Playing with Fire

by Rachel Lee

  She blinked, surprised. “We do?”

  He smiled. “Sure. When you go back to Atlanta, you never have to see me again, and you can banish me to the past. That ought to be freeing, not inhibiting.”

  “Sort of like that TV commercial for Las Vegas?”

  He laughed again. “Yup. Or not. But I guess what I’m saying is, relax. Be yourself. I won’t hold it against you.”

  He made sense, she realized. Two strangers meeting in the middle of nowhere, essentially, who’d never see each other again. There were advantages.

  “Ah, you’re smiling again,” he observed. “Good. This was supposed to be fun, not a trial by fire.”

  She relaxed and just laid it out there. “You’re right. A casual outing for coffee and dessert is hardly the place to get caught in webs of the past and future.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’m still singed. I think it’s thrown my reactions off.”

  His smile faded into a kind expression. “Singed how?”

  “I went through a breakup a couple of months ago. The second one where my job seems to be the main problem. Or it could be me and the job was just an excuse. Anyway, I think I’m developing a bunker mentality.”

  He nodded. “I can identify with that. After Linda’s mom left me, I figured I was done. She couldn’t stand life here anymore, and I’ve seen plenty of other folks leave because this place is too small for them. I mean, our theater is a community group that stages plays at the local movie house. We have dancing at the roadhouses. Occasionally the community college entices us with lecturers or exhibits of some kind, but around here if you can’t make your own entertainment with friends, you’re pretty much stuck with the TV or a trip to a larger town.”

  “So you’re still feeling scorched?”

  He nodded. “Still. Five years.”

  She was surprised to feel a sinking in the pit of her stomach. To his eyes, she must be wearing danger signs plastered all over her. The woman from the big city. The gallivanting traveler. Why the hell had he asked her out? Because it was safely impossible. The very reason she ought to be enjoying this herself. Instead, she seemed to be regretting things that weren’t even in the cards to begin with.

  Kinda early for a midlife crisis, she told herself sourly.

  The slices of pie were too generous by half, she thought, pushing her plate aside.

  “Maude’s going to want to know what’s wrong,” he warned her, eyes twinkling.

  “Nothing’s wrong except I’m full. Maybe she’ll feel better when I tell her that it’s the best cherry pie I’ve ever eaten.” She reached for her latte. “The sheriff tells me there’s going to be a barn raising this weekend for the Buells. And you said the church is holding a potluck for them tonight. Whatever downside this place may have, it seems like an awfully caring community.”

  “While I’m not as widely traveled as you, I tend to think most people are pretty caring if they just know what they can do to help. Did Gage also tell you that the local lumberyard is providing most of the supplies?”

  She put her chin in her hand and gazed at him. Looking was okay, she supposed, and looking at him was pure pleasure. “That’s awfully generous.”

  “I suspect some others chipped in, too, but did it anonymously.”

  “Are you going to help out?”

  “We’re going to have fire rescue out there in case of injuries, but we still need to maintain our readiness in town. Which brings me back to the fire. I’ve got to make sure I’ve collected every bit of evidence I can from the barn before they bulldoze it.”

  “I’ll help,” she said. It wasn’t part of her job, but once upon a time she’d helped with collecting information from incidents. She figured she could still remember some of it. Then it struck her that Donna ought to help, if she was his fire inspector. Was she that badly injured? “Donna said she was injured on the job. Was it too bad to help you with this?”

  “Bad enough. She broke her hip and hurt her back when part of a building collapsed on her. Not too steady on uneven ground. She’s been a good egg about it, though.”

  “Seems to be. She was joking about all the books she gets to read.”

  He smiled. “That’s Donna, all right. She was a good firefighter. Now she’s the best inspector.”

  “What exactly do inspectors here do? Terminology can vary so much department to department. Does she investigate arson?” Which might explain Donna’s initial antipathy.

  He shook his head. “She inspects buildings and new construction. Fire code enforcement.”

  “I’m glad you were able to keep her on.”

  “So am I.”

  And Donna would be a far better fit for him than she would. Really, she shouldn’t even let such thoughts cross her mind. But there was an emptiness inside her, a great big hole that her job couldn’t fill, and her awareness of it had mushroomed after her breakup with Ted. She was living a distinctly lopsided life, but it was her own fault. She’d chosen to do this, and she wasn’t ready to quit.

  Arson. It drove her like a goad. It was the enemy that haunted her and wouldn’t let her walk away. Like now. She was actually thinking about taking vacation time to do what she could to solve this one, even though she knew the odds were against it.

  “I can’t tell you how much I hate arson,” she said. “Every single fire creates a possibility that someone will get hurt. Especially firefighters. So I’m wedded to my job. Uncovering fraud can make arson less attractive to one type anyway.”

