Welcome to Harmony

by Jodi Thomas

  “Someone besides me and you and Kenny from the paper?” Hank grinned.

  “No. We list everyone including me, you, and Kenny.” She picked up her pen and pointed it at him. “And for now, we keep this between the two of us. No one else. If we’re wrong and this list gets out, it would hurt someone innocent. If we’re right, we can keep an eye on any suspects without them being aware of it.”

  It was almost noon by the time they’d made lists of everyone involved in every fire. Alex had run checks of arson arrests over the past twenty years, and Hank had gone over his notes of every fire that had happened near Harmony in a year. Two firemen, besides himself, had responded to all the fires. Willie Davis, who never missed anything that happened at the fire station, and Andy Daily, who was sleeping at the station every night he wasn’t working dispatch for the sheriff’s office. Kenny, the newspaper’s only reporter not using a walker, came to take pictures of the fires, but the flames were usually out by the time he made it to the scene.

  Neither Alex nor he realized how long they’d worked until Alex’s secretary poked her head in asking if the sheriff wanted lunch.

  Alex hesitated, while Hank answered, “No, we’re heading out to one of the burn sites. We’ll pick something up on our way.”

  When the secretary backed away, Hank lowered his voice. “If I’m reading Willie’s notes right, three of the early fires were called in by the same person. His name is Zackery Hunter and he owns a gas station out where two county roads cross. This was early, before we thought the fires were connected, so we didn’t ask as many questions as we should have.”

  Alex smiled. “So now we should go out there and talk to him. Did he see the fires, hear about them and call in, or set them?”

  “Exactly.”

  By the time they’d made it to Alex’s cruiser, Trooper Davis pulled up beside them and decided to tag along. Hank had been around the man a few times. He seemed like a by-the-book officer, but there was something about him Hank didn’t care much for. He jumped too fast. Rushed in when he should hesitate. Hank also had the feeling that Davis considered himself an expert on just about any subject. If this had been a hundred years earlier, Davis would have been a bounty hunter, Hank figured.

  He felt, more than knew, that Alex didn’t care for the man, either. Maybe it had something to do with Warren three years ago. Hank couldn’t be sure, but he thought he remembered seeing Davis the night Alex’s brother died, but there were so many highway patrolmen around that night, he couldn’t be sure.

  From the way Davis said the word Sheriff every time he addressed Alex, Hank sensed the trooper felt the same way about her as she did about him.

  On the way over, with Alex driving, Hank found himself staring at the place just below her ear. If he leaned over and put his mouth exactly there, he might feel her pulse pounding in her throat and smell her hair at the same time.

  And that time would be one second before she slammed his head into the windshield. He groaned. He was just guessing here, but he doubted she wanted him nibbling on her neck while she drove out to question a witness.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked as she made the last turn and headed for the country store at the crossroads.

  What he was thinking was, how do women know just the right time to ask that question? Can they sense when a man’s thoughts step over the line, or are they just guessing that something is up because he gets some kind of strange glaze over his eyes? Or maybe men are so often thinking about things they won’t talk about that it’s a good question to ask anytime.

  He answered with the first plausible response that came to mind. “I was thinking it’s not going to be this easy.”

  They pulled into the crumbling parking lot of the little store. Country Corner had been there for fifty or more years and didn’t look like it had been upgraded since the grand opening. It sold gas and snacks mostly, along with beer. The only thing that kept it going was the fact that it was halfway to anywhere from this point. For those who wanted to travel the back roads, it was the only restroom stop, ice cream break, or pay telephone around.

  “I can’t believe he has that old thing.” Hank looked at the phone booth. “Who doesn’t have a cell these days?”

  “Cell service is iffy out here.”

  Hank checked his phone just to make sure he could be reached if needed. Between the fires and Saralynn’s medical problems, he was never without the phone on his belt.

  Trooper Davis joined them as they went into the store. Hank didn’t miss the fact that Davis checked his gun as if expecting Bonnie and Clyde to be waiting just beyond the door.

