by Nora Roberts
don’t want the police thinking I had anything to do with this.”
“Why would we?”
“Well, we had some strong words, and we have the same housekeeper, and our kids played together. I’m the one who called nine-one-one. I was talking to my husband about this last night, and he says I’m looking for trouble. But I can’t get it off my mind.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you had words about.”
“The boys. Her Trevor and my Malcomb.” She blew out a breath. “I caught them hooking school three weeks back. Idiots. It was a pretty day so I decided to walk to school and pick my youngest up, thought I’d take her to the park, let her run off some of that steam she’s always full of. And there they were, the two of them, running across the street to the park. Well, I can tell you I hauled off after them, put a bug in their ear and marched them both right to school.”
Reena allowed herself a smile. An adult female to adult female expression. “Bet they were surprised to see you.”
“Didn’t have enough sense to keep out of sight. You’re going to play hooky, at least do a good job of it.” She shook her head. “When Ella got home from work, I went over—with my boy—to fill her in. Before I know it, she’s saying it’s my kid’s fault, and how I didn’t have any right to put hands on her boy.”
She spread those hands now. “All I did was take his hand and march him to school, where he belonged. I’d appreciate someone who looked after my kid that way, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I would. But Mrs. Parker was upset.”
“Pissed off is what she was. So I had words right back at her, saying next time I saw him on the street during school hours, I’d just walk right by. We said more, but you get the idea.”
“Can’t blame you for being upset,” Reena prompted. “You were only trying to do the right thing.”
“And got told to mind my own business. Which if I had, her damn house would’ve burned down. Boys haven’t played with each other since, and I’m sorry about it. But I can’t have Malc running around as he pleases. According to him, it wasn’t the first time Trevor had taken a school holiday, and he was scared enough to tell me the truth.”
“He claims Trevor skips school routinely?”
“Oh, hell. I don’t want to get that child in any more trouble.”
“It’d be better for him, for everyone, if we had the facts, Mrs. Nichols. The more you can tell me, the quicker we can get all this put to rest.”
“Well. Oh well. I don’t know about routine, but my boy says Trevor takes off occasionally, and talked him into joining the party this time. Doesn’t excuse what Malc did, and he’s been righteously punished for it. For the last three weeks I’ve been walking him to school every morning, picking him up every afternoon. Not much else humiliates a nine-year-old boy more than having his mama walk him to and from school.”
“My mother did the same with my brother once. He was twelve. I don’t think he’s lived it down yet.”
“Parents ought to be more worried about doing their job instead of being best pals with their kids, you ask me.”
“Is that the way it is next door?”
“Now I’m just gossiping,” Shari replied. “Not that I have anything against gossip. I’ll say I don’t see much discipline. But that’s just my opinion, which my husband tells me I express much too often. Trevor runs a little wild, but he’s a nice enough boy. I just want to say, I might not be on the best terms with Ella right at the moment, but I wouldn’t wish this sort of thing on anybody. I think it must’ve been some freak accident. Spontaneous combustion or something.”
“We’ll be looking into it. I appreciate the time.”
Reena went inside. She stood in the front hall, absorbing the tone and feel of the house. The fire hadn’t come this far, but she could smell the smoke. Fire suppression had caused some minor damage. Soot and dirt on the floor, the stairs.
But she could see what the neighbor meant. Looking beyond the mess of emergency, everything was scrupulous. A gleam under the debris dust, flowers arranged just so in vases, color-coordinating cushions and drapes, all chosen to accent the tones of the walls, the tones in the art.
Upstairs, she found the same. The master bedroom had taken the worst. Blistered paint, scorched ceilings, water and smoke damage.
The duvet on the king-sized bed had caught, as had the coordinating curtains. The natural wood blinds were scorched.
She could see the path the fire had taken, down the attic steps, eating its way across the polished wood floor, gnawing on the antique rug.
She moved down the hall, found two home offices. More antiques, she noted, more careful decorating.
The boy’s room was at the other end of the hall. It was big and airy, done in a soccer theme. Framed posters, lots of black and white with red splashes. Rigorously organized bookshelves. No scatter of toys, no piles of discarded clothes.
She took out the file, checked information. Then took out her phone and made a call.
O’Donnell was working through layers of debris when she picked her way carefully up the damaged steps.
“Nice of you to join me.”
“Had some background to check.” She glanced up, studied the sky. “Most of the fire headed up. They’re lucky. Damage to the second floor’s not that bad. Just smoke and water damage on the main floor.”
