“I’ll bet what’s left of Birch Brook Farm that fire was no accident. The guy she had sex with started the fire. Did he kill her and use the fire to cover up his crime?”
In the backyard, a seagull landed on the gas grill. It gazed around with its beady eyes as if waiting for Jake’s response to her statement. In the neighbor’s yard, a dog barked, and the gull took off.
Jake pondered his next words carefully. He didn’t want Lani haring off into more danger than she already had. “Let’s not leap over the Grand Canyon to that conclusion. But I’ve found enough discrepancies that I believe the case should be reopened. Looks like the fire investigator started out thinking arson was a possibility. Why the final report turned a one-eighty to accidental fire, I’d like to know.”
“I was going to Augusta to file a request for the investigator’s report but—” As if realization struck, she held up her bandaged hands and sat up straighter. “Wait. Sounds like you actually have reports and notes.”
“Some of the case files, yeah. Departmental courtesy. I’m waiting for the rest.” He placed a hand on her forearm. Gingerly, taking care not to hurt her. He felt her tense before relaxing a fraction. “Be careful, Lani. The truck last night could be an accident but—”
“I told you; it was no accident.” She heaved a long sigh. “Okay, if I want your cooperation, I need to level. There was another incident three days before the burnt cat. First I went along with the police chief’s conclusion it was teenagers, but no more.”
“Incident? Not an overt attack, you mean.”
“More along the line of threat. I woke up to find a doll house burning on the front lawn—a big homemade, wooden one, the size of a dog house. The officer who came suggested bored teenagers. Everyone local knows about the Cameron fire, he said, but he’d look into it. Chief Galt knows about both dirty tricks but apparently the officer who came Friday didn’t.”
“Damn, both seem like twisted teen pranks, cruel ones. But damned sophomoric for a believable threat.” He scraped knuckles along his jaw.
“If not kids, maybe calculated to look like pranks but created to scare me. Someone sees me as the weak link. The surviving sister, emotionally fragile, easily frightened.”
He shook his head. “Frightened, yeah, and you should be. But if I the woman I see now is the same Lani Cameron I used to know, not easily frightened away.”
She smiled. “My apologies to your mom, who ruled a tight ship, but the current D Harbor librarian’s volunteers could give lessons to the online social networking sites. As soon as I followed your lead with the old news stories, word spread faster than 4G around the peninsula.”
“Delinquents, maybe.” He had his doubts. “But not the ramming on Devil’s Elbow.”
“Exactly.” She tilted her head, her smile waning to something more serious. “I did some other research on the Internet. Found a news story in a New Hampshire paper. An ATF agent was killed and another wounded in the leg during a search of a suspected arms smuggling dump. The wounded agent was Jacob Wescott. Fixing this house is only one reason you’re here. Recovery’s the other.”
“You’re right, but that’s no secret.” He clasped her hand and placed it gently on his left thigh, on the hard ridge of scar tissue. “I have scars, Lani. Just where you don’t see. I lost a friend in that explosion. I don’t want to worry about you too.”
“I’m already in this. Like you said, they can scare me but they can’t scare me away. Together is more efficient. Safer, and we can help each other. I’m good at research. Case in point, I’m waiting for a call back from two of the reporters. We both need answers, to know if what we suspect is true.”
He slugged down the rest of his cola. Watching her, he ran his tongue around his teeth. He set his empty can on the floor beside the wicker seat. “No, I won’t have you help me investigate. I can do my own research or hire somebody.” He clamped his mouth into a tight line and drew a deep breath. “I told you I’d share anything I find out. What you can do is work with me to try to remember.”
She huffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You said you had counseling. What about hypnosis?”
Lani shot off the wicker seat, wincing at the pull in muscles that had to be sore as hell. “Hypnosis, what a joke! I tried hypnotherapy a couple times, for the nightmares. The damn therapist couldn’t take me under. I stayed just as alert as I am now.” She stalked into the house.
“There must be a way.” He followed her into the shambles of the living room.
