Slow Burn (3 page)

Ashley moved until the kitchen island was
between them. Only then did she indicate the stool across the
counter from hers. “Okay, Ronald Douglass, you have my
attention.”

He approached her slowly. “I appreciate
that.”

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked.

“That would be nice, thank you.” He
smiled.

“How do you take it?”

“Black.” He watched her as she pulled out
mugs from a cupboard. “What I told you earlier was true. My
grandmother really likes your work, and I do need a portrait of her
done. Do all your subjects have to sit for you?”

“No. I often use photographs. You see that
one,” she pointed at the uncovered painting she’d finished the
night before. “I used several pictures of both the young man and
the horse.”

“May I?” Ron asked.

“Go ahead.” She filled two mugs of coffee and
added hazelnut creamer to hers. From the corner of her eye, she
watched Ron study the painting, his smile quick and
appreciative.

A quirky smile. She was a sucker for anything
unusual. Her gaze followed his jaw-line to his ear, the hollow
beneath his jutting cheekbone and the arched eyebrows above an
arrogant nose. She’d painted her share of beautiful men, but there
was something about Ron that made her want to pick up a sketchpad,
a paintbrush and palette.

“This is amazing…so real,” Ron said, making
her realize she was staring. “The pony looks as though it might
step out of the painting and prance around.” He laughed, and she
smiled. “I can almost hear the boy yell, ‘giddy up.’ He must love
horses.”

“Yes, he did.” Sadness crept through her
voice and her throat closed so she had to swallow hard to clear it.
“He died two months ago in a road accident.” She heard him swear
softly under his breath as she carried the mugs to the island
counter and sat down on a stool.

“It must be hard to work on a piece like
that.” Ron’s gaze locked on her face when he joined her.

He didn’t know the half of it. “Yes it is.
But I understood the love that prompted his mother to want to do
something special in her son’s memory. Here you go.” She placed the
second coffee in front of him.

“Thanks.” He sat down opposite her, took a
sip of his drink and cradled the cup in his large palms. “Ashley, I
want your help with something very important to me.”

“I know…your grandmother’s portrait. I need
to know how soon you want it. I can work from a few recent
pictures, unless you’d prefer when she was younger and….” Her voice
trailed off when she saw the bleak look on his face. “What is
it?”

He hesitated before saying, “I want to talk
to you about Carlyle House.”

Ashley bit her bottom lip, her insides
tightening. Had Toni given out her name despite their earlier
conversation? “Are you Nina Noble’s agent?”

“No, I’m her son.”

“But you said your name was Ronald Douglass.”
Her voice was accusatory, but she didn’t care.

“Both are my names, I just omitted my
surname. Every time I give out my full name, doors get slammed in
my face.”

“Excuse me?”

His gaze shifted to the painting on the
easel, then back to her face. “I’m investigating the fire at the
house ten years ago.”

A chill snaked up her spine. She opened her
mouth to ask him why, thought better of it and decided she didn’t
want to know. Instead she pushed her stool back and stood. “Sorry,
I can’t help you. You need to leave.”

Ron scrubbed his face and let out a deep
breath. His gaze, when he looked up, was direct, almost pleading,
but she wasn’t completely sure about that. Still, she could not
take any more craziness, not on top of the nightmares and
everything else.

“I really need your help,” he added
softly.

She stepped back from the counter and away
from him, her insides churning. “No.”

He scowled. “I’ve been receiving anonymous
letters with a list of names. One has firefighters, all friends of
my father, all retired after the fire. I was curious enough to get
in touch with them. Yet as soon as I mention the fire, they don’t
want to talk. It’s almost as if they know something, as if they’re
afraid. What if the fire was deliberately set and someone wants me
to find out the truth? The people responsible could still be out
there. That would mean your parents—”

“No.” She flung her arms as though to stop
his words from reaching her ears. Not that it mattered. She already
knew what he was going to say. “I don’t want to hear it. My
parents’ death was accidental, I’ve accepted that. The Fire Marshal
said it was faulty wiring.” She swallowed, refusing to entertain
the possibility that someone had started the fire, that her parents
had been murdered. She’d mourned and accepted her loss. All she
needed to move on was to get rid of Carlyle House, not relive that
horrific night.

