He took her elbow and headed for his Cherokee. “I’m afraid your arrival has awakened Dragon Harbor’s live fire-breathing dragon.”
She shook him off and stepped back, muscles taut and ready for flight. “The gossip network works fast. I arrived a week ago and started printing out the news stories in the library like you did. I’ve read them all. You’re right to be suspicious. I phoned the Maine State Fire Marshal’s office to obtain the final report but a prissy-voiced clerk said I need to file an official request.” She huffed her disgust at the delay. “I did a timeline of the fire marshal’s statements, of when the information came out. The fire was on August 8. Barely two weeks later, they declared it accidental. A mere two weeks!”
“Maybe the cause was obvious. Happens sometimes.”
“Sometimes but not that time. The arson guy relied on the local firefighters’ impressions. Shoddy investigating if you ask me.” She kicked stones with her sneaker toe. “You know as well as I do Dragon Harbor firefighters are volunteers and barely trained. And they never explained the beam that fell on—” She folded her lips between her teeth.
Jake tucked his hands in his back pockets. “Okay, okay, I do see enough to warrant looking into the matter.”
“So you’ll let me help you?”
“I thought we’d covered that.”
“Not by half. Especially now I’ve read more.” Her eyes widened in sudden realization. “You said my “arrival” awakened the dragon, not my research. What are you getting at?”
He shook his head. “Answer this first. You said you didn’t remember. Nothing at all of the fire?”
“Not much. I remember mostly before the fire. Then coming out on the porch and seeing flames shooting out of the barn. After that, nothing.”
“Tonight was a deliberate attempt to run you off the road. Think about it,” he said. “Who would want to eliminate you?”
Lani’s stomach sank. His question ignited what she’d tried to deny, squeezing her lungs so her breath burned in her throat. The burnt cat and the dollhouse. What if it wasn’t bored teens? “You think the fire was no accident, but arson? And Gail’s death was—” She couldn’t utter the word.
“Murder,” he supplied, his voice rough. “In the state of Maine, if an arson fire results in a death, that’s considered murder.” The moonlight shone on his face. He was studying her.
Shivers raced across her skin. “But I don’t know anything. I don’t know if I saw anyone. I don’t remember.”
“Yet,” he said. “But you might. I doubt these attacks have anything to do with your library printouts.”
She wobbled. Fatigue clawed at her. She was too frazzled to play verbal ping-pong.
“You should sit down. I’ll call the cops.” He led her to the SUV, opened the passenger door, and eased her to the seat. He touched a finger to her cheek. “You’re bleeding.”
“What?” When she reached up, blood dripped from her hand.
He cradled her hands in his big, warm ones. Turning them showed flayed flesh on her palms. Blood welled around the gravel and sand embedded in deeper gouges. “The blood on your cheek came from this.”
Lani stared at her palms. “I must’ve scraped my hands when I fell from the car. They don’t hurt.”
“They will. Like hell. And soon. The cops can meet us at the hospital emergency room. I’ll call 911 on the way.” Taking out his phone, he closed her door.
Her mind reeled from his questions and the pickup’s attack. Jake had saved her life. Oh, Gail, what the hell happened that night? Pressure built in her chest enough to explode.
He shifted into first, then second and peeled up the East Road toward town.
Her palms began to sting. Far more agonizing were the questions piercing her heart.
*****
Last night at the emergency room, Nora had been on duty and helped patch her up, clucking soothing nonsense as Lani fumed about the hit and run. The next morning, Nora helped her dress and changed her bandages. Then Nora drove her to the police station for an appointment with the police chief.
The police occupied part of a renovated brick fish-packing plant that also housed the fire department and the town offices. Forced to wait in the reception area, she could barely sit still. If not for her injury, she’d be popping her knuckles. Her sister used to rag on her about that nervous habit and she used to tease Gail about twisting her hair. Throat stinging at the memory, she tried not to fidget.
