by Jane Godman
He greeted Brayden with an exaggerated sigh. “Fifteen years of my life up in smoke.”
“You have insurance, right?”
“Yeah, but starting all over again? I don’t know if my heart’s in it. At least no one was hurt. If you hadn’t arrived when you did...”
Brayden didn’t want to follow through on that thought. When he had arrived at the liquor store that morning and seen smoke and flames coming from the window at the rear of the apartment, his emotions had gone into free fall. Powered by fear, he had dashed toward the store. Andy had been standing in the yard gazing up at the building with his cell phone in his hand.
It had taken Brayden only a few quick questions to gather the information he had needed. The fire department had been called, but Esmée had been trapped upstairs. Knowing what he should do in that situation and acting upon it were two very different things. Being professional was all very well, but this was about Esmée. Somewhere between his first glimpse of her at the dog show and now, she had become important to him. He didn’t know how, or why, it had happened. He had no idea what it meant for the future. All he had known in that instant was that he couldn’t leave her in a burning building while he waited for someone else to save her.
Luckily, the rescue had gone smoothly. She was okay and the weight that had lodged deep in his chest felt lighter. But it wasn’t gone. Because he genuinely believed that this was the second time someone had tried to kill her. He needed to deal with that and his starting point was to find out if the person who torched the apartment was the same guy who shot at her on the ridge.
“I didn’t get a chance to ask you any questions this morning.”
“I already spoke to the fire chief.”
Andy looked wary. It was his habitual expression when confronted by a cop. Brayden knew why, of course. Although they hadn’t been able to pin anything on him, it was an open secret among the teenagers of Red Ridge that Andy’s was the place to go to get alcohol “under the counter.” Corey Gage and his friends had been heard openly boasting about it, but when pressed for further information, the kids always developed poor memories. So far, Andy had managed to duck the penalty for selling alcohol to minors, but he carefully avoided police scrutiny. From any angle.
Andy was as slippery as a snake, but there was no way Brayden was letting him wriggle out of this conversation.
“Esmée said someone threw a brick through the window that looks over the yard.” Brayden scanned the rear of the building. There was only one window that fit the description Esmée had given him. The glass was long gone and the frame was charred and blistered. The walls around the square opening were blackened by smoke. Even to Brayden’s untrained eye, it was clearly the flash point of the fire. “Then, once the glass was broken, he, or she, threw in a bottle containing a liquid—probably gasoline. There was a burning rag protruding from the neck of the bottle.”
“A Molotov cocktail.” Brayden turned to see Jay Greening, one of the Red Ridge Fire Department investigators, standing just inside the yard. “Much favored among arsonists who like to keep their distance.”
“I’m just asking Andy if he saw who did it,” Brayden explained. “Esmée da Costa, the woman who was in the apartment at the time it happened, was attacked a few days ago. I’m investigating the possibility the two incidents were linked.”
“I didn’t know that.” Andy’s complexion had gone a shade paler.
“Why would you?” Suspicion tickled the back of Brayden’s neck.
“Andy here can’t tell us anything. In fact, his sudden inability to see or hear this morning is quite shocking.” The dry sarcasm in Jay’s tone wasn’t lost on Brayden. “He was doing some paperwork in his office and was concentrating so hard it seems we could have driven our fire truck through the room and he wouldn’t have noticed. Fortunately, it looks like we have footage of our guy taken from the security cameras on the electronics store across the street.”
“You do?” Andy’s voice was a faint squeak.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, Andy, but that’s good news.” Brayden turned back to Jay. “Can I see this footage?” Andy appeared to be hiding something and he would deal with him after he had viewed the film.
“Sure. We’ll need to take it away with us when we finish up here, but you can look at it now. If you think the guy is your suspect, I’ll get a copy made for you.”
Before Brayden could follow Jay, Andy reached into his back pocket and held something out to him. “This belongs to Esmée.” It was her cell phone. “She left it downstairs in the kitchen.”
Brayden took the phone from him. He stared at the display for a moment or two before slipping it into his own pocket. “Don’t go away.” Andy nodded miserably.
Red Ridge Electronics had been subjected to a series of break-ins about twelve months earlier and, on police advice, the owner had installed a new security system around that time. Jay explained that it was only by a lucky chance that one of the cameras had filmed the suspect crossing the street and walking into the yard of the liquor store.
“That camera should be filming the sidewalk in front of the electronics store. Fortunately for us, it’s been set at the wrong angle.” Jay led Brayden through the store to a small office at the back. “The owner only realized something was wrong when I asked if I could check to see if they had any footage from this morning.”
He switched on a monitor and used the timer on the machine beneath it to find the point he wanted on the tape. Although the images were black and white, they were of a good quality. Brayden watched as a man approached the liquor store. He was dressed in dark clothing and the hood of his sweatshirt was pulled up to hide his face. In his hand, he carried something that looked like a large brown paper bag. With a quick glance all around, he entered the delivery yard of the store. A few minutes later, he came out again. When he did, he was no longer carrying anything.
“It’s impossible to see his face,” Jay said. “But his size should make him easy to track down. He could be a heavyweight boxer.”
