’ve read most of those books. They’re full of adventures and stories that took me to far-off places. I rooted for a gentle lonely monster who was made out of other people’s body parts dug up from graveyards in the middle of the night, and I’ve sailed on tall ships with pirates in the Caribbean. My imagination is vast.”
Joshua gazed at the spines and quietly asked, “Did you make those up?”
Candice gasped again, not so dramatically this time. “You’ve never heard of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein?” She got up and moved directly to the black leather book and slid it out from the shelf. “Victor Frankenstein was all into science, and he was intrigued by the possibility of creating the ‘spark of life’ into a dead body. So while he was in college, he pieced together this man using parts he scavenged from dead bodies. He was successful in bringing it to life. But he soon realized how grotesquely ugly the creature was, and he got scared, so . . . Victor Frankenstein took off and left the monster all alone only moments after it took in a few wretched breaths.”
She held out the book to him. “If you want to find out what happened to him and the slug who left him by himself, read it. We have no cable television in this house, and there isn’t an X-box within miles.” He gingerly took the book from Candice’s hand, and she went to sit in the chair again.
“Joshua, I want to ask you a hard question.” He held the book down by his side and stared at her with hesitation. “Back when you were little, when your dad left—”
“My dad didn’t leave,” he whispered. “My mom took me away from him.”
That surprised her. “Why?”
“He made my mom cry.”
Candice shrugged her shoulders. “A lot of people cry. Your baby brother cries—a lot.” She had to listen very hard to hear what he said next.
“But his daddy doesn’t hit him.”
Candice had to take a few deep breaths before she dared asked her next question. “Joshua, did your dad hit your mom?” It took a moment before his head nodded.
“Did he hit you?”
“I think he did . . . once.”
Her heart broke just then. He’d only been a small child, no more than five or six, at the time, but old enough to remember his father hitting his mother and making her cry. He probably remembered listening to the unending and terrifying fights that went along with the abuse she had to endure. But when his mother saw the pain—the physical pain turned onto her small son, she did the right thing—the only thing a rational woman could do. She took her child and escaped.
Candice knew without any reservations that if Joshua had stayed in that repetitive violent situation, that he would’ve ended up like his father. His innocent mind would’ve been shaped with the hatred he saw from the man he looked up to. He would’ve ended up perpetrating the same kind of harm onto the women in his adult life, for that was what he would’ve seen as normal.
Instead, Meagan stole him away, and along with the kind and generous man she found in Kyle, gave him an opposite environment, one where he’d find love, and he’d be able to show that love, providing he could get past the obvious abandonment feelings he had because of his father. Joshua was blaming himself, and she knew he shouldn’t.
Candice whispered, “I think your mom is a very smart woman.” She stood and glanced out the doorway. The broad shoulder didn’t move quickly enough to hide his presence outside the library. Alex had listened in on their conversation, and she wondered just how much he had overheard. “I think I smell pizza. Come one. Let’s go eat.”
Chapter 7
ALEX WAS LEANING against his truck’s fender, waiting for Candice to finish up a few things with Meagan, like finding the remotes for the garage doors and extra keys to the house, and to give her a gentle reminder to keep a close eye on her son. He could still bring home a lighter from school, or talk to Zane somehow. She also found the phone number for a grocery store that had a delivery service so they’d have food without having to leave the house. When Candice walked outside, Alex had a grin on his lips.
“I can’t remember what you minored in,” he said, heading for the passenger side.
Candice chuckled. “Psychology.”
Alex opened her door. “I heard how you got Joshua to talk to you,” he said quietly, running his hand gently down the back of her arm. “I was impressed with the way you connected with him. I thought for sure he’d be as stony as the wall surrounding your place.” He stood so close, his leather and cedar scent drifted through her senses. She’d missed that.
Candice climbed in the truck, keeping her gaze on his blue eyes. He didn’t close her door immediately; instead, he lingered next to her. “I wasn’t sure I could get him to talk, either. He’s a troubled boy. And he still hasn’t told me who Zane is.”
“How are you going to find out if he doesn’t?” Alex asked, leaning against the edge of the open door.
She dropped her head against the headrest and thought about it for a bit. “Well, if he’s a kid in his school, then I should be able to look through a few yearbooks. That name is unusual. If that doesn’t pan out, then maybe I’ll ask around his neighborhood. Kids network better than most executives do.”
