The Arsonist Read online

  “George, where is Trevor?”

  The black man didn’t look up from his pot of stew. “Do I look like a nursemaid?”

  “No, do I?”

  He studied her a moment. “Yep.”

  “Well, I’m not.” Frustrated, she went into the dining room and called out to her mother. “Mom!”

  “What is it, Darcy?” Mrs. Sampson asked, coming down the back staircase. Her mother looked like she’d had one of her headaches again.

  “Where is Trevor?”

  “He’ll be here,” she said wearily.

  She checked her watch. Two-ten. “Wasn’t he supposed to be here by now?”

  Her mother moved into the dining room and behind the bar. She picked up an already clean glass and started to clean it with a cloth. “He’s running late.”

  Darcy dug her fingers through her hair. Showing up on time was common sense. It amazed her they were even having this conversation. “He’s not much of a restaurant manager.”

  Mrs. Sampson set the glass tumbler down hard on the bar. “He does just fine.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” Before her mother could argue, she held up her hand. “I’m not arguing with you, Mom. This issue is between Trevor and me. Does he still live on Fifth Street?

  “Yes, why?”

  Darcy snatched up her keys and her purse which she’d left under the bar. “I’m going to his apartment.”

  Her mother sighed. “Leave the boy alone. He’ll be here soon enough.”

  “I’m not holding my breath.” She started toward the front door.

  “You were always jealous of him,” Mrs. Sampson said.

  Darcy stopped. A surge of anger rolled through her. “Why should I be, Mom?” Sarcasm dripped from each word. “Maybe because I became invisible the day he was born. Maybe because his sports pictures and trophies decorate the walls of the Varsity and, who knows where mine are. Maybe because you never cut me any slack, but you’ve always made excuses for him.”

  Mrs. Sampson raised her chin. “You never needed me. You were always strong. Trevor is not strong.”

  A sad grin tipped the edge of Darcy’s mouth. “Oh, I needed you, Mom. I needed you.”

  Sadness deepened the wrinkles around her mother’s eyes. “I can’t do this right now.”

  Guilt stabbed Darcy. “Look, this isn’t about who you and Dad loved more. It’s business. I need my money or I’m screwed.”

  “Trevor will get you your money.”

  “You’re damn right he will. And he’s going to do it now.” She started toward the door.

  “You can’t leave me. If you’re both gone, I can’t run this place with just George.”

  She heard the panic in her mother’s voice. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back within a half hour.”

  Darcy left the bar and got in her black Corolla. She turned on the ignition. She had less than a quarter of a tank of gas left. Damn. Her life was on vapors.

  She put the car in gear and headed over to Trevor’s. It took her less than ten minutes to get to the tall, nondescript wooden Victorian house that had long ago been converted into apartments. She took the stairs down to Trevor’s basement apartment. She knocked on the door.

  No answer.

  Darcy pounded on the door. “Trevor!” she shouted. She checked her watch. “It’s two-thirty in the afternoon. Open up.”

  Seconds passed before she heard the shuffle of feet and the scrape of the chain on the door. Trevor cracked the door and looked out. His eyes were bloodshot. “Dee, what are you doing here?”

  He smelled of beer and cigarettes. “I need my money, Trevor.”

  Sleep clung to the corners of his eyes. “I said I’d get it for you.”

  “You said you’d pay me yesterday. I need my money now.” She peered past him into his darkened apartment filled with cigarette smoke. In the small galley kitchen to his right she saw at least twenty empty pizza boxes piled high.

  She didn’t like having this conversation in the hallway. “Can I come in?”

  “The place is a wreck.”

  Pushing past him, she stepped into the small apartment. The place was a wreck. Dirty clothes, bags of garbage and stacks of newspapers littered the floor. The coffee table in front of the black futon couch had three ashtrays on it. All were overflowing with butts.

  This went beyond sloppy. “What’s going on here, Trevor?”

  He pushed a shaking hand through his hair.

