The Arsonist Page 5

  Soon, it became clear the firefighters weren’t going to be able to save Snead’s. Their priority shifted to saving the surrounding buildings. Most were historic and ripe for a stray flame or ember.

  The intensity of this fire was so much like one of Nero’s.

  Darcy surveyed the crowd, knowing arsonists lingered so they could watch their fires. To her surprise, Motorcycle Man stood in the front row. He wore dark glasses. His hands in his pockets, he was simply dressed in faded jeans and a black T-shirt. His long dark hair skimmed his shoulders.

  Even a quick glance would have told her he was more than a curiosity seeker. The force of his gaze was anything but casual. He took off his glasses and stared at the fire as if he were trying to read it, to communicate with it.

  Very weird.

  She shuddered. The guy definitely had issues.

  Suddenly, Motorcycle Man shifted his gaze from the fire to her. The intensity sent tremors over her skin. For a moment she was thrown off, and then she took a good look at his face for the first time. In the light of day, she recognized him instantly.

  Darcy took a step back and released a long, shuddering breath. Michael Gannon. The man she’d come to find had been right under her nose since she’d arrived in town. The man who was key to her story. And she’d flipped him the bird.

  Color rose in her cheeks and she turned toward the fire. Her mind tripped and stumbled as she struggled to come up with something to say to him. Normally, she was good with opening lines but she couldn’t scrape two coherent thoughts together. Worried that she’d miss her opportunity, she turned back to face him. She needed to make contact with him.

  However, he’d vanished into the crowd.

  She searched the group of people, scanning the sea of faces. But there was no sign of him.

  Darcy heard the chief shout an order. As he returned to his truck, she ducked under the yellow police tape. She dashed up to him.

  “Chief! What happened?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck with a damp cloth. “Darcy, you need to get behind the lines.”

  She didn’t move an inch. “I will. But what happened?”

  He started to speak and then stopped. “I’m not talking to the press, Darcy.”

  “I’m officially an out-of-work reporter. Your secrets are safe with me.” The lie didn’t set well but for now she needed to stick to her cover.

  He studied her an extra beat. “Honestly, we don’t know. The place had just been okayed by the fire inspector in our department. Snead’s was ready to open for business this weekend.”

  She felt naked without her pad and pencil. “Who called it in?”

  “The owner. He was working on the back loading dock with a handful of employees. He smelled smoke and ordered everyone out of the building. Good thing, because ten minutes later the place was an inferno.”

  “Wouldn’t the sprinkler system have put out any blaze?”

  “It should have, but it didn’t. It’s as if the fire had a mind of its own. It’s taking everything we have to contain it.” He glanced back toward his men. “I’ve got to run Darcy. I’ll catch up with you tonight.”

  She’d never seen the chief this rattled. “Sure.”

  Her mind started to turn. A fast moving blaze and an ineffective sprinkler system. Either the sprinklers had been faulty or something or someone had accelerated the fire.

  Gannon. Nero. The two new fires. The three combined was just too much of a coincidence.

  Nero stood away from the crowd, careful to stay out of the line of sight of the police. There was the off chance someone was videotaping the crowd. Except for Gannon, it was unlikely anyone suspected him. But he had to be careful in case someone had connected the two fires.

  He should have stayed away altogether, but he loved to watch his fires dance. They were his children.

  And today, his fire moved magnificently, burning hotter and higher than he’d expected. The proud tall building was crumbling so quickly to ashes.

  Almost too quickly.

  He liked to savor his fires, drinking in the fear of the crowds, the panic in the firefighters’ voices and, of course, Gannon’s reaction. He made a note to use less accelerant next time. Hadn’t he learned patience and being in the moment from yoga?

  Exhilaration singed his veins as he casually strode away from the decimated restaurant. He got into his car and drove back into town.

  He reached for the front door of the post office at the same time a mother and her infant did. The kid was about a year old, grinning up at him with his three teeth.

  Cute. Nero smiled back at the child. He held the door open for the young mother and then followed her inside.

  He moved off to the side where there was counter space for addressing letters. He addressed and stamped a plain white envelope to Michael Gannon. For a moment, he felt a twinge of regret. When he’d sworn off fires a year ago, he’d meant it. He didn’t want the hassle of the chase anymore. He wanted peace from this maddening compulsion to see the world burn.

  For many months, he thought he’d kicked the habit. But, in late spring, the urges returned. He’d fought them for a time, focusing on yoga and relaxation. But, he discovered that peace was highly overrated. He missed the excitement, the thrill and the need to see his beauties sway. So he’d started to set small fires. Nothing major. Abandoned buildings and brush fires mostly.

  But without Gannon, the fun was simply not there. The fear of being caught by him made sinning that much edgier, sweeter.

  So, he’d come to Gannon, which hadn’t been hard because he’d kept track of the arson investigator since Gannon had left D.C.

  Nero had to admire Gannon. The man was getting on with his life. His garage was doing reasonably well and no doubt once his bikes hit the circuit, he would become very well known.

  Yes, Gannon was a worthy opponent. He was going to make the game fun.

