Bella still wailed. She was facing more heartache than a seventeen-year-old should have to face. Lucky for her, she’d only have to live through it once. I lived through it every single day of my life, reliving my most significant memories over and over again. And according to the slew of doctors and therapists I’d seen over the years, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
An angry heat rose in my cheeks when I spotted a reporter snapping photos of the chief and Bella, forever preserving the girl’s grief. I spun back to face Uncle Henry. “Instead of worrying about me, you ought to work on your barricades. Someone needs to keep those vultures out of your crime scene.”
The back entrance to Boone’s Taphouse stank of stale beer kegs and rotten food at eight thirty in the morning. The restaurant and bar wouldn’t open for another two and a half hours, but I knew Caine would be there. Sure enough, when I entered, I heard his deep voice yelling obscenities from the storeroom.
I pushed opened the door. He was leaning an elbow against a stack of boxes, his other hand was massaging his temple, and he was speaking loudly into his phone. His blond, shaggy hair was already a mess—he’d clearly been running his hand through it quite a bit. He spotted me, and I motioned that I would be at the bar.
The bar was mahogany-topped, with leather that was stained with rings and scratches, giving it a weathered look. I grabbed a glass, reached for a bottle of Caine’s finest bourbon, and poured myself a finger’s worth. I threw it back, marveling in its smooth, rich taste as it slid past my tongue and warmed my throat. Then I poured a couple more fingers.
“Help yourself,” Caine said sarcastically as he joined me behind the bar.
“You were busy.” I shrugged, then circled the bar and slid into a stool.
Caine grabbed himself a larger glass and fixed a soda. “Tough scene this morning?”
“House fire. Two people dead.”
“I heard. You okay?”
I lifted the glass and nodded at it.
“Point taken.” He pulled out a clipboard and began making checkmarks.
“Why haven’t you married?” I asked him while swirling the amber liquid around in the tumbler.
Caine was a handsome man who’d just turned thirty. The regulars of Boone’s Taphouse had thrown him a birthday party complete with a store-bought cake and tons of black balloons—which, of course, Caine had had to clean up afterward. He didn’t seem to mind, though.
He cocked a single brow. “Is that a proposal?”
“Sure.” I grinned. “Let’s go down to the courthouse right now. Give old Mrs. Kenny a big surprise.”
“You know I’m gay, right?” he asked in all seriousness.
I shrugged. “We’ll never have to worry about breaking each other’s hearts.” I took another sip of bourbon. The visions of the two charred bodies had faded during the conversation, but they snapped back now, as did the memories of my own mother and her husband dying in similar fashion.
Over the years, I’d tried to learn how to hold back the flood of emotion I’d felt when my mother died, but nothing worked. I didn’t need anything to trigger memories—they just happened—and every time, they were as fresh as they had been the moment they occurred. Not just the images, but the feelings. And I had to live with them forever.
Things would be better for Bella Reynolds. Her memories would fade and evolve. She would replace the worst memories with happier ones, and eventually she would heal and move on with her life, while keeping fond memories of certain parts of her childhood. Only occasionally would she have to shove those terrible memories back inside their box.
I felt a sudden, ugly wave of envy. There were no lids to my memory boxes.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I pulled it out. “Faith Day,” I said.
“Hi, Faith. It’s Penelope. Chief wants to see you.” She lowered her voice. “We’ve got ourselves a fed in here.”
What the hell was a fed doing in Paynes Creek? “Okay. I’ll be right there.” I hung up and drained the rest of my bourbon. “Duty calls, Caine. Thanks for the drink.”
“Why do you stay with that horrible job?” Caine asked. “Why would you want to photograph death and destruction for a living?”
I forced a smile. “Why do you listen to everyone’s sob stories at the bar day after day? Doesn’t that bring you down?”
“I’d like to think I’m helping. Giving them an ear that they can’t get elsewhere.”
“Well, maybe I think that by photographing crime scenes, I’m giving victims a voice they no longer have.”
That sounded pretty good. Even though it was a lie.
That night twelve years ago was not the only horrifying memory I had to live with. And with every crime scene I photographed, I hoped to form memories that might, somehow, replace those of my past—the ones I kept secret and the ones that made me a liar.
Chapter 3
While driving to the Paynes Creek Police Department, I sucked on six Altoids. It was highly unlikely anyone would get close enough to me to smell the bourbon on my breath, but it was still a good precaution.
Besides, I wasn’t an on-duty police officer. I was a contractor. When there was a crime scene or car accident to be photographed, the police called me, but beyond that, my time was my own. Yes, I was basically always on call—crimes and accidents didn’t confine themselves to the convenient hours between eight and five—but I could have a drink when I wanted to have a drink. No one controlled me.
That’s what I told myself, anyway.
The police station was buzzing. A couple of the more seasoned officers were chatting in the corner to my right when I pushed through the double glass doors. They straightened and stared at me when I entered, then I heard one of them—red-headed and freckled—mutter, “Did you hear that she called about an intruder in her house last week? When officers got there, they didn’t find shit.”
“Crazy bitch,” the other one said. “To think I fell for that dare to ask her out when I first started.”
