Victoria saw fire in the distance. Flame-orange leaves rustled, ready to fall to the ground. A brazen wind tore some from their branches, as the hand of autumn staked its claim. She’d spent months on this land yet still felt like a wanderer. She found solace in the greenhouse now that the garden bed needed to rest. She’d been disappointed when Robert found nothing on Prescott, but felt relief at the absence of fires. She’d come close to a regular life.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She’d had it stylishly trimmed and cut. It wasn’t the only change in her life. She now ate with Robert and Amanda. She remembered her first meal at the dining table.
Dana had smiled at her as she placed a dish on the table. “It’s going to be a lovely meal, Victoria.”
Robert lifted a brow “What did you say?”
“I said the meal...” She abruptly stopped and looked apologetic. “I’m so sorry Mr. Braxton I forgot.” She turned to Victoria. “I mean it’s going to be a lovely meal, Ms. Spenser.”
Victoria dismissed the address. “You don’t have to call me that.”
“Yes, she does,” Robert said.
“Robert, I worked with her.”
“And now you don’t. It’s a sign of respect. You used to call me Mr. Braxton.”
She smiled. “I also called you a lot of things behind your back.”
“You were wise enough not to let me hear them.”
“I don’t mind calling you Ms. Spenser,” Dana said.
“It’s not right,” Victoria said.
Amanda spoke up. “How about Ms. Victoria like I do?”
Robert sighed. “Fine.”
Victoria turned from the window and laughed in memory. She sat in front of her fireplace and held a match. She bit her lip then struck it and watched it burn. She quickly blew it out, the stream of smoke lingered. Like the smoke, she felt like she was lingering. This wasn’t truly her home, but neither was the carriage house. She felt a sense of restlessness and uselessness.
The words of the reporter from Channel Six still stung, but they were true. Her visions hadn’t helped the investigation. She thought about Pastor Fenton saying that she would never find a man who would have her, that she would never have children. How Katherine had accused her of being cursed. If Robert knew all about her past, what would he say?
He’d showered her with gifts. Her closets bulged with clothes she’d only seen in fashion magazines. She even had jewels that she kept in a safe behind a painting of a famous aviator. She’d visited Robert’s home in Georgia. He’d given her so much, except for the one thing she craved.
She sighed. How could a woman be so greedy? She lit another match and watched the flame come to life. So many things could succumb to such a tiny light. She could understand the firestarter how he could watch in awe as something burned. At times she wondered if she were her father’s daughter in other ways. Dangerous ways. She heard footsteps and blew the flame out. She opened a window and tried to wave away the smell of smoke when someone knocked. “Come in.”
Robert came into the room and sniffed the air. “Are you trying to start a fire?”
Her eyes widened. “No, I was just—”
“It’s okay if you can’t start the fireplace. You don’t have to pretend that you do.”
“The fireplace, yes of course. I thought about using it then changed my mind.”
“Why?”
She shrugged.
He added wood then lit a match and stoked the fire into life. “There.”
“Thank you.”
It glowed red in the dim light of the coming evening. Robert stared at it wishing he had more to say. He felt as though he were losing her somehow. She’d probably grown tired of him. You’re too intense, Rosalind used to say. Where’s your sense of fun and adventure? He glanced at Victoria, her fine clothes made her look different than the woman he’d first met. As though some of the spirit that had drawn her to him had left her. He felt like a collector keeping a butterfly in a cage. His heart ached with a selfish pain because he didn’t want to let her go, but knew one day he would have to.
* * *
Melinda walked into her bathroom and halted at the sight of the green toothbrush next to hers. She picked it up and went to Grant who stood in the kitchen chopping vegetables for dinner. He wasn’t the greatest cook, but he loved chopping things for her. She saw the cigarette in the ashtray on the table. He used to smoke and chop, terrifying her that she’d find ashes in her salad. She’d convinced him to stop.
“What’s this?” She waved the toothbrush.
He took it and held it upside. “I don’t know. It’s a mystery.”
She rested a hand on her hip. “I mean what is it doing here?”
“I plan on spending the night.”
“Yes, I know. It won’t be the first time.”
“And since I don’t expect it to be the last time, I thought I’d have a toothbrush handy.”
“I also noticed a razor, some aftershave, and mouthwash in the bathroom.”
He returned to chopping celery. “Uh huh.”
“Are you trying to move in?”
A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “Not yet, but give me time.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?” Her phone rang before he could reply.
“I just saw the living dead,” a voice said. She recognized it as an agent who had been watching the Haddad house.
She gripped the phone “What does that mean?”
“We found Haddad.”
* * *
Melinda hid her shock when Josef Haddad came into her office. He didn’t have a single scar. No missing fingers or discolored skin. Instead he was an exquisite little man with cool manners.
“Sorry it took so long for me to get in touch with you,” he said. “I had a business situation to take care of.”
“For months?” Melinda said.
“I’ve been traveling extensively.”
“Where were you the night of the warehouse fire?” Grant asked. When Haddad looked blank, Grant reminded him of the date.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It was so long ago.” As interrogation progressed it became clear Haddad would not reveal anything. He slowed questioning by repeating statements and giving flippant answers. “Do I look like I’ve been involved in a fire?” Haddad said after a while.
“No,” Grant said. “But we’ll be talking again.” After he’d gone Grant said, “He’s a cool character.”
Melinda rubbed her temples. “He’s infuriating. His mother taught him well.”
“We need the weak link.”
They both began to smile then Melinda said, “I’ll contact his cousin.”
