When she shifted from one foot to the other, I moved with her, using her as a shield to keep from being seen by Ethan.
“Uh… yes,” I said without really thinking about it, but then I reached a hand to her arm. She tensed. Her wide eyes looked from mine to the hand on her arm. I pulled it back. “Sorry. Is there a back way out of here?”
“Is everything okay, hon? You don’t look so good.”
“I just need to leave. And I don’t want someone to see me.”
“Okaaay,” she said, long and drawn out. “Sure. There’s a back door. Right through there.” She stepped backwards and pointed with a full, outstretched arm at a door right next to the bar. But her movement left me exposed, and drew Ethan’s attention.
He was putting the finishing touches on a dry martini at the end of the bar closest to us, but now he looked up, and our eyes met.
I froze. My breath was knocked out of me with that casual glance in my direction.
As recognition passed through his eyes and over his face, his entire body reacted. He quickly passed the drink across the bar to a customer, then wiped his hands on an apron around his waist.
I took the opportunity to dart from my chair. I ran the length of the bar toward the main exit.
“Faith?”
I heard him call out, but I didn’t stop.
I pushed through the heavy wooden doors and ran straight into a bear of a man. “Oh, sorry,” I said instinctively.
The man grabbed my arms to steady me. “Whoa, there, gorgeous. Where you goin’ in such a hurry?”
“Let go of me!” I pushed past him.
The woman beside him, dressed in a low-cut red dress and reeking of cheap perfume, crossed her arms. “Hey, Little Miss Stuck-up! He was just saving you from falling on your ass.”
I didn’t turn back. I just ran for my car.
“Faith!” Ethan’s voice again. He’d followed me outside.
The woman sighed heavily. “What is wrong with people these days?” she said in frustration.
I fumbled with my keys, trying to get inside my car, but I knew it was too late. When his hands touched my shoulders, I whipped around and backed away. “Don’t touch me.”
He pulled his hands back and stretched them out to his sides. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… What are you doing here?”
I studied the questioning look on his face. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with the Spotted Cat logo in the upper left. His white apron was still tied around his waist, clean and ready for a night of work. And he looked good. Not like a man who had just been released from prison. Which was a stupid thought. What had I expected? A beard? A teardrop tattoo? Scars from fights with other prisoners?
Wind blew a strand of hair across my face, and I shoved it out of the way while turning my head into the cold breeze. My eyes watered, then emptied out. The wetness on my cheeks burned as it dried.
I turned back to him. “I didn’t know you would be here.” Or had I known? When I found that matchbook, had I subconsciously expected, or even hoped, to find Ethan here? Did some part of me want to see him? Had the happy memories overshadowed the ones that had destroyed our relationship forever?
My hands shook. I shivered more than the cool temperature warranted.
“You’re terrified,” he said. “After all this time, you’re scared of me?”
I had no idea what to say. I didn’t want to give this man the satisfaction of thinking I was scared of him. So I squared my shoulders. “I stopped being afraid of you twelve years ago.”
“You’re lying.” He took a step forward. “But I won’t hurt you. I was never the man the prosecutors and the media painted me to be. Surely you of all people know that. And I changed in prison.”
At that, I laughed—a loud, hysterical laugh. “You changed?” I took a step closer to him, attempting to show him that I didn’t fear him—a lie. “Well, me too. Stay away from me, Ethan. I promise to do the same.”
I managed to unlock my car and slip inside even though my hands still shook. Ethan stood silently as I pulled out and turned back toward Paynes Creek.
But when I was a mile down the road, I pulled over into an empty church parking lot and let the tears I’d been holding flow. My entire body shook—an uncontrollable reaction to seeing Ethan up close and way-too-personal for the first time since he was sentenced eleven years ago. I let out a loud frustrated cry and beat a fist against the steering wheel. I had suspected I would see him sooner or later… but I had hoped it would be later.
I remembered how he looked in court every single day of his trial. What he wore, the glances he sent in my direction, those pleading eyes hoping to make contact with mine, the emotion on his face any time testimony didn’t go his way. I remembered how he was continuously beaten down by the prosecutors, even though they never got the satisfaction of cross-examining him directly, as he chose not to testify on his own behalf. He never admitted guilt, but he also never revealed what he’d been doing just before his father and my mother were killed. He never told anyone how it was nearly impossible for him to have carried out the murders the way the prosecutors claimed.
Nearly impossible, but not absolutely so. A critical distinction.
My phone rang from inside my back pocket. After running the back of my hand across my tear-soaked face, I pulled my phone out and stared at the unfamiliar number. I took a couple of deep breaths and answered. “Faith Day.”
“Faith, it’s Luke. Would you mind meeting me at the station?”
“Why?” I concentrated on breathing and keeping my voice even.
“Well, since it’s not a place I would typically take a woman on a date, I hoped it would be obvious that I’d like to ask you some questions.”
“About?”
“You know, Miss Day, you should really work on your people skills. I’d like to go over some of the photos you took at the Reynolds fire. And I need to talk to you about Ethan Gentry.”
