Burn You Twice

by Burton, Mary

  “Is that what it is? This isn’t about your dad’s health anymore?”

  “I’ve been avoiding talking about our marriage,” she said.

  “Whatever you’re calling this living arrangement, it’s a huge stressor, not only for you and Clarke but also for Nate. No one would be shocked that a boy missing his firefighter father would set a fire. Nate, of all people, would know that a few flames would bring Dad running. Maybe he didn’t intend for the fire to get so big.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Ann said. And then, as if noticing her cream, she poured a splash in her cup and took extra time to stir it with a spoon. The metal clanked against the earthenware mug, but Ann said nothing.

  “I’m your friend,” Joan said.

  “You’re also a cop.”

  “Who’s on leave,” she joked. “That makes me more friend than cop.”

  Ann shook her head. “You won’t be here for long.”

  This latest deflection deepened Joan’s suspicion that there was something bigger at play. “Ann, Nate likes setting fires.”

  “He’s a boy. His father is a firefighter.”

  “When I showed up here and saw Nate, my first impression was that he did not look much like Clarke.”

  “He takes after my family.”

  “Not really,” Joan said.

  Ann folded her arms. “This is ridiculous.”

  The tension tightening Ann’s features reminded Joan of someone with a secret. “Nate is smart. Very smart.”

  She dropped her gaze and shook her head. “So?”

  Joan had never been afraid of making outlandish statements to provoke a reaction. “He loves Clarke, but he isn’t anything like his father.”

  Ann’s body went rigid. “I don’t like whatever it is you are getting at.”

  And in that moment, Joan realized she had struck a nerve. It was a good thing she was leaving Ann’s house, because if her suspicion was right, her next question was likely to get her kicked out. “Is Nate Clarke’s son?”

  Ann’s eyes widened with a mixture of fear and dread. “Of course he’s Clarke’s son. That boy adores his father.”

  “I’m talking about biology now, Ann. Biologically, Nate is nothing like Clarke.” She thought back to the moment in college when appreciation had shone in Ann’s eyes as she’d looked past her toward Elijah. She softened her tone, as she did when she sensed she might be close to a confession. “At first, I thought Nate just favored you. But when I saw him outside staring at the fire, he reminded me of someone else.”

  Ann held up her hand, silent and staring as she shook her head. “Stop right there.”

  And this was the moment, suspended or not, Joan knew she had to be a cop first. “Is Elijah Nate’s biological father?”

  Confessions of an Arsonist

  Fire has no bias. It has no worries. It simply consumes all that it can. The great equalizer.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Missoula, Montana

  Wednesday, September 9, 2020

  12:50 a.m.

  Joan waited for Ann’s wrath. But Ann remained silent, her face growing more ashen by the moment as she stared into her pale, creamy coffee. When she finally looked up, the reflected pain was reminiscent of a cornered animal.

  Ann cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “I love my son. I would do anything to protect him.”

  “I know that. He’s a great kid.” It was not hard to sound genuine. She really did like the boy. “You got pregnant in the spring of 2010. Tell me what happened.”

  Ann glanced up the stairs and then beckoned Joan out onto the front porch. The cold night air bit and snapped, but Ann clearly did not want to take a chance Nate would hear them.

  “I was tutoring at the student center with Elijah. We were working with other freshmen studying for the math finals,” she said in a voice that sounded as if it were already traveling to the past.

  “Nate was born in January,” Joan said.

  Ann shook her head. “We were in almost whiteout blizzard conditions when I went into labor. And Clarke was great. He was cool and calm as he put the chains on his tires. And he couldn’t have done more for me.”

  Because he was getting exactly what he thought he wanted: Ann and a son.

  Joan backed up the calendar nine months. “You and Clarke were on a break from each other in April,” Joan said.

  “Clarke was pressing me to get engaged, but I just wasn’t ready for that.”

  “Did you tell any of this to Elijah?” Joan asked.

  “No.” She glanced at her palm, tracing a callus likely earned keeping the ranch going. “Elijah mentioned several times that I looked upset.”

  “He noticed a lot of things about you.”

  When Ann looked up, her surprise was genuine.

  “I saw the way Elijah stared at you. He started tutoring when he realized you did.”

  “He was patient with the students,” she said. “And we got along really well.”

  “And then . . .”

  Ann’s brow arched. “I was feeling alone after Clarke and I broke up. I felt like I had blown up my life. The students had left the center for the day, and Elijah was waiting around while I locked up. I was laughing about a joke he had recently told, and when I turned, he was right there. We stared at each other for I don’t know how long. And then he kissed me very gently on the lips. And then I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back harder.”

  “And one thing led to another.”

  “Yes.” Ann pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “He walked me home and asked if he could see me again, but I told him I couldn’t. I tried to soften the blow, but I could see that he was hurt. He asked me to reconsider, and I said I would, only because I felt so bad for him. But the instant I woke up the next morning, I knew I had made a terrible mistake.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “I called him and told him I had thought about it, but I really couldn’t see him. I needed time to myself after the breakup with Clarke.”

  “How did Elijah take it?” Joan asked.

  “He was calm about it. Said he would be there for me, whenever I was ready.”

