Wildfire: A Paranormal Mystery with Cowboys & Dragons

by Mina Khan

  A breath leached out of Jack. “Elsie’s health started failing and apparently she’s been in and out of depression. Amos said she set the fire, took an entire bottle of sleeping pills and told him to get the hell out.”

  “Why?” She knew why because she’d heard the ugly whispers. She wanted Jack’s reaction, his reason.

  “She’d had enough, Amos tried to convince her otherwise, but...” He shrugged. “Anyway, Amos said he’d respect her wishes but no way was he going to let her die alone.” Jack’s face was ashen with shock and sadness.

  Lynn looked down at the dirt and shook her head. “I didn’t do too much. I saw him trying to drag her out and tried to help.”

  “Yeah, Jen told us.”

  “She still died.” The words burned her throat, left her nauseous.

  “You tried,” Jack said. “I feel so sorry for him.”

  They stood in silence for a while. Lynn struggled to make sense of the chaos around her. Should she believe Jack’s words, the sadness and concern she sensed in him, or the gnawing suspicion growing in her gut?

  “Were you first on the scene?” she asked.

  He nodded, staring at the charred ranch house.

  Lynn’s glance lingered on his sweaty, tired face. Would the rogue look so broken? Could the crazy beast care about anyone? Either Jack was a great actor or he had a split personality or something. Panic rattled through her. Maybe the dragon controlled him.

  “How did you get here so quick?” she pressed.

  He glanced at her. “I was on my way home when I saw the orange glow of the fire, so I headed for it.”

  Where was he coming from this early in the morning? She heard herself asking him the question.

  He flushed. “I was out by the mermaid. I needed some downtime to think about things.”

  The mermaid statue on the banks of the Concho in downtown San Angelo. He’d shown it to her during the tour. A romantic spot with the river and trees. It all seemed a life time ago. What kind of things? She wanted to ask, but didn’t. “Anybody see you there?”

  His eyes narrowed at her. “Excuse me?”

  Lynn forced herself to hold his gaze. Her heart pounded in her chest. “Were there other people around the mermaid? Did you talk to somebody?”

  Jack shifted and planted his hands on his hips. His shoulders stiffened. “You mean witnesses. Why? Do I need a lawyer?”

  “You tell me.” Her heart thundered in her ears as she tossed him a defiant glare. If he could prove he’d been at the mermaid, there’s no way he could’ve been at the ranch whispering nonsense to Elsie. Her mouth dried as she waited. She almost broke down and apologized as fast as she’d accused him, but she couldn’t dismiss her suspicions so easily.

  He stalked away from her, his stiff-legged gait kicking up dust. Then he turned back and stopped inches from her. “You are a fine one to point fingers. And speaking of fingers, when the hell were you going to tell me about being engaged?”

  Lynn stumbled back as if he’d hit her. What? How’d he find out about Rob? A wave of nausea swept through her. Not that it mattered, of course, because the engagement had been broken. Rob was no longer in the picture, and Jack appeared to be her suspect. If so, he was on his way to jail. She lifted her chin. “That’s none of your business.”

  “I suggest you make it the next guy’s business.”

  “What next guy?”

  His expression hardened. “Henry. I saw you two dancing together.”

  “As did the rest of Paradise Valley.” She pushed her face closer, so they stood nose to nose. “And I danced with you too. What of that?”

  They glared at each other.

  Then he grasped her face between his cold hands and pressed his lips over hers.

  A smothered yelp burst from her as she stumbled, but he held on. A flash-fire second of panic, then his rich, male taste filled her mind. Dark and smoky. Sexy as hell. His tongue explored her mouth, tangled with hers. She shuddered, her thoughts melted in the heat of the kiss. She pressed back, savored his essence, explored in turn. A throaty growl, deep with hunger and yearning, rumbled through her and poured into him. He trembled against her.

  When he shoved her face away from his and let go, Lynn could only stand and pant as she stared at him. More, she wanted more.

  His eyes darkened with anger and confusion. “You should have told me. Somehow, at some point, you should have told me.”

