Victoria polished the wooden railing with extra vigor, chastising herself. She shouldn’t have gone to the police. She should have known better. The man she’d spoken to seemed nice, but she felt the atmosphere change when she mentioned Mr. Braxton’s name. Perhaps they’d investigated together once. Aunt Janet had never been specific what Mr. Braxton investigated. She heard the front door close then his heavy footsteps. She was getting used to the sound, almost surprised the earth didn’t tremble when he walked.
“Ms. Spenser.”
She glanced up. Blood drained from her face. Stark fury blazed in his eyes as he stood at the bottom of the stairs. She kept her voice level. “Yes, Mr. Braxton?”
“In my study. Now.” He spun on his heel and left. She walked down the stairs, followed him down the hall then stopped. She didn’t know where his study was. She’d been kept on the east section of the house and had yet to get a full tour. She stared at the row of doors and began to open them. One was a library, another a gallery. She was about to enter a third when Robert stuck his head out.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Looking for your study.”
He stared at her a long moment then sighed. “It’s here.”
Inside the study she saw a worn shovel in the corner, newspaper clippings, maps and lots of books. He sat behind the desk making no attempt to hide his anger, but he kept his feelings controlled. He didn’t drum his fingers or fidget. He just sat completely still and watched her like dark creatures who liked to hide in the shadows. He then placed two fingers like a steeple and tapped them against his mouth, his eyes never leaving her face.
After a few moments of this, Victoria lost her patience. “It’s better to burst than to boil.”
His hands fell to the desk. “What?”
“Speak your anger don’t suppress it.”
He leaned back and twirled a pen on the desk. He lowered his gaze as though the sight of her hurt his eyes. “My dear woman,” he said in a quiet voice. “The level of anger I feel at this moment could not be expressed.”
She folded her arms. “What have I done?”
“I’ve convinced myself that you’re new to this country and perhaps financially strapped. Therefore, you wanted to make some income and decided to—”
“If you are accusing me of something speak plainly.”
His expression darkened. “I don’t think you would want that.”
“I would like nothing better.”
He pressed his palms together. “I think you’re a fraud.”
Victoria straightened. “No, I am not.”
“Didn’t you go to the police and tell them about your dream of the warehouse fire?”
“It wasn’t a dream. It was a vision.”
He raised his brows surprised. “So you don’t deny it?”
“I have nothing to deny.”
“Naturally. You no doubt believe your own delusion or you’re a very good liar.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
Robert pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay let’s see if we can understand each other.”
She nodded. “Yes, let’s.”
He paused, surprised by her challenge, determined not to let anger rule him. “You don’t deny that you went to the police station with information about the warehouse fire?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you do deny it?”
“No, I don’t deny it.”
He nodded. “You also don’t deny confessing that you saw the fire in a dream, excuse me, vision?”
“Yes, I don’t deny it.”
“You also don’t deny hoping for a monetary reward for your services?”
Victoria folded her arms.
He grinned triumphant “Ah, so you have nothing to say to that?”
She lifted her chin. “My mother told me that silence is the best answer for a fool.”
His grin fell. “And Emerson said that pride is the never-failing vice of fools.”
She met his accusation without flinching. “Pride is not a vice.”
“It is certainly not a virtue.”
She smoothed out her collar. “Pride in a woman scares most weak men.”
“Don’t confuse pride with confidence.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Pride is merely a form of conceit.”
“To some, but if no one is proud of you, what else can you have but pride in yourself?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Pride can be a barrier to other feelings.”
“Such as?”
“Compassion.”
“I do have compassion for others.”
“That’s why you create a false idea that makes you believe you’re special in some way?”
“I didn’t create anything. I spoke truthfully but will not waste my breath trying to convince you.”
He smiled faintly. “We’ve gone off the subject.”
“The subject, if you’ve forgotten, is your belief that I am an liar. I happen to disagree.”
“So you’re determined to stick to this charade?”
“It’s not a charade.”
