“I didn’t go out with her until after you broke up with me,” he said.
“You didn’t wait more than a day or two.”
“How long was I supposed to wait, Joan?”
What he had done after she left was his business, not hers. But it still stung that he had moved on from her so quickly. She could feel her own damn emotions welling up, and she feared if she stayed in this diner much longer, she would say something stupid that would make her look weak.
She fished a twenty-dollar bill out of her purse and tossed it on the table. “You’re right. None of my business. I’ll find my way back.”
As she rose, his hand came out, and he captured her wrist. “It’s been ten years. Why are you so upset?”
“I’m not upset.”
“You are.”
Her pulse beat fast and hard against his calloused fingertips. She had always made it a policy not to stir up the ghosts and demons from the shadows. But here they were, examining past mistakes and injuries. Maybe one day, she would discover this had been cathartic. But that day was not today. “I’m not Lana.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You implied I’ve fallen for Elijah like Lana did.”
“Have you?” He studied her closely.
She snatched her hand away and left the diner.
Confessions of an Arsonist
A cleansing fire hides so many sins.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Missoula, Montana
Tuesday, September 8, 2020
6:00 p.m.
Joan grabbed an Uber back to her car at the police station and then drove to the ranch. Her head was pounding by the time she pulled into Ann’s driveway. The sun still burned hot, but the light was softening. She was bone-tired, but not so much from the day itself.
What had drained her was the time with Gideon. The old wounds had been ripped wide open today. And for him to suggest she was like Lana pissed her off. If her partner or a stranger had lobbed such an accusation, she would have been pissed but not hurt. But Gideon striking such a low blow had all but drained her of her resolve.
She got out of her car, and gravel crunched under her feet as she crossed the circular drive and tried the front door. It was locked.
Joan rang the bell and waited as Ann’s patient, steady steps clicked through the house.
When the door opened, Ann was smiling. “Sorry about that.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s smart to lock your doors. I wouldn’t work so many cases if more people did.”
Ann stepped to the side, studying Joan. “Is everything all right?”
“I feel a little ragged.” She placed her purse by the door where Ann’s and Nate’s shoes were neatly lined up and then toed off her own.
“I just opened a bottle of wine.”
“I’ll take a large glass, please.”
“Coming up.”
Joan followed Ann toward the kitchen. “How did school go today?”
“Nate had a great day. After school, I picked him up and brought him to the university. He audited a class.”
“Did he like it?”
Ann reached for the open bottle of red on the counter, poured a glass, and handed it to Joan. “He couldn’t stop talking about it.”
“What was the class?”
“Advanced math. I’ll spare you the details.”
“Wow. Good for him.” She sipped. “And Elijah?”
“I see him Wednesday.”
“And how are you doing with that?”
“Not great. I’m not looking forward to it.”
“He is. He’s read the textbook at least twice.”
“Really?”
“When I was his TA, he always gave me a run for my money.”
Ann sipped. “Terrific. How did it go with Gideon today?”
“Interesting.”
A timer on the stove dinged, and Ann reached for oven mitts and removed a roasted chicken from the stove. “In a good or bad way?”
“Both.” Joan fished her phone from her back pocket and handed it to Ann. “He compiled a list of fires in the state during the last decade and marked them on a map.”
Ann studied the map, enlarging the image with a swipe of her fingers. “Does he really think they’re all related?”
“I doubt they all are, but there’re enough clusters to suggest a pattern. Check out the Helena area. It’s had quite the collection in the rural areas as well as a significant fire last year in town.”
She frowned. “We had a few small fires in the hills this summer.”
Joan glanced in her glass, swirling the wine gently. “Nobody has a better alibi than Elijah.”
“For only those fires,” Ann said.
“Gideon thinks Elijah might be working with an apprentice. Lana Long may have been one of them.”
Ann handed Joan back the phone. “That would make sense.”
“How well did you know Elijah?” Joan asked.
“I knew of him,” she said carefully. “Just like everyone else.”
“Do you remember him hanging out with any girls?”
“No.”
“Anyone who might have been a little too devoted to him?” Miss Weston had said he’d carried a picture of a pretty girl from money.
“I don’t understand where this is going,” Ann said.
“Maybe Elijah really wasn’t near our house the night of the College Fire. Maybe he sent someone to do his bidding.”
“I’m sure the cops would have asked around about Elijah’s associates.”
“I would assume so, too. But there’s always someone who slips between the cracks. We all think we know people, and in the end, we really don’t.”
“You sound like a psychologist.” Ann smiled, but it had a nervous edge to it.
Joan had been a cop too long not to notice. “That makes you nervous.”
“No.”
Joan shook her head. “It does. Why?”
“Maybe I don’t like the idea that someone else was working with Elijah. Bad enough there’s one crazy running around. Now we might have two? And this person, if he or she exists, didn’t get arrested.”
“No, they did not. But that doesn’t mean they still can’t be.” Joan met Ann’s gaze. “A picture was found in Lana Long’s apartment. It was of you and me.”
“What?”
“It was taken our senior year.”
Ann’s face paled as she seemed to absorb the information. “How could she get ahold of that?”
“I have no idea. But you need to be careful.”
“We both do.”
Gideon sat in his study, listening as Kyle finished washing his hands and brushing his teeth. He sipped his beer, wishing it had enough punch to blot out his last conversation with Joan. Now that he’d had a couple of hours to cool off and replay the shocked look on her face, he knew he had overstepped in a major way.
“Dad?” Kyle asked.
He looked toward the doorway. Kyle was dressed in pajama pants and the T-shirt he had worn to school that day. His hair was wet and stood straight up on end. “Did you take a bath?”
“Yes. See, my hair is wet.”
He considered pointing out the day-old shirt but let it go. “Good job, pal. And homework is finished?”
“Yep.”
“Do I need to sign anything for school tomorrow?”
“Teacher said a bunch are coming this week.”
He had learned the hard way to have specific questions for the kid; otherwise his yes-no answers did not always tell the full story. “Great.”
Kyle crossed the room and hugged Gideon. He set down his beer and hugged the boy back. As much as he wanted to take back sleeping with Helen right after Joan had left, he would never do that because then Kyle would not have been in his life. “Love you, kid.”
“You too, Dad.” Kyle scratched his head.
When Kyle turned the light off in his room, Gideon glanced at his phone and noticed the missed call from the prison warden. He took another swig of beer and hit “Redial.” On the third ring, he heard a brusque “Detective Bailey.”
“Warden Martin,” he said. “Thanks for the return call. I know it’s getting late.”
“I’m still at the office. Got your voicemail and was intrigued. I pulled Elijah Weston’s file to refresh my memory.”
Gideon’s chair squeaked as he leaned back. “I’m guessing he was a model prisoner.”
“That he was. In fact, he’s one of the inmates we like to brag about. He started working in the kitchens, moved to the library, and finally was an assistant in my office. He’s already promised to come back and speak to the inmates about making life on the outside work. Please tell me he’s not already in trouble.”
Gideon rubbed his finger over his eyebrow. “No. From what I can see, he has been a model citizen.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“We had a fire in town over the weekend. It was the day he was released from prison. But Elijah does have a solid alibi.”
“I understand, given his history, why you have to look at him, but make sure you don’t get tunnel vision.”
“I understand.”
“So how can I be of assistance?”
“I had a woman die in the fire. Her name was Lana Long. Her boyfriend said she carried on a correspondence with one of your prisoners.”