She stopped and rounded on him. “And that was my plan. To find the facts of what happened that night. What do they say? The truth shall set you free?’
“Lani, come on.”
“But no, I’m supposed to sit with my bandaged hands in my lap? Not gonna happen. I can’t wait for you to—” she made air quotes with her bandaged hands “—share. When they find my cold, dead body by the side of the road, see how that hits your conscience.”
He laughed, but without humor. “Whoa, you play dirty.”
She marched out the door. “If you change your mind, you know where I am. Then I’ll be happy to share with you what I find out—from my sources.”
Chapter 6
Jake had spoiled her dramatic exit by insisting he drive her home, but the next morning, Lani was ready to charge ahead. She had coffee ready when Nora arrived.
A short denim skirt seemed easier to manage than capris throughout the day, topped by a camisole and T-shirt. Dressed and her hair brushed, she felt better, alert after forgoing the heavy-duty meds last night. No nightmare for a change either, she realized as they descended the stairs.
Nora poured the coffee and they sat at the kitchen table. The rich French roast aroma blended with her fresh-scrubbed scent. She sighed over her steaming mug even as she tsked her disapproval. “You should’ve waited for me to make the coffee. Better yet, I should’ve brought coffee.”
“I can’t just sit around. I’ve done the invalid thing. No more. I’m okay.” She had too much to do and no time to waste. Looking at the scabs as Nora dabbed antiseptic ointment on her palms, Lani figured she was healed enough to drive.
Nora finished taping the gauze. “Not too bad. Scabbed over nicely. You won’t need bandages in a couple of days. But I’m worried about you out here all by yourself. If your suspicions are right and someone killed Gail, the danger won’t end with that hit and run. You could stay with us until Jake finds answers. The boys would love having you there.”
Really. Not all the boys, definitely not Kevin. “I’m fine and I’ll stay here. No problem. I love your sons but I need to be here to organize the work on the place.”
“Can’t that wait a few days?”
It could, but she took a different tack to respond to Nora’s real concern. “And with the police looking into the hit and run, no one will try anything. It’d be too obvious.” Not that she really believed Galt and his little staff were doing much. She summoned a confident smile.
Nora held up her hands in defeat. “If you change your mind, the spare room is yours.” She snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot. Tomorrow’s Thursday. I can’t make it in the morning. Dentist appointments for both my little guys. I could stop by later?”
Later wouldn’t work, not if she achieved what she wanted today. “If you leave me some bandages and stuff, I can do it myself. By tomorrow, I should be self-sufficient.”
Nora looked dubious but agreed. They chatted a few minutes more—about the upcoming town festival—as they finished their coffee.
She stood and deposited their mugs in the sink. “Got to get back to the boys. Mom’s there for a bit. She’ll take over when I go to work. Kevin has a campaign something tonight.”
“I appreciate the help, Nore.” Lani popped up. “Can you give me a ride into the village?”
“Again?” Her friend’s eyes narrowed as she arranged bandages, tape, and the antiseptic ointment on the table. She hooked her medical kit over her shoulder. “N
ot the police station. What are you up to?”
“Only a little more research at the library. I have the old fire investigator’s name. An Internet search ought to come up with his address.” She shrugged into the hoodie on the back of her chair.
“God, Lani, you’re going to end up with more trouble.”
“Trouble, yes, but not for me.”
“Why don’t you just stay here and take it easy?”
“Not gonna happen. I owe it to my twin to find answers.” And fast, before another attack. Ignoring the twinges in her chest, Lani collected her tote bag and slung it on her shoulder. “Now are you going to give me a ride or do I have to call Bayport Taxi?”
Her friend’s gaze softened even as she sighed. “When have I ever won an argument with you?” She shook a finger in admonition. “But I’m watching you lock this house up tight.”
Gingerly, with her forefinger and thumb, Lani fished out her keys and held them up. “Ready to lock up, Mommy.”
