“What?” Gideon froze, the next bite inches from his mouth.
“I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out.”
“Okay.”
“He filed a police report the week prior and claimed his backpack had been stolen. His sweatshirt could have been taken from that pack.”
“Or he was building an alibi.” He set his pizza down and carefully wiped off his fingers as he struggled to check a surge of jealousy.
“Say the arsonist used Elijah’s sweatshirt to throw off the police. Say he has been practicing for the last decade. And has improved. There have been a half dozen brush fires near town in the last few months while Elijah was incarcerated.”
Gideon quickly rebutted. “What if Elijah recruited an accomplice to set the brush fires and to help him gather supplies for the salon fire? You weren’t his only pen pal while he was in prison. He had a group of women called the Fireflies who followed his case closely.” He leaned toward her. “What if he grooms people to help him set fires?”
“What if we’re dealing with someone we’ve never considered? Someone who’s been lurking around on the periphery and setting fires in other jurisdictions for years.”
Marcie Cash had theorized that Lana was seeing either a married or incarcerated man. If Lana had been seeing Elijah, then that would fit Marcie’s theory. He knew that prisons kept records of correspondence and visits. But if Lana had been seeing Joan’s mystery arsonist, then that would explain why he did not want to be seen with her publicly. Tracking him would be more difficult.
An unsettled feeling burrowed into the pit of his belly. He sat back, regarding her and then Kyle, who was still riveted.
“We’re batting around a lot of what-ifs, Joan.”
“Make some calls, Dad,” Kyle said. “That’s what you do when you’re on a case.”
“I could reach out to Clarke,” Gideon said. “He’s tapped into the firefighting community.”
“I would keep the circle small, Gideon,” she suggested. “No one should get wind that you’re looking into the College Fire case.”
“I’ll make a few calls. And I’ll keep everyone out of the loop for now. Kyle, can you keep a secret?”
The boy grinned, clearly pleased to be included in his dad’s new circle. “I sure can! I won’t even tell Nate!”
Joan left the police station feeling as if the answer were only inches out of reach. She parked in front of Elijah’s home. She had been speaking off the top of her head to Gideon, but maybe, and that was a big maybe, he really had not set the College Fire.
Out of her car, she crossed the sidewalk and climbed the front porch steps. She rang the bell and out of habit stood to the side of the door. The door opened to Elijah.
He was holding a psychology textbook and a highlighter. He wore thick black-framed glasses that magnified gray eyes that softened when he saw her. “Joan. What a pleasant surprise. What brings you by?”
“Questions about the College Fire,” she said.
He opened the door. “I love your honesty. Another cop might have devised some thin pretense to attempt to worm information out of me, but not you. Cut to the chase. Love it. Come in. You know I’m an open book for you.”
She stepped inside the house and noted that two of the residents were sitting on the threadbare rose chintz sofa watching a movie. Both sported a few days’ growth of beard, and their shirts and pants were worn and stained. They glanced in her direction, and their gazes lingered while they checked her out.
“Back to the movie, boys,” Elijah said, closing his book with a hard snap. “Let’s go in the kitchen, Joan. I can make you coffee. I remember how much you love my coffee.”
“You know the way to a girl’s heart.”
He chuckled as he pulled off his glasses and set them and the book on the table. “Still take your coffee black?”
“I do.” She opened the psychology book and noted that almost every page had a comment or mark on it. “You’re thorough.”
He opened a wooden coffee tin painted with faded roosters. “Like I said before, I love learning.”
“You certainly do.”
He poured the coffee in the metal cone and then filled the machine’s water well. “I would like to be a professor one day.”
“You kept your professors on their toes your freshman year.”
“I wasn’t totally impressed by most of them. They started to resent my questions.” He flipped the coffee maker on.
“Maybe they were embarrassed because you knew more than they did.”
He leaned against the counter, folding his muscled arms over his chest. “I did.”
She closed the book. “Do you really think it’s wise to take Ann’s class?”
“She’s the only one teaching the subject that I wanted.” He regarded her. “You didn’t come here to scold me about taking Ann’s class, remember?”
The machine hissed and gurgled as she sat. She wished she had a cup in her hands to give her something to do. “You’ve always maintained that you didn’t set the College Fire.”
“That’s correct.”
“Assuming you didn’t . . .”
He arched a brow. “What’s caused the turnabout?”
“Maybe nothing. Just exploring theories.”
“Okay.”
“Who do you think could have set it?”
He studied her a long moment and then said, “I don’t know. And believe me, I have put a great deal of thought into it.”
“You must have some ideas.”
“None.”
“Why did you really set the fires near your mother’s trailer?”
“I was working out rage. My mother was not a very pleasant woman.”
“I went by her trailer and met her.”
His expression was unreadable. “How is Mom?”
“She’s still your number one defender.”
“Is she?”
“You don’t sound impressed.”
He turned to the cabinet and removed two ivory earthenware mugs. He carefully filled each with coffee. “She had her good moments, but unfortunately, when I was a child, they were few and far between.” He set a cup in front of her and then
