Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) (3 page)

On a sigh, she waved a hand in dismissal. “Bored
teens, the first officer said. Same deal. But they’ll get tired of harassing me
and give up. I’m going nowhere. Now do you intend to rag on me or help paint?”

Nora spread the newspapers she’d brought on the table
and poured paint into first one and then the other paper bucket. “Oh, I’m ready
to work, but I don’t intend to let you get away with this blasé attitude. You could
be setting yourself up for real danger out here alone. Did you at least tell
Jake about the dollhouse?”

The policeman hadn’t mentioned it and neither had she.
She’d learned the hard way to depend only on herself. When things got tough,
other people—read male species—wimped out. Whining to him would only arm him
with ammunition to shut her out. So no, she’d keep to herself the burning
dollhouse and any future stupid stunts. She had to press Jake to cooperate with
her. Like him, she needed answers, and soon.

“Course not,” she insisted. “The vandalism is
my
problem, not his. I’ll handle it myself.”

“Until you can’t. Okay, where do you want me to start?”

“How about you work from left to right, from the
fridge toward the middle? I’ll do the ruined door? Paint remover ruined the
finish but not the or-else memo. Sanding didn’t take it off. One coat or ten, I’ll
slap on as much as necessary.”

“You got it,” Nora said, dipping her brush into the
bucket. “You know, you can paint over this obscenity, but glossing over your
fears about what it might mean won’t work. Maybe Jake could help. He’s a
trained investigator, not like our local yokels.”

“So paint already.” Lani carried her paint container
to the cabinet, dipped in the new brush, and swiped the first stroke over the
mocking abomination.

Chapter 3

“Ma, you have that number. I-14, see?” Jake set his
mug on the blue woven tablecloth as he pointed to the spot on her Beano card.
If only he could communicate better with her, get through the fog that encased
her mind.

His mother said nothing, staring blankly at the marker
she should put on the spot. Did she even see the card or hear the volunteer
caller? Pine View was nice, as nursing homes went, clean and more homey than
institutional. And less expensive than the swanky facility in Portland near his
brother Hank. Relatives and local volunteers came in often to visit the
patients, play Beano or checkers with them, and entertain. But Grace Wescott
was becoming increasingly hard to reach no matter what anyone did.

In her day, Grace had suited her name. She’d run the
library and her all-male family with lively warmth, a steel backbone, and
contagious humor. Seeing her now in this wheelchair, barely able to
communicate, dressed in pink sweats that hung on her bony frame, tightened Jake’s
chest until it might implode.

“My boys don’t come to see me,” she said suddenly, her
tone petulant. She peered at him with watery blue eyes that used to be the same
color as his. “When’s Henry coming?”

Jake’s heart thumped. “He was here this morning. He
brought you this dog.” No sense telling her that her husband of forty years
wasn’t coming to see her. Ever.

His dad’s accidental death years ago had scraped him
raw, but seeing early-onset dementia steal Ma away brain cell by brain cell
ripped him bloody every time he visited her. She was only seventy-three.

“I remember now.” She cuddled the stuffed hound Jake
had placed in her lap. Ma used to love her dogs, the last one, a yellow Lab mix
named Hilly, long gone. Her lips curved in a wistful smile and her eyes lost
focus, turned inward. Maybe to old memories. Her hand fell away from the toy.
Her mug sat untouched on the table.

“Don’t you want your tea?”

“Not my...” Grace faltered for the words, pushing away
the mug.

He heaved a sigh. His visit had taxed her energy. “That’s
okay, Ma. I’ll come back tomorrow.” He’d pick up a tin of Earl Gray in Bayport.

Rising, he wheeled her back to her room, away from the
abandoned Beano game. He kissed her papery cheek and left her by the window
where she sat most of the daylight hours. She liked to watch the bird feeders
in the courtyard. At least, she appeared to. Hard to tell these days.

She was slipping away little by little every day. If
he’d been in Maine, could he have made a difference? The doctors said no but
accepting that was hard. He could barely reach her now, and soon...

His throat closed. If only he could do something to
bring her back. He made a fist, but he had no target to punch but air.

After climbing into his Cherokee, he opened his cell
phone. When his brother answered, he said, “Just left Ma.”

“I’ll try to get there on the weekend. How’s she
doing?”

“She knows me sometimes but today she’s confused. I’m
not sure who she thought I was. Sometimes Dad. Yesterday she thought I was you.
If it makes her happy, that’s okay with me.”

A high-pitched squeal rose in the background. “Hold on
a sec.” A clunk as Hank deposited the receiver on a table.

The joyful sound would be Hank’s two-year-old son
Zack. Jake had met him for the first time when he brought Grace to Pine View.
The little guy was a pistol.

His brother came back on. “Zack says hi to his uncle.
He wants to show you his new truck. Nicole went out of town. An advertising
conference in Boston. I get to take care of my big guy for a long weekend.”

