Firefly Mountain (23 page)

“Gasoline,” Patrick said.

“Why don’t we smell it in here?” Gini asked.

“It’s just a thin drizzle. Didn’t need much of it with all these books for fuel. Same at the barn at Meadow Cliff. Hay is super combustible all on its own.” Patrick returned to the closet. “Gini, get some shots of that.” He moved out of the way then added, “Please.”

Gini smirked and bent to get a clear shot of the candle remains. After shooting from several angles, she stepped back. “All set.”

“May I?” Patrick held up an evidence bag from his kit.

“Absolutely,” Mason said. “We’ve got quite a collection going.”

Gini squeezed Mason’s shoulder. “It’s another piece of the puzzle, Mason. You’ll figure it all out.”

He pulled away to investigate other areas of the store.

Patrick reached a gloved hand into the blackened closet and picked up the wax blob. He waved it under his nose and inhaled.

“That one scented too?” Gini asked.

“Yes, but I don’t know what it is.” Patrick stood and held it under Gini’s nose. This brought him close to her face, a spot he yearned to be, but shouldn’t. He watched as she closed her eyes to sharpen her sense of smell. She had a little investigator in her, he thought. Knew how to not tamper with a crime scene, how to look for the details.

“Smells like lavender,” she said as she opened her eyes.

“What’s it used for?” Patrick slipped the wax into a bag and sealed it.

“Also used to calm, de-stress, like the chamomile.”

“Okay, so our perp has an anxiety problem.” That fit with the profile of an arsonist. Patrick took out his notebook and made notes.

“Or wants us to think so,” Gini added.

Patrick pointed at her. “Very good. Might be wanting to set up a mental instability so when we catch our candle-lighter, he or she can plead insanity.” He scribbled that into the notebook.

“It’s like a sickness, huh? Starting fires.” Gini snapped a few more photos then looked at Patrick. The expression on her face was solemn, haunting. The glow usually radiating from her skin was gone.

“I understand you might want to feel bad for them, Gini,” he said, “but they kill people with these fires. They may be sick, but they’re also murderers.”

She looked as if his words had physically hit her. He hadn’t meant for them to come out with so much force, but thinking someone could actually plot to set something on fire, could flare that match to life and kill with it—well, he couldn’t feel bad for someone who did that. He just couldn’t.

“They are the bad guys, Gini.”

She nodded and maneuvered over some debris to stand with Mason. She didn’t like what he’d said. Why?

Shaking his head, Patrick made more notes and met Mason and Gini by the wide open entrance of the bookstore. Some of the fighters waited outside with plywood to board up the front of the store and the roof.

“Have at it,” Mason told them. Turning to Gini, he said, “Chief Warner inspected your wall himself. Says he doesn’t trust it.”

“I can work from home until the Wedsons come back and decide what they’re going to do.”

“That’s a good plan. Why don’t you and Haddy gather up what you’ll need while we’ve still got the fire department here,” Mason said.

“Okay.” Gini turned toward the studio.

“I’ll be by the truck,” Patrick said.

Gini waved a hand but didn’t turn around. Patrick shifted his gaze to take in the curious look on Mason’s face.

“Riding into work together now, are we?” Mason asked.

“She happened to be over when the chief called me in. She was upset. I didn’t want her to drive.”

“Uh-huh.” Mason smiled.

“Shut up, man.” Patrick didn’t know why he was getting angry. What Mason was concluding wasn’t off the mark. He cared for Gini. He could try to deny it, but it was becoming more difficult to do so. Knowing she was in her studio where the wall was unstable made him nervous.

“Male subject appears sensitive to his growing interest in female subject.” Mason pretended to write on his small notepad.

“This isn’t the time or the place to discuss this.” Patrick handed the evidence bag to Mason.

“You’re right. I’m being unprofessional, but I love Gini. This fire could have easily taken her place down. She could have been in there. We go around thinking we have unlimited chances to say what we want to people, but in our line of work, Patrick, we should know better than anyone that’s not true.”

He flicked his flashlight on to beam into Patrick’s face. “Don’t let your fears get in the way of what you want. What you both want.” Mason shut off the flashlight and left Patrick to blink at the circle of light dotting his vision.

