25. Ozzie
CHAPTER 25
Ozzie
I really thought we’d eat before anything happened.
But I couldn’t complain about eating cold crab in my boxer-briefs while sitting on our pile of clothes on Claire’s kitchen floor.
This was hands down the best date I’d ever had.
And not just because of the sex.
There was a comfort level with her I’d never experienced before. None of my previous girlfriends were ever comfortable being this uninhibited and content before or after lovemaking. Outwardly, Claire fit the type of woman I went for.
Professional and career minded. Friendly. Smart.
Blonde.
But underneath the veneer of makeup and clothes was a woman who did everything with her soul. It ruled her actions and emotions, making her more… real than any other woman I’d ever met.
Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised by our current circumstances. The Claire who had hopped on an ATV and led me to a potentially dangerous encounter with a likely murderer was most definitely the kind of woman to have sex in a kitchen and then eat crab while sitting on the floor in little more than her underwear.
My gaze traveled over the slice of her collarbone exposed by the gaping neckline of my flannel shirt.
She’d slipped it on, along with her underwear, not long ago. With our bodies sated and limp, we’d spent a decent bit of time cuddled together on the floor before her grumbling stomach forced us to take action.
I’d watched—hungry for more than just crab—as she got up, divesting herself of her boot long enough to take off her leggings and then pull up her panties and put on my shirt. Once she was put together, she grabbed a roll of paper towels and the bag of crab from the fridge.
I hadn’t bothered with my pants or my t-shirt. Our lovemaking left me warm, so I’d covered up out of decency, using the rest of my clothes and hers to keep us off the kitchen tile.
The boxer-briefs also kept me a little safer from Pebbles and her tiny claws. The dog had left at some point while Claire and I made love, but once we pulled out the food, she’d come running back. All it had taken was for her to scramble onto my abdomen, eager to get to her mistress, for me to pick up my underwear and slide them on.
Now she nibbled on pieces of crab Claire tore off and put on a napkin for her.
I wiped my fingers on some toweling, then wadded it up and stuffed it into the empty bag. “I’m full. That was good.” Even cold, the crab was juicy and full of flavor. Riggs was right. I doubted any place could top it.
Claire sucked the last piece of meat out of her crab leg and set the shell in the to-go box, humming her agreement.
Once again, the skin exposed at her neck caught my attention. I leaned in and nuzzled the spot with my nose. She smelled so good. Like flowers and her own heady scent mixed in. “What do you think we should do the rest of the evening?”
Her low chuckle brought an answering smile to my mouth. She knew what I was thinking. I’d bet everything I owned it was the same thing she was.
Sucking butter off her fingers, she tipped her head, giving me better access.
“Maybe we’ll make it to the bedroom this time,” I said against her skin.
Her soft, low chuckle sent a zing through my veins. “My back would thank you.”
“So would my knees.” Easing away, I met her gaze with a broad smile. Shifting, I moved to get up. “Come on.” I offered her a hand.
As we rose, the musical trill of a phone filtered in from the living room.
“That’s my cell.” Claire frowned, looking toward the sound.
“Ignore it.” I gathered her close, not wanting anything to intrude on our evening. The world could wait.
I planted my lips along her jaw, working my way down the long line of her neck.
The phone quit ringing.
She relaxed into me.
The trill started again, and she stiffened, pushing at my shoulders.
With a sigh, I let her go. Back-to-back calls likely meant it was important.
“I’ll try to be quick.” With an apologetic look, she hurried out of the kitchen as fast as her booted foot would let her. The ringing stopped, but I didn’t hear her answer. A moment later, my phone rang from the cargo pocket of my pants.
A shiver of trepidation skated over my nerve endings. What were the odds?
It took me a moment to find the right pocket, but I got to the phone before it quit ringing.
“Chief Riggs” appeared on the screen when I lifted it.
Now I was even more concerned.
I slid my thumb over the screen. “Quartermaine.”
“Are you with Claire?” His voice held no censure, just concern.
“Yes.” My forehead wrinkled. “Why?”
“Her real estate office is on fire.”
The breath stalled in my lungs.
“I’m standing outside it now. When the call came through dispatch, the fire was flagged as suspicious, so they called me. One of her employees, Savannah Smith, is the one who called it in. She saw someone driving away, she said.”
“Ozzie!”
Claire’s voice carried through from the living room. The offbeat slap-thump of her feet on the hard floor soon followed. A couple seconds later, she appeared in the kitchen doorway, phone to her ear.