  “I agree.” He paused. “I didn’t mean to sound critical this morning. Well, yes I did. But not about you. You’re the third insurance company I’ve dealt with about arson in the past eleven months. I was spitting nails before you arrived. In fact, you were the only arson investigator to come out here. The rest sat at their desks in Delaware or New York and caused their clients a whole lot of grief over the fraud issue, all the while questioning my judgments. And they weren’t terrible fires, not like Buell’s. It makes me really reluctant to put arson as the cause.”

  She nodded, feeling sympathetic. “It’s okay. I know the types you’re talking about. They send out an adjuster, rate the probable cost of repairs and then go to work trying to save the insurance from paying.”

  He tilted his head a little. “Does that make a difference for your job?”

  “We look better when we save the company money. But I won’t play that game and I haven’t been asked to. I’m lucky. My company cares about its reputation, and causing unnecessary grief for clients doesn’t help. Anyway, don’t worry about your reaction. I’m used to it. There are a fair share of officials who look on me as an interloper.”

  The evening wound down quickly after that. A nice interlude, but pointless to push it any further. Understanding weighed heavily on her as Wayne took her home. Unless she made changes she wasn’t ready to make, emptiness would remain part of her life. Time to resign herself.

  They were walking up to her front door when she smelled it.

  “Gasoline,” he said at the same instant she caught a whiff of the distinctive odor.

  Immediately he went from relaxed to intent. Darting back to his truck, he pulled out a couple flashlights. “You walk around the house from that side. I’ll take the other.”

  She nodded, her heart galloping. There was no reason to be smelling gas around here, not this late at night. Turning on the flashlight, she began her walk around, following the distinctive scent. It grew stronger as she approached the back, and her insides fluttered with apprehension.

  When she rounded the back corner, she saw Wayne already there, his flashlight pointed at something. She hurried over, the gasoline odor growing distinctly stronger. She followed the beam of the light and saw a pile of rags, dead leaves, pine needles and paper. She didn’t need to squat to know they were gasolin
e soaked.

  An arsonist had been here. But why?

  * * *

  A million questions swarmed in her brain like angry bees. Wayne had called out his department and was using a chemical sniffer device to check around the entire house, inside and out. The police were there, hunting for any kind of evidence they might be able to use. Hank Jackson, her landlord, stood beside her.

  “I was a firefighter in Denver,” he remarked. “I saw plenty of crap like this.”

  “I bet you did.”

  “Of course I want to know why. And I know we’ll probably never find out. Question is, was it just a prank or did someone scare this cretin off?”

  She had no answers. The night had grown chilly, and she folded her arms, trying to keep warm. A shiver passed through her occasionally.

  “I need to get back to my wife,” Hank said finally. “We had a baby this past winter, and her days are long enough without me leaving her alone in the evenings.”

  Charity managed a smile for him. “We both know how little we can do right now.”

  “Yeah, but I’m going to be keeping a sharper eye on the place here on out. If Wayne or Gage need me, I’ll be at home with Kelly. You take care, hear?”

  “Thanks, I will.” But another of the questions uppermost in her mind was whether she was the intended target. How many people in this town knew she was staying here? It hadn’t been that long, but it was a small town.

  Once everyone was satisfied with their evidence collection, the fire company hosed down the back wall of the house and the ground pretty thoroughly. They left a mire behind, every footstep raising mud up through the grass.

  “It’s okay to go inside now,” Wayne said from behind her. “You must be cold. I’ll be along shortly.”

  She nodded and walked back around front, wiping her boots on the drier grasses out there before she stepped inside. The heat was on, not too high, but a warm contrast to the air outside. Unable to sit still, she made a pot of coffee, then paced the house, watching through windows as the operation rolled up. At last the fire truck roared away, and silence once again blanketed the neighborhood. Curious neighbors returned to their homes now that the action was over.

  Charity felt as isolated and alone as she had ever felt in her entire life. Joke? Intention? Directed at Hank Jackson? Directed at her? Or simply an opportune targeting of a house the arsonist thought was unoccupied?

  There was a knock on the door then Wayne stepped in before she answered. “Coffee?” she asked without preamble. “I just made some.”

  “Sure. I couldn’t possibly get any more wired that I am right now.”

  “It wouldn’t have been much of a fire,” she said. “It would have been found fast. Not everyone is asleep yet.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Property destruction. A big headache for Hank. What if you’d been sleeping in the bedroom? It was right against that wall. What if it had reached the roof before it was found? You know, that’s the thing that really bugs me about this. Maybe it wasn’t meant to create a huge fire, but it still could. That’s the thing. Nobody can guarantee what a fire’s going to do. Too many variables.”

  He came to light at last on one end of the sofa. “It’s like water. Finding a leak is hard because it runs everywhere. A fire has its own behavior, like a living beast. It follows the oxygen and the fuel and it could run anywhere, and the speed is variable depending on what it runs into. It’s like a living beast on the hunt for food, and it kills far too often. What if it had risen up to the eaves and got into the roof or attic? What if it had filled this place with fumes?” He patted the cushion on which he sat. “Plenty right here to gas a flashover. I realize smoke detectors would probably have alerted you in time, but then my team would have had to deal with it. You ever been in a flashover?”

