After quitting her job, Willow had practically become a recluse, living on her savings and the interest from her investments of Travis’s life insurance policy.
Meanwhile, she had thrown herself into the remodeling of the home she and Travis had shared, keeping him alive in her heart as she attempted to make some of their dreams come true. She’d learned how to wield a hammer against a nail instead of her thumb and fingers. She’d painted and wallpapered and even knocked out a wall. She’d planted a garden and tended flowers instead of human beings, telling herself she enjoyed it.
Right now she missed nursing with a deep ache.
She found the correct room and entered, finding her brother awake at last.
He gave her a heavy-lidded look. “It’s about time you got here,” he said thickly. “I’ve been awake at least fifteen minutes.”
A PCA pump stood beside his bed, and she could tell he’d made use of the pump with the painkiller. She saw the swell of a chest tube beneath his hospital gown and an automatic blood pressure cuff on his left arm. Wires connected him to the heart monitor overhead, and his vital signs were excellent.
He tugged at the plastic tubing that ran oxygen through his nose.
She pushed his arm away. “Don’t pull it out, you need it.”
He scowled at her. “I think I felt better before they brought me to the hospital.”
“You’ll be in pain for a while. That’s why they gave you the pump. All you have to do is press the button.”
“I did. When are they taking this tube out of my chest?”
“Not for a couple of days. You had a dropped lung, and they need to keep your chest tube to suction so your lung doesn’t collapse again.”
His scowl deepened. Preston had never been the best of patients.
“I thought you were dead last night,” she said. “It terrified me. What made you enter that shed when you knew it could go at any time?”
“The gas tank. I thought I could move it before it exploded.”
She clamped her lips shut to prevent herself from castigating him for his stupidity. He had a hero complex—had been that way for as long as she could remember.
“You’re staying with Ginger, aren’t you?” he asked.
She suppressed a sigh. “No. I didn’t want to be that far away from you.”
He groaned, closing his eyes. “Willow, I don’t need you to take care of me.” Irritation edged his voice. “That’s what the doctors and nurses and machines and medicines are for. I’m in a hospital, remember?”
“And I’m a nurse, remember? Who better to take care of you than your own…”
His eyes opened. “You quit that job, and we both know why,” he snapped. “You didn’t want to risk the welfare of your patients, so why are you suddenly willing to risk the welfare of your own brother?”
Willow caught her breath at the sting of his words. “You’re a grump when you’re on medication.”
“I’m a grump when I do everything I can think of to keep my sister safe and she puts herself in danger anyway.”
“You’re jumping me for putting myself in danger, and you rush into a burning building?”
“And you’re staying alone, unprotected in a motel room?”
“I refuse to have this conversation. When you’re off the morphine and back in your right mind, we’ll talk. You’re being irrational.”
His attention shifted to the entrance of the room. “Willow.”
She turned. In the doorway stood a graying brunette woman in a dark blue pantsuit, with a troubled expression on her face. Behind her stood Ginger, Graham Vaughn and a uniformed policeman, looking through the observation window.
“Mrs. Traynor?” the woman said softly. “I’m Detective Trina Rush of the Branson Police Department. We need to ask you a few more questions about last night’s fire. Please come with us.”
Willow gestured toward the two extra chairs in the room. “Couldn’t we just talk here? My brother might want to help out with details. I’d be glad to—”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the woman said, “but we need you to come to the station with us for questioning.”
“The station? But why?”
“With your permission we searched your car this afternoon,” Detective Rush said. “We found items that could be incriminating.”
“What items?”
“Incendiary devices.”
“Willow?” Preston said, trying to sit up. “What are they talking about?”
“I don’t know. Don’t get up—you’ll hurt yourself.”
“Mrs. Traynor,” the detective said, “we’d like more information about where those items came from and what they were doing in your car.”
“But I don’t even know what items you’re talking about.”
“We’ll discuss it at the station. You have a right to remain silent—”
Willow gasped. “You’re arresting me?”
“Not at this point.”
“Then why are you reading me my rights? I thought police only did that when they were arresting someone.”
“Not necessarily, Mrs. Traynor.” As the woman continued to read Willow her Miranda rights, the room seemed to spin around her. This couldn’t be happening!
Chapter Seven
Graham paced the parking lot outside the city hall, unable to sit inside. He had had dealings with Detective Trina Rush before, when the clinic was burglarized a few months ago. She was logical, methodical and smart. If anyone could catch the arsonist, she could. She was also a tough antagonist. A person didn’t want to cross her.
A few minutes ago Graham had overheard someone in the station mention that Willow’s car door showed signs of being jimmied. He wasn’t surprised, but he was concerned. Why would someone want to place incriminating evidence in Willow’s car?
Obviously Preston was worried about her, but his behavior indicated something more than that of an overprotective brother. There was something he hadn’t confided. Yet.
Ginger came out the city hall’s glass door. “How long should this questioning last? It’s already been an hour. You don’t think they’re running bamboo beneath her fingernails or anything, do you?”
