Chapter Eight
L ottie answered the door. She looked pleased to see Jodi, which was a nice change from the last hour door-knocking opposite the park near the basketball courts.
All Jodi had learned was that most people were too busy keeping an eye on their own children when they went to the park to watch out for people behaving suspiciously around the trash cans.
One person offered, as a well-known fact, that bikers from Rochester had been sighted last summer sitting on the picnic tables eating fast food and drinking cans of beer, and that the town council ought to round ’em up like mustangs and send them to boot camp to get a dose of discipline.
Another had noticed a suspicious man hanging around the trash bins for days at a time. That information had gotten Jodi’s pulse firing, until she realized that the neighbor had spotted Ricky on the job.
“Are you here for Ricky?”
Jodi nodded. She thought about explaining that they were working together, and that she was simply picking him up for a quick meeting. At her place.
“Well come on in. He’s—”
A dog barked. The timbre, pitch and volume were instantly familiar. Jodi turned on her heel.
Bubbles the Boodle, barely held back by a flustered Everett Thompson, strained joyously towards her new friend.
Another bark, surprisingly low-pitched for an animal which was any part poodle, was followed by a tail wag which nearly sent the small dumpy man flying.
Recognition dawned. Everett gave a stiff nod, every inch the dignified dog owner, and tried to haul Bubbles away.
“I’ll be back,” Jodi promised. She zipped up her coat and strode towards dog and man, now locked into a tug-of-war standoff. Bubbles appeared to be winning. Everett had given up wasting his breath on commands and was hanging on for dear life.
“Mr. Thompson,” said Jodi pleasantly. She waved a hand tentatively in the direction of the dog, who took this as an invitation to launch up on her hind legs towards Jodi.
“Sit!” roared Everett, shocking them all by the volume and ferocity of his voice.
Jodi’s legs wobbled as though her body was trying to join Bubbles, who was now slumped obediently in a tangle of limbs on the sidewalk, trapping Jodi’s foot underneath. The dog began worrying at Jodi’s boot laces, pausing to lick her ankle affectionately every now and then.
“Good dog,” said Jodi faintly.
“Miss,” said Everett frostily. “I take it that you are not seeking to reignite our previous contretemps. If you are considering action, either legal or some sort of public display on social media, which ought to be called antisocial media in my opinion, I must warn you that I will not yield to threats. Never have, never will.”
Jodi mustered her warmest smile.
“Of course not. A misunderstanding. I’m sure we can agree that tempers were...a little high.”
Everett made a harrumphing sound somewhere between a snort of derision and reluctant agreement.
“My thoughts exactly,” she continued smoothly, as though Everett had actually spoken. “But when I saw you just then, it occurred to me that you could be a valuable witness.”
One grey bushy eyebrow went up. Jodi hurried on before another harrumph could escape.
“Being a responsible dog owner, and someone who clearly takes their health seriously, I imagine that you walk in the park quite often.”
Everett inclined his head gravely. Yes, he was both those things.
“I am prepared to bet that you are observant.” Jodi watched Everett consider whether or not he had just been called a busybody.
She continued. “Most people aren’t, you know. Observant.”
The old man nodded agreement.
She hurried on. “It’s the firebug, you see. You will have read about the recent fires in trash bins and then the fire in the shed at the Temple Mountain Retirement Village?”
“Indeed. And I know who you are, Ms. Ruskin. Acting Editor for The Temple Mountain Monitor . I said down , Bubbles,” he added sharply.
The dog lowered her rump again with a deep sigh. Everett’s nostrils quivered.
“And you are hoping that I will tell you that I did happen to spot a shady character carrying a bag of matches and accelerants around public parks—and that, having spotted the culprit in action, I decided not to tell the authorities. Correct?”
Jodi felt her lungs deflate. When he put it like that...
“But cheer up, Ms. Ruskin.” There was an actual twinkle in his eyes. “It happens that I do have some information for you, or for young Mr. Sharp, who has the misfortune to be working for that fool Leroy Browning. I taught Leroy first year law at Rochester College, and the boy was always more interested in the opposite sex than in tort law.”
Bubbles, bored now that the shoelaces were in shreds, sat up, leaning hard against Jodi’s leg. Everett smiled benignly. Jodi wondered how long she could stay upright.