  Damn it, what was Jack’s game? Lynn dropped her gaze. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you about Rob.” She closed her eyes and then opened them. “You didn’t have to declare your feelings by setting this fire.”

  “What?”

  She shoved past him and took her turn pacing. “What do you expect me to think? The attraction between us, then the phone call telling me you wanted to be more than friends, that you’ve a surprise for me.” Lynn stopped and stared at the smoking ruin of the ranch house. “How could you think setting this fire would impress me?”

  “I didn’t call you and I didn’t set this fire.” A cold, hard glaze settled on his face. “According to Amos, Elsie did.”

  “Yeah, but you helped things along. I heard you.” The words rushed out before she could think better, fueled by the volatile mix of grief, guilt and anger at another death. Lynn’s gaze fixed on a twisted and scorched patch of prickly pears lit by morning sunlight.

  He grabbed her upper arm and yanked her to him. Face to face, he said, “What are you talking about?” He huffed out a breath as he let go of her and dragged his fingers through his hair. “And if you overheard or saw something suspicious, then you should tell the Sheriff.”

  Gnawing on his lower lip, he stared at her. “Do you really think I would—” He cleared his throat. “I would help things along?”

  She stood inches from him; close enough to wrap her arms around him and kiss away his hurt. Press herself against his warm chest and listen to the beating of his heart. She held his gaze, not knowing what to think, what to do.

  Jack shot her a disgusted look and walked away.

  Chapter 19

  It was after nine when Lynn dragged herself to the San Angelo Herald office. Lack of sleep jumbled her thoughts, plagued her with the images of body bags and corpses as she reviewed and organized her notes and impressions. But that wasn’t what left her insides hollow. Lurking behind every thought, every word she typed, was the unrelieved bleakness of Jack’s long, silent stare. She pressed her palms against her burning eyes and released a sigh. Focus on the story, for now nothing else matters.

  Words fought their way onto the page as she relived the Tavistock fire. Elsie’s death and the distraught man made the story painful. By ten o’clock, she was drained and headed for the newspaper’s library to do some research on Tavistock. Maybe she’d find something to jump-start the words.

  Standing among the rows of metal file cabinets almost as tall as her, Lynn hunted for the Ts. When she found them, she pulled open the drawer. A soft musty ancient scent greeted her. Brown envelopes, normal letter size, lay stacked tightly in the drawer. Each envelope was labeled with a name and held the relevant details of that person’s life. Some of the more important people had two or three envelopes to their name. Her fingers brushed across the tops, searching.

  People’s lives reduced to a bunch of clippings, stuffed into envelopes and stored in the morgue. A fog of sadness clung to her as Lynn dug through and pulled out Amos Tavistock’s envelope and walked back to her desk. She needed a hit of caffeine to clear her head, so she stopped and grabbed a Diet Coke from the vending machine.

  Missy, the cop reporter, worked at the adjacent desk. She glanced over curiously at the brown envelope in Lynn’s hand. “What’s that?” she asked. “Do you have an obit to write?”

  Lynn grimaced. “Sort of,” she said. “I’m doing some research for my Tavistock story.”

  The other girl looked away. “Oh.”

  Why go all shifty-eyed here? “I figure I need some backgroun
d on Tavistock and his wife for the story,” she said.

  “The whole situation is so sad.” Missy shook her head and stared at her hands. “Elsie always seemed so happy despite her health.”

  Guilt ate at Lynn for staying silent about what really had happened at the fire. How could she explain the voice she’d heard to Missy? She couldn’t. She managed a shrug. “People often keep their pain hidden.”

  Missy cleared her throat. “I think you should just keep it short.”

  Lynn sat up straight in her chair. She bought herself some time by opening the Coke and taking a sip. “Well, I’m going to put in the facts of the fire but I also have to include some information about the Tavistocks,” she said, careful to keep her tone neutral.

  “I just feel Mr. Tavistock should be left with his dignity,” Missy said. “I mean, nothing can be changed about his wife being sick and setting the fire. Now they’ll bury her and move on. I don’t think the public needs to know all the sordid details.”

