“She read a few to me. He was pretty sexy.”
“Sexy how?” Joan asked.
“Not in an obvious kind of way. He just seemed totally focused on her.” She shrugged. “I started to pretend he was writing me.”
“It’s something to have someone feel that strongly about you,” Joan said.
“Yeah.”
“So Lana was hooked?” Joan asked.
“She would have done anything for him. And some of his requests were kind of weird.”
“Weird how?”
“He asked her to light a candle for him each night. Said the fire would remind her of him.”
“What else?”
“She burned her arm on the stove. She said it was an accident.”
“And you don’t think it was?” Joan asked.
“The first few times, but by the fifth time, I knew it was more than that.”
“Her boyfriend was asking her to burn herself?” Gideon asked.
“I hope you burn for me like I burn for you. She told me he said that in a letter,” Penny said.
“What was his name?” Gideon said.
“He only signed all his letters E.”
“E. Are you sure?”
“Yeah. You never said if Lana was okay?”
“When I can say, I’ll let you know.” Gideon thanked Penny. “Doug, we’re going to get out of your way. Call me with any updates.” He took Joan by the arm. “We need to get going.”
“I want to stay,” she said.
“No,” Gideon said. “We’ll get a recap later.”
Outside, Gideon settled his black Stetson on his head as he reached for his phone and searched his contacts for Warden Martin’s number. The number rang three times and went to voicemail.
“Warden, this is Detective Gideon Bailey in Missoula. I have a few questions for you about a former inmate, Elijah Weston. Can you call me back?” He hung up the phone.
“None of this makes sense, Gideon,” Joan said.
“No, but it will. Eventually.”
“We need to tell Ann. She needs to know about that picture.”
“Agreed.”
“What’s the next move? Helena?” she asked. “It’s less than two hours away.”
If he was annoyed that she had jumped into his investigation with both feet, he did not seem to mind. “Okay. Let’s go.”
In his car, he tossed his Stetson into the back seat and sat behind the wheel as she climbed into the passenger seat. As he slid on dark glasses, she unzipped her jacket and clicked her seat belt.
He easily maneuvered through town to I-90 North with the practiced ease of a man who had spent his entire life here. She missed that kind of familiarity. In Philadelphia, she knew almost every side street, shortcut, and back alley. Here it had all changed enough that she was constantly rechecking her bearings.
“A warehouse caught on fire in Helena?” she prompted.
“Leading with arson first. No small talk?”
“What?”
“Small talk would involve asking me about Kyle. What I had for breakfast. The status of the ranch.”
She considered her options. “Kyle is fine, or you would not be here. Unless you’ve changed, you still don’t eat breakfast, and I hear you have a very competent ranch manager.”
“Still not good with the small talk?”
“Worse, if you can believe it. Let’s stick to the fire in Helena.”
He wove around a slower family van and zoomed ahead in the left lane. “Owned by John Pollock,” he said. “Pollock was in Texas when his warehouse burned early in 2019.”
“Out of town like the Halperns,” she mused. “I bet he had a solid alibi.”
“He did.”
“What was the cause of the fire?”
“It was undetermined. The local fire chief finally ruled it an electrical fire despite the fact that there were two ignition points.”
“That alone should have raised a red flag.”
“It did. But in the end, the investigator was pressured to make a call. The destruction was quite extensive.”
“How certain are they that it was an accident?”
“Enough to authorize the insurance payout.”
“Does Pollock know we’re coming?”
“No. I’ve spoken to my buddy with highway patrol, Sergeant Bryce McCabe. He’s fully apprised of what I’m looking for.”
“What’s his judgment on the Helena warehouse fire?”
“He’s given me free rein to ask as many questions as I want.”
“Which means he has suspicions.”
“Maybe.”
“Speaking of the Halperns, do you have their financials yet?”
“They’ve been slow to respond. I should have my court order later today so Detective Sullivan can start pulling them.”
She looked out the window at the rolling landscape, watching the distant mountains trail past. The air was thick with the promise of snow.
“Speaking of Kyle . . . ,” she said.
“Yes?”
“He’s a good kid.”
His expression softened. “I know. Thanks.”
“Sorry to hear about his mother. I knew Helen in school.”
Gideon remained silent. “You two didn’t get along.”
“I didn’t get along with a lot of people. Doesn’t mean I wished her harm. It’s not like she stole my man.” Though it had sure felt like it when Ann had told Joan they’d married.
He shot a glance her way, and, though dark glasses concealed his eyes, his deepening frown suggested her comment had hit its mark.
“Sorry,” she said. “That was petty.”
“I begged you not to leave, Joan. I called you a dozen times. You shut me out completely.”
“I was running scared,” she said.
“I wanted to help you.”
“I know. But I didn’t have a solid foundation like you and Ann. You two could weather storms. I couldn’t. Maybe still can’t.”
“We all wanted to be there for you.”
“Believe it or not, I came to my senses within two months of leaving. I called Ann, and she told me you had gotten married.”
“She never told me.”
“Because I asked her not to. I couldn’t face knowing I’d screwed up the best thing in my life.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “We always had shitty timing.”
“Tell me about it.”
She switched on the radio and found a station with clear-enough reception so that the silence would not be so awkward.
When they arrived in Helena half an hour later, she was anxious to be out of the SUV and back in her own head.
Gideon parked in front of the highway patrol headquarters, and the two made their way inside. They were met by Sergeant Bryce McCabe, a tall, lean man with a thick shock of black hair. In his late thirties, he wore the dark suit, white shirt, and blue tie that seemed to come with all state and federal jobs. Gideon made the introductions, and they all shook hands.
McCabe led them to a conference room and closed the door. Once they were all sitting at the round table, he threaded his fingers together. “I couldn’t sleep after we talked last night. I’ve been thinking about the fires. We never connected the urban and rural events.”
“I’m not sure I would have, either,” Gideon said. “But we had a similar cluster of fires in the spring near Missoula. The patterns tell me there’s nothing random about the buildup to the fires. But I can’t speak to the motive yet. That will likely take financial records.”
“I’ll warn you now,” McCabe said. “Pollock is connected in the area. He’s donated heavily to the local fire department’s fund and is a real personable guy, with a solid alibi.”
“You have described the couple in Missoula who just lost their business to arson,” Gideon said.
Joan’s temper rose. Whether it was Philadelphia or the Wild West, connections always mattered. “Did you ever get a look at Pollock’s finances?”
“According to his insurance filing, he’s heavily invested in all types of properties around the state. Land rich, cash poor.”
“There’s no law against that,” Gideon said.
“Half the state would be in jail if it were,” McCabe replied.
“Did Pollock have any kind of an arrest record?” Gideon asked.
“No. Neither did his wife or his oldest son,” McCabe said.
“What would be the motive for the arson?” Joan asked.
“Other than the million-dollar payout?” McCabe asked. “I can’t think of one.”
“Land rich and cash poor,” Joan said. “Now he’s flush.”
“Detective Mason and I are headed out to talk to Pollock,” Gideon said.
“Keep me posted.”
After the trio shook hands, Joan and Gideon exited the building to his car. They drove to the site that had been Pollock’s former warehouse. It had been cleared, construction crews were on-site, and a new foundation had been laid. There was a large flatbed carrying steel structural beams.
“Mr. Pollock is wasting no time rebuilding.”
“There’s money to be made.”
Joan and Gideon crossed the street to one of the crewmen. He asked about Pollock and was instructed to visit the construction trailer.