“We’ll be right there,” I told Riggs, then hung up. “Is that Savannah?” I nodded to the phone in her hand.
“Yes.”
“Tell her we’re on our way.” I set my phone on the counter, then shook out my pants. Standing on one foot, I shoved my other one into the pant leg.
She relayed the message, then ended the call.
Her phone hit the countertop with a clatter as she hurried around to pick up her own clothes from the floor.
My shirt came sailing over her head as she whipped it off.
Mouth going slack, my brain hiccupped, and I could do nothing but stare for several beats.
The flannel smacked me in the chest, spurring me back into motion. Setting the shirt down, I turned away, removing the tempting sight from my field of vision. I needed a clear head so I could think.
If the fire at her office was indeed suspicious, it made me wonder why someone would torch it. What did she have there—or what did someone think she had there—that would warrant that kind of action?
“Did the Hammonds give you any documents pertaining to their property?” I glanced back.
Static made her blonde hair stick out as she poked her head through the neck of her sweater. “Only the standard stuff. Why?”
I slipped into my t-shirt, then picked up my flannel from the counter. “Just trying to puzzle out why someone would want to burn down your office.”
She stilled. “What did you say?”
I frowned at her, pausing in the process of shrugging into my flannel. “What do you mean? You said you were talking to Savannah.”
“I was. She said the office was on fire, not that someone did it on purpose!”
“Riggs said she told dispatch she saw someone fleeing the scene.”
Her blue eyes went wide. “Oh my God,” she breathed. She sank to the floor and tore at the Velcro strips holding her boot in place. It needed to come off so she could put her leggings on.
I buttoned up my shirt and squatted to help her.
Pebbles ran around us, barking. I couldn’t blame her. She sensed something was wrong.
Together, Claire and I got her leggings on and the boot refastened.
Rising, I held out a hand, helping her to her feet, then grabbed my coat from the floor.
“We can take my truck,” I said as she plucked her coat off the hook by the garage door. “I’m parked behind your garage, so I’d have to move, anyway.”
“Okay.” She shoved her arms into the coat sleeves, then bent down to scoop up a still barking Pebbles. “Let’s go.”
I frowned. “You want to take the dog?”
She turned a determined look on me. “Someone’s lured her out of the yard, broken into my house, and now burned my office down. Yes.”
When she put it like that… listing things off really made it hit home that whether this was about Marie Hammond’s death or not, someone had it out for Claire.
“All right.” I put a hand on her back and ushered her toward the front door.
Running as best she could, Claire led the way outside to the truck. The lights flashed as I unlocked it. In less than thirty seconds, we were pulling away from the house.
Pebbles stood on Claire’s lap, front paws on the dash, her little tail wagging furiously. If it weren’t for the seriousness of the situation weighing on me, I’d laugh at her antics. The tiny dog had grown on me. It helped that she tolerated me now. Ever since I rescued her from the cold, she’d decided I wasn’t as bad as she first thought.
After several minutes and a few rolling stops, we made it to Claire’s office. The fire was out, but smoke still billowed from the structure. We hadn’t missed the flames by much.
Parking behind a firetruck, I got out and hurried around to help Claire down. Once she had both feet firmly on the ground and Pebbles tucked under her arm, I glanced around, looking for Riggs. He stood near the second fire engine, deep in conversation with one of the firefighters.
I took Claire’s free hand, pointing with my other. “Riggs.”
She nodded, and we headed that way.
On the way, we passed an ambulance. Claire came to an abrupt halt.
I glanced back with a frown. She stared at the window. “Claire?”
Disentangling our hands, she walked up to it and opened the back door. “Savannah?”
“Claire!” a woman on the stretcher cried out. Almost immediately, she started hacking behind the oxygen mask on her face.
The paramedic with her adjusted the mask, then turned a disapproving frown on us. A touch of it smoothed out as recognition dawned on his face. “Claire, now’s not the best time.”
“Stuff it, Jedidiah. She’s my friend.” Claire stepped into the ambulance. Pebbles barked and wagged her tail, recognizing Savannah.
I moved in behind Claire and introduced myself. “I’m Detective Quartermaine.” My gaze went to Savannah’s soot-streaked face. “Are you all right?”
She coughed again but nodded.
“Smoke inhalation,” the paramedic said, still frowning. He pushed a button on the monitor by Savannah’s head, and the cuff on her arm began to inflate. “She really shouldn’t talk much.”
Savannah rolled her head to the side to look at him, then turned back to us. “Black—” she coughed, waving a hand. “Black SUV. A woman.”