He hated that Mason was right.

****

The drive back to Patrick’s house had been a silent one. Patrick must have been tired, and Gini couldn’t stop thinking about him saying fire-starters were murderers. She knew he meant arsonists—people who used fire for malicious intent—but she couldn’t help putting herself in the same category. She started fires. Sure, she didn’t need matches or a lighter. She didn’t need an elaborate plan. She just needed some old-fashioned fury and poof, she had fire. She never wanted to kill anyone with what she could do. That’s what kept her fighting for control of her ability every day. But still, the possibility was there.

She
could
kill.

The outline of Gini’s SUV came into view as they approached Patrick’s house. Midas nuzzled Gini’s ear, and that slosh of his tongue across her cheek did more to comfort her than anything else could have at that moment. She took the dog’s black face in her hands and kissed his muzzle.

“Love you too, Midas,” she said.

“He only kisses when he senses someone needs it.” Patrick’s voice was a little scratchy, and Gini wondered if it was from being in the bookstore or something else.

“Well, he was right on.” Gini smoothed the fur on Midas’s back as he licked her neck.

“You okay to drive home?” Patrick angled himself against the driver side door.

What would he say if she said no? Would he take her home himself? Would he invite her to stay the night at his house? Would he take her to his bed? Touch her? Make love to her?

Gini shook her head to clear the train of thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. It was a close one tonight. That’s all.”

“Too close. We have to catch this nutcase before someone gets hurt.”

Patrick’s face twisted so he looked…fierce. That was the only word that came to Gini’s mind. His eyes were so dark they appeared almost brown, all the flecks of green snuffed out by his mood. Gini wanted to reach out to him, make that frustration slough off his features, but she remembered how he’d reacted to her slipping his shirt free. She kept both her hands on Midas instead. The dog didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ll develop the pictures first thing in the morning. Send two sets to Mason. You’ll be meeting with him, right?”

Patrick nodded. “We probably have enough material to analyze more fully now. The pictures are helpful.”

“Just doing what the police department pays me to do.” Gini shrugged and plopped her purse on top of the crate she had between her feet on the floor of the truck. She’d filed her current projects into the crate to work on at home.

“You do it well. Looking at your pictures is like being at the scene.” Patrick pulled his keys from the ignition.

“Remind me to show you more pleasant pictures sometime.” Gini opened her door, and Patrick got out on his side, Midas following behind him. Patrick appeared on the passenger side and held out his hands for the crate.

“I’d like to see more of your work. The few pictures you have up in your house are amazing.”

Gini grabbed her purse and handed the crate to Patrick. “Thank you. I do love my work. Not many people can say that. You love your work?”

Patrick hefted the crate to his hip and held it with one hand. “My work is…necessary. I wish I could stop fires before they started, you know?”

Gini nodded. Stopping fires before they started was critical to her having a somewhat normal life.

“Well, I watched you tonight,” Gini said, “and you didn’t waste a moment getting that blaze under control. It was impressive.”

Patrick cast his gaze down to the crate then off into the darkness around the driveway. “Again, it was necessary.” He drew in a deep breath and shifted the crate to carry with both hands. “You want this in the back?” He angled his head to her trunk.

“Yes.” Gini rested her purse on the crate and fished for her keys. She felt Patrick’s eyes on her as she did so. She concentrated on keeping her head bent. After a few false finds, she pulled out the keys.

“You’d be able to find them easier if—”

“I didn’t carry so much in here. I know. I know.” Gini dragged her purse off the crate, and Patrick pretended that a great weight had been lifted. “Watch it, wise guy. I’ve got my Super Soaker in here.” She patted her purse slung on her shoulder now.

“Yeah,” Patrick said as he shoved the crate into her SUV, “but I happen to know it’s not loaded.”

Gini grinned. “You weren’t with me when I gathered my stuff from the studio. I could have refilled.”

“I hope you did. You’ve got a few deserted streets to cover between my place and yours.”

Gini opened the driver side door and heaved her purse inside. “Good night, Patrick.” She stepped up into the SUV before she did something stupid.

