Rusty paid the lot attendant and headed for his pickup truck. His stomach had been churning acid since he’d heard about the fire. In all the time it had taken to return his rental car, book a flight, and then sit through it, he’d done nothing but worry.
Had his whole house burned down? Could it have been a small outdoor fire? Or had he lost everything? All pictures and memories of his family? His heart constricted. What if the only reminders of them he had were the few items in his office at work?
He’d thought through everything. At the very least, he was sure he’d stored all his digital pictures somewhere online. It was just a matter of figuring out where. He couldn’t think straight. In a way, it felt like losing his family all over again—except that he didn’t know if he had lost their stuff.
If anything remained, he promised himself to take pictures of everything to at least have those. The boys’ artwork. Lani’s blankets and scarves—and everything else she’d crocheted. She’d been so talented, she had sold a lot online. But she had also been humble. She hadn’t opened the shop until her friends convinced her she would be doing the world a service.
Rusty found his truck and opened the door. It was stuffy from having sat in the warm sun all the time he’d been away. He started the engine and opened the windows. Once he got on the freeway, enough air would get in to make it breathable. He didn’t have time to wait.
He slid on his bluetooth earphone and called Andy.
“Hey, boss. Are you in town?”
“Yes. Do you know the extent of the damage?” Rusty asked.
“No one will tell me anything. I tried.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Like I said, if you need a place to stay—”
“I won’t. Go home, okay? It’s getting late.” Rusty went around a slow sedan.
“My shift isn’t over.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“My offer stands.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. See you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight.”
Rusty ended the call, eager to get home. There were too many traffic lights and slow drivers. It would take forever to get home. He went around another slow vehicle.
“Relax,” he told himself. It wasn’t like he would be able to undo any of the damage by getting home faster. In all likelihood, the fire department was long gone, having already put out the blaze. Whatever damage was done—or not done—was already set in stone.
Images of charred remains plagued him. He thought of all the precious things possibly lost. Lani’s jewelry. Parker’s favorite teddy bear. Tommy’s cherished train set. The…
Tears blurred Rusty’s vision. He wiped them away. No matter what happened, his memories were there. Nobody could take those from him. It didn’t matter what shape the house was in. Things were just things, anyway. He’d already lost what was most important—them.
That was why the things were so important. Those were all he had left of them now.
If he even still had them.
He cleared his throat and focused on the road.
“Stop thinking,” he ordered himself. Not that it mattered. Images of his fears shot through Rusty’s mind, despite his best efforts.
Finally, he reached his turn. It wouldn’t be much longer until he finally saw the extent of what was lost.
The air smelled of smoke. And not from a campfire or a safe fireplace. The stench made his stomach lurch. It was the odor of his home. The memories he held so dear.
A lump formed in his throat. The moment of truth was coming. He stopped and flicked the blinker on. All he could see was trees and bushes. Soon, his house—or what was left of it—would finally be visible.
His heart raced as he turned. It felt like a mile-long move, but in all actuality, only took a moment. He turned into his driveway and hit the brakes, jolting to a stop.
Rusty stared at his home as more tears blurred his vision. Relief washed through him. His house still stood, but a hundred feet away, his unattached garage was almost completely destroyed. It mostly held random things from his towing business. If he thought he could fix one of the trucks himself, he brought it there. Or if they didn’t have room for something in the office or the storage areas, it went there.
It was a catch-all of sorts that badly needed to be organized. Well, not anymore. The fire had taken care of that. The garage was just his work stuff. It could all be replaced. But all of his family’s stuff would still be there. Safe.
He gave way to the tears and rested his head on the steering wheel. He shook. Their memories were still intact. His sobs washed away all the unfounded fears. Once there was nothing more left in him, he sat up and glanced over the house again. It was still in perfect shape.
Rusty cut the engine and ran to where the garage door had been. Wrapped around what was left of the doorframe was some yellow tape. Police tape? A notice was posted next to it.
He grabbed the note, shone a flashlight on it, and read the small print.
They wanted him to call the station.
Clearly, they had to have suspected arson. Why else would the cops be involved?
He swore. They were stomping on his last frayed nerve.
Rusty considered walking around to look at the damage, anyway. Would he really be breaking the law by entering his own property? He shone the flashlight, barely able to see anything. From what he could tell, everything was ruined. At least it was insured.
And better than that, it was completely set apart from the house. No connecting wires or anything like that. Any melted wire would result in the power being shut off in the house if they were connected.
He glanced over at the house, noticing his porch light still on. He was tempted to just go inside and take a load off. But he couldn’t put off the cops.
Rusty grumbled and called the number on the paper. He explained who he was, and the lady on the other end told him he needed to go to the station. He told her he’d be right down.
The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get inside and wrap his arms around his family’s things.
Rusty walked back to his truck, the feeling of defeat squeezing him. He picked up a rock the size of his fist and squeezed. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the charred remains of his garage.
