Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) (6 page)

Chapter 6

Jake had spoiled her dramatic exit by insisting he
drive her home, but the next morning, Lani was ready to charge ahead. She had
coffee ready when Nora arrived.

A short denim skirt seemed easier to manage than
capris throughout the day, topped by a camisole and T-shirt. Dressed and her
hair brushed, she felt better, alert after forgoing the heavy-duty meds last
night. No nightmare for a change either, she realized as they descended the
stairs.

Nora poured the coffee and they sat at the kitchen
table. The rich French roast aroma blended with her fresh-scrubbed scent. She
sighed over her steaming mug even as she tsked her disapproval. “You should’ve
waited for me to make the coffee. Better yet, I should’ve brought coffee.”

“I can’t just sit around. I’ve done the invalid thing.
No more. I’m okay.” She had too much to do and no time to waste. Looking at the
scabs as Nora dabbed antiseptic ointment on her palms, Lani figured she was
healed enough to drive.

Nora finished taping the gauze. “Not too bad. Scabbed
over nicely. You won’t need bandages in a couple of days. But I’m worried about
you out here all by yourself. If your suspicions are right and someone killed
Gail, the danger won’t end with that hit and run. You could stay with us until
Jake finds answers. The boys would love having you there.”

Really. Not all the boys, definitely not Kevin.
“I’m fine and I’ll stay here. No problem. I love your sons but I need to be
here to organize the work on the place.”

“Can’t that wait a few days?”

It could, but she took a different tack to respond to
Nora’s real concern. “And with the police looking into the hit and run, no one
will try anything. It’d be too obvious.” Not that she really believed Galt and
his little staff were doing much. She summoned a confident smile.

Nora held up her hands in defeat. “If you change your
mind, the spare room is yours.” She snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot.
Tomorrow’s Thursday. I can’t make it in the morning. Dentist appointments for
both my little guys. I could stop by later?”

Later wouldn’t work, not if she achieved what she
wanted today. “If you leave me some bandages and stuff, I can do it myself. By
tomorrow, I should be self-sufficient.”

Nora looked dubious but agreed. They chatted a few
minutes more—about the upcoming town festival—as they finished their coffee.

She stood and deposited their mugs in the sink. “Got
to get back to the boys. Mom’s there for a bit. She’ll take over when I go to
work. Kevin has a campaign something tonight.”

“I appreciate the help, Nore.” Lani popped up. “Can
you give me a ride into the village?”

“Again?” Her friend’s eyes narrowed as she arranged
bandages, tape, and the antiseptic ointment on the table. She hooked her
medical kit over her shoulder. “Not the police station. What are you up to?”

“Only a little more research at the library. I have
the old fire investigator’s name. An Internet search ought to come up with his
address.” She shrugged into the hoodie on the back of her chair.

“God, Lani, you’re going to end up with more trouble.”

“Trouble, yes, but not for me.”

“Why don’t you just stay here and take it easy?”

“Not gonna happen. I owe it to my twin to find
answers.”
And fast, before another attack.
Ignoring the twinges in her
chest, Lani collected her tote bag and slung it on her shoulder. “Now are you
going to give me a ride or do I have to call Bayport Taxi?”

Her friend’s gaze softened even as she sighed. “When
have I ever won an argument with you?” She shook a finger in admonition. “But I’m
watching you lock this house up tight.”

Gingerly, with her forefinger and thumb, Lani fished
out her keys and held them up. “Ready to lock up, Mommy.”

*****

Lani’s research took longer than expected. She found
three obituaries for a Frank Tyson, but none of them had worked for the state
in any capacity, let alone arson investigation. A cement company in Bridgton
was headed by Frank Tyson, but he was forty-five, too young. Finally typing
into the search engine in quotes
Maine retired arson investigator Frank
Tyson
uncovered a small news article. Two years before, Tyson, of Oak
Mills, spoke on fire safety to his granddaughter’s fifth grade class. Then an
online phone directory supplied his number and address.

She tucked her legal pad and pen in her big bag and
left the library. After a shrimp salad plate—easier to manage than a
sandwich—at the Cuppa-’n-Suppa, she picked up a ready-made salad and a frozen
dinner at the general store. She stowed them the thermal bag she’d brought in
her tote.