Brayden remembered the sledgehammer fist to the side of his head. “It’s a possibility.” He was lucky he’d gotten back up again after that punch when he’d encountered the shooter up on the ridge.
“You think this is your guy?”
“I’m sure of it.” He looked at the time label on the bottom of the screen. “Can you rewind this to fifteen minutes before our guy approaches the liquor store?”
Jay did as he asked. The video started with a view of the empty street. Then, in a corner of the screen, he saw the front of a car pull up and stop. After a moment or two, Esmée came into the shot. Walking with her usual brisk, hip-swaying, hair-swinging stride, she went into Andy’s store.
“There!” He pointed to a movement at the top of the screen. Right by Esmée’s car, just for a second or two, the bulky, hooded figure came into view. The same man who had gone into the rear yard of the store—the shooter, there was no doubt in Brayden’s mind—had been watching Esmée when she first arrived.
Jay whistled. “You think he was following her?”
“Looks that way.” I know someone who might be able to tell me more. “Thanks, Jay. A copy of the recording will be a real help. In return, I’ll send you a transcript of the conversation I’m about to have with Andy.”
When he returned to the liquor store, Andy was sitting on the back step. He looked up nervously as Brayden approached.
Reaching into his back pocket, Brayden drew out Esmée’s cell phone and held it up. “Tell me about this.”
“I already did. Esmée left it downstairs in the kitchen.”
“You told Jay you were in your office. Where is that in relation to the kitchen?”
Andy appeared confused by this line of questioning. “Right next to it. The kitchen is really a part of the office. It’s just separated by a curtain. Why?”
Brayden held up Esmée’s cell to show him the display. He was doing his best to keep his anger under control. “There are three missed calls on this cell phone, all of them made between the time Esmée arrived at your store and the time you called 911 to report the fire.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let me spell it out for you. Esmée left this cell phone in your kitchen. The kitchen that is right next to the office where you were working. I think this cell phone gave you a real problem because, even though you heard it ringing, you couldn’t take it upstairs to Esmée, could you, Andy?”
“I didn’t hear it.” Andy scuffed the ground with the toes of his sneaker. “It could be on silent.”
Brayden gave him a humorless smile. “Shall we find out?” He took out his own cell. When he called Esmée’s number, her own phone immediately started up its loud, pop-music ringtone.
“Okay, okay.” Andy held up his hands. “I heard it ringing. I didn’t want to take it upstairs and disturb her. She said she’d be busy sorting through Jack’s stuff...”
Brayden leaned closer. “We both know that’s not the real reason you didn’t go upstairs. You couldn’t go up there because you knew what was about to happen. Someone was going to torch that apartment...and you were in on it.”
“I wasn’t! I swear—”
“Save the swearing for the judge, Andy. This is attempted murder.”
“No.” Andy’s shoulders slumped. “When he came to me with the plan, I made him promise me she’d be okay. He said she’d be able to get out in time.” He raised pleading eyes to Brayden’s face. “And she did, didn’t she?”
“What was the deal, Andy? You take the insurance payout while your friend got to scare Esmée?” Brayden was having a hard time keeping his anger in check. The desire to haul Andy up from the step by the front of his sweatshirt was growing stronger by the second.
Andy nodded, seeming pleased Brayden understood. “Business hasn’t been good lately. I can’t compete with the big stores and their two-for-one offers. When this guy came along it seemed like a good way out.”
“Even though it meant putting an innocent woman’s life in danger?”
“I told you...he swore to me it was just to scare her. He wanted to get her to leave town.” Andy’s voice was deteriorating into a high-pitched whine.
“Okay. Two questions. Who is he and why does he want Esmée to leave Red Ridge?”
“I don’t know.”
“You seriously expect me to believe that, Andy? A complete stranger strolled in off the street one day, offered to torch your store and you said okay?” The last thread of Brayden’s patience was about to snap.
“It wasn’t like that.” Andy heaved a sigh. “Even though I never knew his name, I’d been introduced to this guy by a mutual acquaintance who knew I wanted to find a way to get at my insurance money. We already had a plan in place for him to burn down the store. I was going to give them both a cut once I got the cash from the insurers. It was only when he called me a few minutes before it happened that I knew it was going down today. That was the first time I knew what he was planning for Esmée.”
At last, Brayden felt like he was getting somewhere. “What’s the name of the mutual acquaintance who introduced you?”
“Richie Lyman.”
“Let me get this straight,” Brayden said. “You were introduced to this guy by Richie?” Andy nodded. “So that would have been at least four weeks ago, because Richie has been missing for that length of time?”
“That sounds about right.”
The time frame sounded right, but nothing else about it did. Brayden’s mind was working overtime as he figured out what had happened.
“But at that time, Jack Parkowski was living in the apartment above your store.” Brayden observed Andy’s expression becoming increasingly miserable. “You must have mentioned that during your discussions about torching the place, otherwise you risked killing the guy who was living there.” Andy swallowed hard. Bingo. “Or was that the point? Did this start out as a plan between Richie and his pal to kill Jack? It wasn’t acted on because Jack was murdered by the Groom Killer—or at least, the MO was the same—but, when Esmée arrived in town, your new pal’s focus changed. He told you to look out for her.”
