by Lyn Cote
Keely frowned. How had the small thrift shop suddenly become Grand Central Station? "Grady?"
"Mom told me to drop this off." Dramatically, Grady dropped the box on the floor and turned.
"Hold it!" Keely ordered.
Jayleen stepped out of the fitting room and paused to look at herself in the long mirror on the fitting room door.
In unison, both young male heads swiveled to view the pretty girl.
Grady wolf-whistled. "You're hot, babe."
Patsy launched herself at him. "I don't care if you are Franklin Turner's son. You keep a civil tongue in your head. Now pick up that box and take it into the garage where donations belong."
Keely was taken aback by Patsy's tirade.
So was Grady, but only for a moment. He cursed Patsy. Then he turned on his heel and left, slamming the door.
"Jerk," Nick pronounced. He went over and picked up the box and headed for the garage.
Mortified, Keely glanced at Jayleen, who had frozen in front of the mirror. "Those look good on you," Keely said, making her voice as normal as possible in spite of her embarrassment. "I apologize," she murmured to the older woman.
"Not your fault." Patsy slapped wide a sheet and began folding it.
The other volunteer came out and approached Carrie, who wore a peevish expression and glared at Jayleen.
Embarrassment over Grady's behavior warmed Keely's cheeks. But all the troubled currents swirling around her, here, at school, at home, threatened to throw her off balance. Not for the first time, she felt the strain. Maybe she was trying to do too much, spreading herself too thin. Being principal was much different than being a teacher, especially with Grady as a student.
She took a deep breath. Lord, I love my job. I love the ministry of working here at the thrift shop. But I'm running out of patience with my family, especially Grady. Am I trying to help someone who won't be helped?
The image of Burke in his suit, tossing horse shoes at the reception, came back to her. He'd been responding to her, not just as a confidante but as a man noticing a woman. And she'd felt the same attraction. His every move, every expression had taken its toll on her heart, her peace. Lord, I can't handle all this at once.
Less than a week later, Keely's urgent voice repeated in Burke's ear: "Come quick. There's a fire on the athletic field." Siren blaring, passing yellow school buses, he zoomed into the high school parking lot. Jumping out, he headed straight toward the entrance ticket booth area of the football stands. Fire engines had beat him and still flashed the red and white lights. A fire. What next?
Bull horn in hand, Burke shoved his way through a thick cordon of kids gawking at the fire engines. "Fall back," he demanded as he shouldered his way through them. Most looked surprised, some resentful, but they all moved away from him. He glimpsed Keely's blonde-streaked topknot and headed for her. He reached her side. Frenetic activity of the volunteer firefighters churned around them. He demanded, "What happened? Was anyone hurt?"
Keely whirled around. "They don't think so. Someone set the bleachers on fire."
"Probably his flaky nephew!" a student shouted above the hubbub.
The comment hit home. The kid had put Burke's worry into words. His jaw worked.
Frowning, Keely looked over Burke's shoulder. "You students go home!" she ordered.
"No!" Burke stopped her. "All of you report to the gym. I'll need to question you."
"School's out!" a few answered. "We don't have to stay!"
"If you leave, that may be construed as an admission of guilt," he shot back. "Head to the gym."
"But other kids left," a girl whined.
"That can't be helped. Report to the gym now!" He stared them down.
The mass of students turned, grumbling loudly, and headed back toward the school. He and Keely kept an eye on them until they had all funneled into the school entrance across the parking lot. He looked for Grady and Nick in vain. "Most of your students already left?"
"The buses were already leaving when the fire was reported. My first duty is the safety of my students. I let the buses leave."
Her distress was clear. He understood her reasoning, but he couldn't help being unhappy that this might have let the culprit leave with physical evidence of fire setting on him. Burke snapped open his cell phone and called for backup. He turned back to Keely. "How did it happen?"
