“Especially if Mrs. Davenport shows up. She always brings lemon squares and I hate lemon squares.”
Fiona laughed, for real this time, and lifted her son into her arms—grateful, so grateful—to be standing here with him in the sun. Her eyes locked with Hunter’s. “This…just brings back so many memories, you know?”
“Yeah.” He did, if anyone did. He was the one who’d been there for her in the days after Jimmy died. He was the one who’d continued to come by, when even her family thought she should be beyond it. He grieved for Jimmy, too.
She put Sean in and buckled him in. “I thought when the fires stopped after Jimmy died that it was over. Now we’ve had two in two weeks.”
“We’ve had other call outs in the past two years. What makes you think these are different?”
She shrugged. “A feeling, I guess? We’ve had brush fires, fires started by faulty heaters. A fire from a cigarette left in the bed. Not this kind.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Did you get your hands on incident reports, Fiona Cobb?”
“My uncle is the fire chief. My dad is the police chief. This kind of stuff is Sunday dinner conversation. Come on, it’s not that hard.” She walked around the front of his truck.
He walked to the near side and stood opposite her. “I don’t know if this fire’s different. But I promise you, I’ll find out.”
She nodded, her throat tightening, threatening to close up on her. But she managed a small smile for his sake.
If the arsonist was back, Hunter was going to be right in the line of fire.
* * *
Hunter walked Mrs. Davenport to the front door of Fiona’s bookstore. She was the only one of the ladies of the Garden Club who had run the gauntlet of emergency vehicles to get to The Reading Nook. He suspected she’d come more for the gossip than gardening club. News of the fire had spread more quickly than the flames. Fiona’s phone had been ringing like crazy.
At the door, Mrs. Davenport turned back to him with a sudden crafty gleam in her eye. “You should probably take that plate of lemon squares over to Fiona when you leave here.”
He had to smile at her transparent maneuvering. “Thanks for stopping by, Mrs. D. I’ll be sure to let Fiona know you were thinking about her.”
With one more pat on his shoulder, she was out the door. She’d been his third grade Sunday school teacher. And when his dad had lost his job, he’d caught her leaving bags of groceries on the front porch. He would never forget her kindness. If one of the challenges in a small town was that everyone knew each other’s business, maybe that was also one of the blessings.
A haze of smoke lingered over Fiona’s cheery tables of books. It would be a while before things were completely back to normal, but Fiona would manage. She always did. She kept everyone coming to the bookstore for one activity or another, even using the empty apartment upstairs for scrapbooking. The little store was a hub of activity in their small town, with Fiona its warm center.
“Hunter, you in here?” A gruff voice called from the back room. Mickey Fitzgerald walked into The Reading Nook through Fiona’s office. The fire chief headed toward the counter, taking off his helmet and rubbing his gray hair with one flat hand. Coordinating the effort between the Fitzgerald Bay firefighters and the volunteer companies that rolled when they sounded the alarm was a complex job. But today’s effort had been successful. “Liam told me you were helping out Fiona while she’s at the hospital with Sean. Is he okay?”
“Thanks to Betsie’s and Fiona’s quick thinking, he’s going to be just fine. Can I do something for you, Chief?”
“I’d like to get your opinion on something if you have a minute.” Fiona’s uncle, still strong and fit enough that he sometimes filled in when they were short a man, was uncharacteristically subdued. “B-shift will be on tomorrow and I want you up to speed. I know the cops are going to be taking a look at this, but firefighters know fire.”
“Sure.” Hunter followed Mickey down the block and into the back door of the Sweet Shoppe, the one he’d torn down just a few hours earlier to get to Betsie.
Black sooty water dripped off every surface, the stench of smoke and fire permeating the rooms. Hunter looked around the small shop. The firefighters’ fast attack on the fire had not only saved Betsie’s life, but also saved the rest of Main Street.
Danny Fitzgerald, the fire chief’s younger son, shoveled debris onto a tarp. “Got an extra shovel on the rig for you, pal.”
