“It depends on how you define ‘campfire.’” Did a 6,000 square foot house count?
Thankfully, Sierra made like Houdini and magically reappeared, cage in hand. I could only imagine what she’d used the barred container for in the past. I’d known her for two years and she’d never owned a bird.
She marched ahead, going straight for the bird, and gazed through the branches. “I’ll need to climb the tree. Can you guys spot me?”
She didn’t wait for our answer. She grabbed hold of a branch and began to climb. Maybe she was part monkey, the way she swung from the limbs so effortlessly. Darwin would be proud. The squawking became louder and more frequent the closer she got, as if the bird was happy to see her.
“Does she do this a lot?” Riley whispered.
I nodded. “She’s an animal right’s activist, as in full-time, it’s-my-life-mission, animal right’s activist.”
“Sounds noble.”
I smiled, knowing he’d find out soon enough just how noble it was. More like obsessive, in your face, and hair-brained. But overall, lovable.
I watched as the bird hopped into the cage and Sierra slammed it shut. She lowered it to Riley and hopped from the tree, landing with a plunk in her fuchsia flip flops.
That was the one thing Sierra and I had in common—our love of shoes. I was thinking about sending Guinness a notice about my flip flop collection. I had to have one of the biggest on the East Coast, everything from camouflage to sparkles. It was the cheapest of shoe habits, in my opinion. $5.95 and I could add another pair to my collection.
Sierra’s niece had weaned me from the platform variety. Told me they were out and then proceeded to take five pair to the dumpster before I could object. I guess everyone needs someone to keep them up-to-date fashion-wise. I made sure I hid my toe socks before she saw them, though.
Sierra nodded toward Riley. “Looks like you’re going to have a new roommate.”
His face registered Sierra’s thoughts, and he shook his head, handing the cage back to Sierra. “I’m not really a pet person.”
“A bird is not a pet. It’s an animal companion. The word pet is so derogatory.” Sierra thrust the cage into his hands. “Just keep him until I can find out who the owner is.”
“I know nothing about taking care of a bird.” There was no whine to Riley’s voice, only underlying confidence. “Besides, I wanted to catch the bird so I could sleep, and he was squawking outside my window. Having the bird in my apartment would defeat my goal.”
“I have a book in my apartment that will help you out until we find our feathered friend a home.” Sierra walked toward the building. “Follow me.”
I shrugged at Riley and followed, not up for arguing. I’d stay a few minutes—until he got the bird settled—then head home.
Sierra opened the door to her apartment and pushed aside the beads. We stepped inside and she excused herself, hurrying toward her spare bedroom.
I glanced at Riley, trying to read his expression. He stared at the bandage on my hand. “What happened? That’s fresh.”
“Accident on the job.”
“Are you a fire fighter?”
“I almost was one tonight. A building I was working in caught fire. I burned myself getting out.” I plopped onto the couch. “The accidental part is still in question.”
Riley set the squawking bird on the vinyl dining room table beside the front door and sat in a chair across from me. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a crime-scene cleaner.”
“A crime-scene cleaner? Really?”
“It’s a thriving business.”
He nodded toward my arm. “So, it doesn’t exactly sound dangerous. What happened to your arm, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I glanced at the bandage. “I was cleaning up after a homicide when someone set the house on fire.”
“A homicide? Sounds grim.”
I closed my eyes and saw bits of Gloria Cunningham’s skull. “You have no idea.”
Before he could ask more questions, Sierra bounced into the room, waving a book in her hands. Hand her some pom-poms and she could join the cheering squad. “I found it.” She handed it to Riley. “All you need to know about taking care of a bird.”
He frowned. “And why am I doing this?”
“Because, otherwise, what’s going to happen to that poor little birdie? They weren’t bred to survive out in the wild. That bird has only known a pet shop and domestic living for all of its life.”
A cartoonish-sounding cuckoo clock peeped from a distant room. I counted the chirps, but came up short. It couldn’t possibly be two A.M.