  The place was empty except for the owner.

  Zackery Hunter sat on a stool behind the counter reading a magazine he quickly shoved out of sight. “Hi, folks. Just taking a drive, are you?” When he smiled, his teeth were so yellow Hank swore he must color them.

  Alex, as always, was all business. She flipped open her notepad and began asking questions. Davis tossed in a few, but Hank just watched. Zackery was a talker and stretched out every answer as much as he could. He hadn’t seen the fires; they’d only been reported by folks coming by. He was left of one, right of the other. The third, he heard about from a farmer who saw the smoke from his place, but Zackery called it in anyway.

  Alex made a list of each of the people who’d stopped by to even talk about the fires.

  Zackery scratched his stubble. “The funeral director from Harmony stopped by for an ice cream, but he always takes the back roads and I seem to be his ice cream stop. Sometimes I see him twice, three times a week. I remember on the third fire, he was so interested in where it was he forgot to eat the Nutty Buddy and it started dripping on my floor.”

  Hank looked down, thinking that from the looks of the floor, the remains of the ice cream were still there.

  “You think Tyler Wright might have expressed an unnatural interest?” Davis asked.

  “I don’t know,” Zachery said. “I guess so, or maybe he was just making conversation. He’s a nice guy, and last I heard loving ice cream ain’t no crime.”

  Hank didn’t miss the look Davis gave Alex. Davis hung back and motioned for Alex to do the same as they left a few minutes later. Hank walked on toward the car. He couldn’t hear, but he sensed they were arguing.

  A moment later Alex stormed past him. She’d climbed in and slammed her door even before he reached the passenger side.

  When Hank climbed into her cruiser, Alex was gripping the stirring wheel so hard her knuckles were white. “He wants to bring Tyler in for questioning.” There was no need for her to explain more.

  “Tyler is not our man,” Hank said.

  “I don’t think so, either, but I’ve got to go along with Davis. It’s a lousy lead, but it’s the only thread we have.”

  Hank pulled a Nutty Buddy ice cream out of the bag. “Lunch?” he asked.

  Alex’s smile didn’t make it up to her eyes. “Thanks.”

  Chapter 35

  TYLER WRIGHT TALKED WITH A COUPLE WHO WANTED TO do pre-need arrangements. He was a retired professor from over at Clifton College, and she’d been an accountant for a small oil-drilling company. They’d bought a place out on Twisted Creek years ago and were finally settling down to becoming one of the nesters who stayed at the creek year-round. Neither fished. He was a bird watcher and she quilted, but they both loved sitting out in the evening and watching the water.

  Since they were about an equal distance from Bailee, Texas, and Harmony, they picked Harmony to be their last resting place. Tyler often expressed pride in the town’s cemetery. Early on, his grandfather had suggested that everyone who wanted to could plant a tree in memory of their loved one who had died. Wright Funeral Home would even order the tree and see to its planting—which not only brought in extra profit, it also made Harmony’s Cemetery stand out as a place of beauty among so many of the dried-up, tumbleweed-collecting cemeteries in the area. There were a few cemeteries on the plains where the ground was so dry
and hard it was impossible to dig a six-foot hole.

  Tyler smiled at the old couple as he tried to remember what they’d said their names were a half hour ago. He had it written in the pages of notes somewhere. He really had to make an effort to remember details.

  As they looked at caskets, he fought down a laugh as he thought of something funny that Kate had said last night. He wished he could hear her words and not just read them. She’d had a nice voice the one time they’d met. A solid voice, not whiny or too high. The kind of voice a man doesn’t mind listening to.

  Tyler remembered every detail about what she’d told him in her e-mails. Last night she’d said that sometimes she was so tired she’d just toss off her clothes and crawl into bed without even thinking about her pajamas.

  After they’d said good night, he’d tried it—though he couldn’t toss off his clothes, he had to hang them up, and he did leave his underwear and socks on when he went to bed. He had a wonderful night feeling free and thinking of Katherine.