How dare someone do this to him? Stupid arsonist.
He squeezed the rock tighter, a couple sharp edges digging into his flesh. He aimed the rock at the rubble, imagining Travis Calloway’s face. That man had the means to make this happen from clear across the country. Rusty pulled his shoulder back, aiming at the charred mess. His arm released and moved forward.
At the last moment, he turned his body and threw the rock into the woods. He heard the sound of it hitting a tree and then bouncing into another, until all went silent. He picked up another rock and chucked it. Then another and another.
Finally, he climbed back into his pickup and headed for the station.
Halfway there, his phone rang. It was Andy, probably wanting to know how badly burned the house was. Rusty ignored the call. He was in no mood to talk to anyone. The only reason he was going to speak to the officers was because he didn’t want to commit a crime by entering his own building.
Once he reached the police station, he again explained who he was. The officer behind the desk took him to a room with a long table and what had to be a two-way mirror.
“Is this going to take long?”
“No idea. Just wait, please.”
Rusty frowned, but didn't reply. This was the icing on the cake of a horrible week. He wanted to ask what else could go wrong, but didn’t dare. Things could always get worse. Always.
After about twenty minutes—which felt like hours—the door finally opened. A tall man with dark hair and dark circles under his eyes came in.
“Rusty Caldwell?”
Rusty nodded.
The man sat across from him. “Detective Fleshman. I’m sorry about your house.”
Rusty nodded again. He was going to say as little as possible. Who knew what kind of incriminating evidence had been planted? He might need to lawyer up before the night was over.
Fleshman pulled out an iPad and slid his finger across the screen. “Where were you when this happened?”
“Across the country.”
“Oh?” Fleshman arched a brow. “What were you doing there?”
Rusty flinched. “Helping my dead sister’s family.”
The detective’s eyes widened. “Your sister just died?”
“It’s been one hell of a week.”
“Sounds like it. I hate to add to it, but the fire department believes your garage fire was no accident.”
Rusty rubbed his temples. “Arson.”
“They haven’t ruled it yet, but it looks that way. There will need to be a full investigation.”
Wonderful. “What do you need from me?”
“I have some questions for you.”
“Then I can go home?”
Fleshman slid his finger around the screen again. “You can return as long as you stay away from the garage.”
“No problem.”
The detective looked up from the tablet. “Do you know anyone who would have reason to do this?”
Aside from his brother-in-law or the CEO of Clockworks? Rusty shook his head. If either of them had cops knocking on their door about this, they might decide to up the game. Torch his house. Hit his business, maybe. Or worse, go after the kids or Laura.
Detective Fleshman asked a long list of questions, tiring Rusty out all the more.
“Just one more.” Fleshman held Rusty’s gaze. “You can’t think of anyone who would have reason to do this?”
“You already asked me that.”
“I’m asking again.”
Rusty sighed. “Come to think of it, I did receive a couple semi-threatening texts.”
The detective titled his head. “Did you happen to save them?”
“I think so.” Rusty pulled out his phone and scrolled through the texts. He showed Fleshman the latest one. The detective took a picture of it with the iPad. Rusty scrolled through until he found the first one. The one Laura had also received. Fleshman took a picture of that one, too.
“No phone calls?”
Rusty shook his head. “Just the anonymous texts.”
“Do you know what they mean? They’re definitely threatening. What you’re supposed to stay away from?”
“Got me.” Rusty shrugged. “I figured it was a wrong number.”
The detective studied his tablet’s screen. “The last one was sent after the fire.”
“I got it driving home.”
“We’ll contact your carrier and see if we can find out the source of them.”
“Can I go home now?” Rusty asked.
Fleshman slid his finger around the screen again. “Looks like it. Remember, don’t touch anything near the fire. It’s still an active investigation.”
“As long as I can sleep in my own bed.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. The damage was contained to the garage from what I have here. It was far enough away from the house that it wasn’t affected.” The detective got up and opened the door. “Have a good night.”
Rusty snorted. “Right. You, too.”
The drive home went by in a blur. Could Travis or Chris really be behind the arson? He didn’t have any other enemies. Rusty had always made friends everywhere he went—except for the drunks that didn’t want to be towed. He’d been sworn at and even assaulted, but nothing that ever resulted in a real issue. Many times, he even received a thanks or an apology the following day.
By the time he pulled into his driveway again, his body ached. He couldn’t wait to climb into his own bed and fall asleep.
But first, he needed to get home. He grabbed his luggage and the new locking briefcase, set the truck alarm, and headed for his front door. The air inside had a slight smelled of smoke. There were some air filters somewhere. He would need to find them and then plug them all in.
He’d been lucky, and he knew it.
Rusty turned around and headed for his room. Everything seemed to be in its place, each item right where he’d left it. Pictures hung on the walls as if nothing was wrong. Images of a happy family. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that happy family was sleeping within these very walls.
At least no one had bothered his home. Chills ran through him. That probably meant this was only a warning.