Patrick came to stand at the open door. “Good night. I’ll see you.” He closed the door and gave her a wave as he walked to the garage. Midas bid her farewell with a short bark and trotted after Patrick.

Gini turned around in the wide driveway and watched the garage door close in her rearview mirror.

I’ll see you.
Why did those words comfort her?

When Gini pulled into her driveway, she was surprised to find her daddy’s truck parked in front of her house. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Pretty late for a visit. Queasiness swirled in her stomach as she hopped out of the SUV and ran to the front door.

“Daddy?” She found him sitting at her kitchen table with a glass of water in his hands. “What’s wrong? Is Jonah okay? Mama?”

“They’re fine, Gini. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you.” He took a drink of the water and rested both of his hands at the base of the glass.

Gini puffed out a breath and went back outside for her crate. She set it on the table. “Going to be working from home for a few.”

“Your mama and I were over in Montpelier. Only heard about the fire at the Wedsons’ place when we got back. Figured I catch you here.” Walter finished the water and set the empty glass aside. “You okay?”

“The studio will be fine. One wall will need fixing. Chief Warner didn’t trust it.” Gini eased into the seat across from her father.

“That’s not what I asked, Virginia. I asked if
you
were okay.”

Virginia?
Her full name. Not good. “Well, I was afraid the fire was going to take down the studio, but our fighters are good at what they do. Come from a history of superb fighters.” She patted Walter’s hand.

He managed a weak smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Something else was on his mind. He wasn’t himself. He’d called her Virginia.

“Daddy, what is it?”

“There isn’t an easy way to say this.” Walter fussed with the fringe on the linen Gini had on the table. “I have to ask it though. I have to.”

“Out with it, Daddy. You’re scaring me.”

Was he sick? Mama?
Gini often worried about the time when her parents wouldn’t be around for her.

Walter studied his hands then met Gini’s gaze. “Did you…could you have started these fires?”

The cricket song outside the kitchen window rose to an almost painful level. Had she heard him correctly?

“What? Daddy, I…” She actually didn’t know how to respond. She’d never been so shocked in her life. Finding out she could start fires with her emotions didn’t rock her off her axis as much as having her own daddy ask her what he’d just asked her.

“Hear me out, Gini.” He put up his hands. “I’ve been thinking on this awhile now. These arson cases cropped up after you had your encounter with that Barre character. You set the bush on fire at the station and not long after, the house on Cloudson went up in flames. Meadow Cliff followed. And now the Wedsons’ bookstore.”

“Right next to my own freaking studio, Daddy!” Gini shot up from her chair. She couldn’t sit still and listen to this.

“That’s what makes me ask the question. All these fires have been near places you are familiar with. When you were first born, we lived on Cloudson. You remember?”

Gini nodded, too stunned to do much else. She couldn’t even pace. Her legs wouldn’t work.

“And you took horseback riding lessons at Meadow Cliff. Now the bookstore, where you’ve spent a great deal of time and right next to your studio. All the locations mean something to you.”

“Yes, but I haven’t been angry. I know when I’m about to start a fire, Daddy. I can feel it coming. It happens fast, but I know it’s going to happen. You know that.”

Her father turned his pale eyes up to her face. “We haven’t had any arson cases here in Burnam—”

“In forty-five years. I know.”

“You haven’t had an incident since Barre showed up. Who’s to say he didn’t start a chain reaction in you?”

“I’m to say! Me, Daddy.”

“Stay calm, Gini.” Her father got up from his seat and came to stand in front of her. She didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to believe he had actually accused her of starting those fires.

“I am calm.” She counted to ten, listed flowers by their scientific names, recited the alphabet in Spanish, French, and Italian. She didn’t want to feel the hurt, but she couldn’t let it turn into anger. Hurt was safer.

“What about the scented candles at every scene? I don’t need candles to start a fire, Daddy.” That proved it wasn’t her.

Walter’s gaze swept over to the kitchen counters then to the living room. Gini had a wide assortment of candles on display. She liked candles. Never lit them, but liked how they looked on copper platters full of rocks, or in rusty lanterns, or in tall, pewter holders on the mantel of her small fireplace in the living room.