Illusive Flame

by Girard, Dara

  “Tell me this isn’t true, Braxton. Tell me one of my top investigators is not using the help of a damn psychic to help him with a case.” Robert opened his mouth, but Pinkel continued. “And not just any psychic, but one with a damn murderer in the family.”

  Robert stared at him, reserved. “She merely gave me some clues.”

  “If we wanted officers that believed in New Age hoodoo voodoo shit we would have recruited them by looking at their palms. Or maybe we’d scrye for them on our lunch break.”

  “I didn’t use her in the crucial part of the investigation. I am loyal to the scientific practices—”

  “Braxton, I listen to enough shit from the people who work for me. I don’t want to listen to yours too. The fact is you’ve involved a psychic in cases that are none of her business and were careless enough not to keep it under wraps.”

  Robert stared at Pinkel unfazed by his anger. “We work for the public. If they have knowledge of any type it is our duty to follow their lead.”

  “Bullshit. Do you know what this story has done? We had a few buildings burn down and were able to assure the public they were isolated instances. Now the public thinks some lunatic may be setting things on fire and they’re in a panic.”

  “It’s not hard to scare the public.”

  Pinkel narrowed his eyes. “It’s also gotten a lot of important people breathing down my neck. I don’t like that, So you’re going to have to do something.” He leaned back. “I’ve known your family a long time. You’re used to the press and you know the danger of bad press. You’re a smart guy, Braxton. I don’t need to tell you how this system works. You either tell the public they have nothing to fear or you find a damn suspect and charge him with something.”

  “I don’t—”

  “This isn’t, a suggestion. I don’t care whether your psychic is right or wrong or whether your investigation is going badly or smoothly. You’d better find a way to make this trouble go away or I will.”

  * * *

  When Robert reached home, there were cameras and reporters close, but not close enough to his property that he could charge them with trespassing. He ignored their barrage of questions and drove up the drive. Katherine came up to him. “I’m sorry Mr. Braxton I can’t get them to leave. They want to speak to Ms. Spenser.”

  “I know.”

  “Perhaps her presence here isn’t the best for you. This must be very stressful.”

  He gently squeezed, her shoulder. “I’ll deal with it. Don’t worry.” He marched past her, feeling as though he’d aged ten years.

  Katherine watched him satisfied. Mr. Braxton would soon see that Victoria was a liability and then she’d have to pack her bags. Fortunately, Susannah promised not to reveal her source. Everything would work out soon, she had to be patient Katherine walked up to Amanda’s room, humming.

  * * *

  Susannah threw her glass against the wall and let out a scream. Channel Four! Channel Four! She breaks a story and Braxton decides to do an exclusive interview with Mandy Roberts of Channel Four! He even brought on his big, fat maid. For some reason the camera loved her. She could picture the camera operator drooling trying not to zoom in on her front. Women paid for a set like that. It wasn’t just her body that was good on film, however, she also had fantastic photogenic features. She knew exactly how she would have edited this story. God, all the questions she would love to ask them.

  But this wasn’t her interview. She’d had to be content with the press conference held three days ago. She clenched her teeth as she stared at the screen. That little hussy was taking all the glory that should have been hers. Mandy looked like a stupid tart, trying to appear interesting, though everyone knew she was riding on the hard work of someone else.

  Then there was Braxton, looking attentive and helpful, giving the best sound bites a producer could want, but, then again, Braxton knew how to use the press.

  Susannah pressed the off button and sunk into her couch. Fine he’d never get good coverage from her again. She’d find another way to get what she deserved and to make sure he got what he deserved, too.

  * * *

  Victoria sat in the now quiet sitting room, gripping the seat cushion. It was over. The makeup artist, camera crew and reporter were gone. They wouldn’t come back. She’d told her story and now they had no more use for her. It was over. Over. But she knew that wasn’t true. Now the entire country knew who she was. Who her father was. She no longer had a place to hide. No matter where she went there would be snickers, and cruel remarks. There was no place to turn no place where she would be safe.

  Robert came into the room, rubbing the back of his neck, looking weary. “I’m glad that’s over. You did a great job.”

  She couldn’t look at him. He wasn’t safe either. His job was be in trouble because of her.

  “They’ll run the story a couple of times -then the interest will die down. Thank God for a fickle public.”

  She began to tremble.

  He stared at her alarmed. “Hey, hey. It’s okay now.” He gathered her in his arms. “You’re okay. It’s over.”

  She buried her face in his chest, trying to gather strength. “They all now know.” She stared up at him. “What if the family of one of the victims wants revenge? What if my father’s out there somewhere and tries to contact me? What will I do?”

  He gently rocked her. “You’ll be okay. I’m here.”

  She sniffed. “What can you do? Everywhere I go people will know. They’ll know that—”

  “They’ll know that you’re not Vernon Taylor and that you’re trying to help the police find a possible firestarter.” He cupped her face; his eyes clung to hers. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I can. Trust me, I can.”

  Her panic began to dissolve. He meant it. He would be there for her. She’d never had someone say that to her. She stared at him as though seeing him for the first time.