I stretched my thumb and middle finger across my forehead and massaged my temples.
“You still there?” he asked. When I didn’t answer, he said, “I’m sorry. It can’t be easy to see your stepbrother released from prison. But I’m really trying to decide if he could possibly have anything to do with what’s happening now.”
He had no idea how hard it was for me to see Ethan released, and hopefully he never would. “I’ll head that way.”
“You okay? You sound… off.”
“I’m fine. I’ll be there in twenty.”
I hung up and tossed the phone in the passenger seat. Who the hell was this Luke Justice? And how would I possibly get through this arson investigation if he continued to dig into the past?
The station house was quiet that night. Small town. Small number of officers out on patrol. Even fewer officers at the station. I found Luke in one of the interrogation rooms. He had set up an evidence board on which were tacked photos, newspaper articles, and Post-It notes. He was concentrating so hard on something when I entered that he didn’t even hear me. When I got closer, I realized he was staring at an article about Ethan’s trial.
“You got me here, Special Agent. What can I help you with?” I scraped a metal chair against the concrete floor and sat, stuffing my hands into my coat pockets and crossing my outstretched legs at my ankles.
He jumped when I spoke, but recovered quickly. “Hi,” he said warmly. “Did I tear you away from anything important?”
“Yes. What do you want?”
He eyed me curiously. “Is there a reason you’re pretending you don’t like me? Or is that how you treat everyone?”
I smiled then, but I felt fairly sure he found no warmth in it. “Is it important to you that I like you, Agent?”
He tilted his head side to side. “I’m not sure ‘important’ is the right word, but it would be helpful since we’ll be working together. And I rather enjoyed the kiss you gave me yesterday.”
Working together? On what planet does he think we’ll be partners? Ho
w many times must I tell Chief Reid that I only take the photos? I don’t investigate, and I certainly don’t work with hot-headed FBI agents.
“Besides, I’m a likable guy,” he continued.
You’re a smooth talker, that’s for sure.
One of the night shift officers passed by the open door of the interview room and chuckled, apparently having overheard Luke flirting with me. Luke closed the door, then took a seat across the table from me. He opened a manila folder, pulled out a photograph, and slid it across the table for me to examine. “Tell me what you see in this photo.”
I’d watched his reaction to the immature officer passing by, and the way he seemed to shift from playful to serious. It was interesting. He was interesting. But I certainly didn’t want him to know I thought so.
“Is this a test?” I asked.
“Not at all. This is just me asking for your help. The Paynes Creek PD and the FBI would like your assistance, and we’re willing to pay you for your time. I’m told you see things that others don’t.”
After analyzing his expression, I looked down at the photograph. It was definitely from an arson case, but not one I’d seen before. “Is this from another case you’re investigating?”
He gave a simple nod.
I stared at the picture again. “I’m not an arson expert. It just looks like another house fire to me.” I shrugged and slid the picture back to him.
“Now take a look at these.” He moved a stack of several more photos toward me, all paper-clipped together.
I removed the paper clip and examined each picture. A few footprints. A close-up of fire damage to a wall left standing. A burned-out sofa.
When I flipped to the next one, my heart stopped. It was the remains of an animal. “A dog?”
Luke’s jaw was rigid. He frowned. “Summer, the family’s golden retriever.”
I drilled the heel of my palm into my chest. It was difficult enough to work on murder investigations, but when defenseless children and pets were involved, it hurt my heart to its core.
Something about the photo caught my eye. “You have a loupe?”
He pulled a small black leather pouch from his bag, extracted a retractable magnifying glass from it, and handed it to me. “You see something?”
“Not sure.” I held the loupe over a piece of metal lying next to the remains of the dog. It was a silver rabies tag in the shape of a dog bone, and thanks to the magnifying glass, I could just make out the name and phone number of Finch’s veterinary clinic.
“What is it?” Luke asked, getting impatient.
I handed the magnifier back to him. “I thought it might be something, but…” I paused. “It was nothing.” I leaned back and tucked my hands in my lap. “Where was this fire?”
He eyed me. Did he know I was hiding something? It wasn’t that I wouldn’t tell him, but I wanted to ask Finch about it first. Call it brother-sister loyalty or whatever.
“Two towns over. Midland.”
“Midland.” Why would Finch have a customer from Midland? “What were their names?”
“Missy and Dave Siegelman. Their daughter’s name is Callie.”
“Callie Siegelman,” I said. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“Her family made a big deal of her daughter being harassed by her high school administration for not turning over her phone when asked.”
“She was propositioned by the art teacher. He wanted her to pose nude so he could paint her.”
“That’s the one,” Luke said with the casual point of a finger. “That’s what was alleged, anyway.”
“How did that case end up?”
“The parents sued. There’s a lot of gossip about it on online sites. But when the parents were killed in this fire, the story died with them. The teacher was stripped of his job, and he left town, not to be heard of again.”
I sat back and crossed my arms. “And your other arson cases? Do they involve teens who were messing around with teachers?”
“No. But some involved women and girls in other… circumstances.”