“We all do,” Red said, laughing. “She never says yes.”
Penelope sat at her desk with a Bluetooth headset connected to her ear. She looked up when I approached. “Hi, honey!” She chomped gum like a teenager and fiddled with the cross around her neck. Then she leaned across the desk and motioned with her finger for me to come closer. “Wait ’til you see the yumminess in the chief’s office.” She cast a mischievous look toward Chief Reid’s office before sitting back with a wide grin.
I lifted a brow. “Penelope, you might need to lay off the coffee.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m just thinking of you. Go in there and be real nice, and you just might get to give him the grand tour of Paynes Creek.”
If I was the type to roll my eyes, I would have done it then. Penelope was always either trying to marry me off or trying to get me into a church pew every Sunday. It would have irritated me except that I tried not to ever be angry with Penelope. She was the buffer between Chief Reid and me, and she kept me informed of all the gossip—especially the gossip concerning me.
She hadn’t changed much since we’d attended Paynes Creek High School together. We weren’t friends back then, but I always knew who she was. She was popular—hung out with the cheerleader crowd even though she wasn’t a cheerleader. The guys listened to her, but didn’t really date her. She was everyone’s best friend and was known for helping everyone with their problems.
And just as she had handled her friends’ issues in high school, she now handled—or mothered—the patrol officers she worked with. She brought in food and consoled them after bad days. She was a good wife to an EMT who often worked the night shift, and she was an amazing mother to a three-year-old boy. She had a great big ol’ heart, and I always thought of her when I heard a southerner say, “Bless her heart. She means well.”
“Faith,” Chief called from the doorway of his office. I flinched, causing Penelope to narrow her eyes at me. “Can you come here?”
Penelope pretended to tidy papers on her desk as she mouthed the words Be nice. She had a look on her face as if I’d just been summoned to the principal’s office and she couldn’t wait to hear the details when I got out. With her curly red hair teased into a clip on the back of her head, even her appearance reminded me of high school.
My black combat boots squeaked against the tile as I walked over to the chief’s office. One of the newer patrol officers looked up from his desk as I passed, but immediately averted his eyes. The younger cops were frightened of me. They’d heard the stories of what I’d been through, and were terrified to get into a conversation with me for fear I might finally snap. That didn’t bother me. I wasn’t much for chitchat.
I stepped into the chief’s office. He was seated on the other side of his desk, and another man sat in one of the guest chairs. So this was the fed. He was in his low- to mid-thirties, dark-haired, and wore a navy blue suit. The suit was typical of FBI agents, but the tie was pink and featured… were those giraffes?
“Faith, I want you to meet Special Agent Luke Justice. Agent, Faith Day.”
Special Agent Justice stood and held out his hand. “Luke,” he said in a smooth voice. He commanded the room with his large, muscular presence. When I got a closer look, I saw that his suit wasn’t so typical—it was made of a beautiful, rich fabric. And the pink giraffe tie was silk. “I hear you’re the station’s forensic photographer.”
I gave him my hand, and he squeezed it firmly while making eye contact with me. “I’m a forensic photographer, yes. I work on a contract basis.” I hated how Chief Reid was always telling people I worked for the station like I was an employee he owned. I was my own boss, and I preferred to make that clear.
I knew almost immediately that Special Agent Justice was the kind of man who could read you with a simple look—and he was giving me that look now. I made a mental note to stay clear of him.
“Faith, Special Agent Justice is here to help us on the Reynolds case.”
“Okay,” I said. Why was he telling me? I had nothing to do with the investigation other than taking the photos. And why was this a federal case? “You want me to make sure Special Agent Justice receives a copy of the photos?”
Instead of Chief answering, Luke said, “Miss Day, I’m investigating a string of fires.”
I eyed him. My palms began to sweat, and I resisted the urge to wipe them on my pants. “A string of fires,” I repeated.
“Yes.”
I looked to the chief and back to Luke. “You mean, like a serial arsonist?”
He shifted. “Possibly. However, serial arsonists typically take a cooling-off period between fires, and the fires in recent weeks have been rather close together. So I’m looking at a lot of possibilities.”
“And you think last night’s fire fits into the series you’re investigating.”
“Maybe.”
His one-word answer irritated me. “What do you need from me, Agent?”
“Are you aware that Ethan Gentry was released from prison less than three weeks ago?”
“Yes,” I said simply.
“He’s your brother, right?”
“Stepbrother.”
“Has he contacted you?”
“No.” Visions of my stepbrother—not what he looked like now, but how he looked, sounded, even smelled twelve years ago—poured into my head.
“I’m told you had an incident on your property a few nights ago.”
I glanced uneasily at Chief Reid, then back at the agent. “At three seventeen a.m. Sunday.”
I saw no reason to hide anything now—I’d already reported the incident. I thought of the daisies that had been left on my bed and of the fire in my fire pit. I also thought of the fire on my property this morning and the candles that were lit inside. I had no proof that Ethan had come into my trailer or set those fires, but it hadn’t escaped my imagination that he might reach out to me in some way.
