Gideon set Joan’s letters on top of the pile and studied her bold cursive handwriting. She had asked him several times in different ways why he had set the College Fire, but each time he had vehemently denied it. Finally, she had stopped asking, as if she hoped he would reveal his motivations. Elijah had never revealed anything significant about himself, and yet she had continued to write him right up to this year. Her last letter read:
Elijah,
It’s been a few months. What can I say? Work’s been crazy. I have a tough case on my docket. I am digging into case facts and motivations, but it seems the deeper I go, the more I come up empty. I want to solve this case badly, but as a friend of mine once said, “There are no guarantees in life,” and that includes finding the answers that explain painful events.
Excuse this grim, short letter. Perhaps my next one will be more upbeat when I am less reflective.
Sincerely,
Joan Mason
He glanced at the date. The letter had been written on February 7, 2020. He shifted to his computer and searched Avery Newport’s name. Newport’s house had burned down February 1, and Joan would have been in the early and, most would argue, ugliest stage of the investigation.
He pictured her sitting alone writing this letter. Was she pouring out her frustration to a man thousands of miles away and locked in prison? It didn’t sound like she was working him as an asset at this point.
A knock on his door had him looking up to find Detective Sullivan. “Got a second? I have some of the Halperns’ financials.”
Gideon rose, and when she took the seat by his desk, he sat again. “Are they in debt?”
“Technically no. But they own several properties around the city that they’re renovating. Right now, they’re seeing negative cash flow, but by the first of the year, that should turn around.”
“But . . .”
“They have a balloon payment due on the Beau-T-Shop building in December. That’s going to be a tough payment for them to make unless they have a secret stash of cash that the IRS doesn’t know about.”
“If the insurance policy Jessica took out in February of 2020 pays out, they would be flush with legitimate cash.”
“To the tune of two million dollars.”
When Gideon saw Joan pull up in his driveway, he was somewhat surprised. She had said she wanted a hotel, but after a day of checking around, she’d likely realized it would cost a fortune. With the leaves turning and the air now crisp and clean, Missoula was inundated with tourists willing to pay high hotel rates.
“Is that Joan?” Kyle asked.
Gideon pushed away from the laptop he had placed on the dining room table next to Kyle and his homework. “It is.”
“She’s come to stay in the apartment?”
“I think so.” If she was a target, Gideon liked the idea of having her near. He already knew he would be sleeping with one eye open until she left town.
“Is she going to eat with us?” Kyle asked. “It seems like the polite thing to do.”
“Yes, it does.” He watched Joan hoist her backpack on her shoulder and run her fingers through her short hair. It had been longer in college, soft as silk, and as thick as a horse’s mane. He had liked the way it skimmed the top of her breasts when she was on top of him.
He shoved the memory aside, recalling that her hair had been scorched in the College Fire and that she had cropped it short. Why she had kept it that way over the years, he did not know, but it seemed to suit the person she was now.
Her head bowed, she glanced at her phone and then walked up to the front door. Kyle moved past him, opening it just as she’d rung the bell.
When she looked at Kyle, Gideon sensed she was again searching for signs of Helen. He was not sure how he would have reacted if he were staring at a child Joan had given birth to just nine months after they had broken up.
“Hey, kid,” she said with a smile. “Have you gotten taller since I saw you last?”
Kyle rose up a fraction. “People don’t grow that fast.”
“Grown people don’t, but ten-year-olds do.” She scrutinized him. “Yep, definitely taller.”
Kyle wrinkled his nose. “You smell like smoke.”
“I can’t seem to shake the smell.”
“Come on inside,” Gideon said. “I can give you something to wear while we run your clothes through the washer.”
She tightened her hand on the strap of her backpack, and he wondered if she was remembering the times when she’d worn his shirt as they’d sat together on a rare Sunday morning drinking coffee and doing homework.
“Sounds like a plan.” Joan stepped inside and looked around at the vaulted ceiling. “Nice place. Wasn’t this your grandfather’s house?”
“Good memory. It was the original house on the property. My dad and mom built their own place after they married. That’s where Ann lives now.”
“Ah. You were right about hotel prices. Ouch.”
“We’re known for our sticker shock,” he said.
“Offer still open to crash?” she asked.
“It is,” he said.
Joan gripped her backpack’s worn strap. “Can you show me where you want me? And I’ll get out of your hair. I don’t want to intrude more than I have.”
“I can take her to the garage apartment,” Kyle offered.
“We’ll both go,” Gideon said.
“A formal escort,” she said. “I like it.”
The trio moved through the house and out the back door. Across a large graveled area, he led her to the three-car garage and the side door that led to the apartment.
They climbed the stairs to the second floor, and he switched on the light. The apartment, which extended across the
