“You law enforcement types don’t think Dom could be your firebug, do you?” she asked him. “Because that’d be nuts—”
“Go swimming.”
She could hear the relief in his voice. She smiled into the sun. “I love you, Scott.”
“Yeah,” he said, and it was enough.
Beth quickly shut her phone and headed back inside.
Twenty-One
N ick was on Rose’s couch, welcoming the quiet and coziness of her little house after the long, tense day. She lay stretched out in front of her woodstove, with Ranger asleep, one ear flopped off the side of his bed. It was dark, the promise of warmer temperatures in the forecast for tomorrow.
He could see the white on Ranger’s undercoat. “Will you train another search dog after Ranger retires?” he asked.
“Not right away,” Rose said. “Maybe not ever. Ranger has time. Another year, I think.”
“You’re both on the road a lot.”
“Especially this past year.”
“How much was volunteer and how much was for pay?”
“My search-and-rescue work is on a volunteer basis. I’m a member of a team that responds to disaster calls around the country, but most of our work’s in New England. I’ve been doing more and more consulting in search management. That pays, but I still need to do projects at the lodge to make ends meet.”
Nick watched her run her palm over Ranger’s golden coat.
She added, “I can’t take on the intense commitment to train another dog anytime soon.”
“You and Ranger are still a team.”
“We have more work to do together. We could drop back to local wilderness searches. The disaster work’s intense and demanding for both of us.” She glanced up at Nick, the effects of the fire on the lake that morning—the needless death of a man she knew—less evident in her eyes, her mouth. “Enough about me.”
“You’re driven,” Nick said.
“This from Nick Martini,” Rose said, amused, and sat up, stretching out her legs in front of her. She’d changed into slim pants and a soft sweater and was barefoot. She seemed aware he was watching her every movement. “Sean’s driven, too, but he’s more subtle about it. Not you. Submarines, smoke jumping, making money—you dive into whatever you’re doing with absolute commitment. What’s your family like?”
He smiled slightly. “Intense but likable.”
Rose laughed. “You’re intense. ‘Likable’ remains to be seen. I know your father’s retired. For how long?”
“Five years. He misses the sea, even if he was under it most of his career. He has a number of different irons in the fire as a military consultant. My mother’s a geologist. She teaches at a local college. I have a sister, too. Diana. She’s career navy.”
“You enlisted. How’d that go over?”
He grinned. “It went over.”
“You were impatient. You still are. It can be a virtue. You didn’t hesitate today. You did well.”
Again his gaze settled on her. “So did you.”
“I’m not an adrenaline junkie,” she said, not defensively. “Maybe at first I had visions of drama and heroism and adventure, but canine search and rescue requires teamwork and a tremendous amount of dedication, training and practice, practice, practice. People who go into it for the glory usually don’t last.”
“It’s similar with smoke jumping.” Her toes almost touched his boots. “Training weeds out most of the people who are there for the wrong reasons. It weeds out those who have the right attitude, too, but just can’t do the job, for whatever reason.”
“I remember what Sean went through. It’s a grueling process.” Rose glanced at the fire blazing behind the glass doors of the woodstove. “Some firebugs are frustrated glory hogs.”
Nick didn’t respond. He knew her statement wasn’t a non sequitur.
She turned back to him. “They set fires out of an inflated sense of vanity. They like watching the fire itself, but they also like to watch the crews charge in to put it out—the feeling of power it gives them.” The fire glowed in her tawny-colored hair. “I don’t know what kind we’re dealing with. A glory hog mixed with a cold-blooded killer?”
“Not a good mix,” Nick said.
“No.”
He shifted the subject. “Ranger loves it here, doesn’t he?”
She smiled, slipping on her socks and boots. “You can tell, can’t you?”
“He’ll have a long, good retirement.”
They left him by the fire and headed out. They’d been invited to dinner at A.J. and Lauren’s house.
Summoned was more like it, Nick thought, but he understood. A.J. was worried about his sister, and not for no reason.
Rose didn’t protest when Nick suggested they take his car. He appreciated the short, easy drive to a white clapboard farmhouse on Ridge Road, just past Harper Four Corners. The driveway was crowded with cars. It had been a bad day in Black Falls, and Lauren and A.J. had also invited Dominique Belair, Myrtle Smith, the O’Rourke cousins, Zack Harper and Scott Thorne.
The little Camerons were already in bed. The house was simply decorated with a lot of bright, cheerful colors. Children’s finger paintings hung on the refrigerator. Guests were helping themselves to a simple buffet of cold meats and cheeses, salads, rolls and cookies.
The O’Rourkes and Dominique, clearly exhausted, didn’t stay long. Zack pulled Nick aside in the dining room and talked fires. The youngest Harper was a heartbreaker, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Black Falls was home. They discussed the emerging timeline of Robert Feehan and Derek Cutshaw’s actions over the past few days in particular. Zack commented that Feehan could have locked Dominique in the cabin and set the other two on fire and still have made it back to his campsite without burning up himself.
“I don’t think he meant to get killed,” Zack said. “It wasn’t suicide.”
“What was he doing at the lake?” Rose asked, sitting next to Zack at the pine table. “His tent was cozy, well hidden. Why not stay up there?”
Zack leaned back in his chair. “He could have been meeting someone, and Dom surprised him.”
Rose wasn’t satisfied. “Why the ski mask?”
“Maybe he was cold. Maybe he didn’t want a casual observer to recognize him. He knew the police wanted to talk to him.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” Rose said. “Dom was a casual observer, and she got locked in a cabin. Why didn’t Robert just take off for Miami or someplace? Why stay here in town?”
A.J. and Lauren stood arm in arm in the doorway of the dining room. “He had unfinished business,” A.J. said.
Rose frowned. “What, lighting Jo’s cabins on fire?”
“Who knows?” A.J. shrugged, but he was anything but casual or relaxed. “We all want this to end here. It’d be easier if Feehan and Cutshaw were having a personal feud over their drug dealing that had nothing to do with Lowell Whittaker and his killers.”
“And no one else was involved,” Lauren added.
Myrtle came in with a plate heaped with salad and nothing else. She sat next to Nick. “Could either one of them have set my house on fire and taught Lowell how to build a pipe bomb and detonate it with a cell phone?”
Silence descended over the gathering. Nick bit into a slice of cucumber. “From all I’ve heard, Lowell Whittaker hired very competent people.”
“That’s right,” Myrtle said, “and this guy Feehan just burned himself up in a run-down cabin.”
“Maybe he knew he was caught and chose how to go out,” Zack said. “Maybe it wasn’t a calculated move and he just acted on impulse.”
“Let me repeat,” Scott Thorne said from the arched doorway to the living room. “The investigation’s only just