He turned away in disgust “You’re all the same. Con artists and thieves. You don’t care who you hurt.” He looked at her again and bit his bottom lip. “However, you surprise me. Your type usually likes to get paid first.”
“I spoke the truth.”
Robert stared at her in wonder. “I gave you a job and you still lie to me. Very convincingly I might add.”
“I’m not lying. I saw the fire.”
He pounded the desk with his fist, rattling the pens. “Then why was your vision wrong?”
She stared at him startled. “What?”
“There were no reported fire injuries. We called all the hospitals and came up with nothing.”
“There was a mistake.”
He pointed at her. “You either knew we’d not find anything because you’re a fraud or you know something and you’re pretending to use this supposed gift to cover yourself or someone else.”
“No.”
“Don’t you realize how cruel it is to build up people’s hopes just to make yourself feel important?”
“I went to the police because I wanted to help. The vision was real. I wanted to help before someone got killed.”
“Where were you the night of the fire?”
Her eyes widened. “Now I’m a suspect?”
“Where were you the night of the fire?” he repeated in a harsh tone.
“At the house with my aunt. We went out that evening to go to church.”
“Which church?”
She gave the name. “Don’t worry. They’ll remember me.”
“Of course they will.”
She folded her arms tighter.
“Why didn’t you come to me first?”
“Because the psychic on the TV went to the police.”
Robert rested his chin in his hand glad he was getting somewhere. “So you got this idea from the TV?”
Victoria lowered her gaze.
“Then next time you have a supposed vision, you come to me first.”
“I prefer to go to someone who believes me,” she said in a quiet voice.
“You think people at the station believed you?”
“One man seemed to.”
Robert shook his head amazed by her act. “He was humoring you, darling. It’s what you do with crazy people.”
“Don’t call me darling.” She glanced up. “And I’m not crazy.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve just convinced yourself of this special power. You’re under the delusion that the nightmare you had last night was in direct correlation with the warehouse fire.”
“No.”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t think you heard me correctly. So listen carefully.” He leaned forward and enunciated every word. “Your...vision...was...wrong.”
She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. Someone made a mistake.”
“Yes.” He tapped his chest. “I did.” He opened his drawer. “I’ll give you two weeks pay so you can look for another job.”
A quick look of panic flashed in her eyes. “You want to get rid of me because of this? I’m speaking the truth.”
“Ms. Spenser—”
“I was with my aunt. You can ask her.”
Robert hesitated, then closed the drawer. “If I were to let you stay, I don’t want to hear anything more about this vision thing.”
“Okay.”
“Good.”
“Except—”
He buried his face in his hands a moment then looked at her. “Except what?”
“You’re going to investigate the site, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Please. Please check the north center of the building.”
“The north center?”
“Yes.”
“You think I’ll find something?”
Victoria nodded.
Robert sighed. A part of him felt sorry for her, another part wanted to wring her neck for succeeding at such a convincing act. “Okay, if I discover something, I’ll consider what you believe; if not, you drop this game for good.”
She clasped her hands in her lap. “Okay.”
He pointed at her, his voice firm. “I mean forever. Never mention it again. Are you still confident?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Or just stubborn?”
She raised a mocking brow.
He reluctantly smiled. “Yes, I know. I’m stubborn too.”
***
At the burn site, Grant shouted to Robert over the loud roar of the nearby crane operators lifting twisted I-beams and slabs of debris. “Did you talk to her?”
Robert nodded. “Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing interesting.”
Grant let the matter drop and turned to what remained of the warehouse. “There were no signs of forced entry.”
“Hmm.”
“If this is arson, the intruder knew how to get in.”
“Key?” Robert guessed.
“Maybe, or he knew of some other way to get in without setting off the alarm. For example, hiding himself in a container, like Victoria said.”
“She said she smelled plastic and felt it was cramped and dark that could mean anything.”
“It means a container.”
Robert ignored him. “If he knew the building or had a key...”
“Perhaps a disgruntled employee?” Grant finished.