“Have you heard any screaming?” he asked.
“Not a sound.”
“Then she’s obviously holding up well, and they have a lot of questions.” He thought about it. “Either that, or they have a soundproof room for stuff like that.”
Ginger glared at him. “That’s not funny.”
He turned and paced away from her down the sidewalk toward Veteran’s Memorial Park, which faced the busy street of Business 65. “Relax. Trina Rush is just trying to get to the truth. It’s what we all want. They aren’t going to bully her or—”
“Or play good cop, bad cop?” Ginger asked.
“Well, maybe, but—”
“You know something? You’re not making this any easier. Would you stop pacing for a minute and talk to me?”
He sighed and turned back to face his bossy, frowning older sister. He loved her dearly, but if Ginger were allowed, she would mother the whole world in those sturdy arms of hers.
“Ginger, don’t jump into the deep end with this one, okay?”
“I’m not jumping into anything. I was called up here in the first place by a certain meddling doctor who couldn’t deny his need to help some desperate people in a desperate situation. And now you’re warning me to back off?”
“I didn’t say for you to back off. I just don’t want you to get too bossy. I don’t think Willow’s the type to appreciate it.”
“I’m not bossing anyone. In case you didn’t already know it, Willow’s been through a horrible time, and she was just beginning to come out of her shell this afternoon. Now she’s likely to retreat back into that shell and cut herself off from the help she needs.”
“That’s the kind of talk that makes me nervous. All that going in and out of shells. Like she’s a turtle. Or a psych case. First Preston, now you.”
“I didn’t say she was a psych case,” Ginger exclaimed. “I’m talking about grief. Remember that emotion? When your whole world seems to crumble to nothing? Don’t you dare try to tell me you didn’t experience some of those wild emotions when Dena left you.”
“Dena has nothing to do with what we’re dealing with here.”
“Your experience with the breakup of your marriage has everything to do with it. If nothing else, you can surely remember how you felt then.”
“I’m not likely to forget.”
“Then you can empathize with Willow.” Ginger frowned. “Wait a minute. What’s that you just said about Preston? Are you saying he thinks Willow’s a psych case?”
Graham hesitated. He probably shouldn’t have said that, but Preston wasn’t his patient, he was a friend, so this wasn’t a case of doctor-patient confidentiality.
On the other hand, Willow was, technically, his patient.
“You might as well tell me,” Ginger said. “I’m not backing off. Preston surely can’t believe Willow has any out-of-the-ordinary psychological problems.”
“I think he’s afraid something might have snapped with her after she lost so much in such a short period of time.”
“Why would he think that? Awful as it is, people all over the world lose that much or worse on a daily basis, and they don’t snap. You saw her at her worst this morning. Did she seem like someone who had snapped?”
Graham gazed out at the busy street. “I’m a surgeon, not a psychiatrist. I know how to reassure a patient who is afraid to go under the knife and how to comfort a patient when I have to relay bad news, but I’m not exactly an expert when it comes to reading a person’s mental state.”
“You know more than you think you do,” Ginger said. “Give Willow a chance. She’s on the verge of starting a new life for herself. I can see it in her eyes.”
“Oh, yeah? What else do you see?”
Ginger glared at him for the sarcasm in his tone. “Obviously, a lot more than you can. For instance, she’s starving for human companionship, but she’s afraid to trust. She loves her brother very much and is desperate for his well-being. She needs a lot of moral support right now.”
He sank onto one of the concrete benches that encircled the flagpole. Ginger joined him.
“I don’t guess they’d let us see her right now,” she said. “To give her a little moral support.”
“I don’t guess.”
“Well, we can at least take her out to dinner after this, remind her she isn’t alone,” Ginger said.
“I have a meeting with the Stone County fire captain tonight.”
“Fine, then I’ll take her myself. You just go on your merry way and leave us girls in peace.”
Graham sighed heavily. He wouldn’t have Ginger any other way, of course, but sometimes she could test his patience. “I’ll go with you. I don’t have to meet with the captain until later, anyway. The police should finish with Willow in a few minutes.” He hoped.
“Fine. I’ll go check.”
“No, you stay right here until she comes out. The last thing she needs is for some avenging angel to go storming into the interrogation room and demand a few minutes for a pep talk. The police don’t take kindly to that type of interference.”
Ginger took an exaggerated breath and exhaled slowly, letting him know he was trying her patience, as well. But she didn’t move from her seat on the concrete bench.
“We need you to try again to explain about the items we found in your car this afternoon,” Detective Rush told Willow.
“I’m sorry, I can’t explain them. I have no idea how they got there.”
“So you don’t smoke?” Detective Rush asked.
“No, I never have.”
“Then can you tell me what you were doing with a pack of cigarettes and books of matches and lighter fluid in the cargo hold of your car?”
“They weren’t mine. I’ve never seen them.” She glanced at the items in question, which the detective had set at the end of the table.
“You do own a dark red Subaru Outback?”
