Close To The Fire

by Suzanne Ferrell

  “How far is it?” Sylvie asked, drying Libby’s foot then lifting the right one out of the tub to begin her magic on it.

  “Only a few blocks west of downtown.” She smiled at Sylvie. “I believe Deputy Cleetus could show you exactly where.”

  The twinkle returned to Sylvie’s eyes. “I believe I’ll just see if he’s free this afternoon.”

  * * * * *

  Cleetus stared at the spreadsheet on his computer screen. Ever since Ms. Bobby came to town and showed him how to use the computer, he’d started listing things on spreadsheets. He could stare at written reports forever and not see any pattern in the information. But put it in columns and lines and it was like someone hit his on switch. All the pieces would fall into place, the pattern coming into focus. Sometimes it was as simple as accidents happening ten miles out of town on certain days of the week, or a ring of candy bar thefts that turned out to be a confused elderly man with diabetes. He always saw the pattern.

  He’d been sure once he put all the reports of kerosene sales into the computer, the pattern would stand out. Only it hadn’t. Nothing. No one seemed to be buying extra kerosene this summer. And since the weather had been so dry, no one worried about needing fuel for their backup generators this year either. There had to be something he was missing. Something just out of his reach. He looked closer. The numbers and words shifted, grew sharper—the bell on the office door rang.

  The puzzle piece disappeared again.

  “Dang it.”

  “Is there something wrong, Deputy?”

  The soft southern drawl sounded behind him and he jumped out of his chair, nearly knocking it into Sylvie. He stopped it with one hand. “Miss Sylvie, didn’t see you come in the office, ma’am.”

  “You were concentrating so hard on that computer screen I hated to surprise you,” she said, even though the twinkle in her blue eyes said she’d actually enjoyed surprising him.

  A slow heat filled his chest. No lady had ever wanted to surprise him, let alone tease him about things.

  Sylvie did.

  The clearing of a throat at the other side of the sheriff’s office where Wes sat working reminded him he was still on duty. “Is there something I can do for you, ma’am?”

  “I was wondering if you could give me a lift over to look at a house to rent. Miss Libby said Chief Reynolds was looking to rent out his mother’s old house.”

  She laid her arm on his and Cleetus’ knees wobbled.

  “I know you’re awful busy and everything, but Miss Libby said you’d know right where it was and I’d sure hate to get lost looking for it.” She smiled at him, dimples and all, then looked up through those big dark lashes.

  He swallowed hard. At that minute, she could’ve asked him to take her to the moon and he’d have said yes.

  “He’d be more than happy, too, Miss Sylvie,” Wes said, coming to lean one hip on Cleetus’ desk and giving them both a smile. “Wouldn’t you, Cleetus?”

  “Um, I was supposed to get this information to Sheriff Justice,” he said, torn between helping the little lady staring so sweetly up at him and doing his job.

  Wes handed him his baseball hat and sunglasses from the side of the desk where he always kept them. “Go on, Cleetus. I can finish the report and get it to Gage.”

  “You’re sure?” he asked, even as he slipped the ball cap on his head. Gage’s daddy had always wanted them to wear cowboy-style hats and full uniforms, but since Gage had taken over as the town sheriff, he’d relaxed the regulations, allowing the deputies to wear jeans and baseball hats, as long as the hats had the official sheriff’s department logo on the top.

  “I’m sure. Get on out of here,” Wes said, sliding into the desk chair and looking at the spreadsheet Cleetus had left open.

  Cleetus reached into the top drawer and pulled out a large key ring full of keys. He smiled down as Miss Sylvie slipped her hand in the crook of his arm and he led her over to the office door. Holding it open, he looked over at Wes. “Tell Gage there’s something weird in that sheet, but I just can’t figure out what it is…maybe I should stay—”

  Wes swiveled the chair around to face him. “Cleetus, I’ve got this. Besides, when a beautiful lady asks you to do her a favor, you don’t keep her waiting.”