Hunter looked at the shovel and then down at his hands. “Aw, gee, Danny, I would, but I just got my nails done.”
“Nice job on the door this morning.” Nate Santos looked up from where he was pulling wallboard.
Hunter walked toward the front of the shop, but looked back at the guys with a grin. “Anytime A-shift needs my help, I’m happy to oblige.”
Danny held up the shovel again.
“Except for that.”
Nate Santos elbowed Danny. “He’s too good for that kind of job now that he got promoted.”
“You got that right, Santos, but I’ve always been better than you. I’ll show you when we haul hose next week in training.” Hunter threw the words over his shoulder as he followed the chief.
“Loser buys lunch.” Santos pulled off another sheet of soggy wallboard and tossed it into the growing pile on the floor. The cooling building popped and creaked. Every surface that might hide a smoldering ember had to be breached. The ceiling tiles and wallboard were the first to go.
Hunter looked back, grinned. “Deal.”
Photographs would’ve already been taken and bits of wallboard and ceiling collected for testing. He wasn’t sure what the chief wanted him to see. Mickey Fitzgerald waved him to the ruined remains of a glass display counter, along with the A-shift officer, Liam. “Over here.”
On the surface, Hunter saw a board with melted plastic on it. Some wiring ran out of it. He glanced up at the chief, a knot of nausea settling in his stomach. “Remote detonator?”
“Yeah. And it was wedged right where there was plenty of fuel. This place went up in a hurry.”
Liam took off his gloves and tucked them under one arm. “We pulled another one of those from the crawl space above the storeroom. There was some insulation up there that kept it smoldering, which is why that side of the shop burned slower. All in all, they were lucky to get out with their lives.”
Hunter tried to keep his mind on the rational, keep the emotional out of it. But they were talking about a six-year-old boy. “The arsonist could’ve called from anywhere. I’m sure these are burner phones, but we can try to get serial numbers off them and find out what we can from the call logs.”
The chief nodded and pulled another evidence bag from his pocket. “This one came from the Sugar Plum.”
The setup was the same, but it wasn’t as melted because the fire at the inn last month hadn’t burned as hot. The sick feeling intensified.
Hunter reached for the board and turned the phone on its side. He found what he was looking for. He didn’t know this arsonist’s name, but he knew the signature—a curl in the wire leading to the vibrating electrode in the side of the phone.
It was the signature of an arsonist who had killed before. Brother, father, cousin, husband. This same arsonist had taken the life of firefighter Jimmy Cobb.
Anger iced into determination. The killer had gotten away once.
But not again. New evidence, new chance for Hunter to bring in this criminal. Hunter wouldn’t rest until this guy was behind bars where he belonged.
TWO
“I got six stitches in my arm.” Sean pulled his pajama top over his head and climbed into his fire-engine bed. “Jordan B. only got four stitches in his foot when he kicked that nail.”
“Very impressive. Is that what you’re going to show your class tomorrow in show-and-tell?” Fiona pulled up the covers to his chin, sheets covered with little fire hats and cute floppy-eared Dalmatians. Sheets that had been picked for a little boy with a firefight
er daddy. They matched his fire-engine-red walls. “Or are you going with one of your Lego creations again?”
“I want to take Hunter and Liam for show-and-tell.”
She stopped in the motion of tucking his favorite stuffed elephant under the covers with him. “Hunter and Liam? Why?”
“Because Hunter rescued Miss Betsie and Liam helped me after the fire.” He gave her a look that said, duh, why do you think? “They’re heroes.”
“I see your point.” She tickled his chin and he giggled as she turned out the light and then remembered something from the fire that she’d been meaning to ask him. “Sean, why did Hunter call you L.J. today?”
“He calls me that sometimes. It stands for Little Jimmy. He says I remind him of my dad.” Sean’s voice was getting sleepy. “My dad was a hero, too.”