  She stripped through the layers of his facade—his good looks, his past, his wealth—and found the most beautiful, generous spirit she’d ever known. She threw her arms around him, wishing she could say what her heart now knew. She loved him.

  Robert stroked her back. “You’re going to be okay.”

  “I know,” Victoria shut her eyes, briefly imagining he was hers. “Thank you.”

  He drew back. “I have to go.”

  She released him. “Yes.”

  He smiled then stood. “If there’s anything you need, call me.”

  She nodded. He looked at her as though he wanted to say more then left.

  Victoria fell back on the couch all her energy leaving her. She closed her eyes, gathering the truth close to her chest as if it were a treasure. She loved him. She loved Robert (for he could never be Braxton to her again) and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing she wanted to do. Her love was something she would carry like a precious jewel. It would be something else of value she would carry around with her like her mother’s earrings.

  Now someone else would be in her fantasies, she wouldn’t be alone. In her dreams she would belong to someone, she would matter to him. She would not tell him how she felt. She would show him by pouring all her love into his garden and making it grow.

  She spent the next two days mixing the solution. She wanted to combine the right herbs, add the correct level of water, and boil it for the right length of time. Janet scolded her for smelling up the kitchen with her concoction. So she continued her experiment outside, creating a laboratory in the backyard. She worked into the night.

  When she was certain the mixture was right, she and Foster washed all the plants down. They then added a paste and mixed it into the soil so the sun would bake it into the ground. All the nourishment would gather into the roots, kill off the insect, and offer the plants the needed defense against another attack. All they could do now was wait.

  Victoria lay on her bed, smiling to herself as she imagined Robert’s f
ace when he saw that his garden was flourishing. She knew her plan would work and that they would win.

  Then it rained.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Robert heard a click as he walked with Grant into the police station. He turned and saw Caprican grinning. He took a menacing step toward him. “What are you doing?”

  Caprican waved his camera. “Taking a picture of a hypocrite. Is this how you received your information for the Tract case? Perhaps it was a crystal ball that time.” He laughed. “Now I understand why you helped him get off. You seem to like helping killers or at least their relatives.”

  Robert lunged at him; Grant held him back.

  Caprican shook his head. “You’re a fraud, Braxton. And now everyone knows it. But we all know it doesn’t matter if you lose your job anyway. You just need to make a large donation somewhere and everything is all right again. You can fool the public, but you can’t fool me.”

  Grant grabbed Robert’s shoulder. “Come on. He’s not worth it.”

  Robert turned away with effort.

  Caprican shouted after him. “Careful not to make your maid angry, Braxton. She just might ‘see’ your house burn.”

  * * *

  Moments later Robert sat in Grant’s office, staring blindly at the notes in front of him.

  Grant sat back in his chair. “So what do you think?”

  Robert blinked. “About what?”

  Grant shook his head. “You shouldn’t let him get to you.”

  His voice fell. “He’s right though. I am a fraud.” “No, you’re not.”

  “I told the public there was nothing to worry about.”

  Grant stretched out his legs. “And you’re right. They don’t have to.”

  “I’m not so sure. He killed an elderly woman.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “I do.”

  Grant wanted to argue, but trusted Robert’s instinct “Look, whoever this guy is, we’ll find him. A rookie cruising the warehouse district saw a subject near the area during the fire.”

  Robert’s eyes lit up with interest. “Did he get a name?”

  “No.”

  “Did he get a description?”

  “No. He didn’t pay close attention. The rookie said the subject didn’t look drunk or anything and didn’t appear to have any injuries. Probably just a vagrant.”

  Robert tried not to groan. “Wonderful. That will be easy to find. First let’s start looking for a speckled pebble on the beach.”

  “That’s what I thought until I got a phone call this morning. A guy wants to see me and talk about the case. He’ll meet me on the corner of Parks. He didn’t tell me who he was, but he said he’d be able to pick me out.”

  Robert shrugged, though his hopes lifted. “It’s better than nothing.”

  Grant grinned. “I thought that might make you happy.”

  * * *

  Wilkins rolled his wheelchair towards Parks. The cop would probably be on time and he wanted to be there to meet him. Besides, the neighborhood was bad, and no one in their right mind would hang out long. He knew the streets. He’d spent half his adult life on them. That’s why he knew that the guy he saw a couple months ago would interest the police.

  Wilkins sighed. He’d thought the cops would be offering a reward by now, however. He certainly had good info about the fire, and he would share it for the right price. Maybe they’d put him on TV or something for breaking the case. He wouldn’t mind fifteen minutes of fame. Then he could tell everyone in this neighborhood to kiss his ass.

  He didn’t care that no one else liked him. He knew life wasn’t about that. Life was about getting all that you could get, and today he might get a little help for his information about a possible suspect. He’d seen a guy watching the building before it blew. He left when the fire trucks came. He could even describe him. Big black guy, too well dressed to be from around here, with huge construction boots. But he knew something even more important. He knew the guy’s license plate.

  Wilkins approached a street corner and rushed forward as the walking sign changed. He wheeled into the street. A truck screeched to a halt and blared its horn. Wilkins flashed the bird and shouted some obscenities then moved forward. He didn’t see Emilia Reed in her new car coming around the corner. She didn’t see him until too late.