  “That all sounds rational and mature.” And if Joan distrusted anything, it was how accepting Elijah had been.

  “I was so relieved. I thought I could just put what happened in the past, and we could all move on.”

  “And Elijah stuck to his promise to respect your decision?”

  “Elijah was truly kind to me, and I respected him for it.”

  “Kindness can be more potent than roses or chocolates.”

  Ann gripped the handle of her mug and raised her coffee slowly to her lips.

  “So at the time of the fire, Clarke and you were not reunited?” Joan asked.

  “We slept together once after I was with Elijah.”

  “Did Elijah know that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe Elijah decided if he couldn’t have you, then no one could. If you had died in the fire, Elijah would have been assured you and Clarke would never be reunited.”

  “I didn’t see Elijah once in the days leading up to the fire. I received no threatening notes, calls, or anything from anyone.”

  “Did you tell the police or anyone else about Elijah?”

  “Not a soul. Until now.”

  “And Clarke was there for you after the fire.” She was surprised to hear the bitterness in her tone.

  Ann seemed to pick up on it as well. “The fire brought us together.”

  And it had driven Gideon and her apart. Was that not irony? She rolled her head from side to side. “When did you find out you were pregnant?”

  Ann sat straighter. “The ambulance took me to the hospital, and the emergency room doctor ran a pregnancy test as a matter of protocol. When it came back positive, I nearly fainted.”

  “Did you know Elijah was Nate’s father?”

  “I knew it was a possibility.” Ann shook her head. “It sounds
terrible.”

  “It sounds human.”

  “Clarke appeared seconds after I found out about the baby. I tried to hide the news from him, but he realized something was wrong and pressed me to tell. I told him, and he was thrilled. We were married two weeks later by the justice of the peace in town.”

  By then, Joan had flown back to Philadelphia. She had been sleeping on Ray’s sofa, and Gideon had been blowing up her phone with calls. “Clarke does love that kid.”

  “He adores Nate.”

  “Nate looks like you.”

  “Clarke says the same. And he has always attributed Nate’s intelligence to me.”

  “Did you always wonder if he wasn’t Clarke’s?”

  “I pushed the idea out of my mind until a couple of years ago. Nate was talking about math and how fun equations are for him. It was something about the way he lifted his chin that reminded me of Elijah. I just knew.”

  “Did you run a DNA test?”

  “I took a cheek swab while Nate was sleeping. I sent it off to an out-of-state lab. The results were definitive. There’s no way Clarke could be Nate’s father.”

  Joan rose and walked to the porch railing overlooking the moonlit mountains and woods. “You’re worried Nate set the fire because he’s Elijah’s, aren’t you?”

  Ann did not speak, folding her arms over her chest as she came to stand beside Joan. “I smelled his pajamas when he was showering. There was no hint of gasoline.”

  She faced Ann. “If he’s as smart as you say, he could have set the jug out earlier. Easy to come back and light it.”

  Ann’s face tightened with pain and worry. “Do you think he set it?”

  “I don’t know,” Joan said. “He was so mesmerized by the flames.”

  “You cannot tell Clarke or Gideon.” Ann’s eyes were pleading. “No one can know this.”

  “I won’t say a word, but I want to talk to Nate.”

  “Oh God, no. I don’t want you asking him any questions.”

  “I can be subtle, Ann.” Joan now shifted to a professional tone she used with her bosses and the press.

  “He’ll see you coming a mile away.”

  “He’s smart, Ann. But he’s also ten. I might not be as bright as you two, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Either way, you and I have to figure out if he set it. If he did, that means he’s going to need some help.”

  Tears welled in Ann’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I thought the past was all behind us.”

  “Believe me, it’s always been there.”

  Joan spent most of the night on Ann’s couch, tugging at a short wool blanket, convincing herself the throw pillow was really comfortable, and staring at the vaulted ceiling braced by hand-hewn logs as she thought about Nate. Whether the boy set the fire, or Elijah, or God knows who else, they had started back up when she’d arrived in town.

  She reached for her phone and checked the time. It was 5:50 a.m. Accepting that sleep was never going to happen, she capitulated and decided to take a shower.

  She yanked out her one last clean shirt, the red Phillies shirt she had bought for Nate, and turned on the shower. Steam rose up in the room as she stared into the mirror at a soot stain slashing across her cheek and her eyes, red with fatigue. How had she gotten to this point in her life? Slowly, the mirror fogged up, and her image vanished. She stepped into the shower.

  Joan ducked her head under the hot spray and let the heat work through her hair and wash away the ash and smoke. She planted both her hands on the shower wall, leaning in as the water beat against her tight shoulder blades.

  She finally stepped out of the shower, dried off, and shrugged on her shirt and jeans. She combed out her short hair until it was reasonably presentable again.

  Feeling a little more human, she went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. As the machine gurgled, the sound of footsteps had her turning to see Nate walk in. Without a word, he went to the cabinet and retrieved a box of Cheerios and then grabbed a half carton of milk from the refrigerator. He set both on the kitchen island before getting two bowls and two spoons. He filled one bowl with cereal, milk, and a couple of teaspoons of sugar.

