Be Afraid (38 page)

“I don’t need no more trouble.”

“You wouldn’t get into trouble if you were careful.”

“I ain’t careful. I mess up everything I touch.”

“I know how to be careful. Very, very careful.”

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes as if swatting away a memory. “I screw up everything. Everything. My father kicked me out when I was seventeen and my husband was pissed when I got pregnant and kept saying I was no good for him. I tried and tried, but it never seemed to matter. I always screwed up.”

If not for her sins, one might almost feel sorry for her. She was like everyone else, rich or poor, famous or unknown. She wanted to be loved. “Would you like to do something right? I can show you how.”

“I can’t.”

What had Sister said once?
You could sell ice to Eskimos.
“You can. With my help.”

She looked up into eyes filled with worry, fear, and loss. “Why would you help me? We just met.”

“I see a lot of myself in you. Someone who is lost and wants to connect but just can’t seem to say or do the right thing. If I’d had a mentor my life would have been different.”

“What’s a mentor?”

“Someone who guides you. Helps you. A friend.”

She raised two clenched fists to her temples and pressed them hard against her skin. “What does all that mean?”

“It means, I show you how to get a little revenge. It means, we could do something fun. Like burn down Jenna’s house.”

She moistened her lips as if she savored a delicious flavor. “Why?”

“Why not?”

She stared at the house, her gaze burning with a white-hot desire. “If she’d not drawn that picture everything would be fine.”

“That’s right. If not for her, it would all be fine.” He settled his hands gently on her shoulders.

“Is she in the house?”

“Yes.”

Tension rippled through her shoulders. “I shouldn’t be here.”

He held her steady. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

“What’s that mean?”

“The cops are coming after you.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. They’re going to make sure you rot in jail. At least know that Jenna isn’t laughing when they take you to jail.”

“She laughs at me?”

“All the time.”

Loyola grit her teeth. “Is it hard to burn a house down?”

“No, it’s fairly easy.”

Normal people slept at night. They closed their eyes and let the day’s events sort themselves out. They decompressed. Shut down.

For Jenna, nights could be painfully long if she didn’t sleep. She rolled on her side and punched her pillow. When she’d been in Baltimore there’d been friends she could call at night. Always someplace open that would welcome her; she could pretend it was a case bothering her and not some insane quirk she couldn’t shed.

She rolled on her back and stared at the play of shadows on the ceiling. Counting the now too familiar cracks in the ceiling, her thoughts turned to Sara. Her sister was arguing. Her voice had crackled with anger as she’d stood toe-to-toe with their father.
I hate you!

The echoes of slamming doors rattled in her memory. Her father was yelling. Her mother crying. She huddled under her blanket, crying, wishing someone would take her away.

Her wish had been granted. The shouting had stopped. And she’d been taken away.

“Be careful what you wish for.” She glanced at the clock. How many hours would have to pass before sleep returned? Too many.

Frustrated, she tossed her blankets aside. As much as her mind ached for the release of art, her bones needed a break. In Baltimore, nights like this were spent watching television. She had an intimate relationship with the top infomercial presenters on television, and she’d caught just about every movie made in the 1960s. Here, though, she had no television and relied on a downloaded movie.

“Maybe Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn will keep me company tonight,” she said.

With daylight just a couple of hours away she dressed in jeans and a pullover sweater. Running a brush through her hair, she tied it up in a ponytail. She might not be able to control when she slept, but she would control what she could.

She was nearly in the den when she smelled the first traces of smoke. Smoke? Her thoughts went first to an electrical fire. She thought about her coffeemaker and wondered if she’d left it on or if the automatic shutoff hadn’t worked. And where was her cell? Most nights she charged it by her bed but hadn’t tonight.

The scent of smoke grew heavier and heavier and when she reached the living room, a wall of flames rose up. Her entire back deck was on fire and it had eaten into her living room. Thick, black smoke billowed and whipped up the wall and over the ceiling. Fire had slithered across the floor closer and closer to her art supplies. Not her art!

