By playing the force of the water against the fire, he began pushing it away from the overhanging branch. Slowly, with the help of the deluge, the virulent flames subsided into embers.
Enid cheered.
“Somebody needs to make sure that thing doesn’t reignite,” the elderly man said as he came to stand beside Jack. “I’m a mite old to be climbing up there, but if you’re willing, I believe we can find a ladder in the carport.”
“You don’t happen to be a retired firefighter, do you?” Jack asked, impressed by the fellow’s thoroughness.
Matt shook his head. “Just a handyman. Used to be, anyways.”
From a distance came the wail of a fire truck. “The cavalry at last,” he said.
“Late as usual,” Matt added. “They do their best, but folks have to rely on themselves around here.”
“Unfortunately, that appears to apply to some police business as well,” Jack murmured, remembering his wife’s complaints about Larry Malloy.
“That’s right,” the tenant replied. “I was glad to hear you’re checking into that trouble we’ve had.”
“I’m making a few inquiries.” Jack preferred not to exaggerate his own importance. “Do you have any suspicions as to who’s behind it?”
“I don’t know that it means anything, but just the other day I remembered something that didn’t seem important at the time. It happened ’bout three weeks ago.”
The comment caught Jack’s full attention. He never underestimated the value of a witness’s offhand remarks. “What’s that?”
“Real early in the morning when I was out collecting wood for whittling, I saw a man skulking around the playground,” he explained. “I guess he spotted me, ‘cause he headed off the other way. Later, I heard a car scrape our mailbox. At the time, it didn’t occur to me there might be a connection, and maybe there isn’t. Still, I thought I’d mention it.”
The siren drew closer. In the unfamiliar terrain, Jack found it hard to gauge the distance remaining. “Did you recognize him?”
“No, sir. Didn’t get a good look,” he said regretfully. “I couldn’t tell much of anything.”
“Height? Weight? Age? Clothing?”
“Average height and weight. He kind of shambled when he ran, so he’s no athlete, I can tell you that. He wore the kind of plaid jacket and jeans you see a lot of. Sorry I can’t be more specific.”
“Every detail helps.” The playground lay behind Casey’s house, a fact that troubled Jack because it indicated further risk to her.
Also, although Matt’s information didn’t point to anyone specific, it strengthened the possibility that the mailbox incident indicated intentional vandalism. Come to think of it, what made him so sure this fire was an accident?
True, he’d seen lightning, and the thunder might have covered the sound of it striking the tree. All the same, he’d learned to question coincidences. And, coming on the heels of so many other problems, this blaze deserved to be regarded with skepticism.
He definitely wanted to take a closer look at that tree when circumstances permitted. But the firefighters should arrive any minute.
Remembering Casey’s request to keep her informed, he moved to the porch and called her. To his relief, his phone finally worked.
“I’ve got coffee ready,” she said after he finished recounting the events so far. “I could bring some down.”
“You stay put. I’ll send someone for it. All right?” He knew if he tried to boss her, she might simply disobey.
Over the phone, he heard his wife sigh. “I hate sitting around doing nothing, but I guess you’re right.”
“It won’t be long.”
Jack had just hung up when the fire truck arrived. At the wheel, he identified Sandra’s father, not exactly the person he most wanted to see right now.
When Al got out and started giving orders, it became apparent that he headed the fire brigade. However, as he listened to Jack’s account, the weathered theater owner gave no sign of the animosity he’d shown at church. Neither did he display any great concern once he learned no one had been harmed.
The small group of men and women set to work with ladders and axes, searching for embers and removing limbs to make sure the tree posed no further threat. He admired their dedication, coming out here in the middle of a stormy night for zero pay. They appeared well prepared, a sign that they’d probably undergone the same training as professional firefighters.
Even out here in the hinterlands, public safety had achieved a high level of sophistication, Jack reflected. He supposed that, as a Los Angeles native, he’d been a bit arrogant or at least ignorant.
