by Stacy Finz
“Okay, then who would want to set him up?”
Aidan leaned over the table and ruffled Sloane’s hair. It was fun doing this with his little sister. The family hadn’t been too pleased when she’d run off to Los Angeles to become a cop. The McBrides were firefighters. But despite the trouble she’d had there—and it had been considerable—she was top-notch at her job. Tough as nails, his girlie sister.
“I got the impression Clay McCreedy hates Rigsby’s guts. You know why?”
Sloane grabbed the bag of chips away from Aidan. “You’re a hog. According to town gossip, Rigsby spread stories about Clay’s first wife cheating on him with the developer of Sierra Heights.”
“Griffin?”
“No.” She shook her head, as if the idea of Archangel Griffin being involved in something sordid was beyond comprehension. “Griff bought the place out of bankruptcy. The original owner was up to his ass in debt and was apparently being investigated by the feds for cooking the books. Way before my time. But it turns out Clay’s wife was doing the guy in a big way, and they wound up getting into a car accident together. She died.”
“Ah, man.”
“I tell you, sometimes this place is a soap opera. Anyway, Rigsby’s son, Sean, heard enough from dear old dad to taunt the hell out of poor Justin over his mother’s affair. Clay is protective of those boys. But if you’re thinking he’s setting fires in an attempt to frame Rigsby . . . no way. Forget about it. The guy’s a pillar of the community, a war hero, and personal friends with the Thurstons and Carl Rudd. Absolutely no way in hell he’d torch their places of business, or any, for that matter.”
“Okay. What about Trevor Thurston?”
“You mean for profit . . . the insurance money?”
Aidan nodded. The majority of arsons were for financial gain, usually carried out by professionals. And usually they got the job done. The sporting goods store and Bun Boy fires were pretty half-assed—thank God.
“I haven’t found anything that shows he’s in need of money. Bank records all look good,” Aidan said. “What do you hear rumor wise?”
“Nothing like he has a five-hundred-buck-a-night hooker problem. Are you kidding? Donna would kill him.”
From the little Aidan knew about the Bun Boy matron, Sloane was probably right. “I guess that brings us back to Rigsby. When are the results on the shirt due back?”
Sloane shrugged. “Hard to say. We’re not in Chicago anymore, Toto. Plumas County can move slowly.”
“Rhys and I want to wait before we go over to the Rigsby place, guns blazing. Could Rhys reach out to the evidence guys?”
“He can and he probably has. How’s your guy . . . what’s his name?”
“Duke. He’s okay. Been tweeting about it like he nearly lost his life pulling victims out of a burning skyscraper.” Aidan rolled his eyes heavenward. The guy was the epitome of a whacker. Still, it sucked that he’d gotten hurt.
“You on Tuesday?”
“Yeah. But I’ll be off in time for Tawny’s wedding. In a barn, huh?” Aidan couldn’t get over it, although he’d known a couple of guys who’d tied the knot in a firehouse. Different strokes . . .
“It’s beyond cool. Wait until you see it. And there should be lots of pretty cowgirls to chase after.”
“I’m bringing Dana.” He hadn’t told her yet, but that was his plan.
Sloane chewed on her lip. Aidan presumed it was to keep from responding with a snotty reply.
“Why don’t you like her? As far as I can tell, she’s been nothing but nice to you and Brady.”
Sloane folded the top of the chip bag. “Take these away from me. I don’t have anything against her. I barely know her. She’s just not for you.”
He thought Sloane might be wrong about that. It was still early, but the more he got to know Dana, the more he became convinced she was just the thing for him.
Sloane gazed at the kitchen clock. “Duty calls, I’ve got to go.” She brought her plate to the sink and helped put everything away. “Thanks for lunch.”
“Any time. If you hear anything, let me know.”
“You got it.”
He heard Sloane’s police rig pull out of the driveway and tidied up. Dana liked the place clean and he often left a mess. Her bedroom door stood open and he peeked inside. He found everything in its place: bed neatly made, pillows perfectly arranged, drapes symmetrically drawn. On a lark, he opened the closet. That too had stayed as organized as the day he’d built it. Only now, thanks to Harlee, there was a lot more clothing in it.