“No evidence of an accelerant so far. Point of origin, southeast corner.” He gestured as she took more photos. “Got the plywood, flashed the insulation behind it, traveled up, took the roof.”
She crouched, picked through debris with her gloved hands and pulled out the scorched remains of a snapshot. “Photographs. Pile of photos, probably the starter.”
“Yeah. Little bonfire of photos. Fire travels up, travels out. Storage bags, clothes inside, storage boxes, decorations inside, fueled it, carrying it down the stairs. Ventilated by the open window and the open door.”
“Have you checked for prints? Door handle, around the window frame?”
“Waiting for you.”
“Had a nice chat with the neighbor. Guess who likes to hook school?”
O’Donnell leaned back on his haunches. “Is that so?”
“Young Trevor Parker’s been truant six times in the last three months. On the day of the fire, he was tardy, came in between eleven and eleven-thirty. Had a note,” she added, “claiming he’d had a doctor’s appointment.”
She began to check for prints on the burned wood of the window frame. “The school has the students’ medical information on record and was persuaded to give me the name of Trevor’s pediatrician. He didn’t have an appointment on the day in question.”
“Nothing in the report about that either,” O’Donnell pointed out. “Both adults were at work, until they were notified of the fire.”
“Got a thumbprint here. Small. Looks like a kid’s to me.”
“I guess we’d better go have a talk with the Parkers.”
Ella Parker was a buff and stylish thirty-eight. She was a senior vice president in marketing for a local firm, and came in to the station house carrying a Gucci briefcase. Her husband was her counterpart, heading the procurement department for a research and development organization.
He wore a Rolex and Italian loafers.
They’d brought Trevor with them, as requested. He was a small and wiry nine wearing two-hundred-dollar high-tops and a sullen expression.
“We appreciate you coming in,” O’Donnell began.
“If you have a progress report, we want to hear it.” Ella set her briefcase on the conference table in front of her. “We’re dealing with insurance and estimates. We need to get back in the house as soon as possible so we can start repairs.”
“Understood. While we’ve determined the cause of the fire, there are still questions to be addressed.”
“I assume you’ve spoken with our former housekeeper.”
“Former?” Reena prompted.
“I fired her yesterday. The
re’s no question she’s responsible. No one else had our security code. I told you that was a mistake,” she said to her husband.
“She came highly recommended,” he reminded her. “And she’s worked for us for six years. What possible reason would Annie have to start a fire in our house?”
“People don’t need a reason to do destructive things. They just do them. Have you spoken with her?” Ella demanded.
“We will be.”
“I don’t understand why she wasn’t first on your list. Why you’ve dragged us down here at a time like this. Do you have any idea how much time and stress and energy are involved after you’ve had a fire in your home?”
“Actually, I do,” Reena said. “I’m sorry you have to deal with it.”
“I had several thousand dollars’ worth of personal items destroyed, not to mention the damage to my home. I’ve had to cancel appointments, completely rearrange my schedule—”
“Ella.” There was a weariness in William Parker’s voice, and it sounded habitual to Reena.
“Don’t Ella me,” she snapped. “I’m the one dealing with all the details. Not that you ever—” She cut herself off, lifted a hand. “I’m sorry. I’m very upset.”
“Understandable. Can you tell us how often you go up to the attic?” O’Donnell asked.
“At least once a month. And I have—had—the housekeeper clean up there regularly.”
“Mr. Parker?”
“Two, three times a year, I guess. Hauling stuff up or down. Christmas decorations, that sort of thing.”
“Trevor?”
“Trevor’s not allowed in the attic,” Ella cut in.
Reena caught the quick glance he shot his mother before he went back to staring at the table.
“I used to like to play in the attic when I was a kid.” Reena spoke casually. “All kinds of interesting stuff up there.”
“I said he isn’t allowed.”
“What a boy isn’t allowed and what he does are often the same things. According to our information, Trevor occasionally hooks school.”
“Once—and he’s not allowed to play with the boy responsible. I don’t see what business that is of yours.”
“Trevor wasn’t in school on the morning of the fire. Were you, Trevor?”
“Of course he was.” Anger and impatience sharpened Ella’s voice to a pinpoint. “My husband picked him up after we learned about the fire.”
“But you weren’t in school until nearly noon, isn’t that right, Trevor? You came in late. With a note that said you had a doctor’s appointment.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Mrs. Parker.” O’Donnell spoke in his slow, patient drawl. “Any reason you can’t let your boy answer for himself?”
