The Arsonist

by Burton, Mary

  “Like you said, I’m from Preston Springs. I can go home under the guise of visiting my mother and brother. And while I’m there, make contact with Gannon. With any luck, he’ll open up.”

  Paul folded his fingers over his chest. “Long shot, if you ask me.”

  She rubbed her palms together. “But you’ve got to admit, it’s worth the chance. If we could prove Nero didn’t die, the coverage would be incredible. We’d get picked up all over the country. All I need is two weeks.”

  He nodded. “It damn sure would be.” He sighed staring at the stacks of paper on his desk. “I can’t give you two weeks. Only a week.”

  Darcy swallowed a smile. She had Paul. Now it was a matter of reeling him in. “Ten days.”

  “Eight.”

  “Nine.”

  He glared at her. “Sold. But this adventure is on your dime until you come up with something hard.”

  She jumped to her feet. “No problem. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

  Standing, he held up his hand to stop her. “I want you to keep me posted. Call me every day or two. Gannon won’t be easy to crack. Can be a real son of a bitch from what I remember.”

  “I’m not afraid of him.”

  “You should be.”

  Just the idea of this story had her nerves humming. “Michael Gannon will talk to me. I can guarantee it.”

  Chapter 2

  The perky Surprise, I’m home! Darcy Sampson had practiced on the car ride down Interstate 81 died on her lips when she saw flames shooting out of a frying pan on her family’s restaurant’s industrial kitchen stove.

  For a moment, she stood, dumbstruck, her green duffel bag gripped in her hand as flames licked the sides of the stove’s greasy exhaust hood and black smoke filled the restaurant kitchen.

  “Fire!” Darcy shouted.

  Her mother, a short plump woman with graying hair, whirled around from the sink where she’d been washing dishes. Panicking, she grabbed a full glass of water and raced toward the fire.

  Darcy dropped her bags. “No, Mom, don’t!”

  Her mother tossed the cold water on the hot grease in the pan. Immediately, the fire exploded higher, spilling over the sides of the stove. Hot oil spattered like a Roman candle. Mrs. Sampson screamed and jumped back as oil peppered her arm.

  The smoke detector started to screech through the entire building. Darcy ran down the shotgun style kitchen to the pantry. There she grabbed a large box of flour and rushed toward the blaze. Without hesitating, she dumped the entire box on the flames. The fire died instantly.

  Her heart pounding, Darcy set the empty tub down on the island in the center of the kitchen and rubbed a shaking hand to her forehead. “Mom, you know how to put out a grease fire.” White flour coated Darcy’s fingers, the stove and the mud-brown linoleum floor. She looked down at her black silk pants suit now dusted with flour. “I just had this dry-cleaned.”

  Her mother glanced impatiently up at the smoke detector that still wailed. She started to wave her apron in the air under the blaring smoke detector. “Help me turn this thing off. I don’t need the fire department knocking on my door.”

  Darcy grabbed a stepladder, and in high heeled boots climbed up the steps and disconnected the smoke detector. She pulled the battery out of the back of it. Blessed silence filled the room.

  Darcy climbed down and shut off the gas to the burner under the frying pan now covered with a thick coat of flour. She set down the battery and faced her mother. “Did you burn yourself?”

  Her mother pursed her lips. “I’m fine.”

  The speckled burns on her mother’s arms said otherwise. Darcy went to the sink, turned on the tap and soaked a handful of paper towels in the cool water. She rang out the excess water.

  “Let me see your arms.”

  “I’m fine,” her mother said, her tone brusque.

  Darcy swallowed her frustration and took her mother’s arm in hand. Gently she started to clean her arm.

  Her mother winced. “That hurts. Don’t be so rough.”

  “You need some antibiotic ointment on that.”

  Her mother pulled her arm away. “It’s not that bad.”

  She’d been home less than two minutes and already she and her mother were arguing. It had to be a record. “Mom, you wouldn’t admit to third-degree burns even if they covered your body.”

