Cinders
Page 11
Then she led Mari over to the fire pole and they glanced through the hole. The rest of the crew was moving about below them, getting ready to board a bright red fire engine. James noticed them and shouted up, “Come on, it’s a house fire. We have to get going.”
"Do you think it's the arsonist?" Marigold asked.
"I don't know," Cyn said. “It doesn’t seem like his MO, but we don’t know that much about him yet.”
"Oh, that reminds me!” Marigold said. "One of my errands this afternoon was having a police sketch done of the man I saw in my garden. I didn’t see much, but they said it might help anyway. You should take a copy.”
She dug into her purse and pulled one of the carefully folded copies the sketch artist had given her of his rendering. She smiled as she slid it into the pocket of Cyn's jacket.
"Thanks. I’ll take a look on the way over," Cyn said.
Below them, James shouted, “Cinders, what are you waiting for, a formal invitation?”
She looked down through the hole in the floor again – something that probably didn’t even faze Cyn anymore, but which made Marigold’s knees lock up. When Cyn noticed her biting her lip, she said, “I have to get down there, but you can take the stairs if you want.”
“No way,” Mari said. She was not about to leave Cyn with the impression of her standing there like a chicken in her expensive, impractical heels. She grabbed the metal pole and Cyn told her how to wrap her legs around it to control her descent. Then she took a deep breath and did it, feeling weightless as she glided to the bottom with a big smile on her face.
Nineteen
Cyn
Cyn knocked on the door to her stepbrother’s apartment and when he didn't answer, she switched to pounding on it.
"Drew, it's me. We need to talk," she said. She was biting back her anger as hard as she could and she included everything except the or else, but he still made her wait two more long minutes before he finally opened the door.
"What?" he asked as he yanked it open and gave her one of his signature annoyed looks. He was wearing his security uniform, a khaki work shirt and black pants, although the utility belt was missing. It was a little past five o’clock and Cyn had come as soon as she could after her shift ended.
It was all she could do to wait after she’d seen the police sketch Marigold had given her. Her heart stopped the moment she saw the face that looked back at her, and it was scowling at her right now.
She and Drew had never made good siblings – that was no secret. Cyn always hoped it had something to do with their three-year age difference, and that he would learn to appreciate her when they were older. If she’d held her breath hoping for that, she’d be dead a long time ago instead of standing in his doorway now with the police sketch tucked into her shirt pocket.
"We need to talk," she repeated. “Can I come in?”
She was doing her best to maintain an air of calmness. A large part of her was dying for Drew to come up with a believable reason why the sketch looked like him but wasn’t him, why his alibis were airtight. Cyn had done a little digging into that this afternoon, quietly asking Gus to get the work logs for the security company where Drew worked and begging him not to ask questions yet.
Drew was on the clock during all three fires, but he’d punched himself in and out, and it was all overtime hours – nothing that involved being seen by anyone else in the company. And of course, he was working security at the museum during the first fire, so that didn’t help his case.
Cyn’s stomach was churning the whole way over to his apartment and she wanted to give Drew the benefit of the doubt, but there wasn’t much doubt left on the table by now.
“I was just leaving, actually,” Drew said.
“This won’t take long,” Cyn said. She nodded to his security uniform and asked, “Are you on your way to work?”
“No, just finished a shift,” he answered. He was blocking the door to his apartment with his body, standing tall and making Cyn’s heart flutter in her chest. He was at least ten inches taller than her, and more than a hundred pounds heavier. He’d only ever been surly toward her, never violent, but if she was right about this… who knew what he’d do?
It was stupid to come here alone. She should have at least brought Gus with her for backup, but he was a cop. If she was right about her suspicions, Gus would be forced to act. She was here because she was hoping to resolve all of this without causing even deeper rifts in her already broken family.
She steeled her nerves and pulled the folded piece of paper out of her breast pocket. She opened it and turned it around for Drew to see. It wasn't a perfect match - the nose was a little too bulbous and the forehead was too high. Marigold had only seen him for a few seconds from a third story window, so that was to be expected. The patch of hair on his chin, though – that was harder to deny.
Then she said, “I don’t want to talk about this in the hallway.”
“What the hell is that?” he asked.
“A police sketch.”
The smugness fell from his face. He snatched the paper out of Cyn’s hand, then stepped reluctantly aside. “Fine. Come in.”
Cyn stepped into the apartment. She’d only been here once or twice before, although Drew had lived here for the past five years. She’d never been inside, and she was surprised at how dark and messy the apartment was. The utility belt for Drew’s work uniform lay on a table just inside the door, along with a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.
Winstons – the same brand they found in Marigold’s garden, Cyn thought with a wave of nausea.
The other thing that hit her was the smell. Gasoline. It was faint, probably something that most people wouldn’t even notice, but it was Cyn’s job to recognize smells like that. When you ran into a burning building, certain accelerants burned off quickly and a firefighter who could say whether they smelled gas could be the difference between an arson conviction and an accidental fire.