*****
Lani’s research took longer than expected. She found three obituaries for a Frank Tyson, but none of them had worked for the state in any capacity, let alone arson investigation. A cement company in Bridgton was headed by Frank Tyson, but he was forty-five, too young. Finally typing into the search engine in quotes Maine retired arson investigator Frank Tyson uncovered a small news article. Two years before, Tyson, of Oak Mills, spoke on fire safety to his granddaughter’s fifth grade class. Then an online phone directory supplied his number and address.
She tucked her legal pad and pen in her big bag and left the library. After a shrimp salad plate—easier to manage than a sandwich—at the Cuppa-’n-Suppa, she picked up a ready-made salad and a frozen dinner at the general store. She stowed them the thermal bag she’d brought in her tote.
Finally she set out to rent a car. Buoyed by her success, she didn’t mind the half-mile hike up the East Road beyond the village. Her muscles didn’t feel as tight today, but by the time she arrived, the sun’s beating down beaded sweat on her brow.
The owner of Buddy’s Garage and Bait Shop stepped from beneath the sedan on his lift and ambled toward her. Two other men in the garage’s tilting wooden building continued working amid the whine of power tools. Buddy wiped his grease-covered hands with an equally filthy rag, then tucked the cloth into a pocket in his coveralls.
Affable as always, he ambled toward her, his narrow face crinkled in a smile. “Heard about your car. Rotten luck. Some jackass run you off the road, folks’re sayin’.”
“Something like that, Buddy.”
His eyes lit up with the prospect of work. “Need some body work, do you?”
“I wish. Nope, the car was totaled.”
“Well then, you must need some wheels to tide you over. I got just the thing. Cheap.”
Twenty minutes later, Lani was the proud renter of a battered lime-green Volkswagen Beetle. Thank God for automatic transmissions, she thought, as she headed south toward the farm. Steering on the curving road aggravated her still-tender hands but not as much as shifting gears would have.
She concentrated on the beauty around her—sun glinting diamonds on the bay, pine-tree-dotted islands beyond the shore—and not the sheer drop to her left—but on the other, the far side of the narrow road. A big black Ford pickup sped toward her, high on oversize tires, and her heart began to pound.
The driver gave a wave out his open window as he passed. Just another Mainer being neighborly. She blew out a breath and waved back. The guy probably wondered about her hand, wearing what must look like a white mitten. Not your normal June attire.
“I got this. No prob,” she said to the VW.
Up ahead loomed the Devil’s Elbow.
Her heart tried to jump into her throat, and she swallowed hard. Forcing herself not to grip the wheel too tightly, she slowed to negotiate the sharp turn. No monster truck bore down on her. No cliff edge tried to drag her over. Only the severed guard rail dangling over the waves crashing onto the rocks.
And then she’d made it past and the road turned more inland, toward the farm.
After eating her nuked turkey dinner, she vowed to shop for real food now that she wasn’t dependent on anyone for transportation.
Armed with the legal pad on which she’d written Frank Tyson’s information, she keyed his number in her cell phone.
When he picked up, she said, “Mr. Tyson, this is Lani Cameron.”
A harsh intake of breath. “What do you want?”
*****
Lani suppressed a smug attitude as she sat in the passenger seat of Jake’s Cherokee. They headed up the East Road from the farm in what locals called a “thick-o’fog,” typical of June’s fluky weather.
Jake showing up this afternoon as she was leaving was no coincidence. She’d kept her research away from the nosy library volunteer’s gaze, but Buddy outed her on the car rental. When the garage owner clucked over her driving with sore hands, she’d said something like, “Not far, only to Oak Mills.” If Jake figured out her plan, she wasn’t turning away the result she wanted in the first place. Don’t look in a gift horse’s mouth or something like that.
“Bad move to set out alone like this. Dangerous.” He looked straight ahead, at the road, not at her.
He looked sexy as hell in khakis and a black French-terry shirt. Brown hairs curling above the v-neck invited touching. A scar on his face she hadn’t noticed before. His hands held the steering wheel lightly, regardless of the irritation in his voice. He had broad hands, calloused and sun-darkened, like his sinewy forearms.
