the words he was saying. “They won’t hurt her. They know you’re her owner and what the circumstances are. She’ll be looked after.”
“Do you know if she’s okay?”
“No, ma’am, but I’m sure she is. We need to ask you some questions.”
Of course they did. Her own questions flooded her mind and poured out in a rush. “What about my house? Is it okay? They were able to put the fire out, right? Oh, God,” she managed, when the two men exchanged glances. “My laptop. My photos. Granny’s bible. Oh, God. Did it…did it…burn to the ground?” The words came out in a choked whisper.
“No ma’am. But there is a lot of damage. Our team of arson investigators are there now. The fire’s out, and once the team’s done they’ll do an overhaul and check, but they’ll see to the building tonight. We won’t know till morning the extent of the damage. You’ll need to call your insurance company right away, of course.”
“Uh, didn’t look like a total loss, ma’am,” the shorter man, Chief Marsden interjected.
“Not a total loss,” Torie managed weakly. Squeezing her eyes shut to block the glare, she imagined the devastation.
“Please Ms. Hagen, the doctor has restricted our time with you, and we do need the information while it’s fresh in your mind.”
Oh, it was fresh all right. The smell of fire and blood lingered in her hair. She could even smell it on her skin.
Fear. She smelled that, too. Her own fear. How many times would her life be turned upside down?
“Ms. Hagen?”
“Yes. What do you need to know, Detective…?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Investigator Sorrels. Walk us through what happened. Tell us everything you remember.”
Step by step, she took them through the events. They wanted to know about her day, the time leading up to when she got home.
“I left work late. Grabbed a…drink with a friend.” No need to tell the police what else she and Pam had grabbed. She needed to call Pam. Shit, when was she going to do that? “Um, I, um, stopped and got some groceries. Came home.”
“A neighbor said you had a visitor when you got home.”
Surprise must have been written all over her face because the taller man smirked. “Your neighbor’s the curtain-peeking sort, I believe.”
“Missus Bellfort. Yes, she is,” Torie managed, gritting her teeth at a new wave of pain in her head.
“I hope she saw something useful.” Irritation made the headache worse. “The visitor was Dev, my cousin from New Orleans. He stopped by, wanted to come in, but I told him it wasn’t convenient.”
“You don’t get along with this cousin?” Marsden’s voice sharpened, every bit of his attention focused on Torie. It was weird to watch the switch from laconic to on-point.
“No, it’s not that.” Torie wondered how on earth to explain. “Dev’s my fourth cousin, a couple times removed. He’s in town on a conference. I knew he was going to be in town, we talked about getting coffee or something, but no firm plans. We share a great-grandmother. She sent a message that he felt needed to be delivered in person.”
“What are you leaving out?” This from Sorrels.
Crap. Mama had always said she was too easy to read. Torie sighed. “He wanted to take me out for dinner or drinks to catch up. I’d just come in from…” she hesitated, telling herself again that she had to call Pam, make sure their stories were straight. “Drinks with my friend, as I said. I just wanted to spend the rest of the evening in.”
“And you didn’t invite your cousin in as well?”
“It wasn’t, um, convenient. And he wanted to go out. He’s kind of a party guy.”
Men who came into her house got hurt.
Or worse.
She’d been trying to protect Dev as best she could. Besides, she had been tired.
“Ms. Hagen?”
“Sorry. My head’s hurting a lot. Anyway, Dev delivered my great-grandmother’s message, and headed back to his conference. I went into the house to put the groceries away, change, and take Pickle out.”
“Pickle?”
“My dog.”
“And your cousin’s full name? And the name of the convention, too, if you remember?”
“Devereaux Chance. The convention’s for green building technologies.” Marsden made a note, of course.
“And what happened then?”
Torie told them about the sound of breaking glass, the smell of gasoline, how she’d headed toward it, then been blasted back by the explosion. The two exchanged glances.
“You’re very lucky, Ms. Hagen. If you’d gotten into the room, you would have been severely injured.” She got the strong sense that Sorrels really meant she’d have been killed.
“Did anything else happen today? Anything unusual?”
