by Stacy Finz
Whoever lit up the sporting goods store had used gas as an accelerant. Usually the sign of a beginner. A truly experienced “torch” would’ve used solid fuels found at the scene to make the fire look accidental. Stuff like garbage ignited with a little bit of flammable liquid that would have dissipated in the fire.
“Nah, that’s like finding a needle in a haystack. Everyone here gets gas for their vehicles, farm equipment, you name it. What we need is someone who saw an individual carrying a gas can to the scene. I have a footprint I found at the origin of the fire, but nothing to match it to. Too bad there aren’t any security cameras in the square.”
“This ain’t Rodeo Drive or whatever equivalent you had in Chicago.”
“Nope,” Aidan agreed. “But I enlisted Owen.”
Rhys chuckled. “You and your sister are quick studies. No one knows the doings of this town like the barber. Any other McBrides want to work in Nugget?”
“You’re stuck with just us for now.” Aidan leaned over the table closer to Rhys. “My gut says this person will strike again.”
“Yep, mine too.”
“Owens seems to think it’s the Rigsby boys. You have any thoughts on that?”
“I’d sooner put my money on the father. I don’t see a motive, though. As far as I know, he doesn’t have any kind of quarrel with Carl Rudd.”
“To make me look stupid,” Aidan said. Revenge was a top motive for arson. “He clearly has issues with my authority. What better way to make me seem incompetent to my supervisors than to set fires I can’t solve?”
“I don’t know, seems like a longshot. But I’ve been wrong before. A footprint isn’t enough for a warrant.” Rhys shook his head. “No witnesses, no nothing. Broad freaking daylight.”
“And you don’t think Rudd has anything to gain from the fire, financially or otherwise?”
“Nope. And setting things on fire doesn’t strike me as Carl’s style.”
“What about the owner of the property?” Aidan checked the notes he’d made on his phone. “Trevor Thurston. You know the guy?”
“Yep. He owns most of the square, including the Bun Boy, which he runs with his wife. Solid citizens who’d give you the shirts off their backs. You look into his financials?”
“Nothing glaring. But gambling debts . . . a drug problem . . . they don’t tend to show up on bank records, you know?”
“He’s a pretty smart guy. Seems to me if he wanted to burn the place down and collect the insurance money he would’ve gotten it done.”
The fire had been anemic at best. A lot of smoke with little damage. Firefighters had it out in less than thirty minutes.
“Could’ve just been bored kids, I suppose.”
“Could’ve been,” Rhys agreed. “We’ll just have to wait and see. You ought to join us for basketball one of these days. We play at lunchtime. A few of the Cal Fire guys come, but they suck. Maybe you’ll be better.”
Aidan laughed. His sister had told him about the pick-up games and about the friendly competition between the Nugget police and fire departments.
“You bet,” he said.
Rhys got up. “Sorry I interrupted your breakfast. Catch you later.”
After he left, Aidan continued eating. He’d finished the pancakes and was making good work on the steak and eggs when a middle-aged blond woman slid into the empty chair at his table.
“Did Dana tell you about my kitchen?”
“Uh . . . I don’t think so.”
“You don’t even know who I am, do you?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I’m Donna Thurston, owner of the Bun Boy, and until you sign off on my open-flame permit I can’t install the Santa Maria barbecues I just paid a buttload for.”
“Okay . . . I can do that. But can I finish eating first?”
“Of course you can. In the meantime, let me tell you my theory on the sporting goods fire.” She didn’t even take a breath, just launched in to, “It was Carl.”
Aidan sat up.
“He’s been sneaking around his wife’s back, smoking again. She’d kill him if she knew. He goes outside to the back of the store where he thinks no one is looking, then throws his cigarette butts on the ground when he’s done. I told Trevor it was just a matter of time, especially in this drought, before Carl burned the whole town down.”
Aidan let out a disappointed sigh. “Cigarettes, huh?”
“Yep. Case closed. You’re welcome.”
He wished it were that easy. “I’ll look into it. Thanks for the tip. Why don’t I meet you over at the Bun Boy in twenty minutes?” He didn’t bother to tell her that today was supposed to be his day off. It was mostly shot anyway.
But tonight he and Dana were going bowling. And he planned to kiss her again.
Chapter 13
Dana couldn’t decide between jeans or a sundress. She lay them on her bed, vacillating between the two. She knew Aidan liked the dress but feared her butt would hang out when she bent over to roll the bowling ball down the lane. The jeans, on the other hand, were tight and might just split up the seam.
In the end, denim seemed more appropriate for the Ponderosa, so she dropped her towel, slipped on a lacy pair of undies, and shimmied into the jeans. She paired the pants with the yellow sleeveless blouse Grace had given her from Farm Supply. It was too hot for the boots, so she put on a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals that had been part of her Harlee booty. They were too stylish for a bowling alley, but they were sexy. And for the first time in a long time, Dana felt like sexing it up. She even wore a push-up bra she’d ordered online.
From her bedroom she could hear the front door open and close and knew Aidan was home. He’d probably want to shower. Good thing she’d already done her hair and makeup.