This morning she’d gone over the old newspaper stories again, but found nothing new. Only the final report was public information, not the evidence or tests done by the investigator. Lani couldn’t even obtain the name of the investigator. She wanted his notes, not just his reports.
She listened to the static-filled calls of officers at the central reception desk. A cat up a tree, a fender-bender, a domestic dispute. Not major crime like the robberies and murders in major cities. The chief, a sergeant, and three patrol officers. A small force for a safe town—except for her cold case. And her hit-and-run. Maybe they’d found the truck.
A few minutes later, the chief sent for her.
“Sorry to keep you waitin’, dear.” Norman Galt’s Down-East accent turned the Maine courtesy into deah. One of the deep creases in his chiseled face winked into a dimple as he smiled. “I was on the phone with M.C.U. That’s the state police Major Crimes Unit. Doesn’t pay to cut those boys short.”
“I understand.” She took the straight chair by his worn wooden desk. Rich coffee aroma rose from the mug in his hand. On it were the words, #1 Grampy. File cabinets and crowded shelves spoke of mountains of red tape, but certificates and photos on the walls showed his dedication. He offered coffee but she refused. Too painful to hold a cup.
“How’re you doing today?”
“Not too bad.” Her palms stung like hell and every muscle in her body ached like she’d been beaten with a mallet. A prescription allowed her to sleep through the night—without nightmares—but today she was sticking to ibuprofen. She needed to stay sharp.
“Devil’s Elbow.” He shook his head. “You were lucky to make it out of that car.”
“Lucky Jake happened along.” While Galt rattled on about the dangers of coastal roads, she nodded politely.
Warmth suffused her as she recalled how Jake had saved her life. His embrace meant nothing. He was only being kind. That he’d stuck by her at the hospital also meant nothing. Like any man, he couldn’t be counted on long-term. She did need his help. What if someone really did cause Gail’s death? And what if they were coming after her now? The questions chased circles in her belly like the nausea she’d felt last night seeing her hands leaking blood.
She noticed Galt had paused. “About my car, have they towed it out of the water?”
“Ayuh. Quite a chore too. A crane hauled it off the rocks at low tide this morning.” He smoothed his graying hair with one hand. He then reached to a shelf behind his desk for a sealed plastic bag. “Got this out. Probably ruined.”
“Thanks.” She accepted her soggy canvas handbag with careful fingers. She had some cash at the house but the bag contained her driver’s license, credit cards, and checkbook. At least the plastic would be usable. “Did you get samples of the truck’s paint from my car?”
“Car’s all stove up, wicked. Totaled, I’d say. But we didn’t find any foreign paint.”
She gaped at him. “How can that be? He hit me twice.”
He shook his head. “Possible the rocks scraped it off. You sure you don’t know the color? Or the make?”
“Just a dark pickup. An oversize one, I think.” She sighed, but brightened when an idea struck her. “The truck should have dents, maybe white paint from my car.”
“I have my sergeant checking into it.” He folded his hands on the desk, and his skeptical gaze flickered to her before he looked away. “You insist the driver hit you on purpose?”
A pang at his skepticism stabbed her chest. She steadied her voice. “His action was del
iberate. Maybe the same person who burned that poor little cat.”
“Seems doubtful. What’s the connection?”
She twisted in her seat and crossed her legs. “Could be something to do with the fire that killed my sister and injured me.”
A frown furrowed the chief’s forehead. “I was an officer back then. First one on the scene along with the fire department. Terrible tragedy. This town hasn’t had such a deadly fire since. Investigator had a hard time with that one, although in the end he pegged it an accident. Tough case for Frank Tyson. He retired afterward.”
Ah, she remembered an investigator questioning her, but while she was drugged and grieving. And now she had the name that wasn’t in the clippings. Tyson. “I’m sure you were in the loop. Do you have copies of the reports?”
Galt straightened, his expression cool, blank. “The fire marshal kept this office apprised of progress, but I have no reports.”