Matt, who’d volunteered to fetch the coffee, returned with a large thermos and a stack of disposable cups. “Casey told me to make sure this doesn’t go to waste,” he said as, sheltered by the gazebo, he poured the steaming liquid for the volunteers.
“Yeah, she’s a real saint,” Al muttered, blowing steam off his cup.
Jack tried to keep his tone neutral, although the man’s comment set his teeth on edge. Based on what Bo had told him earlier, he needed to question the fellow, and this presented a low-key opportunity. “When the weather clears up, I was thinking of going fishing,” he remarked. “You recommend any particular spots around here?”
“Why ask me?” Al said.
“You come up here ’bout once a week,” Matt put in, saving Jack the need to answer. “I see you when I’m out collecting wood.”
The fire chief scowled into his coffee. “They’re building new houses down where we live, making so much noise they’ve scared the fish away. It’s more peaceful up here.” Casting a dour look at Jack, he added, “At least it used to be peaceful.”
At the implied insult, his temper frayed. “Was that before or after somebody attacked my wife?”
Matt’s eyebrows lifted but he refrained from comment. Al shrugged. “If you knew anything about fishing, you’d know I’m not about to reveal the best spots. But I don’t think that’s what you’re doing. I think you’re snooping.”
“My wife does own this land,” Jack pointed out. “I have a right to know who comes and goes.”
“She doesn’t own the other side of the creek,” Al told him. “That’s Owen Godwin’s land.” He moved away.
The rain had dwindled. Jack took advantage of the lull to walk over and examine the tree. Although arson investigation wasn’t his field, he could at least scout around for anything obviously out of place.
The firefighters had piled the cut branches to one side where, he presumed, they’d serve either as firewood or as material for Matt’s carvings. Since they’d left one of the ladders braced against the house, he climbed up and shone his flashlight across the roof. He kept an eye out for stray embers or indications of storm damage that needed repair; however, that wasn’t really his focus.
He played the flashlight at varied angles. Down below, someone approached the ladder.
“Anything wrong up there?” came Al’s voice. “Maybe I’d better take a look.”
Something shiny caught the beam. Jack leaned forward, half-expecting to find an old Christmas bulb or a windborne scrap of foil.
Reaching out, he scooped up the object. With a twist of dismay, he guessed what he’d found even before he brought it close enough to examine.
It was the sparkly casing of a cigarette lighter.
* * *
AFTER THE FIREFIGHTERS LEFT and the property had fallen quiet in the wake of the storm, Casey sat up with Jack trying to make sense of what he’d discovered. She found the implication distressing, yet she trusted his judgment and the evidence was hard to ignore.
Al had dismissed the lighter as irrelevant. He’d pointed out that the fire had begun in the tree, not on the roof, although that didn’t preclude the possibility that the lighter had passed through the branches. Most likely, he’d said, some smoker had had trouble getting it to work and given it the heave-ho weeks or even months ago.
But no one
around here smoked as far as Casey knew. Her mother hadn’t rented to smokers because the smell could permeate carpets and drapes. And the lighter didn’t appear weathered.
Jack had borrowed a plastic bag from Enid and collected the object on the chance that they might find fingerprints. Given the heavy rain, however, he admitted the odds were against them.
“I’ll take it to the police tomorrow.” He stretched his feet from an easy chair toward the fire he’d built in the hearth. “I can drop you off for your doctor’s appointment.”
“Thanks.” Casey still struggled to understand. “Do you really think someone tried to set Enid’s house on fire? I mean, if they meant to burn it, why do so in a rainstorm when the rain was likely to put it out?”
“Maybe the point wasn’t to burn her house down but cause some damage. It would be the third time someone’s tried to cover up an attack as an accident around here.” In the firelight, Jack’s green eyes took on emerald depths. He’d already explained what he’d learned from Matt about the mailbox. “Besides, the lightning offered a perfect way to deflect blame.”
“But it’s so sneaky!” Casey hugged herself, despite the warmth from the hearth. “And if you hadn’t spotted it, it could have killed Enid.”