  Mrs. Sampson took the towels from Darcy. “I’ve managed to take care of myself all these years while you’ve been up north with your big city job.”

  Darcy’s defenses rose. But instead of taking the bait, she went to the swinging doors that led to the dining room so that she could calm the customers.

  To her surprise, the row of booths covered in green vinyl and the seats around the mahogany bar were empty.

  She checked her watch. Two o’clock. The lunch hour had passed, but normally there’d be a half a dozen folks eating a late lunch.

  As she glanced around the deserted room, she realized the place hadn’t changed in twenty years. It still smelled of stale cigarettes and beer and was decorated with her brother’s football memorabilia, including jerseys from his peewee days through his brief time with the Pittsburgh Steelers.

  Growing up, Darcy had jokingly called the room The Shrine, though deep inside it hurt knowing her parents’ world revolved solely around her brother. She’d been all but invisible to them.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked. She ignored the tightness in her chest and walked back into the kitchen.

  “We don’t open for lunch anymore.” Her mother surveyed the mess around the stove as she pushed a trembling hand through her short gray hair. “We open at five now.”

  That surprised her. “Why? The lunch crowd was always profitable.”

  Her mother got a broom from a small closet by the back door. “Trevor says lunch is more trouble than it is worth. The real money is made at dinner and the bar.”

  Her brother, Trevor, had become the tavern manager after their father’s death last year. Trevor had just been cut from the Steelers and was at loose ends. At the time, his managing the restaurant had seemed like a win-win solution for everyone.

  “Dad never missed an opportunity to make money. He only closed on Christmas Day. Trevor’s decision must have Dad rolling in his grave.”

  Jan Sampson shot an annoyed glance her daughter’s way. She wasn’t willing to discuss Trevor’s managerial decisions. But instead of saying so, she diverted the conversation to another topic. “Good Lord, I’ve never seen a fire jump like that.”

  Darcy could feel a headache coming on. “I get the hint—Trevor is perfect.” It had been six years since she’d moved away from home, but it surprised her how deep old resentments still ran.

  Her mother ignored the comment.

  Darcy drew in a calming breath. This visit home was going to work. “What caused the fire, Mom?”

  Her mother tugged down the edges of her Steelers yellow T-shirt. “I was frying potatoes when I noticed there were dishes to be put away. I got distracted. The next thing I know, you’re screaming fire.”

  “You could have burned the whole place down.”

  Anger flashed in her mother’s eyes. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  Darcy pushed aside her annoyance. She’d come home for a story—not a tender family reunion. “I was fired.” The lie tumbled over her lips easily. She’d decided on the drive down that honesty wasn’t the best policy if she were going to get Gannon to talk to her. Her mother couldn’t keep a secret.

  Mrs. Sampson stopped her sweeping. “Fired?”

  Darcy shoved her hands in her pockets. She’d rehearsed this conversation on the drive down. “A week ago.”

  “You were always in the center of trouble as a kid.”

  “Straight As was how I remember it,” she said, her anger rising. “And I worked in our family’s restaurant full time all the way through college.”

  Mrs. Sampson ignored what Darcy had said. “Why did they fire you?�
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  There was no point arguing. “I wrote an exposé on a developer. He used shoddy materials in his buildings. Turns out he was a major advertiser with the paper. I refused to drop the story. I got fired.” It all had sounded plausible when she’d made it up, but now she found she had trouble meeting her mother’s gaze.

  Mrs. Sampson started to sweep up the burned flour, again. “That doesn’t make sense. I see your name in the paper a lot. Your articles are good enough.”

  Unreasonably pleased, she stood a little taller. “You get The Post?”

  Mrs. Sampson shrugged. “From time to time. I buy it from the drugstore.”

  Darcy stood five inches taller than her mother, yet she still felt like a five-year-old at times. “Any articles you liked in particular?”

  “No. Would you get the dustpan?”

  Grateful for the task, she dug the pan out of the broom closet and knelt down so her mother could sweep the pile of flour onto the pan.

  “You should have listened to your boss, Darcy.”

