“You know, Max, there are actually two schools of thought about what happened that night.”
His watery old eyes suddenly looked very, very sharp. “You want to clear Evie’s mother’s name?”
“Her name doesn’t need to be cleared,” he said. “She did everything right with those chemicals, including putting the container outside. The official report said it was a wind gust that knocked the container over.”
“Hmmm.” Max lifted his spoon, studying the applesauce like it held the answers to life.
“Do you have any reason not to believe that assessment?”
“Not really.” He stared into his teacup for a minute. A long minute. Then he looked up at Declan. “Do you?” he asked.
Declan eyed the other man. “I’m looking into it,” he said quietly. “Considering all aspects of the investigation.”
“They closed the investigation,” Max said, a tiny bit of defiance in his voice. “Called it an accident after a good long time and a lot of money and interviews.”
“I know that.”
“But you don’t agree?”
He rubbed his hands over his jeans, not entirely sure how much to share. “I met with an arson investigator who thought maybe the accelerant was lighter fluid, not combusted rags.”
Max stared at him.
“And it’s his opinion that the fire might have started inside the sunroom, not outside on that patio. Maybe that’s the reason my father tried to get into the sunroom, which is something no one seems to understand.”
Max still didn’t say a word, but Declan could see something in his eyes. Hurt. Fear. Maybe regret. He didn’t know.
“Do you have any idea why he would have done that?” Declan asked.
“I was out in the street when the upstairs veranda collapsed.”
“Yeah, I know. But that day? Do you remember, maybe, spilling lighter fluid when you were cleaning your collection?”
Old gray brows drew together, and his gaze grew narrower. “You want some advice, son?” He didn’t wait for Declan’s answer, but pointed an arthritic finger at him. “You go looking for trouble, you know what’s going to happen?”
“I’ll find it?” he guessed.
“You’ll lose…her.”
Declan stared at him.
“Is it worth it to you? To turn over stones that were long ago pressed into the ground and meant to stay there? Is it?”
He wasn’t sure. “The truth is always important,” he managed.
Max pushed the tray away and fell back on the pillow. “I’m tired now.”
Declan sat very still for a moment, letting the conversation sink in and not particularly liking any of it.
After a moment, he stood, took the tray, and headed down the back stairs to the kitchen, stopping when he saw Evie leaning against that same counter where they’d kissed like teenagers the night before, staring at her phone.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be waiting in there for me.” He angled his head toward the bedroom.
She looked up from her phone and walked toward him, her expression blank, actually humorless.
“He’s right, you know.”
He inched back, frowning.
“You would lose me.” She turned the phone so he could see the screen, a camera shot of Max sound asleep. “I thought it would be fun to check out what you two were talking about.”
Damn it. Silent, he put the tray on the island, thinking about the advice he’d just been given. When he turned, she’d already gone back into the bedroom. He followed her, finding her sitting on the floor, petting Judah.
“He remembers things,” he said. “He might be able to shed some light on what happened that night.”
She looked up at him. “I didn’t know it was in darkness.”
“It is for me, Evie. I’d never cracked a file on that fire. Never wanted to get that close to it. But after I was up in the attic, I realized I had to. I have to face it in order to get free of it.”
“Then face it, but don’t try to re-investigate it. Do you have any idea what that will do to you?”
Yes, as a matter of fact, he did. He closed his eyes, knowing where a good dive into the cause of that fire would send him.
“I mean, now you’re looking for lighters that burn a certain way and asking about spilled lighter fluid?” She stood up, her eyes steely as she pinned her gaze on him. “Do you think my grandfather set that fire on purpose?”
“No, of course not.”
“My mother? My father? Someone in my family?”
“I don’t,” he said. “None of them had a motive, and there’s only thin evidence that contradicts much stronger evidence.”
“Then why are you looking for trouble?” she asked. “To sabotage us? Like your sister said? Maybe that is what you do, Dec.”
He sure hoped not. “I wanted to talk to him about what he remembers from that night,” he said, coming closer to her.
“Why?”
“Because somebody made a mistake. It might have been my dad. It might have been…someone else. And I feel like I should know.”
“You do know. My mother put rags in a bucket, and they combusted.”
“That’s what we think, but…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, because the look of fear and sadness in her eyes took his breath away.
“Why would you ask Max about his lighters?” Her voice was taut and her eyes fiery with emotion. “Why would you have secret conversations with an arson investigator?”
“It wasn’t secret.”
“Well, you didn’t tell me.”
He huffed out a breath. “Evie, I want to know what happened.”
“I get that, I do.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “But ten minutes ago, you were marveling that I trust you again. Can I? Or will you go back to that dark, cold, shut-off place?”
“I won’t—”
“You might. You very well might. And I honestly don’t know if I can take that again.” Hurt hung on every word, slicing him in half.
“Evie.” He reached for her hand, but she stepped back. “I swear I don’t want to let anything wreck this again.”
“Then don’t.” She stared hard at him. “The
