Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
BURNED OUT
DYLAN
We find a flight to leave this evening, and Dad’s agreed to keep Bill while we’re in California. He offered a whole lot more than that, wanting to send money to my account, which I refused.
“I’ll be paying Bruce a little visit,” he says before we leave.
His cheeks are flushed, and he’s angrier than I’ve ever seen him.
“Please, don’t, Dad.” I hug him. “We don’t know for sure that he had anything to do with this.”
He levels me with a look.
“We don’t know for sure,” I repeat. “It’s so helpful that you’re keeping Bill, but any more than that and I’ll feel bad.
You’ve had a good run with your health, and we need to keep it that way.
You’re supposed to be living the Zen life, and instead, you’ve built this incredible resort and are surrounded by people nonstop. ”
“I haven’t had to lift a finger to get this resort built, and my family surrounding me has made me happier than I’ve been in years. But we can’t just let this slide, son. I’ll give him a call. How’s that? And if he doesn’t take my call, I’ll find another way to get through to him.”
I sigh. “I wish you wouldn’t, but okay. I guess that’s about as chill as I can hope for you to get.”
He sighs as well. “I just don’t want anyone messing with my boy.”
“I’d rather we find out what really happened and let the authorities handle it,” I tell him.
Dad glances at Dahlia and pauses. When I look at her, she’s wiping tears from her cheeks.
“Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking like this,” Dad says.
“I’m so sorry,” she cries.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He squeezes her shoulder. “This is not on you, and no one here is going to hold what your dad might do against you.”
“I’m sure he’s behind it,” she says, wiping her face. She looks at me, and her expression is defeated. “This is why I was so worried about him finding out about us. I just didn’t know how far he would take it.”
I pull her close and kiss her temple. “We’ll get to the bottom of it. But no matter what, even if you’re right and he is behind it, please don’t carry any of the blame for this.”
She nods, but I can tell the words aren’t sinking in.
The flight to California is a blur of turbulence and exhaustion. This has been the longest day in the history of days. Chloe is such a trooper. When we get to my house, I check everything thoroughly, but there’s no sign that anything’s been tampered with.
I text Rudy that we’re heading to the shop, and he says he’ll meet me over there. He wanted to be there when I see it.
It’s almost midnight when we get to the shop.
Chloe is asleep in Dahlia’s arms, and I feel bad that they’re here, but Dahlia insisted on it.
She’s put a mask on Chloe and has her covered with a light blanket.
The air smells like charred, wet drywall.
A chunk of the storefront is boarded up. My gut takes a nosedive.
Rudy is inside, and the second he sees me, he pulls me into a hug that nearly cracks my ribs.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I tell him. Something I’ve repeated over and over every time we’ve spoken.
“Dude, if I’d stayed… I keep thinking about the back office, how I usually shut that down last, and if I had—”
“Thank God you weren’t here,” I say, gripping his shoulders.
He nods, swallowing hard.
“Hey, Dahlia,” he says, hugging her carefully around Chloe.
We go inside. It’s jarring to see it in this shape. Burned boards. Melted wax displays. Charred wet suits hanging like Halloween costumes.
The fire department contained the fire before it consumed the whole shop—which is something.
Rudy rubs the back of his neck. “The cops suspect it’s arson.”
“Really?”
Before I got on the plane, they were checking the cameras, but one of them had been smashed. Rudy and I both can access the surveillance from our phones, and I saw a little bit of footage from one of the cameras that the arsonist must have missed. But I didn’t see anything definitive from it.
“A customer came forward. His name’s Justin.
You’ll meet him. He came in for the first time the day before yesterday.
He’d been out surfing super early, and on his way in, he saw a guy acting weird by the shop before it was fully light out.
He started recording him on his phone, thinking he might be trying to break in, but the guy poured accelerant and lit a match.
There was another guy out taking a walk, and Justin waved him over to call the police. ”
“Do you have the video?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He pulls out his phone, finds the video, then hands it over.
The footage shows a guy in a hoodie and gloves. He walks confidently up to the shop and pauses.
“I almost thought he was about to take a piss on the back wall there,” Rudy says, pointing at the video.
“Yeah, I thought the same.”
But then, he pulls a can out of his hoodie and pours liquid along the back wall of Surf Culture.