  Lynn shook her head in disbelief. It appeared the story about Elsie’s state of mind was already out in circulation, even without being in the paper.

  She looked at Missy. The petite blonde was born and bred in San Angelo. She knew the community and was part of it. Lynn understood her discomfort and point of view, but she also saw the need to report fully. Celebrate the two lives most affected. Perhaps being an outsider was an advantage. It helped her to be more objective when it came to reporting on the community. Maybe there was such a thing as being too close to the news.

  “I understand where you’re coming from and I feel just as bad,” Lynn said. “But I can’t just do a short blurb on the fire. The Tavistocks were a part of the community and Elsie should be remembered.”

  Missy nodded, squinting at her computer screen. “Yeah, I guess,” she said. “I would just hate to see Mr. Tavistock hurt anymore.” She scrunched up her face and started typing her story. A ferocious click-clack of keys filled the air.

  Lynn turned back to her envelope and sifted through the clippings. She found Tavistock’s birth date, his high-school graduation and college graduation pictures and information, some family and ranch history and, finally, a wedding picture.

  The younger Elsie Ann Tavistock had been a beauty. Lynn took in the pretty oval face, big eyes and gently smiling mouth. Her blonde hair was brushed into an elegant French twist. She was dressed simply but attractively in an embroidered skirt suit.

  Tavistock stood next to her, grinning ear-to-ear. He stared at his bride with unabashed happiness, his arms holding her possessively. They made a handsome couple. Lynn studied the picture. The two seemed to have eyes just for each other.

  She found it hard to believe that the cynical old man she’d first encountered in the parts’ store could ever have been so young, handsome and happy. His eyes twinkled in the picture. She remembered other encounters. Amos’ eyes had always twinkled around Elsie.

  Lynn read the wedding announcement, while half-listening to the chatter of the police scanner in the background. It described the outfit the bride wore and details of the reception held afterwards. From all accounts, the event had been lavish. Held in the Range Hotel ballroom, wine and food had flowed. The guest list included several big names from back then.

  “Hello?” A cool female voice broke through the scanner static and usual conversations about traffic hold-ups and quiet beats.

  “Mike here,” a man said. “Listen, I can’t go through with this.”

  Lynn flipped over to a blank page and grabbed a pen. She transcribed the conversation. You never knew what could turn into a news story.

  “Calm down. What’s the problem?”

  “Wheeling and dealing is fine with me. I know how to do business,” the man said. “But endangering lives isn’t.” Lynn leaned closer to the scanner and sucked in a breath. Missy pushed forward, too.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Don’t worry? People are dying,” the man said. “I don’t want to take risks like that.”

  “You really aren’t. Why don’t you take care of your end and let other people worry about theirs?” the woman said. “And if it makes you feel better, our associate has been reprimanded for the risk. He’s back in control.”

  “He better be.”

  A blaring horn interrupted the conversation.

  “What’s that?” the woman asked.

  “Oh, somebody I know just drove by,” the man said.

  “Damn it. Call me on a land line.” The woman hung up.

  Lynn and Missy exchanged a glance, complete with raised eyebrows and conspiratorial smiles.

  “That was interesting,” Lynn said.

  “More interesting than the usual calls picked up by the scanner,” Missy said, putting away her notebook.

  “It sounded like it could be about the fire…at the Range Hotel,” she added quickly when Missy turned to stare at her.

  Of course, the rest of the world blamed poor Elsie for the Tavistock fire. But she’d heard the oily whispers, urging, pushing, needling Elsie toward her choices. Just as she’d heard a voice on the night Obaa-chan died. No one had believed her then, and probably no one would now. But damn it, the voice had been real, so real that she’d felt like the speaker had been standing inside her head. “I wish I knew what it was about and who the people were.”

  She jotted down the time and date and snapped her notebook shut. Mike. The name rang a bell in her memory. Could he be Mike the county commissioner? Could he be involved with the arsons? Maybe. It was a common name. But she’d still check on it.

