“That second bowl for me?” Joan asked.
Scrambling on the barstool, he reached for his spoon. “Yes, but I don’t know how you like your cereal.”
She could not remember the last time she had eaten breakfast, but the boy was offering, and she could not afford to refuse. Mirroring his choice, she put sugar on her cereal and then a splash of milk.
“That’s not enough milk to cover all the cereal,” he said. “Your ratios are wrong.”
“Depends on your goal. I don’t like chasing my cereal in a sea of milk. I want it damp but immobile.”
He grinned as he lifted another milk-soaked spoon to his mouth and took a bite. “Logical.”
“Your mom still asleep?” Joan asked.
“Yeah. She’s sleeping in the other twin bed in my room. She looked tired, so I let her sleep.”
“Good plan. Your mom used to eat this exact brand of cereal in college every day without fail.”
“I do, too.”
“They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“Who is they?”
“No idea.”
“You still have a price tag on your shirt.”
She glanced down and spotted the green sticker. At the airport, she had assumed Clarke’s DNA had produced a tall ten-year-old, and Ann had allowed her to believe it. “I got this for you, but your mom said it was too small.”
“Maybe.”
“I can still give it to you?”
“Naw, I don’t need any more shirts.”
They both continued to eat in silence. Joan had forgotten how much she liked the cereal’s malty taste, which now reminded her of school and a young life filled with possibilities.
She set down her spoon and shifted to the stark task of questioning the boy about the fire. With his mother still asleep, now was the best time. Once Ann was around, her mama-bear claws were going to come out and censor everything the boy said.
She chased around a few dried Cheerios, realizing her milk-to-cereal ratio might have indeed been too low. “What did you think about the fire?”
He finished chewing. “Bright.”
For all his brains, he had come up with a fairly weak descriptor.
“It was more than that. It was pretty destructive and dangerous.”
“I know.”
“I asked you this last night, but Kyle was there. Now it’s just the two of us. Why were you outside?”
“I told you, I couldn’t sleep.”
“Do you set fires in the firepit when you can’t sleep?”
His eyes widened in surprise, as if he had been caught stealing cookies from a jar. “No.”
“But you think about it, don’t you?”
“Yeah. But Mom would freak out if I did, and I don’t want to upset her. Ever.”
“Okay, okay.” Joan shifted her line of questioning. “What kind of noise did you hear outside last night?”
“Crunching leaves.” He refilled his bowl with more cereal, milk, and sugar. “I thought it was a bear. I was going to investigate. We have horses in the barn that are easily spooked by them.”
“The barn is down the road, along with the foreman, who takes care of the horses.”
“He drinks and also sleeps hard. If I had told Mom about the sound, she wouldn’t have let me go. She doesn’t want to admit it, but I’m grown up.”
She resisted a smile. “Okay, you hear a sound and go out to investigate. Did you see a bear?”
“I saw something big and dark running toward the woods. And then I heard the big whoosh and then saw the flames.”
She had heard the same sound. By her calculation, it had taken her at least a minute to put on her clothes and shoes and get out the door. “Why didn’t you call for help?”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t know. The fire was so interesting. I couldn’t stop staring at it.”
“The figure who was running away, was it a man?”
“I think so.”
“Was he carrying something?”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“Did you smell anything?”
“Like an accelerant?” the boy asked wisely. “No, I don’t think so.”
“You know about accelerants?”
“Gasoline, diesel, and thermite. Sure. Who doesn’t?”
She could name a hundred. She set down her spoon and picked up her coffee, sipping as she tried to keep this entire conversation light and easy, as if that were possible with arson. “Are you sure you didn’t set the fire by accident?”
He looked at her, his gaze widening a fraction. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Because if you did, I wouldn’t be mad.”
“My mom would be mad. She’s not crazy about fire because her house burned down when she was in college.”
“I wouldn’t tell her.” Which was not true. In fact, Ann would be the first she would tell. Like it or not, lying was a trick cops used to get a suspect to tell them what they needed.
“I didn’t set it!” His voice rose, and he dropped the spoon into the bowl, creating a loud clank.
“Set what?” The question came from Ann, who was standing in the doorway. She looked both bleary eyed and suspicious.
“I asked Nate if he set the fire,” Joan said.
“Why would you do that?” Ann asked as she came up behind her son.
“He was on the scene when I arrived.”
“He’s a child, and you were not a cop rolling up on a crime scene last night. You’re my guest.”
“It was a crime scene. Still is. And I am a cop.” Maybe not in Philadelphia much longer, but somehow, somewhere else, she would be.
“Nate, finish your breakfast. Then get dressed. I’ve laid out fresh clothes for you.”
“I didn’t set the fire,” he repeated.
“I know, baby.”
Ann touched him gently on top of his head, but he angled slightly out of her reach. “I’m not a baby.”
“I’m well aware,” Ann said.
Nate took several more bites and then picked up his bowl and set it in the sink. “We’re still going to school today, right?”
“Yes,” Ann said, smiling.
He ran off, his feet thudding against the wood floors as he made his way upstairs.
“That’s the second time you have spoken to him without me,” Ann said. “Don’t do it again.”
“Your presence would have prejudiced his comments. He knows you dislike fire.”
Color rose in Ann’s face. “And you don’t? You could barely stand by the firepit the other night. The College Fire sent you running back east!”
Joan set her cup down. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think he set the fire. He said he saw someone or something running away from the house.”
Frustration turned to relief and then curiosity. “Did he say anything else?”
“No.”
“So why don’t you think he did it?”
“He doesn’t want to disappoint you.” She thought about the crime scene pictures taken at the College Fire and Elijah staring at the flames from the crowd. Nate was still a young boy, despite all his intelligence, but one day he would grow up and, as all boys do, grow independent of his mother.
“Whereas Elijah never had such limitations,” she said.
“You’ve met Miss Weston?”
“A couple of times in town. I’m not fond of her, and a part of me always felt sorry for Elijah, knowing he grew up with her as a mother. He didn’t have a chance.”
“Do you believe you’re all that stands between Nate becoming . . .” Joan hesitated and dropped her voice. “Elijah?”
Her shoulders stooped, as if for the first time she had released a heavy weight. “Yes.”
“You don’t have to do this alone, Ann.”
“I can’t tell Clarke. Jesus, he would be devastated.”
“Clarke is returning today to work the fire scene, correct?”
“Yes.”
“He’s good at his job. He’ll figure out how the fire started. And he’ll look out for Nate, if he should find anything that contradicts the boy’s story.”
“You don’t have to go into town,” Ann said. “Whatever happened here was not your fault.”
“The College Fire began outside my bedroom window, and the third incendiary device was under my room. Elijah had pictures of me in his dorm room. And this fire could only be viewed from my window. Like it or not, I am a possible target.”
“I was on both properties with you each time. And Lana had a picture of both of us. Besides, Elijah never disliked you,” Ann said. “He might have had a twisted idea of him and me, but you were his friend. He wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Regardless of who’s unhappy with me, it’s best I still leave. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you or Nate.”
“Do you really think someone wants to kill you?”
“I didn’t used to think so. But now, hell yes.”
Confessions of an Arsonist
I’ve seen how the boy looks at fire.
And I see in him the blaze that burns in me. Pride.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Missoula, Montana