“Could he be the arsonist himself?”
Sean cast Grit a cool look. “No.”
“Is that friendship or your head talking?”
“Both.”
Beth stalked over to them. Her turquoise eyes showed the strain she was feeling, but she still glared at Grit. “What happened to your navy business?”
“Tomorrow,” he said.
They headed back out, the air warm, the light now a filtered brownish color. This time Grit took the backseat. Beth got in front without a word.
Sean was pensive as they drove to his house.
“I have to go home,” Beth said, watching Beverly Hills slide past her.
Sean nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. We’ll all go.”
Once at Sean’s, he and Beth went inside to make plans. Grit stayed out in the driveway and took a call from Charlie Neal.
“Anything new?” Charlie asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Never mind. I’d have heard. I’ve been looking into Portia Martinez—all on the internet, so don’t worry. She grew up in Fresno. Her parents are school-teachers. Totally ordinary and normal. She wanted to work in Holly wood from the age of four.”
“The police must know this, Charlie.”
“They must, but here’s what I’m thinking. What if Portia somehow got wind of this firebug and his plot to kill my sister?”
“Jasper Vanderhorn’s the only one who had this theory about a serial arsonist. How would she have found out? And your sister’s fire was months ago, and it was an accident. If Ms. Martinez knew anything about it, she’d have reported what she knew to the police or the Secret Service, don’t you think?”
“She might have only just found out, and there could be a new plot. It’s unfinished business. Killing Marissa, I mean.”
Grit sighed. He was getting used to Charlie’s labyrinthine way of thinking. “You think Jasper Vanderhorn was onto the plot and that’s why he was killed?”
“Maybe Portia was his confidential informant.”
“There any evidence of that?”
“How would I know? I’m in high school in northern Virginia.”
“You’re maddening.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. You’re a big pain in the ass, Charlie.”
“Good.” He sounded relieved. “How’s the leg?”
“Which one? All’s well.” Grit watched a car edge past the house on the quiet street. “Go back to class.”
“Jo and Elijah are upset about the fire this morning—Agent Harper and Sergeant Cameron, I mean.”
Grit had wondered if Charlie would get to that part. “You’ve talked to them?”
“I saw Jo and called Elijah. They didn’t want to talk to me.”
“You weren’t surprised, were you?”
“No, but it’s okay. They told me to butt out, which I expected, but I got my point across. What do you think the fire on Jo’s property means? Is the firebug mad at her for foiling his attack on Marissa last fall?”
“Evidence, Charlie. Speculation just gets you tangled up.”
“That’s what Elijah said.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“Two fires, Grit—Petty Officer Taylor,” Charlie said. “That’s evidence.”
Beth was in the shade by the front door when Grit disconnected. He’d seen her come out but hadn’t done anything about it. She shook her head at him. “Jo would skewer you.”
“For what?”
“For talking to Charlie Neal. That little devil caused Jo big problems and almost got her fired, and now he’s going to get you arrested.”
“Jo might not have hooked up with Elijah again if Charlie hadn’t shot her in the butt with those Airsoft pellets.”
“They’d have found a way back to each other.”
Grit noticed a flicker of what he interpreted as sadness and regret in Beth’s eyes. “You’re a romantic.”
“Not me.” She almost smiled as she stepped out of the shade. “I’m a hardheaded, repressed New Englander.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re not a romantic. It’ll be a while before you get over Trooper Thorne, won’t it?”
“I’m not talking about my love life with you, Grit. What about yours?”
“Too busy learning to walk again.”
“It’s been almost a year.”
“You’d expect more of me?”
“A strapping Navy SEAL? It was just your lower leg you lost.”
Her bluntness was refreshing. “Man, you’re tough.”
She didn’t seem at all embarrassed or chagrined. “Tell me about Charlie.”
After Grit went back inside, Beth stifled her guilt at having been surly with him and dialed Scott’s cell number. He’d left her a message to call him. She had no idea what to expect. She only knew that she wanted to talk to him in private, not where Hannah, Sean or Grit could scrutinize her for her reaction.
She stood in the warm sun and steadied herself when she heard Scott pick up. “It’s me,” she said.
“Hey, Beth.” He sounded tense but not angry, and not, she thought, unpleased to hear her voice. “You okay?”
“I am, yes. You?”
“Just doing my job.”
“You called me—”
“I called to find out how you are. I meant that’s how I am—I’m just doing my job.” He sighed. “Don’t complicate everything.”
Beth smiled in spite of her tension. That was Scott: literal, no-nonsense, a man of clarity and purpose. “I talked to Rose,” she said. “Dominique’s been concealing an ex-husband and a trust fund. How long have you known?”
“Awhile.”
But he couldn’t and wouldn’t tell her. She appreciated that about him. He wouldn’t torture himself. He’d just put the information under “secret work stuff” in his mind and not go there when they were together. “Jo knows?”
“Ask her.”
Beth took that as a yes. “So how the hell rich is Dom?”
“She’s from a Midwest manufacturing family. Old money.”
“And here she is, living in a little fixer-upper in a small Vermont town and baking scones and grilling salmon for a living.”
“She just does her own thing, which you, she and Hannah all share.”
“Scott—”
“When are you coming back?”
“As soon as I can figure out how to get there.”
“Plane,” he said.
For Scott Thorne, that was a major display of humor. Beth felt tears hot in her eyes, the anger draining out of her. She tried to laugh. “I kind of miss winter.”
“No, you don’t. You miss being in the middle of things.” He paused and sucked in a breath. “I miss having you in the middle of things. Going out to the lake this morning…knowing you wouldn’t be there to help…” His voice was lower, almost tentative. “It wasn’t what I thought it’d be.”
She knew he’d said all he meant to and if she pushed for more, she’d only make him uncomfortable. If she’d learned anything in the past twenty-four hours, it was to hold her damn tongue once in a while.
