A car pulled up the driveway and parked behind Clarke’s. Joan rose out of the car and, her purse strap firmly on her shoulder, strode toward them.
Clarke rustled Nate’s hair and smiled at Ann. “Good to see you again, Joan.”
“You as well.”
“I better get going,” he said. “I’ll see you on Thursday, and good luck in school, pal.”
“Clarke,” Joan said, clearing her throat. “I owe you a big thank-you.”
“For what?” Clarke asked.
“I was reviewing the College Fire files. As I was looking at the pictures, I realized you pulled me out of the fire.”
Clarke shrugged. “Yeah, I did. I thought you knew.”
“I had passed out. And I guess I didn’t try too hard to remember any of it. I always assumed it was a firefighter who saved me. Anyway, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Joan.” He tossed one last wave to Nate and then headed to his car. Joan watched him back around her car and drive off.
“Nate, can you set the table for dinner?” Ann asked.
“Sure.”
As he ran back into the house, Ann asked, “You okay?”
“How did Clarke know where to find me in the fire?” she asked.
“Gideon told him he had last seen you by the back bedroom.”
“That house was about to come down around me in those last seconds.”
“Clarke has never lacked for courage,” Ann said. “And for the record, Gideon handed me off to the first firefighter he saw and ran back to the house. Clarke was coming out with you over his shoulder just as Gideon reached the door.”
“No one ever told me.”
“We all thought you knew. And then you were gone. That moment has haunted both of us for a long time.”
Joan drew in a deep breath. “I don’t seem to be getting anything right. I’ve been suspended from my job, and my new pal is a convicted arsonist, so it would be nice if I could let that day go forever.”
Ann shook her head. “Let me know if you figure out how to do it.”
Dan Tucker parked his car across the street from what remained of the Beau-T-Shop. Tightening his hands on the steering wheel, he could barely contain his simmering rage. This meaningless destruction was Elijah Weston’s doing. He had seen this trouble coming and had been warning the cops for months. But they had not been listening and were now scrambling to do a full homicide and arson investigation to cover their asses. Anyone with half a brain could have solved this crime.
Cursing, he drove the few blocks to the boardinghouse. It was going to take more than a few spray-painted words to chase away Elijah. But he could arrange whatever trouble it would take to deal with that bastard.
He picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number.
“Yeah,” the gruff voice on the other end said.
“It’s Tucker. I’m outside his house.”
“Why?”
“I can’t stop thinking about the fire and him. He set it. He killed whoever it is the cops aren’t talking about. I fucking know it.”
“What do you have in mind, Dan?”
As tempting as it was to shoot Elijah between the eyes and dump his body in the wilderness, he wasn’t ready to cross that line yet. A good beating was more fitting, and though he could do it alone, there was safety in numbers. “I want to give him a message that will make him rethink living here.”
“More paint?” In the background, the television blared.
“Not this time. Thinking maybe he should get a dose of his own medicine.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out the lighter. He struck the flint and lit the flame until it got too hot to hold.
“What do you want from me?”
“It might take two of us. He’s bigger and stronger than I remember from high school.” Elijah had been quiet, in a know-it-all kind of way. It had been easy to push him around then.
“You almost sound afraid of him.”
The challenge stoked Dan’s frustration and anger. “I’m not.”
“You’re still pissed about what he did to you in high school.”
Dan remembered walking outside his home to discover fire licking up all four wheels of his new truck. The flames had scorched the white paint, popped his tires, and melted his side-view mirror. As he’d tried to beat the flames out with his shirt, the smoke had scorched his mouth, nose, and lungs. Coughing, he had run to the side of his parents’ house and grabbed the hose. His hands trembling, he’d squeezed the nozzle. To this day, he could remember the sound of the flames hissing like a viper as he shot them with cold water. Later, the truck was towed to a body shop that had soon slapped him with a $4,000 repair bill, half of which he’d had to eat because insurance did not cover it.
The cops later decided it was arson. No shit. And said the fire had started in a plastic milk jug filled with gas. A rag had been used as a wick. At the time, they’d had no idea who’d set the fire.
After the College Fire, the cops had come to talk to him, but there was no proof linking Elijah to his truck fire. Dan knew it was that weirdo Elijah. Who the fuck else would have been crazy enough to mess with him?
“I just want to make a smart play,” Dan said. “In this PC world, too many people don’t fully grasp the old brand of justice.”
A heavy silence lingered on the line, and then he heard the swig of beer. “I’m in.”
Confessions of an Arsonist
I miss the days I saw fire burn in my lover’s eyes.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Missoula, Montana
Monday, September 7, 2020
8:00 p.m.
Enough evidence was pulled from the Beau-T-Shop fire to suggest that Gideon was dealing with an experienced arsonist. Whether it was Lana Long working with Elijah or someone else, this perpetrator had been skilled enough to fashion low-tech incendiary devices and then place them for maximum effect.
However, before he talked to
