Smoke (Bearpaw Ridge Firefighters Book 7)

by Ophelia Sexton

  In the space of a week, she had lost everything that she cared about…her house, her mate, and now, her future.

  When she finally rose to her feet a long time later, she felt hollow with grief and rage.

  “That’s it, girl,” she said to herself, feeling the emptiness of the house like a weight on her soul. “Time to stop falling to pieces. I need to find a way to fix this.”

  Chapter 16 – Putting the Pieces Together

  Well, here I am, Tyler thought, looking around the cell. Just where Dad always predicted I’d end up. Who’d have thought it was for something I didn’t even fucking do, though?

  The detention cells were in the basement of the police station. The building was old—it had originally been a bank, with thick brick walls constructed on a masonry foundation, then it had been converted to a dry goods store, and finally, it had become the headquarters of the Bearpaw Ridge Police Department.

  At least it was cool down here. It was also quiet, the silence pressing in on his eardrums.

  Restraining his urge to pace the confines of his cell, Tyler sat on the old Army surplus cot that was the cell’s only furnishing other than a molded stainless toilet. This place was giving him a taste of what prison might be like.

  I can’t do it. I can’t live shut away from fresh air and wilderness for years and years. I’d rather die.

  He strained to hear what was going on above him. But even his preternatural sense of hearing failed to catch anything more than the faint sounds of a ringing phone and the occasional scrape of furniture against the floor.

  The minutes ticked by. Tyler had been relieved of his phone and wallet when he was being booked, so he had no idea how much time had passed since his arrest. It must be getting late, though.

  Mary’s on my side. And Cousin Mark has a reputation for being a good lawyer.

  But telling himself that couldn’t stop the sick feeling that crawled through his veins.

  There were a lot of people who apparently still hated him, including Zack Barenkamp and possibly Sheriff Jacobsen.

  And even if I manage to avoid being convicted of arson, it’ll do me no good if I can’t salvage my reputation too. I want to be able to stay in Bearpaw Ridge with Mary, and I can’t do that if half the town thinks I’m guilty of trying to burn it down.

  If it was just me, I wouldn’t care. I’d just leave again, and to hell with what people thought. But it’s not just me anymore. I have a mate, and I don’t want this to screw up her relationship with her friends, family, and pack mates.

  Time dragged on. Tyler found himself sweating despite the relative coolness of the building’s basement. He couldn’t stop picturing various outcomes, and they all ended with him being sent to live behind walls and barbed wire.

  Or being condemned to stay down here forever, with nothing but stone walls and fluorescent light fixtures to look at, and no visitors. No mate.

  Finally, he heard Mary’s voice. Relief poured through him. It wasn’t enough to wash away the accumulated worry, but it was comforting nonetheless.

  Her light, confident tread sounded on the stairs, and then she was there. With Sheriff Jacobsen looming in the background, of course.

  “Hey,” she said quietly, coming up to the bars of the cell.

  Her scent curled around him, caressing him.

  “Hey,” he responded, and he reached through the bars, desperate for the touch of her skin.

  “Mary, step away,” Sheriff Jacobsen ordered. “No contact, remember?”

  Her expression was twisted with the anguish that Tyler felt inside.

  “So I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” she began.

  “Give me the bad news first,” he said, his hands clenched around the bars of his cell in frustration at having her so close and not being able to touch her.

  “Bill Hawkins called to let me know that your help is no longer wanted or needed in rebuilding his hardware store.” Mary looked angry as she conveyed this.

  “I figured as much,” Tyler said. “So what’s the good news?”

  “I talked to Mark and retained him as your attorney. He’s on his way over.” She paused. “He thinks that there probably isn’t enough evidence to bring you to trial without a confession and that’s why my—why the police want to question you. That’s my feeling too.”

  “You’re an optimist. I like that about you,” Tyler said. He inhaled her scent. “Will you do me a favor and call my cousin Eddie? Let him know what happened, and tell him he’s been promoted to acting CEO of Schaeffer Construction.”