Finally she set out to rent a car. Buoyed by her
success, she didn’t mind the half-mile hike up the East Road beyond the
village. Her muscles didn’t feel as tight today, but by the time she arrived,
the sun’s beating down beaded sweat on her brow.

The owner of Buddy’s Garage and Bait Shop stepped from
beneath the sedan on his lift and ambled toward her. Two other men in the
garage’s tilting wooden building continued working amid the whine of power
tools. Buddy wiped his grease-covered hands with an equally filthy rag, then
tucked the cloth into a pocket in his coveralls.

Affable as always, he ambled toward her, his narrow
face crinkled in a smile. “Heard about your car. Rotten luck. Some jackass run
you off the road, folks’re sayin’.”

“Something like that, Buddy.”

His eyes lit up with the prospect of work. “Need some
body work, do you?”

“I wish. Nope, the car was totaled.”

“Well then, you must need some wheels to tide you
over. I got just the thing. Cheap.”

Twenty minutes later, Lani was the proud renter of a
battered lime-green Volkswagen Beetle. Thank God for automatic transmissions,
she thought, as she headed south toward the farm. Steering on the curving road
aggravated her still-tender hands but not as much as shifting gears would have.

She concentrated on the beauty around her—sun glinting
diamonds on the bay, pine-tree-dotted islands beyond the shore—and not the
sheer drop to her left—but on the other, the far side of the narrow road. A big
black Ford pickup sped toward her, high on oversize tires, and her heart began
to pound.

The driver gave a wave out his open window as he
passed. Just another Mainer being neighborly. She blew out a breath and waved
back. The guy probably wondered about her hand, wearing what must look like a
white mitten. Not your normal June attire.

“I got this. No prob,” she said to the VW.

Up ahead loomed the Devil’s Elbow.

Her heart tried to jump into her throat, and she
swallowed hard. Forcing herself not to grip the wheel too tightly, she slowed
to negotiate the sharp turn. No monster truck bore down on her. No cliff edge
tried to drag her over. Only the severed guard rail dangling over the waves
crashing onto the rocks.

And then she’d made it past and the road turned more
inland, toward the farm.

After eating her nuked turkey dinner, she vowed to
shop for real food now that she wasn’t dependent on anyone for transportation.

Armed with the legal pad on which she’d written Frank
Tyson’s information, she keyed his number in her cell phone.

When he picked up, she said, “Mr. Tyson, this is Lani
Cameron.”

A harsh intake of breath. “What do you want?”

*****

Lani suppressed a smug attitude as she sat in the
passenger seat of Jake’s Cherokee. They headed up the East Road from the farm
in what locals called a “thick-o’fog,” typical of June’s fluky weather.

Jake showing up this afternoon as she was leaving was
no coincidence. She’d kept her research away from the nosy library volunteer’s
gaze, but Buddy outed her on the car rental. When the garage owner clucked over
her driving with sore hands, she’d said something like, “Not far, only to Oak
Mills.” If Jake figured out her plan, she wasn’t turning away the result she
wanted in the first place. Don’t look in a gift horse’s mouth or something like
that.

“Bad move to set out alone like this. Dangerous.” He
looked straight ahead, at the road, not at her.

He looked sexy as hell in khakis and a black
French-terry shirt. Brown hairs curling above the v-neck invited touching. A
scar on his face she hadn’t noticed before. His hands held the steering wheel
lightly, regardless of the irritation in his voice. He had broad hands,
calloused and sun-darkened, like his sinewy forearms.

She went on the offensive. “I could’ve driven just
fine. I drove the rental car home last night.”

He reached for her left hand and turned it palm up.
His blue gaze was direct and unflinching. “You’re still bandaged. Driving could
open the wounds.”

She snatched away her hand. “But it didn’t.”

“So now you’re stubborn
and
independent. You
wanted my help the other day.”

The rich timbre of his voice tripped her pulse. She
sniffed with what she hoped conveyed disdain. “I don’t want charity. You
refused, unless I’m dreaming. Oh, I guess not. Here you are.”

“Word’s around you remember things you didn’t before.
If that truck’s love-tap was an arsonist’s first attempt to kill you, I’d hate
to see the encore. Why go see Frank Tyson?”

