by Brenda Novak
“Are we going to stay at my place tonight?” Claire asked. “The bedroom’s been cleaned up.”
“We’ll be safer at a motel in Libby or Kalispell.” And, after feeling so helpless to protect her when the fire started two nights ago, he was all about an ounce of prevention.
“That’ll cost money,” she pointed out.
“I don’t mind.” The insurance would probably cover it. He had to have somewhere to live until his cabin could be rebuilt. But even if the insurance wouldn’t, he didn’t care about the expense as long as it kept Claire safe.
“I don’t want you to spend money if you don’t have to, especially because of me.”
“Quit worrying about it. If Myles is any closer to making an arrest, maybe we’ll stay,” he said. “If not…we’ll head out. Maybe we’ll go as far as Big Fork.”
She held the hair out of her eyes. “That won’t give us much time in town. It’s already six o’clock.”
“You’re the one who didn’t want to let me out of bed.” He added a wink since it had actually been the other way around. He’d been afraid everything would change once they left the motel, that the unity they’d felt during the past twenty-four hours would suddenly disappear. But it was still there, for now. It made him feel absolutely content and frighteningly unsure at the same time, which was the oddest dichotomy he’d ever experienced. She kept him so off balance. He was pretty sure that was why he tended to fight what she did to him. He’d never liked giving someone else the power to hurt him.
“You’re incorrigible.” She sent him a look of exasperation laced with tenderness. She’d stopped trying to hide her feelings, and he liked that, needed it. This morning when they’d made love she’d told him again how much he meant to her, and it’d enriched the whole experience, made him feel closer to her than he’d ever been to anyone.
He just hoped he could let go of his reservations, his impulse to hold back. He wanted to give her what she gave him. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he said.
Her lips curved into a cocky smile. “Yes.”
Laughing, he took her hand. He loved her, all right. He might live to regret how much, but she made him whole.
He opened his mouth to tell her that this time things were different between them, that she could trust him, but the diner came up on their right and she distracted him by pointing out the window. “There’s Myles.”
The sheriff had beaten them to the restaurant. Isaac could see him waiting near the door. “Let’s hope he has something to tell us,” he said, and brushed his lips over her knuckles before letting go.
Myles looked tired, as if he’d put in a couple of very long days. Claire felt sorry for him—until Isaac sat next to her and Myles cast him a hooded glance that was just dark enough to convey his disapproval. Although Myles seemed to be making an attempt to separate his personal feelings from his job as the county sheriff—no doubt the reason he kept his opinion to himself except for that one glance—he wasn’t having an easy time of it. Most likely he’d received an earful from Laurel about how terrible it would be if Claire went back to Isaac and agreed with her.
Claire wanted to reassure him, to tell him she sensed something deeper in Isaac than anyone had given him credit for in the past. But she knew that could be wishful thinking, an attempt to deceive herself as well as him—or Myles might take it that way. This wasn’t the time for that discussion, anyway. For the most part, they were all hiding their personal feelings behind a businesslike facade.
The waitress appeared almost immediately to hand them laminated menus and rattle off the specials—meat loaf, mashed potatoes and green beans, with banana cream pie for dessert, for $11.99. Or a cowboy steak with pasta and grilled vegetables for two bucks more.
Everything sounded good to Claire. She was suddenly so hungry she could’ve eaten three meals.
They each ordered a soda. Then she selected the meat loaf and Myles and Isaac ordered off the menu.
“What’d you find at Isaac’s cabin? Anything?” she asked Myles as soon as the waitress walked away.
“The fire started at the back door,” he replied. “And whoever did it definitely used an accelerant. I’m guessing gas, but we won’t have confirmation from that lab for days, maybe a couple of weeks.”
“It was gas. I could smell it,” Isaac said.
Claire settled her napkin in her lap. “What about tire tracks?”
“The firefighters pretty much obliterated any chance we had of recovering that kind of evidence. Whoever did this was either smart or very lucky. No one saw him, he used a common substance as the accelerant, so that it can’t be traced back to him, and he created so much destruction with the fire and with the effort required to put it out that whatever evidence he might’ve left behind has been destroyed.”
“He shot at me,” Isaac said. “Shot the lights, too. What about the shells?”
“We’re looking for them. We’re also sifting through the ashes for the bullets. If we can find even one, we might be able to match it to the gun later.”
Claire slid the salt and pepper shakers behind the napkin dispenser. “Did the Ferellas see anyone come flying past their house?” The Ferellas owned a mobile home on a couple of acres not far from the turnoff to Isaac’s place.
He shook his head. “But Rusty was on duty, doing patrol. Fortunately, he saw the smoke and mobilized the fire department before you called in, which was probably the only reason we were able to put it out before it spread any farther.”
Isaac rested his elbows on the back of the booth. “Shit.”
He’d been hoping for more. So had Claire. “What about Les Weaver?” she asked. “Did you send someone over to see where he was when the fire broke out?”
“Jared Davis is one of my best investigators. He’s originally from L.A., has lots of experience. He visited Weaver first thing this morning. Weaver claims he was home all that night and his wife backed him up.”
