by Rachel Rust
My eyes darted around the room, unsure how to respond to a thinly veiled jab telling me I was naïve. So I changed the subject. “What about the house fire?”
“That was ruled an arson.”
“Who did it?”
“No one’s ever been charged.”
“What about Chris DeMarco?”
Theo grinned. “We’ve all heard those rumors. But charges are hard to bring against someone like that. We got nothin’ solid.”
“Go figure.”
“My uncle—Nina’s dad—was on the volunteer fire department back then. Guess they found a bunch of military medals…Vietnam war stuff. Old man Mitchell never claimed ’em though. Didn’t want ’em, I guess.”
“Old man Mitchell?”
“Saul Mitchell,” Theo said. “You’ve seen him around … army jacket, older guy.”
My eyes widened. “Oh my God. That’s whose house burned down?”
“Yeah, why? What’s wrong?”
“I have to go.” I turned on my heel and left without a good bye.
I didn’t even bother going to my car as The Shack was a half a block away. No one was standing by the host counter when I walked in, so I escorted myself through the restaurant. A familiar Army jacket was seated at the bar.
I slid into the stool next to Saul Mitchell.
“Evenin’, little lady,” he said, not taking his eyes off the TV screen.
“Sorry the Yankees lost,” I said. “Guess it wasn’t their year.”
Saul shrugged. “Twins all the way next year. I can feel it.” He downed the remaining coffee in his mug.
My fingers twiddled together on my lap. It wasn’t clear to me how to ask someone about their house that burned down. Saul lifted a finger to the bartender. A moment later, his mug was full of steaming black coffee.
“So, Saul,” I said. He looked over at me as he stuck his top lip into the dark brew. “I heard about your house that burned down.”
“Ah, yes.”
“What exactly happened?” I asked.
He took another sip. “Whole thing burned down … all the way to the foundation. Damn thing never stood a chance, even with all those hoses.”
“Did they find out who did it?” I asked. “Was it someone from around here?”
Saul laughed. “Hell yes, it was someone from around here.”
“Who?” I asked, mentally preparing myself for a gut punch in the form of the name Nathan Stone.
“I burned the damned thing down myself!” he exclaimed, holding his mug high, cheering himself.
My eyes widened in disbelief.
Saul slammed his mug down onto the wood bar. “Goddamn Chris DeMarco and his bags of money can kiss my ass if he thinks he coulda taken my house from me. My entire family lived there. Generations. It wasn’t for DeMarco to take … it was mine. Mine to keep. Mine to burn.”
I sat silent for a moment, absorbing the visual of Saul standing in front of his engulfed house, cheering and dancing over having screwed with Chris DeMarco.
“Did you have any help burning it down?” I asked.
Saul stared down at me. “You don’t think I’m capable of burning a house down all by myself?”
My throat closed, unsure how to answer.
“Just me, myself, and I, little lady.”
“A lot of people think Chris DeMarco did it,” I said.
“Why do you think I never fessed up? Let the bastard take the rap, I don’t care. Sweet revenge, little lady. Sweet revenge.” Saul paused mid-breath, as though he suddenly had a change in thoughts. He stared at me. “Why you askin’ about my house? You ain’t gonna tell no one, right?”
“No, I won’t tell anyone.” I looked up at the rows of clear and brown liquor behind the bar, having no clue what the difference was between any of them. “Some people think Nathan Stone is responsible for the fire.”
Saul chuckled. “Nathan Stone, huh? That boy’s caused himself a helluva lot of problems in the past. But, no, he had no hand in burnin’ down my house.”
“You’re sure?”
“Hundred percent.”
“Lydia,” a female voice said from behind me.
I whipped around to see Alice White Eagle giving me a disappointed look.
“You know you can’t sit at the bar,” she said. Her eyes veered to Saul. “Leave her alone, Saul, she doesn’t need to hear any of your war stories.”
Saul smiled down at me. “Looks like you better go, little lady.”
I nodded and slid off the stool. “Thanks, Mr. Mitchell.”
He raised his glass to me. “Good luck in whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
“How do you know I’m trying to do something?”
“You have a hint of devil in your eye,” he said with a crooked grin. “Whatever quest you’re on, yous in thick, ain’t ya?”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Well, then, good luck to ya, and remember Saul’s motto.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward me. “Don’t be afraid to be a little bad.”
Alice waved for me to move. “Saul, leave the poor girl alone.” She put her arm around my shoulders, blocking me from him. “Let’s go, Lydia. Are ya hungry?”
“No, thanks,” I said, “I just came to—” My feet stopped and Alice to ran into me. On the wall at the end of the bar were several framed photos of baseball teams. Each team had calligraphy screen-printed uniforms of their sponsor: The Shack. I approached the picture closest to the bar, the most recent team that had played over the past summer. In the back row stood a familiar boy with dark hair: the missing teenage guy from The Pit Stop the night of the shooting. His smile in the photo was the same smile he had worn when he had accidentally scattered his coins all over the counter that night while paying for his drink.
I pressed my finger to the glass under his face. “Who is this?”
