"No. Why?"
"That's the name of the man I was following."
"The one who died in the fire?"
Her lips drew together at the reminder. "Dylan told you that, too."
"Was it the same man?"
"I think so. And he did look like Dad, Scott. Or at least like a relative."
"He doesn't have relatives in this area."
"I know that. I'm just telling you what I saw."
"I can't deal with this right now, Tori. I'm getting married on Saturday."
"There's nothing for you to deal with," she told him, hearing the stress in his voice.
"You said that once before, and the next thing I'm bailing you out of jail."
"That was one time. I was sixteen, and it was just a misunderstanding. I wasn't vandalizing school property; I was investigating a story for the newspaper."
He sighed. "You and your investigations."
"Hey, it's my job."
"Fine. But I cannot handle any misunderstandings now. I've got enough on my plate. I want this weekend to be the happiest time in Monica's life."
"I'm not going to screw up your wedding," she assured him. "Don't give any of this another thought."
"You're sure you're all right? Do you need to see a doctor?"
"No. I'm relaxing at home. I'm thinking about binge watching something on television while eating a half gallon of ice cream."
"I believe the ice cream but not the television marathon. You're going to get on your computer and start digging into this man's life."
Her brother knew her too well. "Well, I can't get into trouble on my computer, so take a breath, and go be with your fiancée. I'm not going anywhere tonight. In fact, as soon as you hang up, I'll call Mom and see if I can talk her into sitting with Monica's parents."
"I would appreciate that."
"I just need one thing from you," she said impulsively.
"What's that?"
She hesitated, then went with the idea brewing in her head. "Dylan's phone number."
"Why?"
"I want to follow up with him about the fire. I need to know how it started."
"Tori—"
"Look, if I talk to Dylan, I won't have to go digging on my own. Which means I'll probably get into less trouble."
"Why do I bother to argue with you?"
"I have no idea."
"You know, there was a time when I was excited about you moving back home," he said wearily.
"It's not that bad. You're just stressed about too many things right now. Don’t let me be one of them."
"All right. Here's Dylan's number."
She jotted down the number. "Thanks. I'll talk to you later."
"Be careful, Tori. Think before you act. I know that's not your usual style—"
"I do think," she interrupted. "I'm not a little kid."
"In my head you are."
"Good-bye, Scott." She ended the call, then debated who to talk to next. Her mom or Dylan?
There was really no choice to make.
* * *
Dylan didn't recognize the number ringing his phone, but his gut told him it was important to take the call. They'd just gotten back to the firehouse and he'd been about to start making the chili, but instead he headed outside for a little privacy.
"Hello?"
"Dylan? It's me, Tori."
Her husky voice made his body tighten. "Tori? Everything all right?"
"Yes. You didn't need to call Scott," she said with annoyance.
"You didn't look so good, and I didn't think you were going to call him yourself."
"I wasn't. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm all grown up now. I can handle myself."
He'd noticed she was all grown up—he'd definitely noticed. In fact, he hadn't stopped thinking about her since he'd seen her, and it hadn't been in a friend-of-her-big-brother kind of way. "I was just concerned about you."
"I'm fine. Do you know what caused the explosion?"
"Not yet, but it's early. We just got back to the station a short time ago. The investigation will take at least a few days, if not weeks."
"I heard a loud bang before I was knocked off my feet. I don't know if that helps."
"Be sure to relay that to the investigator when he calls you."
"Will that be tonight?"
"Probably tomorrow. Why are you so interested in how it started, Tori?"
"Because I was almost killed. I've never been that close to something like that before."
He could hear the edge in her voice and doubted she'd be getting much sleep that night. He knew what it felt like to relive the events of a day over and over again. "You just have to breathe your way through it," he advised.
"I'm trying. What about the victim? Do you know anything more about him?"
"No. I turned the ID over to the investigator, and I'm sure they'll work with the police department to locate any relatives." He paused. "You still thinking he looked like your father?"
"I know it seems crazy, but I need to find out who he was, why he might have been watching me."
Her words reminded him of their initial conversation. "You said you followed him. Why would you do that?"
"I'm writing an article for the Bay Area Examiner on issues with the homeless population and some of the growing violence in various encampments. I've been reaching out to people, hoping to get an interview; I thought he might be someone who wanted to talk to me but then got scared off."
"So you went after him?"
"I wanted to see where he was going. I just can't believe he's dead now. I keep seeing that body bag come out of the building…"
He still felt bad for not having been able to save the man, whoever he was. "You have to try to stop thinking about that."
"Tell me how to do that," she said with a sigh.
He wished he could. "Try to focus on something else. You have Scott's wedding coming up."
"That's true," she said, but then quickly returned to the subject that was on her mind. "I really wish I could talk to your investigator tonight."
"Even if you could, he's not going to tell you anything about an ongoing investigation. In fact, you might find yourself under suspicion for being so interested in the fire. It's not uncommon for arsonists to get too close to their own fires or to stick around and follow the investigation."