Everything smelled like her too, a soft, powdery fragrance that reminded him of flowers and sunshine. Hard to believe her house had burned down a few weeks ago. Sloane had been wrong; Dana was one of the strongest women he’d ever known.
His phone rang and he checked the caller ID. It was a Chicago area code, but he didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?” he answered. Nothing but air and the faint sound of someone breathing. “Hello? Anyone there?”
“Aidan?”
“Sue? You okay?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I was . . . uh . . . just calling about the condo. Have you sold it yet?”
He’d told her that he would give her half the proceeds from the sale even though he’d bought the place himself. But like the furniture, she’d declined. Perhaps she needed the money after all.
“Not yet,” he said.
“I know someone who may be interested.”
“Oh?” Why hadn’t she called the listing agent?
“She’s a friend of Sebastian’s and she likes the neighborhood. I just thought . . . uh . . . that it might be helpful if I passed her name along.”
“Yeah, okay, sure. Let me get a pen.” Although what was he supposed to do with the information? Again: Wouldn’t it have made more sense for Sebastian’s friend to call Aidan’s real estate agent? He went back in the kitchen and rifled through the designated junk drawer, where he found both a pen and a pad of paper. “I’m back.”
She gave Aidan the woman’s name and number.
“Thanks. I’ll pass it on to my agent.” There was a long silence. Finally, he said, “How was the wedding?”
“It was good. How’s California?”
“Good. It’s nice living near Sloane and it’s really beautiful here.”
“You think you’ll come back to Chicago?”
“To visit my folks and my brothers, yeah of course.”
“I meant to live.”
Weird question, considering the reason for her call was about him selling his condo. “Uh, no, I like it here. I like the job.”
“Are you seeing someone?”
“Sue,” he said, “what’s going on here?”
“Nothing. I just don’t like the way we ended. It’s been bothering me. We were together a long time. I care about you. I care about your happiness.”
“I care about you too, Sue. You know that, right? I want you to be happy. I’ve always wanted you to be happy. And to answer your question, yeah, I’m seeing someone.”
More silence. “Sue, you there?”
“I’m here.” Her voice quivered. “Are you in love with her?”
“I just met her.” He could hear her crying on the other end of the phone.
“I miss you, Aidan.”
The call was veering into inappropriate territory. Time to go. “You’re married to Sebastian now, so you probably shouldn’t be telling me these things. Look, Sue, I’m gonna hang up now. Thanks for passing your friend along.”
He pressed the End button on his phone, dumbfounded. What the hell was that about?
Chapter 17
Aidan waved from the other side of the Ponderosa’s dining room and Dana’s stomach did a flip. He looked so hot in his faded jeans and polo shirt, better than any other man in the restaurant.
“Remember, you promised not to pepper him with questions about the fires,” Dana told Harlee.
“But I can casually ask if there’s anything new,
right?”
“Yes. But if it’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it, you have to stop.”
Harlee’s lips quirked up. “You’re cute.”
“I think it’s nice she wants to protect Aidan from the likes of you,” Darla said.
“Hey,” Harlee called out, “whose side are you on?”
Harlee’s best friend shook her head, her big plastic peace-sign earrings swinging. Today she had on a purple pageboy wig. Her unconventional look was starting to grow on Dana. Hey, let your freak flag fly, right?
“Firefighters are so hot,” Darla said. Apparently, Aidan was having the same effect on her as he was on Dana.
All three of them watched him walk their way.
He hadn’t even had time to sit down when Harlee said, “You better have news for me.”
Dana glared at Harlee and Aidan laughed.
“I’ve got nothing,” he said, and Harlee pierced him with an I-don’t-believe-you glower. “Seriously, if I had something, I’d tell you. I like the press.” He winked at Dana. “Is that alcohol free?”
She poured him a glass of Arnold Palmer from the pitcher. “It’s iced tea and lemonade.”