“People who hold grudges seldom stop to think that they’re blowing things out of proportion,” Jack said.
“You mean Larry?” Casey asked. “Flunking a student in class isn’t a good enough reason to try to kill her, especially not after all these years!”
“I don’t necessarily think it’s him. The incidents with the mailbox and my car wouldn’t fit that scenario.”
“Then who could be doing this?” She spoke more to vent her frustration than because she expected an answer.
“Al’s shown hostility toward you. He might be trying to frighten your tenants into moving. Plus, don’t forget that firebugs are sometimes drawn to jobs in fire departments,” Jack added.
“I think we’re getting carried away,” Casey said. “Maybe lightning did cause the blaze. That tree was overgrown. I should have had it trimmed long ago.”
“We still have to account for the lighter.”
“People hunt and fish around here without permission.” Travelers and transients sometimes slept in the woods. “They leave trash around and don’t always bother to extinguish their campfires. I wouldn’t put it past one of them to have thrown it up there as a stupid joke.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.” He leaned his head back in his chair.
Casey’s eyelids felt heavy, but her body hummed with tension. She might have won the argument, at least on the surface, but she hadn’t dispelled all doubts from either of their minds.
The thunderstorm, now grumbling its way south, raised primal fears. What if the next house targeted turned out to be hers?
“I’ll never get to sleep,” she complained. “I hate that someone has the power to mess up my peace of mind! I wish I had Enid’s attitude.” The former teacher had insisted on staying home rather than going to Casey’s tonight, saying she was too old to worry about things that might never happen.
“Why don’t you sleep out here?” Jack indicated the open couch, made into a queen-size bed. “You might feel safer. I’ll be comfortable right here.”
“You can’t sleep in a chair!” The only alternative, she realized, was either for her to leave this cozy room or for him to sleep next to her. Well, it wasn’t as if they were strangers. “There’s room for both of us.”
“Not if it makes you uncomfortable,” he replied.
“It won’t.” Now that she’d suggested it, she found she wanted to feel the warmth of his body next to hers. “I wasn’t exactly shy around you earlier, was I?”
“Are you suggesting a rematch?” Jack teased.
If she hadn’t felt so weary, she’d have been tempted. As it was, Casey shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not up for it.”
“Fortunately, neither am I.” His grin made it clear he was playing on her choice of words.
“Jack!”
“You’re the one making the Freudian slips,” he teased.
“I’m too tired to debate the point,” she said. “Good night.”
“Sleep well. Don’t have any naughty dreams or, if you do, at least promise to tell me about them.”
“I’ll keep them all to myself,” she teased back. “Unless you hold me and keep me warm.”
“It’s a deal.”
When Casey crawled beneath the covers, she meant to stay awake until Jack finished changing and got into bed with her. A heavy swirl of dreams overtook her best intentions, however, and her head sank sleepily onto the pillow.
* * *
WHY DID PEOPLE GET nostalgic about small towns as if they were havens against the cruelty of the world? Jack mused as he pulled on his pajama bottoms. So far, his investigation had convinced him this town stewed with petty resentments, and the evidence indicated it held at least one person with a criminal bent.
He wasn’t ready to sleep so, after finding Casey dead to the world, he slipped into the office. On the computer, he checked out Enid Purdue, in case she’d omitted any circumstances that might lead someone to want her dead, but she didn’t have a figurative hair out of place.
For good measure, he put in Matt Dorning’s data after finding a file in the drawer that provided the necessary details. He had a clean record, too.
Jack returned to the living room. When he turned off the lamp, the undiluted firelight made him nostalgic for the fairy tales his mother had read him long ago. The soft crackling and the tang of smoke brought home the simple truth that what could ravage in one context could soothe and preserve in another.
Attachments were like that too, Jack thought as he eased into bed. Love could illuminate your world or break your heart. Sometimes both at the same time.