"You don't seriously think I started the fire?"
"Of course not. I'm just stating the facts."
"I can see your point," she said. "What if you spoke to the investigator and shared whatever information you could with me? Then I could stay out of it, which I'm sure would make my brother happy."
Against his better judgment, he found himself agreeing. "I'll talk to the investigator tomorrow and get back to you."
"Can we meet after work? Will you be at the firehouse?"
"No, I'm off shift tomorrow morning." He thought for a moment, thinking he was probably about to make a big mistake, but he couldn't think of a good reason not to see her. "I'll meet you tomorrow night at Brady's Bar and Grill."
"I haven't heard that name in a while. Brady's is still going strong?"
"Yes, it is," he said. Owned by a former firefighter, the bar had long been a hangout for firefighters and cops. "How about six thirty?"
"That's perfect. And you don't need to alert Scott to anything else, Dylan. He has enough stress getting through all the pre-wedding events. I don't need him worrying about me."
"Then don't give him anything to worry about. See you tomorrow, Tori."
As he went back into the firehouse, he didn't feel remotely guilty for having told Scott about Tori almost getting caught up in a fire. He had three younger sisters, and he'd want to know if one of them were in trouble. But he did appreciate the fact that Scott had a lot going on, so he'd be a good friend and look out for Tori himself. Hopefully, he could keep her out of any more trouble.
That thought made him smile. Tori had always been a force of nature. He had a feeling that hadn't c
hanged.
Three
Gary Kruger, an investigator with the San Francisco Fire Department, showed up at Tori's office a little after four on Thursday afternoon, after having set an appointment with her earlier in the day. Upon his arrival, she took him into the conference room for a little more privacy.
Gary was an attractive man with short brown hair and shrewd brown eyes, who appeared to be in his early thirties. "Thank you for seeing me," he said politely.
"Of course. I'm happy to help with your investigation." She was hoping that in addition to providing Gary with her information, she might get some answers of her own.
"So, I understand that you were in the lobby of the building when the fire started. Is that correct?"
"Yes. I was actually on my way out."
"Why were you there? The building was supposed to be empty."
"I'm reporting on the homeless population. I thought there might be squatters in the building."
"Did you see anyone?"
"I saw a man. He had on a lot of clothes, like someone who lived outside. I think he was in his fifties or sixties. I wasn't close enough to get a good look, although I did see an ID recovered by one of the firefighters."
"Yes, I have that ID for Mr. Neil Hawkins. That was the man you saw in the building?"
"Yes, it was." She drew in a breath and let it out. "I can't believe he's dead. Everything happened so fast. Do you know how the fire started?"
"It's an ongoing investigation."
"But there was a blast. It was deliberate, wasn't it? It's not like a heater blew up or something, right?"
"As I said, we're looking into all possibilities."
She frowned, not liking his very vague answers. "Do you know anything about the man who died? Has his family been notified? Or maybe he didn't have family? Was he homeless?"
"Unfortunately, I can't share any information from our investigation. Did you see anyone else in the building or perhaps outside?"
"There were people on the sidewalk, but I didn't notice anyone in particular."
"Did you hear anything before the fire started? Were there voices?"
"No, I didn't hear anyone talking."
"And no one else inside?"
She frowned at the repeated question. "I already said no. Was there someone else in the building?"
"Not to my knowledge," he replied. "I'm just trying to cover all the bases."
"I did hear a loud bang right before the bigger blast. It almost sounded like a gunshot, but maybe that was just a smaller explosion before the bigger one."
He nodded, but didn't offer a reaction. Instead, he said, "Anything else you'd like to share?"
"No, but I wish I knew more," she said. "What about the owner of the building? Have you spoken to them?"
"We are in touch with the owner of the building. Thank you for your time, Ms. Hayden."
"You're welcome. I don't think I've been very helpful."
"Every fact helps us put together the bigger picture."
"Do you think you'll be able to catch who did it?" she asked, as they stood up.
"I hope so. That's my job," he said, for the first time cracking a small smile. "I can see myself out."
"All right." They parted ways after leaving the conference room, and she returned to her desk. As she did so, Stacey came out of her nearby office with a quizzical look in her eyes.
"Who was that?" she asked.
"The investigator looking into the hotel fire."
"Does he have a cause, a suspect? Was it definitely arson?" Stacey asked.
"If he does, he wasn't willing to share it with me," she replied. "I answered all of his questions; he did not answer any of mine."
"That's probably protocol."
"I'm sure. I'm going to talk to another firefighter tonight, a friend of mine from years ago. We're meeting at Brady's Bar and Grill. He was on the scene yesterday, and he might be able to tell me more."
"Good. If you get more information, you can do a follow-up story. But I don't want you to get too distracted by the fire. There's nothing that interesting about an old building burning down before it would be torn down. I want your focus on the housing/homeless article. How is that coming along?"
"I should have a draft early next week."
