Sinister (24 page)

“Yeah, scare me.” She looked past him. “Where’s Jen?”

“Still in bed. What are you doing up so early?”

“Seems to be the question of the day. I have a job,” Delilah reminded him shortly. “This wedding is supposedly coming off in a few days and it’s not going to do it by itself.”

When he didn’t respond, she shot him a look, seeing tension on his face. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

He swept off his hat and ran a hand through his auburn hair. He looked a lot like Colt, with maybe a little more Dillinger added in. He and Jen lived in Colorado, where he ran his own smaller ranch while Jen raised their children.

“Does something have to be wrong?” he parried.

“Word games. Great. Just what I’m looking for.”

Tyler walked up to the fireplace and gazed down at the ashes left over from the blaze Ira had built the night before. “Well, there is something.”

“Mmm.”

“Jen and I aren’t . . . getting along too well.”

Delilah thought about her earlier remarks about love with Ricki. She hadn’t considered Jen and Tyler, maybe because it seemed like they’d been married forever, since right out of high school. “Oh. Just going through a bit of a rough patch ... ?”

“Rough,” he said, grimacing.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Jen wanted to come to Dad’s wedding and I didn’t. She loves this kind of stuff and I can’t stand it, and let’s face it, she always wants to remind Dad that she’s a Dillinger, too, now. Doesn’t want to be forgotten.”

Delilah looked at Tyler closely. Even though Tyler was only two years younger than she was, he’d always seemed to be in his own world when they were kids. Delilah didn’t know him as well as she did Colton and Ricki, but on the other hand, she probably knew him better than they did. Their youngest sister, Nell, was the “oops” baby who’d shown up seven years after Tyler, so none of them had ever been as close to her in the same way. Now Delilah realized, with something of a surprise, that she was probably Tyler’s go-to ear in the family.

“What are you saying?” she asked him.

“This is going to sound bad, but I don’t want to be married anymore.”

“You’re right. That does sound bad. Does Jen know how you feel?” Delilah asked carefully.

“Not yet.”

“She really doesn’t know?”

“Well . . . she’s gotta suspect,” he said slowly. “I haven’t been coming home much lately.”

“Dammit, Tyler.” Delilah gave him a hard look. “Is there someone else?”

“No.”

He said it too fast and Delilah glanced away. She’d been through this too many times not to know where it was going. Her life in Southern California had been a string of cheating males. And here in Prairie Creek wasn’t any better. Her father had cheated on her mother. No one talked about it, but it was one of those rumors that moved in and out, a whispered word here, a sideways look there. Her uncle had died during a tryst with Mia Collins when the homestead fire broke out. Even Colton had left Sabrina back in the day and had a brief fling with Pilar that had produced Rourke. And then, of course, there was the real reason Delilah had wanted to run far and fast away from Wyoming: Hunter. Who’d cheated on her with his ex-girlfriend, Abby Flanders. Okay, Delilah had just been a kid then, and Abby was a few years older, but she and Hunter had been so close. She’d believed he loved her, and she’d certainly thought she loved him.

Tyler’s casual words reminded her of how she’d learned he was a cheat, how much it had hurt.

Everything had all fallen apart the night of the homestead fire, when Hunter had been with Abby while Delilah was waiting for him on the tire swing beneath the lone pine tree that stood like a sentinel between the main house and the old homestead. It was their special “trysting tree,” as it had been named by Delilah’s mother when Ira had wooed her. Delilah had been lost in anticipation of making love to Hunter, her face turned up to the pinprick stars that pierced the dark heavens above, when she’d seen the orange glow of the fire. She’d jumped to her feet just as the old homestead windows popped and shattered. Flames shot out in a loud roar, smoke boiling out in black-gray clouds. Delilah had first run toward the fire. She’d seen a dark figure running away from it, but hadn’t been able to see who it was. Heat and sparks had thrust her back and she’d turned away, choking, in the direction of the new house, meeting her father and Colton as they rushed headlong toward the blaze, both of them barking at her to get to safety. Somehow Hunter made it to the fire, too, and tried to help Colton and Ira save Judd and Mia, but it was only Mia who’d survived.