  She joined him, sitting at the other end of the couch. “Yes,” she said quietly. “And I’ve seen the results of them afterward.” She could read the fury all over him.

  “So I’m out there wondering. Some kid sees a house has been empty for a few months and thinks, why not? Someone is pissed at Hank Jackson, although I couldn’t begin to imagine why. Or someone knows an arson investigator is staying here and is worried about it.”

  Her heart lurched as he echoed her own question. “If so, they just want me to move on. This was nothing like Buell.”

  “Of course it wasn’t. That would take too long. But it’s a message.”

  She bit her lip, fighting her own fears, and worried about him. He cared. He was a fireman. This kind of behavior was anathema to him. “Or just a dumb kid who heard about the other fires.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch.

  “Let me get the coffee,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  She returned with two mugs and again sat at the other end of the couch. Every single question he was asking was valid, every one of them needing an answer. If the arson was directed at her, it wasn’t going to work, though. She felt stubbornness stiffening her.

  Suddenly he leaned forward and put his mug on the coffee table. “Someone is doing this for a reason. Too many fires and too scattered to all just be thrill-seeking kids. They’ve got to be linked, as different as they are. Somebody’s driving an awful lot of miles to do this. You know what kind of arson we usually see around here? Some kid playing with matches who didn’t mean to cause a fire at all. Deliberately set fires are rare, at least here.”

  “So where does this take us?” He knew the area, she didn’t, so all she could offer was her ears.

  “I don’t know. It’s really not your problem, though. Maybe you should go back to Atlanta after you talk to Fred Buell, and I’ll send along whatever I get.”

  So he was worried about her safety after tonight. The thing was, she’d been threatened before, in more obvious ways. And every time someone tried to push her off a case, she just dug in her heels.

  “I’m a mule,” she told him. “Cussedly stubborn. If you think someone wants me to go home, then I’m staying right here.”

  He looked at her. “Charity...”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been threatened before and it hasn’t stopped me yet. You know what strikes me about this?”

  He shook his head and waited attentively.

  “What strikes me is that someone is scared my being here is going to lead you to them. Or someone wants me out of the way for another reason. Considering I’ve been here just a little over a day, I don’t think I’ve stepped on any toes yet. So it has to be about my being an investigator, and maybe somebody doesn’t understand what my role really is. Maybe they think I’m like that TV show about crime scene investigation. A modern-day Sherlock Holmes. Somebody who can track them down. I’m far from that, but how would they know? So let’s keep them scared. They’ll slip up.”

  “Or hurt you,” he pointed out grimly.

  “Believe it or not, that’s a possibility every time I’m on a case. People know my decision is hugely important. And to some of them, my life isn’t.”

  He peered at her, a strange expression on his face. “I never thought about that.”

  “I try not to. Usually it’s just background noise. If it gets threatening enough, I tell the police. They make quiet little visits then.”

  “Saying what?”

  She smiled without humor. “That they’d better hope I don’t get so much as a sprained ankle because they’ll be at the top of the suspect list. It works.”

  “If you know who threatened you.”

  Her bravado slipped away, because he was right. But the stubbornness remained, pulsing through her, goading her. It was at once one of her strengths and her greatest weakness, and she knew it.

  “Maybe some of those boyfriends left because they couldn’t take worrying about you anymore.”

  S
he shook her head. “I didn’t bring that home with me.”

  “Then, why did you tell me?”

  “Because you’re already aware of the possibility.” She met his gaze straight on. “And if someone is worried about what I might find, then maybe you need to consider you’re in as much danger as I am.”

  He levitated from the couch as if a spring had ejected him. “I need to go check on my place. Linda. Will you be okay for a while?”

  “I’ll be okay, period. Whoever it was won’t be back tonight. Get going.”

  * * *

  Jeff and Randy and two others were playing cards in the break room, finished with the attempted arson call and feeling pretty good about themselves. Other firefighters were bunked out upstairs. The break room was on the small side, with a long bench table where firefighters could eat. Painted white, with a black tile floor, it was cozy only in size. Nearby was a small kitchen where they took turns cooking.

  Cans of pop sat on the table along with a bag of chips. The cards were well used, and there was a lot of joking about whether they were marked.

  “Did you see that woman in the suit?” Randy asked one of the other firefighters, a solid wall of a man named Ken Banister, who was assistant to the chief.

  “Yeah, when she came in yesterday. Think the chief’s got a thing going?”

  Donna walked in. While her job usually required her to work daytime hours, she often dropped by during slow times to hang with the team, all of whom were friends. “What makes you think he’s got a thing? She said she was only going to be here a few days. After this arson attempt where she’s staying, she’ll probably be on the next plane out.”

  Randy hooted. “We all know you make eyes at the chief.”

  Donna reddened angrily. “I do not! Besides, the man doesn’t date. Not once since his wife left.”

  Jeff shook his head. “He dated tonight.”

  “Coffee at Maude’s is hardly a date,” Donna pointed out.