Groaning, I stood from the couch and brushed cat hairs from my jeans. “I’m dead on my feet.” I shuddered as I realized how close that had come to being the truth. “I have to get some sleep.”
Riley stood behind me. “I have to go, too. I still have to unpack.” He glanced at the bird and frowned. “Among other things.”
Sierra handed the birdcage to him and added in a sing-song voice, “Thanks for making humanity a little more likable.”
I fought a smile at the less-than-thrilled expression on his face.
“Anytime.”
We started up the stairs side by side. Talk Gabby, talk. Now is as good a time as ever to work on your people skills. I sighed inwardly. Give me a microscope any day.
“So, have you met Mrs. Mystery upstairs in the attic apartment yet?” I asked.
“Mrs. Mystery?”
“Oh, that’s not her real name. She writes crime novels, though. Rarely ever leaves her apartment, a real recluse. She’s quite a character.”
“It sounds like I’m going to have to learn the ropes of this place from you. So far you’re the only sane one I’ve met.”
“And I’m covered in ash, smell like smoke, and clean up after murders.”
“My standards of sane are really low.”
We stopped at our landing. I took a quick glance at my new neighbor’s longish face and decided I could get used to seeing that mug every day. I smiled. “Well, it’s been nice to meet you, Riley Thomas. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
He smiled back. It lit up his entire face. It lit something up in me, too.
“I look forward to it,” he said.
The bird squawked.
“And you too, Mister . . . ?” I looked from the bird to Riley. “What are you going to name him? You just can’t refer to him as ‘it.’”
“I think I’ll call him Lucky. Because if it wasn’t for Sierra, this bird wouldn’t be living a pampered life inside my apartment tonight.”
I laughed again. “You two have fun now. I’ll see you later.”
“Goodnight, Gabby.”
Warmth spread through me as he said my name. Yes, I was going to like having Riley Thomas as a neighbor.
Chapter Six
Nightmares of fire chasing me through a dark, never-ending hallway jerked me awake each time I nodded off throughout the night. I tossed and turned underneath my daisy-print comforter as I relived the flames that nearly claimed my life.
At 6:00, I gave up on sleep. I forced my legs over the side of the bed, pulled on a fuzzy blue bathrobe, and shuffled into my kitchen. I grabbed a cup of coffee, started each morning at 5:45 thanks to a timed coffeemaker, sank into my sand-colored couch, and turned on the morning news.
I took a sip of coffee. I would need at least three cups to get my mind going this morning. At the most I’d gotten two hours of sleep. I needed eight to function.
A perky news anchor chatted about football and the latest musical to come to Norfolk.
“Come on, get on with the good stories,” I mumbled, pulling my legs underneath me. I mean, really. Who wanted to see singing cats? Even I, a musical lover, had my standards.
I hoped there would be an update on the fire. Closing my eyes, I pictured the husband on camera, being taken into custody for the murder of his wife.
Of course, I would get no credit, but I would a
lways know I’d been the one to break the case.
I smiled, fulfilled just to know I’d helped.
“Now we turn to our reporter, Jay Larson, who’s at the scene of a late night fire. Jay, what can you tell us about what happened?”
I turned the volume up. This was more exciting than opening presents on Christmas morning. Of course, Christmas at my house had consisted of fruit and underwear, but nonetheless.
“I’m at the home of Michael and the late Gloria Cunningham. You’ll remember a week ago, Gloria was found dead in their home, and husband Michael had a gunshot wound to his knee.”
“Yes, yes, we know all this,” I mumbled, taking another sip of my black coffee.
“Last night a neighbor called the police, reporting flames shooting out of the Cunningham’s million dollar Virginia Beach home. The fire looks like the work of an arsonist.”
The camera panned back to the grim-faced news anchor. “Jay, do we know if this has anything to do with the murder trial?”