  Because Tyler would never forgive himself if Grandpa Rob’s company went under while he was sitting here in jail without access to a phone or a computer.

  * * *

  “So, care to tell me what your glove was doing at Hawkins Hardware? We found it at the fire’s point of origin,” Sheriff Jacobsen began about an hour later.

  He, Tyler, and Mark Swanson were seated in the interview room upstairs at the Bearpaw Ridge Police Station.

  The interview room was approximately the size of a closet, furnished with an ugly Formica-topped table and three uncomfortable brown plastic chairs, and it was barely big enough to hold three grown shifters.

  Tyler thought that the stale air smelled of accumulated desperation and fear from everyone who’d ever been brought here for questioning.

  “First of all, how do you know that this glove actually belongs to Tyler?” Mark asked.

  When Mark had arrived at the police station a short time ago, he had instructed Tyler not to speak a word unless Mark told him it was okay.

  He and Mark were now seated on one side of the table, and Sheriff Jacobsen was seated across from them.

  “It smells like him,” Jacobsen said flatly.

  His weathered face looked tired and drawn under the harsh white glare of the room’s lights.

  Mark raised his brows. “You know that’s not admissible evidence in an Ordinary court of law.”

  He looked confident despite his non-lawyerly jeans and casual cowboy shirt, the same clothes he had been wearing at Elle's family dinner earlier this evening.

  Tyler saw Sheriff Jacobsen’s jaw muscles clenching under his skin. “But it was enough evidence for me to get Tyler’s DNA sample while executing that search warrant.”

  Hearing that made Tyler feel like he’d just been plunged into an ice bath. His chest tightened, and his bear rose inside him, demanding that they fight their way out of here.

  But Mark just laughed. “Come on, Bill. You know that’s an empty threat. Maybe Judge Einarsson was willing to issue a search warrant based on scent, but she’s a shifter like us. Unless you know a forensics lab staffed by shifters, you’re not going to submit a DNA sample, not when we both know that Tyler is innocent.” He tapped his nose. “If you could smell Tyler on that glove, you can smell a lie too.”

  Tyler released the breath he’d been holding. If he’d been thinking clearly, he’d have realized that Sheriff Jacobsen wouldn’t risk exposing the shifters’ secret existence to Ordinaries just to convict one shifter.

  If there was one rule that all shifter communities shared, it was never to reveal themselves to an Ordinary unless it was absolutely necessary.

  But Sheriff Jacobsen wasn’t done yet. The tall wolf shifter leaned forward and put his elbows on the table.

  “Let me tell you what I think happened, and then if your client still wants to insist that he’s innocent, I’ll be very interested to hear his version of events.”

  “Please go ahead.” Mark smiled and spread his palm invitingly. “Other than that glove—and I have a lot of doubts about that—I’m dying to hear why you think Tyler is your arsonist.”

  “You might remember that Tyler was notorious for getting into trouble while he was growing up here,” the sheriff began.

  Tyler growled soundlessly. I was right. He’s still holding a fucking grudge about that joyride in his police car!

  “Well, it didn’t escape my notice that the fi
res began after Tyler moved back to town and joined the fire department,” Jacobsen continued. “Then my niece was almost killed when someone set her house on fire, and guess what? Tyler just happened to be there to play the firefighting hero and rescue the pretty girl. Well, that seems to have worked out just fine for him, hasn’t it?”

  “Fuck you. I didn’t do any—” Tyler exploded.

  “Shut up. Now,” snapped Mark. “Let me handle this.” He turned his attention back to the sheriff. “Tyler’s presence at that fire doesn’t constitute any kind of proof of guilt. Nearly all of the volunteer firefighters responded to the call that night. I was there too, remember?”

  Jacobsen smiled grimly. “We searched every inch of the rubble at the cottage last week. And do you know what we found? Two more delayed incendiary devices just like the one we found at Hawkins Hardware.”

  Mark sat back in his chair, looking impossibly relaxed.

  Tyler tried to imitate his cousin’s pose, but he was stiff with rage at the sheriff’s accusation that he would ever have put Mary in harm’s way.