“Or the owner.”
“The owner’s a woman. Women rarely set fires.”
“She could have hired someone.”
“True. Unfortunately, we won’t know how successful business was until we get some papers.”
Robert stared at the site thoughtful. “The starter probably used a timer so he could escape before the thing blew.”
“Either that or he didn’t escape.”
Robert opened the trunk of his car. “Time to get some questions answered.” He put on his gear—heavy turnout boots, fire hat, SCBA (self-contained, breathing apparatus), two-way radio—then entered what was left of the warehouse. The warehouse now resembled a dark, blackened tomb with puddles of water slickened by oil. Smoke still oozed from the ground like a trapped ghost in the gloom. Unidentified black things cluttered the building; Robert stumbled over them because he could hardly see. He flashed his wide lens flashlight to guide his path.
The place felt like an oven. He could feel the heat through his boots, as sweat rolled down his back and trickled down his armpits and legs. A rush of excitement pushed away the discomfort He felt like a pathologist. Instead of human corpses, he had a cadaver of steel and wood. He knew the warehouse had died of fire, but an investigator went past the how to the why.
He now had the chance to use his knowledge of the elements in the fire triangle—heat, fire, and oxygen. He knew how they created certain burn patterns. Flame behavior was his specialty and he would let the building tell him the story. He checked the windows for signs. Smoldering fires cracked them like spider webs leaving them with a greasy residue, but fast-burning fires created an explosive rush and blew glass apart before smoke could glaze them. He also looked for fire cones, heat lines, trailer marks, accelerated residue, and char depth.
He radioed Grant. “You could lose the remains of the Titanic in here.”
He eventually determined that the flashpoint had occurred almost simultaneously at several different locations. He guessed the fire had ignited suddenly, which was an indicator of arson. He hesitated to be certain because there had been cases were multiple points of fire were accidental. He doubted this was the case.
Walking was about as easy as dancing on shifting sand; he kept losing his footing. He made his way to the north center and thought of Victoria. He didn’t believe her vision, but he wouldn’t mind finding something useful, plus a part of him wanted her to be right, though he didn’t know why.
He reached the north center and saw nothing. He walked a few feet then staggered and fell. He landed in a field of five-gallon hard plastic jugs, his facemask slipped from his face. He quickly replaced it and swept his flashlight across the jugs. He stared in surprise that so many jugs were intact. A large amount had their caps off.
He read the label. It said the jugs contained kerosene. He doubted it. Kerosene was slow burning. There was no way it would be considered the accelerant that created the explosion and resulting fire, but he couldn’t go on hunches. It was the lab’s job to find out what it was. He took one of the jugs that had residue inside.
By the time he emerged outside, his eye was swelling shut and his forehead began to burn from whatever his face had touched when he fell.
He saw Grant and held up the jug. “There are dozens of these in there, many with no caps. I think there’s something toxic in them and I don’t think it’s kerosene.”
Grant looked at him, as Robert removed his gear. “She led you to the jugs, didn’t she?”
“Actually, I fell on them.”
“You know, there are people who can see crimes.”
“Yes,” Robert grumbled. “And there are also some people who can see fairies and little green people.”
“Not all psychics are con artists.”
“No, some are just mislead. They believe in things that make no logical sense.”
Grant nodded. “Right.. So how many ladders have you walked under recently?”
Robert tossed his hat in the trunk.
“I believe her.”
He turned to Grant appalled. “Why?”
“I just do.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“She could be right about some things. Psychics have solved cases before. We could use some help with this.”
“We have the ATF.”
Grant frowned. “Real help, not overblown egos.” Robert studied him. “This dislike of the government wouldn’t be anything personal, would it?”
He shoved a hand in his trouser pocket. “No. So what do you think?”
“She was wrong about the fire injury.”
“Yes, but she was right about this.”