It’s not clear enough to see a match being lit, but it’s obvious when the fire catches.
He stands long enough to watch the flare grow for a few seconds before jogging away.
And just when I think the video is going to end, the guy turns and looks back.
He’s under a streetlamp, and it’s like a spotlight on him, revealing his face.
Dahlia lets out a sound, and when I see her face, she looks like she’s been punched.
“Doll?” I whisper.
“I’ve seen him before,” she says, staring at the phone.
Rudy frowns. “You know this guy?”
“No.” She shakes her head slowly. “But my dad does.”
We hardly sleep at all. I think Dahlia got even less than I did. We’re supposed to meet the detectives at the shop and get there a few minutes before they pull up. It’s a shock to the system all over again to see the state of the shop in the daylight.
And it’s such a perfect day for surfing. Tons of surfers—regulars and some I don’t recognize—walk by to lament the destruction of Surf Culture.
Two officers walk up to Rudy with clipboards, their badges glinting in the sun.
“This is the owner, Dylan Whitman,” Rudy says. “And his girlfriend Dahlia, and her daughter Chloe.”
I realize then that I still need to fill Rudy in on Dahlia’s last name too. Rudy heard plenty about the Grangers when Ava came into our life and when we were trying to get Windhaven underway.
“I’m Detective Ruiz,” the woman says. “And this is Detective Hoyt. We reviewed the footage you emailed in—both the store camera and the video provided by the citizen who came forward.”
Dahlia shifts beside me.
Hoyt crosses his arms over his chest. “Any idea why he targeted the shop?”
Rudy shakes his head, eyes wide. “We don’t have enemies. We’ve got a cool thing going here.”
Detective Ruiz looks at me, and I lean forward.
“Rudy’s right. We give surf lessons and are a place where people come to hang out when they want to escape stress. We sell surfboards, rash guards, and wet suits, but we’re more than that. We’re a community.”
“A culture,” Ruiz says, smiling.
“Exactly,” I say, smiling back. “We’re accepting of everyone and have never even had a fight break out in the store or outside it.”
Dahlia swallows hard, voice small. “I recognize the guy.”
Both detectives pause, glancing at her.
She lifts her chin a little—shaking, but determined. “He works with a guy my dad knows. He’s been in our office at least once.”
“And where do you work?” Detective Ruiz asks.
“Granger Development & Property Group,” she says.
Rudy’s head pops up, and he stares between Dahlia and me. “Dylan, what’s going on?” he asks under his breath.
“She’s Bruce Granger’s daughter.”
“Holy shit,” he whispers.
Detective Ruiz makes note of what Dahlia’s just said and looks up. “And where is your office located?”
“Minneapolis,” Dahlia says.
Both detectives stare at her.
“As in, Minnesota?” Detective Hoyt says dryly.
“Yes.”
“Okay, we’re going to have lots of questions for you,” Detective Ruiz says. “We need more photos of the exterior now that it’s light outside. We got everything we needed inside last night.”
“I’ll get started on the photos,” Detective Hoyt says, walking toward the back of the building.
“I just heard from the station.” Ruiz holds up a tablet and shows us an enhanced version of Justin’s footage. “His face is clear enough for facial recognition. We’re running it through databases now.”
“That’s amazing,” I say. “So much more detail in this.”
I feel a weight lift—not gone, but shifting. Like maybe I can breathe again.
“When you find him,” I ask quietly, “what happens next?”
“Arson is a felony,” Ruiz says. “For the person who starts the fire, and anyone involved in it.”
Dahlia goes pale.
Ruiz softens her tone. “We know this is a lot. We’re going to handle it. But we’ll need statements from all of you.”
We sit at the makeshift folding table Rudy sets up outside and stare at the building.
Detective Ruiz asks questions in rapid-fire.
Where I was. Who had keys. Whether we’d had threats before. Whether I’d noticed suspicious cars. If I’d ever seen this man.
And then she turns to Dahlia and is just as thorough with her, if not more.
Who Dahlia is to me. If she has anything to do with the shop. The guy in question…what does she remember about the time he was in the office…and why would he be all the way in California setting fire to a surf shop?
“My father threatened Dylan yesterday morning. There’s a long history between our two families.