  “That’s interesting,” Mark commented. “But I’m still not seeing the connection between the incendiary devices and my client.”

  “Well, here’s my theory: Tyler set them at the cottage in an attempt to impress Mary as part of a sick courtship ritual. Then he set one at Hawkins Hardware to get even with Zack Barenkamp after the two of them got in a fight earlier that afternoon.”

  “My client has an alibi. He was at his home having dinner with Mary when the fire broke out at Hawkins Hardware,” Mark said calmly.

  Sheriff Jacobsen shook his head. “He left the firehouse at 3:30 p.m. Mary didn’t arrive at Tyler’s home until after 6:00 p.m. That’s a two-and-half hour gap…and we have witnesses placing Tyler near the scene of the fire around 4:00 p.m.”

  Mark turned to Tyler. “Where did you go after we parted ways around 3:45 p.m.?”

  Tyler pushed down his rage and tried to think back to what else had happened that afternoon. But all he could see was Zack’s smirking freckled face as he tried to destroy Tyler’s freshly renovated reputation.

  “I went to buy the fixings for cooking Mary a home-made Italian dinner. I bought sausage at the Fatted Calf, then went to the grocery store to pick up salad stuff, ricotta cheese and spinach before heading back to my place to cook.”

  “That should be easy enough to verify,” Mark said. “I’m sure I can find out who was working at those locations and ask if they remember seeing you. And what kind of food did you make for Mary?”

  “Ravioli with sausage, ricotta, and spinach filling in a Bolognese-style sauce, plus salad.”

  “And how long does it take to make ravioli from scratch?” asked Mark.

  “About two hours,” Tyler answered.

  Mark smile angelically at Sheriff Jacobsen. “So if Mary will attest to getting homemade ravioli on the evening of the fire, will you accept Tyler’s alibi that he was at home for at least two hours, preparing this time-consuming dish?”

  Sheriff Jacobsen scowled. “I might, except for that glove. Who’s to say that Tyler didn’t stop in at the hardware store while he was out running his errands?”

  “Without Zack Barenkamp noticing that Tyler was there? Someone he dislikes and had just had been with fighting with?” Mark asked with open skepticism.

  The sheriff shook his head. “If Tyler’s innocent, then why was his workman’s glove found in the very bin where the fire started at Hawkins Hardware?”

  Mark turned to Tyler. “Who else has access to your tools and protective equipment? Has anything gone missing recently?”

  “Yeah, small stuff. A couple of tools here and there, anything I forgot to lock up in my truck before I left my Mom’s place for the day,” Tyler replied.

  “Any gloves?” Mark asked.

  Tyler shrugged. “I can’t remember. I have a lot of spare gloves and safety glasses, because those things walk off all the time.”

  “Did you file a police report for any of these supposedly stolen items?” the sheriff inquired sharply.

  “File a police report for a pair of missing gloves that cost about five bucks?” Tyler asked incredulously.

  Shit. I can’t believe I might go to prison because I didn’t report a bunch of petty-ass crap missing from my worksite!

  “Tyler.” Mark put his hand on Tyler’s forearm. Then he addressed Jacobsen. “My client has a point about not reporting the loss of a low-value item.”

  The sheriff sighed. “Given that we have physical evidence and witnesses that place you near Hawkins Hardware just before the fire started, I have no choice but to recommend arraignment. You’ll go to court tomorrow morning.”

  The news hit Tyler like a collapsing building. “But I didn’t do it!”

  Even as the words left his mouth, he knew it was useless.

  He turned to Mark. His cousin shook his head. “Remember—in a court of law, you don’t have to prove you’re innocent. They have to prove you’re guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. And there’s plenty to doubt about Bill’s version of events.”

  Somehow that thought wasn’t as comforting as Mark intended.

  * * *

  “C’mon, Uncle Bill,” Mary said, exasperated. “We both know Tyler didn’t do it…so the real question is, who framed him, and why?”

  “Framed? Don’t let your feelings for your mate get in the way of conducting an impartial investigation, Mary.”