“I guess. Growing up, I knew all the kids in my neighborhood.” Alex closed the door before walking around to the driver’s side and climbing up behind the steering wheel.
“And that’s my point.”
A
lex started the engine. “Are we going to the fire scene or waiting until the morning? We’re losing light.”
Candice grinned after she took out her flashlight. “I’m prepared for the dark. And I’m too curious on whether the arsonist left any viable prints. Now is the time to get them.”
Alex smiled at her, and her heart fluttered. “I’d hate to be responsible for giving you insomnia.” He shifted into drive before slowly pulling out from the portico.
Candice pinned a stare on him to see his reaction to her question. “If you have something else you need to do, like grocery shopping, or ironing your uniform, or . . . a date, I can go alone. It’s not a problem.”
The knot in his throat bounced once. He’d swallowed hard when she mentioned a date. “I’m curious about the prints, too.”
He avoided answering her. It left her wondering how serious he was about Jen, whoever she was. He’d always been an honest man. Why wouldn’t he just tell her about the woman instead of keeping her a secret? He didn’t wear a ring, so Candice was fairly sure he wasn’t married. Still . . . his not answering a simple question left an unpleasant twist in her stomach.
By the time he pulled into the Leavitts’ driveway, the sun had set. After double-checking her flashlight’s intensity, Candice picked up her backpack and reached for her door as the same security guard appeared from the side of the house. He stopped near Alex’s door as he got out.
“Hi, Officer . . . Delaney, isn’t it?”
“Yes, hello, Mike.” Alex rushed around the front of the truck, heading toward Candice’s door, but she had it open before he could touch the handle.
“Hi, Ms. Shane,” Mike said. “What are you doing back so soon?”
Flicking on her flashlight, she pointed it at the garage. “I’m here to try to get some prints off the front doorknob and maybe off the power box outside the garage.” She set her backpack down on the driveway, crouched, and unzipped the side. That was where she kept the fingerprint kit and latex gloves. She kept her camera in the main compartment.
“Uh, I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Ms. Shane,” Mike said hesitantly.
“Sure you can.” Candice pulled on the gloves. “It’s easy, especially since I have permission from Mr. and Mrs. Leavitt to be here.” His brows scrunched together like he didn’t understand or believe her. “The Leavitts hired me to find out who torched their home.”
Mike leaned into her a little. “But Barbarize said the husband did it.”
Candice leaned closer to him and said in a conspiratorial voice, “Nope.”
“Then who did it?”
“I don’t know yet.” She straightened. “But I need to get some prints to continue my investigation. Mike, have you touched either the circuit breaker box or the front doorknob?”
“No, ma’am. I haven’t touched anything.”
“Good. Now, have you seen a kid or maybe a few kids hanging around today after school who looked like they were more interested in the results of the fire than the average person? Maybe they looked in the window or tried to get in?”
He only thought for about a heartbeat. “As a matter of fact, I had to stop two kids only an hour ago who tried to sneak into the garage. They didn’t know I was here.”
“Can you describe them?” Alex asked.
“They were . . . boys.”
Candice straightened to her full height and stepped close enough their noses almost touched. The guard was dressed like a cop yet he wasn’t one. He probably couldn’t get on the department as an officer, but his powers of observation had to be better than a gender distinction.
“I need to know what these boys looked like, Mike. How old were they? How tall were they? Were they Anglo? Hispanic? Black? How long was their hair? What color was it? Blond? Black? Brown? Did they have hair?” Candice raised her voice. “Think!” She waited while staring into the surprised gray eyes of an intimidated man.
“Uh . . . one kid was, uh, white with blond hair, Ms. Shane. He had it cut short, and he had blue eyes. He looked like he was about ten years old. The other kid was maybe the same age and was Hispanic with dark brown hair that was longer than his buddy’s, and he had brown eyes.”
Candice grinned and stepped back. “See there? That was easy. All you had to do was think about it. Is there any chance you got their names?”
Mike shook his head. “No, I didn’t get a hold of them. But I did overhear the one kid call the other kid Lito.”
“Did they leave on bikes or on foot?” Alex asked.
“Bikes. They rode off—” he pointed— “down that way.”
“Did you see how far down they went or if they went into a yard or a house?” Candice asked. She was getting excited about a lead.
Mike gazed down the street as if to refresh his memory. “Do you see those twin palm trees?” he asked.
