Perfectly Matched (20 page)

It felt a little hinky to me, but it made me wonder what he wanted to ask us.

As we slowed to a stop, Sean looked over at me.

“What?” I asked at the question in his eyes.

His fingers stilled on the steering wheel. “How did you see that fire last night? You don’t have those kinds of dreams.”

By just thinking about it, the scent of gasoline filled my nostrils. “I can’t explain it. Maybe Orlinda’s teachings are finally breaking through. Maybe this work on
Bethany
’s case has opened up my
psychic channels
.” I said that last part using finger quotes. Orlinda was always harping on about psychic channels, and I’d never paid much mind. It sounded so...
phony
.

Yet, clearly, it wasn’t.

“The dream was so real. It was as if I was there, that I was the one dousing the place in gasoline. The one who lit the match. I saw everything through the arsonist’s eyes.”

“Did you feel what he was feeling, too?”

“No.” Thank God. “My emotions were still in place. The horror at what I was seeing, the panic...”

“The readings you had on
Bethany
, were they the same? Seeing things through her eyes?”

“I was definitely seeing things through her point of view.”

“Yet, with
Bethany
, you saw the past. And with the arsonist you saw the present.”

Would I eventually be able to see the future? “I don’t know how it works. It just happens, and I can’t seem to control when it does.”

Traffic inched along. “You’ll figure it out, Lucy. Patience.”

I playfully punched his arm. “When have you ever known me to be patient?”

His dimples popped. “You were really patient last night on the living room floor.”

Heat climbed my neck. “That wasn’t patience. It was savoring. There’s difference.”

“We’ll have to put that to the test.”

Whoa! It was getting hot in here. I needed to put this subject back on track. “It’ll be nice when Orlinda finally calls me back. I have so many questions...”

And not nearly enough answers.

Chapter Twenty

Curt Meister looked nervous.

Fidgeting. Looking over his shoulder. Tapping his fingers on the tabletop.

His anxiety was contagious, as I was starting to feel extremely agitated.

Curt’s blue eyes darted between us. “All hell’s about to break loose in the department over that missing matchstick,” he said.

Sean said, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I never thought in a million years the cat would eat it.” He pushed his coffee mug between his hands. “I can take the blame. Say I stole when I was at the station yesterday.”

“I appreciate that,” Curt said, “but I’d rather not visit you in prison. Listen, evidence is lost all the time.”

That statement didn’t exactly reassure me.

“Things are misplaced. Items are not labeled correctly. It happens. Unfortunate, but true. There are plenty of other matchsticks to build a solid case.”

“But?” Sean said.

“There are whispers,” Curt said, glancing over his shoulder. He looked back at us and ran a hand over his thick dark hair.

Sean stiffened next to me.

“What kind of whispers?” I asked. Condensation slid down the sides of my plastic cup. The mocha-colored iced coffee inside no longer held any appeal.

“I don’t know how to say this,” he said.

Sean gripped his mug. “Just spit it out.”

Curt said, “You’re under suspicion, Sean.”

“What?” I cried. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s not,” Sean said.

I glanced at him. “Did you forget that I was lying in bed next to you last night when Sam’s house went up in flames?”

Sean gave me a half-hearted smile. “There’s no forgetting that. But that’s not what I meant. It makes sense that I’m under suspicion. It’s not unheard of for firefighters to turn into firebugs.”

“Especially,” Curt said, “when it’s a firefighter who didn’t willingly leave his job. One who has a girlfriend who mysteriously predicts when the fires are going to be set. I don’t suppose you saw a face in your vision, Lucy? A reflection from a mirror or a window? Some sort of description to give the investigators.”

I thought back to the vision, really concentrated on looking for anything that would reveal the arsonist’s identity. “No.”

“You said you saw his hands? Were his nails clean cut? Jagged? Did he wear a wedding band?”

“He wore blue latex gloves.” Disappointment washed over me. “I can’t even say for sure if he’s black or white.”

Curt stared at his own hands, twisted his wedding band back and forth. “That’s too bad.”

Anger bubbled up in me. This was ridiculous. “And what would Sean’s motive be to target his own brother?”

“It might not even be about Sam per se.” Curt glanced toward the front door, then at me. “Motive for fires is usually either revenge, or about being a hero.”

“A hero?” I said. “How?”

“By solving the crimes,” he said. “Or by putting out the fires himself. Saving the day.”

My head started to hurt. “How would he solve the crime if he’s the one doing it?”

“By having a fall guy,” Sean said, his voice flat.

“Like the victim in the hospital,” Curt added. “The one who wasn’t supposed to live.”

I let the information sink in. “So is someone framing Sean?”

“Maybe,” Curt said. “Or maybe not.”

That was clear.

“But now the investigation is going to focus on Sean, right?”

“Looks that way,” Curt said.

“So whoever is setting these fires is going to get away scot-free.”

“Not if I can help it,” Sean said.

Curt leaned in. “That’s why I came today. To advise you to lay low. If your search for the arsonist and the arsonist’s path overlap, the investigators are still going to have you on their radar. Stay out of this, Sean. I’m asking you as a friend.”

Staring into his mug, Sean said, “I’ll think about it.”

He was lying. I could tell by the tone of his voice. He was simply placating instead of arguing.

I suspected Curt knew so, too.

He threw another look over his shoulder. “I should go. It wouldn’t be good for us to be seen together.”

“Wait,” I said. “Did you get an ID on the victim of last night’s fire?”