  The professor picked a wooden casket, his wife a metal one that sealed. Tyler did all he was supposed to do. He said all the right things, but he also counted the minutes until they left.

  He wanted to go back and read through the e-mails from last night. Tonight was Tuesday, and for some reason they always talked about food on Tuesday. She said she loved to cook but never had enough time. He said he was learning, though unless sandwiches and cereal counted he’d never cooked anything.

  The old couple left. Tyler stood on the steps smiling and waving as he thought that he might tell Katherine he collected coins. He might even tell her about his little friend, Saralynn. Thanks to Hank’s bringing her to breakfast, Tyler felt like he’d watched her grow up. Sometimes, he thought he saw death’s shadow standing just behind her, but she always made him smile, so it was easy to forget about the shadow.

  Tyler had signed up to have each new quarter issued sent to him so he could give it to her. Last Christmas he’d given Saralynn a map of the United States with a spot for each quarter. She’d been delighted. She was a smart little four-year-old, and he wanted to tell Katherine all about her.

  The sheriff’s car pulled into the first slot in the funeral home parking lot. Alex McAllen and a highway patrolman got out. Tyler waited in the wind as they neared.

  “Afternoon, Sheriff,” Tyler smiled. “Trooper.” Tyler thought his name was Davis. They’d talked a dozen times over the years. Or tried to, Tyler remembered with a frown. Davis wasn’t a man who seemed to like small talk, unless it was about himself. There were very few people Tyler met that he didn’t like, and this man was one. Strange, how he’d remember that name and not the names of hundreds of nice people he came across.

  Alex didn’t smile like she usually did as she climbed the steps to him. “We were wondering, Mr. Wright, if you might come down to the station and answer a few questions.”

  Tyler smiled. “I’d be happy to, Sheriff, just let me tell—”

  Davis stepped forward and tugged his handcuffs off his belt. “You’re going with us right now, Wright.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Alex snapped.

  Davis looked like he might argue, then stepped back.

  Tyler’s first thought was that this trooper didn’t like Alex. Maybe because she was a woman, maybe because she outranked him. Tyler had no idea how it worked, but the man obviously wasn’t a gentleman if Alex felt she had to order him around.

  The next thought slammed like a shovel between his eyes. Davis was arresting him. Handcuffs! He’d never had handcuffs on in his life. His parents would not only roll over, but climb out of their graves in anger at the disgrace of their only child being handcuffed and dragged off the steps of Wright Funeral Home.

  “I don’t understand.” Tyler focused on Alex, wishing he could see her eyes through the dark glasses she wore.

  “We just need you to answer a few questions, Tyler. It’s nothing, really.” She touched her hand inside his elbow. “Please come with us.”

  He’d seen enough cop shows to know it was not nothing. “Do I need an attorney?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, “but I’ll call one if you’d be more comfortable. There is nothing wrong or unusual about having an attorney with you.”

  “What is this all about?” Tyler’s only crime for his entire life had been speeding. For a second it crossed his mind that maybe talking about sleeping with nothing on might be some kind of Internet crime. If he were arrested for that, it would be even more embarrassing then speeding down the back roads.

  He looked back at the house, then toward his car, not knowing what to do. Hide. Run. Go with them. The sheriff tugged off her glasses as if she understood.

  Alex’s eyes softened as if she saw his fear and didn’t want to shame an innocent man. He felt overwhelmingly grateful to her for that.

  She tugged his arm gently with her hand. “We just want to see what you know about the fires, Tyler. We need your help. Please, come with us.”

  “Oh.” He calmed. He could handle help. He was good at helping. “Then I’ll do all I can, Sheriff.” He took a breath, wondering: If he’d almost panicked as an innocent man, what would he do if he were ever charged with a crime he’d actually committed? He’d die of a heart attack on the steps. His only chance of living a long life was to follow every law. That did it, he reasoned. His speeding days were over.