A soot-faced firefighter approached before Keely could reply. "It's out. We've checked all around and that should be it. Since it was reported right away and we were able to respond immediately, the damage was kept to a minimum."
"What caused the fire?" Burke asked.
The firefighter looked him up and down. "You're the new deputy, right?"
Burke nodded and shook hands with the man.
"Come on in. I'll show you the scene of the fire. The school custodian called in the alarm and he's still here. I've asked him a few questions, but you'll want to talk to him yourself."
Burke, the firefighter and Keely walked side by side through the arched entrance to the athletic field, surrounded by wooden bleachers. The gritty smell of smoke hung over the field. One section of bleachers, the one closest to the school building, was blackened and charred. Most of the wood would have to be replaced. A depressing sight. The school year had started with small holes dug in this field and had advanced from there. In August, Burke had thought being assigned to the high school would be a breeze. How wrong I was.
Keely hailed a man dressed in khaki work clothes who was standing to one side staring at the destruction.
The man turned to her. "Oh, Ms. Turner, I hate this. Just look at this mess. We have another game here on Saturday night. How am I supposed—"
"Did you see who set the fire?" Burke interrupted.
"I was here," the man started, "giving this last section of bleachers another coat of paint. I didn't get it finished before the season started, had other things to do."
"You were using an oil based enamel, right?" the firefighter asked for clarification, looking pointedly at Burke.
He got the message. An open flammable container had been left unattended. "Do you smoke?"
"No." The man looked confused. "Sometimes kids sneak a smoke out here, but I didn't see anyone this afternoon. I use oil based enamel because it protects the wood over winter. I always use—"
"But you were called away when we had the toilet overflow in the boys' bathroom?" Keely prompted.
Burke wondered if two kids had been working together or if this was the work of one smart one....
"That's right," the man said eagerly. "I expected I'd just be gone a minute. I hadn't seen any kids around so I left my stuff right here. I didn't cap the paint tight. I only laid the lid on the can to keep bugs out."
"Are you sure you didn't see any kids around?" Burke asked. Like my nephew?
"No." The custodian shook his head. "And I was only gone for about ten minutes. The toilet didn't take long. Just needed to be plunged. And I was right back here. I smelled the smoke before I saw it. I ran in to make sure, and then I headed right for the office. The fire engine got here within eleven minutes, which I think is pretty good." The man beamed at the firefighter.
"What time did you leave the bleachers to go inside to fix the toilet?"
"Just a little after three."
Keely glanced at her watch. "It sounds like it was timed to happen right at the end of school."
"No, it sounds like a crime of opportunity to me," Burke said, looking over the field, trying to figure out where some kid, probably skipping class to smoke, could have been lurking, watching the custodian paint.
"I'll go get the attendance cards for the last period," Keely said. "Let's see who wasn't where he or she was supposed to be. I realize now—" she frowned—"that I should have kept the student body here."
Burke stopped her recriminations with a touch on her sleeve. "You did what you thought was best."
The welcome sound of a distant police siren cut him off. "Th
at's my backup."
Keely gazed at him for a moment and then turned away. "I'll get those records ready for you and have a few teachers monitor those students till you can question them."
He wished they could talk personally, but now they had to fulfill their roles-police man and principal. He had to secure the crime scene and question the remaining students. "I'll be in to talk to you when I've finished my examination."
The custodian offered his help. Burke refused it and asked him to go back to the entrance to the field and keep out any stray kids. The firefighter told Burke his company was only volunteers and had to get the engine back to the station. Most had jobs to get back to.
Finally, Burke stood alone. One last glance at the scorched bleachers and he turned back to get the yellow crime scene tape out of his Jeep. Rodd would be here any minute. The fire felt like a crime of opportunity. Who could have predicted the custodian would paint today? Some kid sneaking a smoke saw the man leave the paint. A dropped cigarette and a lot of excitement. That was all that had happened—if they were lucky.