“She’s lying,” Isaac said.
“A distinct possibility, but it might be hard to prove. We’re checking with the neighbors to see if they saw him coming or going, but with the three-hour drive he would’ve left before it was unusually late and returned in the morning, especially if he stopped for coffee or breakfast after being up all night. Nothing that would make anyone question what he was doing.”
“So that’s it?” Isaac said. “This is going to end up another big mystery, like what happened to Claire’s mother?”
Myles clearly didn’t appreciate that comment, but his experience showed. He’d talked to other victims over the years, understood their impatience and anger. “Investigations take time, Isaac. I’m going to get this bastard. You have my word on that. And there is—”
The waitress appeared with their sodas. “Your dinners will be right out,” she said, and hurried off again.
Myles went back to what he’d been about to say. “There is one other thing—an incident worth mentioning.”
The seriousness of his tone put Claire on full alert. “What’s that?”
“I got a call from Herb Scarborough yesterday.”
Herb managed Mountain Bank and Trust—the only bank in town. “What does Herb have to do with anything?” she asked.
“On his way home from work, he saw a car weaving all over the road day before yesterday and followed so he could find out who it was. He planned to call and report the driver, but he was a bit surprised by what the guy did next.”
“Which was…” Isaac prompted.
Myles’s resistance to accepting Isaac became obvious again when he kept his gaze on Claire. “He went to the Petroglyphs Campground, circled around, found a site that was hidden from the others and lit a fire in the fire pit.”
Isaac scowled. “Isn’t that what a fire pit’s for?”
At last, Myles shifted his attention. “This guy wasn’t camping out. He wasn’t going to eat. And it was only about four in the afternoon so he didn’t need a fire for light.”
“Why was he doing it?” Claire asked.
“He wanted to destroy something.”
Isaac slid his Coke out of the way. “Who wanted to destroy something? Did Herb ever get a look at this man’s face?”
“He did. He said it was Donald Salter.”
“He didn’t recognize the car? Both the Jeep and the Impala are distinctive.”
“Yeah, but someone else could’ve been driving. He wanted to be sure.”
Considering Don’s drinking problem, Herb should’ve been able to figure out who was behind the wheel. “Don’s an alcoholic. There’s no telling what he might do.”
“That’s what I thought.” Myles clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward. “Until I heard the rest.”
Claire stiffened in expectation. “Go on.”
“Herb parked back in the trees and watched Don burn some papers. It seemed odd, given the time of day and everything, so after Don drove off, he went to see what, if anything, was left.”
Isaac had been rubbing his chin as he listened, but at this point he stopped. “Did he find anything besides ashes?”
“The stuff in the pit was destroyed. But there were a couple of sheets that’d blown out before they were too badly burned. They were stuck in the trees. When Herb saw what they were, he brought them to me.”
Claire could scarcely breathe. “And? What were they?”
Myles lowered his voice. “David’s notes on your mother’s investigation.”
“That means they came from my house! So…did he steal them? What would he want with them? And why would he burn them?”
“All good questions,” Myles responded.
Isaac had just pulled in to get gas when Claire’s mother-in-law walked out of the mini-mart. Rosemary O’Toole spotted Claire the second she looked up, so there was nothing Claire could do, even though her first impulse was to avoid any interaction, at least while she was with Isaac. She already knew how Rosemary was likely to react. David’s mother said she wanted Claire to move on, and would eventually be willing to accept someone else in Claire’s life, but she didn’t want another man to take her son’s place too soon, especially a man as controversial as Isaac. That would cause a dramatic change in focus for the whole community, pushing David a little more decisively into the past.
Claire could understand why she’d feel that way. Claire felt the same loyalty to David, and even some fear of what might happen if she really let go of the one constant in the past twelve months—her pain at her husband’s loss. She didn’t need Rosemary’s disapproval making all of it worse.
Isaac didn’t seem to notice her sudden tension. If he’d seen Rosemary, he hadn’t thought anything of it. He got out and started to pump gas while she approached Claire’s side of the vehicle.
“Oh, boy,” Claire breathed. They’d just left Myles at the diner. Her mind was completely preoccupied with Don Salter—whether or not he was the person who’d trashed her house and stolen those files, or if he’d come by them through a third party, which opened up a whole host of other questions. She didn’t want to think about David. She’d spent a year crying over his death, was just beginning to come out of that dark period. The last thing she needed was an awkward or painful encounter with his mother.
But she stepped out of the truck, anyway, to give Rosemary a hug.
“Hi, Mom. How are you?”
Rosemary didn’t return the hug. She suffered through it, then lifted her head, causing her chins to wag. “I’m fine. Except that you haven’t been returning my calls.”
Claire should’ve contacted her this week. Normally, she kept in close touch. “I haven’t even received your messages. My life’s been crazy. First, there was that incident at the studio. I’m sure you heard about that. Then someone broke into my house. We still don’t know who or why. And the fire… I don’t know what’s going on.”