  Nero slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Rome matches. The coated stock of the cover felt slick and smooth to the touch. On the inside flap, he wrote, “The game has begun again.”

  He tucked the matches into the envelope and sealed it. Whistling, he dropped it into the box.

  Chapter 5

  Darcy sprinted back to the tavern. Her heart pumped and her muscles sang. She hadn’t felt this energized in weeks. Today’s fire was eerily similar to the D.C. fires, and she knew Nero—or a very savvy copycat—was at work.

  The trick now was discovering the arsonist’s identity.

  Wiping the sweat from her eyes, she entered the Varsity kitchen’s back door. The room was quiet and the coffeepot empty, a sign her mother had come and gone.

  Grateful she didn’t have to face her mother, she paced the kitchen, restless. If she cracked this story, the exposure would be sensational. Her name would finally be on everyone’s radar screen. Oh, and the look on Stephen’s face. Priceless.

  “Stop,” she warned herself. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

  Now, it was more important than ever to talk to Gannon. He was the key to Nero and the fires. Somehow, the two were irrevocably linked.

  Darcy took the back stairs two at a time, dashed into her room and kicked the door closed. She tugged off her running shoes and stripped off her clothes, leaving everything in a heap on the floor. Humming, she turned on the shower and hopped into the stall.

  The shower’s cold water shocked her senses and she let out a whoop. But she stood under the icy spray, letting it cool her hot skin. For a moment, she turned her face into the water and let the water cascade over her body. Her heart hammered. When her skin cooled, she turned the water to warm, sighing as her muscles relaxed. She lathered soap in her hand and started to rub the sweat from her body.

  Her thoughts turned to Gannon again. At the fire, he’d stared at her with an animal awareness that was very primitive and alluring. It was clear he was attracted to her. Even now, she could feel the stark intensity of his gaze.

  Her ex-fiancé
’s lovemaking had always been very civilized. Lights off, under the blankets. It had been good but never satisfying, not on a primal level.

  Darcy didn’t imagine that Gannon was civilized in the bedroom. If he walked into her bathroom right now, he’d have no qualms about taking her where she stood. Her heart beat faster. She pictured him stepping into the stall, naked, the water beading on his broad, muscled chest. He’d run his large, rough hands over her belly and cup her breasts.

  Warmth blossomed deep in her core and quickly spread through her body. What did Gannon’s lips taste like? What would his calloused hands feel like against her naked skin?

  She turned off the water. “This is nuts.” She grabbed a towel and started to dry herself off. “I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

  She wrapped the towel around her wet hair and walked into her bedroom. Digging clothes out of her suitcase, she got dressed in well-worn jeans and a red T-shirt. She blew her hair dry, put on mascara, blush and a little lipstick.

  Darcy went down to the kitchen and brewed herself another cup of coffee. Still no sign of her mother or Trevor. She dug out a slice of cheese and a piece of ham from the fridge. Wrapping the ham around the cheese, she leaned against the counter and bit into the roll.

  She would have to move carefully with Gannon. He hated reporters. But before she could tackle Gannon, she needed her money.

  As she finished her meal, she found herself staring at the door to Trevor’s office, located off the kitchen. She took a step toward it and then stopped. It was one thing to snoop for a living, quite another to snoop on your own family.

  Curiosity quickly got the better of her, and she crossed to the office door and turned the handle. It was unlocked. What would a tiny peek hurt? She opened the door, half expecting to see Trevor sitting where her father had for so many years.

  But Trevor wasn’t there. And to her surprise, the office was a wreck. The desk, which pushed against the wall and faced away from the door, was piled high with stacks of unopened mail. Newspapers littered the floor.

  “God, if Dad were alive, he’d have a fit,” she muttered as she made her way through the mess. Her father had always run a tight ship. He might have been out of control in his personal life, but he always craved order in his business.

  She sat down in the desk’s wooden swivel chair and pushed aside a stack of bills so she could set down her cup of coffee.

  Darcy felt another twinge of guilt for snooping but Trevor had her money. And technically speaking, she did have a stake in the business. Her father had left her a one-third share in the tavern, a fact that surprised everyone including her. Of course, the other two-thirds had gone to her mother and Trevor. And until now, Darcy had been happy to leave the business to them.

  As she started to sift through the papers, she noticed the laptop underneath. By the looks of it, it was state of the art, brand new. Maybe Trevor wasn’t such a wreck after all. Maybe he stayed organized on the computer.

  She opened the laptop and turned on the power button. When the desktop came up, she sorted through the unopened bank statements. She opened the most recent she could find—two months old—and read it. According to the statement, the tavern was in decent financial shape. The statement referenced the online account, so she pulled up the bank’s Web site. She typed in the account number, and to her relief, the computer automatically supplied the password.

  Darcy wasn’t expecting to find a ton of money, but she imagined there’d be enough to cover her loan. The account contained fifty dollars.

  “This has to be a mistake,” she said. “There’s got to be more money somewhere.”

  Her elbow bumped a stack of envelopes piled high by the computer and they slid onto the keyboard. They were unpaid bills—the utility company, the water company, trash collection and the produce man she’d paid yesterday. She opened one after the other. Each had PAST DUE stamped in red.