She went on the offensive. “I could’ve driven just fine. I drove the rental car home last night.”
He reached for her left hand and turned it palm up. His blue gaze was direct and unflinching. “You’re still bandaged. Driving could open the wounds.”
She snatched away her hand. “But it didn’t.”
“So now you’re stubborn and independent. You wanted my help the other day.”
The rich timbre of his voice tripped her pulse. She sniffed with what she hoped conveyed disdain. “I don’t want charity. You refused, unless I’m dreaming. Oh, I guess not. Here you are.”
“Word’s around you remember things you didn’t before. If that truck’s love-tap was an arsonist’s first attempt to kill you, I’d hate to see the encore. Why go see Frank Tyson?”
“You have files. I don’t. The police chief mentioned the other day the investigator was retired. I researched Tyson like I did you and found he lived less than an hour away. I talked him into seeing me. The fire marshal’s office won’t provide more than the final report—and apparently neither will you—but I thought Tyson might have personal notes.”
When he didn’t respond, she went on. “Stupid of me to object to you driving. Thanks for coming. I need your savvy about fires and interrogation.”
On a slow grin, he tipped his head toward her hands. “Must be hard to admit you can’t do everything. Give up some of your independence.”
She sniffed. “Only temporary.”
The DHPD had no leads on the hit-and-run. Eliminating a few lead-footed fishermen and teens with dark-colored trucks was the extent of the progress. She, on the other hand, had a lead. Maybe Tyson’s notes would provide a clue. Anxiety and hope bubbled inside her.
*****
When the scene of Lani’s near disaster loomed ahead, Jake cast a sideways glance at her.
Mouth compressed and shoulders tight, she stared through the mist at the severed guardrail of the Devil’s Elbow as if daring it to intimidate her. As the Cherokee took the sharp curve and passed the site, she exhaled.
“Nerve-racking, driving this yesterday?”
“Wasn’t bad. Like getting on a horse after falling.”
“Atta girl.”
She glared at him, but with teasing in her hazel eyes. “Girl?”
“Atta woman doesn’t resonate.” When she started to object, he added, “No more than atta man. But I stand corrected. Woman.
All woman.”
Color rose in her cheeks and she turned to look out the passenger window.
The bravado and longing in her defenses tightened his chest. He had to admit he wanted the truth almost as much as she did. And she roused all his protective instincts when he should take a U-turn. No one should trust him for protection. If the retired investigator had nothing new, maybe he could persuade Lani to quit. And the harbor’s rock dragon was a living sea monster.
The road took them through D Harbor with its antique Cape Cod and Federal-period houses. Outside the village, private roads led to houses hidden in stands of spruce, birch, and hackmatack. The verdant fields of a farm rolled down to the bay. Cattle grazed in one and a woman on a tractor was mowing the first hay crop in another. When he’d worked as sternman on his uncle’s lobster boat, he admired those same fields from the water. Good to see some things hadn’t changed since those days.
He slanted a glance toward Lani. Getting her talking might open up other topics. “You said your mom was on a cruise. What about your dad?”
“In his office, I suppose.” She hunched a shoulder in a gesture of nonchalance. “My parents are divorced. They’ve both remarried.”
A rift with her dad? He wondered, but she didn’t seem interested in expanding. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
She turned toward him, her expression softened. “It’s okay, mostly. But your dad died years ago, when you were just a kid. It must’ve been hard, losing him like that.”
The first sympathetic thing she’d said. “Thanks. I guess you never knew him. The boat was swamped by a freak wave. Neither he nor his sternman had a chance.”
“How’s your mom? Is she still in Portland?” She turned away as if embarrassed to indulge in small talk.
His fingers tightened on the wheel. “She retired awhile ago, bought a little house in Bayport. But now she’s at Pine View Rest.”
“My God, Jake, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) Page 5