  * * *

  Robert pounded his pillow. He couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t unusual. He’d had plenty of sleepless nights since Victoria had come into his life, but somehow this night was different. He listened to the rain pounding on the roof and tapping the windows. The continuous sound should have calmed him, but he found the sound distracting. Tonight he was restless. He flipped on the lights and stared at Benjamin who was curled up at the end of his bed. The dog watched him through narrow eyes.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m just going crazy,” he said as he pulled on a pair of jeans. He grabbed a shirt. “A nice quiet night, and all I hear is her voice saying my name over and over again.”

  Benjamin yawned and stretched.

  “There’s no need for you to lose sleep, too,” he said, patting the dog’s golden head. Benjamin jumped down and walked to the door. “Okay, if you insist.” Robert opened the door and went to his study. He worked on his notes for the three fires. Only one now could be considered arson. What was the reason?

  He was adding another section to his notes when Benjamin suddenly raised his head as if something had startled him. Robert, buried in his thoughts, just glanced at him. A few moments later, Benjamin went to the door and began to whine.

  “It’s just the wind,” Robert mumbled.

  Benjamin pawed the door. Robert put down his pen. “Okay, let’s see what’s gOing on.” He opened the door and heard the sound that had startled Benjamin—a crackling sound like something moving at the side of the house. He grabbed his boots and mackintosh.

  “Stay,” he ordered the dog before he opened the door. “I’m not in the mood for a wet dog.”

  Benjamin looked disappointed, but sat in front of the door as Robert went to investigate. His flashlight pierced the darkness and fell on nothing as he walked around the house. Then it hit a slick, rain soaked figure. He saw Victoria frantically trying to cover the plants with plastic bags, desperation evident in her movements.

  He didn’t ask any questions he just fell down beside her and imitated her actions. Unfortunately, there was too much ground to cover and too much rain to fight, pounding their confidence into the ground like hammers. After a half an hour, he stopped and raised his head to the sky, letting the rain hit his face and admitted defeat.

  He reluctantly stood. “Come on.”

  She grabbed another bag and began to cover a row of plants. “No, we can’t stop.”

  He reached for her, but she pulled away. He wiped the rain from his face. “We’ve saved all that we could and we can’t do anymore.”

  “No. I won’t stop.”

  He was tired, he was wet, and he wanted to go inside, but he couldn’t leave her out here alone. He lifted her up.

  She fought against him. “Let me alone, I’m not finished yet.”

  “It’s over.”

  “No.” She tried to pull away desperate to save what she could, but Robert only held her tighter until his words penetrated. She soon sagged against him, facing the truth. Nothing more could be done.

  He steered her away from the sight of the billowing plastic bags that moved like slick black wings in the wind, and the muddy garden bed that resembled a raging brown river, washing all her treatment away. “Come on.”

  They entered the kitchen. Benjamin met them there demanding attention by brushing up against them. Once he received the proper strokes, he sat in the corner and went to sleep. Robert led her to a chair then heated up some apple cider He glanced at Victoria. She sat quietly with her head bent, her hood covering her face.

  He pushed back her hood and handed her the cider. “Drink this. It will warm you.”

  She held the mu
g in her hands, but didn’t drink it. She just allowed the heat to warm her hands, but it couldn’t warm the cold place in her heart. “I failed,” she said softly.

  “You didn’t fail.” He took the mug from her and helped her out of her mackintosh. She didn’t notice as she sat like a rag doll with her thoughts far away.

  “I should have anticipated the rain,” she said in a distant voice. “I should have listened to the weather. I should have put mulch down. That would have protected it. I just thought the sun might do good. But I was wrong. I should have thought of the rain. Now the garden is ruined.” She bit her lip. “I’ve failed you, Foster, and everyone. I’ve only caused trouble.”

  “You haven’t failed anyone. Certainly not me. I should have listened to you sooner.”

  “But I should have been more persuasive.”

  “I should have been easier to persuade.”

  “But I should have--”

  He held up a hand. “Let’s not turn this into a competition of who’s the most to blame. If we need to place blame, let’s blame Mother Nature. I have a few choice words for her.” He took a sip of his drink, resigned. “The garden show will come again.”

  Victoria didn’t respond. Robert watched a stream of water drip from her hair, slide down her nose and splash on the table. He searched his mind for something to lighten her spirits. Here she was, the reason for his sleepless nights, looking as helpless and sad as a butterfly with a broken wing. All he wanted to do was hold her, but he had to resist. His fingers tightened around his mug and he looked around for something else to think of.

  His gaze fell to the kitchen floor. He feigned a groan. “My housekeeper is going to kill us.”

  She stared at him puzzled.

  “Look at those footprints.”

  Victoria turned and saw the trail of mud, marring the tile floor. She couldn’t stop a smile. “She’ll forgive us after a stern lecture.” Her brief humor died and she lowered her gaze.

  “Don’t put this all on yourself. You didn’t have to do what you did. You didn’t have to try and save them all on your own.”