  If these bills were any indication, the Varsity was in big financial trouble. “None of this makes sense,” she said. Last night, business had been booming, no doubt thanks to George’s good cooking. And it had been a Tuesday, typically one of their slow nights. A good weekend could pull in enough to cover all these bills plus more.

  So where was the money going?

  The kitchen back door opened and closed with a bang and Darcy rose from the desk and went into the kitchen.

  Her mother glanced up at her as she set a crate of apples on the kitchen counter. “What were you doing in Trevor’s office?”

  Unrepentant, she shrugged. “Looking through the tavern accounts.”

  Mrs. Sampson’s face flushed with anger. “You have no right to do that. Trevor is the manager of the Varsity.”

  “He’s not doing a very good job of it judging from what I just saw.”

  Her mother set the crate down hard on the floor. Blue eyes flashed with fury. “How dare you judge? Trevor works very hard.”

  If Darcy had a lick of sense, she’d back off. Get her money and get out. How Trevor led his life was none of her business. But for some reason, she couldn’t let it go. “He didn’t look like he was breaking much of a sweat last night.”

  Mrs. Sampson shook her head and raised her hand, both signs that she didn’t want to hear what Darcy had to say. “You don’t know anything about anything.” She walked to the sink and started to fill it with water.

  Darcy hated the way her mother ignored problems. She’d been a master at pretending that her marriage wasn’t a disaster and that her husband wasn’t a verbally abusive alcoholic. Darcy had learned from a young age to stay clear of her old man when the Johnnie Walker bottle appeared.

  Determined to stay civil, she kept her voice soft. “I know trouble when I see it, Mom. Something is going on with Trevor.”

  Her mother slammed down her hands on the counter. “Darcy, I’m sick of you always stirring things up. If there ever was trouble in this house, you were always at the root of it. I’d hoped you’d outgrown that annoying habit.”

  The accusation slashed through the heart of old insecurities. “I was the only one willing to talk about the fact that Dad was an alcoholic.”

  Tears pooled in her mother’s eyes. “Your father was a fine, decent man.”

  “When he was sober.” She shoved out a breath. “Everyone pegged me as the troublemaker in the family, but counseling this past year has taught me that I was only a symptom of our dysfunctional family.”

  Her mother’s face flushed with anger. “We are not dysfunctional. And I resent you for saying that.”

  Darcy was treading on dangerous ground with her mother and decided to back up a step. “Hey, I don’t want Trevor to be in trouble. I hope for all our sakes he’s got money squirreled away somewhere. I hope what I saw on his computer was wrong. Because if it’s not, we are all in deep trouble.”

  Her mother’s back was rigid. “Trevor is taking care of everything—just like your father used to.”

  A heavy sadness overwhelmed Darcy. She realized, then, that she’d never reach her mother. The woman lived in her own world and there was no changing it. Darcy would always be the outsider in her family no matter how many articles she wrote or how many awards she won.

  Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. “Believe what you want to believe, Mom. I’m not going to argue anymore.” Savagely, she brushed a tear from her cheek. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  Her mother lifted her chin. “Don’t come back until you have a better attitude.”

  Darcy stormed out into the alley, her blood throbbing in her temples. She’d been a fool to think she could have talked to her mother. “Damn.”

  As she headed down the uneven sidewalk curving down Main Street past the other shops, she reached in her pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. Add this to her bank balance and she had all of two hundred and twenty dollars to her name.

  Too shaky to interview Gannon or anyone else for that matter, she decided to duck into the coffee shop across the street. She glanced
both ways, waited for two cars to pass and then dashed toward the coffee shop.

  The bells on the door over her head jingled as she pushed through the front door of the coffee shop. Scents of cinnamon and coffee greeted her. The shop was long and narrow. In front of an exposed brick wall stood a counter with an antique cash register and a glistening pastry display case filled with goodies. Across the room, six round tables surrounded by wooden chairs sat clustered together. Half were full of customers sipping coffee. The dim lights and chilled air reminded her of a winter afternoon, the perfect time for coffee.

  She took a couple of deep breaths to soothe the tension in her back before heading to the front counter where a young kid with blue spiked hair and a nose ring stood.

  The kid grinned. “Can I help you?”

  “Soy cappuccino,” she said.

  “Sure thing,” he said. “Can I get you a pastry today?”

  This last year she’d trained herself to stay away from sweets. But today she wasn’t worried about calories, fat grams or carbohydrates. She needed comfort food. “Throw in two sugar cookies, as well.”

  The young man grinned. “Coming up.”

  The coffee and cookies set her back five dollars and twenty cents. At these prices, this would be her last splurge for a while. Shoving her precious change into her pocket, Darcy headed to the side bar where she dumped the blue sweetener into her coffee.

  “So is that the breakfast of champions?” Nathan’s deep voice had her turning.

  His light hair hung recklessly in his eyes and his bright green eyes twinkled. He wore a crisp button-down shirt, khakis and loafers without socks. He looked so neat, clean and composed.

  Despite her morning, she grinned. “Sugar, fat, artificial sweeteners and caffeine are the four major food groups, aren’t they?”