  “That second bowl for me?” Joan asked.

  Scrambling on the barstool, he reached for his spoon. “Yes, but I don’t know how you like your cereal.”

  She could not remember the last time she had eaten breakfast, but the boy was offering, and she could not afford to refuse. Mirroring his choice, she put sugar on her cereal and then a splash of milk.

  “That’s not enough milk to cover all the cereal,” he said. “Your ratios are wrong.”

  “Depends on your goal. I don’t like chasing my cereal in a sea of milk. I want it damp but immobile.”

  He grinned as he lifted another milk-soaked spoon to his mouth and took a bite. “Logical.”

  “Your mom still asleep?” Joan asked.

  “Yeah. She’s sleeping in the other twin bed in my room. She looked tired, so I let her sleep.”

  “Good plan. Your mom used to eat this exact brand of cereal in college every day without fail.”

  “I do, too.”

  “They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

  “Who is they?”

  “No idea.”

  “You still have a price tag on your shirt.”

  She glanced down and spotted the green sticker. At the airport, she had assumed Clarke’s DNA had produced a tall ten-year-old, and Ann had allowed her to believe it. “I got this for you, but your mom said it was too small.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I can still give it to you?”

  “Naw, I don’t need any more shirts.”

  They both continued to eat in silence. Joan had forgotten how much she liked the cereal’s malty taste, which now reminded her of school and a young life filled with possibilities.

  She set down her spoon and shifted to the stark task of questioning the boy about the fire. With his mother still asleep, now was the best time. Once Ann was around, her mama-bear claws were going to come out and censor everything the boy said.

  She chased around a few dried Cheerios, realizing her milk-to-cereal ratio might have indeed been too low. “What did you think about the fire?”

  He finished chewing. “Bright.”

  For all his brains, he had come up with a fairly weak descriptor.

  “It was more than that. It was pretty destructive and dangerous.”

  “I know.”

  “I asked you this last night, but Kyle was there. Now it’s just the two of us. Why were you outside?”

  “I told you, I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Do you set fires in the firepit when you can’t sleep?”

  His eyes widened in surprise, as if he had been caught stealing cookies from a jar. “No.”

  “But you think about it, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. But Mom would freak out if I did, and I don’t want to upset her. Ever.”

  “Okay, okay.” Joan shifted her line of questioning. “What kind of noise did you hear outside last night?”

  “Crunching leaves.” He refilled his bowl with more cereal, milk, and sugar. “I thought it was a bear. I was going to investigate. We have horses in the barn that are easily spooked by them.”

  “The barn is down the road, along with the foreman, who takes care of the horses.”

  “He drinks and also sleeps hard. If I had told Mom about the sound, she wouldn’t have let me go. She doesn’t want to admit it, but I’m grown up.”

  She resisted a smile. “Okay, you hear a sound and go out to investigate. Did you see a bear?”

  “I saw something big and dark running toward the woods. And then I heard the big whoosh and then saw the flames.”

  She had heard the same sound. By her calculation, it had taken her at least a minute to put on her clothes and shoes and get out the door. “Why didn’t you call for help?”

  His brow furrowed. “I don’t know. The fire was so in
teresting. I couldn’t stop staring at it.”

  “The figure who was running away, was it a man?”

  “I think so.”

  “Was he carrying something?”

  “I didn’t see anything.”

  “Did you smell anything?”

  “Like an accelerant?” the boy asked wisely. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You know about accelerants?”

  “Gasoline, diesel, and thermite. Sure. Who doesn’t?”

  She could name a hundred. She set down her spoon and picked up her coffee, sipping as she tried to keep this entire conversation light and easy, as if that were possible with arson. “Are you sure you didn’t set the fire by accident?”

  He looked at her, his gaze widening a fraction. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Because if you did, I wouldn’t be mad.”

  “My mom would be mad. She’s not crazy about fire because her house burned down when she was in college.”

  “I wouldn’t tell her.” Which was not true. In fact, Ann would be the first she would tell. Like it or not, lying was a trick cops used to get a suspect to tell them what they needed.

  “I didn’t set it!” His voice rose, and he dropped the spoon into the bowl, creating a loud clank.

  “Set what?” The question came from Ann, who was standing in the doorway. She looked both bleary eyed and suspicious.

  “I asked Nate if he set the fire,” Joan said.

  “Why would you do that?” Ann asked as she came up behind her son.

  “He was on the scene when I arrived.”

  “He’s a child, and you were not a cop rolling up on a crime scene last night. You’re my guest.”

  “It was a crime scene. Still is. And I am a cop.” Maybe not in Philadelphia much longer, but somehow, somewhere else, she would be.

  “Nate, finish your breakfast. Then get dressed. I’ve laid out fresh clothes for you.”

  “I didn’t set the fire,” he repeated.

  “I know, baby.”

  Ann touched him gently on top of his head, but he angled slightly out of her reach. “I’m not a baby.”

  “I’m well aware,” Ann said.

  Nate took several more bites and then picked up his bowl and set it in the sink. “We’re still going to school today, right?”

  “Yes,” Ann said, smiling.