Jenner needed to see Rudge, talk it out, figure out how everything was connected.
He tried to spot Deb’s dark blue Miata among the shifting arrays of red taillights floating in front of him on the highway; he was sorry he’d agreed to her “shortcut” back. She was an aggressive driver, and, in the night and on unfamiliar roads, he’d quickly lost her.
When he caught up, she was sitting in her car opposite the Palmetto Court, the top down. He pulled in and stared at what was left of his place. The crowds and fire trucks had departed, and the ragged paving of the parking lot had almost dried. His cabin was now an exposed, half-charred shell of a building, a ribbon of yellow crime scene tape strung limply across the porch.
Deb tapped on his window. “You want to go in and get your stuff?”
Jenner shook his head. “It’ll wait. I need to talk to Rudge first.”
“You shouldn’t leave your things in there—this isn’t the best neighborhood.”
“I don’t have anything left that’s worth much. My laptop was in the car, and that’s about it.”
Deb headed back to the Miata, and he leaned out to call after her, “Hey, try not to lose me this time.”