  Cleetus couldn’t help the big grin that split his lips or the heat that filled his cheeks as he joined Sylvie on the sidewalk. Wes was right. It wasn’t every day when someone as sweet as Miss Sylvie asked him to help her. Whatever he’d started to see in the spreadsheet could wait until he got back.

  * * * * *

  Hidden in the copse of trees that flanked the detached garage, he stood outside the mid-century craftsman cottage. His view of the street and side yard unobstructed. Close enough to watch the fire dance its way up the path of kerosene he’d laid, but far enough away to escape and blend in when the crowd gathered. And there would be a crowd to watch his masterpiece.

  He’d be sure of it. He had the fire station number plugged into his phone. Once they were here, he knew his goddess would come to see what he’d created.

  And what a better way to show his adversary who was really in control, than burning down his childhood home?

  After his goddess saw who the more powerful man was, she’d never look at the other man again.

  He tried not to giggle at the idea of besting the big man. And if he timed it right, they should find the little surprise he hid inside the house. Something that would have them looking for answers to the secret he’d uncovered.

  A sound on the street caught his attention.

  A truck drove past.

  Now. He had to start the fire dance now before someone saw him.

  He pulled out the cellphone and dialed.

  Less than fifty yards away, another phone sounded.

  The spark shone in the shadow of the bush where he’d hidden it.

  Flames the blue of the goddess’ eyes appeared. Quickly, they danced up the path to the house.

  * * * * *

  “I really appreciate you taking time from your responsibilities to show me the house. I wouldn’t have known which one it was. So many of them look the same.”

  Cleetus smiled as he pulled his truck to a stop in front of the one-and-a-half story house. Sylvie hadn’t stopped talking the entire short trip over to the old house Deke’s mama was renting out. Not that he minded. Sylvie’s soft southern accent sounded sweet in his ear. He could listen to it all day long. And when she’d smile up at him with those big dimples, he had trouble finding words to answer her. So best she did most of the talking.

  “It’s my pleasure, ma’am.” He turned off the engine, hopped out and hurried around the truck to help her out. She was so tiny, he’d almost had to lift her up into the truck cab back at the sheriff’s office.

  “You have the nicest manners, Cleetus,” she said as she slipped her tiny hand with the bright orangey-red nails into his. Everything about her was small. Heck, when she landed on the pavement beside him, her head barely came to his shoulders, and that was including all the spikey tips of her hair.

  “My mama always insisted I be extra careful around ladies, me being so big and all.”

  Now why did he say that? Stupid. Reminding him how big and awkward he was. He let go of her hand so she wouldn’t get scared of him holding it, even though he liked how nice it felt in his.

  “Well, I find it right nice.” The smile she gave him eased some of his embarrassment. Then she started up the walk to the house. “This was Chief Reynolds’ mother’s home?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, slowing his long stride so she wouldn’t have to run to keep up with him. “Miss Callie, Deke’s mom, moved to a seniors’ community in South Carolina a year ago and Deke’s had Joe from over at the hardware store restoring the inside.”

  He pulled out the large ring of keys and flipped through it until he found the one with the house number taped on it.

  “You have a key to the house?” Sylvie asked, watching him. “Is
n’t that a little unusual?”

  “This is the ring that has keys to all the empty properties in and around town. After last spring, the Sheriff got all the realtors and the bank to make a copy of the keys for us. Said we needed to keep a closer eye on what might be happening in them.” He opened the door, then stood back to let her pass. He liked the small whiff of spicy scent that hit him whenever she walked past. “Once a property is rented or sold, we give the occupant the key.”

  “I heard about the meth lab outside of town. It was in an old abandoned farm, wasn’t it?” she asked, then stopped and stared wide-eyed, her lips in a perfect “O” for a moment. “Oh, my, this is so lovely.”

  All thoughts of last spring’s calamity gone, Cleetus leaned against the wall and watched Sylvie walk into the living room, her high heels clicking on the hardwood floors. She ran her hands along the wainscoting and then the big mantle over the fireplace like she was stroking a favorite pet. Suddenly, he felt warm all over.