  Hernandez stopped by their desks and tapped his watch. “Tick-tock ladies, more typing and less talking. Deadlines approacheth.”

  Lynn shared an eye-roll with Missy, and turned back to the almost-empty envelope. She’d have to worry about the phone call later, first she had a story to finish. She found another picture, this one was a candid of the new couple dancing. Again, their eyes stayed steadfastly on each other. Elsie’s words about dancing floated back to her and the photograph trembled in her hand.

  She laid the wedding photograph and the new one side by side, on top of all the news clippings about the Tavistocks. Looking at the pictures, Lynn realized she’d found some sweet moments from the life of Amos and Elsie. She hoped the Tavistocks had had many.

  A certainty gripped her, a need to know for sure. She tucked the two pictures of the couple into her notebook and grabbed her backpack. She needed to talk to Tavistock.

  Lynn knocked on Hernandez’s door. “May I borrow one of the Herald cars?”

  “Is this in pursuit of a lead?” At her nod, he continued. “Sure, if the keys are there the cars are available, but check the log to make sure no one’s already booked them.”

  After Lynn found a free car, she snagged the corresponding keys and lit out the door. It turned out to be an old clunker with the Herald’s logo printed on the sides. She’d stick out like a summer dress in Antarctica, but hell if it drove she was happy.

  Questions about whether she was doing the right thing plagued Lynn during her drive. Fifteen minutes later, she arrived at Jack’s ranch house still unsure. Part of her scolded herself for intruding on a grief-stricken man. The other part argued that the man had clearly been head-over-heels in love with his wife and there was a story there.

  “I’m just going to give him the opportunity to tell me the story,” she said to herself. “If he doesn’t want to talk to me, I’ll respect that and leave him alone.” Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the car.

  She found Mr. Tavistock sitting on the porch swing and staring into space. Lynn climbed up to him and wished him good afternoon. He looked at her absently and nodded.

  “I found something I wanted to show to you,” Lynn said, and held out the photographs. “She really was the most beautiful woman at the dances.”

  Tavistock’s hands shook as he took the photographs and looked at them. “Yes, she was.”

  Lynn twisted her fingers togeth
er so tight they hurt. “I’m writing a story about the fire for the paper and I wondered if you’d talk to me about Elsie, since she’s part of the story.”

  A door opened behind her. Lynn turned to see Grandma Edith, the matriarch of the Jarvis family, step onto the porch. She wore a faded flower-print apron and carried a broom. “Hi Lynn,” she said. “Jack’s out working his fields.”

  “What are you doing here?” Lynn asked.

  Grandma Edith shrugged. “I do part-time housekeeping for Jack,” she said. “Something I can help you with?”

  “Oh, I needed to talk to Amos,” Lynn said.

  Grandma Edith pressed her lips together into a thin line. “Amos probably needs his rest and shouldn’t be bothered right now.”

  Lynn’s face turned hot with embarrassment.

  Tavistock looked from one woman to the other. Then he shook his head. “It’s okay Edith, I need to do this.”

  Grandma Edith looked at him. “If you’re sure,” she said. Seeing his nod, she cleared her throat. “I’ll get some lemonade for the two of you.”

  When she’d left, Lynn sat down next to Tavistock. “Are you sure?” she asked. “If you’re not up for it or don’t want to do it, you don’t have to.”

  Tavistock turned tired blue eyes on her. “I want to.”

  Grandma brought out the lemonade and then disappeared into the house. Lynn got her pen and paper ready. “So, tell me about her.”

  Tavistock spoke about how much he’d loved Elsie and she’d loved him back. How she’d stood by him when the stock market crashed and he’d lost a lot of money in investments, then through the fifties’ drought. She’d taken part-time jobs to help the family. How they’d both weathered the death of a child by being there for each other. “You know she never wavered in her love for me, right till the end she tried to make me leave her in that burning house,” his voice choked into silence.

  “Tell me about the night of the fire,” she said.

  He seemed lost in thought for a bit. Then he shook his head as if to clear out the thoughts jumbled in there.