“A good guess. Or she’s involved. You noticed the owner’s sister is Caribbean? She could be—”
Grant swept a hand through the air, cutting him off. “She’s not involved and you know it. Look, remember when you first came on board? Your way of doing things initially angered a lot of the good old boys. But I stuck by you even though you challenged some of my beliefs on fire investigation.”
“I just know—”
“Just as I was flexible to learning something new, I’m asking you to do the same.”
Robert shook his head surprised by the request. “I have staked my reputation on trying to establish arson investigation as a legitimate science. People think it’s bunk, because of its oral traditions and guesswork. Now you want me to throw that all away and base my investigation on some woman who sees fires in her dreams?”
“Yes.”
“For all we know she could be mentally unstable.”
“You know there’s not one loose screw there.”
Robert sighed fiercely then leaned against his car, resigned. “All right. You may have a point. Check up on her. I’ll give you some more information tonight.”
“Good.”
“Stop smiling. I’m not convinced yet. Did you learn anything from the walkie-talkie?”
He nodded. “Yea.”
Robert straightened. “What?”
“That Radio Shack sold a million of the damn things. It seems Victoria Spenser may be our best hope.”
* * *
Prescott Delaney loved his chili spicy with lots of cheese. Bubba’s Diner provided some of the best. He glanced over the table at his colleague Rona, the administrative assistant at the construction company where he worked. A sweet girl most people looked past. He never had that problem. People usually took notice of him.
He knew he was a good-looking guy. Sure, age had taken some of his hair, but he was still in good shape.
He made sure of that with his daily workouts. He wished his dad could see all that he’d achieved. He’d make his old man proud. Construction on the Latviska Dance Studio was almost done, and he already had another job lined up.
The waitress stopped by his table. “Is everything fine?”
She was pretty, so he smiled at her. “Yes.”
She smiled back. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Sure.” He watched her leave. She had a nice body, not much of a backside, but he wasn’t much of a butt man. He liked hips.
When he was a skinny, shy kid girls used to make fun of him all the time. Then he learned how to build things. Thanks to his dad. His dad had shown him how things worked. Taking him around town and pointing out the different structures of buildings and carting him around on construction jobs. The hard work helped him bulk up and gave him the confidence he needed. He wasn’t the smartest kid in school, but if you needed anything built he was the guy.
That’s when the girls came running. It seemed they liked a guy who knew how to use his hands, and they let him use his hands all over them. Instead of them laughing at him, he laughed at them. Sweet revenge and they didn’t even know it. Women were so predictable. He looked across the table at the mousy woman sitting in front of him. Rona was different She was always sweet. Unfortunately, she seemed to like going from one bad relationship to another. Her present boyfriend was an idiot. You could never figure out his mood.
That’s why he did without relationships. He liked to keep things under control, and you couldn’t control people. Give him an old building and a bunch of tools any day.
Prescott finished his chili then requested the bill. After he paid, he helped Rona with her coat and walked her to the door. On the way there, she tripped. He grabbed her arm before she fell. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Just clumsy.”
He glanced down and saw that a tile had shifted. He called the manager. “The tile is loose. You should get it fixed.”
The man used the tip of his shoe to push the tile back in place. “There it’s fixed. No big deal.”
Prescott stared at the other man. His right temple began to pound. He was laughing at them. Being disrespectful. He’d had to deal with that most of his life. Though he never went around thinking he was better than others, others thought they were better than him. They’d disrespected his father too just ‘cause he didn’t finish high school. He felt Rona’s cool fingers on his arm. “Come on Prescott, time to get back to work.”
He held the door open for her as he studied the building structure. “They should have apologized,” he muttered as they walked to his car.
“It’s okay I wasn’t hurt.”
She was always so forgiving. That’s why people treated her like crap and she didn’t even notice. He wouldn’t come back here. They wouldn’t get another cent of his money. He got into his car and pulled onto the main street. He glanced at the building through his rearview mirror. Bubba’s Diner had been around for a while and they weren’t keeping it up. The neon sign needed fixing, they needed a new roof, and there were cracks in the structure.
The building was dangerous. It deserved to burn.