  Davis frowned when Alex opened the front door of her cruiser and waved Tyler in.

  Tyler had sat in police cars many times. Once in a while families took a long time between the funeral and the procession to the cemetery. When he’d been a boy he’d often gone with his dad and loved asking all kind of questions about what everything did in the car. But today, he just sat next to Alex for the two-block drive to the station and wondered why Trooper Davis was so upset.

  This would definitely not be on his list of subjects to talk about with Katherine tonight.

  Chapter 36

  REAGAN AND UNCLE JEREMIAH TOOK NOAH’S PICKUP BACK after school Tuesday. The old guy had it running like new. Jeremiah might move slowly, but he knew his way around an engine. He’d also let her help, explaining every step even if she didn’t understand most of what he’d said.

  She wanted just to park the pickup in front of the McAllen house and leave, but Jeremiah told her to go in and hand over the keys while he drove to the parts store for oil.

  Walking up to the door, she tried to remember exactly why she was mad at Noah. Not because he got hurt. Not because he’d asked her to give him a hug. He probably didn’t even remember the night of the accident and how she’d curled up next to him and slept until the nurse had tugged her away about midnight and told her to go home.

  Reagan really couldn’t be mad at him for hugging the cheerleaders; after all, he was hurt and tied to a bed. If anything, they took advantage of him. However, he could have protested a little harder.

  It was the sheriff who answered the door, and for a moment Reagan tensed. Then she remembered that Alex McAllen was Noah’s big sister and had already been nice to her several times.

  Alex invited her in. Reagan had sat in the truck a few times when Noah had driven by his house to pick things up, but she’d never gone inside. The first thing that surprised her was that everything had an order about it. The house was one of the smaller old homes in what she was sure had once been the nicest part of town. Noah said that his mother bought it with a small inheritance from her grandmother, and his dad paid the bills.

  Reagan couldn’t help but think he’d done a fine job of keeping his family in style even if he didn’t live with them. The place had that maid-twice-a-week look she’d seen a few times. Only problem was she was the maid when she’d seen houses like this, or rather one of her foster mothers had been. Her mom-of-the-month would bring a few of her foster kids along to help out. Reagan had never minded the work. It was easy and she could pretend that she lived in a house where the plants were all real and nothing was broken.r />
  “Noah’s in his room,” Alex said. “First door on the right up the stairs. I’ll bring you two some root beers before I leave. Try to cheer him up, Rea. He’s been down for two days.”

  “Is he hurt bad?” Maybe she’d missed something at the hospital.

  “No, just his ribs, and they’ll heal. He was lucky.”

  Reagan climbed the stairs. The first door was open, a big airy room with floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall. Noah sat on the side of his bed picking at a scab across his elbow. He wore a pair of cutoffs that showed off hairy legs. A bandage circled his chest and another covered the top half of one arm, but the rest of him looked lean and tanned, but not as thin as she thought he might have been.

  “Don’t do that,” she scolded. “It’ll leave a scar.”

  “What’d you care? In rodeo no one minds a few scars.” He glared at her. “I haven’t seen you in days.”

  “Two days,” she corrected as she dropped her backpack.

  “And I brought you something.”

  “What?” Curiosity overtook anger.

  “Homework,” she said, and he groaned.

  Laughing, she moved to his side. She couldn’t resist patting his unruly hair, which looked like it hadn’t been combed or washed since he danced with the bull.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. It was the first time she’d ever said those two words and meant them.

  He didn’t pretend they were talking about the homework. “So am I, even though I still don’t know what I did to make you so mad. Probably nothing,” he reasoned. “I’ve always heard redheads are like that, firing up for no reason. It’s probably something I’ll have to get used to if you decide to hang around.”

  “It had nothing to do with my red hair, you idiot.”

  He frowned and shook his head slowly. “See what I mean?”

  “It wasn’t my hair. It was something you did, I just can’t think of what it was exactly.”