“How are you ladies?” He turned to Dana. “How did it go with your clients?”
“Got an offer on a Sierra Heights house.” She put up her hand for a high five. Instead, Aidan leaned across the table and kissed her.
Darla started fanning herself. “You guys are so cute.”
Dana felt her face turn a dozen shades of red. Not only wasn’t she used to being the center of attention, she didn’t like it.
“You joining us for dinner?” Aidan asked Harlee and Darla.
“I’ve got to get home. Colin’s making linguini tonight. When do you think you’ll have something for me?”
Boy, Dana thought, Harlee never quit. Must be why she was such a good reporter. But when she found out Dana had been holding out on the news of Gia Treadwell moving to town . . .
“I’ve got to go too,” Darla said. “Wyatt and I are going to the Indian place in Glory Junction.”
“Does that restaurant have an actual name?” Aidan chuckled. “Ever since I moved here I’ve only heard it referred to as the ‘Indian place.’”
“You know,” she responded, “I have no clue what its real name is, but it’s so good, right?”
Dana squeezed Aidan’s leg under the table, knowing that he didn’t like Indian food. He winked at her, and it struck her that they already had their own inside jokes. In a short time, they’d learned each other’s idiosyncrasies.
Harlee and Darla said their good-byes, leaving Aidan and Dana alone at the table.
“Another sale, huh? You’re tearing it up.”
“I’m definitely having a good summer.” Not just the sales, she thought.
He reached across the table and kissed her again. “Yeah, me too.”
“Did you work on the case today?”
“Sloane came over and we threw some theories around, but nothing official. For the most part, I hung out, did some laundry, and tidied up. I know how you like everything just so,” he teased. “Tuesday I’m back on for twenty-four hours, so you’ll have the place to yourself.”
“I don’t mind sharing it with you.” The fact was, he was a good roommate. Considerate, enjoyable, and not nearly as sloppy as he thought he was. “Tomorrow I’m meeting with Pat and Colin about my new house. They’re ready to start and have already submitted my plans to the city.”
“You feeling good about it?” He waved over a server to take their orders. They’d reserved a lane for seven.
“I am but nervous. I’ve never built a house before. There are a lot of choices to make.”
“You tell Colin what I said about the sprinklers?” When she nodded, he added, “And no candles.”
She frowned at him. “That was pretty stupid of me. To this day, I can’t believe I left it burning . . . and next to rags soaked in varnish.”
“If it makes you feel better, it’s one of the top causes of house fires.”
It didn’t. Leaving that candle lit had been the dumbest thing she’d ever done, barring Paul’s drowning. That had been unforgivable. Before she could respond, Sophie bustled over to the table to take their order.
“Hello. Sorry you had to wait.”
“Not a problem,” Aidan said. “How’s Lilly?”
“She’s good.” Sophie gazed around the crowded dining room. “But if I don’t get help soon, she’ll have to move in here with Mariah and me. I’m not complaining, but it seems like every day the crowds grow larger. Part of it’s summer of course. A lot of tourists. What can I get you?”
They both ordered, Sophie wrote it down, and said, “You’re probably sick of everyone asking, but anything new on the fires?”
“Nothing that I can talk about.”
“Can you say whether you think they’re connected?”
Aidan appeared to be considering the question. “Different methods, which I can’t go into, but too coincidental to make me think otherwise. The reason why I’m telling you this is so you can be extra vigilant.”
Sophie’s eyes rounded. “Do you think we’re next?”
“I’m not saying that. But I’d like you and your employees to pay more attention than usual. You own the building, right?”
Dana dealt strictly in residential real estate, but she knew Trevor Thurston owned a few of the buildings on the square.
“Mariah and I do, yes,” Sophie said.
“Who lives in the apartment upstairs?”
“Our cook, Tater.”
“Not when you’re busy like this, but at some point I’d like to talk to him.”
“Okay,” Sophie said. “I’ll let him know. In the meantime, I’ll get these orders in to him.”
