A Barlow Lens (11 page)

“Appreciate it,” Wyatt said and took the bag as they walked down the hall to a room. His wallet, which he stuffed into his pocket, was with the phones. They came to a stop in front of a door where two police stood on either side.

“Neither of them is being charged,” Griff said, giving all the uniformed police a good look at his ID. They nodded and moved away, but didn't leave. Griff opened the door and let Wyatt in first, following and closing the door behind him.

Val was on a bed, both metal and nylon cuffs secured his arms and legs. A white bandage was wrapped around his bicep. “
Wyatt
. They wouldn't tell me anything. I thought you'd died!” he blurted out, giving his arms a jerk, then huffing out a frustrated breath. “And they seem to think I'm public enemy number one.”

It was impossible for Wyatt to contain his chuckle. When Val glared, Wyatt said, “They arrived and you were the man with the gun. It's standard.”

Val wilted back against the bed, his expression transformed to one of utter defeat.

Griff took a key from his pocket and unlocked the cuffs, then cut the nylon away. Val swung around and was off the bed like a shot. He had his arms around Wyatt's neck in a crushing hug a second later.

Wyatt held him tight for a minute before moving him back to the bed and sitting him down.

Val looked at his bicep. “I got shot. You're a lousy date.” His eyes didn't quite focus directly on Wyatt, and his words were very slightly drawn out.

“I see,” Wyatt said. “They gave you some good drugs for pain, didn't they?”

Val gave him a sheepish look and nodded. Griff burst out laughing.

“Kevin Fells is in custody. I contacted Mrs. Fells, who basically said to let him rot.” Griff pulled a chair up and sat in it. “The car with the busted out windows is yours, and the gun Val had is registered to Kevin Fells. He disabled the fire alarm and sprinkler system as well as the security cameras in the storage facility. However, the fool either missed or left the camera in your car. I suspect he intended to drive the car and the camera into Lake Erie.”

“You have my dash cam?” Wyatt couldn't believe the luck of that. He stood next to Val, one hand on his knee, and leaned against the edge of the bed.

“Yep. Whole thing is on tape. Kevin attacking your car and the two of you, and dragging you into the storage unit,” Griff said. “You'll both have to give statements and answer some questions, but that should be all. My office will oversee everything. We might have you come back, but I've already marked the dates in my calendar for your wedding, so don't worry, it won't be interfered with at all.”

“Thank you,” Wyatt said. “He rigged the inside of the storage unit and used my cell phone signal to ignite the fire. I'm guessing when the arson squad finds whatever he used, they'll trace it to him as well. Or at least I hope so.”

Griff shook his head and stood up. “All this over three men who've been dead for nearly a century. I'm really sorry. I thought this would be nothing but a paper trail. I called you two a cab to take you back to your hotel, and I know a guy who will fix your car windows.”

“Thanks,” Wyatt eased away from the bed and shook Griff's hand. He looked back at Val, smiled, and said, “I need a nap.”

The next morning when Wyatt woke up, he was easily twice as stiff and sore as the day before. He gingerly stretched. Val had been given decent pain medications at the hospital, and by the time they'd returned to their hotel, he'd been quite loopy. Wyatt had ordered food in, making sure Val ate and drank water. Afterward he'd tucked Val, then himself, into bed.

Now Val was curled around Wyatt, his head on Wyatt's chest, soft breath flowing over Wyatt's skin. His thigh was between Wyatt's, and their ankles and feet were tangled together. Brushing his fingers through Val's hair, Wyatt was content to lie there, holding Val and waiting for him to wake up.

Eventually Val stirred, turned his head, and smiled at Wyatt.

“Morning,” Wyatt murmured.

Val blew out a breath. “Since I've met you, I've been kidnapped, stalked, had my arm, shoulder, and hand broken, and now nearly turned into a crispy critter. Oh, let's not forget I was
shot
. My mother would classify you a menace.”

“But you haven't been bored,” Wyatt pointed out.

