“Hey, guys.” Adam nodded. “This is Clint Parrish, a sergeant with the DPS. Since this property is technically outside of Lusty’s jurisdiction, I tagged Clint last night.”
Lewis shook hands with the man, as did Randy. Michaela nodded to him.
“Hey, Clint.”
“How are you doing, Michaela?” Clint asked.
Damnedest thing to be jealous just because another man knows my woman. He’d have felt embarrassed about the situation, except for two things. By his posture and the look on his face, he knew Lewis felt the same—and both Adam and Jake sent them knowing smirks.
“I’m good, thanks. I can say again what I said last night and mean it with all my heart this morning. We’re safe, and that’s the most important thing.”
Michaela seemed oblivious to their reaction to Parrish, which Randy figured could only be good.
“You’re absolutely right, sweetie,” Jake said. “That is the most important thing.”
Randy’s attention was drawn to one particular item on the table. “That’s the gas can you mentioned last night?” He nodded to something that looked like a piece of melted red plastic, with a bit of black on it. Currently the item was in a clear plastic bag, with writing on the front.
“It was indeed,” Sergeant Parrish said. “I also have some news for you. We’ve made an arrest and have gotten a confession from the arsonist.”
“Terry Gowan?” Randy asked. He’d been certain that poor excuse for a man had been at the heart of the trouble they’d had. In the next instant, Parrish shocked him—well, him and his brother.
“Nope. That Mr. Gowan is currently in hospital in Waco.”
“You’ve lost me,” Michaela said. “So, it wasn’t Terry? And why is he in the hospital?”
“No, the younger Mr. Gowan is not your arsonist. We’ve arrested his father. After Adam tagged me, I went to question Terry Gowan. The door was opened by Mr. Devlin Gowan, who said his son was in bed sleeping, because he wasn’t feeling well.” Clint shook his head. “I smelled the scent of gasoline on him even as the old man was trying to prevent me from entering the home.” He put his hands on his hips and gave her a wink, which just pissed Randy off.
“I insisted on entering to conduct a ‘welfare check.’” The slight smile he wore vanished. “The younger Mr. Gowan was indeed in his bed and had trouble waking up. Not because he was ill but because he’d been drugged.
“I don’t have the entire story yet,” Clint said. “But Devlin Gowan apparently slipped his son something to ensure he slept through the night and didn’t awaken to find his father had left the house and had taken his car—and driven here and set fire to your house. So far, the only thing he’s said was that he’d been certain you weren’t here, that the house was empty, because your car was gone. He didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt or to be in peril.”
“That only means you can’t charge him with attempted murder,” Adam said.
“Watch me,” Clint replied. “The charges are already being written up.”
“How’s Terry?” Michaela’s face showed her concern. He’d known, of course, that she’d had trouble believing that the man could have set fire to her home. Randy figured he and Lewis would both end up eating a little crow on that one.
“He’s going to be all right. The doctors want to keep him for a full twenty-four hours, because that apparently wasn’t the first time he’d been assaulted by an unwelcome drugging. Adam told me about the other little bits of mischief you endured recently. I think Devlin Gowan was acting on his own and was, in fact, behind it all.”
“But why?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? Why you? Or was it this house, because, apparently, it was Devlin who wanted this property. He wouldn’t tell me why and demanded a lawyer. I’ve not questioned Terry yet, but I will, soon.”
“We just found something interesting.” Grant and his brother, Andrew, approached carrying something metal and square. They set it on the table. It was a fireproof safe.
“Did your father have a secret trap door in the house?” Randy asked Michaela.
“Not that I ever saw,” Michaela said. “Shortly after I moved in, I scrubbed all the floors in his bedroom and my own as well as the hallway. An on my hands-and-knees kind of scrubbing. I would have seen something in the flooring if there had been a trap door. That’s where you found that, isn’t it?”
“According to the copy of the blueprint that was on file with the county, it is,” Grant said.
“I don’t know what to say,” Michaela said.
“Well, this was under even the subfloor,” Andrew said. “And it was tucked inside a cubby hole carved out of the cement foundation. It could very well be there was no trap door. Could be whoever placed it there only meant for it to be found once the house came down.”
Michaela tilted her head. “Then whatever that is,” she said, “was put there by my grandfather, Nicodemus Powell. He built that part of the house, sometime in the 1940s, I think.”
“I’m assuming then that you don’t have a combination to open the thing?” Adam turned to Jake. “Did Harold ever tell you about a buried safe?”
“No, and my sense is, if he knew about it, he’d have told me.” Jake looked at Michaela. “As I mentioned, your dad and I became friends, of a sort. He liked to talk.”
“It’s your property, Michaela,” Clint Parrish said. “So that’s yours, too, no matter who put it there.”
“Thank you. But I’m thinking that box might hold a clue as to why Devlin Gowan wanted this place so badly.” She looked at Lewis then up at him.
Randy knew what their woman wanted. Lewis nodded.
“Go ahead and open it, Sergeant Parrish,” Randy said. “Let’s see what we have, there.”
Chapter Nineteen
Clint Parrish and Adam Kendall were careful opening the safe. They showed