Fee closed her eyes. Unfortunately, Jimmy had been all-too-human. But Hunter had given her son something irreplaceable—a way to see his dad in himself. “Your dad was something special, funny and smart and brave—just like you. I love you.”
Sean mumbled an “I love you, Mommy.” Fiona leaned over and kissed him on his head.
Gathering up his dirty clothes and wet towel off the floor, she started down the stairs. Halfway down, she sank to a sitting position, dropped her head into her hands and let the tears fall she’d been holding in all day. She’d gotten used to one empty pillow, one missing piece of their family. She wouldn’t have survived another one.
When Sean was born, Jimmy had given her a tiny gold disc with Sean’s first initial and his birthstone to wear around her neck. She never took it off. She wrapped her hand around that pendant, as if by clutching it in her palm, she could somehow keep him safe. This fire had brought back so many feelings that she’d thought she’d buried.
Fear, doubt, grief.
A soft knock at the door jerked her head up. She swiped at her cheeks with the back of one hand, leaving the pile of clothes where she sat on the stairs. A quick peek through the peephole told her it was Hunter. He had his arm propped on the wall beside the door. The line of his body said he was as tired as she felt. She pulled open the door. “I have coffee made. It looks like you could use some.”
“Mrs. Davenport sent you some lemon squares.” The plate was in one hand. He held out her keys with the other. “And I brought your car back.”
“I don’t think so.” She pretended to consider him. “In fact, definitely no. I like the blue truck. It makes me feel tall.”
He gave an overdramatic sigh, but his eyes were serious as he studied her face. “You doing okay, Red?”
She didn’t meet his eyes, instead reached for the plate of lemon squares and headed for the kitchen, ignoring his question. “I really appreciate you taking care of things at The Reading Nook after I left with Sean. I knew the stores on Main probably wouldn’t open, but I was afraid one of the ladies might show up.”
“And you were right, but I think Mrs. D. just wanted to pump me for information.”
“About the fire? Do you know anything?” Fiona slid a cup of coffee to him.
He took a swig from the mug and reached for one of the brownies she put on the plate with the lemon squares. “I walked through the scene with your Uncle Mickey this afternoon.”
“And?” She kept pouring coffee as if his answer didn’t mean anything to her. As if her whole world hadn’t changed two years ago when an arsonist set fire to an abandoned building on the outskirts of town.
“We’re still analyzing the evidence.” He looked down at the coffee in his mug and she knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“Tell me, Hunter. You’ve always been straight with me.”
* * *
He looked up, into the blue eyes he’d fallen in love with as a teenager. They’d been inseparable growing up, best friends from the fort-building days all the way through the growing pains of middle school, both swearing off dating in favor of crabbing from her family’s dock.
But somewhere along the way, things had changed for him. He’d realized that his red-haired playmate had turned into a red-haired beauty. His plan was to meet her at the dock and ask her to the freshman ball. That plan was derailed when she came running down the pier after school, starry-eyed because Jimmy Cobb, the cutest boy in school, had asked her to the dance.
She was full of dreams and he…just kept his mouth shut. Jimmy had been the kind of guy that everyone liked. Funny and irreverent, he was always up to something. And their inseparable twosome became three.
Hunter pushed away from the table and paced to the counter. So, technically, no. He wasn’t always straight with her. He’d buried those feelings long ago in favor of something more important. A friendship that had sustained both of them through some tough times. His dad’s inability to find and keep a job, her mom’s battle with cancer. Jimmy.
She walked up beside him, leaning one hip against the cabinet. “Come on, you know I’ll find out anyway.”
He turned his head to look at her. “I can’t say for sure, but—”
“It’s him. Oh, Hunter, why is he back now?” Terror streaked across her features. “Is it Sean? Is he after my son?”
Hunter put his hand over her two. “There’s no indication of that, Fiona.”
“I know, it’s a crazy thought.” Her eyes filled and she fled the room.
He followed her into the living room. She was folding a load of towels that had been left on the couch, her hands full of nervous energy. She’d always preferred to do something. He was the one who dwelt on things.
