“You can’t stay here. You gotta leave.” His voice cracked as he looked at the closest exit.
“I don’t want to play games with you. But you nearly killed me, and worse? You scared my girlfriend. I want to help, but right now I don’t like you much. Give me a reason.”
The kid looked up as if asking God for help, but not expecting any.
“Start with your name. First name, that’s all.”
Through clenched teeth, he said, “Ricky.”
“Good. I don’t know what’s going on in this town, but I’m pretty sure you-and Jimmy-aren’t orchestrating it. I will find out the truth.”
A car door slammed and Ricky jumped. Panicked, he craned his head toward the kitchen window, so he could see down the driveway. “You’re a liar,” he said to Sean.
Sean looked out. A sheriff’s truck was parked behind Ricky’s car, but the man who was walking up the weed- infested path wasn’t Deputy Weddle. This guy was ten years older and out of uniform, though he had a badge clipped to his utility belt next to his gun.
“I didn’t call the cops, Ricky.”
“Right.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Prove it.”
There was a knock on the door. Sean glanced around, motioned toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. “I’m not here.”
Ricky looked skeptical, but Sean walked to the bathroom and quietly closed the door. A moment later, he heard the front door open.
The house was small and the walls were thin, so Sean was able to hear nearly everything the cop said.
“Are you James Benson’s nephew?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ricky said. “Why?”
“I’m Detective Sergeant Kyle Dillard. What’s your name, son?”
“Ricky. Where’s Jimmy?”
“Do you have any other relatives in town?”
“No. What happened? Did he get hurt? Why didn’t his chief call me?”
“He wasn’t hurt on the job,” Dillard said. “May I come in a moment?”
There was a long pause, then Sean heard the door click close. “I’m really sorry, son, but your uncle’s truck went off the bridge outside Colton Wednesday night. He’s presumed dead.”
“Wednesday?”
“I gather you haven’t missed him for the last couple days?”
“He was on duty.”
“I spoke to his unit. They said he left sick Wednesday afternoon. You didn’t see him?”
“No. Are you sure? You said presumed dead. He could be okay?” Ricky was trying to sound brave, but his voice cracked at the end. Sean wished he could go out there and stand by him. Ricky needed someone in his corner, now more than ever.
“It took some time to assess the scene and bring the truck up. I’m looking into the cause of the accident. I don’t think anyone could have survived.”
Ricky wasn’t talking, or he spoke too quietly for Sean to hear. It was a minute later when the detective said, “Are you sure I can’t call someone for you? A teacher or friend maybe?”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone!” Ricky’s grief turned to anger.
“You’re over sixteen, I can’t force you into custody, but I can get you a temporary place to stay in Canton if you don’t want to be alone tonight.”
“I said no! I just need to know what happened to Jimmy.”
Silence again. Sean strained to hear. “I understand,” Dillard said quietly. “You didn’t know he’d left duty?”
“No.”
“When was the last time you spoke with him?”
“Tuesday night. When-” Ricky hesitated. Something in his tone made Sean suspect he was lying. “When can, I mean who-what happens now?”
“You don’t have to make any decisions. I would advise you to talk to someone-a minister maybe, or your uncle’s boss. Someone will help you make the decisions that need to be made, but you have time. Do you know if your uncle had a will?”
Ricky didn’t say anything but he must have shook his head, because Dillard said, “I can call Chief Homdus for you. I know him personally; I’m certain he’ll help. Go through your uncle’s papers.”
“I’ll call him,” Ricky’s voice was rough and Sean suspected he was trying hard not to cry. He closed his eyes for a moment. He knew how Ricky felt. He hadn’t wanted his brothers, or sister, or anyone else, to see him cry after his parents were killed. He hadn’t wanted to be around anyone, especially people offering their condolences. He’d sat through their funeral like a stone, and as soon as they were buried, he bolted. Duke didn’t find him for nearly a week. Sean hadn’t wanted to be found, but when he was fourteen, Duke was better at tracking him down than Sean was at hiding. Today, Sean would know how to disappear.
What happened to Ricky’s parents? Why was he living with his uncle? Had he just lost the last of his family?
“Are you okay to be alone? I asked the chief not to say anything until I spoke with you. I’m pretty certain if you don’t call him, he’ll be coming by later.”
A few minutes later, the front door shut. Sean exited the bathroom and when he didn’t see Ricky, he looked out the window. The teenager stood in the driveway talking to the detective. Sean didn’t like this-what was Ricky saying that he didn’t want Sean to hear? He almost walked out to confront him and turn him over to the detective as an arsonist. But Sean couldn’t quite bring himself to do that. He’d had Duke on his side when he was an angry, grieving teenager; Ricky had no one. Sean couldn’t send him to juvie. It could force the kid over the line permanently. And by the body language, the detective gave no indication that Ricky was telling him anything related to Sean or the fire. Still, something felt unsettled, and Sean continued watching.
Detective Dillard drove away a few minutes later, and Ricky stared after him. When he turned toward the house, Sean saw his face, red and wet with tears, the anger that he couldn’t control. Sean knew how that felt. He’d cried once in front of Duke and hated that his brother had seen him so raw. He turned his head, giving Ricky a moment of privacy.
He glanced around the small, tidy house. The furniture was clean but worn, the sofa so faded and threadbare that Sean could tell that the pattern was small flowers only by the edges. It wasn’t a pattern a man would choose; in fact, though there weren’t any frills, the furnishings themselves had a feminine touch. He walked over to a well- stocked bookshelf in the corner. On the top was a photograph of a young pretty blond woman. As he picked it up, he heard the engine of Ricky’s Camaro.
“Shit!” He ran out the front door, but Ricky had already backed out. Sean was parked down the street to stay out of sight, and he wouldn’t be able to catch up. Especially since his leg still ached, and his short sprint out of the house sent searing pain up his nerves.
Sean limped back inside, scratching the outside of the stitches through his jeans. He put the picture back on the shelf, angry with himself. He’d known Ricky didn’t want to talk to him; the kid had taken the first opportunity to bolt.
Sean had a hundred questions for the kid, starting with the coincidence that the day Ricky set fire to the lodge and Lucy found a dead woman, Jimmy Benson called in sick and died in an alleged car accident.
Sean’s instincts drummed home that Ricky was in danger, but he didn’t know where to look for him. He glanced around the house. At least he had a place to start.
Sean started in Ricky’s room and quickly learned that he was a fairly tidy kid. His closet was packed to the ceiling with winter gear, books, shoes-some obviously too small for a teenager-and junk. His desk was cluttered, telling Sean he spent time there. He opened a letter from the College Board and was mildly surprised that Ricky had high SAT scores-nearly as high as Sean’s. He flipped through some old papers, all A’s, a couple of B’s. Good student, and there were letters from two colleges outside New York State that had sent him information about early enrollment.
