An Unlikely Match

by Arlene James

  Asher sighed. Ellie hadn’t been out of his head for ten minutes at a stretch in the past forty-eight hours. Just the mention of her name drove him to distraction, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted—not with the insurance adjuster about to return to the scene.

  After seeing Kent out, Asher returned to his desk, but his disquiet would not yield to the usual panacea of work, and he eventually turned away from the computer screen to pray.

  “Lord,” he whispered, “I don’t know what I ought to do now, but all I ask is that You please somehow help me protect Ellie.”

  Only after the words had left his mouth did he realize exactly what he’d said or what it was that weighed so heavily upon his heart. It was no surprise, really, that he hadn’t recognized it earlier. In his lifetime, Asher rarely had known real fear. Bitter disappointment, yes. Heartbreak, even. Loss. Failure. Shame, too, once or twice…the entire gamut of negative human emotion.

  But this was the first time he’d felt such fear for someone who had become so important to him.

  On the following Monday afternoon, Ellie turned the truck into the familiar narrow drive and got out to walk around to the front, where she huddled inside her hooded raincoat, waiting for her grandfather to join her. Asher stood on the front porch of the house, his luxury SUV at the curb. The day had taken on a gray cast and sputtered intermittently with a cold, brittle mist that would have coated the ground with a slick sheet of ice only a couple weeks earlier. Today, it produced only gloom, which seemed sadly appropriate.

  Dreading what was to come, Ellie surveyed the beloved old Victorian house. As always, its white, pink and pale gray gingerbread exterior, complete with a turret, elaborate trim, shutters and tall brick chimneys, evoked thoughts of horse-drawn carriages and courtly manners, of young girls in wide-skirted ball gowns and prosperous gentlemen in swallowtail coats. However, it no longer quite felt like home.

  How odd. She still felt very much a guest at Chatam House, and this place had always been home to her, even when she’d lived elsewhere with her parents. Yet, that somehow seemed in the past to her now.

  Asher walked down the three broad, wooden steps to the cobblestone walkway that bisected the shallow front yard and stood impatiently, his hands brushing back the sides of his suit jacket to lightly bracket his waist. Ellie hung back enough to let her grandfather take the lead. He traded words of greeting with the younger man and trudged up the steps. Asher met her gaze grimly before holding out an arm in welcome or perhaps encouragement. She walked ahead of him up the steps and into the deeper gloom of the porch, wishing she could have a moment to speak to him. But now was not the time.

  The X-shaped metal bar that the fire department had bolted across the front door had been removed and now lay to one side. Without preamble, her grandfather opened the door and went inside. Ellie followed, the scent of burnt wood and fabrics assailing her nose.

  Gray streaked the flocked green-and-white wallpaper in the entry; brown water stains mottled it into a garish mess. The red oak hardwood floor had been scorched in a wavy pattern right up to the edge of the narrow staircase with its delicate, hand-turned spindles. Soot covered everything, including the small but elaborate chandelier overhead.

  Down the hall, she could see the remains of the kitchen with its warped cabinets and soggy, molding linens. Only the tin ceiling panels had kept the ceiling from falling down in that room. They had not been so fortunate in other parts of the house.

  Turning left, they took in the parlor. It looked like nothing so much as a garbage heap. The heavy velvet curtains had burned right to the rods, one of which had fallen down. Chunks of ceiling plaster hung down like spooky, ragged flags and covered what sodden furniture still existed in great gray clumps and fine white spatters. The carpet had melted to what was left of the floor, and the far wall had burned to the studs.

  The only truly intact section of the room was the fireplace, which shared a sturdy brick wall with the dining room. The brick and mortar would need a great deal of scrubbing, but at least the ornately carved wooden mantle remained untouched.

  After looking around for a few minutes, Asher nodded at a burned-out section of the parlor floor where the couch had stood. “Is that where it started?”