How had the fire started? The question rattled in her head for only a moment before she realized that right now the answer didn’t matter. Her art didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. What mattered was getting out of the house. She coughed and hurried toward the front door, grabbed her purse, and ran outside.

She drew in a breath of fresh air, coughing and sputtering. She fished her cell out of her purse and dialed 9-1-1.

Friday, August 25, 12:20
A.M.

Flashing lights of three fire trucks and a rescue vehicle greeted Rick when he pulled up at Jenna’s house. Leaving Tracker in his car, he strode toward the rescue truck, doing his best not to run or give in to fears. God, what the fire could have done to her.

He found her sitting on the back tailgate of the rescue vehicle, an oxygen mask on her face. She glanced up at him, removed her mask, and said, “Insomnia rocks.”

Relief washed over him, extinguishing the worry in a loud hiss. “What the hell happened?”

“I can’t sleep. I prowl a lot at night. I got up, went into my living room, and my entire back deck was on fire as was the back of my house.”

“It started on the deck? Do you have a grill?”

“As I told Inspector Murphy, no grill. No candles, no lanterns, no funky wiring issues, no stored fuel. Plain old deck.”

He rested his hand on his hip. “I suppose the firebugs have put you through a lot of questions and answers.”

“As they should. My place did just burn down for no reason. And I know about the other fires. They should be grilling me.”

She was a cop, logical in the face of turmoil. Later, when the adrenaline deserted her, she’d be left with a lot of unanswered questions and maybe some fears that would let loose. He turned back toward the house, now a charred stick structure. It was a complete loss. “Damn.”

“You’re telling me.” She put the oxygen mask aside and moved beside him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be wearing that?”

“I’m fine. If I breathe any more oxygen, I’ll float away. Don’t suppose you can give me a ride into town? My Jeep is blocked in by the fire trucks. I’m not even sure if it escaped the flames.”

“Where’re you going to go?”

“Hotel. I’ve also got to call my landlord.” She held up her purse. “I did manage to grab this, so I can at least function.” Adrenaline coursed through her veins and her body all but vibrated with it.

A slow shake of his head told her he understood what was happening to her physically now. “You can stay with me.”

“No, thanks.” With this kind of emotion surging through her, it wouldn’t take much for her to seek a sexual release with the good detective. And right now, the last complication she needed was a relationship.

A quirk of his lips suggested the same idea had also crossed his mind. “If it will make you feel better, Georgia lives at the house from time to time. She said she’d be bunking with me tonight so you’ll have company.”

“I thought she lived in town.”

“She’s kept her apartment in town and stays there when she works a long shift, but off times she’s at my place.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“She doesn’t like to publicize the fact that she basically moved home. She wants everyone to believe she’s fine but last year was tough for her and she needs home base to catch her breath from time to time. You can do the same. There is a guest apartment on the property above the garage. It’s clean, though I’ve not had a chance to renovate it yet.”

An apartment over the garage meant doors and real estate separating her from Rick. She glanced toward the rubble that had been her home. Money saved on a hotel could go toward art supplies. Or a car rental that would take her back to Baltimore. “Thanks. That sounds great.”

“I’ll call Georgia and have her come get you. I’ll be here for a while.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s perfect.”

As the sun rose, Georgia handed Jenna a hot cup of tea. Jenna had showered the smoke and cinder from her skin and hair and changed into some of Georgia’s clothes. Jenna was a good three inches taller than Georgia so the sweats hit her midcalf. Top of her list today was to get wheels, and buy clothes and art supplies.

Jenna sipped. “My life just went up in flames.”

“Well, the stuff went up in flames.” Georgia sat across from her on the large couch and crossed her legs as she cradled a cup of coffee. Tracker lay on the floor at Georgia’s feet but his gaze went from the door to Jenna and back to the door. He was waiting for Rick.

“Stuff can be replaced.”

“I know. I know. And I’m grateful to be whole and in one piece. Thank God my first client picked up her portrait yesterday. All the other pieces I have, well, I haven’t lost too much time. And the bulk of my stuff is in my Baltimore apartment.”

Frowning, Georgia sipped her coffee. “I keep forgetting you really live there.”

