some say they were worried about her coming back. That the fires’d start again.”
“Say what? Who’s this ‘her’?” Griff looked up, only half-listening. He wanted to get out of here, put his feet up, open a dripping-cold long neck and start in on his real work. But the kid had been scrubbing the place until he’d practically worn out his hands; obviously he didn’t want to go home. Bruises hadn’t healed up from the last time his dad had a snootful.
“You know. The pretty lady who came in the other day. The one with the long brown hair. You went right over to her. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
Griff scowled. Sometimes the kid saw way more than he needed to.
Lily had been in twice more for Griff’s Secret-but not for any of his. She’d chatted up Steve the first time; someone had talked to her the other. God knew, he’d raced from the back room to flirt her up, but she’d escaped before he could tackle her both times. Maybe that was accidental-or maybe she didn’t remotely feel the same spark he did.
No sweat, he’d told himself. But somehow she kept pouncing into his mind, lingering there like a sweet taste he couldn’t get out of his head. That he could get hung up on a woman he barely knew was downright worrisome.
It implied a capacity for commitment.
That was fearful.
Still, he couldn’t let Jason’s comment go. “Why would anyone think that Lily Campbell has anything to do with the sirens?”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Come on. Her coming back after all these years just stirred up the story. Everyone knows what happened.”
“Well I don’t, so why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Her daddy was a fire setter. That’s what everybody said. And now she’s back, so people been saying, ‘watch out for fires.’ And now you heard the sirens.”
“That’s pretty darned ridiculous, Jason.”
“Hey, I wasn’t even born when it all happened. I’m just telling you what people are saying, that’s all. Her dad and her mom got burned up in the last fire. The three sisters, they got split up all over the country. People said the three girls, they cried and screamed when folks tried to separate them. That it all was a tragedy. That nobody guessed there was something so broken in Mr. Campbell. That was her daddy. Mr. Campbell. Anyway. The fires stopped after they left. Only now she’s back. And there’s a siren.”
Griff frowned. “Jason, that’s ludicrous. Who’s spreading these rumors?”
“I dunno. Hey, don’t be mad at me. I was just telling you what I heard, that’s all.”
“Well, think about it. If she left town when she was a little girl, there’s no reason to think anyone even recognizes her. And if her father was an arsonist, that has nothing to do with her.”
“I never said he was an ars’nist. I said he started fires.”
“Jason. An arsonist is someone who sets fires.”
“Sheesh. It’s summertime. You’re not supposed to have to learn stuff in the summertime. It’s not fair.”
There were times Griff loved living in a small town. This wasn’t one of them. That young, pretty woman was soft clear through. It was in her eyes, her face, the look of her. That anyone could think she was a criminal-or in town for no good-was beyond absurd.
But Pecan Valley did love its gossip. And good news was boring. The chance of something naughty and meaty was always the ideal, but it was only now that Griff remembered-Lily had mentioned something in that short first conversation. Something about how he might not want to get to know her. He wasn’t sure what it meant at the time. Didn’t matter then. All he’d been concentrating on at the time was the lap of her soft tongue on Griff’s Secret.
He’d imagined her tongue on a few other secret places of his in the days since, making him worry that he was turning into a dirty old man-before he was even in his prime.
“Jason.”
“Yup?”
“You cleaned up enough. I’m locking up. I know you don’t want to go home.”
“Sure I do. You think I want to work all the time?” he said under his breath, “But you’ll keep half my pay still, right?”
“Yup. Got it hidden. Earning interest.” This was old, touchy territory for the boy. “I’m just saying. You find trouble at home, you know where I live.”
“I’m not leaving my mom.”
That voice. So low. So defeated. So old. “I never said you should leave your mom. I said you know where I live. Just like your mom knows there’s a shelter where she’ll be safe, and they’d help her start over.”
“She won’t go.”
“That’s not on you.”
“Right.”
Griff told himself to shut up, because he knew better than to push. He’d pushed before. He had four kids working for him-all troublemakers, school flunk-outs, all of them tattooed and pierced and familiar with the holding cell at the sheriff’s office. You don’t push kids who’ve already given up. And when a kid had already given up by age eleven, you tiptoed, because you might only have one chance to earn some trust-and that’s if you were lucky.
Griff wasn’t a good tiptoer. He wore a size-l4 shoe.
Once Jason finally headed out, Griff thoughtfully packed up a pint-size cold tote and carried it to his car in the alley. Main Street was shutting down.
Shops closed up early on a weekday, but the pharmacy was still open and Deb’s Diner still had a cluster of pickups in front. Although there was no sign of the fire trucks now, all the lights were blazing at the sheriff’s office.
He noticed the lights, but didn’t linger, just turned left two blocks later on Magnolia. The street was an antebellum postcard; the houses were huge and old, built of cool cinder block, most with sweeping verandas and swings hung with chains. Big old oaks shaded the sidewalks, but everybody had flowers, cottage roses under trellises where there was a peek of sun, bosomy peonies in the deep shade…he didn’t know all the flower names. A fat fox squirrel chased right in front of his car-the measure of a safe town, he’d always thought, was that the darned squirrels knew perfectly well they had right of way.
The rich didn’t hang in the neighborhood anymore, mostly because no one was all that rich-but the big old houses still looked loved, porches swept, gardens fussed over. Young couples who wanted a passel of children could afford the mortgages. The elders had already paid off theirs. Those in between had invariably turned their place into the ever-hopeful bed-and-breakfasts.
He parked, climbed out, took his tote. In the way of a small town, he knew Louella’s even if he’d never been inside. It was the last on the block, with a red tile roof and long, long steps leading to the porch…he didn’t initially see her. At least not exactly. What he saw from the rail on the veranda, were a pair of very bare, very dirty, very feminine feet.
Judging from the position of those feet, they were attached to someone who was lying flat on the wood plank veranda floor. A curious position for sure.
He ambled up the sidewalk, up the steps, to peek his head over the rail.
The glow of lights and distant voices murmured from beyond the B and B’s giant screen door, but the only one on the veranda was her.
For a moment, his heart stopped-he wasn’t sure she was alive. She was lying there with her feet up on the rail, eyes closed, arms just lying at her sides, palms up…as if she’d fallen in that kind of heap and couldn’t move. She was wearing shorts and a tee in some pastel color, all wrinkled and tangled.
His heart immediately resumed beating on noting she wasn’t wearing a bra. And that her plump, perfectly shaped breasts were rising and falling, indicating life-not to mention a delectably appealing rack.
By the time he’d finished a complete study-legs were damned good, way, way better than he expected, a little Yankee white, but the calf shape was just that perfect arch of a curve. Anyway. By the time he finished, she had one eye open.
“Please,” she said. “Go on in. Leave me for dead. There are all kinds of people in the house. If you want someone, just pound on the door.”
“I was looking for you, actually.”