  “What? It’s just a little messy.”

  She faced him. Even in the dim light she could see the dark circles under his eyes. A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Trevor, like her father, was an alcoholic. And her mother knew it. She was making excuses for Trevor just as she had for their father.

  Overwhelming sadness seeped through her body. She’d lived with an alcoholic most of her life, and there’d been times when she didn’t think she’d get out with her sanity. But she had gotten out, and until her return home, had thrived.

  She knew enough about the disease to know that no amount of talking or pleading would make him stop. The desire to quit drinking had to come from him. “Just give me my money, Trevor.”

  He shoved a shaking hand through his hair. “I don’t think I have my checkbook here.”

  “Then let’s drive over to the tavern and get it now. I’m not kidding. That check I wrote to cover your ass wiped me out. I’m broke.”

  He rubbed the dark stubble on his chin. “Hey, I’m sorry about that. I’ll get your money.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Let’s go.”

  Trevor jerked his arm away. “I can’t go out. I’ve got to shower first.”

  Excuses. Her father had been full of them. “I don’t care if you look like a bum. We’re going now.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t. I’ve got a UPS delivery coming.”

  “Leave a note. The rental office can get it.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” His face looked stricken and in that moment she knew. “You don’t have the money, do you?”

  “I can get it.” He sounded like he meant it.

  She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “But you don’t have it now.”

  “In a couple of days, I’ll have it. I won’t stiff you, Dee.”

  “Man, you sound just like Dad. He always had an excuse for everything.”

  Trevor’s eyes hardened. “I’m not like Dad.”

  “You are just like him. You are an alcoholic.”

  “How the hell would you know?”

  “I grew up with it.”

  “Grew up with it,” he mocked. “Hell, you haven’t been around for six years. You came home for Dad’s funeral and left right after the service. I was the one that was here during Dad’s illness. I was the one that took Mom to the hospital every day. I stayed behind and kept the Varsity running so Mom wouldn’t be left alone.”

  “That’s not fair.” Guilt ate through Darcy’s anger, like the cancer that had killed their father. She had ditched her family. But it had been about her survival. She took a step back.

  “Yeah, I owe you money, but I’ll pay back every stinking dime. You ditched this family when we could have used your help. So you can suck up waiting for your money for a couple of days.”

  Guilt welled inside her, choking her throat. She almost apologized.

  Almost.

  Darcy caught herself. Her father and mother had been masters of using guilt to control her. They could squash her anger with a single glance.

  “That’s good, Trevor, that’s real good.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  She saw the empty whiskey bottle by the stove.

  “You are more like our old man than I ever thought. Guilt and booze. A lethal combination.”

  His gaze flickered to the bottle then back to her. The bravado dimmed.

  “There is no money, is there?” He started to argue, but she held up her hand to silence him. “No more lies or excuses, Trev
or. I just dumped my last penny into the Varsity, and I’m never going to see it again.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  Without responding, she turned and stepped into the hallway. The fresh air smelled sweet and she couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  “Dee,” Trevor said. His voice was little more than a whisper. “I will get the money.”

  “Sure.”

  Woodenly, Darcy crossed the hall and started up the stairs.

  “Dee. Darcy,” Trevor said.

  She glanced back at him. His shoulders slumped, and he looked a decade older than his twenty-five years. “No more lies, Trevor.” She climbed the stairs to the ground floor.

  Darcy leaned against the wall by the front door and closed her eyes. For a moment she was overwhelmed by the mess her life had become.

  “Life is not going to beat you,” she whispered. “It is not.”

  She drew in a deep breath. The Nero story was critical to her. Gannon knew more than he was saying. He was the key.

  Darcy hated lying to Gannon. She really liked him. But now, more than ever, she needed his help.

  With little choice, Darcy returned to the diner and started to prep for dinner.

  Trevor showed up at work at six o’clock—early by his standards. To Darcy’s great surprise, he was clean-shaven and ready to work. He seemed like his old self.

