Opal Fire (7 page)

He tapped my shoulder and instantly my head swirled and I faltered. The bar was close enough to steady my stance as I watched the pair leave. Then a picture of Kirk McAllister flashed in my head. His face streaked with water, he was bent over muddy earth, shoveling dirt onto a fresh grave.

I shivered. What was that? A memory? Something that had happened long ago? Or something that was about to take place?

The picture still in my mind, I pushed open the door to the newspaper offices.

“About time,” Parker said, looking at his watch. He flicked the face, then lifted his wrist to his ear, frowning.

“Sorry, boss. I was in the field conducting interviews.”

I had to walk past him to turn down the hall to my office.

“You smell like beer,” he said. He sniffed my hair. “And some kind of spicy cigar.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say? The field is stinky.” I tossed Parker a grin and told him I’d have the story on his desk in an hour.

I twisted the key to my office, dropped my bag on the chair near the door, and screamed bloody hell.

“Take it easy, Miss J,” Derek said, a smug look on his face.

I clutched at my chest, making sure my heart was still beating and glared at Derek. He had the nerve to put his feet on my desk and lean back in my chair.

The pent up anger was too much. I walked over to him and flung his ankles over his head. He crashed to the floor and papers swam through the room. I reached for the ritual sword I kept propped beneath my desk. Birdie had given it to me when I started this job. It was adorned with the three muses, each holding a tiny crystal ball.

I bent the sword toward Derek’s neck.

“Why do you insist on screwing with me?” I demanded.

Derek’s line-free face gathered just enough wrinkle to let me know that he was about to piss himself.

“Hey, I just wanted to give you the pictures, I swear.”

“How did you get in?”

“The door was unlocked.”

I added more pressure.

“Okay, okay. I picked the lock.”

I picked up one of the papers and scanned the text. It seemed to be from an abstract on a piece of property.

“Gladys got that information you wanted. You know, from the building.” Derek said, trying to smile. “Can I get up now?”

“Where are the photos?”

“Really, this isn’t funny anymore.”

Parker walked in then, eating a bear claw and said, “Woops, I’ll come back.”

“Wait, get her off me!” Derek squeaked.

Parker paused. He looked at me and raised one eyebrow.

“Creative differences,” I shrugged.

He sighed and slid a chair over to my desk.

“Why can’t you two play nice?” he asked.

“Because he is a weasel,” I said.

“And she’s a nut job,” Derek said.

Parker considered this and polished off the bear claw.

“Stacy, I know you’re very protective of your work. But have you considered the fact that collaborating with Derek could make it that much better? He is talented, trust me. I didn’t hire him for his looks.” He glanced down. “And Derek, you can’t string two words together. Stick with what you know.”

Derek blinked.

I really could use a decent photographer. But I could do without the bullshit.

“I have terms,” I said.

“Go on,” Parker mediated.

“No more sneaking up on me, breaking into my office, or following me.”

Parker glanced at Derek. Derek nodded.

“Done,” Parker said.

“He does what I say, when I say it, and he respects that I am his superior.”

Derek slid his eyes sideways.

“Seems reasonable,” Parker nudged.

Derek rolled his eyes and nodded.

“One more thing,” I said, as Parker stood.

“What?”

“Thor takes his nap in Derek’s office.”

Derek shrugged and I got up.

“Hey, no prob. I like dogs,” he said, straightening his shirt.

Parker and I exchanged a knowing glance.

CHAPTER 8

An hour later, I emailed the story to Parker, packed up the research and stepped into the night. The sky was black, stamped with a crescent moon and a kaleidoscope of stars. Leo was waiting for me inside his Mustang.

He jumped out and grabbed my bag, packed with Derek’s photos and the abstract and tossed it on the back seat. Derek had chosen a picture of the Opal spitting out bright orange flames, a fireman battling them, to run with the story. Everything else, he passed off to me.

I squeezed the door handle, but Leo stopped me and spun me into his chest. He gazed down at me, the crisp scent of his aftershave inviting me to lean into him. So I did.

He cupped my chin, his hands still warm from the car, and hungrily sunk his lips into mine. I slipped my arms beneath his leather jacket and melted into him for what seemed like forever. When he finally pulled away, he opened the door and tucked me into the car without a word.

If we never had to speak to each, our relationship would be perfect.

“Did you find anything out?” We asked at the same time.

I laughed.

“You first,” he said. He shifted the gears expertly and pointed the car towards Angelica’s bakery.

“Well, not exactly. Your CoPs were wasted so they were no help at all, but I had an interesting encounter with the McAllister brothers.”

Leo glanced at me. “And?”

I told him about the image of Kirk at the gravesite.

At the mention of my vision, Leo cringed.