“I talked to the detective on the case last night, and he assured me that the right person was behind bars, that this was a separate incident.”
I sat up straight, nearly spilling my coffee. “What?”
“That’s two devastating blows for the senatorial candidate Michael Cunningham this week.” The news anchor slowly shook his head. “Keep us updated on the case, Jay.”
There had to be a mistake. What about the gun? That had to prove something.
I had to talk to the detective.
I scrambled from the couch and threw on some jeans and a T-shirt. I’d slept on my hair wet and it was hopeless, so I pulled my red locks into a ponytail and rushed out the door.
I stepped into the parking lot and skidded to a stop. Squinting against the already bright sunlight, I looked for something I knew wasn’t there. My van. What was I going to drive?
I hurried back inside and knocked on Sierra’s door. After waiting a few minutes, I knocked again. Finally, a sleepy-eyed Sierra poked her head between the door and strands of clicking beads.
“I guess you forgot that you kept me awake until 2 A.M. this morning?” She muttered, rubbing her eyes and scowling.
I raised my eyebrows. “I kept you awake?”
“Yes, now how can I help you?”
“I need to use your car.”
“I thought you couldn’t work because all of your equipment was destroyed.”
“I can’t, but I have something I need to do.” I bit my lip, thinking of another tactic. “Look, I’ll help you stuff envelopes for one of your campaigns the next time you need help.”
“Let me get my keys.”
Twenty minutes later, as I sat in rush-hour traffic on the interstate, I realized I hadn’t called Harold about work today. He would be headed out to the Cunningham’s house expecting a continuation from yesterday. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed his number. His wife answered.
“He’s on his way to work now, Gabby.”
I bit my lip. “Did he bring his cell phone with him?”
“No, I have it with me today. Everything okay?”
“Our crime scene burned down last night. I hate for him to drive all the way out there for nothing.” I glanced at the clock and saw it was 7:30. I would have to stop by to talk to the detective later. “I’m on my way there now. Thanks, Mildred.”
I hit end on my cell phone and tossed it in the seat beside me. I mulled over all the new information I learned, trying to decipher the good from the bad.
Maybe there was a good reason for the news report this morning, I thought. It could be a ruse. Maybe they had to examine the gun first. Maybe they didn’t want to rouse suspicion yet. The evidence seemed pretty cut and dried to me, though.
I didn’t want to be a know-it-all. I really didn’t. My best friend in college had been one, which drove me crazy, especially considering I knew more than she did. Some people were just so clueless. But know-it-all or not, I wasn’t going to back down on this one.
Finally, my exit appeared and I veered off the road. The rest of the ride was mostly back roads into a residential area where the city’s most wealthy lived. Early morning sunlight filtered through oak and pine trees in the wooded neighborhood, casting dancing shadows on the well-manicured lawns.
As I pulled up to the driveway, I spotted Harold standing in front of the black skeleton of a house. In the daylight it reminded me even more of the dinosaur exhibits I’d seen at the Smithsonian as an elementary school student years ago.
Harold stared at it the same way I had stared at those prehistoric bones—with shock, curiosity, and mourning. He shook his head. The sight would be sure to surprise anyone coming into the situation. The beautiful mansion had been reduced to bare bones and ashes.
Wasting no more time, I hopped out of the car. The ground was still damp from the efforts to extinguish the flames last night, and my flip flop feet sloshed as I hurried to my assistant.
I laid a hand on his thick arm, but Harold didn’t look at me. The house seemed to entrance him.
“I’m sorry I forgot to call,” I said.
He shook his head again. “When did this happen?”
“Last night.”
“Were you still here?”
I shrugged, swatting at a bee buzzing in my ear. “Yeah, but I’m fine. I got out okay.”
“You could have been killed, Gabby,” he said with the sternness of a father.
I offered Harold a reassuring smile. “But I wasn’t. I’m fine, except for a little burn on my hand and arm.”