“Meaning?”
“They don’t all involve teachers, but they involve some sort of sexual assault or inappropriate behavior between a man and a woman.”
“Can you give me another example?” Why was he being so vague?
“Well, I discovered in one case that a woman had accused a coworker of sexually assaulting her at work. An executive of that company, Mark Shepherd, dismissed the accusations. Other coworkers interviewed said that Shepherd went as far as to promote the man accused, whereas the woman was moved into a lesser position. Shepherd is said to have told upper management that the woman had an overactive imagination and that her work wasn’t what it used to be.”
“He was looking to fire her,” I said. “In order to get rid of the problem, he was going to punish the accuser instead of the predator.”
“Exactly. And shortly after that, he was murdered—shot—and his car was set on fire.”
“So—another case where the victim was killed by other means first, and then burned to cover up the evidence of the murder.”
“One of the most common motives for arson.”
“Crime concealment,” I said, nodding. “But other than that, I don’t see any connection to these other cases. Similar, but…” I left my statement hanging while I paused to consider what I might be missing. “Have you found any links between the victims?”
“We’ve been working on several theories, but no.”
I studied the evidence board again. My hands grew clammy as I looked at the old articles about Ethan.
“Thought you weren’t an investigator,” Luke said with a smile.
“I’m not.” I stood suddenly, realizing I had definitely shown too much interest. “Do you need anything else from me?”
Luke considered me a moment, then gathered up the photos, stood, and shoved them back into their folder. “I think that’s enough for tonight.” His mouth opened to say something else, but he stopped himself.
I nodded at the evidence board. “You seem awfully interested in Ethan’s case. You think he had something to do with what’s happening now?”
Luke turned and stared at the board for a long moment, then faced me again. “I’m investigating several fires that occurred after he was released from prison. But I have no hard evidence to place him at any of the scenes.”
“Does he have alibis?”
“No, he lives alone and doesn’t seem to have any social life. But we have people watching him now, so if another fire occurs…”
I tensed at his statement, and he had to see it, but I said nothing. Of course the FBI was watching Ethan. Which meant someone had to have told Luke that they saw me at the Spotted Cat.
Or they would soon.
Seven
It was after ten p.m. when I left the station. I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and my mind was racing. Without thinking, I turned toward the neighborhood where my brother lived.
His vehicle was in the driveway. The porch light was out, but the glow of a television flashed in the living room window. I sat there for several minutes before deciding to confront him.
When I opened the car door, my phone buzzed. It was Luke again. Deciding I’d had enough of Luke Justice for one day, I sent the call to voicemail.
I knocked lightly on Finch’s door. I heard movement and a crash—followed by cursing—before Finch opened the door. His chocolate lab, Sally Brown, danced behind him.
“Faith,” he said, surprised. “What are you doing here?” He looked at his watch. “It’s late.”
“I saw Ethan.”
He looked like he was trying to stifle a reaction at first, but then stepped aside. “Come in, but we have to keep it down. Aubrey hasn’t been sleeping well. The second trimester was supposed to be easier, I thought.”
I walked past him, through the foyer, and into the living room. Their house was decorated in soft beige and lots of white. Aubrey liked contemporary lines and modern ar
t. And Finch liked whatever Aubrey liked.
“Is she doing okay? The baby’s alright?” Finch and Aubrey had had trouble getting pregnant, so I couldn’t help but worry for them.
“Yeah, she’s fine. She’s just been spending a lot of time volunteering at church lately. Too much time, if you ask me.”
“Doing what?” I asked, curious.
“She’s been counseling some people recently. Not sure who. She says she has to keep all that confidential.”
“Oh, sure,” I said.
Before getting pregnant, Aubrey had worked as a psychologist at an office in Lexington—she’d been there ever since interning as a college student. She’d even helped me find the therapist who diagnosed my hyperthymesia and helped me work through my issues after Mom was killed. But when she found out she was expecting, she and Finch decided they didn’t really need her income, and she quit her job to concentrate on delivering a healthy baby.
“It’s good that she’s continuing to use her skills,” I said.
“You going to tell me where you saw Ethan?” Finch asked.
Stalling, I rubbed Sally Brown’s head. She was an older lab; Finch had owned her since he got his first apartment, sophomore year in college. She was still just a puppy when our mother died. “The Spotted Cat.”
“In Lexington? What were you doing in a place like that?”
“It’s a long story, but the fact is: I saw him. And I ran like a scared little girl.”
Finch walked to me and enveloped me in his arms. He stood half a foot taller than me and was built like a rock. I leaned my forehead into his chest. His hugs were always exactly what I needed. “Of course you did. He hurt you more than any man should. And he shouldn’t have been let out to hurt you again.”
“Is it possible that he didn’t kill them?”
“There was plenty of evidence to put him in prison.”
“All circumstantial. And now he’s out.” But Uncle Henry and Chief Reid had always been so sure of Ethan’s guilt.
“Ethan got exactly what he deserved,” Finch said with finality.
Death is in the Details Page 5