“Hey, I don’t know if it means anything.” I tried not to get defensive whenever this subject came up, because I myself didn’t understand it, nor did I necessarily buy into it. But the image was vivid, strong enough to knock me off balance.

“Maybe it was a memory from the past. A friend or a neighbor’s funeral?” Leo offered as he cut the engine behind the bakery.

My voice had an edge when I spoke. “Why do I bother telling you these things? You never believe me.”

“Whoa. In my defense,
you
don’t believe you.”

“That’s not the point.”

That was exactly the point, but he should believe
in
me, at least. Even if I didn’t. I shook my head.

“Forget it,” I said and exited the car.

Leo got out too and shut his door. “I’m just saying it might not mean anything.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I reached into the backseat and pulled out my work bag. There was really no point in discussing it. I had a job to do and so did he.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I have to go over some things with Cinnamon. Derek—” I cut myself short. Leo couldn’t know that Derek snapped those photos in the basement. If he did, he might confiscate them for evidence.

He narrowed his eyes at me over the roof of the car. “Derek what?” he said slowly.

I fumbled for a lie. “He was looking through the abstract of the Opal–that’s the entire history of ownership–and he thought it might be helpful, so he gave it to me.” I chewed my lip.

It wasn’t technically a lie.

“Let me see it.” Leo said, always the cop, suspicious to the core.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Reporters’ code of ethics. Can’t reveal my source.”

“It’s not a source, its public information.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, chief, if you don’t believe me...”

Praying to the Goddess that the photos were buried beneath the document, I pulled out the thick envelope.

I slid it over to him via the roof of the car. Leo caught it, unhooked the tie, and thumbed through the pages. After a minute or two, he walked around the car and handed the envelope back to me, his face softer.

“I’m sorry,” he said and reached for my hand.

I snapped it away. “No you’re not,” I said and stuffed the abstract into my bag.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I met his stare. “You are who you are. You can’t turn off being a cop.”

“And you,” he tapped the bag, “can’t turn off being a reporter. This is supposed to be our night and you’ll be working. Again.” He folded his arms in protest.

“This is different and you know it. I have to—”

“Hey!”

We both looked up. Aunt Angelica was standing on the upper deck of the building. “You gonna smooch all night or you gonna eat, hah?” She waved a meaty arm. “Come on,
mangia
!”

We both forced a smile and trudged up the stairs. Angelica hugged me, then Leo and ushered us inside.

The crisp scent of lemon mingled with roasted garlic as I stepped into the small kitchen. My stomach growled in anticipation.

Cinnamon, Tony, and Mario were spread around the dining room table in the next room. My cousin and her husband both looked exhausted. Leo shook Tony’s hand and they began chatting about basketball. I crouched to hug Cinnamon, but Mario interrupted.

“There she is. How you doing,
mi belisimo
?” He snatched me away from Cin and pulled me into a hug, which put him at perfect boob-sniffing height since I was taller than him.

I pulled away, choking on that awful cologne he marinated in.

“Hi, Mario,” I said.

He pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and said, “How come you not married, yet, hah?” This was directed at my rack.

“Well, I’m still practicing, I guess.” I willed his eyes to travel up.

Mario slapped his knee and chuckled. I looked to Cin for assistance.

She got up and put an arm around Mario. “Why don’t you go on the porch and smoke that, Uncle Mario?”

“But it’s cold,” he said to Cin’s cleavage. “Your mama won’t mind.”

“Mario!” Angelica barked from the doorway.

“
Un momento
, Angelica. I was just talking to Stacy, hah?” Mario liked to end most sentences with a question.

“Now, Mario,” Angelica growled.

Mario looked at me and shrugged. “Women, hah? She thinks because she older she still can boss me.” Mario searched for a match, pulled out a packet from Down and Dirty and glanced back at Angelica. She had a good fifty pounds on him, and he decided it might be easier to abide by her wishes.

I watched him leave as Cinnamon poured me a glass of wine.

“How long is he staying?” I asked when she handed me the Chianti.

“Probably until I’ve plucked every strand of hair out of my head.” She moved to the floral sofa and I joined her. “Now he wants to be my lawyer. For a fee, of course.” Besides boob watching, drinking, and cologne shopping, Mario’s favorite pastime was scamming people out of their money. Cin continued. “He thinks it’s a shame that the insurance agent would refuse a payout.” She sipped her wine and puffed out her chest, mimicking her uncle. “In Italy,” she began in a deep voice, “buildings burn all the time. You have problem, you burn building. Nobody mind.” Cin looked at me. “Can you believe that? Like I really did it. What a jackass.”

Ugh. I’d have to keep an eye on Mario. “We need to go over a few things, Cin. Tonight, okay?”

She nodded.

Dinner was delicious and uneventful. Leo and I stole glances across the table every so often, but there was a distinct nip in the air. In between idle conversation, bites of steak, and false smiles, his jaw was set, indicating he was still angry.