“Yeah. Just a kid, only twenty-two. Petty crimes. Purse-snatchings, shoplifting, that kind of thing. The investigators think he was hired to steal your purse, and the arsonist was going to use him to take the blame for the fires.”

I couldn’t even fathom that the investigators believed that person was Sean.

“He’s going to live?” Sean asked.

“Fifty-fifty. Right now he’s in a medically induced coma. Hopefully, when he wakes up he’ll be able to ID the person who hired him.”

Curt’s eyes lasered in on Sean, and for a split second I had the feeling that Curt didn’t believe in Sean’s innocence.

“Did you find out if there was a matchstick at the DCF fire?” I asked.

“There wasn’t one that was found,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one there.”

Big help that was.

Standing, Curt said, “Think about what I said about lying low.”

Sean nodded, and Curt turned and walked out the door.

We sat side by side for a few silent minutes. Anger pulsed through me.

“What’s going through your pretty little head, Ms. Valentine?” Sean finally asked.

“Screw Curt’s advice. We have to find this guy.”

Sean’s lip twitched before he broke into a wide smile. “That’s my girl.”

“And then we’re going to make him pay.”

“Now who’s the vindictive one?” he asked.

I grinned. “You’ve taught me well.”

***

“Drink this,” I said, shoving a bottle of water into
Preston
’s hand. “You look like you’re going to pass out again.”

She leaned back on my couch and twisted the cap off the water. I leaned my crutches against the hearth and dropped into my favorite chair. Grendel immediately hopped into my lap and meowed until I rubbed his ears and scratched his back.

“The arsonist is after Sam?”
Preston
said, her face still pale. “I mean, I’ve been reading about the Beantown Burner, but I had no idea how close to home the story hit. Where is Sam now?”

“He’s been hiding with Raphael.” Sun peeked out from behind fluffy clouds and sent sunbeams streaming in the large windows of my living room. “But right now he and Sean are together, trying to come up with a bigger list of suspects.”

Thoreau looked up from his spot on the floor, where he was basking in the sunshine. He yawned and put his head back onto his paws and closed his eyes. He looked as peaceful as could be, and I suddenly envied him for that.

I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been truly stress-free.

I propped my booted foot up on the coffee table and reached down for Grendel’s comb in the basket of his toys next to the chair.

“You should have told me,”
Preston
said. A pout pulled the corners of her kewpie lips downward.

“If you hadn’t snuck out of the hospital last night, you would have already known.”

Her nose wrinkled. “But Lucy... Dr. Death. I had to get out of there.”

I noticed her face still didn’t hold any color. “Did you make a follow-up appointment with your family doctor? Because you don’t look too well.”

“I love you, too,” she said sarcastically.

“You know what I mean.” I rocked in my chair as I combed Grendel’s fur. His purrs vibrated against my stomach. “I’m starting to worry.”

She set the water bottle on the table. “Well, don’t. I’m fine. It was just all that death. It got to me after a while.”

I could understand that.

“Dr. Paul got to me,” she added. “I can’t believe you don’t think he’s creepy.”

I wasn’t about to admit I kind of liked him. “Is this about the skull collection?” I explained what he had said. And how yes, technically, he lived with his mother, but it was in a duplex. Each owned a side.

“Well, he’s lying to you, Lucy.”

I stopped rocking. “About what?”

“Those skulls.” A guilty flush climbed her neck. It was nice to see some color
brighten
her up a bit. “I have a friend of a friend of a friend and he did me a favor.”

Oh no. “What did you do?” Because I could tell it was something big.

She examined a fingernail. “He hacked into the hospital’s system and counted all the death certificates Dr. Paul has signed off on. It’s the exact number of skulls he’s collected. How do you explain that? The exact number?”

“You counted the skulls?”

Another guilty flush. She was starting to look downright rosy. “Yes! I snuck back in there this afternoon, before I came here. I had to be sure.”

I focused on Grendel’s tail, gently tugging out the knots with the comb. His tail fluffed out, looking a lot like an orange feather duster. “Be sure of what?”

“Hello,” she said. “That he’s a serial killer?”

“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” I said, not believing it even as the words came out of my mouth.

“Right.”

“Okay,” I admitted. “That’s creepy. But it doesn’t make him a serial killer.” I hoped. I would hate to think my instincts about him could be so wrong.

“You need to get out of that Diviner Whiner group. Whack jobs, every last one of them, including your crazy leader.” She blinked at me. “Well, except for you.”

I thought about Annie. When I went to call her back, I realized that I’d left her number at my father’s penthouse. I tried calling her store, but no one answered. I also tried Suz, who told me that she deleted all Annie’s calls, and defended the fact that even though she had listened to a bazillion messages, she hadn’t memorized the phone number.

Annie was just going to have to wait. “You’re still mad at Orlinda, I see.”

Her lip jutted. “Why can’t she just tell me what the big upheaval is? It’s ridiculous to make me wait and see.”

I dropped the comb back into the basket and told Grendel how handsome he was. He purred happily. Studying
Preston
, I dove head first into some tricky water. “Do you think the big upheaval has to do with Cutter?”

“What makes you say that?” she snapped.

Repressing a smile, I shrugged. “I don’t know. You two are getting pretty serious.”

“Are not.”

Maybe Cutter was right about
Preston
’s disposition lately. She had engagement anxiety. I thought about his silence when I asked him if he’d considered proposing and had the feeling
Preston
had no need to worry.