Later, there were questions about why Hunter was there, questions he wouldn’t answer, so rumors abounded that Hunter had set the fire for unnamed reasons. Some even thought he might be the drifter/arsonist who had plagued the area that summer, even though the authorities later caught the man who was responsible. Didn’t matter. People wanted to blame somebody and a Kincaid was at the top of the Dillinger list.

Only when Abby stepped forward and said that Hunter had been with her, that she and he had seen the fire from her nearby parked car, just over the line into Kincaid land, had the rumors died down. Questioned about that night, Abby had said she’d quickly started her engine and driven Hunter there at his insistence. Delilah had wanted Hunter to deny it, for him to say something else: that he’d been near the old homestead because he’d been secretly there to meet her. But he didn’t. He let Abby’s story stand, and over time Delilah had come to realize that the reason he did was because it was the truth.

Now, she looked at Tyler and said with feeling, “You need to tell Jen right away that you’ve been cheating. She deserves that much and more.”

“Hey, I’m not the bad guy here,” he protested.

Aren’t you?
she thought.

Before she got into a bigger argument with him, she headed toward the stairs, grabbed two black Hefty bags and slammed out the front door to the foreman’s cottage.

 

 

When Ricki got to the station she was the only one there except for Chet Norcross, and even he was yawning.

“Sam’s not here yet?” she asked him.

“He shows up about eight.”

Ricki looked through the front window. As if to prove Chet wrong, Sam’s Jeep wheeled into the parking lot at that moment. Breaking into a smile, she headed outside to meet him.

“You beat me,” he said, his dark eyes warm, as he climbed out of the car.

“I’m fast that way.”

“Ahh . . .” He sent her a faint smile. “How’s Brook?”

“Sleeping. Delilah’s taking charge and Brook idolizes her, so I left. I want to get on this arson case.”

“I already put a call into Raintree. He’ll get back to me as soon as he’s got the report from Kincaid.”

Jack Raintree was the fire chief. “And I also want to go over who was at Big Bart’s again the night Amber Barstow disappeared. If we zero in on Black Hat as our guy, maybe somebody will remember something more. I know we already went over the people who were there, but there’s got to be something.”

“Come into my office.”

“Sorry about the clothes. Mine all smell this way.”

“I didn’t mind last night,” he pointed out, sliding her a look packed with meaning.

“But you did notice.”

“Hard not to. I just didn’t care.”

They smiled at each other and Ricki’s mind took a quick trip down memory lane that was X-rated. She hoped to high heaven she wasn’t blushing.

Once inside his office, Sam closed the door but didn’t turn on the lights. He pulled her into his arms in the darkness and said softly, “I’m only going to do this once at work.” Then he kissed her hard until she felt her knees weaken and her body start to slip down.

Before anything else could happen, he drew back and exhaled heavily. Then he flipped on the lights and they squinted at each other in the sudden brightness.

Man, I love you,
she thought happily as Sam opened the blinds and she sat down opposite his desk.

“I’ve got the list right here,” he said, tapping onto his computer and sending a page to the printer.

“Let’s start with the women,” Ricki suggested. “Allison talked to Black Hat for a while, flirted a bit, but she was waiting for Doc. Maybe he tried somebody else before he chose Amber. Somebody who hasn’t admitted it yet, for whatever reason.”

“All right,” Sam said, settling behind his desk, his gaze on Ricki.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m probably looking at you.”

They both broke into grins. “If we take it from the top, time-wise, we start with Mariah Kincaid,” Sam said, dragging his eyes away. “She was about an hour too early for Barstow, but we don’t know what time Black Hat arrived.”

Ricki nodded. “She was home for Thanksgiving and she stopped at the Buffalo Lounge with her brother, Blair. Katrina talked to Mariah. Couldn’t get hold of Blair.” Because the Kincaids had been at the bar too early, Ricki had let Katrina talk to them. But now, she wanted to dig a little deeper. “I’ll call Mariah. Although we both knew her and what a liar she was.”

“It’s been a lot of years since high school,” Sam pointed out.

“You’re right.” She wouldn’t want anyone holding Brook’s reputation against her from their old school. “Katrina never could get hold of Blair. Called his cell multiple times but he never returned her call. He lives in . . . ?”

“Cody. Foreman at a ranch out there. Lives on the property.”