My brows knit together. “A woman? You’re sure?” I had chased a man away from Claire’s house after the break-in.
At least, I was pretty sure it was a man.
My frown deepened as I thought about the foot chase into the woods. The person had been tall and wearing men’s clothes. It had looked like a man, but I hadn’t actually seen his face. I supposed it was possible it was a woman hiding under the hoodie and jeans.
But that just didn’t feel right. I’d been so sure it was a guy.
“Did you recognize her?” I asked.
Savannah shook her head. “Only saw… hair,” she said between slight coughs.
“Hair? Long hair?” I asked.
Again, she nodded. “Brown.”
“What were you doing here?” Claire asked. “It’s Saturday. And it’s late.”
“Showing. I had… paperwork, and I needed the home… info.” Her soft coughs punctuated her words until she finally broke into another round of deep hacking.
“That’s enough questions for now.” Jedidiah wrote down the blood pressure reading on the monitor and speared us with a look that clearly said we should leave.
I nodded to him, recognizing Savannah’s rough shape. “Are you taking her to Juneau?”
The man nodded.
“All right, thanks.” I took Claire’s hand, tugging her back to the ground. “Let’s go talk to Riggs.”
She spared me a quick look as we stepped out, then turned to Savannah. “I’ll call your parents. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”
Savannah offered her a weak smile. “Thanks,” she rasped.
Claire gave a final wave as I shut the ambulance door.
Her face crumpled as the panel shut, and she sniffed, blotting at her eyes with her sleeve. “She looked terrible.”
I agreed. “She’s in good hands. Come on.” I squeezed her hand and took a step away from the ambulance.
This time, she followed me.
“Riggs!”
The chief looked up as I called his name. He motioned us over.
I helped Claire navigate the firehoses littering the ground on our way to him.
“We saw Savannah Smith just now.” I tipped my head toward the ambulance. “She said she saw a dark-haired woman get into a black SUV.”
“That’s what she told me too.” Riggs turned to Claire. “Ms. Holmes, do you have any surveillance cameras? Perhaps some that back up to a cloud server?”
“I have a Ring camera on the back door. It’s hard to hear when the delivery guys knock, so that was my solution.”
I glanced at the building. The rear of it faced the street behind. She had entrances to her parking lot on the side and the rear, since it was on the corner. Most of the parking was on the side or on the street in front.
“Did Savannah tell you where she saw the car?” I asked Riggs.
“No. I got about as much as you did. She couldn’t talk much without coughing. Maybe once she’s been treated for her smoke inhalation, she’ll be able to talk better, and we can get a few more details.”
Propping my hands on my hips as I continued to study the area, I made a soft, non-committal grunt, then looked at Claire. “Can you access the Ring footage from your phone?”
“Yes.” She shifted Pebbles, then held her out to me. “Here. Hold her for a minute.”
I took the little dog, cuddling her to my chest. She licked my chin.
Claire dug into her bag for her phone and came up with it a few seconds later. After a couple of clicks, she had the app open and the footage pulled up.
“May I?” Riggs held out a hand.
“Of course. You’ll know better than me what’s suspicious.” She passed him the phone, then shuffled closer so she could see the screen.
I did the same on his other side.
“Bateman?” Riggs glanced over his shoulder at the fireman supervising the fire scene.
“Yeah?”
“What time did the fire start?”
“Call came in at twenty-sixteen.”
Riggs’s head bobbed, and he returned his attention to Claire’s phone, rewinding to about eight o’clock.
Fast-forwarding in increments, we watched until a hooded figure appeared.
“Is that a gas can?” Claire pointed at the screen. The person held a rectangular object with a spout in their left hand.
“Looks like it,” Riggs said. “Might be diesel or kerosene, though. Can’t tell the can color.”
Silently, we watched the figure pour a liquid from the can along the back wall of the building, then disappear out of view. For several minutes, there was nothing else, then smoke drifted into the picture. Moments later, flames erupted.
Banging and a woman’s screams came from inside the building.
Claire gasped and covered her mouth.
The back door rattled, and the screams and bangs were closer now, but soon faded. Moments later, glass shattered.
“That’s Ms. Smith climbing through the front window. She smashed it with a chair from the reception area. She managed to tell me she couldn’t find the door locks in all the smoke and that the front door was too hot for her to open. That’s when she saw the car driving away too—when she came through the window to get out.”
“God.” Claire closed her eyes, distress etched into every line of her face.
I gave a soft head shake. Savannah Smith was lucky to be alive.