  Some oblong lumps of charcoal were all that was left of the sofa, which had sat facing the doorway, and the tall, narrow table that had stood behind it. A rusty-looking tin can, a small, twisted rod and a few shattered pieces of milky, grayish glass showed where the lamp had fallen.

  Her grandfather nodded. “Yes, that’s it. The lamp stood on a table at the back of the couch, and the workmen had placed some tools and supplies behind there so they’d be out of sight. It was a tall lamp on a tall, narrow table. Gave good light, that lamp.”

  There were no overhead lights in the parlor, and the large glass shade on that lamp had provided ample illumination, which was why they’d kept it despite its top-heavy proportions. Ellie suspected that her grandmother had added the wide, domed, cobalt blue glass shade herself years earlier.

  They talked through what information they’d been given and their own actions of that day several times before the insurance company rep arrived. To their surprise, before he asked a single question, he walked them through what he knew, and by the time he was done, it had become abundantly clear to Ellie and everyone else that the paint remover had been turned over before the lamp had fallen.

  “I just assumed that the lamp had to fall and knock over the can,” her grandfather said, shaking his head. “The lamp was top-heavy, after all, and the plastic bucket with the paint thinner inside was on the floor.”

  Lawrence made a noncommittal sound at that and walked over to the window. “The other window on this wall has a storm unit affixed to the outside. This one does not. Why?”

  “Cross ventilation,” Ellie supplied. “My grandmother hated the central air unit after it was installed and often preferred to open a window, but she had a difficult time with the storm windows, which is why we removed one on each side of the house for her. We just never replaced them.”

  “But it was cold that night, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “So why open the window?”

  “Paint fumes,” her grandfather answered. “The house reeked of them, and since we were busy moving things around, we were warm enough.”

  “I notice that it has no screen,” Lawrence pointed out.

  Kent grimaced. “I put a hoe handle through it while raking leaves last fall. I wasn’t in any hurry to fix it. No insects in winter even if the window does have to be opened.”

  Again, Lawrence made that noise, which was beginning to sound skeptical to Ellie. “So you left the house open while you moved furniture into storage?”

  “Not intentionally,” Ellie told him. “I meant to close the window before we left.” Actually, she’d thought she had, but she’d opened and closed that window so many times since the renovations had started that she couldn’t remember one instance from another.

  “Don’t suppose it would have mattered,” Lawrence said lightly, “since the fire department reported that they’d found the front door unlocked when they arrived.”

  Ellie’s jaw dropped. At the same time, an expression of horror came over Kent’s face.

  “That…that was my fault.” He looked to Ellie apologetically. “I know I said I’d take care of it, but when you mentioned locking the front door, that reminded me that I needed to look up the code to open the storage unit. Once I’d done that, well, I forgot about the front door.”

  “Then anyone could have come into the house after you’d left,” Asher quickly pointed out. “Isn’t that right?”

  Ellie gulped and nodded worriedly. “I suppose.” Anyone could have—but Dallas had been the one on the scene. Which was the last thing she wanted to point out to Asher.

  Lawrence just smiled and asked who might have had reason to set the fire. Who, he meant, besides the owners of the house. Ellie said nothing. All h
er words and thoughts from that point on were reserved for God.

  Asher had to give the young investigator credit for not blustering and pressing for answers. Then again, it was to the insurance company’s benefit to delay making a ruling on the case. By denying the claim without overwhelming evidence of wrongdoing on the part of their insured, they opened themselves up to a lawsuit. On the other hand, they could delay settlement via patient investigation. They had some very reasonable questions, after all. The problem was that in at least a couple of instances, the Monroes had no reasonable answers.

  When he returned to the house after seeing Mr. Lawrence off, he found Ellie perched on the porch swing.

  “Grandpa’s looking around out back for his cat,” she said, sliding to make room for Asher. Feeling unaccountably weary, he sat down. A number of issues clamored for attention, but he couldn’t seem to organize his thoughts just then. The gray of the day mirrored his gloomy mood perfectly.

  “Think you’ll have to cancel soccer practice?” Ellie asked.