  Neither mentioned the money because the tavern quickly started to fill with customers. Trevor worked the bar, handling his customers with his usual grace. And as the hours wore on, Darcy started to feel that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as bad as she thought.

  The Sampsons fell into a groove very quickly. Her mother worked the cash register and Trevor stood behind the bar while Darcy waited tables.

  At a quarter past seven, Nathan and Larry came into the tavern. Both were in good spirits laughing at a shared joke.

  They arrived in time to grab the last booth. Nathan grinned as she handed him his menu. “How are you doing today?”

  “Just great,” she said grinning.

  “You’re looking prettier than ever,” Larry said as he pulled out a cigarette.

  “Thanks, darling,” she said. “Heineken and coffee?” she said to Larry and Nathan.

  Nathan smiled. “Good memory.”

  “Glad to see I haven’t lost my touch,” she said, pleased.

  A cigarette dangling from his lips, Larry patted his pockets as he searched for a match. “Hey, you got a match, Darcy?”

  “No, but I bet we got some at the bar. Let me get them for you.”

  Nathan dug a book of matches from his jacket pocket. “Here.”

  “Thanks,” Larry said. “I’m always out of matches. No matter how many I buy.” He opened the pack and lit one and held it to the tip of the cigarette. Puffing, he handed back the matches.

  “Keep it,” Nathan said. “I’ve got plenty.”

  Larry pocketed the matches as Darcy turned toward the bar. She gave Trevor the drink order and filled a bowl of pretzels. She loaded the drinks and pretzels on the tray and headed back to Larry and Nathan’s table. “So how go the condos?” she said easily.

  “Great,” Nathan said as he sipped his coffee. “We are ahead of schedule.”

  She’d no sooner set the drinks down than the front door opened and Gannon walked in. For a minute, Darcy’s mind went blank.

  Sexual desire sizzled through her as she watched him stride into the room. He walked with the grace of a lion, each move deliberate and full of power. For reasons she couldn’t name, her throat felt dry as she moved toward him.

  When did she develop a thing for dangerous men?

  Gannon’s lips curled into a smile when he saw her. “Working hard?”

  “Hardly working,” she said in a voice that had thickened.

  His gaze didn’t leave her. “Looks like you’ve got a crowd tonight.”

  She scanned the room for an empty seat. There was none. “I can seat you at the bar in a couple of minutes.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll crash their party.” Gannon glanced over at the table where Nathan and Larry sat. He walked over to the table. “There room for me?”

  Larry ground his cigarette out in the ashtray. “You never come in here.”

  “Tonight, I am,” Gannon said as he shook hands with Nathan. “Mixing up the routine.”

  “Glad you did,” Nathan said.

  Larry scooted over to make room for him. “We could use some new blood tonight.”

  “What can I get you to drink?” Darcy asked.

  “Ice water with lemon.”

  She would have liked to linger but table number six wanted another draft beer and number four wanted ketchup.

  She hurried over to the bar where Trevor was mixing a Tom Collins. “Draft. And ice water with lemon.”

  “Coming right up,” Trevor said.

  She refilled the peanut bowl for Gannon’s table, collected the draft and water, and grabbed a fresh bottle of ketchup. She crossed the room, making her stops at tables four and six.

  When she set the water down in front of Gannon, she could see immediately that the tone of the conversation had shifted to serious.

  “That fire was no accident,” Gannon said. “And the two fires are linked.”

  Darcy’s jaw nearly dropped open. She slowed her pace, hoping to catch a few more snippets of information before she reached the table.

  “Well, who would set fires like that?” Larry asked. He’d pulled out another cigarette, but then as if remembering that Gannon didn’t smoke, put it away.

  “I don’t know,” Gannon said.

  Darcy’s gaze was drawn to Gannon’s hands. Hands she’d imagined on her body could have set fires that had killed people. The sobering thought sent a chill down her spine.