Alice peered closer. “That’s Sam Stone.”
“Stone? You mean Nathan’s cousin?”
“Yeah, why?”
My head went warm, and it was all I could do to keep my knees from buckling underneath me. I brushed past Alice, eyes on the door. The zigzag path I had to endure to avoid tables and servers with trays of food made my already-wobbly head even woozier. At the front of the restaurant, my arms shot out and pushed the doors open with more force than necessary. The bright sun and cold air jolted me. I sucked in a huge breath.
“Lydia?”
I spun around. Standing outside the door was Daniel.
“What’s wrong?”
I pointed to the door. “The picture. Nathan’s cousin.”
“What?”
“Sam.”
“What about him?”
“Sam was at The Pit Stop the night it was shot up!” I half-shouted. A verve of energy shot through me as the words came out, and my feet wouldn’t stand still. Back and forth, I paced in front of the doors. My fingers combed into my hair, nails scratching at my scalp.
“What does Sam being at The Pit Stop have to do with anything?”
“He would’ve had access to Nathan’s gun! And his wrench!”
“Shhh!” Daniel stepped up to me, eyes twitching side to side to make sure no one was around to hear about the wrench and his evidence tampering. “You’re saying you think Sam shot up the store?”
“It makes sense.”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Daniel said, “Why would Sam shoot up a gas station?”
“I don’t know… ’cause he hates Nathan and wanted to frame him?”
Daniel’s mouth twisted. “Doubt he hates him that much.”
“But how else do you explain everything? He was there that night, he has access to the gun, to the wrench…”
“To the jersey,” Daniel added.
My eyes widened. I had forgotten about the jersey. Down the street, a cop car pulled up in front of the police station. Sergeant Rollins got out of it. “I gotta go,” I said and then walked away.
“Go where?” Daniel called back. “Lyd
ia!”
I turned around.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he said.
“I won’t,” I replied with mentally crossed fingers. But I was on the hunt … if stupidity was what it would take to get answers, then stupid was what I’d be.
Rollins was hanging his jacket on a wall-mounted hook when I entered his office. “Sam Stone was at The Pit Stop the night it was shot up.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“I did. He was the guy with black hair, sixteen- or seventeen-years-old.”
“Sam Stone is only fourteen.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Really? He’s super tall.”
“Really,” Rollins said. “But that would explain why you didn’t recognize him. He goes to the middle school, not the high school.”
“Okay, whatever,” I said with a wave of my hand. “But think about it, it all makes sense. Sam was there, he would access to Nathan’s gun, he’d have access to the jersey.” It took conscious effort not to mention the incriminating wrench.
Rollins sat in his chair and relaxed back, rubbing his chin between his fingers. “We’ve talked to the entire Stone family already, but I’ll look into it.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “What about Nathan?”
“What about him?
“What about him?” I snapped. “What the hell do you mean? He didn’t do it. Don’t you see that?”
“Miss Lanski, if you don’t have any other information for me, I’m gonna ask you to leave.”
“But you have to—”
“Now!”
I stepped closer to him, right up to the front of his desk. And then I leaned over. “I’ve heard stories, ya know.”
“Leave, Miss Lanski.”
“A little birdie told me you almost lost your job a couple of years back. Had a bunch of crimes that you couldn’t pin on anyone.”
“Theo,” Rollins called out.
I leaned in farther. “Nathan made you look incompetent. Is that why you hate him so much?”
Strong fingers curled hard around my upper arm and yanked me back away from Rollins’s desk. “Let’s go,” Theo said, pulling me toward the door.
Ignoring the pain in my arm from Theo’s vice grip, I maintained my gaze on Rollins. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Good night, Miss Lanski,” he said, without any eye contact.
I tried to yank myself free from Theo’s grasp, but he only squeezed tighter as he led me down the hallway, through the reception area and then out the front door.
“Go home,” he ordered.
“You know I’m right,” I said.
Theo went back inside.
I went to my car. But after starting Frankie up, I didn’t go home. I headed down the highway.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
She Wrestles with Jagged Edges
The Stone house had a large front porch, complete with a swing and empty planters that I imagined bloomed vivid colors in the summer. Wide-planked wood boards were sturdy under my feet as I stood at the front door. With a deep breath, I knocked.
Ed opened the door. “Lydia,” he said with a slight smile. “What brings you by?”
“Um, I’m wondering if Sam is home.”
Ed gave me a confused look, probably wondering why I’d be looking for his son when I had never even met him before. “He’s out with his friends. At the ballpark, I think.”
“Okay, thanks.” I turned away without a proper good-bye. There was no time for manners.
The evening sun had dipped just below the horizon by the time I made it back to the park. Past the spiderweb-like structure of the colorful playground, the baseball diamond came into view. A handful of tall heads scattered throughout the field. My eyes shifted between all the forms as I walked closer, having no idea which one was Sam. Ball caps and low evening sun made for identical shadowed faces.
Two guys stood in the dugout right in front of me.
My fingers curled into the chain-link. “Hey.”
They turned around at the same time. Then scanned me head to toe at the same time—with identical half-cocked grins.