“You have files. I don’t. The police chief mentioned
the other day the investigator was retired. I researched Tyson like I did you
and found he lived less than an hour away. I talked him into seeing me. The fire
marshal’s office won’t provide more than the final report—and apparently
neither will you—but I thought Tyson might have personal notes.”

When he didn’t respond, she went on. “Stupid of me to
object to you driving. Thanks for coming. I need your savvy about fires and
interrogation.”

On a slow grin, he tipped his head toward her hands. “Must
be hard to admit you can’t do everything. Give up some of your independence.”

She sniffed. “Only temporary.”

The DHPD had no leads on the hit-and-run. Eliminating
a few lead-footed fishermen and teens with dark-colored trucks was the extent
of the progress. She, on the other hand, had a lead. Maybe Tyson’s notes would
provide a clue. Anxiety and hope bubbled inside her.

*****

When the scene of Lani’s near disaster loomed ahead,
Jake cast a sideways glance at her.

Mouth compressed and shoulders tight, she stared
through the mist at the severed guardrail of the Devil’s Elbow as if daring it
to intimidate her. As the Cherokee took the sharp curve and passed the site, she
exhaled.

“Nerve-racking, driving this yesterday?”

“Wasn’t bad. Like getting on a horse after falling.”

“Atta girl.”

She glared at him, but with teasing in her hazel eyes.
“
Girl?
”

“
Atta woman
doesn’t resonate.” When she started
to object, he added, “No more than
atta man
. But I stand corrected.
Woman.
All
woman.”

Color rose in her cheeks and she turned to look out
the passenger window.

The bravado and longing in her defenses tightened his
chest. He had to admit he wanted the truth almost as much as she did. And she
roused all his protective instincts when he should take a U-turn. No one should
trust him for protection. If the retired investigator had nothing new, maybe he
could persuade Lani to quit. And the harbor’s rock dragon was a living sea
monster.

The road took them through D Harbor with its antique
Cape Cod and Federal-period houses. Outside the village, private roads led to
houses hidden in stands of spruce, birch, and hackmatack. The verdant fields of
a farm rolled down to the bay. Cattle grazed in one and a woman on a tractor
was mowing the first hay crop in another. When he’d worked as sternman on his
uncle’s lobster boat, he admired those same fields from the water. Good to see
some things hadn’t changed since those days.

He slanted a glance toward Lani. Getting her talking
might open up other topics. “You said your mom was on a cruise. What about your
dad?”

“In his office, I suppose.” She hunched a shoulder in
a gesture of nonchalance. “My parents are divorced. They’ve both remarried.”

A rift with her dad? He wondered, but she didn’t seem
interested in expanding. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

She turned toward him, her expression softened. “It’s
okay, mostly. But your dad died years ago, when you were just a kid. It must’ve
been hard, losing him like that.”

The first sympathetic thing she’d said. “Thanks. I
guess you never knew him. The boat was swamped by a freak wave. Neither he nor
his sternman had a chance.”

“How’s your mom? Is she still in Portland?” She turned
away as if embarrassed to indulge in small talk.

His fingers tightened on the wheel. “She retired
awhile ago, bought a little house in Bayport. But now she’s at Pine View Rest.”

“My God, Jake, I’m so sorry. What happened?”

Her empathetic tone cracked open his defenses about
Grace. Lani’d known her in much better times. “When she started forgetting
things, neither of us—Hank and me—realized what the decline meant. We were
clueless idiots. Gradually she lost it. Stopped seeing her friends. Drove
through traffic lights, wandered the East Road. Got lost in Bayport.”

“Dementia. Alzheimer’s?”

“Early onset. And meds for acid reflux weakened her
bones. After she broke her hip in November, my brother took care of things. She
couldn’t really participate in physical therapy so she’s in a wheelchair.”

“A third reason you’re back in Maine. Her care is up
to you now? Where’s Hank?”

“He manages a boat yard in Portland. Has a wife and
son. We see each other more now I’m here.”

She pressed her tongue to her upper lip and then
turned away. Was she thinking about what he’d told her or was he reading too
much into her silence? Lani could have a sharp tongue but when people were
hurting, she was always kind.