“What do you mean?” Gideon asked.
“Wherever she goes, disaster strikes. This is the second time she’s been near Ann when a major arson event happened. Three if you count the Beau-T-Shop fire, which happened within hours of her arrival.”
Tamping down her anger, Joan refused to let Clarke see he had gotten to her. The Beau-T-Shop fire might have just coincided with her arrival, but this fire was a direct message.
She was not comfortable with the thought, but better her than Ann and Nate. “I’ll get my gear and find a room in town first thing in the morning. That way the threat will be removed.”
“I appreciate that, but what if you’re wrong?” Clarke asked.
Gideon looked at her, his expression a mixture of annoyance and frustration. “I have a spare room at my house,” he said. “It’s over the garage.”
“It’s nice,” Kyle offered. “Dad and I used to live there.”
“Thanks, Kyle. But I’ll get a hotel room,” Joan said.
“It will cost you a fortune,” Gideon said. “Besides, you’re only staying a few more days, correct?”
Her return ticket was booked for Sunday, which gave her less than a week to clean up whatever mess was here before she returned home to the other mess she had left behind. “I’m here until early next week. But it’s better I stay in town.”
“I’m sorry, but the sooner you leave, the better,” Clarke said.
Ann wrapped her arms around Nate’s shoulders. “I want to get to bed. We’ll sort it out later.”
“I’ll stand watch tonight and leave first thing in the morning,” Joan said.
Neither Gideon nor Clarke appeared happy with the solution, but when the fire crews announced the shed extinguished, neither could argue.
“My house is a half mile down the driveway, Clarke,” Gideon said. “I can be here in five minutes if Ann or Nate needs me.”
That seemed to soften Clarke’s hardened features. “I want you to call me if anything happens,” he said. “I can also be here in less than twenty minutes.”
Ann moved toward Clarke and kissed him on the cheek. “We’ll get through this.”
Clarke’s hands came up to her arms, and he gently hugged her. “I’ll do anything to protect you two.”
“I know. We’ll be fine.”
Clarke was calm enough to leave, and when his car vanished around the corner, Gideon approached Ann. “Ann, I haven’t told you everything.”
“If you’re going to tell me about the picture found with Lana, Joan already told me.”
Gideon glanced toward Joan, his gaze a mixture of frustration, anger, and worry. “How well did you know Lana?” he asked.
Ann drew in a breath, as she did when she was stressed. “She did my hair once in the spring. Cut it too short. I wasn’t happy. I haven’t been back to the salon since.”
“Did she say anything to you?” Gideon asked.
“She chatted about how much she liked Montana. Hinted that she had a boyfriend. I didn’t press her for details. Why would she have a picture of Joan and me?”
“We don’t know,” Gideon said.
Ann flexed her fingers. “I have no idea who would give her a picture like that.”
“Is there anything else she might have mentioned about her boyfriend?” he asked.
“I wasn’t paying attention to her. Clarke and I had recently separated, and I was very distracted.”
“If you think of anything about Lana, let me know.”
“Of course. And if you find anything else that connects my son or me to any of this, keep me informed.”
“I will.” Gideon turned and left with Kyle.
Joan followed Ann inside and went into the kitchen. Ann took Nate upstairs. Needing something to do, she made a pot of coffee. As the machine gurgled, she stared out the window at the smoking remains of the shed.
She poured herself a cup and set out another mug for Ann, guessing she would come downstairs instead of sleep. Ten minutes later, Ann appeared in the kitchen and poured herself a cup.
Joan sat on the barstool, cradling her cup. “That was quite the evening.”
“I still can’t believe it,” Ann said. “Makes me think about the College Fire.”
Joan looked at her fingernails, still darkened with soot. “The flames brought it all back.”
“Who could have set the fire?” Ann asked.
Joan carefully set her cup down. “Nate and I spoke while we were sitting in the car. He said he saw me come out, which means he was outside before I was.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“He wasn’t in the house, and we were both in a panic until I saw him watching the fire.”
“He would have no reason to be outside.”
“He told me he wakes up a lot at night from hunger. Kyle confirmed it.”
Shaking her head, Ann dropped her gaze to her cup. “He’s just a kid.”
“He’s a really smart kid with a very active mind.”
Ann drew in a breath, rising and moving almost robotically to the refrigerator. She paused to stare at a picture of Nate held in place by a Montana state flag magnet. Finally, she opened the door, removed a carton of half-and-half, and took her seat back at the island. She did not bother to pour the cream in her coffee.
“Ann, what aren’t you telling me?” Joan asked softly. “Why would he be outside?”
“I don’t know.” Her foot pulsed nervously against the rung of her stool.
Joan had interviewed enough suspects to recognize deceptive behavior, and Ann was showing signs of it. Retrieving the cream was a delay tactic, and though Ann could almost hide her unease behind a stoic expression, she could not control the nervous leg movements.
“Did Nate set the fire?” Joan asked.
Ann’s green gaze turned watery, as if a dark secret had been spoken. “Why would you ask that?”
“Why aren’t you denying it?”
“He’s just a kid,” Ann said. “And he has never had any history of setting fires or troubling behavior. He’s smart and a little geeky, which sometimes gives kids and teachers a reason to single him out.”
This burst of righteous outrage was a deflection, another sign of deception. Ann had also yet to deny Joan’s assertion that the boy might have played a role in the fire.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Joan asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I haven’t pressed about your separation from Clarke, but what I saw out there tells me he doesn’t want it. He really wants you back.”
“No separation is easy.”
“Is that what it is? This isn’t about your dad’s health anymore?”
“I’ve been avoiding talking about our marriage,” she said.
“Whatever you’re calling this living arrangement, it’s a huge stressor, not only for you and Clarke but also for Nate. No one would be shocked that a boy missing his firefighter father would set a fire. Nate, of all people, would know that a few flames would bring Dad running. Maybe he didn’t intend for the fire to get so big.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Ann said. And then, as if noticing her cream, she poured a splash in her cup and took extra time to stir it with a spoon. The metal clanked against the earthenware mug, but Ann said nothing.
“I’m your friend,” Joan said.
“You’re also a cop.”
“Who’s on leave,” she joked. “That makes me more friend than cop.”
Ann shook her head. “You won’t be here for long.”
This latest deflection deepened Joan’s suspicion that there was something bigger at play. “Ann, Nate likes setting fires.”
“He’s a boy. His father is a firefighter.”
“When I showed up here and saw Nate, my first impression was that he did not look much like Clarke.”
“He takes after my family.”
“Not really,” Joan said.
Ann folded her arms. “This is ridiculous.”
The tension tightening Ann’s features reminded Joan of someone with a secret. “Nate is smart. Very smart.”
She dropped her gaze and shook her head. “So?”
Joan had never been afraid of making outlandish statements to provoke a reaction. “He loves Clarke, but he isn’t anything like his father.”
Ann’s body went rigid. “I don’t like whatever it is you are getting at.”
And in that moment, Joan realized she had struck a nerve. It was a good thing she was leaving Ann’s house, because if her suspicion was right, her next question was likely to get her kicked out. “Is Nate Clarke’s son?”
Ann’s eyes widened with a mixture of fear and dread. “Of course he’s Clarke’s son. That boy adores his father.”
“I’m talking about biology now, Ann. Biologically, Nate is nothing like Clarke.” She thought back to the moment in college when appreciation had shone in Ann’s eyes as she’d looked past her toward Elijah. She softened her tone, as she did when she sensed she might be close to a confession. “At first, I thought Nate just favored you. But when I saw him outside staring at the fire, he reminded me of someone else.”