My eyes rolled. Yes, I was a girl. Complete with boobs and everything.
“Where’s Sam?” I asked.
“Stone or Chasing Hawk?” asked the stockier boy.
“Stone.”
He turned around, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Stone! There’s some chick here who wants your jock.” He looked back at me with a red-cheeked slump. “Sorry.”
I paid him no attention, favoring the view of the lanky form jogging his way toward us. When his eyes caught mine his feet slowed.
I forced myself to speak. “Hi.”
He didn’t reply as he slipped through the fence into the grass near me.
I looked at the two guys in the dugout. “Do you guys mind?”
The stocky one slapped the other on the arm and they both left.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked Sam.
“Nathan’s girlfriend. What do you want?” His eyes scanned me. The same dark eyes as his dad and little sister had. The same as Nathan’s. They were pretty, which pissed me off. Sam didn’t deserve to have pretty eyes.
“You were at The Pit Stop the night it got shot up. I was working, do you remember that?”
He nodded.
“Why were you there?” I asked.
“I bought a soda.”
“Why?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I was thirsty.”
“But why were you there?” I demanded.
“What is it to you?” he asked, shifting his weight and crossing his arms. A half-a-head taller than me with broad shoulders, he looked much older than fourteen.
“Stone!” a voice called out from the field.
Sam looked over his shoulder.
“C’mon, we’re leaving,” a random ball capped kid said. “Gonna head to Subway.”
Sam nodded. “I’ll catch up to ya.” He turned back to me. “Are we finished here?”
My jaw clenched. “Do you miss Nathan?”
“What?”
“Do you miss your cousin?”
Sam shrugged. “He hasn’t been around for a year, so not having him home now isn’t any different.”
I sucked in a breath. “The hell it isn’t. He’s in jail. Does that not mean anything to you?”
“Not really. He’s been in and outta jail and juvie most of my life. Why should this time matter?”
“Because he’s your cousin, you jackass!”
He shrugged and I wanted to punch him, knock his teeth in, drag him to the ground, and stomp on his pretty eyes. I exhaled as much anger as I could, forcing calm. “I told Sergeant Rollins you were at the store the night of the shooting.”
Sam stretched his neck side to side. “Figured you would.”
“He’s going to talk to you about it.”
Sam didn’t answer.
I slowed my breathing, trying to keep my heart from racing out of my chest at the thought of my next words. “I told him you had access to Nathan’s gun, too.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because I know it’s true.”
“You know shit,” he growled. “He said it was in his bedroom, so anyone had access to it.”
“But few people would be able to replace it without being noticed. That’s the type of thing only someone living with him would be able to do.”
Sam’s head shook.
“I know what you did,” I said.
“Who have you been talking to?” he demanded.
My heart raced at the forceful tone of his voice. His baseball mitt fell into the grass alongside his shoes and he took a long step forward.
I stumbled back. “You shot up the store.”
He grabbed my arm, fingers curling tight into my flesh. “Who have you been talking to?”
“Let go of me!” My fingers grabbed at his, trying to pry free. He sq
ueezed harder. A high-pitched wince escaped my lips and my knees folded out from under me in hopes my dead weight could release his grip.
It didn’t work.
With my butt in the cold grass, warm tears gushed down my face as he leaned forward, towering over me. “Don’t,” I cried. He shoved me down. My back hit the hard ground with a resounding thud, knocking the wind out of me.
My vision blurred. I squeezed my lids closed then reopened them. Things came into view just in time to see a closed fist. But it wasn’t coming for me. It walloped Sam clean across the face. His body flung to the side, landing with his long legs across mine.
Alex knelt down and shoved an arm underneath mine and around my back, forcing me to my feet.
My wobbly head caused my hands to grasp at him for stability. He rushed us across the grass, past the playground toward the parking lot. As he opened the passenger door of his black Mustang, I glanced back. Sam was slowly rising to his feet.
“Get in!” Alex commanded.
I got in.
The Mustang seat was ridiculously comfortable, even given the traumatic chaos circulating through my brain and body. Alex got into the driver’s seat and started it up. He looked past me out the passenger side window. I followed his eyeline. Sam was now running across the grass toward us. Alex shoved the car into first and peeled out.
“Wanna tell me what the hell is going on?” he asked.
“Sam,” I said trying to catch a full breath.
“Yeah, I got that. Why the hell was he all over you?”
“He shot up The Pit Stop!” I blurted out.
“Jesus … are you sure?”
I nodded frantically. “He was there that night and he has full access to Nathan’s gun. Think about it … they don’t get along. He was probably pissed Nathan moved back.”
Alex seemed to think about this for a while as he drove the car down the street.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“I don’t know … where do you wanna go? Home?”
My head shook. “No, we should go to the police. Or … God, I don’t know. Rollins won’t listen to me.”
“I was there, I saw what Sam was doing,” Alex said. “I can talk to him with you.”
“Okay, let’s go then.”
The sun was now well below the horizon, painting the western sky a pumpkin orange, punctuated with purples and blues. But Alex and I were headed east and the blackening sky in front of us had grown ominous.