“That’s right. And Mariah’s in Jackson. Runs an interior design shop that caters to the rich and famous around there.” Ricki had read the report the department had compiled, but she also was constantly fed information from the townspeople. Kincaid and Dillinger doings were always at the top of the gossip list.

“Grady said both Kincaids were there when they said they were,” Sam said.

“Only because that’s what it says on the receipts. I don’t think he would notice the exact time,” Ricki said. “He was tending bar and it was a busy night.”

Sam wrote both Mariah and Blair’s phone numbers on a notepad, ripped off the sheet and handed it across the desk to her.

“Who’s next on the list?” Ricki asked.

“Miriam Trothbury.”

The septuagenarian who lived at bars. “She’s yours,” Ricki said, and Sam laughed.

“So, you caught last night’s fire at the Dillinger ranch,” Whit Crowley drawled as Hunter stepped inside Prairie Creek Fire and Rescue’s front door.

The lieutenant was leaning against the counter that ran along the back wall of the room, next to his good buddy, Bill Graves, each of them holding a cup of coffee. They were blocking the short hall that led to the fire chief’s office; whether by accident or design, Hunter couldn’t tell.

“That’s right,” Hunter said.

“Just happened to be on the scene,” Crowley said. “Lucky you.”

“Heard you gave a speech to the Dillingers,” Graves said in his gravelly voice.

“You going back there today?” Crowley asked.

Hunter had asked Casey Rawlings to keep an eye on the burned property until he got there, which would be a bit later because first he wanted to talk to Jack Raintree, the fire chief, about a number of things. He’d called the chief and made this early-morning appointment with him. He wasn’t sure if Raintree knew anything about Crowley’s moneymaking scam to squeeze extra cash from fire victims, but he was going to find out. One way or another, Hunter was going to bring Crowley’s misdeeds into the light of day, no matter what blowback came with it.

“Where’s that pup of yours, Rawlings?” Crowley asked, sliding Graves a look.

“I’m not his keeper,” Hunter said.

“Maybe you should be. Seems he’s got kind of a big, yapping mouth. Yap, yap, yap.”

Hunter didn’t visibly react, but inside he felt his pulse speed up. Who had Casey talked to?

“Don’t think we’ll be seein’ him around much more. Right, Bill?”

Graves nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off Hunter.

“He’s a volunteer,” Hunter reminded them shortly.

Whit Crowley’s lips pulled back into the semblance of a smile as he set his coffee down on the counter behind him. “I told the chief the boy just couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut. They’re plenty of other guys who wanna play fireman. Might be a good idea to get rid of the yapper.”

Hunter tried to hold down his simmering fury with Crowley. “We’ve got some real crime happening around here, Whit. Homicides and set fires. Not any of your manufactured stuff.”

Crowley pushed himself forward. “What’s that, Kincaid?”

Hunter tried to brush past him, but the older man grabbed him by the shoulder.

They glared at each other and Crowley snarled, “You got somethin’ to say, firebug?”

“I’ll say it to Raintree.”

“Rawlings was just repeatin’ what you’ve been sayin’ about me all along, wasn’t he?” Crowley’s face was a mask of rage.

“Get your hands off me, Whit.”

“Who’s gonna make me?” He grinned like a demon and Hunter felt Graves stiffen in readiness. Saw him also put his coffee cup down on the counter.

Hunter said tautly, “You want to fight. Good. I feel like a goddamn fight.”

“You’ll be out of a job, too, you little shit.”

“Might be worth it, though,” Hunter challenged, staring at his superior, ready for the battle.

He really did feel like punching Whit out. Slamming the bastard against the wall. Frustration was eating him alive. Someone was out there, killing women and animals, skinning them, setting fire to the Pioneer Church and the Dillinger foreman’s cottage. And this weasel was using his
job,
his authority with fire and rescue, to cheat innocent victims, the people who lived in his own hometown.

Something in Hunter’s expression apparently got through to Whit, who suddenly took a step back, then brushed past him, slamming out the front door, muttering obscenities. Hunter turned expectantly to Whit’s crony, but though Graves regarded him with hot, angry eyes, in the end he followed Whit.

Adrenaline still pumping, Hunter stalked down the hall to Raintree’s office and pounded on the door panels. When the fire chief called him in, he didn’t waste time. He burst inside and said, “Crowley’s cheating fire victims. He blames every blaze he can on their propane tanks and then sells them new tanks, jacking up the price. And they don’t even need ’em.”