“I want you to leave now, Ron.”

“Ashley—”

“Please, just go.” She wrapped her arms
around her body and refused to meet his gaze, but she could still
feel it on her. After a moment, he got up.

Her head pounded with tension and her teeth
hurt from too much clenching, but Ashley held it in. She followed
Ron’s lean, muscular frame to the door. A few days ago, she’d been
ecstatic to see the house on a listing, and her decision to buy and
demolish it had seemed so feasible. Now this.

Ron opened the front door, stepped out into
the hallway and turned to face her. Before she could speak, he
reached out and touched her arm.

“Think about it,” he said.

“There’s nothing to think about.”

“I’ll be in touch about my grandmother’s
painting.” He turned and sauntered away.

Ashley stared after him, unwanted images from
the past flashing in her head. When he entered the elevator and the
door closed on his unsmiling face, she sagged against her
doorframe. Her body was shaking. She no longer wanted to do his
grandmother’s portrait. He’d only used it as a ruse to get inside
her home, she was sure. And for what? To fill her heart with dread,
to dare ask her to relive her worst night. The man was out of his
mind.

CHAPTER 2

Ashley placed the brush on the palette,
wiggled her fingers and arched her back, careful not to make sudden
movements. Her position on top of the ladder was precarious to say
the least. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, she turned her head to
study the mural on the wall to her left.

Seventy-five feet long and ten-feet high,
animals grazed in the savannah. Vivid blue skies contrasted sharply
with the brown earth and Jacaranda trees. The tall grass seemed to
sway gently in the breeze, an illusion created by her two talented
assistants. Gazelles appeared ready to leap from the wall and into
the room.

She smiled. The thematic scenes in each room
would mesmerize kids. They’d gone the whole nine yards, from
prehistoric to science. The last room would feature artwork by
selected elementary students from schools across the city. She
couldn’t wait to work with them.

“Hey, don’t you have a two-thirty meeting
today with Ms. Noble?” a voice called from below her.

Oh no, she completely forgot.

“Thanks, Josh.” This was the result of that
arrogant woman changing their meeting time from tomorrow to today.
Ashley shifted to get down, and the paint palette, brushes and
sponges fell off her lap. They tumbled down while she watched
helplessly. A curse escaped her lips.

“That brings the total to five dollars.”

“What?” Ashley glowered at the bare-footed,
mocha-complexioned man below her. Josh Keller was busy airbrushing
the shadings and shadows on an animal, his dreadlocked hair held
back in a ponytail.

“You used a swear word,” Josh said.

“So?”

“So your cousins told us to keep count.
Right, Micah?”

Far to her right, on a different wall, Micah
Walden was working on a rainforest scene. His long, wavy, blonde
hair brushed his bare, tattooed back as he nodded.

“Yep. A dollar a word,” he said.

She wrinkled her nose. Her aunt had started
that rule to curb her sons’ use of four-letter curses. Somehow, the
girls came in under her radar when she heard them slip up during
family get-togethers.

“Tattle-tell on me and you’re both fired.”
She stepped down from the ladder.

“And where would you find talents such as
ours to finish the murals?” Micah asked without an ounce of
shame.

“Yeah,” Josh added.

Ashley couldn’t help smiling. They were
young, gifted and knew it. She couldn’t fault them for being cocky.
And they were right; she couldn’t complete this job without
them.

“Shameless. Whatever happened to modesty?”
she muttered, but they heard her.

“Became obsolete—” Josh started.

“In the new age phenomenon of
self-promotion,” Micah finished.

“There’s a thin line between self-advertising
and bragging, and you two are very close to crossing it.” She
untied her apron and placed it on a table. Her gaze bounced between
the two men. “I’ve got to make this meeting or lose my chance at
getting the house. If you guys don’t see me by five, lock up.” She
picked up her purse. “See y’all later…or tomorrow.”

“Good luck,” they said in unison as she
headed toward the entrance.