Rosemary’s eyes cut Isaac’s way. He now realized she was there. Claire knew because he was looking over at them. “Maybe it’s the company you’re keeping,” Rosemary muttered.
Here we go… “Isaac has nothing to do with what’s happening,” she said. “As a matter of fact, he saved my life.”
“But he wouldn’t have had to do that if you hadn’t been at his place, sleeping with him, to begin with.”
This was turning out to be a frontal assault; Claire hadn’t expected it to be this bad. She’d seen David’s mother upset before, but never so livid her lips quivered and her voice shook. “Rosemary—”
“I was Mom a moment ago.”
“You were Mom until you started acting as if you don’t care about me,” Claire snapped.
“I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t care. Someone needs to talk some sense into you. If you won’t listen to your own parents, or your sister, who else is there? Do you think David would want to see the woman he adored with a man like him?”
The fact that she’d used David to shore up her side of the argument stung, even though Claire should’ve seen it coming. “David’s not here to give his opinion,” she said.
“But you can’t really be satisfied with someone of his moral character—” she motioned to Isaac “—after being married to my son!”
Claire thought of when she’d told Laurel she’d never really liked Isaac. She’d regretted making that statement ever since, and not only because it was a lie and had possibly hurt him. She was a coward. Maybe he’d never be able to love her the way she loved him. Maybe they wouldn’t wind up together, as committed as she’d been with David. They were just beginning whatever their relationship would be and couldn’t predict the future. But she was going to have the guts to own up to what she felt, regardless of how it all ended.
“David was a good man,” she said. “I miss him so much and I’ll always love him. But Isaac is just as good. And I love him, too.”
Her mother-in-law’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Love him!” Everyone within earshot turned to look.
Claire felt herself flush but stood her ground.
Isaac left the nozzle in the gas tank and walked over, but he didn’t get involved. He stood behind her, a silent support.
“That doesn’t mean he’s going to love you back.” The gleam in Rosemary’s eyes challenged either one of them to contradict her. “He’s not someone who—”
Claire interrupted before she could go on. She didn’t want Isaac to hear any more of this. Some people might say he deserved his reputation, but who were they to judge? His psyche was so complex he probably didn’t understand why he’d done half the stuff he’d done. “You’re right. It doesn’t mean he gives a damn,” she said. “But he doesn’t have to.”
The tension left Rosemary’s spine, making her look fat and deflated. “And you’re okay with that?”
“Yeah, I’m okay with it,” Claire replied, and got back in the truck.
Isaac finished getting gas, then climbed behind the wheel. “I’ve always loved you,” he said softly, and started the engine.
27
Although Isaac and Claire had gone over to the Salters’ house three different times since their conversation with Myles at the diner—had called, too—they hadn’t been able to rouse Jeremy or his father. According to what Myles had said at dinner, the county investigator, Jared Davis, had also been trying to reach the Salters.
Claire wasn’t sure where they could be. As far as she knew, other than working at Hank’s—and his shift had already ended—Jeremy didn’t have a lot of places to go. He had no friends, no other family. His father wasn’t working these days. And, strangely enough, both vehicles were parked in the garage…?.
“Why do you think Joe was with Don?” she mused. They were at her place, cleaning, but they’d been analyzing the situation while they worked. It had felt strange to see Joe in Don’s car, but the fact that they were together recently seemed even more suspect now.
“Maybe Joe did this—” he gestured at the glass he was sweeping up in the kitchen “—and had just passed t
he files off to Don when you saw them. Because I can’t imagine any other reason for the two of them to be together.”
“Neither can I. But why would Don want the files?” They’d cleaned her bedroom and bath the other day, but much of the mess in the kitchen and living room remained. Holding a big garbage sack, she picked through the rubble, throwing away what was too damaged to keep. “There are various names associated with my mother’s, but Don’s has never come up.”
“On our way back from the diner, you said he was good friends with Tug.”
“That was a long time ago. They’ve been mostly estranged for years, ever since my father remarried and Don’s wife left town. I think Don’s been bitter and jealous of Tug’s happiness and money. At least, that’s what my father’s had to say about the rift. And they’ve had words over the way Don treats Jeremy.”
“Jeremy would be a challenge for anyone to raise.”
Claire felt a little protective of her old biggest fan. He’d had a hard life. “He’s a nice kid.”
“He’s not a kid anymore. But I didn’t say he wasn’t nice. I said he’d be a challenge.”
Planning to see if she could find its match, she fished an earring out of the pile of junk on the floor and set it on the coffee table. “Hank does pretty well with him at the burger stand, but his father is…having some serious problems of his own. I don’t like the way I’ve seen them interact.”
“Maybe we should—” Isaac lifted his head.
“What is it?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. He dropped the broom and rushed over to yank her behind the couch with him, then pulled the gun that’d been wedged in his waistband.
“Listen.” He pressed a finger to his lips to indicate silence.
Claire held her breath as she waited for whatever had alarmed him. But then she heard the sound—and recognized it. Leanne’s wheelchair. “It’s okay. It’s just my sister.”