There was a rap on her door. “You decent?”
“Not yet.” She didn’t want him to see the other clothes on the bed and know she’d agonized all afternoon over what to wear.
“I just have to take a quick shower,” he said, and she smiled at how she’d called it right.
“Okay. I’m almost ready.”
“You mind if we go somewhere other than the Ponderosa for dinner? I ate breakfast there.”
“I don’t care. You want to go to the Bun Boy?”
He groaned.
She opened her door a crack. He tried to get a look at her, but she wouldn’t let him. “What’s the problem?”
“I spent an hour at the Bun Boy doing an inspection so Donna can get an open-flame permit for some barbecues she wants to install. The woman talked my ear off and is a little bonkers.”
“Oh, shoot.” Dana held her hand to her mouth. “I was supposed to tell you about that and I forgot.”
“Don’t worry about it. I just don’t want to go there for dinner and get cornered by her again.”
Dana laughed. “She’s not that bad, but we can go anyplace you want. We can even eat home.”
“No, this is your night . . . even though we’re not celebrating. Yet. What else is around here?”
“Not much, unless we go to a neighboring town. But by the time we eat it may be too late to bowl.” The lanes closed at nine.
“We’ve got three hours.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
True to his word, he found her in the living room thumbing through her mail, all set to go. His hair was still damp, curling around his neck, and he smelled like aftershave and something so good she wanted to burrow her face in his throat.
“Ready?” He tugged her off the couch and they headed for the door. “Where to?”
“There’s an Italian place in Blairsden and an Indian place in Glory Junction. We had Italian last night, so I say we head for Glory Junction.”
Aidan pulled a face. “I don’t like Indian food. I’m being a pain in the ass, aren’t I?”
“You shouldn’t have to eat something you don’t like. We can go back to Reno; plenty of choices there. But we probably won’t make it back in time to go bowling.
We can go another time; I’d rather have a good meal. Unless you have your heart set on it.”
“No. Maybe we could catch a movie in Reno after dinner.”
“That would be fun.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to a movie. It had probably been with Griffin because she didn’t like to go alone.
They got in Aidan’s Expedition while Dana ticked off a few restaurants they could go to. By the time they crossed the Nevada state line they’d decided on a Thai restaurant Dana knew.
“You like Thai but not Indian?” she asked, watching him steer with one hand, his long fingers draped over the wheel.
“For some reason Indian food gives me heartburn. Not spicy Asian or even Mexican. Go figure. How about you? What kind of food don’t you like?”
“I don’t like gamy food like lamb or venison. And I don’t like melon.”
“Not even watermelon?”
“Nope. Can’t stand it.”
“Wow, that’s a new one. My little brother doesn’t like cantaloupe, but everyone in my family likes watermelon. I don’t really love tomatoes.”
“I can see that. It’s probably a texture thing.”
He slid her a smile. “Could be. You make any more sales today?”
“No, I just worked on the Rosser deal.”
“You gonna retire when that goes through?”
“My commission won’t be enough for me to retire, but I’ll be able to upgrade a few things in my new house, maybe get some really nice furniture and a pool.”
“You better invite me over to swim.” He put his hand on her leg and she sat perfectly still, afraid he’d move it.
“Of course I will.” At this rate, she’d invite him to move in with her.
She’d never known a man who made her feel as comfortable as Aidan. Despite how hot he was, how ripped, how charming, he was easy. He didn’t judge her for being antisocial or shy or awkward. He was interested in her work, in her life . . . hell, he was interested in whether she liked watermelon. Even though she knew she wasn’t, he had a way of making her feel like she was important to him.
“Besides Donna’s inspection, what else did you do today?”
“Tried to gather intel on the fire. I’d hoped by now that someone would’ve come forward with information.”
“Like who did it?”
“That would be optimal, but at this point even small clues would be helpful. Like someone finding a matchbook with a fingerprint or distinctive logo.”
“Tell me how you know for sure that someone intentionally set the fire.”
“No can do, sweetheart.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. If details get out, the firebug will have an advantage by knowing what we know.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Dana said. “You have such an interesting job. I bet you never get bored.”
“I don’t. I love it. You like your job, don’t you?”
“I do, but it’s not exciting like yours. It’s not like people are cornering me at cocktail parties, wanting to talk about real estate.”
“They were at the Fourth of July party. What’s the ugliest house you ever sold? What was the most expensive? It’s all anyone wanted to talk about.”
Dana hadn’t thought about it, but Aidan was right. “Perhaps people were just trying to be nice.”
“Or maybe they were legitimately interested in what you do.”
She shrugged, finding it hard to believe. “Let’s put it this way: They don’t make TV shows about real estate agents. But they do about firefighters.”
“At least a real estate agent’s job doesn’t wreak havoc on family life. We work crazy hours.”
“You’re doing important work, saving lives. Besides, you get extended days off, whereas my busiest days are weekends.”
“So being with a guy who had to live half the week at the firehouse wouldn’t bother you?”
“We’re talking hypothetically, right?” Of course they were. “Nope. Not if he loved the work and it made him happy . . . of course he’d have to pull his weight at home. Not sit around on his days off, watching Ellen.”