  “Already have.”

  “What about tomorrow?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “We’ll have to see.”

  Nodding, she used her feet to put the swing in motion, pushing against the floor of the porch. Asher let himself settle back and enjoy the lulling sway of the hard bench seat beneath him. Seconds later, however, he realized that he had to say something. He locked his knees, halting the movement of the swing.

  “Ellie, I apologize for the other day. That kiss never should have happened.”

  She made a small sound of distress, but when he looked at her, her gaze was trained woodenly on her lap.

  He plodded on doggedly. “I don’t usually do that sort of thing. Especially not with clients. Especially not with young clients who could misunderstand how these things can—”

  She got up and leaned a shoulder against a slender post supporting the porch roof, her back to him. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “I never thought you were.”

  Putting her spine to the post, she folded her arms and glanced at him before dropping her gaze to the floor. “Your aunts and sister think we’re having a romance.”

  “I know.” Asher sighed and leaned forward to prop his elbows against his knees. “But they’re wrong,” he added softly.

  “Are they, Asher?” she asked. Not waiting for an answer, she sent him an unreadable look then pushed away from the post, turned and calmly walked down the steps, putting her hood up. He watched her go to her truck and slide in behind the steering wheel. An instant later, she started up the engine. After a few moments, Kent trudged around the house and got in.

  Asher sat where he was until the little truck had backed out and gone on its way. Finally, he pulled out his phone and called the fire department, asking for someone to come and put up the door blocks again.

  Asher sat behind his desk and stared at the computer screen, trying to bully his mind into cooperation. He had a case coming up on the local docket and needed to prepare, but he couldn’t focus. The gray weather seemed disinclined to lighten, spitting chilly rain for another day. He’d had to call off soccer practice again, and he itched to do something besides sit and brood.

  On pure impulse, he got up and tossed on his overcoat before heading down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. He crossed the street and walked to the corner. Shoving through the heavy glass door, he entered the pharmacy and went to the soda counter, realizing only then that he’d hoped to find Ellie or even Kent Monroe there. Instead, he found a teenage girl with too much eye makeup and pink streaks in her hair doing homework at the counter.

  She got up off her stool and moved behind the counter. “What can I get you?”

  “I’ll have a cappuccino root beer float.”

  Nodding, she went to work. He took a seat two stools down from her textbook. Moments later, she set the tall, fluted glass in front of him, a long spoon and a straw poking up through the foam. He paid the two and a half bucks that she asked for and set about demolishing his treat. By the time he was done, he felt pleasantly full—and had reached a decision of sorts.

  Perhaps, he thought, he had been mistaken. Perhaps what he sensed in the Monroes was guilt for having failed to secure the house. Or perhaps he was making excuses for them because he wanted it to be that way. Regardless, he had to get to the bottom of this thing before the insurance company did. Rising, he left the pharmacy and drove straight to Chatam House.

  It was pitch-black out, the gloom of the day having carried over into the evening to effectively block even the faint light of the moon and stars. Asher approached the yellow door, its brass lamps burning softly on either side.

  To his surprise, Ellie answered the door. The wide, deeply cuffed neck of her oversize sweater had slipped off one smoothly rounded shoulder. She tilted her head, curls bouncing.

  “Hello, Ellie. Do you have a few minutes?”

  Nodding, she backed out of the doorway. “Come in. Your aunts are in their suite watching TV, I think. Grandpa and I are enjoying the fire in the front parlor.”

  He followed her across the foyer. Kent sat in the armchair across from the fire, staring at the dancing flames. He looked up only as Asher folded himself down into the seat next to Ellie on the settee. The older gentleman nodded.

  “Asher. Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

  Sighing, Asher leaned forward, his elbows braced against his knees, and clasped his hands together. “I want you to know, I’ve prayed about this at length and—”

  “You think we set the fire,” Ellie said.

  Asher dropped his head. “I didn’t say that. But I’m concerned about what I’ve heard. And about what I haven’t heard from the two of you.”