  Darcy picked up the full pan and dumped it in the trash can. “You’re right.”

  Her mother studied her an extra beat as if she wasn’t sure if Darcy was being sarcastic or not. Darcy tried to look sincere.

  Mrs. Sampson softened a fraction. “What about that boyfriend of yours?”

  “We broke up almost a year ago.”

  Mrs. Sampson swept up the rest of the flour and dumped it into the trash can. “I saw that Stephen guy on the Today Show when he was reporting on those fires in Washington last year. I thought his smile was too quick.”

  “And fake too. Would you believe he spent thousands on caps?” His new, rich girlfriend had paid for them. “I still can’t believe I wasted two years with him.”

  Mrs. Sampson shook her head. “So you’ve nowhere else to go and you’ve come home.”

  Pride had her lifting her chin a notch. “I know I’ve not been the best daughter. Dad and I fought so much and I didn’t even stay for the reception after the funeral.”

  The apology caught Mrs. Sampson by surprise. More tension drained from her shoulders. “Your father wasn’t the easiest man either, Darcy. I knew he could be difficult.”

  An unexpected lump formed in her throat. “I was hoping I could crash here for a while.”

  Mrs. Sampson was silent for a moment. “Of course, you can stay here for a while. In fact, I’ve an opening for a waitress. Our waitress quit just yesterday. I’ll have to check with Trevor of course, but I don’t see why you couldn’t work the tables like you used to.”

  “That would be great.” The idea of working in the restaurant didn’t appeal, but it would be the perfect cover story.

  Her mother nodded. “You can start by taking out this trash. Then, when you get your bags put away, you can start prepping for the dinner crowd. My cook, George, is on break now but he’ll be back within the hour.”

  “George? What happened to Dave?” Dave had cooked for the Varsity since she’d been in elementary school.

  Mrs. Sampson sighed. “He quit about six months ago.”

  There was a time when she’d known everything about the Varsity. Now she was the outsider. “Everything all right with him?”

  She stood a little straighter. “He just wanted more money than we could pay.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Dave.” The tall, lean man always enjoyed a good joke and kept Eskimo Pies for Darcy in the freezer.

  “People change.”

  The tone in her mother’s voice told her not to push. “Okay. Where is Trevor? I tried him on his cell phone earlier but he didn’t pick up.”

  “Your brother is getting supplies for the dinner crowd. We ran short on a few things.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  Mrs. Sampson started to wipe the cooktop with a rag. “He’s doing just fine. The tavern has never been busier. Thank God, I have him.”

  Darcy didn’t miss the hidden meaning. Trevor was the golden child. “Good.”

  “Well, you better get to work,” her mother said. “That trash won’t take itself out.”

  Darcy glanced at the trash can overflowing with debris. She visualized the story she was going to write and the awards she was going to win.

  “Will do.” Darcy sealed up the green bag lining the wheeled plastic trash can.

  “And when you’re done with that, get this kitchen cleaned.”

  “Right.”

  Darcy pushed up the sleeves of her suit and tried to pull the bag out. It was heavier than she realized. Deciding to keep the trash bag in the can, she tipped the can back on its wheels and started to pull it outside.

  “Darcy?” Her mother looked as if she had something else to say.

  “Yeah?”

  As their gazes met, her mother frowned, seeming to change her mind. “Never mind.”

  “Okay.” Drawing in a deep breath, Darcy yanked at the can again and slowly started to drag it to the back alley behind the Varsity.

  The alley was lined with pitted asphalt and wide enough for cars to drive through. The Varsity, flanked by a bridal shop and a drugstore, was located in middle of the block. The battered blue Dumpster, shared by all three businesses, was tucked in a nook by the drugstore.

  Darcy pulled the trash can down the two steps by the back door, wincing as it banged hard with each drop. Her ankles wobbled as her high heeled boots caught between two of the cobblestones. Cursing, she yanked it free, and in the process, ripped the leather from one heel.