My anger faded after the second portion of pasta and the first Chianti, but I didn’t have the energy to smooth things over with him. Maybe after dinner.

Leo’s phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. He clicked a button, paused for a minute at the display and shook his head.

“Damn,” he mumbled. “I have to go.”

“What’s up?” asked Tony.

“The Shelby farm.”

“The goats again?” Tony asked.

Leo stood up and sighed. “Yep.”

“What is it this time?” Cin asked.

“Someone strung battery-operated Christmas tree lights around them and opened the gate. Damn things are wandering all over the road, flashing and blinking.”

Leo looked at me and said, “I’ll call you later.” Then he thanked Angelica and slipped out of the dining room.

My cousin and I cleared the table, despite Angelica’s protests. When I went back into the dining room to retrieve my bag, Mario had his greasy hands in it.

“Mario! What are you doing?” I snatched the bag from him, but he had the abstract sprawled on the table already.

“What I do?” he asked. His pants were unbuckled and a caper clung to his chin.

I gathered the papers, mopped at the sauce stains and said, “You don’t go through a woman’s things. Shame on you.”

Mario raised his eyebrows. “
Mi scuzi.
” His voice was mocking, as if I were the nosy pig in this scenario.

I shook my head at Cinnamon, who had no trouble reprimanding bad behavior, even dishing out punishments, but this was her uncle. She was raised to respect her elders, but I could tell she was considering a showdown.

I heard the sound of running water and Tony emerged from the bathroom a minute later.

We all turned towards him and he said, “What did I miss?”

“Tony, take Uncle Mario out for a drink,” Cin said.

“But I got no money,” Mario whined.

“It’s okay,” Tony said, eyes locked on his bride. “It’ll be on me.” He didn’t seem too thrilled about it and I didn’t blame him one bit.

“No,” I said. “You stay here. Cin and I will go to the cottage.”

He didn’t bother to hide his relief. I imagined letting Mario loose to prowl was worse than containing him in the apartment.

I kissed my aunt goodbye and Cin and I traipsed out the door. Her Trans Am was parked in the back lot and we piled in.

I unlocked the door to my cottage and Cin walked in first. Most people don’t lock their doors around town, but it was a habit I picked up living in the city that I couldn’t break.

I had been in the house for about three months, but I still wasn’t used to Fiona’s taste. The place was a tidy, one-bedroom with a Jacuzzi in the living room. The carpet was leopard print, the focal point a giant shoe chair and the drapes looked like they were ripped off from Caesar’s Palace. See what I mean? Not quite my style.

I fed Moonlight and Thor in the pink kitchen and spread the photos and the paperwork over the counter. Cin sat across from me and I passed her a water bottle.

“What are we looking at?” she asked.

I reached for a magnifying glass and we examined the first photograph. “Derek snuck into the basement and snapped a few shots. Something felt strange about the corner behind the stairs, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.”

“Do, do, do, do...” Cinnamon sang.

“Knock it off.”

The first few shots were of the fire itself. The blaze was so bright it practically leapt off the page and heated the room. The next few shots were of the town. Main Street, buildings, people milling about, gawking, CoPs getting in the way, and the kid.

The kid! He was right there in one of the snapshots. Only it was just the back of his head. I touched it and there it was again. The feeling of a spider crawling up my back.

“Cin, that’s the kid I saw.” I pointed.

“All I see is the back of someone’s head.”

I held the magnifying glass to the image.

Cin squinted. “Oh, that’s Chip Lewis. He helps out once in a while. I hired him a couple months ago to wash floors, move stock, that kind of thing.” She lifted her eyes to me. “But he wasn’t there that day. He had some school function. Chip only shows up when he feels like it.”

I frowned.

“Stacy, I know what you’re thinking and there is no way that boy started the fire. He’s a punk, but he isn’t evil.”

“Why is he a punk?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He’s got a mouth on him and I think he’s lifted a few beers. I can’t prove it, though.”

“Then why is working for you?”

“Well, he isn’t now,” she looked at me pointedly. “But I was in a bind when Bay left and I needed someone who only wanted to work a few hours a week. I didn’t know he had his head up his ass.” Bay was Cin’s brother. He left to play in a band in California after the New Year.

We scoured the other photos. There was debris all over the charred floor. Broken glass, stray nails, and an old tin sign. I got up to stretch and Cin shrieked.

“I knew it!” she said.

“What?”

“Look.” She tilted the magnifying glass to the last photo and shined it on a pack of matches. I peered in. The label read
Down and Dirty
.

“That bitch!” Cin hopped off her stool and Thor barked.

I lifted the picture and something else caught my eye.

“Cin, calm down. Monique was at her place that night,” I said.