  Managing a smile, she said, “You fellows ready to order dinner?”

  Gannon liked Darcy’s perfume. It was like her. Spicy, unpredictable and sensual. He’d noticed it before she’d reached the table. He’d also noticed that she’d hesitated. She’d been listening to their conversation about the fire.

  Why would she care so much about the fires?

  He watched her moving around the room from table to table. She wore well-worn hiking boots, jeans and a T-shirt. But the legs. Long, lean and very feminine. Shifting his gaze higher, he lingered on her gently rounded hips and then traveled up the red T-shirt that covered nice round firm breasts.

  She moved like a pro. Smiling at the customers, careful to use their names if she knew them, calling them honey when she didn’t. But he could tell she didn’t belong here. She might have grown up working in the tavern, but he guessed she’d not done this kind of work in a long time.

  She’d said public relations. It seemed a natural fit, but there was more to the story.

  He deliberately avoided talking about the fires again until he noticed that Darcy was within earshot. He’d give her some information but there’d be a payback later. He wanted to know what the hell she was up to.

  “I spoke to the chief yesterday about the fires,” Gannon said as Darcy approached.

  If he hadn’t been watching, he’d have missed her slight hesitation.

  She set their orders down. “Here you go, boys.”

  “And?” Nathan said.

  “He thinks they’re unrelated,” Gannon said.

  “But you don’t,” Darcy said.

  He half expected her to pull up a stool and sit down. “I only have a gut feeling to go on.”

  “He’s the man that should know,” Nathan said. “He investigated fires in his former life.”

  Darcy didn’t seem surprised by the bit of information. But then if she’d been living in D.C., she’d have read about him in the papers. So why not bring it up at lunch?

  “Former life is the operative word,” Gannon said pulling the tomato off his burger. “Let’s not ruin this good meal with talk about fires.”

  As their chatter settled onto more mundane topics, Darcy drifted aw
ay. Over the next hour Gannon lingered, enjoying a hot meal, the company and watching Darcy from the corner of his eye.

  He noticed her at the bar with the bartender. He learned from Larry the bartender was her brother. The guy didn’t possess her intensity. Relaxed and easygoing, he smiled too much for Gannon’s taste.

  Darcy’s brother was also a heavy drinker. He was careful to drink from a mug, but when Darcy wasn’t looking, he filled the cup with coffee and then topped it off with whiskey. At the rate he was going, he’d be hammered by closing time.

  At eight-thirty, he said his goodbyes to Larry and Nathan and waved to Darcy who was across the room taking an order.

  She’d said earlier she got off at midnight.

  Restless, he knew sleep wouldn’t come for many hours—if at all tonight. He’d wait until Darcy got off her shift.

  And then they’d have a chat about what she was really up to.

  Chapter 8

  When Darcy dumped the two trash bags into the Dumpster, it was nearly midnight. The customers had cleared out of the tavern and she was cleaning up for the night. Her feet felt as if they’d grown seven sizes over the last few hours. Her body ached.

  Not only was she tired but also frustrated. She’d been so busy tonight, there’d been no time to linger near Gannon’s table and listen to see if the discussion turned to the fires.

  Tomorrow, they had a bike ride planned. She could certainly question him then. But the fact that her professional and personal lines were blurring bothered her. She’d never dated anyone just to get information.

  The back door of the tavern banged closed as Trevor came out carrying another bag of trash. He swerved and swayed, and she realized he was drunk.

  Without a word to her, he tossed the bag into the Dumpster. He tipped out of balance and would have fallen if she’d not steadied him.

  “Man, you are drunk,” she said in a voice filled with disgust. “I was stupid to think you were just drinking coffee.”

  “Where the hell is the money from the register, Darcy?”

  “I cleaned out the register a half hour ago and locked the money in the trunk of my car.” She’d done this when he’d gone to the men’s room. “Tomorrow, I’ll deposit it in the bank.”