  Sylvie walked over to the corner of the room, lifting up some kind of cloth and looking at it curiously. “How did this get here?”

  Her question had him pushing off the wall to see what she held. Then the smell hit him.

  Something was burning.

  He changed course and marched towards the kitchen, the smell of gas burning his nose.

  “What is it?” Sylvie asked, stepping up behind him.

  He didn’t answer her, just shook his head, focusing like a coon dog on a hunt in the woods, following the scent.

  Not gasoline. Not natural gas. Something stronger.

  “Kerosene,” he muttered.

  At the kitchen door, his foot slipped on something wet on the tile floors. He grabbed the counter to keep from sliding onto his knees. Outside the big picture window behind the sink, a trail of fire snaked up the backyard.

  A face appeared for a moment in the smoke, then was gone.

  In a whoosh, flames shot up the back of the house.

  “Dear God!” Sylvie whispered behind him.

  “Out! Get out now,” he shouted, turning and pushing her towards the door.

  The window and back door blew in, and smoke rolled through the room. Choking, turning everything dark. Then flames flared up. Someone had doused the kitchen with kerosene.

  Without thinking, Cleetus picked Sylvie up in his arms and ran like he was chasing down a quarterback towards the front door.

  Just as she wrenched it open, a rumble sounded overhead.

  The house shook.

  Suddenly, they were shoved by some unseen force through the door.

  Cleetus tried to turn as he hit the ground, pushing Sylvie away from the blast.

  The windows shattered.

  Sylvie screamed.

  He looked up just in time to see the door headed like a bullet toward his head.

  The world went black.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “What’s up, Mike?” Deke said as he hit the Bluetooth feature of his phone. Driving back into Westen’s town limits, he’d just finished doing a drive-through of the Amish area of the county, happily finding nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary there.

  “I got to thinking about that arsonist case you had me looking into right after your injury,” Mike Feeney said over the speakerphone.

  “Yeah? What about it?” Deke tightened his fingers around the truck’s steering wheel.

  “You said you killed him?”

  Deke inhaled slowly, then let it out. “In a manner of speaking. I didn’t pull a trigger, but thanks to your information, the police were able to track him down to where he lived. Bastard had it rigged to set fire. Killed him and his wife.”

  “Yeah. That’s the thing that’s bothering me. The guy had a son.” Mike sounded thoughtful.

  “I know. A kid of about six at the time. We found him out in the woods behind the house the next morning.” God he hated thinking about what that poor kid went through all night in the forest alone, in the snow. “We were lucky he didn’t get some kind of frostbite from the exposure.”

  “Do you think the kid could be copying his dad’s signature?”

  “Anything’s possible.” The image of the arsonist dragging the kid away from the industrial fire that killed Bill filled his head. “I know of at least one fire the kid was at. Why?”

  “Thought I should check it out, just to be sure we’re not looking at a fire-for-revenge scenario with the kid.”

  “What did you find?” Deke really didn’t like the way this conversation was going.

  “Funny thing, I can find where the kid entered the foster care program as an orphan, but it’s as if the system completely swallowed him up. They could’ve changed his name. It’s as if the kid was placed in the Witness Protection program or something.”

  Now the hairs on Deke’s arms were standing at attention as he drove past the football field on his way to the downtown area. An image of Kyle Gordon popped into his head. “Mike, any idea what the kid’s name was back then?”

  “Last name was Harkin. The father was Leo Harkin.”

  There was a long pause and Deke could hear papers being shuffled in the background. He had a feeling he already knew what Mike was going to say.

  “The kid was named Kyle.”