“I told you Bubbles is a sweetie,” said Everett.
Jodi considered risking a pat, but settled on a cheesy grin in the dog’s direction.
“I have seen the twins from the rectory in the basketball park and over on the Rotary Park near the high school, and even on the walking tracks up to the lookout. They are energetic lads. And not always in school, I gather.” He looked censorious. “ And , I have seen them flick cigarette butts into the trash can on several occasions, though not recently.”
The wind picked up, sending stray twigs and old leaves skittering across the path. Bubbles broke wind loudly and then lay down with a contented sigh across both Jodi’s feet.
All heads turned at the sound of footsteps.
An instant rush of pleasure surged through Jodi at the sight of the tall, well-built man walking towards her. This was swiftly replaced by a pang of guilt at digging into his secrets.
Though he might have told her, might have trusted her, argued the little voice in her head.
“Hmmm,” said Everett. He paused, his eyes skittering between Jodi and Ricky, and cleared his throat. “The other thing I can tell you is that I not once but twice spotted young Bonnie Browning, who is a young woman of robust charms, and thus not easy to miss, talking to the twins.”
Jodi’s eyebrows shot up.
“Indeed,” said Everett dryly. He yanked at Bubbles, who obediently rose to all fours without giving Jodi or her shredded shoelaces so much as a glance.
Faithless hound .
“Good luck, my dear.” Everett nodded at the approaching Ricky. The older man’s smile verged on the roguish. He tipped an imaginary hat and headed off.
“If there’s a Crime Stoppers reward, let me know.”
***
J odi parked the Miata in the small underground park. Her apartment was on the ground level, which had been a pleasure during summer when the small walled garden was a magnet for bees.
But the outdoor chairs were folded away and the flower beds mulched for their winter sleep. The tiled patio was gritty from the brisk breeze and a fresh layer of dry seeds and twigs had tumbled across every surface.
“It’s too cold outside.” Jodi drew the drapes and turned on the lamp. “I’m sure that wind comes direct from Quebec.”
She knew she was talking too much, unnerved by the reality of Ricky sitting in the high-backed armchair belonging to her long-departed father. At his back was the long-stitch tapestry cushion of pumpkins and skulls which Alma had made for her at the Temple Mountain Boys & Girls Club.
Every one of the old, new, and sentimental pieces which made up Jodi’s home had a story. And each item revealed far too much about the owner.
She curled into the creaky armchair, a reject from the rectory which she had re-covered in thrifted navy and cream toile, and reached for her glass of wine.
Ricky had brought the bottle, a pinot noir from The Brotherhood winery in Washingtonville, and Jodi had put out a chunk of Nettle Meadow Three Sisters she’d grabbed from the main street delicatessen (in between door-knocking), a ripe pear, and a jar of some sort of jelly left over from a Christmas basket that was supposed to go on a cheese board.
Clearly, she needed to entertain more often.
Ricky cut a large chunk of cheese as he typed into his laptop. He looked relaxed in a pair of charcoal jeans and a loose flannel shirt that matched his eyes. He angled the screen back, placed it on the coffee table, and Jodi scooted down onto the floor so she could see.
Behind her, he shuffled his body until his long legs were either side. His arm brushed her shoulder as he leaned over to point to the screen.
The clean smell of laundered cotton and that faint, spicy scent that she decided wasn’t Old Spice at all tickled her nose.
“Okay, here’s what I’ve got.” Ricky’s brisk tone brought her back to earth.
Nothing to see here folks .
“This map shows the three trashcan fires which have occurred in the couple of months since I’ve been here.”
Jodi stared at the circles on the map of Temple Mountain. She nodded.
“All in public parks, accessible to anyone with the exception of the walking trail, which would be difficult for someone with ambulatory issues and impossible for wheelchairs or motorized scooters because it’s basically a dirt track.”
He flipped to a series of photos. All looked much the same. Blackened clumps of trash, the singed remains of pizza boxes and stained newspaper. The final photo showed a cigarette butt half-attached to shreds of matchbooks.
The finger stabbed again. “This is the only fire I was able to get to within a few minutes, before the evidence was incinerated, but my instinct is that they were all started by the same means. Newspaper soaked in printer fluid, and a slow-burning cigarette wrapped in matchbooks. The pizza box is a distraction.”