Jenna cradled her warm mug close as she sipped. “My life and job awaits. And whatever reason brought me here to Nashville, doesn’t make sense now.”

“Why did you come?”

“To find out why my family was murdered. I keep thinking there must have been a reason. But there was no reason. Just an insane man driven by unknown reasons.”

Georgia glanced into the depths of her coffee. “Finding reason isn’t always easy. That’s hard to accept.”

Jenna raised her mug. “Here’s to reason.”

“I’ll toast to that.” She clicked her mug against Jenna’s. She sipped and grew pensive. “I was hoping we’d grow on you and you’d stay.”

“Baltimore used to feel like home and then, suddenly, it didn’t. Then I came here. I thought maybe I’d find something but I might have jumped from the frying pan into the fire. And I do miss police work.”

Georgia raised a brow. “I bet I can give you more sketches. If we get a conviction on the Lost Girl case, my brother Deke might be willing to give me and a few of my friends a cold case to work on. I’m sure we could use your skills.”

“Tempting. But I’ll still have to pay the light bill.”

“Keep painting. I bet you could pick up commissions easily. Painter by day, crime fighter by night.”

She laughed. “Who have you enlisted in your merry band so far?”

“Well, you for now, but there’re others I have in mind. Rachel would be game. KC. The three of us would be a start.”

“I give you credit for trying to get something going.”

“If you build it, they will come.”

“Ah, a fan of
Field of Dreams
. Also a fan of all baseball movies?”

“All movies.”

The front door opened and Tracker rose up from the floor and, tail wagging, barked as he made his way to the foyer. Rick’s deep voice was filled with genuine affection as he greeted the dog.

As he moved toward the den, Jenna could hear the slight misstep of his pace. Most wouldn’t have noticed it but she realized when he was tired, his gait wasn’t even.

He appeared in the den, Tracker at his side. He’d loosened his tie, had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He smelled of smoke and cinder. “Good, you’ve made yourself at home.”

Jenna sat a little straighter. “Thanks to Georgia.”

“I’m trying to convince her to stay in Nashville and work with me on my cold cases.”

He frowned and Jenna wasn’t sure which part of the statement bothered him. “Georgia rarely takes no for an answer.”

“So what did you find at the crime scene?” Jenna asked.

Georgia rose. “Rick, sit. You want a cup of coffee? And I made muffins.”

He relaxed back into a chair as if he’d just released the weight of the world. “Coffee would be great. Instead of a muffin, could I get a sandwich?”

Georgia arched a brow as she studied him. If he’d not been bone tired, she’d likely have told him to get it himself, but she took pity. “Be right back.” She scurried into the kitchen.

In a low voice, he asked, “She didn’t try to give you any of her baking, did she?”

Jenna dropped her voice. “Yes. It was good.”

He shook his head as if he smelled a lie. “You’re a guest, so I understand that you have to be kind.”

“I tasted lots of love.” And clumps of flour. “I never say no to home cooking. My aunt wasn’t much of a cook. She tried, but most of our dinners were takeout.” She glanced toward the long farmhouse dinner table. “I imagine you shared quite a few dinners at that table.”

“We did.”

“Nice.”

“Sometimes. And sometimes it was World War Three.”

“Who was the troublemaker?”

“Deke is the oldest and he challenged Dad the most. Alex always had his eye on where he was going after dinner. Georgia was the baby, so she got what she wanted.”

“And you?”

He loosened his tie. “I was stirring trouble but just not as overtly as Deke. There were a few times when Dad called me down at the table. Not pretty.”

Despite his description, she pictured a scene right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. “And I bet you all laughed a lot at the table.”

“We did.”

“Nice. And very lucky.” She cradled her mug close, savoring the comforting heat. “I have only vague memories of my older sister teasing me.”

“Tell me about your sister.”

“Until recently, I’d have told you she was perfect. Cheerleader, good grades, boys loved her. But lately, I’m remembering that it wasn’t all as perfect as I’d like to remember. She and Dad fought a lot.”

“What did they fight about?”