Raintree, a granite-faced man with a solemn manner, pointed to a chair. Hunter shook his head. He had no intention of sitting down and being treated like a schoolboy.

Raintree said, “Sit down. Calm yourself.”

“I’m tired of Crowley’s intimidation. If you won’t do something about it, I will.”

“I thought you came in to talk about the Dillinger fire,” the chief said.

“I did. But I’m not putting up with Whit and his—”

“Have you got any evidence against him?”

“No. Not yet. Nothing tangible. But I’m telling you—”

“I know about Lieutenant Crowley, Kincaid. You don’t have to tell me anything. His days are numbered here, but it’s gotta be done right.”

Hunter had to clamp his teeth together to keep from continuing the argument. Crowley had gotten so far under his skin that it was all he could do not to rant on about him.

Raintree saw his struggle but chose to ignore it. “Last night’s fire was started with gasoline.”

Hunter nodded. With a supreme effort, he got down to the Dillinger fire. “Looks like lighter fluid as well.”

“Same as the Pioneer Church.”

“Not exactly,” Hunter said.

“You don’t think it’s the same doer?”

“The Pioneer Church fire had multiple points of origin. Looks like he wanted to burn the whole thing down. But only the Dillinger foreman’s house’s exits were set to burn. Like whoever did it wanted to trap someone inside, or keep them from going in.”

“So, what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. The foreman’s cottage feels more like it was spur of the moment. Maybe someone who’s got something against one or all of the Dillingers. The electricity was cut and then it was torched. But the Pioneer Church was planned in advance. Somebody wanted to make a big fire, send us all there, probably because they needed time to go after Mia Collins.”

“You think we’ve got two doers?” the chief asked skeptically.

“I’m leaning that way. The first fire, the church, was set to make a statement. A big show. But the second’s smaller ... not the same purpose. Most of the Dillingers were on a sleigh ride when it went up. There were some other people at the lodge. Ricki Dillinger’s daughter, Brook, who was supposed to be on the sleigh ride, was the only one in the cottage.”

“Think our firebug thought the place was empty?”

“Maybe . . . but those exits were torched for a reason. Feels like a trap for someone. Maybe he got the wrong person . . . ? Brook had to escape through a window.”

“Lucky she did get out,” Raintree observed soberly.

“Very lucky.”

“Got any theories on who?”

He shook his head. “Someone staying with the Dillingers? The foreman’s cottage is easy to access from the main lodge. Or, maybe it’s someone who’s got a grudge against them. They could have gotten the idea from the church fire.”

“A copycat?”

“It just doesn’t feel like the same doer,” Hunter said.

“So, what’s your next move?”

“I’m going to go out there. Interview the Dillingers some more.”

The chief almost smiled. “Want me to give that duty to someone else?”

“I handled it last night,” Hunter said. Sure, Ira would take offense at having Hunter asking more questions. Helping to douse the fire last night was one thing, but a Kincaid interviewing and re-interviewing the Dillingers, possibly digging into their backgrounds, would be quite another.

Tough,
he thought, heading out to his Chevy truck.

He wondered if he should start with Delilah.

 

 

The foreman’s cottage stank of damp, burned timbers and it was guarded by a young man Delilah didn’t know who looked at her uneasily when she approached the building, carrying her black plastic bags.

“You’re not trying to go inside?” he said doubtfully.

“I want to rescue some clothes and get them washed.”

“There’s a lot of damage around the doors. It may not be safe.”

“The back door doesn’t look as bad as the front,” Delilah said, moving forward and increasing his discomfort.

“Mr. Kincaid will be here soon. Can you wait?”

Hell, no.
“I won’t be long.” Delilah carefully passed through the gaping black hole of the back door and stepped into the kitchen area. It didn’t look quite so horrible, once she was through the burned area, but the whole place had a sorry, dispirited air from the smoke that had swept inside and stained the walls, ceiling and furniture.

Delilah moved to the back bedrooms and yanked out drawers in both Brook’s room and Ricki’s, piling clothes into the bags, one for each of them. By the time she was finished, she was eager to be gone. The cabin would be uninhabitable until it was thoroughly cleaned and patched up.