Despite his promise to keep her warm, he knew he ought to stay as far from Casey as possible in the confined space, but when she shifted toward him, he let her nestle against his chest. Silky hair tumbled over his torso, sensuous and soothing.
Something rubbed Jack’s rib cage. He thought at first it must be one of her arms, but they were both accounted for.
The undulation came again, followed by a distinct nudge. Startled, he realized it had to be the baby. He wondered what she thought of the obstacle she’d encountered, or whether babies formed conscious thoughts at this stage.
He hadn’t expected Diane to be awake while her mother slept. Although he knew the baby had a separate existence, it hadn’t occurred to him that she kept her own schedule while still in the womb.
The squirming resumed. Apparently the excitement of the evening had been transmitted to her. If she kept this up, she’d rouse her mother.
How did a person soothe a baby, especially one still inside the mother? Jack wondered. Obviously, he couldn’t rock her. If she could hear his voice, a soft lullaby seemed the only option.
He arched beneath the covers, trying not to disturb Casey as he brought his face close to her bulge. A sense of absurdity nearly sent him scrambling for a more dignified position until a little fist—or something else—thrust lightly into his cheek.
“Settle down in there,” he murmured, and could have sworn the baby reacted with a start. Okay, he might be reading things into the situation, but now that he apparently had Diane’s attention, he’d better deliver the goods. She didn’t need a father who let her down.
Jack struggled to remember a lullaby. Nothing came. He tried for any song; however, his mind went blank.
A wiggle hinted that his audience might be losing patience. Maybe she didn’t care whether he sang or spoke as long as he made reassuring noises.
Jack searched his memory for a poem, perhaps a sonnet from Shakespeare, but right now he couldn’t even recall the words to the Gettysburg Address. At last his mind dredged up the one speech he’d repeated an uncounted number of times.
It began, “You have the right to remain silent…”
/> He couldn’t use that, or could he? To someone who didn’t understand the words, what difference could it make?
Jack began to recite. Whether mesmerized or simply bored, Diane lay quiet while he delivered the Miranda warning. By the time he finished advising her of her right to an attorney, she’d apparently fallen asleep.
Mission accomplished. He might not be much of a father, Jack reflected as he rested his head on the pillow, but at least he knew how to work with what he had.
CHAPTER TEN
On Monday morning, before driving Casey into town, Jack took a walk around her property. A creek bordered the Lone Pine on the east. With its overgrown shady spots and rocky pools, he could understand its appeal to anglers.
To the north, no fence indicated exactly where the property line lay. Amid the thick woods blanketing the rising hills, he saw plenty of fallen branches, some old and half-rotted, others newly blown down with still-fresh leaves. A few deer moved lazily off as he approached, and here and there squirrels peeked at him curiously before darting out of sight.
The air carried a ripe scent brightened by the sweetness of spring blossoms. Jack couldn’t remember why he’d felt so uneasy yesterday about all these open spaces, when they abounded with growing things.
To the west, he noted an uneven sprawl of trees and outcroppings. From a vantage point atop a stump, he made out a narrow, unpaved road that apparently lay beyond Casey’s land, although he didn’t make out any cars or signs of habitation.
On the way back, he swung by Enid’s house. He found her inspecting the tree, which, although heavily pruned and charred in spots, appeared to have survived the fire.
After greeting him, she gestured at the tree. “It looks tame enough this morning, doesn’t it?”
“I hope there’ve been no flare-ups,” he said. “Or prowlers, either.”
“Fortunately, not.” She collected a few cut-up branches into a basket, probably for use in the hearth. “I’m thinking of getting a dog. Casey’s mother wouldn’t allow pets. However, I’m hoping she’ll think differently. It might have warned me something was wrong.”
“They make great companions, too.” As a child, Jack had longed for a dog, but now that he was an adult, his frequent absences made pet ownership impossible. “Why don’t you ask her? Maybe she’ll want one for herself.” It struck him as a helpful suggestion.
The Baby's Bodyguard Page 11
