The apartment was almost twelve hundred square feet. There were two bedrooms, with a bathroom, a small kitchen, and a living area with a wide-screen television and overstuffed sofas. It was decorated solely to a man’s taste.
“Wow, some garage,” Joan said. “I was thinking tiny.”
“It’s Montana,” Gideon said.
She smiled. “Right.”
“Dad said when I’m a teenager, I can live here,” Kyle said.
“Dad said he would think about it,” Gideon said easily.
“That’s only three years away,” Kyle pointed out.
“I’m very aware,” Gideon said, feeling his age. “Joan, there are extra clothes in the front bedroom, in the dresser. Plenty of soap and shampoo, towels, the whole deal in the bathroom.”
She walked to the back door and stared out its window. “Don’t suppose you have a fire escape?”
Gideon moved to the closet and pointed to a boxed fire ladder that could be hung off the windowsill in seconds. “I always do.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“Are you having dinner with us?” Kyle asked.
Joan looked to Gideon. “You don’t have to feed me.”
“It’s hamburgers on the grill and salad. Nothing fancy.”
“Sounds good to me. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Take your time.” Gideon laid his hand on Kyle’s shoulder and guided the boy toward the door. A part of him wished he could have Joan all to himself for a few hours. He wanted to talk to her about the investigation, find out more about what she had done the last ten years, why she had pressed so hard on the Newport investigation, and a million other things.
But he was not alone. Kyle was there, and the three of them would have to make the best of it.
Confessions of an Arsonist
The time has come. My patience is extinguished. She will die.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Missoula, Montana
Wednesday, September 9, 2020
6:00 p.m.
Joan’s washed hair was damp and brushed flat, and her smoky clothes were in the washer, now agitating on the heavy-duty cycle. Gideon’s oversize flannel shirt, drawstring sweats, and wool socks swallowed Joan’s frame as she stood in front of the dresser mirror.
She raised the shirtsleeve to her nose and inhaled a scent she remembered clearly as Gideon’s. She closed her eyes and wished she could turn back the clock and make different choices. Most days, she never allowed those kinds of thoughts, because wallowing in the past accomplished nothing. But to have his scent literally touching every square inch of her body made it impossible to ignore what they used to have.
“Shit,” she muttered. “Keep moving forward and don’t look back.”
She quickly headed down the stairs and across the driveway to the main house. She considered knocking but then opted to just push right into the house. Warmth and the scent of burgers grilling coaxed her toward the kitchen, where Gideon was serving them up on huge buns. There was a large kitchen island with three place settings.
“Smells good,” she said.
“I cooked yours medium rare. You still eat it that way?”
“I do.”
“And no cheese, right?” he asked as he reached for a stack of individually wrapped slices of orange cheese.
She shrugged as she stood next to a chair at the island. “As I’ve grown older, I’ve become more open to cheese.”
“It happens to the best of us.”
“Can I help you with anything?” Joan asked.
“Get whatever you want to drink out of the refrigerator and then pick a seat.”
“Will do.” She opened the refrigerator. “What can I get for you and Kyle?”
“Beer for me and milk for Kyle. He’ll be down in a minute.”
She snagged two cold bottles of beer and the carton of milk. She grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with milk. After she’d set the milk glass on the table, she twisted off the beer tops. She handed a beer to Gideon. “Where is he?”
“Finishing up homework.”
“How’s it going with the investigation? Any updates on the Halperns’ financials?”
Gideon carefully peeled off the first cheese’s plastic wrapper. “A couple of financial reports came in today. The Halperns have countless credit cards and have been moving balances from one to the other. They are up to date on the minimum payments.”
“What about insurance?”
“The salon is insured for up to two million dollars.”
Joan sipped her beer. “Dan saw Darren with Lana at the diner late last week. When I went to see Darren, he said Lana wanted to give her notice.”
Gideon paused, the fingers of his right hand curling and flexing. “You talked to Darren?”
She took a pull on her beer, ignoring the tension humming under his words. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” She grinned.
“Joan, this is my investigation. You are a guest.”
“You can be mad, or you can listen. I don’t have a lot of time in Missoula and can’t waste an opportunity.”
He drew in a slow, steady breath. She knew he was still pissed, but he was also too practical to ignore good evidence. “Did Dan give you any idea why he despises Elijah?”
“Seems there was an arson incident back in high school. Someone torched Dan’s new truck. He reported it, but the police never linked it to Elijah. You must have known Dan in high school.”
“Yeah, sure. He played ball along with Clarke and me.”
“What was he like?”
“Dan was a hotshot in those days. That truck was a gift from his dad because Dan caught a winning touchdown. Turned him into a town hero for a couple of months. He had big dreams, but after high school, he ended up working at the diner.”
“He used to talk about his glory days when I worked with him.”
“Dan understands that he needs to stay clear of Elijah, correct?”
“I strongly encouraged him to give us time.”
“And will he?”
“For now.” Joan’s gaze was drawn to Gideon’s wrist and