His gaze darted to my bandage. “I should have never left.”
“No one could have known.”
He continued staring at the shell of my van. “All of your equipment is gone?”
I nodded and wiped my brow with the back of my hand. The sun was already sweltering and it wasn’t even noon yet. Between the heat and the bee, I had the feeling it was going to be one miserable day. September in Virginia wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“It’s such a shame,” Harold muttered. “Especially considering all that poor man has already been through.”
Yeah, murdering your wife must be really stressful, I thought. And he’s probably the one who set the house on fire. I kept my mouth closed. There was no need to stir up trouble.
Yet.
“I’m going to go look at the backside of the house. Need to pay my respects.” Harold excused himself and crept toward the backyard. He kept his chin high, but I knew time was taking its toll on him. My heart pounded with sadness. Was this all there was? You live, you get old, you die. Science called it the cycle of life. I called it depressing.
I let him have his time alone to process what had happened. We’d poured a lot of work into this house and the damage was devastating. I’d also been counting on this paycheck to knock out some bills, not to mention to pay Harold. Now I’d have to dig into my meager savings.
“I can’t believe someone burned the house down,” someone with a high-pitched voice said. “It’s such a shame.”
I turned and spotted a middle-aged woman wearing black shorts, high heels, and a hot pink top that emphasized her abnormally large chest walking up the driveway. As she got closer, I saw her eyes looked red and puffy.
“It is a shame,” I agreed. A quick glance behind me showed no other cars parked in the area. This woman had to be a neighbor.
“Are you with the police department?” The woman swept a platinum blond hair out of her eye and glanced at me.
“No.” A deep sigh heaved my chest.
“It was such a beautiful house. Just like Gloria. She was so beautiful. It’s hard to believe she’s gone.” The neighbor shook her head and stared into the distance.
“This must be very hard on you.”
“You just never think it will happen to someone you know. It should be someone else.” The woman waved her hand in the air. Finally the bee had taken notice of the woman’s overbearing perfume and bothered her now. She ducked, trying
to avoid the kamikaze insect. I zoned in on her swollen lips. Had a bee already stung her? By all appearances, yes. But my acute deductions told me it was more likely collagen injections. “At least Michael is finally out of the hospital.”
I nodded, still watching the woman’s impromptu dance with amusement. “Right.”
I froze in mid-nod. What did she just say?
I jerked my head toward the woman. If Michael was out of the hospital, then he could have set the house on fire. He could be the arsonist. And he had motive, too. He could have been trying to destroy the evidence that would frame him.
Careful, Gabby. Stay calm, don’t scare her off.
Relaxing my shoulders, I asked, “He is? Already? I just assumed he’d be in the hospital for longer.”
The woman nodded. “I did, too, but I saw him over here last night, just a few minutes before the fire started. I assumed he stopped by to pick up a few things before going to stay at his mother’s. It’s a good thing he left when he did.”
“Isn’t it, though?” I shifted my weight and restrategized. “So, you’re sure you saw Michael?”
“Positive. He was even on crutches, the poor guy. I almost said something to him, but figured he didn’t want to be bothered. The press won’t leave him alone. They keep asking what he’ll do about his campaign. Can’t they give the man a break?”
I nodded and attempted a sweet, comforting smile.
He’d come back to get the gun, but found me and Harold there. Had he known I was still inside? Was he in such a hurry to set the fire and destroy the evidence that he’d decided not to wait, even if it meant claiming another life?
This man needed to be behind bars.
I had to find Detective Parker and tell him.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run.” I jangled my keys and started a slow jog to the car, barely giving notice to the woman as she fluttered her fingers.
Just as I started Sierra’s car, Harold came around the corner. He approached my window in long strides, concern etched in the lines on his face.
I lowered the glass. “Harold, I remembered something I have to do. I’ll call you later, okay?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Don’t get yourself into any trouble, missy.”
Hazardous Duty Page 4