Val chuckled, his body vibrating against Wyatt's. He stretched and kissed Wyatt softly. “Good thing you've got a hot ass and all. And that I love you.”

“Good thing.” Wyatt tightened his grip on Val and rolled slightly to deepen their kiss. That was a mistake. Pain erupted from too many points to count.

Val pulled away. “
Ow, ow, ow
. Hold that thought till tomorrow… or the next day.”

They settled on a hot shower together. Lathering each other up and letting the hot water wash over them, then rinsing it off. Val leaned against the shower wall, and Wyatt planted both hands on either side of him, pressing close.

“When I can move again, I am going to catch you like never before,” Wyatt whispered and kissed Val.

“Hmmm… I like the sound of that,” Val said.

Wyatt snickered. “Don't get too excited; that probably won't happen till next week.”

“I'll remember that.”

After coffee and breakfast, Val looked much better and Wyatt definitely felt much better.

“Kevin destroyed all our evidence. How are we going to find out what happened?” Val asked. They sat at the table, and he was finishing a second cup of coffee. “From what we learned so far, I'm having a hard time believing it was Tom who started that fire. I want the end of the story.”

“I agree. That article you read, the one written by one of the surviving students, you said she disputed Tom being at fault,” Wyatt said.

“Yeah.” Val put his coffee cup down with a soft clunk. “Think she's still alive?”

“I suppose it's possible. If not, maybe we can track down a relative who might be able to shed some light on things.” He stood up, taking his phone. “I have to call Lily. We were supposed to meet her yesterday, and I want to make sure she's all right and let her know we're okay.”

It took them some serious searching, putting both training and skills to good use. Wyatt had years of experience researching and ferreting out useful bits of data from the most mundane sources. He was constantly impressed and surprised by Val's ingenuity and downright creativity when it came to hunting facts and people on the Internet. Val found sites and resources Wyatt would never have thought existed, let alone gone to while trying to locate someone.

They ended up spending a day at the police museum and city hall searching records, even enlisting Lily's aide. She was able to aim them at documents kept at the museum and a local university containing a great deal about the woman who'd written the article as well as other pieces that had appeared in newspapers over the years. The woman had mounted a campaign to bring the story of what really happened to light, but it never seemed to happen.

It took considerable effort on all their parts, but finally there was a solid trail to be followed. While it didn't lead to the little girl who grew into the woman who'd written the article, they did have a clear picture of who she was.

“Molly and her brother Dennis, who was three years older, survived the school fire,” Val said, reading Wyatt the notes and timeline they'd put together. “Molly was really an amazing woman. She grew up and married a Tony Petite a few years before we got into World War Two. He was in the Navy and stationed in Hawaii. They not only lived through Pearl Harbor,
but
she also survived the 1946 tsunami. He wasn't in Hawaii at that time.”

“That is one lucky woman. She lives through a fire that killed more than survived, the bombing of a naval base, and a tsunami.” Wyatt settled in a chair. He'd bought some large pads of paper with adhesive strips on the back and watched as Val stuck them to the wall, making lists and drawing arrows from one thing to the next.

Val chuckled. “Not only that, she was almost 102 when she passed away last year. Anyway, Tony made the Navy a career, and they lived all over the world, having nine children. However, only five survived to adulthood. Not sure why. Most of her living relatives, and there are many, are scattered all over. The majority aren't even in this country. But!” Val grinned, paused dramatically, and held up one finger.

“But?”

“She has a grandson living about an hour southeast of here. She started writing in her forties but began painting later in life when she was in a care facility and left all of it to him.” Val sounded positively triumphant. Setting down the marker he was using, he straddled Wyatt and dropped his arms onto Wyatt's shoulders. “This is so cool. You never told me how much fun this is and how much can be found out about someone without ever meeting them.”

Wyatt ran his hands up and down Val's back. “If I'd known it was going to affect you like this, I'd have done it a long time ago.” He leaned forward and nipped Val through his shirt.

Val shimmied back and stood up, holding out one hand. “We should go.”

“Go? Where?” Most of Wyatt's blood supply had plummeted south, and he was having trouble following Val's thinking.