Drew lived on the fourth floor of his apartment building and there was no reason for him to store gas there.
He glanced at the police sketch, then tossed it on the table near the door. “Is that supposed to be me?”
Cyn retrieved the sketch, folding it and putting it back in her pocket. “That’s the man Marigold Grimm saw in her garden on the night of the fire. Where were you that night?”
She tried to make it sound like a casual question, the way police interrogators did on TV, but she was feeling anything but casual. By the way Drew was pacing in front of her, she guessed he felt the same.
“Working,” he said. “At a concert on the other side of town. You can check the security logs.”
“Is there anyone who can tell the police they actually saw you there?” Cyn asked.
“What the hell is all this?” Drew snapped. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”
“Okay,” Cyn said. “When did you start smoking again?”
She picked up the lighter on the table and Drew came over and snatched it out of her hand. “Don’t touch that. Don’t touch anything.”
“I know you don’t like Anthony Rosen,” Cyn said. “You think he’s making more of his life than you have, even though you’re older. And you were there when the painting was set on fire. The barn… well, half the kids who have grown up in Grimm Falls have connections to that barn, but you and I both know you have a reason for wanting to burn it down. Why the Grimm House garden, though? I can’t figure out the connection there.”
“You’re way off base, sis,” Drew said with a sneer. “I didn’t set any fires.”
“Don’t lie to me. I already know the truth,” Cyn said. She’d come to the apartment ready to bluff – it was nice to know that all that time spent playing poker at the firehouse was good for something – but when she saw the cigarettes and smelled the gasoline, that was all the evidence she needed. “You’re lucky they haven’t caught you already, you know. You’ve been careless.”
She picked up the pack of cigarett
es and tossed them at Drew. They hit his chest and he caught them.
“We found your cigarette butt,” she said. “And you can’t deny that sketch is a pretty close match. Why would you do it, Drew?”
Drew’s expression shifted back into annoyance. “Do you really have to ask?”
“Yes,” Cyn said. “Tell me, and maybe we can figure out a way to get you out of this.”
The idea of letting a serial arsonist – and one who had done such atrocious damage to something with such immense sentimental value as Marigold’s garden – made Cyn feel sick, but as much as she disliked him, Drew was family. The words tasted bitter in her mouth, but if he would let her help him, maybe the fires would stop and they could just put the whole ugly thing behind them.
He rolled his eyes at her.
“You’re so fucking clueless,” he spat. “You really think I would accept your help? After you stole everything from me?”
“What did I steal?” Cyn asked, her mouth dropping open.
“My mother!” Drew shouted. “You came here and took my entire life away from me. You took all of my mother’s attention and you didn’t even want it – it was like you were throwing it in my face every step of the way.”
“I didn’t ask for it,” Cyn tried to object, but Drew was on a roll.
“Everything was about you, the daughter my mother always wanted,” he said. “And when we grew up, it wasn’t enough for you. You had to go be a heroic firefighter right after they turned me away from the police department.”
“You flunked out of the academy,” Cyn pointed out. She knew it wasn’t the right time to be salting Drew’s wounds, but she wasn’t about to let him lay every bad thing in his life at her feet.
“You even managed to take Marigold,” he said. “I had a crush on her since kindergarten, and who was the very first person you cozied up to when you get to Grimm Falls? Her.”
Cyn felt her legs going to jelly. She stayed upright through sheer force of will as she asked, “You mean the reason you torched her garden was because of me? For what, revenge because of something that happened when we were kids?”
“Look how well that worked out,” he said. “I heard about the retirement party. I guess that means you’re fucking her now? Cynthia wins again.”
“Don’t talk about her like that,” Cyn snapped. She had to bite back the urge to march across the room and slap him. “Why now? Didn’t you already get payback for that a long time ago? I was still grieving my mother and having a friend could have made such a big difference in my life – whether it was you or Marigold. Instead, you made my life hell all through school.”
“You made my life hell,” Drew snapped. “And if you think she’s into you now, you’re dreaming. She’s got her pick of anyone in this city – man or woman, if that’s what she wants. Why would she choose you?”
Cyn pressed her lips together and closed her hands into fists. She was fighting back the tears that Drew had so often conjured when they were younger. She knew this was nothing more than emotional manipulation, but his words cut straight to the insecurities deep in her core and she hated him for his ability to get to them so swiftly.
“Look, I have things to do tonight and I don’t appreciate you coming over here to accuse me of crimes I didn’t commit,” he said. “Are we done here?”
“What are you going to do?” Cyn asked. “Set another fire?”
“That would imply I’ve set a fire in the first place,” he said, sounding bored all of a sudden. He walked over to the door, dropping the pack of Winstons on the table as he went. Then he opened the door, sending Cyn a clear message. Get out.
There was nothing else she could accomplish here – not now. So she headed for the door, pausing before she got to the hall. She stood in Drew’s personal space, their chests just a few inches apart as she did her best to rise to his nearly six-foot height.
