“All this was in the investigation files,” Declan said. “The lighter fluid caught fire when the wall between the worktable and the outside caught fire.”
“Uh-huh. Right.”
“Which sounds more like ‘not a chance,’” Declan noted with a dry laugh.
“All I know is that there were burn patterns of squirted lighter fluid inside,” he said. “That doesn’t happen from combustion.”
“What do you think happened?” Declan asked, his chest tightening.
He was quiet for a long time. “I’m an arson investigator, Captain, not an accident investigator.”
“So you think this fire was arson. Do you think someone could have broken into the house, where four people were sleeping, and set the fire?”
“Or…” He lifted a brow, and Declan knew exactly what he thought. “Someone already inside the house.”
A member of Evie’s own family.
“But none of those pieces fit, either,” Kirby said. “I couldn’t get the why, and if there isn’t a why, then there isn’t a case.”
Exactly. No one in that house had a reason to destroy the property or risk lives.
Unless…someone did, and the investigators hadn’t figured that out.
“So I had to ask myself why the lead investigators finally decided to ignore my rarely wrong gut instinct,” Kirby continued. “And I hate to say it, but my instinct went to someone on the inside.”
“Of the house?”
“Or the department. As a firefighter yourself, you know what a nightmare it is to lose a good man.”
Declan stared at him. “What are you saying?”
“Maybe they didn’t want to see the truth. Maybe someone in that fire department hid the last piece of the puzzle.”
A hot, sickening burn started low in his stomach. “What piece? That my dad made a mistake?”
“Possibly.” He nodded, mouth turned down. “Men do make errors, even ones you think should be up on a pedestal as high as that guy right there.”
Declan didn’t even look at the statue, but kept his eyes on the man next to him. “My father may have died because of his own error in judgment. It happens. But that didn’t start the fire.”
“True,” he agreed. “So who else might they be protecting?”
“I have no freaking idea.” Irritation snaked up his spine. “Why don’t you spell it out for me?”
“Because my theories are just that—guesses. You were there.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Declan shot back. “I was up in the mountains and not on duty that night.” Otherwise, maybe they wouldn’t be sitting here having this frustrating conversation.
“You were in the department, though. You had to hear something of the conversations.”
Declan grunted, remembering the thick, soup-like fog he’d lived in. “I didn’t go to work much after that fire. They gave me some time off to take care of my family.” And hide in that emotional basement.
“Have you ever looked at the firefighter roster to see who was there that night? Including volunteers?”
“I didn’t see that in the file for the investigation, but I could probably get my hands on it.”
“Do that, because firefighters can be arsonists,” Kirby said. “Some of the best, in fact. And the list of all the volunteers. Don’t forget them.”
“The fire was contained fast. Only one group of volunteers was called in.” Suddenly, Declan’s shoulders felt heavy with the weight of what he was doing. Did he want to reopen the investigation? All he wanted to do was close it—in his head and heart.
“So talk to them. Now that twenty years have passed, someone who wasn’t willing to talk back than might be willing now,” Kirby said. “And, of course, you have to look at the property owners to see what they had to gain.”
“From losing a house that’s been in the family for more than a hundred years?” He heard his voice rise with disbelief. “No amount of insurance could cover the treasures in that house.”
“It’s not always insurance,” Kirby said. “Sometimes, they want to cover up something. In fact, covering past misdeeds is, in my experience, a far more common reason to start a fire than to get money. Especially for people that rich.”
Declan considered that, but what would anyone living in Gloriana House want to cover up? But then, how well did he know Evie’s parents? Another sickening sensation spread through his chest. Was he really sitting here considering Evie’s parents as suspects in the fire that killed his father?
God, maybe he really did want to sabotage this relationship.
“Or sometimes,” the man said, flipping his phone over and over in his hands, “it’s about money, but not in the way you think.”
Declan looked skyward at the cryptic words. “What do you mean?”
His hands stilled, and he turned to Declan, looking him directly in the eyes again. “Max Hewitt donated thousands of dollars to the Vestal Valley First Responders Organization. Still does, actually. Did you know that?”
“Of course I know that.” He shifted on the bench. “You think they could have protected him because he’s a top donor?” His body hummed with the need to reject that idea, to rip it out of the universe and stomp on it. “The guy couldn’t hurt a fly.” The cliché was the best he could do, considering how his head was exploding from the conversation.
Kirby lifted his shoulders and made a face. “Just keep asking why, son. You’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“If there’s a bottom to get to.”
The other man exhaled and sat back. “Now it’s my turn to ask you why. Why now? Why after twenty years? Why did this suddenly become your mission?”
“It’s not a mission,” he said. “I wanted to find out what happened, because I can’t…” Let it go. “Because I want to know.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Kirby said with a dry laugh. “And don’t ignore the fact that the house was full of something that starts a fire…lighters.”
“They’re not going to tell me anything,” Declan said.
“You sure? Find one that puts out the highest-temperature flame, and you’ll have your lighter. That fire burned stunningly fast, probably at thirteen hundred degrees Celsius. That’s a certain kind of lighter, a 1300, and it ain’t what Grandpa