Aidan was quiet for a while, then asked, “Where is this Thai place?”
“Make a right up here.” She directed him to the restaurant, which matched Gaetano’s in its understatement. Just a stucco box with a faded sign off the main thoroughfare.
He parked and got to her door before she could get out, helping her down. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Dana, can’t you ever take a compliment? Jesus, woman, spend some time looking in a mirror, would you?”
She knew she wasn’t as beautiful as Sue. Of course she’d snooped on Facebook and in some of the photo albums on his shelves that he was always looking at. His ex had those classic good looks that turned heads. Auburn hair and a curvaceous figure, like Geena Davis in Thelma and Louise. At best, Dana could be called cute. Back before Paul had died, her father used to call her bug. Like cute as a bug in a rug. Now he didn’t call her much of anything.
Aidan put his hand at the small of her back and opened the restaurant door. It wasn’t as crowded as Gaetano’s but most of the tables were full. A young woman took them to a booth in the corner.
“Don’t worry,” Dana said. “What the place lacks in atmosphere it makes up for in food.”
It was even blander than Dana remembered. White walls with strategically placed flat-screen TVs and unappetizing pictures of the restaurant’s signature dishes on the wall. She hoped Aidan wasn’t getting the willies.
But when she gazed across the table at him, he seemed totally relaxed. Maybe he went to a lot of hole-in-the-wall divy-looking places in Chicago. A server came and took their drink orders, suggesting they get Thai mojitos.
“Sounds good,” Aidan said and nudged his head at Dana.
“Sure. Why not?”
They gave the waitress their food orders before she dashed off to another table.
“Cool place.” Aidan gazed around the dining room and she wondered if he was being facetious. “You come here with your family too?”
“No, they’ve never been.” They didn’t eat out anymore. “But it’s near where they live. Sometimes I eat here when I visit them.” She got takeout.
“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked.
“Working. I have a couple who’s interested in Sierra Heights but wants to see a few homes outside the planned community before they make a final decision. And someone wants to interview me about selling his cabin. Apparently, the owner is talking to a couple of other agents.”
“What will he ask you in this interview?”
“Most of the time, sellers want to know what price I’d list it for. Usually the agent who gives them the highest price wins. But in the long run it’s stupid because you can’t sell an overpriced piece of property.”
“So you’ll tell him the truth?” Aidan asked.
“I’ll just tell him what the comps are and let him decide for himself. It’s a sweet place, though. I’d like to have the listing.”
“What’s so great about it?”
“It’s on a beautiful piece of property, overlooking the river. The main level is an open floor plan. Upstairs, there’s a big loft. The kitchen was completely redone two years ago. The guy is pretty handy, so he did a lot of the work himself.”
“How much do you think he can get for it?”
“I’d say somewhere close to three hundred thousand dollars. It’s only about seventeen hundred square feet.”
He smiled at her.
“What?”
“I’m allowed to smile at you if I want. But the truth is, you light up when you talk about real estate.”
Most people would probably find it boring, but she loved finding the right house for the right person. Whether it was a starter home or a multimillion-dollar property, she played a role in helping people find their dreams.
Burning with cur
iosity, Dana couldn’t help herself. “If you don’t mind my asking, what does Sue do?”
“She’s a middle-school teacher.”
Their drinks and appetizers came. Aidan served her a few spring rolls, grabbed one for himself, and stuffed it in his mouth.
“Does she like it . . . being a teacher?”
“I think she does. We didn’t talk about work much.”
That seemed incongruent with the Aidan she knew. Perhaps they were too busy having sex. “What did you guys talk about, then?”
“She was social . . . had a lot of friends. She liked to tell me about their outings together, about parties, the theater. She gossiped a lot.”
“You didn’t go with her . . . to parties and the theater?”
“When I could, but I was gone a lot. Kind of the nature of the work I do.”
She bit into one of the spring rolls. “Do you think that’s why she left you?”
“I think it was part of the reason, yeah.” Understandably, he didn’t want to talk about it and she didn’t want to pry. “What about you? Anyone serious, besides Griffin?”
“There was a developer in Tahoe. We met through real estate, obviously. But it didn’t work out.”
“How come?”
“It turned out he was in love with his partner’s wife. When she dumped her husband, he dumped me. Sort of the story of my life.” She didn’t know why she’d told him that. It made her sound pathetic.
“How old are you?”
“Thirty.” She started in on the other spring roll and realized she’d broken her self-imposed rule of not eating after six two nights in a row.
“You’ve got plenty of life left; make a new story.” He winked.
“How old are you?” She’d wondered for a while.
“Thirty-seven.”
The rest of their order came. They’d decided to go family style; that way they could sample a little bit of everything. The waitress put the food on a lazy Susan in the middle of the table, the kind found in Chinese restaurants. When Aidan didn’t think she was looking he held the tray so that it wouldn’t rotate when she tried to turn it. He thought it was hysterical.
They talked so much she didn’t realize two hours had gone by. She also felt tipsy from the Thai mojitos, which seemed to keep coming.