Lani scooted forward on her chair. She had to make him understand. “I have reason to suspect the fire wasn’t an accident. Arson would mean my sister was murdered. Maybe someone’s afraid I’ll find the truth. The flaming dollhouse and the burnt cat were warnings. Now someone has tried to kill me.”
“The cat thing’s a right nasty business, I grant you. But I can’t see the crash your way. Both you and Jake Wescott saw an out-of-control pickup on that curve. Maybe that driver caused you to skid off the road and then your car rolled over the cliff. My department will try to find the truck and determine what happened.”
His tone of voice said he doubted her story. Heat crawled up her neck. She’d curl her hands into fists if they didn’t hurt so damn much. “I know what happened was no accident.”
“Maybe somebody’s threatening you. Maybe not. I’ll give the fire marshal’s office a call. See what they say. I doubt they’ll see matters any different than I do. You’d be wise to lock your doors from now on and let us handle it.”
She went still. Her pulse rattled. “Is that a warning?”
He flattened his palms on the desk. “Take it that way if it’ll keep you out of trouble.”
“Maybe a deliberate attack on me will get the fire investigators’ attention.” It sure as hell didn’t have Galt’s.
He shook his head, smoothed his mustache. “Too nebulous. They’d jump in if you had real evidence. As I understand it, you don’t remember much of anything about the fire.”
What she remembered and what she’d dreamed in the haze of pain swirled in her mind like soured cotton candy. She raised her chin. “That was true.”
His eyebrows shot north. “I’d like to know if you remember something, anything at all.”
“Not your case, is it, Chief Galt? It’s the state fire marshal’s office I should tell.”
Chapter 5
When Lani didn’t see Jake’s blue SUV in the drive of his grandmother’s house, her shoulders drooped. The walk from the police station was less than a mile, but her sore body felt like she’d just hiked the Knife Edge of Mount Katahdin. Backwards. But, whoo hoo, here came the man as if she’d conjured him. Maybe she was psychic. Then again, a psychic would have prevented the fire or run into the barn in time to save Gail. She rubbed her chest with the back of one hand.
“Hey, Lani,” Jake called as he exited the vehicle. “You come to make fun of my amateur carpentry?”
He looked good in well-worn jeans and a blue oxford shirt that matched his eyes. No harm in looking. She’d looked often enough when they were younger.
“I didn’t, but thanks for the warning. I need someone to do repairs at the farm, but I’ll cross your name off my list.”
They climbed the three porch steps, weathered and sagging from generations of running children. He opened the door and waved her inside. “For now, I’m doing mostly demolition. My specialty.”
The sun-washed scent of his cotton shirt and a faint trace of spicy aftershave caught her off guard. Shaking off the impact, she filed past him into the bungalow’s living room. Piles of jagged plaster and lath, a sledge hammer and power tools, and black trash bags filled to bursting lay about.
“Whoa, has Dragon Harbor had a tornado I don’t know about?”
He laughed, the first time she’d heard his rich voice in full force. He used to laugh all the time. They all did.
“Told you. Demolition. Too much of the lath and plaster is mouse-eaten and mildewed from roof leaks. All of it has to go. Hank had the roof done so all’s dry now. New drywall is next. A learning experience.”
“So’s driving my car off a cliff. Don’t think I want to give either one a try. Kudos to you for having the guts. The farmhouse doesn’t need nearly as much.”
He gestured for her to follow him toward the kitchen. “We can sit on the back porch. I haven’t messed it up too bad. I want to talk to you anyway.”
“You said last night you were headed to the farm. Because you wanted to talk to me?”
He didn’t answer her, but stopped in the kitchen to snatch a couple of colas from the ancient fridge.
She shook her head and held up her bandaged hands. “I’ll pass unless you have a straw. Or maybe you want to hold the can up to my mouth.”
The lines around his eyes tightened in embarrassment. He gave her a crooked grin. “My bad. I wasn’t thinking. No straws, and I wouldn’t trust me not to spill soda on you.”