“Give Zack a hug from me.”

“Will do. How are your projects coming along?”

“Gram’s house, slow progress. Porch is shored up. I’ve
started on the living room. On the Cameron fire, nothing yet.” His ATF
connections had given him cachet with the state fire marshal. He’d gotten some
reports by e-mail that morning and was waiting for the rest. But he wasn’t
ready to talk about any of that. “Basically, I need a crystal ball.”

Hank laughed. “I’d look into mine but the damn thing
lets me down all the time. You’re on your own, bro.”

An apt description of his situation. Especially with
wild card Lani Cameron in the mix. Ma was never going to remember much, but if
Lani would...

*****

The door of the Wheelhouse Bar and Grill swung shut
behind Jake. He stood to one side adjusting to the dim glow. Plastic boat
lanterns and lobster-shaped party lights shed a dim glow on the happy-hour
crowd of fishermen and other working stiffs. Odors of ripe bait and the lather
of hard labor mingled with those of beer and whiskey.

He’d just left a half hour with DHPD Chief Galt,
giving him a heads-up on a conversation he’d overheard, some guys plotting
sabotage of another lobsterman’s trap line. After Galt said he’d advise the
Maine Marine Patrol to keep an eye on the situation, the chief suggested Jake
curb his interest in the Cameron fire.

“With minor exceptions like fishing disputes, Dragon
Harbor’s a peaceful town,” Galt said in his Down-East drawl. “Probing an old
tragedy’s like dredgin’ the harbor. Raises old mud and old stink. Gossip won’t
do much for folks’ peace of mind. Bad ambiance for the tourists.” He’d regarded
Jake with the kind of level stare that must wring confessions from felons. “Take
a little friendly advice and let the matter drop.”

Friendly advice? Not likely. And less likely Jake
would drop his probe.

As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he spied
Kevin Meagher around the side of the bar. The position suited him. Back to a
wall, not to the crowd or the door, so he had a good view of the room.

Kevin had been a teenage heartthrob in the old days.
He was still burly but now puffy flesh padded what had once been an angular
face and an athletic build. A paunch strained the buttons on his checked shirt.
He was running for Congress, like his old man. J.T. had lost. Maybe Kev would
do better. Hard to think of him as a mover and shaker, but there it was.

Kevin was talking to a ruddy-faced man in work-stained
khakis. The pair seemed to be arguing.

Tall tales and complaints swirled through the
low-ceilinged room, about the day’s catch or engine troubles or the Red Sox as
Jake made his way to the bar. Glasses and bottles clinked.

“Hey, Kevin.” He clapped a hand on his friend’s
shoulder.

“Jake! Man, great you could make it. Take a load off.”
Kevin beamed the eager smile that had once charmed teachers and coeds.

The ruddy-faced man said good-bye and melted into the
crowd.

“Didn’t mean to chase your friend away.”

“Don’t worry about Brandon. He had to leave anyway.”
Kevin waved to the bartender. “He drives a bulldozer part-time. Problem with
his paycheck.”

Part-time could mean this Brandon had another means of
livelihood. Maybe sternman on one of the warring lobster boats. Jake gave
himself a mental slap. Or any one of a dozen other part-time jobs. Hell,
chasing bottom-feeders for the ATF had made him suspicious of everything and
everybody. “Part of being the boss, huh?”

Kevin’s brow clouded. “J.T.’s still the boss at
Meagher Enterprises. You been in town for months and we’ve barely talked. Nora
wants to see you.”

“Nora’s too good for the likes of you. You’re a lucky
man.” Jake meant it. He’d need more than luck to find
the one
. Long
hours and hard days when you could trust nobody and they didn’t trust you made
anything but short-term hook-ups next to impossible.

Kevin grinned. “Don’t I know it! Come for supper soon.
We’ll boil some bugs.” He sucked down the last of his beer.

Lobster and he didn’t get along, heresy for a native
Mainer. He’d rather spend his evenings alone but maybe he’d become too much of
a hermit. He’d take a steak to Kevin’s, sell it as surf and turf. “I’d like
that. Just say when.”

The bartender, in tight shorts and a tank top that
displayed her considerable assets, including a tattooed red rose in the middle
of her cleavage, sashayed over. Ava Warren slid away the departed man’s beer
and swiped the polished-wood bar with a rag. A tattoo of a gold chain
braceleted her right wrist. “You want a draft, Jake honey? Or
something stronger
?”

Ava could make a sexual innuendo out of a license
plate number. In high school, she’d played it fast and loose. Looked like she
still did. She’d be a definite source of gossip, even twelve-year-old gossip.
He’d rather have Lani’s memories, but he’d take info where he could get it. “Shipyard
on draft’ll do me, Ava.”

