Perfectly Matched (23 page)

“Who’s Blackie?” I whispered.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I am. It’s the nickname my mother used to call me.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was bedlam at the scene of the fire on
Maple Street
. The media was out in full force, and dozens of firefighters and police milled about. Onlookers crowded the sidewalks and front porches.

Sean, Sam, and I stood at the street corner, looking on in silence.

Thankfully no one had been hurt in the blaze, but there was barely anything left to the house. It lay in blackened ruins.

Sean’s jaw was locked in a clench, while Sam looked ravaged.

I was still reeling from the revelation that Sean’s mother had been the energy bothering Annie, and I also took some satisfaction in that.

Annie deserved to be bothered.

A lot.

I was grateful to Sean’s mom.

On the way here, I shared with Sean what Dr. Paul had said about the spirit surrounding Sean. He hadn’t said anything in reply, and we spent the rest of the drive over in silence.

When he fell in love with me, he probably hadn’t counted on all the psychic baggage that came along. Even more of it now that I had psychic sidekicks and more and more abilities.

I was starting to wonder if it would be too much for him to handle.

Maybe not right now... But someday.

Was Cupid’s Curse at work?

Sam shifted his feet and said, “We couldn’t have known.”

It was a sentiment that had been voiced several times over the past hour.

We couldn’t have known it was Sean the arsonist had been after all along.

That the fires hadn’t been targeting places that related to Sam but to
Sean
.

Everything from the DCF fire to Sam’s house—where Sean had temporarily lived for a few months. Someone had researched Sean’s life. Knew it inside out.

Eating at me was the fact that it should have been Sean in hiding not Sam. Yet, we’d been oblivious to the danger.

Why hadn’t the arsonist simply burned down my cottage?

Why was he toying with us?

Despite the heat, I shivered. I couldn’t help but feel that we were pawns in some evil game.

One of the firefighters on the scene broke away and walked over to us. As he neared, I could see it was Curt Meister. And he didn’t look happy to see us.

Dark ash dusted his coat, his helmet. His face shield was pushed up atop his helmet and his scowl would have made me shudder if I didn’t already have the chills.

“Damn it, Sean,” he said tightly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Angrily, Sam said, “Wait a second, Curt. You don’t understand. The arsonist is after Sean.” Sam explained about the relevance of the house that had burned down, and how Sean was tied to the other places on the list.

Curt swore under his breath. “Go home, Sean. I’ll try to steer the investigation in another direction, but your name keeps coming up. You’re making things worse for yourself being here.”

I nudged Sean with my elbow. “We should go.”

Sean looked at me, long and hard. Finally, he nodded. He turned on his heel and walked away.

Sam followed, jogging to catch up to him.

I said to Curt, “You’ve got to catch this guy.”

His eyes narrowed at me. Sweat and grime covered his face. “Just keep Sean away, okay?” Pivoting, he stomped away, the acrid smell of extinguished fire trailing after him.

I watched him go until he was undistinguishable from the other firefighters; all dressed alike in their heavy coats.

Finally, I turned and started making my way back to the car. My crutches were rubbing raw the skin under my arms, and my hands were slick with sweat.

The forecasters hadn’t been exaggerating the heat.

Ahead, Sean and Sam waited for me at the corner. I could tell by the set of Sean’s shoulders that he was absolutely beside himself. With anger. With sadness. With helplessness.

In turn, I felt those things, too.

And as I neared them, I couldn’t help the kernel of suspicion growing in my head. About firefighters who liked to be heroes.

About how desperately Curt wanted to keep Sean away from the scenes of these fires.

***

“I found her!”
Preston
threw open my door, startling Ebbie, who bolted for the bedroom.

Grendel paid
Preston
no mind. He had a new favorite spot in the house—inside the bassinet. He was beside himself with happiness. Sean and Sam were outside, walking Thoreau. All the way home, we’d bandied ideas on who could be the arsonist. Who would frame Sean. Who were his enemies.

They both dismissed my suggestion of Curt Meister.

I, however, hadn’t crossed him off my list.

“Who?” I asked, setting aside my laptop. I’d been searching Sean’s P.I. databases for Curt’s name to see if anything suspicious popped up. No red flags yet. Good credit, money in the bank, responsible homeowner. No arrest record.

Damn him.

“Orlinda! It took forever to track down the hotel the convention is using. I left her a message to call you as soon as she could, that it was an emergency, life or death, blah, blah, blah.”

She sat across from me, and despite the enthusiasm in her voice, she looked even worse than she had this morning. Pale, drawn. Not healthy at all.

“If that doesn’t make her call you back within the next couple of hours, then we start worrying about her.”

“You’re amazing,” I said. “I didn’t even think to contact the hotel.”

“I know. I’m a genius.”

“Modest, too.”

“Don’t forget cute as a button.”

I smiled. “Cuter than a button.”

“Don’t make me blush.”

I wish I could—it would add color to her cheeks. As nonchalantly as I could, I said, “What time is your appointment today? I can go with you. Nothing is going on here except waiting for someone to come burn down the house.”

“You have a sick sense of humor, Lucy Valentine.” She shook her head. “Waiting for someone to burn down the house. Sheesh.”

I sat up straight. “Say that again.”

“Sheesh?”