It began with our grandfathers.” Dahlia points between the two of us with her free hand.
She’s gripping mine tight with the other one.
“And when my father found out that I was seeing Dylan, he drove a couple hours to Dylan’s place of work in Windy Harbor, Minnesota, under the guise of being a guest at Dylan’s family resort.
Dylan does fishing excursions…among other things…
and my dad showed up on the boat and threatened him once they were out on the water. ”
“When you say ‘threatened,’ what do you mean?” Detective Ruiz asks Dahlia, and when Dahlia doesn’t answer right away, she looks at me. “Dylan, can you tell me what happened?”
I relay the story, wishing that this were anyone but Dahlia’s dad that we were talking about.
She squeezes my hand under the table with every mention of him.
She also tells them about Christian and the phone call from him yesterday, and I get the impression that they’ll be questioning him after this.
Chloe plays with the bag of toys Dahlia brought for her, taking them out and dragging them through the sand.
The questioning feels endless, but we finally get through it. Or at least this round—it sounds like they could have more questions at any point.
By now, Detective Hoyt has finished taking pictures and stands near Detective Ruiz’s chair. Ruiz smiles across the table and stands.
“We’ll be in touch,” she says. “Don’t leave the area without notifying us.”
They walk away, murmuring to each other, and then it’s quiet for a few moments.
“Holy shit,” Rudy says finally, his shoulders drooping when he looks at us. “This is a lot to take in.”
Dahlia nods. “I’m sorry.”
I look at her, about to tell her she doesn’t need to apologize anymore. But she stands.
“Come on, baby girl. Let’s go by the water,” she tells Chloe. And then she looks at me. “I need to call my father.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” I ask.
She nods.
“Can I come with you?”
“Yes,” she says softly.
I play with Chloe near the water while Dahlia paces, the ocean wind whipping her hair around. The sun is bright, too bright for the way my chest aches.
She puts the phone on speaker.
Her dad answers with a clipped “Why aren’t you at work?”
I can barely hear him over the waves and try to distract Chloe so she doesn’t hear any of it. She’s singing to herself and splashing in the water, so I don’t think she’s catching any of the conversation.
Dahlia squares her shoulders. “I’m in California. There was a fire in my boyfriend’s surf shop. But that’s no surprise to you, is it?”
The waves are the only sound for a few beats.
Then, he says, his voice so cold that I shiver, “If you’re not back here tomorrow, you’re fired. Don’t bother coming back.”
Her laugh is disbelieving, a heartbreaking sound. “I’ve decided to take another job, Dad.”
I wait, wondering if she’ll tell him she’s decided to work at Windhaven. My dad convinced her it wasn’t a pity offer and that he desperately needed her expertise.
I’m afraid it might take Bruce over the edge even more.
“Did you really think I would ever come back to work for you after what you pulled with Dylan?” she continues. “First threatening him on the boat, and now setting fire to his shop?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” her father snaps. “What lies is he feeding you?”
“Oh, you do know.” Her voice cracks on the last word. “There’s video. Multiple videos. The police have evidence. They know who did it. And guess what, Dad? I recognized the guy from our office. You think I’m not paying close enough attention to what goes on around there, but I don’t miss much.”
He goes quiet again.
I reach for her free hand, and she grips mine like she’s drowning.
“Dad,” she whispers, tears spilling now. “How could you?”
He says nothing.
And then the line goes dead.
She turns and sobs in my arms. I’m certain then that Chloe hasn’t heard anything because she’d be flying to her mama’s side if she heard her crying.
After a few minutes, I whisper Dahlia’s name and lift her chin up to look at me. Her expression is wrecked.
“Dahlia, my sweet love. You’re hurting my heart. You can’t carry the responsibility of this. It’s on your dad and whoever this guy is that did the actual deed. The shop can be rebuilt. No one was hurt. You and me…we’re good. We’re actually pretty goddamn great.”
A laugh chokes out of her, and I brush the tears off her cheeks with my thumbs and lean in to kiss her.
“I love you. A little fire isn’t going to scare me off.”
“Your whole shop is demolished, Dylan,” she says.
I put my hand on her heart and lift her hand to mine. “But this isn’t. And that’s all that matters.”