by Lyn Cote
Audra studied Carter again. And then she turned to Brent. “Done?”
“Yeah, I get the hint.” Smirking, Brent took off his apron, wadded it up, and tossed it like making a basket into a pile of laundry near the door. “See you tomorrow for another fun day in Winfield. I can’t wait to see the second Friday in August,” he said sarcastically and loped toward the door.
“You just have to ignore Brent,” she said with a sigh.
“What happens the second Friday in August?” Carter asked anyway.
“He goes to spend two weeks with his mother in Chicago,” Audra replied.
An unexpected voice came from just outside. “Good. I got here in time.” It was Brent’s dad in the doorway.
“What are you here for?” Brent asked, clearly unhappy to see his father. “I don’t need you to take me home. I’ve got my bike. And just so you know, I’m leaving to visit Mom August tenth.”
Carter moved closer so he could get a better glimpse of Hal. The man looked like he was disgruntled but was trying to hide it.
“I’m not going to discuss that now. I thought I would drive us to A&W for root beer floats.”
Brent eyed his father suspiciously. “I’m not changing my mind just because you’ve decided to play nice.”
“Come on. Let’s go.” Hal motioned to Brent, who obeyed warily. “Evening, Audra, Sheriff,” Hal said with a courteous nod. Then Hal and Brent disappeared into the night.
Audra and Carter stared at one another, dumbstruck. She spoke first. “Did you see that?”
Carter shook his head slowly. “I thought so, but I still don’t believe it.” Hal Ramsdel, polite to me?
“What next?” Audra turned away, still shaking her head in obvious disbelief. “I’ll get your pizza boxed for you.”
“I was wondering if you’d eat it with me,” he said in an offhand tone. “I hate eating alone.” He stayed perfectly still.
Audra faced him, looking suspicious. “Did Shirley put you up to this?”
“Shirley?” he echoed.
“She’s always after me to eat more. She knows making pizzas all evening takes away my appetite.”
“Well,” he improvised quickly, “if you’re tired of pizza, I can go and pick up burgers somewhere quick.”
She considered him and glanced toward the door. “No, I...this is fine. I’ll have a slice with you. Then I have to get the dough machines filled and set the timers. Okay?”
“Sure?” he asked, almost not believing she’d let him persuade her so easily.
“Sure,” she echoed. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks.” He followed her motion toward a high stool at the counter. So far so good. Now if the phone rang, he’d be ready and in position.
In spite of that, he felt himself relaxing. Being here with Audra filled some void inside him, some dark place left over from the days when he’d been young and so angry. But being near Audra also stirred him.
Tonight he admitted he’d wanted to be near her. He’d resisted this yearning, just one of his many frustrations.
Audra set two plates on the work counter and pulled a pizza from the warming tray. She handed him a can of pop and then sat down on the stool nearest him. “How are you doing after the interview? And with the investigation?” she asked, her voice resonating genuine concern.
But he saw her glance at the phone and the clock. He read the signs as unconscious indications that she, too, was expecting—fearing—another phone call. He popped open his can and swallowed a long, cold, sweet draft. “I haven’t made any progress solving the fires and see no light at the end of this yet.” The sad words settled over them.
Audra lifted her piece of pizza and then set it back down as if too tired to eat. “Do you have any idea why my uncle is acting the way he is?”
He didn’t mistake her reason for asking. “I don’t. Do you?”
“Megan let something slip this morning.” A sigh escaped her lips. “It might explain it.”
He motioned for her to begin eating. She did look thinner now that he really looked. She finally took a bite of pizza. He lifted up a slice and bit into it. It was crisp on the bottom and thick with luscious melted cheese on top. Mmm. “Yes?”
Audra swallowed and wiped her lips. “Megan said that after a phone call very late on the Fourth, my mother drove over to my uncle’s. After the fireworks. And the fire. I mean, why? They’ve barely been on speaking terms, and I can’t imagine why she would go to visit him that day and so late.”