Scattered around the screened porch were a padded wicker loveseat, some Adirondack chairs, a stack of packing boxes, and a bench.
Gesturing for her to take the loveseat, he paced, regarding her with enough intensity to see through her bones. “Just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“Lucky for me you tried. I wouldn’t be sitting here otherwise. You’d think after all these years, I’d be over my fire phobia. Post-traumatic stress.”
He shifted one shoulder in an offhand shrug. “PTSD’s a hard thing to shake. Even with counseling.”
“I’ve had plenty of that, believe me.” She stopped there. More, like descriptions of her nightmares, would be TMI. She looked out over a freshly mowed backyard with overgrown shrubbery—lilac bushes, a row of rhododendrons, others she didn’t recognize. The scent of late lilacs drifted on the light breeze.
“There’s another reason I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “Something you don’t know about the night of the fire. Something I’ve regretted every day since.”
The pain on his face made the breath clog in her chest. She forced herself to inhale slowly. Keeping her sore hands still in her lap took effort. “Regret. About what?”
He swigged down some of his soda and closed the distance between them. The force of his emotion reached out to her like the heat of his body. He dropped into the seat beside her as if he could no longer stand and rubbed his left thigh.
His aquamarine eyes bored into hers. “Gail was different that night. Edgy and jittery, like she wanted me to leave. We’d been having problems.”
“Like what?”
“Broken dates. Rants about how she felt smothered. We used to have great talks, about everything—college, sports, our dreams. But for weeks before the fire, she was quiet a lot. Not sad, just distant. Other times she was almost manic.”
“I noticed her moods too,” Lani said. “Dreamy. And sometimes giddy. Or bitter. Gail was always moody but this was more. I called her on it, but she wouldn’t open up.”
“And there’s something else you should know. Gail didn’t dump me that night. I broke up with her.” He drove fingers through his hair.
Lani shook her head. Jake had no reason to lie about it. “What? Because of the moods?”
He stared out the screening as if seeing a replay of that night. “I asked about another guy. She shrugged off the question. She called earlier and broke our date. Said she wanted a quiet evening. Another in a string of lame excuses. I went over anyway. Never got past the driveway. Told her if she didn’t want me around, we were done. I didn’t need the hassle.”
“She came inside saying she�
��d dumped you.” She’d also called him boring. It was nuts. He’d always made Lani laugh, was fun to be with. “And then?”
“I drove around in the truck—used to be Dad’s—for a long time. An hour or more. Ended up at Todd Hokkanen’s house, his parents’ place on Ridge Road. The guys had a poker game going. I played cards about twenty minutes or a half hour before we heard the sirens.”
She dragged her eyes from his tortured ones while she got her mind around this new reality. “So what’s your regret?” Although she could guess.
He shifted in his seat, rubbed his thigh. “Don’t you see? If I hadn’t left her that night, she might still be alive. And you—”
“Wouldn’t have been burned. We’ve been through this. Spare me the pity party, Wescott. I should’ve saved her but I was too late.”
“I should’ve made an effort to get at what was going on with her.”
“What was going on with Gail? I don’t know either.”
Jake’s cheeks flushed red and as he swallowed, his Adam’s-apple jumped a mile. “There’s something you don’t know. Gail had sex with someone that night.”
She must look like she’d been socked with a fresh-caught halibut. Working with wily teenagers had taught her most people didn’t lie well. She watched him for signs of dissembling. “With you?”
“Not me. Sure as hell not after that argument. The report says apparently consensual sex, not forced. Traces of condom lubricant but not enough DNA to trace. Dammit, there was another guy. She lied. Son of a bitch.” He shot his gaze upward, blinking, as if fighting for control.
He’d been a victim of the arson too. The fire had snuffed out that carefree guy. A sad note among many. She sank back against the wicker. “That explains my vague memory of someone—the investigator—asking me about Gail having sex.”
“He asked me too, but I told him we had an argument and I left.”
Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) Page 4