"I want something different and new in this piece," Stacey told her. "Everyone in the city knows there's a problem. I want us to tell them who's working on a solution, and what creative ideas are being floated out there. If there's an individual or a department who's stonewalling possible solutions, the citizens of this city need to know that, too."
She frowned, realizing she really didn't have what Stacey wanted. "It's a complicated issue. I haven't found any one person or department standing in the way of anything. But there's definitely a lack of agreement on solutions."
"I know it's complicated, which is exactly why I wanted you on this article," Stacey said. "I've read your work. You know how to dig, so get out your shovel. If you need more time, take it. I'd rather put out something great in a few weeks than a half-assed story now."
"Got it. And I never do anything half-assed," she said.
Stacey smiled. "Good to know."
As Stacey returned to her office, she went back to her cubicle. She tried to get into her article again, reading through the first few paragraphs of her piece, but Stacey's desire for something groundbreaking made her realize that she really didn't have enough for even the roughest first draft. She needed to do more research. Checking her watch, she realized it was almost five—too late to touch base with any city officials. That would have to wait until tomorrow, which might be a good thing. She was distracted by the fire and her conversation with the investigator. Not to mention, she still needed to talk to her mother about Scott's problem with the reception seating, and her mom had been avoiding her calls and texts all day.
Since she had an hour and a half before she had to meet Dylan, she decided to make a stop on the way. Grabbing her bag, she headed out the door.
She walked home as quickly as she could, unable to stop looking over her shoulder at every corner. Occasionally, she felt as if someone were on her heels, but no one stopped her or bothered her in any way. She was just being paranoid.
When she got home, she dashed upstairs to change into jeans and a clingy knit top, run a brush through her hair and touch up her makeup—because she was meeting Dylan, after all—and she'd like to look better than she had yesterday. Plus, she wanted to make sure the scratches she'd gotten in the fire were not visible, or she'd be answering questions from her mom.
As she drove across town, she realized it was the first time she'd actually driven anywhere since moving into her apartment. She'd either been walking, taking the bus, or using a car service to get around downtown, but her mom's house was on the most western edge of the city, and parking was more prevalent on the street that ran next to the Great Highway and directly across from Ocean Beach.
Going back to her old neighborhood known as the Sunset brought forth a lot of memories that she didn't have anywhere else in the city. It was these blocks where she'd ridden her bike and played with her brother and her friends.
When she spotted the shimmering blue of the ocean, a wave of wistful nostalgia ran through her, as she remembered all the times she'd gone to the beach with her dad. He'd taught her to bodysurf, and they'd built sandcastles and collected seashells as the sun set. He'd spent those dusky evenings, sprawled out on the sand, talking about his dreams and her dreams and all the amazing turns her life could take.
She had never imagined then that one of those turns would take her dad away from her. The pain of the loss had dimmed over the years, but it was stronger here, which was one of the reasons why she'd left home to go to college back east and hadn't returned until now. It had been easier to build a life for herself away from the memories. She'd thought she was ready to be back in San Francisco, but yesterday's events had definitely rattled her, and there was a part of her that wondered i
f she'd made the best decision, but it was too late now.
She pulled into a parking spot across the street from her mom's two-story house and got out of the car. She rang the bell, because even though she'd grown up in the house, it didn't feel like her home anymore. It actually hadn't felt that way since her mother had married her stepfather Ray and moved him into the house. Ray was a good guy, but he just hadn't seemed like he belonged in the house her father had bought.
In the end, she'd been the one to move out, and Ray had been in the house fourteen years now.
"Tori," her mom Pamela said with a delighted smile, as she opened the door. "Did you say you were coming over? I thought I wasn't seeing you until tomorrow night."
"No, I didn't say I was coming over, but you haven't returned any of my calls or texts," she said, as she entered the house.
In the entry, she was immediately assailed by the scent of gardenias, a beautiful batch of which sat in a vase on the hall table. Her mother was a landscape designer, and in Tori's mind, she always smelled like flowers. Today was no different.
"I've been so busy with everything," her mom said, not quite meeting her gaze.
Her mother was taller than she was by a few inches, and they didn't look anything alike. Her mom had short brown hair that was layered and angled around her face, light brown eyes, and a thin frame. Tori looked more like her dad with her dark hair and dark-blue eyes and curvier figure.
"That's not the reason, Mom," she said gently but firmly.
Her mother gave her a somewhat guilty look. "I knew why you were calling, Tori."
"Yes, you did. It's about the seating chart. Why are you giving Scott a hard time?"
"I want to sit with my friends, with people who have known Scott his whole life. Why does it matter?"
"I don't know why exactly. But it matters to Monica's mother, and that means it's important to Monica, and Scott wants his wife to be happy. I would also think you would want your daughter-in-law to be happy. You like Monica, don't you?"
"Of course I do. Her mother is a different story. Just because she belongs to the Olympic Club and has more money than I do, she thinks she's in charge of everything," Pamela added on a cranky note.
Once You're Mine Page 3