When she walked away, Aidan asked, “So clue me in on her and the situation with Lilly. Are she and Mariah . . . lesbians?”
“Uh-huh. According to Carol, who is way more tapped in around here than I am, when Sophie and Mariah wanted to have a baby, Nate Breyer volunteered his . . . uh—”
“Sperm,” Aidan supplied. “Okay. Now it makes sense. I wasn’t sure how it all worked. I know this is California, but no one here gives them any problems?”
“Why, do you have a problem with it?” she asked, and she could hear her own indignation.
“Nope. Don’t give a damn as long as people are happy and aren’t hurting anyone. But clearly not everyone feels that way, and maybe I’m generalizing here, but I would think small towns can be small-minded.”
“As far as I know, there hasn’t been any trouble. From what I can tell, everyone likes Sophie and Mariah.” She waved a hand at the crowded restaurant. “It’s not like their business isn’t flourishing. The Nugget Mafia regularly eats here and practically has a bowling lane named in their honor. And the Baker’s Dozen can’t get enough of that baby.”
“The Baker’s what?”
Dana laughed. “A local cooking club. All women, except for Brady. Some might argue that they have as much clout in this town as the Mafia.”
Aidan shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that my brother-in-law-to-be is a member of an all-women’s cooking club.”
“I guess you’ll have to reevaluate small towns not being progressive.”
“Weird little place, isn’t it?”
“Yep, but in a good way,” she said.
“Definitely in a good way because you’re in it, which reminds me: I want you to be my date to Tawny and Lucky’s wedding next weekend.”
“Uh . . . I don’t think so, Aidan. I wasn’t invited and I’d feel like I was crashing.”
“You’d be coming as my date. I was invited with a guest.”
“This is different,” she argued. “It’s awkward when you sort of know the people and they didn’t invite you.” Especially when they’d invited Carol and just about everyone else in town. Dana couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t like s
he was close to the couple, although Carol wasn’t either. Dana figured it was because Carol had lived in Nugget her whole life. Besides, weddings were expensive to throw; the bride and groom had to draw the line somewhere.
“That’s ridiculous. I get to bring a guest and I want to go with you.”
Dana looked around the dining room. They were sitting right next to the Millers, and she didn’t want them hearing her and Aidan’s conversation. “Can we talk about this at home?”
“Nothing to talk about. You and I are going to a wedding in a barn. We’re gonna dance the night away to a country-western band and eat barbecue.”
She shook her head. Aidan McBride was certainly on the domineering side.
Their food came and she let the topic of Tawny and Lucky’s wedding drop. When they finished eating, Aidan announced that it was time to bowl. Dana tried to pay, but Aidan wasn’t having it.
“Come on, you said I could pay next time.”
“No, I didn’t, or if I did, I was lying.” He put his credit card in the bill holder.
“I’m selling properties left and right. I should treat.”
“Sorry, I know I’m an outdated species, but not in my DNA. When you and I go out together, I pay! But you can provide the candy. Those little chocolate, pecan, caramel things. God, I love those.”
Dana smiled. “They’re called Pecan Petes, after my late great-uncle, Pete Calloway. According to my father, he came up with the recipe for his second wife, who grew up on a pecan orchard in Georgia. Originally, the candies were named for her. But after she divorced him and tried to sue for a portion of the business on the grounds that we were profiting off her name, my father changed the candies to Pecan Petes.
“That’s a great story,” Aidan said.
“I thought they should’ve named the candies Pecan Betties after my mom. She loves them too.” Or rather, used to love them. When Paul died she gave up sweets just like everything else she’d ever loved.
Someone other than Sophie took Aidan’s credit card and returned a few minutes later for his signature. Afterward, they crossed over into the bowling alley. Unlike the restaurant, decorated like an old saloon with lots of Victorian millwork and dark wood, the bowling alley was modern, bright, and noisy. Balls crashing, people cheering, and bells sounding from the arcade. As far as indoor entertainment in Nugget went, this was it. So the local kids, especially in summer, swarmed the place.