“No, the part before that!”

“Waiting for someone to burn down the house?”

I snapped my fingers. “That’s it!”

She grinned. “Glad I could help. Now, what’s ‘
it
?’”

“We’ve been going about finding this arsonist the wrong way, trying to figure out who it could be, who would have motive, that sort of thing.”

“Isn’t that the way investigations are usually done?”

I peered out the window, wondering where Sean was. I couldn’t wait to share my plan with him. “Sometimes you have to think outside the box.”

“I hate that saying. Think outside the box. What does that even mean?”

I said, “It means that we need to set a trap.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Your question has no answer.”

“I’m confused,” she said, holding her head.

“What time is your appointment?” I asked, smiling.

She peeked out at me through one eye. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“You think you know me so well.”

“The appointment?”

“At three, and I don’t need a chaperone. I’m a big girl.”

I gave her the hairy eyeball, not sure I believed her. She stared back, unblinking.

“I’m coming with you,” I said.

“We’ll see about that.”

We continued to have a stare-down before she finally said, “Have you talked to Em today?”

I wasn’t fooled by the change of subject, but I let it go for now because my eyes were getting gritty from not blinking. “Not yet. Have you heard how the recon went?”

“Complete dud. Aiden didn’t leave his house all night. No one went in or out, either. They tried to sneak a peek inside the house, but Aiden had all the blinds closed. He went to bed at eleven, and they went home.”

“How high was their disappointment level?”

“Marisol’s was off-the-charts. You know how she likes catching people in the act. But Em? I think she was plain-old relieved. What do you think is going on with Aiden?”

“I’m not sure.” If I had time this afternoon, I’d try to track him down. I’d be able to get a much better feel for what was going on if I saw him face to face.

Preston
said, “My article about the Diviner Whiners is almost done. My editor wants me to hold off on finishing it until Graham...you know.”

I glanced at the pink bear, which shared the bassinet with Grendel, and felt the ache in my heart. The editor would want the conclusion to the story. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

The phone rang, and thankfully I had the portable sitting on the coffee table. I didn’t recognize the number and almost let it go through to voicemail until I remembered that Orlinda was supposed to call.

I cautiously answered, ready to do battle with a telemarketer if need be.

Orlinda’s voice came across the line loud and clear. “What in the hell is going on up there, Lucy Valentine?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I leave for a couple of days and all hell breaks loose?” Orlinda said. “Start at the beginning and tell me everything. And don’t you dare leave out one single detail.”

I spent the next ten minutes filling her in and wondering where Sean and Sam had gone. Thoreau’s walk should have been long over with.

Preston
had fallen asleep on the couch.

Orlinda hadn’t called me back because she hadn’t received the messages. She’d lost her phone between leaving my office and flying out to
Chicago
.

“You have to find a safe house,” Orlinda said.

I’d been thinking about that. Staying here wasn’t safe. Dovie would have to move out, too. And Em.

I was suddenly mad at this arsonist for disrupting our lives.

I watched the rhythmic rise and fall of
Preston
’s chest. I could feel in my bones that there was something seriously wrong with her. “A hotel, I guess. But I have to find some place that takes a dog, two cats, and a hamster.”

“I’d let you stay at my place, except I’m allergic to cats.”

That’s right. It was why she had dropped Ebbie off at Jeremy’s.

Or so she claimed. I still wasn’t convinced about her motives.

Now wasn’t the time to get into that, though. There were much more important things to think about.

Sean and I and our menagerie couldn’t stay at my mother’s house like the last time a psycho had forced us from our home. The arsonist undoubtedly knew to look for us there. Same with Raphael’s. I couldn’t put him and Maggie in danger.

“Let me think, let me think...” Orlinda said, and I could easily picture her tapping her chin.

“While you’re thinking, I should tell you that you missed several other calls as well.” I told her about Dr. Paul’s and my visions. And about Graham’s.

Silence stretched along the line. “I’ll call and speak to them,” she said softly.

Preston
shifted, letting out a sigh.

“Orlinda, do you remember when you healed my stomach?”

It was at our first meeting, and I’d been utterly perplexed by what happened.

“Of course.”

“Can you heal over the phone?”

I heard the smile in her voice. “I cannot heal broken bones, Lucy Valentine.”

“It’s not for me,” I said. “It’s
Preston
.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t know. Do you think you can help?”

“Not until I return. My energy to heal comes through palms. I will try to get on an earlier flight. I feel my presence is needed more with you than with the psychologists’ association.”

Selfishly, I wanted her here. She was a safe harbor in what was turning out to be quite the storm.

I heard her inhale sharply. “I have an idea about where you can stay.”

“Where?”

“With Jeremy Cross. I’m sure he’ll agree.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like him.”

She laughed. “You don’t know him. Give him a chance. You can trust him. I promise.”

I frowned.

“I can sense your frown, Lucy Valentine. You must remember that some scars run deeper than what’s on the surface. Wounds run deep.”

What was she trying to say? I pictured Jeremy’s scar, the one that ran along his jaw, and wondered how he got it. “Who is he?”

“A friend,” she said. “I’ll have him call you. Stay strong, Lucy. Your inner strength is your greatest strength, but your impulsiveness is your biggest weakness. Look before you leap.”