Alex and Candice looked down a half-dozen houses and across the street. “Yeah,” Alex said.
“I saw them ride up that walk.”
“Perfect! Thank you, Mike,” Candice said. “I’ll go and talk to the owner after we’re through here.” She gazed up at Alex. “We have time. Let’s start with the breaker box.”
With her camera in her hand, she walked around to the side of the garage. Alex kept pace with her. The power box was low enough for a ten-year-old to easily reach it. There wasn’t a lock on it, either. It was an obvious way to black out a house.
The smoke alarms in every bedroom and in the hallway were all hardwired into the house, but since the house was without electricity, they didn’t go off. While brand new houses come with a nine-volt battery backup already installed, they don’t last forever. Too many people never bothered to replace the batteries after they started to chirp, an audible sign indicating it was about to die. In this case, it would’ve woken the Leavitt family before Alex had broken the dining room window and climbed in after Candice. She might never have had to go inside if they had taken the time and trouble to simply replace a battery.
Candice lifted her hand in the position she thought a child would grab the metal door.
“It’s covered in grunge,” Alex said, keeping his flashlight beam at the box.
“I know, but it’s dried soot and that’s totally cool.” Candice took out a clean fingerprinting brush. “Watch.” She gingerly began to use the fluffy bulbous brush, which really looked like a large blush brush except a lot softer, and dusted off the soot a good eight inches above the bottom edge of the door, above where she thought any fingers would’ve touched.
“If there were fresh fingerprints on this door, then the soot probably adhered to where the oils had been from those fingers. I don’t need to use any powder to bring them out.” After several minutes of careful dusting, she found her first print. “What do you know?” She felt Alex’s face next to hers. He was as curious about what was being uncovered as she was.
“That’s a small print,” he said.
“Yeah,” Candice whispered. “It’s smaller than mine.”
“Maybe the size of a ten-year-old boy?” Alex asked.
“I’d say that would be a possibility.” She continued to remove the stubborn soot, but the result was worth the effort. The four fingerprints from a left hand were clear, and there was a thumbprint on the bottom edge. “This is from a child’s hand.”
“That’s incredible,” Alex said. “You’ll be able to rule out Joshua as the person who opened that box.”
“Absolutely.” Candice lifted her camera and changed it to a macro setting before taking several close-up pictures and one of each individual print. “I love this camera,” she muttered.
“Now I need to lift those prints.”
“Please don’t touch them,” a voice said from behind her. It wasn’t Barbarize.
Candice turned around to a new face. His was a weathered face that looked more worried than ticked off. Deep lines etched around his light blue eyes and frowning mouth. His red hair had a sprinkling of gray throughout. They were the same height.
“It really is the only way to lift the prints from the metal,” Candice said quietly.
“And that would be my job,” he said, grinning. “I guess you would be Candice Shane?”
Either she was getting a reputation, or Mike called the man. “Yes, I am, and this is Sergeant Delaney.” He reached for Alex’s hand and shook it. He didn’t touch her latex-and soot-covered hand.
“I’ve seen you around the station, Sergeant Delaney. I’m Detective Patrick Donovan. I was assigned this case this morning. I haven’t had a chance to come over and collect any evidence yet. And I wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t showed up.” He looked over at the prints she’d cleaned off and smiled. “I got a short report from the fire investigator. Interestingly enough, he warned me about you. I want to thank you for the great job you did in uncovering these prints. How did you know how to do that? I understand that you’re just a private investigator.”
She was just a private investigator? Candice tried not to take that small slam personally. She even thought she heard Alex groan softly, like he’d been punched. She told him, “Yes, Detective Donovan, I am a private investigator working for the victims, Meagan and Kyle Leavitt. And I knew how to find these prints because I spent a summer a few years ago working at the Arizona State Crime Lab as a volunteer intern where I worked two plane crashes, and I assisted in developing hundreds of pieces of evidence that came in, specifically looking for hidden prints in arson cases where deaths had been involved.” She bit her lips to stop her little tirade before her voice got beyond human hearing and took a deep breath.
Donovan obviously noticed her defense posturing and apologized. “I’m sorry, Ms. Shane. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” she whispered.
“How are you feeling?” Donovan asked. “I also read that you’re the person responsible for rescuing the family from the fire.” His eyes went to her forehead. “And you were injured.”
