“It won me tremendous goodwill in prison. No one is going to beat the hell out of you if they know you can cook a great meal later that week.”
“Glad it helped.”
He set the spoon down on a paper towel. “But you didn’t come here to talk about food.”
She was not reluctant to broach the one topic driving this meeting. “You’re right. I’m here about the beauty shop fire.”
“I have a solid alibi.”
“He’s right; he does.” Pickett’s gruff reminder had her turning to face the older man, as lean and grizzled as any cowboy on the range.
“Mr. Pickett, you were with him at the time of the fire?” she asked casually.
Pickett folded his arms over his chest. “I picked him up from the prison on Friday, and he has stayed in my line of sight since. No way he could have snuck out and set any fire.”
“The entire time?” Gideon repeated, locking eyes with the old man.
“That’s right,” Pickett said.
Elijah shrugged, as if to say, See, I told you. She calculated the distance between the boardinghouse and the arson scene and guessed even a fit man like Elijah would need at least ten minutes to sprint over there. Setting the fire took time if an arsonist hoped to survive. And then there was the matter of Lana Long. She would likely have slowed him down. And then the return trip. At the very least, the entire adventure would have taken forty-five minutes.
“Are you sure your Saturday libation didn’t start a little early?” Gideon asked.
“It never starts before nine p.m.,” Mr. Pickett said, his voice firm with pride. “Never.”
“Elijah, did other residents see you in the house?” Joan asked.
“Yes,” Elijah said as he looked to the thin man with bloodshot eyes. “Rodney here helped me get settled in my room. And then we played cards up until dinner. Mr. Pickett was with me when we heard the fire trucks about seven fifteen p.m.”
Rodney slid his long, bone-thin fingers into the front pocket of his jeans. “He’s right. He was here.”
Elijah was smart enough to know that if he set a fire, he would land at the top of everyone’s suspect list. But Mr. Pickett’s solid alibi reminded her that she had to keep an open mind. However, she wondered if the fire fatality had a connection to Elijah. As tempted as she was to ask, compromising what Gideon had told her would be a fast ticket out of the investigation. And she needed him to help her get access to the College Fire files.
“Would you like to stay for lunch?” Elijah offered. “I’ve made enough food for an army. I would love to serve you now, but Mr. Pickett has strict rules about mealtimes. Translation, we eat at noon.”
“I wish I could stay,” Joan said. “But I’ve a rental car to pick up.”
“I understand,” Elijah said. “Have you seen Ann?”
She felt Gideon stiffen. “I have.”
“I hope she’s doing well. I’m taking her class starting on Wednesday. I missed the first session, but I’ve read the textbook, so I should be more than caught up.”
“I’m sure you’re well ahead of the other students. You always were well prepared in college.”
He shrugged again. “It’s easy when you enjoy learning.”
Elijah must have known she would not be able to resist seeing him after his release. And the spaghetti sauce was proof he had been expecting her. “May I come back and visit again?”
“Anytime,” he said with a big smile.
“Great.” She thanked Mr. Pickett and Rodney as she and Gideon left the house. Neither spoke until they were in his SUV and pulling away from the house.
“Jesus,” Gideon growled.
“Do I look that stupid?” she asked.
He didn’t respond.
“I told you we’ve exchanged letters.”
He tightened his hands on the wheel. “Recipes?”
“I’d forgotten all about it.”
“He sure as hell did not. He made that sauce because he was expecting you.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he planned to make it every opportunity he had until I showed.”
Gideon slipped into a stony silence. Oddly, Joan enjoyed seeing Gideon get worked up. Nice to know she was not the only one teetering on the edge.
“When is your medical examiner going to perform the autopsy?” she asked.
“Tomorrow morning.” A cutting edge sharpened his words and exposed more frustration. A decade later, he was still red-hot pissed at her.
“I want to attend the autopsy.”
“You want?” Annoyance tightened his features.
“I’m a resource. It would be reckless to cut me out. And, like you, I want to make sure Ann stays safe.”
He rolled his head from side to side as he took a sharp right and then a left onto another side street. “What happened in Philadelphia, Joan?”
“Does it really matter?”
“Your BF seems to think so.”
Joan let the wisecrack go.
“He’s going to use it against you. Just like the sauce.”
“He will try.” She considered telling Gideon that the last letter had been mailed to her home address but decided it would be a distraction at this point.
Gideon slowed as he approached the rental car place. “If you want to attend the autopsy, tell me what happened in Philadelphia.”
“Really? We’re going to do it this way?”
“We sure as hell are.”
Confessing her shortcomings was never easy. And with Gideon, it was downright painful. “I was investigating a fire. I won’t bore you with the details, but I was so sure of myself that I made an arrest before enough compelling evidence was obtained. I thought I could get a confession. However, my suspect was tougher and cleverer than I imagined. All the charges were dropped.”
“Maybe he is innocent.”
“She. And no, she is not.”
“Charges get dropped all the time.”
“Her defense attorney coerced a reporter to do a story on police bias and referenced my experience with an apartment fire when I was in middle school and the College Fire. He also discovered I was writing to Elijah. Pressure quickly mounted online, thanks to