  She stared at the torn Italian leather. The three-hundred-dollar boots had been a Christmas gift from Stephen two years ago. She suspected this was fate’s retribution for the lies she’d told her mother.

  Tracking down the real Nero was worth it, she reminded herself.

  Standing taller, she gripped the handle of the trash can and started down the alley. “I’m not going to quit. I’m not. I will get through this.”

  The heavy can rumbled over the uneven asphalt as she headed toward the Dumpster. She opened the side door of the Dumpster and tugged on the green trash bag three times but couldn’t get it free.

  “You are a stupid trash bag,” she said gritting her teeth. “And you aren’t going to win.” Determined, she jerked the bag. Her fitted jacket strained against her back and she pulled and pulled until finally the garbage bag wiggled free. She dumped the bag into the Dumpster.

  Taking out the trash was hardly a moment to be celebrated, but she did feel a little pang of pride as she brushed her hands together. Tenacity. It had won out over the trash and it would find Nero.

  Her shoulders back, she started to drag the can back to the kitchen. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the roar of the motorcycle zooming down the alley until it was almost too late.

  The driver hit the brakes and narrowly swerved around her as she looked up. Shocked, she stumbled back.

  Her heart hammering in her chest, she went from fear to anger in a split second. Without thinking, she flipped the Motorcycle Man the bird. “What is the matter with you, sport?”

  Motorcycle Man shoved up his visor. Electric blue eyes that held no hint of emotion stared at her.

  Suddenly, all her senses became very sharp. She was intensely aware of the hot June air and the sweat drizzling down her chest between her breasts.

  The jolt of desire surprised and irritated her. The guy had almost run her over. If she’d had any sense, she’d not have taken on a redneck biker in an alley. But her nerves were shot and her mouth worked faster than her brain. “Hey, mister, do you think you can be a little more careful?”

  “You’re the one that wasn’t watching where you were going.” His voice was hoarse, rusty and sent tremors down her spine.

  Still, Darcy marched toward him, pulling her trash can with her. The idea of coming home had frayed her nerves and she realized she was spoiling for a fight. “This is an alleyway! It’s not meant for high-speed chases. You could have flattened me like a pancake.”

 
“You smell like smoke.”

  “What?”

  He looked around the alleyway. “What was burning?”

  She nodded her head toward the restaurant kitchen’s door. “A grease fire in the Varsity’s kitchen. It’s out now.”

  His gaze sharpened. “They had another one?”

  Another one? What was happening to that place? When she’d been kid growing up and working there, they’d never had any trouble. Family loyalty had her keeping those thoughts to herself. “Like I said, it’s under control.”

  His gloved leather hand tightened around the bike’s throttle. “So are you going to be okay, or do I have to call an ambulance?”

  His sarcasm grated her nerves. “I’ll probably have nightmares for a month.”

  Creases formed around his eyes, a sign he was grinning. “So are you the new waitress at the Varsity?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Who else would be hauling around a trash can with the Varsity stenciled on it?”

  She glanced at the faded lettering. “Right.”

  “You don’t look like a waitress.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She sounded bitchy—even to her own ears.

  “Right. Well, sorry for the scare.” He flipped his visor down. “Watch where you are walking. You might not be so lucky next time.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Drive more slowly!”

  Laughter rumbled deep in his chest. “Try not to frighten the customers away.”

  The laughter in his voice irritated her. “I’m a good waitress.”

  “Right.” He revved the engine loudly and then slowly drove down the alley.

  Muttering an oath under her breath, Darcy started back toward the Varsity.

  She’d gone two feet when her high heel caught between cobblestones again and she stumbled. Gripping the handle of the trash can, she glanced back to make sure Motorcycle Man had left. He had.

  With as much dignity as she could muster, she brushed her bangs off her face, and dragging the trash can behind her, retreated back into the kitchen.

  Darcy shut the kitchen door and leaned against it. Closing her eyes, she let a sigh shudder through her body as she thought about Motorcycle Man’s laughing gaze. It seemed everyone had questioned her competency since she had arrived in Preston Springs.