Their suspicions proved right. Basam sat in the room his large eyes making him look younger than his years. He fidgeted as his eyes darted between them. Melinda used his nervousness as an edge to set up a grim scenario. “We can prove your cousin was involved with the fire. We have an officer willing to state that you were near the scene of the fire. You will both be charged with arson with intent to defraud. Your aunt and sister will also be implicated. However, we may be able to help them if you help us. All you have to do is tell me what happened.”
Basam took a deep breath...then did.
It was an arson-for-profit scheme that seemed foolproof—inflate the value of the imported goods, burn them, then make a claim to the insurance company for the inflated value. They’d broken down the gallons of acetone into manageable five-gallon CHC jugs.
“Why did you order CHC jugs when you could have obtained unmarked jugs locally?” Melinda asked since it was the jugs that lead investigators to them.
“I don’t know,” Basam said, “Josef thought it was a good idea.”
They’d smuggled the jugs full of acetone in two huge crates and Basam delivered them as a routine shipment for storage at the warehouse before the fire that night. Josef was hidden inside the crates with the acetone. He was confident because he’d done it before with the Magruder grocery store fire several years earlier. Josef had stayed after hours to pour gasoline and acetone around and set the place on fire. Six months later he’d accepted a job to burn down a fabric store. He’d hidden inside and escaped outback before that building went up.
The night of the warehouse fire he’d snuck inside with a hot plate that was to be used as a timer and walkie-talkie to communicate with Basam. Everything was on schedule, then something ignited the acetone early before Josef could escape.
Grant nodded in understanding—most people underestimated the volatility of acetone’s fumes.
“He was blown out the door,” Basam said, his voice shaking in awed remembrance. “I couldn’t believe it. We were supposed to be safely away with a strong alibi before the building caught fire. I was certain he was dead, so I left.”
Melinda said, “But he wasn’t dead.”
“No, he wasn’t. It was a miracle that he made his way to us in the early morning. He looked like a monster. Blackened strips of skin hung from him. His nose and ears were burnt.”
The family rushed him to the hospital where he’d checked himself out and slipped through the cracks. A couple days later he and Basam flew to Latin America in search of a top plastic surgeon to reconstruct his damaged face. They’d obviously found a miracle worker.
Grant and Melinda left the room. “Call Robert. Let’s bring Haddad in. This case is closed.”
***
Robert wasn’t so sure. “What about the third man?” he asked Grant over the phone.
“There was no mention of a third man. Basam said it was just him and his cousin.”
“Victoria mentioned a third man.”
“I know, but she wasn’t sure about his role. She mentioned someone watching. Maybe he got off seeing the building burn...that isn’t a crime. I don’t think he was involved.”
“She said he was. She wouldn’t have mentioned him if he wasn’t important.”
Grant gripped the phone thinking about the cigarette he’d smoke when he ended this call. “Look, I’m not against anything she said, but to tell you the truth, I’m sick of this case. I would like to see it closed. It was hard enough getting this far. We have nothing that would connect a third suspect and if there had been someone else, Basarn would have said something. He doesn’t seem the loyal type.”
Robert sighed.
“If there is a third man, he won’t stay quiet long.”
“Yes, that’s what bothers me.”
* * *
Susannah threw up her hands exasperated. “Will you give me a break?”
Foster sat stoic in her living room chair. “You’re slipping. Your last three reports have been skewed and mean spirited, especially your report about the fire investigation. You’ve done this before and it hurt people.”
“I didn’t hurt anyone.”
“That report was unfair.”
“That report was a simple `Do you remember when’ piece, and it was weeks ago. It’s called news.”
“It was slander.”
“I didn’t use any names. I just reported the truth. Everyone knows your precious boss has nothing on the warehouse fire, and that was months ago.” She poured herself a drink and swallowed. God why had she even let him come over? Probably because of those damn blue eyes. They made him seem so harmless...but he wasn’t harmless---he was a nag. If only he could understand how cutthroat her business was.
The viewers liked a woman with an edge, a woman who cut through the crap. Her producer had loved the stalled investigation story, debunking psychic hoopla was what news thrived on. Add some police incompetence, and you’ve got the public’s attention. The public loved to see their civil servants screw up. She sniffed. Civil servants my ass... they had the audacity to spend her tax money on some New Age crap and still hadn’t gotten anywhere.
Foster took the glass from her. “How much have you been drinking?”
She ran a hand through her hair. “Enough to quench my thirst. I’m fine. Okay?”
“The pain won’t always be there.”
She turned away. “I don’t want to hear it.”
He set the glass down. “Your mother died from this. You don’t want to do the same.”
She folded her arms. “I don’t plan to.”
“Come to the next meeting.”
Her lips became a thin line. “Look, just because you lost your daughter doesn’t mean you have to father me.”
Foster stared at her as an old hurt gripped him. She was right. Tanya was gone. She would have been near Susannah’s age if... No he couldn’t start the What ifs again.
He felt a fresh pain that time had yet to ebb. Alcohol used to numb it for him, but he’d taught himself to feel the pain, then let it go. There was a power in letting go. He wished Susannah knew that. She had talent, but he couldn’t save her. He had to let her go. She’d have to reach bottom just as he had.
“You’re right.” Foster grabbed his jacket
“Hey look, you don’t have to be angry,” she said with remorse. “I didn’t mean—”
He stopped and stared down at her, his eyes piercing hers. “I’m not angry. I’m sorry.” He opened the door. “You know how to reach me.” Foster jumped in his car and slammed the door. He’d lied. He was angry. Angry at himself for caring. Angry that he needed Susannah to succeed so that he wouldn’t feel like a failure. He pulled out of the driveway.
Prescott watched him leave.