“I came over here to warn you,” she said. “It’s the only one you’re going to get. This town means too much to me, and Marigold Grimm means too much to me.”
“Who deputized you?” Drew asked with a snort, dismissing her words. Then he pushed her shoulder, knocking her off balance as she stumbled into the hall and he closed the door.
Twenty
Sibling Warfare
Drew was still in a sour mood several days after his evil stepsister showed up unannounced to threaten him and rub her perfect life in his face.
He’d curbed his desire to react in fiery, destructive ways. He’d even stopped himself from going back to the old, drained swimming pool despite the tremendous pleasure throwing Molotov cocktails gave him. It was too dangerous, and deprived of his new favorite form of stress release, he’d been grumpy. He kept the lighter in his pocket, rubbing his thumb over the soothing, smooth metal wheel all day long. He was doing just that, and worrying over what Cyn said to him, when he showed up to his weekly meal with his mother.
She doesn’t know anything. She can’t prove it or she would have gone to the cops already. She’s just trying to do what she always does, and steal any little bit of joy out of my life.
Let her try.
He found his mother sitting at an outdoor table on the patio outside the restaurant. She was beautiful as always in a wide-brimmed hat that shaded the sun from her eyes, and she smiled warmly at Drew as he walked up the concrete path.
Cyn was nowhere to be found. Maybe she feels ashamed of what she said. Maybe she won’t show her face around us anymore.
Drew’s stepfather was sitting in his usual spot beside his mother, but that was okay. With one Robinson out of his hair, Drew could deal with the other one – Elliot hardly ever talked, anyway.
“Hi, angel,” Drew’s mother said as he leaned down to hug her and she put one bejeweled arm lightly around him. As he slid into the chair across from her, she exclaimed, “You shaved your chin.”
Drew put his fingertips self-consciously to the newly bare skin where his soul patch had been. There was knowing that your evil stepsister was making idle threats, and then there was doing nothing to protect yourself. He wasn’t stupid, and he knew he had to do something to distance himself from that police sketch the moment he saw it.
“I’ve had it since high school,” he said, a little wistfully. “It was time for something new.”
“Good. I always hated that thing,” his mother said, laughing and taking a long sip of the margarita in front of her. She waved the waiter over for a refill and ordered one for Drew, too, then asked, “How was your week, angel?”
“Terrible,” Drew said, not caring how much petulance crept into his tone. He’d been waiting several days to complain about this to his mother, and he was going to enjoy it. “Cynthia paid me a visit at the end of the week. I thought she was finally coming around to the idea of us being brother and sister. I figured she wanted to hang out, like normal siblings do. Instead, I’m sure the whole reason she came over was to tell me that she’s got a girlfriend or something, and remind me that she’s doing better than me.”
“That doesn’t sound like my Cinders,” Elliot said, but when Drew shot him a piercing look, he averted his eyes to the table.
Shut up, old man. You don’t belong in this conversation, or this family, Drew thought.
“She said everything that’s bad in my life is my fault,” Drew said. “I don’t know how she could say something so hurtful when she knows how badly I wanted to work for the police. The academy strung me along with false hopes and then hung me out to dry, and now she’s reveling in it.”
“You know how she likes to provoke people,” his mother said as she reached across the table and put her hand on top of Drew’s. He didn’t know where his dear stepsister was, but he was having an awful lot of fun lampooning her.
“You know I’m doing the best I can, right, Mom?” he asked.
“Of course, angel,” she said, patting his hand. Then she glanced over his shoulder and said through clenched teeth, “Here she comes.”
Shit.
His mother gave Cyn a dirty look as she sat down in the fourth chair at their table, and that was worth every crocodile tear in the world. He wished he’d filmed it so he could play it over and over again on a loop.
“Where have you been?” his mother asked sharply.
Cyn glanced at Drew, giving him a look he couldn’t quite read. Discomfort and maybe shame? That would be nice. Then she said, “I was at Grimm House, helping Marigold plant some bluebells in her garden.”
“Does the fire department do landscaping now?” Drew asked, chuckling to himself and earning a smile from his mother.
Cyn shot back, “We do when someone defaces a community landmark.”
“Cynthia,” Drew’s mom snapped. “We’re at a nice restaurant and I’m sure I’m not the only one here who would appreciate it if you kept a civil tongue.”
“Drew was the one who-” Cyn started to say, but his mother cut her off.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said with a deep roll of her eyes. “Honestly, it’s like you’re both still children.”
Drew furrowed his brow. This was not going in the direction he wanted and he felt his blood beginning to boil. No matter what the situation, Cyn always found a way to worm out of it and put all the blame on him. He sneered as he said, “You always take her side.”
“For heaven’s sake, I’m not taking sides,” his mother said, clearly exasperated with the subject. “If you want your stepsister to stop making you feel bad about your life, then do something to change it. I didn’t raise you to walk around with your hand out, asking for other people to do all the hard work so you can reap the rewards.”