Nor had he escaped the FBI’s radar, it would seem.
“Faith,” Chief said, shifting on his feet. Chief Reid was one of the people who had dismissed my incident report last week as either a cry for attention or a prank by some local kids. “Agent Justice is here to investigate the fire that happened last night. If you could—”
“I’ll give him a copy of every photograph I took and cooperate in any way I can.” I shifted my gaze to Luke. “If the two of you will excuse me, I’m expected in court.” I turned on my heel and exited Chief’s office before either of them could stop me.
I walked as naturally as I could manage toward the exit of the police station, but once I was outside, I ran. I took a hard left at the corner and sped down an alleyway that opened up into a parking lot behind the buildings. Spotting a dumpster, I ducked behind it and promptly threw up my breakfast of champions. The bourbon had sure felt better on the way down than it did coming back up.
This could not be happening. I would not let them bring Ethan back into my life. He was a part of my past, and I wanted to keep him there. I would not give Ethan any power in my life. And suddenly I felt certain it was Ethan who had been lighting fires and candles on my property. The next time he showed up, I’d be ready for him.
When I was sure I wouldn’t be sick again, I emerged from behind the dumpster, only to find a woman standing beside a news van nearby. She and a cameraman walked quickly toward me.
“Faith? Faith Day?”
I turned and walked away, not even acknowledging that she had the right person.
“Faith. It’s me, Marla Manfield.”
I paused. Turned slowly toward her. Her hair was as red and dark as chili powder, styled in a perfect and smooth bob. She wore dark rose lipstick and thick brown eyeshadow on lids decorated with even thicker fake eyelashes. Marla Manfield had graduated from Paynes Creek the same year as my brother Finch—four years before me. She’d been captain of the cheerleading squad, had dated the most popular football player, and had gotten out of two DUIs the year after graduation thanks to a father who was a golf buddy of the commonwealth’s attorney. There were perks to growing up popular and wealthy in Paynes Creek. Or there had been, back then. In recent years, the good ol’ boy system had suffered some cracks, and it was no longer nearly as easy to get a lesser punishment on a repeat DUI charge.
Not that Marla would need that kind of help now. She had cleaned up her act, becoming a news reporter for one of the local networks in Lexington, and from what I’d seen, she’d made her mark in sensationalist reporting. Always going after the difficult stories even if it meant embellishing the details.
I realized I was staring at her. She hadn’t spoken other than to announce her name in case I didn’t recognize her. But I did recognize her. I even remembered what she wore the one and only time she went out with Finch. My condition allowed me to remember the tiniest and most inconsequential of details, yet I couldn’t remember why they’d had only one date that summer after their sophomore year in college. I guess I never knew. Maybe Finch had already met Aubrey, his now wife? Regardless, I saw the two of them at a party that summer night. Mom and Eli—Ethan’s dad—had said that at sixteen, I was too young to go to a field party with my friends, but when Ethan offered to go with me, they said it was okay. The double standard had made me mad. Ethan was only sixteen then, too, yet they trusted him with my safety.
Hell, back then I trusted him too.
“I’d like to say you haven’t changed a bit, but look at you,” she said, giving me a once-over. “You’re beautiful. You always were pretty, but now you’re even more stunning.”
I angled my head and studied the way her eyeliner perfectly lined the lid and curved up at the edges. My hand went instinctively to my neck where I knew burn scars crept up toward my face. Was that really how she got people to talk to her? Pay them some empty compliment? I let my eyes drift to the videographer standing just over her right shoulder. He had the decency to look embarrassed. And he had yet to point his camera at me, or I wouldn’t still be standing the
re.
“Do you mind if I ask you some questions?” Marla asked.
“As a matter of fact,” I started, but then curiosity got the better of me. “About what?”
“Your brother.”
Last night’s fire, the arrest of a school teacher, Ethan getting out of prison… All of those possibilities had run through my mind, but not Finch. “Finch? What about him?” If she wanted information about Finch, why not go to Finch?
“Right.” She looked away for a second. “I meant Ethan.”
A pregnant pause stretched between us. “Ethan is not my brother.” I shifted from one foot to the other, my eyes glued to hers. “I have nothing to say about him.”
“So you don’t care that they’re speculating he might be starting fires again now that he’s out?”
“Who is they?” I asked. “I haven’t heard anyone say that.” The accusation didn’t surprise me; I had known it was only a matter of time. And news crews from across the region had already begun flocking to Paynes Creek to report on the schoolteacher incident. The media just loves a salacious teacher-student story. Now they would be on hand to report on something almost as sexy: a murder-suicide topped with arson. And they’d all be looking for fresh angles—like connecting this morning’s crime to Ethan’s recent release. Even if they had to manufacture that connection.
Marla smiled. It was creepy how she tried to come across as a friend in order to get information. “Sources who shall remain nameless for now.”
“You have nothing.” I turned and started away from her.
“I talked to Ethan,” she said quickly. “He’s claiming you knew he didn’t start the fire that killed your parents. And he says he has proof.”
That made me pause. But I knew better than to engage with a bloodsucking sensationalist, so I kept walking.
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