  Ellie and her grandfather traded looks. Kent cleared his throat before saying, “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t you? Every instinct I possess is screaming that you haven’t told me everything.”

  “I—I can’t imagine what else there is to say,” Kent sputtered.

  Odelia barreled into the room at that moment, wearing a blue-green-and-gold paisley caftan. “Did I hear the door? Ah. Asher. Hello, dear.”

  “Aunt Odelia.”

  She looked from one grim face to another before asking shakily, “Is everything all right?”

  Kent twisted sideways in his chair. “Asher is concerned,” he pronounced gravely.

  “Oh. Oh, my.” Eyes widening, she stepped forward. “Not about…” She glanced at Kent before bearing down on Asher. “You wouldn’t…you certainly don’t have to…”

  “It’s about the fire,” Asher said in an effort to put her mind at ease.

  A muscle twitched below her left eye. Gulping, she nodded. “Well, I’m sure it’s none of my business, then. I’ll leave you to talk. Excuse me please.” Her hands fluttered at her sides. “Always blundering in where I’m not wanted,” she muttered, turning away.

  Kent sent Asher an accusatory glare, heaved himself up to his feet and went after her.

  Asher sighed and lifted a hand to his forehead. So much for getting to the bottom of things. He couldn’t press the matter now if he wanted to—and he did not, not after seeing the worry on Odelia’s face and the affront on Ellie’s. Neither of them would ever forgive him if he forced Kent to confess to arson, not that he’d intended to do any such thing. He couldn’t reconcile the notion with what he knew of Kent Monroe. Still, something was not right, and Asher couldn’t help feeling trapped between that proverbial rock and hard place, especially given his aunt’s feelings for Monroe—and his feelings for Ellie.

  Sitting back, he stretched an arm along the cushioned back of the settee and conceded at least part of the battle. “You’re right about those two.”

  She relaxed, brightening visibly. “You think so? What changed your mind?”

  He wouldn’t break a confidence, but he didn’t have to. “Did you see the way they looked at each other just now?”

  She favored him with a soft
smile. “I did, but I didn’t think you would.”

  “Now, don’t get your hopes up,” he warned, even though he was absurdly glad to have given her even that little bit of joy. “Odelia has made it clear that she has no intention of leaving her sisters, now or ever.”

  “She’s talked to you about him then?”

  Asher nodded. “I can’t betray a confidence, of course, but we have spoken about it.”

  “Have you counseled her not to get romantically involved?”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “No, actually, I haven’t.”

  Ellie’s violet gaze studied his face for a long moment. “What are you going to do?”

  “What I’ve been doing,” he said. “Pray.”

  She smiled again. “Can’t argue with that. I’ve been doing a good bit of it myself.” She scrunched up her nose. “You don’t suppose we’re praying at cross-purposes, do you?”

  “I hope not,” he said sincerely. Then, strictly on impulse, he offered her his hand. “We could make sure by praying together.”

  Her visage softened. Eyes glowing, she slid close and put her hand in his. This, Asher knew, was right. He might not know what else to do, but this, at least, was exactly the right thing at this moment. Bowing his head and closing his eyes, he began to speak softly.

  “Father God, You work all things to our good, even if sometimes it doesn’t seem that way. We may not understand what is going on or why, but deep down we know that You always have our best interests at heart. Keep us mindful of that, Lord, and whatever happens, whatever comes, help us trust You to protect those we love.” Ellie squeezed his hand, and he whispered, “Amen.”

  He looked up to find Hypatia and Magnolia standing before him, twin smiles upon their dear old faces. Magnolia wore a rumpled housecoat over a voluminous nightgown and soft corduroy slippers, her thick iron-gray braid curving across one shoulder. Hypatia was her usual tailored self in black silk pajamas, matching wrapper and foam-lined house shoes. It had been years since he’d seen her silver hair down. Caught at her nape with a band, it hung down her back between her shoulder blades.