  * * * * *

  Stretched out flat on her office sofa, Libby dangled her feet over the arm like when she was a teen. Funny what blood-red toenails and a thorough foot massage could do for a woman’s spirits. When she went into the Dye Right, she’d been anxious, on edge, knowing she had to face her own past with Deke. Afterwards, she’d felt so good that she’d given Ashley the rest of the day off and decided to spend the afternoon reading files and studying her toes in the glints of later-afternoon sun shining on them.

  Whatever Twylla was paying Sylvie, it wasn’t enough. The girl had magic hands.

  And she’d repaid the pixie nail expert by giving her an excuse to spend the day with Cleetus.

  Libby let out a giggle.

  They were so opposite of each other.

  Sylvie was tiny, perky and chattered on like a child on a sugar rush. But she didn’t gossip like some of the other stylists and had been a blessing to Twylla’s growing shop. Cleetus, well, he was one mountain of a man. He didn’t talk a lot. In fact, he didn’t really say much to her besides, Morning, ma’am, or Hello, ma’am. And yet, he was the gentlest of men. She’d seen him with the town’s elderly residents, carrying groceries to the car or helping them safely across the street. He’d even brought more than one aging parent home in his cruiser when he thought they were confused. Yes, Cleetus deserved a woman with a heart of gold and Libby suspected Sylvie might just be perfect for him.

  A knock sounded on her office door.

  Ashley must’ve forgotten something.

  Setting aside the file on the table by the sofa, she smoothed her skirt into place and padded barefoot over to the door. “What did you forget?” she asked as she opened it, only to find Deke standing on the other side.

  “How sexy your toenails were painted red,” he said, staring down at her feet.

  “Deke. I thought you were Ashley I decided to give her the afternoon off since I had no appointments. Thought I’d relax a little bit.”

  “I can see that.” He smiled a half-smile, which made her heart take a little leap.

  “Come on in.” She hurried to open the door and stepped back so he could enter.

  He had other ideas. Instead of walking past her, he came closer, like a tiger stalking its prey. Sliding one hand around her to pull her up close, he traced his other hand over her arm to loosen her hold on the door and pushed it closed. “Did I ever tell you how turned on I got whenever your painted your toes?”

  She smiled up at him. “Why yes, I believe you did.”

  He nipped at her lips, his eyes hot with desire. “And did I ever tell you my favorite color?”

  She leaned in close, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him a little deeper, letting her tongue teas
e his a moment before pulling back. “I believe that would be fire-engine red.”

  He leaned back to look down between them at her toes. She wiggled them so they’d glint in the sunlight.

  “And what color would you say those are?”

  “I believe Sylvie called it…fire-engine red.”

  With a low growl that sounded even sexier with his raspy voice, he crushed her to him and covered her lips with his. She melted into the powerful feel of his body against hers, all the toned muscle holding her like she was everything in the world and he’d die without her. And with that the last hold on her heart snapped and she lost herself in the feeling of being home. Home, with Deke. Where her heart had always belonged.

  One hand gripping his shoulders while she slid the other up into the short, dark-blonde hair, she moaned into his mouth.

  Like kindling, he bent her back and his hand slipped down to cup her ass, pulling her in tighter. His full erection pressing into her stomach like a branding iron through their clothes. And why did they still have their clothes on? She slid her hand down between them to grasp the hem of his polo shirt and pulled it up. He released her long enough for her to get the thing off his body.

  Sucking in her breath at the sight of his scars in the daylight, she laid her hand over them, his heart beating right beneath her hand. Tears filled her eyes.

  “You could’ve died,” she whispered. Yes, she’d known how close he’d come. In her head. But now her heart understood how much more she could’ve lost that night.

  “But I didn’t, sweetheart.” He laid his hand over her cheek.

  She looked up at him through her watery eyes. Her fingers lightly caressing the scars. “The pain you must’ve suffered…all alone.”

  “I screamed, Libby,” he murmured, laying his forehead against hers. “Every time they had to do a treatment. Every damn time. I couldn’t handle it. And I couldn’t let you hear that. I couldn’t do that to you. That’s why…” He swallowed hard and she raised her other hand up to stroke his face.