  She gritted her teeth, trying not to let her frustration—and desperation—show.

  Tyler had been arraigned this morning, and the judge, despite being one of Elle Swanson’s relatives, had refused to set a bail amount, citing that his wealth and Portland connections made him a flight risk.

  That meant her mate would be confined to that awful underground cell until his case went to trial…which might not be for three months.

  At least she’d been able to bring him a decent breakfast from Annabeth’s bakery this morning, along with a stack of paperback novels from his “to be read” shelf in the living room.

  “I’ll do that if you promise not to let your dislike of Tyler get in the way of your police work,” she retorted.

  Uncle Bill rubbed his face, and Mary noticed that he looked exhausted.

  They had met at the town’s riverside park for their lunch break and were sitting on one of the benches built along the shoreline hiking/biking trail, safely away from any eavesdroppers.

  It was hot again today, and Mary saw towering white clouds gathering over the peaks. Maybe there would be a thunderstorm in a few hours to cool things down.

  One of the park’s resident brown-and-white osprey was swooping over the surface of the river, looking for fish to snatch out of the crystal clear water.

  “Despite what you may think, I don’t harbor any grudges against Tyler. Until this happened, I actually thought he’d turned out to be a pretty fine adult despite his rocky start. But we have physical evidence linking him to the fire at Hawkins Hardware.”

  “And you just told me that you didn’t find anything else linking Tyler to the incendiary devices during your search of Tyler’s home—our home,” she corrected herself. “No cigarettes or matches, not even notepaper of the same kind found on the devices.”

  “That glove, combined with all of the witnesses to Tyler and Zack’s fight earlier in the day and Tyler’s little grocery shopping expedition on Main Street, mean that he had motive and opportunity and maybe sneaked inside the hardware store just before the fire started.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Mary said.

  She’d met with Mark and Tyler last night, and they had discussed the case. Mark was still confident that he could find a way to exonerate Tyler even if the case went to trial, and Mary wanted to believe him.

  He had raised some really good points, though, as he walked them through the probable case that the prosecutor would try to build.

  “Don’t you think that glove was a really strange item to find?” she
asked. “I mean, if Tyler was really wearing it while setting the fire, how did it happen to come off without him noticing? I don’t know about you, but I have to make a serious effort to peel off my gloves when I wear them.”

  “Maybe he took them off after putting the incendiary device in the bin and didn’t notice that he’d dropped one,” Uncle Bill countered, but he didn’t sound convinced.

  “Really? Really?” Mary scoffed. “Come on—Tyler’s apparently smart enough to wear gloves while committing a crime, but dumb enough to drop—no, shove—one of those gloves down into the same bin as his little arson device? That doesn’t make any sense…unless someone stole one of Tyler’s gloves and put it there as a crude attempt to frame my mate.”

  Uncle Bill leaned back on the bench and sighed. “What about the fact that Tyler had motive to want to harm Zack?”

  “Yeah, what about Zack's motives?” Mary challenged. “Why not look at it from the other direction? We know that Zack Barenkamp has been telling people that he thinks Tyler’s the arsonist. And we also know that he was in the store when the fire started…in fact, he was the only witness. And Zack also told me that only four people came into the store before the fire started, and Tyler wasn’t one of them. So, Zack’s got motive and opportunity to frame my mate, and I believe that the only reason he didn’t say Tyler was in the store was because I’m a shifter and I would have smelled the lie on him.”

  To his credit, Uncle Bill seemed to seriously consider her point. She couldn’t read his expression behind his mirrored aviator shades, but his lips thinned as he stared out over the river for long moments, thinking it over.

  “But that doesn’t explain why your house was targeted with the same kind of devices,” he said finally.

  “Tyler’s my mate!” Mary exploded.

  Mark had told her about her uncle’s theory that Tyler might have set fire to her home just to impress her, and Mary had literally seen red as pure rage overwhelmed her.

  How could any shifter—especially anyone who knew Tyler—actually believe that?

  She took a deep breath, trying to push down a resurgence of that frighteningly powerful emotion.