“Serial arsonist, then.”
“Go take your calculus test.”
“I told you my sister Marissa has an ex-boyfriend in L.A., right? An actor. He writes screenplays, too. He dumped Marissa when Dad was tapped as veep.”
Marissa Neal was the eldest of Charlie’s four sisters and a history teacher at his northern Virginia private high school. She was also beautiful, and she didn’t think Grit was such a positive influence on her brother.
“The only connection—and I use the word loosely—between your sister and this guy is an ex-boyfriend in California?”
Charlie was undeterred. “Jasper Vanderhorn was a California arson investigator.”
“Do you know how many millions of people there are in California?”
“He was based in Los Angeles County. The ex-boyfriend’s in Beverly Hills. Well, maybe not quite. On the border. Close.”
“You’re a genius, Charlie. Do the math on the odds—”
“Nick Martini is a smoke jumper, and he was with Rose Cameron when she found the victim of yesterday morning’s fire in Black Falls.”
“Charlie.”
“I asked Jo about it. She wasn’t that nice.”
“Good.”
“You’re missing the nuances.”
Grit felt the sun hot on the back of his neck. “I’m not good with nuances.”
“The ex-boyfriend and Marissa broke up eighteen months ago. Last June, Jasper Vanderhorn, the arson investigator, died in a suspicious wildland canyon fire north of Los Angeles. Sean Cameron and Nick Martini tried to get to him but they were too late. At the same time, Rose Cameron was nearby, searching for an eleven-year-old boy who’d wandered off when his family had to evacuate.”
“So? I’m not connecting the dots here, Charlie.”
Charlie ignored him. “Jo was assigned to protect Marissa then.”
“Special Agent Harper,” Grit said, not letting it go this time.
“Right. Special Agent Harper. Then last October, Marissa was almost killed when a gas stove blew up at a place she rented with friends in the Shenandoah Mountains. Jo—Agent Harper—saved her.” When Grit didn’t respond, Charlie took a breath. “Then in November, we had the fire at Myrtle’s.”
“Miss Smith or Ms. Smith.”
“She said I could call her Myrtle.”
Grit was silent.
“Miss Smith could have been killed. The same day as that fire, we had the improvised explosive device in Vermont that killed Melanie Kendall. Then in January, we had the two IEDs that almost killed Hannah Shay, Sean Cameron and Bowie O’Rourke—and Vivian Whittaker, too, but I’m not sure I want to count her. Awful woman.”
Grit tried not to let himself get sidetracked by Charlie’s pinball-machine of a mind. “We don’t know who set Myrtle’s house on fire, but the bombs were Lowell Whittaker’s doing.”
“With the help of one of his hired killers, who happens also to be a serious pyromaniac,” Charlie said with absolute certainty. “I have a list of other fires around the country he could have started.”
“Could be a she.”
“Eighty percent of arsonists are men.”
Grit knew better than to doubt, never mind argue with, Charlie Neal’s information. “I know you’re working hard on this, Charlie. Your sister’s fire was an accident.”
“What if it just looked like an accident?”
“Your one minute forty-eight seconds are up. Good luck on the calculus test.”
“I’ll get a ninety-six. I’ve already decided where I’ll shave off the points. It’s obnoxious to get a hundred all the time. I stopped doing extra credit in fifth grade.”
“There’s no hiding you’re smart, Charlie.”
The kid was already gone. Grit finally rolled down his window. He thought he could smell lilacs in the air, but it was still too early for lilacs. He turned onto Massachusetts Avenue, again thinking about tupelo honey. His folks had told him he could come home if he decided to quit the navy.
Good to know, given what he was thinking.
Charlie texted him a name: Trent Stevens, Beverly Hills.
Marissa Neal’s actor ex-boyfriend.
Grit tossed his phone back onto the seat next to him. Charlie Neal was playing with a fire of his own.
By the time he arrived at the Pentagon, Grit had formulated the bones of a plan. Admiral Jenkins had been after him to go to San Diego to meet with some experts or some such out there—Grit hadn’t paid attention and didn’t care about the particulars. Charlie wanted him in L.A. to check out the actor.
Grit figured he’d found a way to make everyone happy.
Seven
R ose stayed in a small room on the second floor of the main part of the lodge, its dormer windows looking out on Cameron Mountain. It was one of her favorite rooms. She and her mother had picked out the cheerful blue-and-white fabrics and colorful autumn prints.
She’d slept fitfully, waking up sweating, heart racing, from nightmares she couldn’t remember but knew had been bad. At first light, she grabbed Ranger and went for a run, sticking to Ridge Road. At Four Corners, she waved to the McBanes, the elderly couple who lived in the old tavern directly across from the cemetery. They were sanding their walk and filling their bird feeders. Sean had quietly bought the place, making them life tenants.
Rose continued a half mile past the partially collapsed barn on the opposite corner before turning back, Ranger trotting comfortably at her side. A few guests were up at the lodge, but she didn’t see Nick as she helped herself to a muffin and coffee and slipped up to her room for a hot shower. She changed into warm, dry clothes, brushed Ranger and headed back down to the lobby. She and Lauren had agreed to meet at the old sugar shack in an hour.
Both Scott Thorne and Zack Harper were in the lobby. Rose didn’t detect any awkwardness between the two men given Scott’s sudden breakup with Beth. Rose suspected the trauma of the past year had taken a toll on both of them, but neither would admit it. They were professionals. They weren’t supposed to fall apart. At least, according to Hannah, it had been an amicable split. Beth and Scott, who hadn’t grown up in Black Falls, had always done well as friends.
“Hey, Rose,” Zack said, cider doughnut in hand. He looked so much like his two older sisters, but his eyes were a darker turquoise, his hair a darker copper. He was one of a handful of full-time firefighters in the town’s otherwise volunteer department. “Quiet morning.”
“I ran five miles first thing. I can feel it in my legs.”
“Running off your stress?” Scott asked.
Rose doubted he was teasing her. She smiled. “Running to run.”
Nick came in from the dining room, moving easily, as if he’d slept well and didn’t have a care in the world. He had on a thick, soft-looking sweater, canvas pants and boots. “While you were running,” he said, “I was helping myself to the breakfast buffet. They’re serious about breakfast here.”
Rose was aware of Scott and Zack observing her with obvious interest and hoped her face hadn’t turned red, despite the rush of heat she felt at Nick’s presence. “What would you have had at home?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not good for you.”
Nick grinned at her. “Pancakes, sausage, butter and maple syrup are?”
“You can have whole-grain pancakes, turkey sausage and not overdo the butter and syrup. Nothing, though…you need to jump-start your engine in the morning.”
“I do. I have coffee when I get to work.”