“You think she might have said something that changed his ways?” Carter watched the way Audra ate—so feminine, her long fingers moving delicately. Who was calling and upsetting her?
“I can’t think of anything else that might have caused such a shift in his behavior. But it’s not much to go on, is it?”
The phone rang. Carter watched her harassed gaze swing to it. In edgy silence, they both waited as the prerecorded message played and then an angry voice demanded, “Audra, pick up. This is your last chance.” Audra stood up. “Or I’m coming—”
Cutting in front of her, Carter darted forward, grabbed up the phone receiver, and barked, “This is Sheriff Harding. If you do not stop calling this number and harassing Audra Blair, I will come after you with a warrant—” Carter stopped speaking since the caller had hung up.
He put the receiver back and turned to Audra. “Who has been bothering you? I want you to tell me now.”
AUDRA COULDN’T THINK of a thing to say. How could she tell Carter? She burst into tears.
Then Carter was folding her in his arms. The past weeks fell away from her, disintegrated. Her resistance melted. Carter was holding her. Carter had defended her. Carter cared. She rose on her tiptoes and closed the scant inches that separated them.
The first touch of his lower lip grazed her upper one and made her gasp. She leaned closer. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Please.”
He kissed her slowly, gently, thoroughly. She closed her eyes, letting crest after crest of sensation shudder through her. Afterward, she pressed her face into the cleft between his neck and shoulder. The logical side of her mind tried to awaken and insist she call a halt to his embrace, to the feel of his lips brushing her hair, to the delicious sensation of being held and protected within his arms. But she found that impossible.
He pulled back a fraction of an inch from her, his eyes troubled. “Who is calling and harassing you?”
She stopped his question with another kiss. She could taste the tang of pizza sauce on his lips and for some reason that drew a sigh from her.
Then she felt his lips pull away, and he gripped her gently but firmly by her upper arms and said, “I’m not going to be distracted. Who has been making you miserable?”
No. No, I don’t want to face this, tell you about this. She tried to tug away from his grip.
He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “You can trust me. You can tell me. Anything.”
She returned to him and buried her face in the front of his starched shirt. His touch, his understanding words, released her. Words poured out. “It’s Evie’s father. Don’t ask me any more about him. Please.” She felt him stiffen. Immediately she wished she hadn’t told him the truth. She shouldn’t have reminded him of her past. She straightened up, turning away, trying to get her defenses back up, trying not to let his coming rejection hurt as much as it surely would. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned—”
“Yes, you should have.” He halted her retreat, pulling her back against him. “Has he been bothering you? Why?” Again, but now from behind, he gently but firmly gripped the bare flesh of her upper arms.
His touch, his tone bolstered her. She replied, “I haven’t answered the phone. I just don’t want to talk to him. Hearing his voice...upsets me.”
“Are these calls of his something new? Do you keep in touch with him?”
“We haven’t kept in touch.” Her voice was flat. “His calling me is new this summer. I can’t figure it out. Unless
it has...to do with his getting married this year. But that doesn’t make any sense.”
“How often has he called? Has he threatened you specifically?”
“I think he flies back and forth with his father in their private plane to Chicago. They have a brokerage firm there. He calls me a couple of times a week. His new wife is staying up north all summer at his family’s cottage.”
“I don’t want you to agonize about this anymore,” Carter ordered. “I will take care of it.”
She wanted to let him, but should she? Shouldn’t I be able to handle Gordon by myself? She moved away from Carter, sat back down on the high stool and then rested her head in her hands. I don’t want to handle Gordon by myself and that’s the truth. The elation she’d felt moments ago left her, draining her, drawing her down. “Sometimes...it’s just...everything’s too much. And I wish I could take a break, you know? Just get away.”
“Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s take a break together.”
Startled, she looked up at him. “What?”
“Throw that pizza into a box. And we’ll escape to the beach for a one-hour vacation. It should be quiet now, and we can picnic and walk along the sand. And forget everything.”