“Do we think the perpetrator knew she was in the building?”
“I’d say it’s a distinct possibility.” Riggs paused the video. “Her car is in the lot. She had the lights on inside.”
“Maybe—” Claire spoke up, but paused, swallowing hard. “Maybe they thought it was me there. People know I own the business because my name is on it, but they might not know what kind of car I drive. Or that I have other realtors on my team. We live in a small town, but it’s not that small. It could be they saw the car and thought I was working late.”
Riggs and I shared a glance. I could tell he thought the same thing: she could be on to something.
“Ms. Holmes, can I send this footage to myself?” Riggs pointed at the phone.
“Of course.”
“Great. Once I do that, Quartermaine, I want you to take her home. You are officially off the Hammond murder and?—”
“What?” My spine straightened and my eyebrows slammed down. “Why? You?—”
Riggs held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on. You didn’t let me finish.”
Fuming, I clamped my teeth together and motioned for him to continue.
“Ms. Holmes is obviously a target. If what happened tonight is a case of mistaken identity, she needs full-time protection. You are the obvious choice since the two of you have a relationship. I’m assuming, anyway.” He raised an eyebrow.
I nodded an affirmative.
“You can stay with her, keep an eye out, and I’ll take over the murder, and now arson, investigation. Because you can’t touch that scene”—he jabbed a finger at the smoldering building—“with a ten-foot pole. Any judge worth their salt would be all over us for conflict of interest.”
I looked away, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I considered his words.
Claire moaned. “But why is someone targeting me? I don’t know anything!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Riggs said. “Someone thinks you do. Was everything about the Hammonds’ real estate transactions in your office?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?” I asked. “You don’t have any notes at home or pictures?”
“No—wait.” A small frown wrinkled her forehead, then her eyes rounded. “The staging photos.”
“Staging photos?” It was Riggs’s turn to frown.
A light bulb went off in my head, but before I could speak, Claire continued.
She nodded. “The house needed staging. Normally, Lynne meets me, and we go through the house together. She makes notes and comes up with a plan. Sometimes she takes pictures, but most of the time it’s just notes. For their house, she couldn’t meet me, so I took a bunch of pictures and gave them to her so she could figure out what furniture and décor she needed. The Hammonds were adamant the house go on the market as quickly as possible. It was the fastest solution.”
I shared a look with Riggs. “I looked through them earlier this week. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but I can check them again.” Someone thought she had information. Whatever the killer was looking for could be in those images. She took them Friday. Mrs. Hammond died Monday morning.
He nodded. “Send them to me too. The more eyes, the better.”
“I will. I think there’s something else we need to consider, though.” I shifted, my gaze scanning the still smoldering ruins of Claire’s office.
Riggs sent me a curious frown. “What’s that?”
“Who knew she took pictures?” I wagged a finger at her.
Understanding lit the chief’s face. “That’s a good point. Who did you tell about that, Ms. Holmes?”
“Oh, gosh.” She tipped her head back, thinking. “My staff knew. Lynne’s staff. The Hammonds. My friend, Mina, because I tell her everything.” She turned her attention to me again. “Some of my competitors might wonder if I took pictures, but they wouldn’t know for sure. That’s about it. You.” She lifted a hand gesturing to me. “We talked about it the day I found Marie. On the porch? And you’ve seen the photos.”
I nodded, remembering when she first mentioned them, and turned to Riggs. “That narrows things down some.”
“Possibly. It gives us a place to start, at least. And some different theories. But someone still could have seen her there Friday but not known who she was until after the murder, then just assumed she took pictures. Or we could be entirely off base and there’s something else they think she has.”
That was true, but it didn’t feel likely. I wouldn’t discount the idea—that would be idiotic. But I couldn’t chase down a ghost. I could, however, chase down Claire and Lynne’s employees.
“If your theory is correct, though”—Riggs waved a finger—“we can take Warren off the suspect list.”
“Why?” Claire asked. “Wouldn’t it put him higher on the list? He’s one of the few people who knows I took pictures.”
I knew what Riggs was thinking, so I answered. “He knew what you were doing before you took the pictures. If there was something in the house he didn’t want you to see or didn’t want to get inadvertently photographed, he’d have removed it before you showed up.”
“Oh.” A crease formed between her eyebrows, then smoothed out. “That makes sense.”
“But he’s not off the list. Not until we can prove there’s something in those pictures that someone would want to kill over.” I looked at Riggs as I spoke.
He nodded once. “We’ll go over them with a fine-toothed comb.”