“That he saw Travis set the fire last night, lighting matches and pushing them through the fence. But that’s why I’m here, Ben. Stanley’s lying. Travis didn’t start that fire. I did!”
Chapter 16
Maggie and the sheriff stared at Hank. “So you started the fire?” Ben asked. “Tell us what happened, and you’d better sit down. You look ready to collapse.”
Hank sank onto the chair, his face pale. “It was an accident,” he said. “I have one of those outdoor space heaters for cold nights. When I closed shop, I forgot to turn it off. In the middle of the night, the breeze carried some dry needles into the heating element. They caught fire, blew around, and the fire spread.”
Ben looked skeptical. “Did you see that happen, Hank?”
“No. But when I saw the fire, I figured it out. It may not have happened exactly like that, but I do know for sure it wasn’t Travis who started it.”
“Well, you’ll have to come up with something better than that,” Ben said. “I did an inspection of the fire scene this morning. If a metal space heater had started the fire, it would still have been there, in the ashes. It wasn’t.”
Hank looked frustrated. “Well, maybe you’re right. One thing I do know, it wasn’t Travis. If that little weasel says it was, he’s lying.”
Ben’s eyes drilled into the old man so sternly that Maggie wanted to tell the sheriff to back off. But she knew better than to interrupt.
“How do you really know it wasn’t Travis?” he demanded. “Are you sure, or do you just want it to be true?”
Hank looked ready to cry. “All right, I guess there’s no other way but to tell you the truth. The store’s been losing money. I hoped to make it up with the trees, like I usually do. But with the way the competition from the Christmas Tree Ranch cut into me, I knew if I didn’t do something I’d lose it all. So I decided to burn the place down for the insurance. I figured if I started with the trees, it would spread to the store and take it all. But some fool came along and
called the fire department. I headed out through the back of the store and joined the crowd in front.”
“That’s a pretty plausible story,” Ben said. “So how did you start the fire?”
“I set a couple of Ready Lite charcoal briquettes next to the trees and fired them up. I figured that way, before the trees caught, I’d have time to get out of the way. Then I cut out through the store.”
“And what time was that?”
“Can’t say I checked. Eleven-fifteen, maybe.”
“And you didn’t see anybody? Any vehicles?”
“ No.”
It was all Maggie could do to keep from stepping in. The upright lawman she’d known and respected since childhood was destroying this harmless, kindhearted man, and she didn’t understand why. She was about to speak up when Ben did something unexpected. Turning away from Hank, he found a piece of notepaper, scrawled something on it, and passed it across Maggie’s desk. Puzzled, she read just two words.
Trust me.
Trust him? Did she have a choice?
“Stand up and turn around, Hank,” Ben said. “I’m placing you under arrest for arson with intent to commit insurance fraud.” As he recited the Miranda rights, he unhooked the handcuffs from his belt and placed them around Hank’s wrists. A tear ran down Hank’s cheek, but he held his head high as Ben led him out of the room and back toward the jail, leaving Maggie in a state of shock.
* * *
Travis had been in the holding cell less than two hours, but his nerves were crawling. His body was clammy with sweat. Those three years he’d spent behind bars had been the worst hell of his life, and now he was facing them again—this time for a crime he hadn’t committed. As a convicted felon charged with a second offense, nobody would believe his story, and he would get no mercy from any judge or jury.
And everything he would lose—his friends, his ranch, his new business, and a woman he could love forever—even the thought was enough to break his heart.
Flanked by a deputy, Stanley Featherstone walked up to the bars. His narrow rat face wore a self-satisfied smirk. “The sheriff wants you brought to the interrogation room. I’m guessing it’s time for you to be charged and booked. Good luck, Morgan.”
“Shut up, Featherstone,” Travis growled as the deputy unlocked the cell door. “I may have to be here, but I sure as hell don’t have to listen to you.”
The deputy escorted Travis and the constable down the hall to the interrogation room and opened the door. Travis stepped inside, looked across the table, and gasped as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Sitting next to the sheriff was Hank—his father—in handcuffs.
“Come in and sit down, Morgan,” the sheriff said. “You, too, Constable. You’re part of this. Deputy, please take the constable’s weapon. Then you may go and close the door.”
Hank kept his gaze lowered. He didn’t look up as Travis sat down across from him, still stunned by the sight of his handcuffed father. Featherstone, who’d surrendered his pistol without protest, sat at the foot of the table, looking uncomfortable.