She almost refused but then she looked into his green eyes, eyes that begged her to agree. He truly felt exactly as she did. And he was right. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to run away for just a little while?
Within minutes, they’d packed the pizza and extra pop and were out the door and into his Jeep. He drove them through the quiet dark streets out of town along the shore of Lake Superior. Finally, he pulled off at a deserted stretch of beach. She walked beside him, feeling the lake breeze ruffle her hair. After the heat and humidity of the long day, the cooling breeze from the lake freed her, revitalizing her. She sank down, not caring about getting sandy. She opened the box and offered it to him. “Let’s eat before it’s stone cold.”
He lifted a slice and like someone in a pizza commercial, bit into it. “Yum.”
She giggled. And the giggle released the last of her pressure. We are free for this hour. She lifted her arms as if reaching for the moon and stars.
Evidently feeling the same abandon, he reclined on one arm as if he were an ancient Roman emperor while she sat cross-legged like a shy maiden. The nearby waves lapped the sand. Pizza sauce oozed out onto the corner of his mouth.
It made her giggle, and she wiped it away with her paper napkin.
This innocent, private hour didn’t count. This time was just for them. Together.
While the pizza disappeared, they talked about childhood days at the beach and sand castles and the popular sport of hunting agates on the beach. Seagulls that should have been settled for the night appeared, bobbing and pecking at the few crusts in the box.
Carter scattered the rest onto the sand and then tossed the crumpled box and cans into a trash can. He gathered her shoulders under one arm and led her to the water’s edge. Silver moonlight rippled over the lake and in the distance backlit the outlines of the Apostle Islands and one of the iconic lighthouses. She slipped out of her sandals and left them behind, just beyond the reach of the waves. The sand was cool and wet and squished between her toes.
He led her down the beach. In the darkness, the town lights glowed to the north, but only the sound of an occasional car traveling the highway reminded them that they weren’t alone, completely set apart.
“This is the first time I’ve been to the beach all summer,” she murmured guiltily. “Evie and I usually go to the beach every nice day in the summer.”
“Let’s bring her here Monday when you don’t have to work.”
His invitation took her by surprise. There was a self-conscious silence.
“Forget I said it,” he muttered, sounding hurt. He looked around. “I should be getting you back. It’s late.”
No. Not yet. She reached out and took his hand and tugged him back to her. “Evie would love to come to the beach on Monday with you. And so would I.”
“I should stay away from you.” He gazed over her head, not meeting her eyes.
Her pulse quickened. No. At this moment, she could believe anything was possible. Even for them. She decided to head into the wind. “Because of Sarah? Because of my uncle? You know I don’t believe what my uncle says about you and Sarah.”
He didn’t answer her, just settled his chin on the top of her head.
She wasn’t afraid tonight; tonight she could ask him anything. “Or is it because of Evie? Is it because I have a child?”
He pulled her to him, tight against him. “You know that doesn’t matter to me. You’re a good woman. You were young, innocent and trusted the wrong man. But that gave you Evie. She’s the sweetest.”
“You’re a good man.” Couldn’t they put their pasts behind them and start anew? Together? “You just made a mistake, too, that night.”
“It’s not the same, Audra. You made one mistake. I made a hundred—”
“Stop. God makes all things new. I believe that, don’t you?”
“God forgives, but people don’t.” He held her in place, not letting her step back and look up into his face.
She let him hold her. “Should we let them keep us apart? I’ve waited so long for someone...” She rubbed her face against his crisp shirt. Her cheek touched a sharp edge of his badge. She shouldn’t say what she was thinking and feeling, should she? She couldn’t say that she’d been waiting for someone to love her for herself and love her daughter for the same reason.
Within his arms, he stroked her back. “I know all about how you came to live with Shirley.”
“You mean like everyone in Winfield?” The friction of his palms warmed her.
“I know it hasn’t been easy. I admire you.”
“I admire you,” she echoed him in all sincerity.