Chapter Eight
Two hours later Burke walked into Keely's office, a sinking feeling inside. After examining the hands of each student and taking swabs from their fingertips, he'd sent the kids home. The other deputies had left, too. He and Keely were the only ones remaining in the now quiet school.
She looked up from her desk. "Did you find out anything?"
"Very little." He dropped into the chair across from her."I don't know anything more now than I did after the custodian gave his information."
"None of the students saw anyone around there?"
He shook his head. "No. Do you have the attendance cards?"
She handed him a list of eleven names. "These are the kids who weren't where they were supposed to be when the fire started."
When he read the list, that lump of cold dread landed in his stomach. Nick's name was on the list. He stared at it. But this time Burke didn't blame him immediately. I don't think Nick would do this. This welled up from deep inside him. Was he getting to know his nephew or was he just deluding himself? Then he realized that Grady's name was also on the list. He looked at Keely.
Consternation creased her forehead. "Yes, unfortunately both Grady and Nick are unaccounted for at just the wrong time."
He studied her face. The suspicion that clung to both Grady and Nick hung between them as both an obstacle and an obligation. He hoped he wouldn't be forced to arrest her brother, and she probably hoped she wouldn't be forced to put his nephew before the school board for an expulsion hearing.
"So where do we go from here?" Keely exhaled, giving sound to her obvious frustration.
"Not very far. I still think it's a crime of opportunity, and anyone might have done it." Still, it was impossible to sweep arson under the rug. Digging a few holes, shooting out windows of an empty school, all held the possibility of damaging consequences. But fire kicked the chance of causing harm to a whole new level. Fire could spread and end up injuring more people than a single bullet. But were these incidents all by one person? "We have no way of connecting this to the cheerleader prank or the shooting." He shrugged, feeling the tightness in the back of his neck.
Earlier this year, Rodd had been troubled by not being able to identify the baby he'd rescued in January. Now, Burke couldn't get a break on keeping the peace at the high school. His face twisted in irritation.
"Are we trying to find a pattern where there isn't one? Some nasty student dug those holes. Walachek threatened me and Carrie's aunt but never headed toward school, so someone else shot out the windows." Keely's voice faltered. "I can't see any connection."
That thought doubtless took her into a touchy area, her father's obstruction of Burke's search warrant. Was she thinking of her brother and her father's interference?
In a stronger voice, she went on. "Nick let air out of the tires and set off firecrackers at that game. Just because all of these incidents happened this year doesn't mean that they are connected. I have hundreds of students. We shouldn't focus only on Grady and Nick as culprits. We're just naturally more concerned about them. That's what keeps bringing them to mind."
He considered her words. As usual, she made a lot of sense. But that didn't help him stop some kid or kids from damaging more property and perhaps endangering themselves and others. Someone here needed help as much as or more than Nick or Grady.
"It could have been anyone on that list of skippers," she pointed out. "Look, Carrie Walachek's on there too. And we don't know--this may be the last time you get called to school this year for an incident."
He wiped his taut face with his hands.
"By the way, Nick's looking after Jayleen, and he's begun making friends," Keely said. "Harlan's trying to sign him up to volunteer again at the Family Closet."
Burke kept a lid on the hope that these developments might make a difference in Nick. It was too soon for that. Nothing in the past weeks had led him to be optimistic. "But now we have a fire," he said in a quelling tone.
Keely looked at him but said nothing. What could she say?
He stood up. "Well, I guess that's about it for now." As he moved toward the door reluctantly, he almost asked her if she would like to go out for a bite to eat. Just talking to her now, even discussing this prickly topic, eased his tension. But he couldn't mislead her. He had no time or inclination for romance. And the nasty words about him chasing her for her money that they'd overheard outside the VFW hall had come back to taunt him over and over.
Keely watched Burke wave goodbye and leave. She knew he'd overheard that nasty remark outside the VFW hall. It was only what she'd expected people to say, but it had to have bothered him.