But she looked up from the laundry, her eyes filling again. “I can’t quit thinking about Betsie, how she looked on that gurney. She saved Sean’s life and now she’s fighting for hers.”
He picked up a towel and looked for a place to put it. The coffee table was covered in books. He shoved over some and made a place for his stack. “What happened today is even harder for you because of what you’ve been through before. But this new fire means new evidence, a new chance that the arsonist made a mistake.”
His eyes were on the picture on the mantel. The photo of his friend, Jimmy. “We’re going to find whoever did this and make sure he pays for what he did.”
“Before someone else gets hurt?” Fiona made room for a stack of hand towels next to her pile on the coffee table.
Hunter chose another towel to fold, the clean, fresh smell of the laundry wafting around him. He frowned. His towels didn’t smell like this. “How do you make these smell so good?”
She stopped midmotion. “What?”
“My towels smell like towels. Yours smell good.”
She stared at him like he’d just grown two heads. “It’s called fabric softener, Hunter. Stop trying to change the subject.”
“If only it were that easy.” He put the last towel on the pile and stood, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before walking toward the door. He turned around.
He couldn’t answer every question, but he could tell her one thing with certainty. “I promise you—he’s not getting away this time.”
* * *
Fiona walked down the hall toward Betsie’s hospital room with a handful of gerbera daisies that reminded her of Betsie’s bright style. She’d dropped off Sean at school and thankfully, she hadn’t had to haul in either her cousin Liam or Hunter for show-and-tell. At Betsie’s room, she paused. Voices drifted out through the partially open door.
One of the voices was easily recognizable as her brother, Douglas, Fitzgerald Bay’s police captain. The other sounded familiar, too. She’d practically grown up at the precinct. She tried to place the voice.
Her brother said, “And you don’t remember anyone in particular coming into the Sweet Shoppe more often, maybe slipping into the kitchen area?”
Betsie’s response was too low for her to hear.
“Is there anyone who works for you who might have a reason to get back at you? Any disgruntled employees?”
Fiona almost pushed open the door then to tell th
em what a crazy question that was. The Sweet Shoppe was such a success because Betsie was so sweet. Her candies and baked goods were the icing, so to speak. Fiona had her hand on the door when the next question stopped her.
“What about Hunter Reece? Has he been in your place much?” The cop, whose voice she now recognized as Nick Delfino’s, tried for a nonchalant tone, but failed. Fiona’s knuckles whitened on the vase of flowers she held.
Nick had joined the Fitzgerald Bay police department a couple of months ago. “Do you know if Hunter was aware that you and Sean often had breakfast together before school while Fiona prepared her shop for opening?” he continued.
Fiona pushed open the door. “I imagine that Hunter knows a lot about my schedule considering that he’s one of my best friends.”
“Fee, you need to stay out of this.” Her brother had the grace to look at least a little embarrassed as Fiona crossed the room and placed the flowers on the windowsill.
“I disagree. If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them since I was there.” Fiona looked from one cop to the other.
Her brother looked at Nick and jerked his head at the door. “Betsie, if you think of anything else, just give us a call. I’m going to leave my card right here on the table.”
“I will, Douglas, thanks.” Betsie’s voice was low and hoarse, but she was sitting up in bed, obviously feeling better, her brunette curls in artless disarray around her face.
Fiona shot her brother a we-will-talk-later look as he left the room with Nick Delfino right behind him. She knew Hunter didn’t have anything to do with the fire at the Sweet Shoppe, but the fact that the cops—brothers or not—were asking questions about him brought something back to the surface that she’d really tried not to think about. The arsonist was most likely someone they all knew and possibly liked. No stranger in Fitzgerald Bay would have the kind of access needed to pull off these crimes.
With effort, she put the disturbing thoughts away, for now. “I’m so glad to see you sitting up, feeling better. I was so scared.”
The Widow's Protector Page 2