“I’ve told myself over and over again not to want to be with you. But it just doesn’t work.” He kissed her hair, once, twice. “When this is over, when I’ve solved the fires, and we have time, I want us to be together, to spend time together alone and together with Evie. I’m not saying this very well, but is there a chance for me? With you?”
He’d spoken the words she thought she might never hear, the words she’d longed to hear him say. “Yes.” Audra couldn’t say more. Her throat was thick with emotion and she only wanted to nestle in Carter’s strong arms and forget everything else.
But her mind replayed what he’d said, “When this is over, when I’ve solved the fires, and we have time.” Lord, let that time come soon. Please.
Chapter Eleven
Four weeks to the day from the last fire, the beginning of August, Carter sat dismally at his desk near noon. Across from him sat Roger Smith, an officer from the state fire marshal’s office. They both stared at the few sealed labeled bags filled with scraps of evidence, including four with blackened pennies, and the crime scene reports for each of the five fires, lying on the desktop. Each bag of pennies and each report mocked Carter.
“Let’s go over this one more time,” Smith suggested.
Carter picked up the yellow legal pad beside his right hand and began reading aloud:
“Fire one. Location, Ollie’s store. Arsonist’s motive? Unknown or maybe a test run? MO? Trip wire and incendiary pack under dumpster lid. Opportunity? Everyone in Winfield with a bike or car. No clues save a handful of blackened pennies.”
“Check,” Smith said as he marked something down on the notebook he’d brought along.
“Fire two. Shirley Johnson’s back steps and porch,” Carter continued. “Motive? Anyone with a grudge against anyone living in Shirley’s house, which includes Tom Robson, Shirley, Audra and Evie Blair, and Chad Keski. MO? Gasoline-soaked steps ignited by Molotov cocktail. Opportunity? Chad had run away the night before and everyone in Winfield had opportunity in the dark alley. No clues save more pennies.” Carter glanced up at Smith who marked something down and nodded again.
“Fire three. Lois Blair’s garden sh
ed,” Carter read on. “Motive? Chad didn’t want to do yard work—weak. MO? Long slow fuse to dry grass and twigs and gasoline-soaked rags. Opportunity? Chad Keski could have set it or anyone else. Pennies found.” Carter lifted his eyes for Smith’s approval, received it, and continued.
“Fire four. Tom Robson’s garage. Motive? Unknown, though Tom had docked Chad’s pay and Doyle Keski, Chad’s father, has a grudge against both Shirley and Tom over losing custody of Chad. MO? Another trip wire, which ignited cans and bottles of gasoline products. Opportunity? Anyone. Pennies found again.”
Smith grunted and Carter took that to mean to go on.
“Fire five. Downtown during the Fourth of July festivities. Motive? Unknown though preceded by Chad Keski-Brent Ramsdel brawl. MO? Firecrackers. Opportunity? Anyone present. No pennies found,” Carter concluded.
Carter had written this list over and over during the past four weeks, four weeks without fire number six. Every time he’d hoped for inspiration, a flash of intuition—anything.
Smith cleared his throat. “The lack of hard evidence is probably due to the nature of the crime. Fire burns up evidence. That’s another of the traditional motives for arson. Fire can cover up another crime.”
Carter knew all this, but refrained from pointing that out. “But there was no evidence of a previous crime at any of the five fire scenes.”
“I know, and the changing MOs made it impossible for you to chase down the source of the materials used to start each fire.”
“Right,” Carter agreed. “And in each case, the arsonist has used the site to his advantage, using on-site flammables so he’s left no trail of materials acquisition to trace.”
“And with the Internet, someone could get almost anything via mail order without calling any attention to themself,” Smith said, sounding disgusted. “And for motive, there isn’t a consistent one.”
Carter didn’t mention that Audra had suggested that she was the target since everyone, except for Ollie, was close to her. He didn’t feel guilty about not mentioning this. Her theory didn’t hold water, either, because the arsonist remained silent about his reasons and victims.