Still here and now, she wished she could have thought of some excuse to make him linger. When he was with her, she forgot her father's continuing efforts to keep her from moving out. He'd managed to find several construction errors in her house and he insisted she have fixed before taking possession. But she knew her father had given her builder instructions that had conflicted with her wants and that had delayed everything while she changed them back. But in a week she'd take possession of ther house no matter what.
Keely took a deep breath. She had to let Burke go. Her plate was full to overflowing. Every night as soon as she lay down, she passed out with fatigue. Lord, just take this attraction away. Or could you put it on hold? I'm just... I need a lull in the rush-rush of life now.
She pictured her new house. It would be a haven of tranquility. But a vague disquiet niggled inside her. Would her father, Grady, and her mother ever let her have that peace as long as she lived near them?
The next Saturday morning, the first Saturday in October, Keely simmered with anticipation. With Burke, Harlan, and Nick standing behind her, she unlocked the door of her finally finished home, the snug ranch with its large back porch overlooking Loon Lake, the spot where she'd always wanted to live. Over the past months, she'd stopped here often to watch its progress from a foundation to a real home. Looking at it now gave her a fresh thrill. Her furniture would be delivered today. My own home. Tonight I'll sleep in my own home.
In the end, Harlan had enlisted Burke and Nick to help her move in. Originally she'd tried to hire a few movers. Unfortunately, her father must have let it be known that he was unhappy about her move. So in the end, when Harlan had spoken to her at the thrift shop again, she'd accepted the help he offered. But what did Burke think about this? He wouldn't even meet her gaze. Did he feel he'd been cornered by Harlan to help with the move?
Edgy over this, she wiped her feet on the thick welcome mat inside the quarry tiled entryway. Then she stepped onto the sculptured Berber carpet in the living room, which was stacked with overflowing boxes, bags, and laundry baskets. She'd been bringing boxes of clothing and personal items over for the past week. Burke and Nick would help her arrange her new furniture when it arrived and carry the boxes to the right rooms. It shouldn't take long. Then she'd spend the weekend s
he'd reserved for herself, getting things settled.
The scent of newness permeated the house—a mix of cut wood, latex paint, new carpet, and linseed oil. She breathed it in like an expensive perfume.
"What time's your furniture going to be delivered?"Burke asked.
Trailing in behind them, Nick scanned the rooms visible from the foyer, looking hesitant to step on her new carpeting. Nick's expression made her remember all the times in her childhood when her mother had shooed her off furniture and carpet that had been purchased primarily for show, not for use.
"Come on in, Nick." With an encouraging smile, she waved to him. "This house was built to be lived in, not just to be looked at. The delivery truck should be on its way. I'll call the store and see when it left."
Fizzing inside with excitement, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the furniture store. Her simple inquiry brought several transfers to one person or another. What was wrong? It was just a simple delivery. Finally in exasperation, she asked for the owner of the store.
The owner said in an apologetic tone, "I'm sorry but your furniture didn't go out on today's truck."
"Why not?" This didn't make sense. Inside, warning bells began pealing. "I purchased those pieces over a month ago, and I scheduled their delivery then. And I called to reconfirm this week. What's the difficulty?"
A brief silence greeted her question. "All I can say, Ms. Turner, is that the furniture wasn't loaded on the truck going out today."
Suddenly Keely recalled her father's face this morning. He hadn't said much about her move, but she'd sensed that he was feeling some kind of satisfaction. She had put it down to her parents' sudden plans for a California getaway. But was that the real reason? Had her father gone one step further in expressing his resentment at her leaving home?
In that instant Keely realized why her furniture hadn't gone out on the truck today. Both the store owner and her father sat on the country club board, and her mother redecorated one room every year and ordered everything new from his store. Had her father pressured this man to delay delivery to inconvenience her? Would her father do something spiteful like that? The question was ludicrous. Of course, he would.