“Yes.” Willow suppressed her irritation with difficulty. She knew this woman was just doing her job, and she knew this line of repetitive questioning was a tried and true method of getting a suspect so confused they would blow their story. Only, she didn’t have a story—she just had the truth. Why couldn’t this woman accept that? She seemed determined to prove Willow was the arsonist.
“When was the last time you drove your car?” the detective asked.
“Yesterday morning,” Willow said, “to church.” Lately she had attended services only by force of habit. Perhaps she’d subconsciously been attempting to appease Him with her obedience.
“Look, Detective, I think you can see I’m not hiding anything.”
The woman smiled suddenly, changing gears. “I know this is difficult,” she said, “but there may be some memory lurking within you that you don’t even realize you have. Something you might not realize could be related to this case at all. My job is to attack that memory from every possible angle just in case we can unearth some vital clue that could help us find the arsonist.”
“Okay, but as I’ve told you, I’ve only been in Branson a couple of weeks. I don’t know anyone, and I don’t get out much. I don’t smoke.”
The detective leaned forward. “Willow, does your brother have any enemies?”
“He hasn’t mentioned anyone to me.” Willow felt a prickling of dread erupt in gooseflesh on her arms. She must still be dreaming. Preston wasn’t the one with enemies. Please, God, wake me up!
The camera observed her from overhead, in the corner of the small interrogation room—or at least she thought it was a camera. She glanced at the window which no doubt was a two-way mirror. Was someone standing guard, watching her, waiting to see if she would break?
She stared at the slender pack of cigarettes and the five books of matches. They smelled of lighter fluid. In fact, the odor was so strong it permeated the room.
“Can you tell me how long you’d been staying with your brother at his cabin prior to the fire?” the detective asked.
“Two weeks as of yesterday.” Hadn’t she just said that moments ago?
“And how many of the renters have you spoken with or had contact with during that time?”
Willow closed her eyes, trying again to recall exactly which of the renters she had encountered on the grounds. “As I’ve said, I’d met Sandi Jameson and her little girls, Brittany and Lucy, because Sandi dropped by to pay her rent one day last week when Preston was gone.”
“Does Preston keep his car in a garage?”
“No, he keeps his car in the carport, just like everyone else.”
“Then I’m curious why Sandi wouldn’t have realized he was gone.”
“Apparently she hasn’t been in her apartment very long, maybe a month, so maybe she hadn’t learned to recognize his car.”
“Or maybe she was curious about you.”
Willow shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Has she gone out of her way to talk with you or connect with you at any other time?”
“Not after that, but maybe it’s because I explained to her that I was his sister.”
The detective nodded and jotted some notes on her pad. “Anyone else you’ve met at the complex since you arrived?”
“I saw Mrs. Engle a couple of times, but never actually spoke with her. I knew who she was because Preston talked about her.”
“She’s the one who fell in her apartment and broke her hip?”
“That’s right. I also spoke to Mrs. Bartholomew on the telephone when she called to complain about the noise in the next apartment. I knew who Carl Mackey was because he, too, came to pay his rent while I was there. I understand Carl works part-time in the hospital pharmacy. He hasn’t been in the apartment long, either. Preston told me there was a dearth of renters over the winter months, and they’ve just begun filling the lodge again since March.”
“Who else have you met?”
“There’s Rick Fenrow, who also works at the hospital and was on duty when the fire started. I didn’t exactly meet him until I saw him in the E.R. this morning, but I’d seen him coming and going.”
And so the questioning went.
“It seems to me that the only possibility is that someone planted those items in my car,” Willow said at last. “Which, of course, I’ve already said at least ten times. Were the other fires in Branson last night started the same way? Is there any such thing as a serial arsonist?”
The detective folded her hands and leaned back in the straight-back chair, her gray eyes looking tired, the lines of her face looking a little deeper. “Of course there is, but it’s been a long time since we’ve had that kind of problem here in Branson.”
“So the other fires were started the same way?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m on this case instead of some poor sap in another jurisdiction. Ordinarily, the sheriff’s department would handle this.” She suddenly smiled at Willow again. “Has it occurred to you that I should be asking the questions?”
“Yes, sorry. But it stands to reason the same person, or group of people, who set the fires in town also set fire to Preston’s place. Whoever did that obviously decided to play a little joke on me while setting the fires.”
“Reason doesn’t often work as a motive for crime,” the detective said dryly. “In fact, reason seldom enters into it at all—just plain old human meanness and greed. Whoever jimmied your car door and left these items left no evidence behind that we’ve found.”
Willow slumped with relief. Was it almost over? “So you believe me?”
Detective Rush leaned forward with her elbows on the table. “Willow, how well do you and your brother get along?”
“Pretty well. He’s a grouch right now, and he’s overprotective, but he’s the one who insisted I come down to stay with him for a while.”
“Why did he do that?”
Willow certainly didn’t want to delve into that whole subject again. They’d covered it twice already. “Because I was having nightmares and I wasn’t dealing well with the death of my husband and my miscarriage.”
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