She winces. “Well, your voice kind of stands out in a crowd. I overheard you.”
“Goddamn. So much for keeping that under wraps.”
“I haven’t said anything!” she protests. “I’m smarter than that, jeez. If rumors got out, you wouldn’t be able to find the arsonist. They’d be more secret.”
“Pretty much,” I grumble.
That’s the way it should work, anyway. Shame something about this shit feels different, like a puzzle with mismatched pieces.
I get some milk warming on the stove and fill the kettle with water. The best cocoa’s a mix of both according to the Gospel of Ms. Wilma Ford’s cooking.
“So why don’t you start from the beginning and give me the rundown?”
While I let things heat, I move to the kitchen door and lean against the frame, folding my arms over my chest and watching her.
She looks up at me nervously, then ducks her head and tucks her hair behind her ear. After shedding her winter things, she’s got on jeans, ski boots, a clinging sweater in thin white fabric that looks like it was hand-splattered with multicolored paint. All hugging her curves in just the right places.
Shit.
I try not to give my dick a dirty look. This is already hard enough.
Her tongue darts over her lips. “I was just out for a walk, taking in the scenery. There’s a big pointed bluff, kind of like the one where Rafiki holds Simba up when he’s first born? You know, The Lion King?”
I can’t help cracking a smile. “I know the one you’re talking about, darlin’.”
“I was up there. Then I saw smoke back down the path and a bit to the…” She pauses, squinting. “Northwest, I think. You can probably find it; he was burning this pile of sticks, but he was already putting them out with a jug of water.”
“Hmm.” I stroke my chin, rubbing my fingers through my beard. “So he came to set a fire and then put it out, prepped with water? Fucking around with methods, maybe. What’d he look like?”
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head, looking at me mournfully like it’s her fault when it damn well ain’t. “He was wearing all black. Covered from head to toe, he even had a ski mask. Couldn’t see anything except his eyes, and I was panicking so much I didn’t really catch the color. They were creepy and glazed. And he was really tall, almost this whipcord build?”
Damn.
Whipcord.
That rings a few bells.
My jaw tightens. It better fucking not be.
Not a gangly teenager who loves pyrotechnics, tall and playing with an attitude problem big enough to write checks his ass can’t cash. And way too up close and personal with my little girl.
I scowl. “And he tried to hurt you?”
“I don’t know if he meant to hurt me or just scare me, but…he wasn’t fooling around with the car chase.” She wraps her arms around herself tight, fingers making creases in the sweater’s sleeves. “I stepped on a twig. He heard me, saw me…”
She looks up sheepishly.
“Not your fault. Go on, darlin’. Give me more.”
With a flimsy smile, she tweaks the bright cap piled at her side. “Hard to hide with all my color. Then he just came charging after me, so I ran back to my car. I thought he took off, until I heard his truck starting. He chased me down the hill to the highway and clipped me a little, but he just trailed off when I started getting close to town.” She winces, then. “Oh, hell. That’s a rental. I don’t think they’re going to believe ‘a masked man chased me down,’ and my insurance won’t cover it—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I know some folks. The fire department around here has pull with the cops, even if we’re not the best paid. I’ll smooth it over. Might even be able to get Rich to help buff out anything before it’s an issue.”
But I’m not really thinking about her huckleberry car.
I’m thinking about what the hell’s going on here in Heart’s Edge.
A fire set at the clothing store.
A nasty note for Leo.
Clark dicking around in the woods with fire. Then dicking around more at the carnival grounds without his uncle’s supervision.
Holding a grudge because I made him stop.
Because I damn well don’t want him anywhere near Andrea.
Fuck.
Was he playing with new ways to light shit up?
He knows fire almost like I do, inside and out. His uncle works in pyrotechnics, does big shows all over the country, and Clark’s been his apprentice forever.
He wouldn’t want to use professional gear, no.
Stuff that could be traced back to him.
So he’d have to experiment with new tools, whatever he could make look more reckless and accidental.
Damn, my mind’s running away from me.
And Peace is just watching me with her pretty green eyes like I’m a human powder keg and she’s just waiting for the blast.