“I’m his mother, and I’m not going to allow him to be interrogated or browbeaten by the police. We’ve been victimized, and now you’re making some sort of veiled accusation involving a nine-year-old boy.” She pushed to her feet. “I’ve had enough. Come on, Trevor.”
“Ella, shut up. Just shut the hell up for five damn minutes.” William dismissed her, focused on the boy. “Trevor, did you skip school again?”
The boy jerked a shoulder, stared at the table. But Reena saw the gleam of tears in his eyes.
“Did you go up into the attic that morning, Trevor?” she asked quietly. “Maybe just to play, just to hang out?”
“I don’t want you questioning him,” Ella said.
“I do.” Her husband rose. “If you can’t handle it, step out of the room. But I’m going to hear what Trevor has to say.”
“Like you care. Like you care about either of us. You’re so busy screwing your big-breasted blonde you don’t have time to care.”
“I’m so busy trying to tolerate living in the same house with you, I haven’t cared enough. About Trevor.”
“I didn’t hear you deny cheating on me, you son of a bitch.”
“Stop it! Stop it!” Trevor clamped his hands over his ears. “Stop yelling all the time! I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to see what would happen.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God, Trevor. What have you done? Don’t say another word. I’m not letting him say another word,” Ella said to Reena. “I’m calling my lawyer.”
“Back off, Ella.” William laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. Then he lowered his head, rested it against the top of his son’s. “I’m sorry, kiddo. Your mom and I have messed things up good. We’re going to stand up to it. You need to stand up, too. Tell what happened.”
“I was mad. I was mad because you were fighting again, and I didn’t want to go to school. So I didn’t.”
Reena handed Trevor a tissue. “You came back home instead?”
“I was just going to play in my room, and watch TV. But . . .”
“You were feeling mad.”
“They’re going to get a divorce.”
“Oh, Trev.” William sat again. “It’s not because of you.”
“You wrecked the house. That’s what Mom said. You’re wrecking it, so I thought if there was a fire, you’d stay home to fix it. But I didn’t mean it. I got matches and lit the pictures and the papers, then I couldn’t put it out. I got scared and I ran away. I had the note ’cause I wrote it on the computer before. And I went to school.”
“This is all your fault,” Ella spat out.
William took Trevor’s hand. “Sure, why not? Enough of it is. We’ll work through this, kiddo. It’s good you told the truth, and we’ll work through it.”
“If the house got burned down, you won’t get divorced.” Trevor buried his face against his father’s chest. “Don’t go away.”
She got home late, and she got home depressed. There wasn’t going to be any perfect, or even easy, ending for Trevor Parker. Counseling would help, but it wouldn’t put his family back together. That, in Reena’s opinion, was doomed.
Too many were as far as she could see.
For every Fran and Jack, every Gib and Bianca, there were failed couples on the other part of the scale. And the failures generally outweighed the successes.
The kid’s home might not have burned down, but it was sure as hell broken.
She pulled up in front of her house, got out of the car, locked it. And saw Bo sitting on his front steps, nursing a bottle of beer.
She nearly ignored him—everything about him said complicated and time-consuming. Simpler, she thought, just to go into her own house, close the door. And close out the hardship of the day.
But she crossed over instead, sat down on the step beside him. She took his beer and had a good long drink.
“If you’re going to tell me you’ve been sitting out here waiting for me, I’m going to get weirded out.”
“Then I won’t tell you. But I can say that I’ve been known to take in a nice evening with a cold one on the front steps. Rough one?”
“Sad one.”
“Somebody die?”
“No.” She passed the beer back to him. “Which is a question that forces me to put today in some perspective. A lot of time someone has. One thing you can’t come back from is death.”
“What, no reincarnation in your world? Where’s the karma?”
She smiled, which surprised her. “I didn’t deal with someone who may come back as a beagle today. Just some little kid who nearly burned his house down trying to keep his parents together.”
“He hurt?”
“Not physically, no.”
“That’s something.”
“Something. You said your parents split when you were a kid.”
“Yeah.” He took a drink from the beer she passed back to him. “It was . . . unpleasant. Okay,” he corrected when she merely looked at him. “It was a nightmare. You don’t want to add to the weight of the day hearing about my childhood traumas.”
“My parents have been married thirty-seven years. Sometimes they’re like one body with two heads. They fight, but it’s never ugly, if you get me.”
/> “Oh boy, do I.”