When she was back outside, she hefted the bags over her shoulders and ran straight into Hunter, just managing to keep from bowling over him, though her boots slid on the ice-crusted path when she tried to stop.

He caught her shoulders lightly. “Hey, Delilah. Saw you last night up at the lodge.”

“Uh-huh.” She hoped to God he couldn’t hear her heart, which felt like it was leaping in and out of her chest as if held by a rubber band.

He glanced at the bags on her shoulders. “What have you got there?”

“Clothes,” the young man burst in before Delilah could answer. “She said she had to rescue them.”

“I’m taking them to the lodge to wash them,” Delilah said.

“Let me help you,” Hunter said, grabbing both bags over Delilah’s protests.

“I can do it,” she said, but he was already striding away. Quickly, she hurried after him. “You don’t have to go to the house.”

“You mean you don’t want me to go to the house.”

“No . . . that’s . . . no . . .” She’d always been a terrible liar.

He shot her a sideways look and she was thrown back in time, when those blue eyes used to smolder with desire. Feeling breathless, Delilah tore her eyes away. It was so long ago that it really pissed her off that she noticed every little detail about him.

“You haven’t changed a whole helluva lot,” he said. “I kinda thought you would’ve.”

“Oh, I have. I grow glitter under my armpits. We all do in Tinseltown.”

He threw her a smile.

Devastating. That’s what it was. Delilah kept her gaze on the ground and followed him up the steps and through the front door, where from the kitchen the smell of frying bacon greeted them along with the loud voices of Rourke and Justin, and Haley’s softer tones.

“I can take the bags,” Delilah said, holding out her arms.

“Just point me in the direction of the laundry.”

She didn’t want him near the kitchen, or anywhere else, for that matter, so she led him back outside. Then they trudged through the six-car garage attached to the house and into the large laundry room that fed through a mudroom to the west end of the back porch.

Hunter set the bags down on the floor and then looked at Delilah. “You really don’t want to be seen with a Kincaid, do you?”

“You were great last night,” she said. “Especially with Brook. Everyone appreciates what you’ve done, what you’re doing.”

“But . . .” he said.

“No buts. I’m just saying thank you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and met his gaze directly.

“Why are you so nervous?”

“I’m not nervous. I’m just—busy.”

“With the wedding.”

“That’s right.”

“It’s going to be here now?” He inclined his head to encompass the house.

“Are you coming?” Delilah asked with sudden dread.

He gave her a long look. “Maybe. I was kinda surprised to get an invitation.”

No shit, Delilah thought. “How about the rest of your family? I’m going over the responses with Pilar today. Gotta know if we can fit everybody in.”

“I can’t speak for them, but the Major won’t make it. He’s not doing well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Hunter nodded, taking her at her word, and why not. The Major had always been a decent man, no matter what Ira said. It was Georgina who’d been the problem, and maybe Mariah and Blair and Hunter. Hunter’s sisters, Emma and Alexandra, were the only Kincaids who were outside the feud, at least in Ira’s opinion.

“I think you’re pretty safe to knock us all off the guest list,” he said.

There was a moment of awkward silence and Delilah cleared her throat. “It would be okay if your family came. Ira and Pilar have invited half the town, maybe more, although our relatives haven’t been, apparently. Guess Dad just wants it to be local.”

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

“About what?”

“The fire.”

“Last night’s fire?” Delilah repeated.

He nodded. “Just want to know if you saw anything, or remember anything. Maybe something small that didn’t seem important at the time. I want to ask the same thing of your whole family. Maybe someone saw something they haven’t put together yet about who could have set the fire.”

“Well, it’s the same person who burned down the Pioneer Church, right?” Delilah asked, watching him. “That’s almost a given. Two fires in Prairie Creek, just days from each other?” When Hunter didn’t immediately respond, she asked, “What? You don’t think it’s the same person?”

“The sheriff’s department will figure that out.”

“You think this fire was different,” she insisted.

“Possibly.”

“Damn it, Hunter. Just say what you’re thinking.”

“Whoever killed Amber Barstow set the fire at the church. That seems pretty obvious. But whoever set the fire here ... it feels like a separate motivation.”

“Meaning?”

“More personal maybe. Possibly to trap someone inside. Ricki . . . or her daughter?”