She waved and exited the museum. It was a
beautiful spring afternoon, but her mind was too preoccupied with
the imminent meeting to appreciate it. A cloud of apprehension
loomed over her, and butterflies did a jig in her tummy. She’d had
two days to prepare herself since her realtor set the meeting, two
long days of self-doubt and nervous tension. How should she present
herself to Nina? Pretend the past didn’t happen? Bring it up just
to get it out of the way? Should she divulge her plans for Carlyle
House?

At one time the house had been the in-place
for new and upcoming entertainers, the place for creating stars.
Even her parents had launched their careers in its banquet hall.
Tearing it down would be erasing a part of music history, which
made her feel like such a monster. But her sanity was at stake. How
could anything compete with that?

Here I go again, stressing.
If Nina’s
assistant hadn’t called this morning to move forward their meeting,
she’d have had one more day to compose herself, to think things
through, to…what a crock of crap. She would have continued on the
spiral path to nervous wreck-land. Why did the woman insist on
meeting buyers anyway? It was a ridiculous stipulation.

Ashley put the top of her Mustang convertible
down before she eased out of the parking lot. For once, traffic in
the downtown area was slow. It gave her a chance to run through the
speech she was preparing for Mrs. Noble.

To be honest, her nervousness went beyond the
meeting with Nina. Ever since Ron Noble dropped that bomb about
investigating the fire at Carlyle House, she’d lived with constant
worry. It stared at her in the mirror every day, and stole her
sleep most of the night. The fact that he hadn’t contacted her or
dropped off his grandmother’s pictures didn’t help either, although
she’d expected him to hound her for an answer about his
investigation.

Why did he have to stir things up? What did
he hope to gain? He was nuts to think she’d want to revisit that
night just to help him. On the other hand, he’d said none of his
father’s former colleagues was willing to talk about the fire.
Could the men be shielding an arsonist, maybe one of their own? The
person responsible could be out there, getting away with murdering
her parents.

No, stop it.
The copy of the report
she’d gotten from the county records said faulty wiring started the
fire. Her aunt, whom she’d spoken with after Ron left, had
confirmed it, which should be reassuring but unfortunately wasn’t.
Every time she thought about Ron, the flash of determination in his
eyes when they spoke, she knew he wasn’t going to let this go. He
was probably biding his time, giving her a false sense of security
before he pounced. Icy fingers clawed up her spine at her thoughts,
making her shiver. Better not think about that now.

Ashley was getting ready for the shower when
she realized all her suits were still at the drycleaners. If Mrs.
High and Mighty Noble had stuck to the original plan, she wouldn’t
be in this predicament. The older woman’s blatant arrogance annoyed
her. A moan of frustration escaped her as she grabbed the phone and
dialed the drycleaner’s number.

“No, no, Ms. Fitzgerald. Not now. Five
o’clock. I told you five o’clock, yes?” the Pakistani said.

“I don’t want the whole load, Mr. Noor. Just
one.”

“Not possible, Miss. I do rush job, yes? Have
it ready by three. Three o’clock good, yes?”

“Three o’clock no good.” She was beginning to
sound like the man. She stopped short of begging him and hung up.
Not only was she on a time crunch, she had nothing decent to
wear.

Twenty minutes later, Ashley stepped out of
the closet with yet another outfit and held it against her frame.
“Ew,” she said and threw it on top of the growing pile on her
bed.

Every dress she’d pulled out of her closet
had something wrong with it. They were too casual, too old or just
plain. Ashley rocked on her heels and took a deep, calming breath.
There was no point in stressing over this. Whatever she wore wasn’t
going to change Mrs. Noble’s decision about selling her Carlyle
House or ease her worries about Ron’s investigation.

The next garment she pulled out was a
straight black skirt with a slit on the side. Pursing her lips in
thought, she studied it. She placed it on her dresser and turned to
dig in the pile of clothes on her bed until she pulled out a silk
fuchsia shirt with black buttons. A slow, satisfied grin spread on
her lips as she held the skirt and the top against her frame and
looked into the mirror.