As soon as the bartender set down two mugs of
Shipyard, he reached for his wallet.

“Put this on my tab, Ava. It’s not every day I can get
caught up with another member of the state Class C championship baseball team.”

Giving Jake the once-over, Ava pouted her lips. She
poked at her spiky hair. A wonder her fingers didn’t come away bloody. “Looks
like
you
still keep in shape, Jake honey.”

“I try.” Jake tilted up the beer mug. Was she hitting
on him or slamming Kevin?

Not one to give up, she smiled seductively. “You two
like some popcorn? It’s fresh—” she stared with lowered lashes at Jake “—and
hot
.”

Kevin gulped some beer and wiped his mouth, clearly
covering a grin. “Um, popcorn. Yeah. Sure thing, Ava.”

Jake bit the inside of his lower lip. Both of them had
seen Ava in action plenty of times.

She swished toward the popcorn machine. Scroll designs
twined around her upper back and disappeared into her tank top.

“Hear Ava’s going through her second divorce. Maybe
third.” Kevin chuckled. “Didn’t you date her back in high school?”

“The senior prom. Once was enough. She was the hot one
then.” But when she’d heaved up the rum and Cokes she downed behind the gym, he
cooled faster than getting dunked in the bay.

“Hot, yeah, but Gail Cameron was the hot one. Me and
Lani, you and Gail. Remember?”

How could Jake forget that summer a few years later?
He nodded but said nothing as he rubbed his scar. Kevin hadn’t changed in one
way. Always did speak his mind without thinking. He was running for a seat in
Congress, like his dad had years ago. How was that candor working for him in a
political campaign?

They sipped their beers in silence for a few moments
before Kevin spoke again, rattling on about working in his dad’s company. He
puffed out his chest, putting his shirt buttons at risk, as he wound down. “Big
responsibility. I supervise job sites and my sister manages the office. Except
now I’m out two, three times a week campaigning around most of the southern
half of the state. What about you? You take leave from the government or quit?”

“On leave.” He might return to duty after his
undercover assignment here. And he might not. Hard to go back after what
happened. “Life on board Uncle Joe’s boat suits me while I fix up Gram’s house.
Gives me time to visit with Mom.”

“You getting much done on the house?”

“Fixed the steps to the porch. Still working on
removing the old plaster in the living room. My brother paid for half the new
roof, so that helps.” He’d built up solid savings and investments from his job.
He’d accept some money from Hank to make him feel part of the deal, but the
family man couldn’t afford to fork over much more.

They drank in silence as laughter erupted over a dart
game across the room. Ava deposited a basket brimming with hot popcorn in front
of them. The steamy butter-and-salt scent made Jake’s mouth water. “Guess I’m
hungry after all.”

He snared a handful. Kevin scooped up a bigger one.

When Kevin had downed his second beer and most of the
popcorn, he said, “Gotta go. Nora’ll be looking for me. I got a fundraiser
tonight in Portland.”

Jake pulled out a five for Ava, to keep on her good
side while he avoided hooking up with her. Besides, he had another female
messing with his mind. He should stay away from Lani, but shit, he’d keep tabs
on her, push her to remember.

Outside the dark bar, he blinked in the sun, still
high in the late afternoon. Plenty of time to pull out old laths in Gram’s
living room and grill a burger on deck. “You seen Lani?”

“Not yet. She and Nora get together but not when I’m
around. They’ve stayed in touch over the years. I haven’t seen her since...you
know.” Kevin gave a shudder. “I went to the hospital when they allowed
visitors. You ever see a burn victim? Damned horrific.”

“Yeah.” Jake had gone too, but she’d lain there in a
drugged sleep. Since then he’d seen other burn victims. Horrific didn’t begin
to describe the result of flames on flesh. He suspected what had happened next
wouldn’t reflect well on Kevin. “You broke up with her then?”

“I couldn’t face her like that.” He brightened. “Nora
says surgery fixed her up. No scars.”

“Modern reconstructive surgery can work miracles.” No
surgery could bring back the ones who didn’t make it. Like Gail. And his
partner. The memory triggered a spasm in his thigh.

“Wonder how long all that repair took.”

“Good question.” Jake slapped him on the back. “You
can ask Lani when you see her.”

Kevin bobbled his keys, nearly dropped them. “Are you
nuts? I’d sooner kiss a live lobster than ask her that. She’d take off two
layers of my hide.”

“A definite possibility.” And he’d deserve it.

Kevin climbed into the truck cab. He scratched his
chin. “Guess she’s great looking again. Both twins were back then, for damn
sure. But Gail was the hot one. Whooee, man, it wouldn’t have taken much for me
to trade twins.”

Gail was the hot one.
Kevin’d said it twice.
Jake would ask what the hell that meant, but he’d be talking to the truck’s
exhaust.

*****