Syph grabs ahold of my hand and squeezes it. “He’s alive and that’s because of you. They said that if you hadn’t dragged him down those stairs, he’d be dead for sure.”
“You’re a hero,” Hurley says, and Syph nods. She gives my hand one last squeeze and then lets it go.
“Try to get some rest,” Syph says. “They want to keep you here for a while to make sure your respiratory status is okay, but I suspect they’ll spring you in a couple of hours. I’ll be back in a bit. Holler if you need anything.”
“I will. Thanks.”
As soon as Syph disappears behind the curtain wall, Hurley leans down and rests his arms on the side rail of my stretcher. “That was a brave but stupid thing you did tonight, Winston. You should have waited for the fire department to get there. You could have been killed.”
“I couldn’t just stand there and let David burn to death,” I protest, wincing with the pain in my throat. I sip more of the water and feel a little relief. “I thought you were making yourself scarce,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard the call go out over my radio and recognized the address. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I suppose I should be flattered but given that I’ve become Hurley’s only secret ally of late, I can’t help but wonder if his motive might have been something else. “Do they know how the fire started?”
Hurley frowns and hesitates a second before he answers, and I know the news won’t be good. “It was arson. The firemen found an empty gas can in the kitchen and there is an obvious pour pattern in one of the front rooms of the house.”
“Who? How? And why?” I ask as the questions whirl through my mind. Hurley’s frown deepens and a blanket of dread settles over my shoulders.
“They’re not sure yet,” he says. “There were no obvious signs of a break-in other than the basement window where we assumed you went in.”
I nod. “It was already broken when I got there. I tried the doors first but they were all locked.”
“Yeah, they figured that was how you got in when they found Hoover in the basement barking like a maniac.”
I can’t help but smile at the thought of Hoover raising the alarm. Then it hits me. “Oh, no, where is Hoover?”
“He’s fine. Dom took him.”
“It’s all because of Hoover that I even discovered the fire,” I say. “He woke me up by barking like crazy, and when I let him out he practically pointed to the house. I could already see flames coming out the windows.” I pause and swallow some more water. “How much damage is there?”
“It’s a total loss. Part of the back section of the house is still standing but other than that, it’s just ash and rubble.”
My eyes start to burn and tear, and I’m not sure if it’s because they’re irritated or because I’m so upset thinking about all that’s been lost in the fire. “Why?” I ask Hurley, knowing he can’t give me an answer. “Why would anyone do something like this?”
“I don’t know for sure but I have an idea.”
My eyes probe his, questioning, demanding that he go on.
Hurley leans in closer to me. “There’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. Judging from the expression on his face I fear things are about to tank faster than a patient having a widow-maker MI. “David and I had a bit of an incident the other day.”
I take a second to try to parse this but come up blank. “What do you mean, you had an incident?”
“I ran into him at the grocery store and we had a discussion that got a bit . . . how should I put it? It got rather heated.” It’s not the best choice of descriptor given the night’s events but I keep my opinion to myself. “And there were a number of people who witnessed the whole thing.”
“What happened?”
“David basically told me I’m the reason your marriage has fallen apart, that I keep interfering with his attempts to reconcile with you.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Not according to him. He was quite angry and very determined. And it isn’t the first time he’s approached me. When I went to see him for my follow-up visit after my surgery, he laid a guilt trip on me, implying that since he saved my life the least I could do was back off so you two can patch things up.”
“There’s nothing to patch up. I’m done with him. He knows that.”
“I don’t think he does.”
As I consider what Hurley has just told me, things that have happened over the past few weeks start to make sense. “Is that why you’ve been kind of standoffish with me lately?”
Hurley shrugs. “The guy has a point. He did save my life.”
I ball my hands into fists and grit my teeth. I want to be angry with David for trying to manipulate my life, for his inability to put the blame where it belongs, and for being so blase about the severity of his transgressions. But given his current situation, I can’t. Besides, after what Izzy told me at dinner last night, none of it matters anymore anyway.
“There’s more,” Hurley says, and I feel my heart do a little
“Yours?” My mind struggles to understand the implications of this revelation but I feel too muddled to sort it out. “Why do you think it’s yours? And how can you tell? Don’t most gas cans look alike?”
“Not if they’re hand labeled like mine is to differentiate between the plain gas I use in the lawnmower and the oil and gas mix I use for the snowblower. I recognized the writing on the container. And mine is missing from my garage.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
“What are you telling me, Hurley? That
“Of course not,” he says, clearly exasperated. “But someone obviously wants it to look like I did. I’m sure my fingerprints were all over that gas can when it was taken and with the way things have been going lately, I’m betting they still are. It’s just a matter of time before someone finds and runs them. Add that to the thing with Minniver, and Callie’s murder, and . . . well . . . the evidence says it all.”
“What the hell is happening, Hurley?”
“I don’t know,” he says sounding exhausted. He looks haggard and frustrated. “Two people are dead and you and David nearly ended up that way. Whatever the hell is going on, I’ve got to figure it out and put a stop to it.” He pauses and looks at his watch. “I need to get out of here. It’s only a matter of time before Richmond figures out the evidence all points to me, and if I get arrested my hands will be tied. I can’t let that happen.”
“What are you going to do?”
Before Hurley can answer, the curtain is flung aside and Izzy enters. His forehead is creased with worry lines and his expression is the most panicked I’ve ever seen him. “How are you?” he asks, coming around to the other side of my stretcher.
“I feel like I’ve been huffing from the chimney of the crematorium, but I’ll live.”
Izzy shifts his worried gaze from me to Hurley. “You feeling better?” he asks.
Hurley frowns at Izzy, looking momentarily stymied by the question, apparently forgetting that he’s been calling in sick the last few days. Then his expression relaxes as it dawns on him. “I’m fine,” he says, then he looks at me. “But I do have some things I need to take care of so I’m going to leave you in Izzy’s very capable hands. Call me if you need anything.”
Before I can utter a word, he’s gone.
“Was it something I said, or did you tell him about the nipple incident?” Izzy asks. “He lit out of here like his pants were on fire.”
“Given the day’s events, that might not have been the best choice of words,” I tell him, deftly deflecting his curiosity.
Izzy looks confused for a second before his mental lightbulb flicks on. “Oh, yeah,” he says with a guilty smile,
