Ann’s blond hair was swept into an effortless yet attractive ponytail, and, as always, no makeup covered her peaches-and-cream complexion. A bulky cable-knit sweater skimmed above her trim jeans, proving cold weather lingered a long time in Montana. A pair of well-worn UGGs warmed her feet, and a blue-and-white cable-knit scarf wound around her neck in an offhanded yet stylish way.
“Be right there, Ann,” she said before she shifted her attention to Elijah, a freshman standing by her teaching assistant’s desk. Elijah had proven to have one of the quickest minds in the entire school.
At the sound of Ann’s voice, Elijah had immediately lifted his gaze to Ann. It was not like Joan did not work out or take care of herself, because she did. But Ann was in a different league. When Ann entered the room, men forgot about the other women around. What really sucked was that Ann was sincerely nice and smart.
“Mr. Weston, did you have a question?” Joan knew she sounded more annoyed than she had intended.
Elijah shifted his focus back to her. His hair was thick, blond, and swept back over his forehead as if a breeze had just caught it. It begged to be brushed back. “You shouldn’t compare yourself to her.”
“What?”
“Comparisons are rarely productive. Women do it all the time. Men do, too. Regardless, they’re a waste of time unless there’s real value.”
Joan felt the color rise in her cheeks, but instead of confirming his wise observation, she went on the offensive. “Did you have a question?”
“No question. You did a great job this semester, and I’m just giving credit where it’s due.”
“Okay. Thanks. See you around.”
“Sure.”
Joan gripped the strap of her pack and dashed up the stairs. Halfway up, her foot caught on a loose piece of carpeting, and she stumbled. Adrenaline surging, she quickly righted herself. She refused to look back because she sensed that he was watching.
Ann grinned. “You look flustered.”
“I just tripped.”
Joan watched as Ann looked toward Elijah, met his gaze, and smiled warmly. “What’s Elijah like?”
“Smart. Best student ever.”
“He and I are going to be volunteer math tutors this weekend at the student center,” Ann said.
“He certainly knows his material.”
Ann playfully jabbed Joan in the ribs. Then Joan hustled out of the room, glad Ann was right on her heels. Even after Joan’s breakup with Gideon, Ann had remained her friend, and for that reason alone, she would have her back forever.
Ann dropped her voice while glancing around. “He’s intense. Smart. Different.”
Different. Joan could have practiced all day and not crafted a better understatement. All kinds of rumors swirled around Elijah, but whispers often followed people who did not fit a mold.
“He’s hot,” Ann said, whispering. “But just a little young for me.”
Now, as Joan pushed aside the memory and considered another beer, she wondered for the millionth time if she had missed any warning signs with Elijah. However, replays of their brief interactions had never revealed any lingering omens, and his letters never suggested a motive.
She rose and walked to her laptop, centered on a small desk tucked in the corner. She opened it and checked the weather in Missoula. It was thirty degrees colder than in Philadelphia, and snow would be coming soon.
She tapped her fingers on the keys and then searched airline flights to Missoula. The tickets were not cheap and would mean a dip into the savings she’d been setting aside for a new car. But the car could wait a little longer. And if she called Ann, she knew the lodging would be covered.
Joan had not stayed for Elijah’s trial, but Ann had told her later that he had repeatedly professed his innocence. But a history of small arson-related events, multiple eyewitnesses who had placed him near their homes hours before the fire, and forensic evidence that linked his DNA to the crime scene had all resulted in a swift guilty verdict. At his sentencing, Ann had said Elijah had spoken calmly about the imbalanced scales of justice. She said it had not been his words that had troubled her but his expression and tone, which both had hinted of retribution.
In Joan’s experience, that kind of anger did not just go away. Ten years of incarceration was plenty of time to plan revenge. The letter Elijah had sent to her home was not meant to be friendly. Hidden behind the chatty conversation was a real threat that she intended to neutralize.
Confessions of an Arsonist
My first fire was a tiny brush fire.
It was nothing big, but it crackled as its flames stretched up and toward the brush around it. It was hungry and wanted to devour the dry land. But I panicked, afraid that it would spread and I would be discovered. So I stomped it out until there was nothing but smoldering black ash. Destroying it made me angry. My fire deserved to run wild and consume everything it wanted. Already, I was anxious to set another fire.
CHAPTER TWO
Missoula, Montana
Saturday, September 5, 2020
4:30 p.m.
As the plane touched down at Missoula International Airport, Joan stared out her window toward the mountain range ablaze with vibrant reds and oranges. She was surprised that the glowing Montana hues conjured memories of the College Fire, which always lurked in the shadows.
The night of the fire, Joan and Ann had been out drinking. Each had broken up with their boyfriends and were anxious to move on with their lives. But a couple of beers had quickly sapped their strength, so they had decided to make it an early night. They had staggered home, and both had fallen into a deep sleep. The next thing Joan remembered was the explosion and Ann’s panicked shouts. “Joan, get up! Get up! The house is on fire!”
Ann’s voice sounded so far off, and even as she prayed for five more minutes of sleep, the scent of smoke slithered up her nose and rubbed against her nasal passages like sandpaper. She sneezed, pulled in more of the smoke