“Mantua.”

Wyatt rubbed his forehead. “What's in Mantua? Is that a place?”

“Uh-huh. The grandson… ah, James Klier.” Val bent down and wound his fingers around Wyatt's wrist, tugging insistently. “We can have sex anytime. I e-mailed him, and he's expecting us later this afternoon.”

Wyatt stood up and straightened his clothes. “Okay, then. My car won't be ready until tomorrow.”

“You forget the power of the Internet and a credit card. A rental should be downstairs waiting for us.” Val crooked his finger at Wyatt.

“Let's go.” Wyatt moved to the door, opened it, and waved Val out. “My turn to drive?”

Val nodded, and Wyatt laughed. They'd driven about twenty miles when Wyatt glanced over at Val, confirming his suspicions as to why he'd become so quiet suddenly. Shaking his head and smiling, Wyatt turned on the radio, then reached over and rubbed Val's knee a few times.

“All that searching online is exhausting, I guess,” he said softly.

Val shifted in his seat, yawned, and nodded. “It is.” He closed his eyes and snoozed until Wyatt pulled the car off at the appropriate exit and gave Val's knee a gentle shake. He grumbled, brushed one hand through his hair a few times, and pushed himself straighter. Holding his phone up, he studied it for a few seconds and swiped his finger across the screen.

“There should be a road up here, about a half mile, take a right. I like it here, looks a lot like Kentucky,” Val said.

“How would you know? You've only seen a few miles' worth?”

Val looked over at Wyatt, smiled, and shrugged. “That's enough.” He pointed out the window. “There's the road.”

Another ten minutes of driving and they came to an old farmhouse that looked as if it was in the middle of major renovations. A vegetable garden was on one side of the house and a pasture on the other side, but Wyatt didn't see any animals.

There was a young man who looked like he was in his early thirties, sitting on the front porch. A playpen was next to him, complete with baby. The man stood and met them on the steps. After introductions they spent a few minutes playing with the baby while James took a few cardboard file boxes stacked to one side and set them in a line.

“I've been organizing and cataloging everything my grandmother left. She had a stroke about ten years ago, and something that was suggested for therapy was painting. She'd done a bit of writing, magazine articles, newspapers, and kept extensive notes.”

Wyatt crouched in front of the row of boxes. “May I?”

“Sure,” James said. “It was odd, she had trouble remembering the week before, but she would draw and paint things from when she was a little girl. I guess it was stuff that actually happened. She said it did, but to be honest, I had just started college and didn't always….”

“But you took care of her the last few years, that's what counts,” Val said. Wyatt glanced up, wondering just how many e-mails the two of them had exchanged.

“We're looking specifically for anything she might have written or kept some sort of record of about a school fire when she was small,” Wyatt said.

“I've divided the boxes by decades. So it should be these over here. They're color coded,” James explained. “She never talked about that fire, but she did write a few articles and did a lot of paintings about it. There was something that always seemed to bother her about one of the teachers being accused of starting the fire, or being involved somehow. I'm ashamed to say I never listened very much and only know the very sketchiest details.”

While James talked, Wyatt was leafing through watercolor paintings stacked in a box. Val watched over his shoulder.

“They're not in any particular order, and I don't know what those really are supposed to be. I think she might have done them that last year before she died,” James explained.

Wyatt began picking ones out and handing them over his shoulder to Val. He said quietly, “I think this is exactly what we're looking for.”

He scooted back, stood, and turned, taking the watercolors from Val. Together they spread them out on the porch floor, shuffling them around and creating an order. Val took his phone out and held it up. “May I?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” James said and nodded.

While Wyatt made sure the paintings weren't picked up by the slight breeze, Val snapped a series of pictures. When they were finished and the paintings collected and returned to the safety of the crate, Val and Wyatt had created a photo chronicle of Molly's memories of an eventful day when she was a small girl. Wyatt had his proof for Lily. Nothing would change history or provide earthshattering facts to the world in general, but to her it would mean everything.