Brayden was making connections about what had happened and he knew from the look on Andy’s face that he was right. But he still didn’t know why the mystery guy who had wanted Jack dead had now switched his attention to Esmée.
“If she turned up here, he wanted to know. Everything was in place for the arson attack, he could be ready to go at a few minutes notice. And, guess what? She gave you a call to say she would be dropping by this morning... Am I getting close to the truth here?”
“I don’t want to say any more.” Andy folded his arms across his chest.
“I think you and I need to head down to the station now so we can talk about this some more.” Brayden waited while Andy got to his feet, his anger colder now but still as dangerous. “Just so we’re clear—you are under arrest.”
Chapter 11
“How does news travel so fast in this town?” Esmée accepted a cup of Sarah’s soothing mint tea and sank gratefully onto a comfortable sofa.
“It’s the Red Ridge effect,” Hester said, pulling a footstool over and lifting Esmée’s feet onto it. “Plus, I have a friend who works in the shoe store on Main Street. She called me to tell me about it. There’s talk of Brayden being given some sort of civic award for saving you from the fire.”
Esmée covered her eyes with one hand. “I can’t imagine anything he would hate more.”
“Are you really okay?” Sarah’s kindly eyes searched her face. “It must have been such a shock.”
“I was shaken up, but I’m fine now.” Esmée lowered her hand and reached out to touch Sarah’s knee. “There isn’t anything left of Jack’s belongings.”
“Those are just things.” Sarah clasped her fingers briefly, a shadow flitting across her features. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned just lately, it’s that people are what matters.”
Esmée looked across at where Rhys was sprawled on the floor drawing pictures on a giant sheet of paper. His artistic efforts were constantly interrupted by kittens as they tumbled out of their basket and walked across his masterpiece. Patiently, Rhys picked them up and returned them to Bella-cat, who was reclining gracefully on a pile of cushions. Sometimes, he kissed the kittens on their tiny, pink noses. Often, he paused to stroke them. Now and then, he talked to them about what he was doing. Esmée wondered how it was possible to love him so much it actually hurt.
“You’re right,” she said to Sarah. “A day like today is a reminder about the important things. It looks like Rhys has been having fun.”
“He’s the sweetest child ever. And he’s been telling us all about Bray and Ko.” Hester clasped her hands beneath her chin. “It’s like they’re his family.”
“Put away that matchmaking face right now, Hester Mull.” Esmée studied her friend over the rim of her cup. “You’ve got it all wrong if that’s what you’re thinking about me and Brayden. I don’t want any rumors that could put Brayden in danger, especially for something that isn’t even true.”
“Well, if it was true, he’d probably be the only bridegroom in town who would be safe. Him and Shane,” Hester reflected. “Demi wouldn’t come after her own brothers, would she?”
Esmée choked back a laugh. “Possibly not, but since we don’t know for sure that Demi is guilty—and there is nothing going on between Brayden and me anyway—we’re straying into the realm of fantasy. Why don’t you fill me in on the Red Ridge gossip?” Hester’s encyclopedic knowledge of the town’s personalities might prove useful in her quest for information.
“I’m not sure there’s much to tell.” Hester gave a discontented sigh. “There have been no new sightings of Demi
and nothing new to report on the case. The biggest news right now is the behavior of Valeria Colton and Vincent Gage. They are driving their families crazy with their refusal to listen to reason.”
“Why?” Esmée sat back and sipped her drink, allowing the drama of the morning’s events to recede in this cozy setting.
“They are nineteen years old...” Hester paused to let that information sink in. “They wanted to get married on Christmas Eve, which happens to be both their birthdays. The Coltons and Gages went wild when they heard the news, but Valeria and Vincent were determined. Then, all of a sudden, it was all off. Valeria publicly dumped Vincent. Except it looks like that was all for show because they’ve been seen around town together kissing and canoodling.”
“Dangerous move,” Esmée observed.
Sarah shook her head. “Exactly. They are little more than children. It’s no wonder their parents are concerned. If the Groom Killer thinks they are still in love, Vincent could be the next victim.”
“Oh, that’s not all.” Hester was clearly enjoying herself. “Apparently, the two lovebirds have announced that if the stories are true and Demi really is pregnant, they are prepared to bring up her baby if she goes to prison.” She sat back in her seat. “What do you think of that?”
Esmée wondered why the story of Vincent and Valeria had brought a sudden lump to her throat. Sarah was right. They were just kids, so it was foolish to think of them as brave. It was more likely they were misguided. But somehow the thought of them falling in love and standing firm against parental opposition—even being prepared to face the ruthless murderer stalking their town—made her feel her own life was missing something. She shrugged the feeling aside. She was twenty-seven, not nineteen. She’d tried romance. It had gotten her a split lip and a black eye.
“I think they need to be careful.” She put down her empty cup. “And they should try caring for a baby for a day or two before they make any rash promises.”