Jodi stared at the images. “You’re suggesting that these fires are carefully planned. And that the arsonist wants them to look like an amateur bit of mischief.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “It’s a working theory,” he said finally. “But without some serious lab work, I’m only guessing. And the Chief, to be frank, thinks it’s bullshit.”
Jodi felt the sudden, wild elation of hope. Until cold logic forced its way back.
“Still, the boys could have done this,” she admitted slowly. “They are smart, and they are survivors. No idea why they would do this, but they can search online as well as the next kid. And we know they sometimes roam around town on a school morning.” She let out a breath. “And we have confirmed sightings of them in parks and the retirement home.”
His eyebrows went up.
“I saw Ida at church, and she sees the twins a fair bit at the village. And Bubbles, I mean Everett Thompson, has spotted them regularly in the city parks.”
She ate a slice of pear. The cheese was looking lonely on the plate. Should she nuke some of the frozen Girl Scout cookies? Find that emergency dark chocolate lurking at the back of the larder?
Jodi forced herself to focus.
“Ida is sure that Josh and Judah wouldn’t hurt a fly. She thinks they hang around for the free cake. Some of the old dears make quite a fuss over them apparently.”
Ricky frowned. “They wander in and out? I can’t imagine that the manager would approve. Bonnie seems...”
“Overbearing? Controlling?”
Ida had also mentioned that Bonnie was planning to have her father’s handsome assistant deliver a series of talks and demonstrations to the residents about fire safety.
Jodi plowed on. “But Everett Thompson also told me, for the price of Bubbles demolishing a perfectly good pair of shoelaces and then sitting on my feet, that Bonnie seems to know the twins. At least, well enough to talk to them.”
Ricky grunted. “So, what else do we know about the boys...”
Jodi took a breath. “...we know that they have been smoking, because there’s no hiding that smell.”
Ricky leaned forward again. His knees were a strong, comforting warmth against her back. He ate another chunk of cheese, followed by a slice of pear, and sipped his wine with a hum of pleasure.
An idea tugged at the back of Jodi’s mind. Something about fires.
“Wait,” she said, sitting up straight. She grabbed her phone.
“There were other minor fire incidents last year. The council had set up an arts program after the pandemic to divert at-risk kids, and it closed when the money ran out. Some people blamed the trouble on the council for closing the program too soon. We ran a story. Had a couple of quotes from the mayor and...Bonnie Browning, of course. She was the programs officer. But maybe it was our firebug, just starting out.”
She twisted around and found herself almost face-to-face with Ricky, who was leaning forward. He smiled lazily and cocked his head. A question lurked in his eyes.
Jodi pulled back a fraction, out of the danger zone. Possibilities swirled in her mind. “I’ll get Dougie Moon onto it.”
Ricky stretched back in the chair. He swallowed a yawn. “Sorry. Early run this morning. These days I’m usually wearing my flannel jammies and drinking cocoa at nine o’clock at night. So, tell me again about this Dougie.”
Jodi pushed away the diverting image of Ricky padding around the house in rumpled pajamas.
“Dougie. Local boy, came back to town after college, mostly because the job market was flat as a pancake.” She shrugged. “Though that’s all changed, so I expect him to be heading for New York City any day. He’s ambitious, that’s for sure, though he fancies himself as an eco-warrior. And his real name is August.”
Ricky stifled a laugh. “August Moon?”
Jodi grinned. “His mom was into some hokey stuff before the millennium and...that’s what she called him. So being an actual millennial himself, he changed it as soon as he could to...um...reflect his own...his own whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s a nice kid, but it’s time he did some real journalism instead of suggesting op eds about the kangaroo cull in Australia and the rising sea level in the South Pacific.”
“That’s a thing?”
“Yup.” She flicked through her contacts. “According to Dougie, you want to pat a kangaroo or snorkel in Fiji, you better do it soon.”
“Damn,” said Ricky thoughtfully. “Why would the Aussies cull those cute kangaroos? I mean, it’s not like they don’t have the space.”
She shrugged. Her thumbs flew across the keyboard.
New angle re firebug. Do a print (yes I mean actual newsprint from down in the basement archives) and online search about minor arson last year in Temple Mountain. Around spring?
Jodi paused.
Also, check out Bonnie Browning and her connection to Josh and Judah .
She inserted “ subtly ” into the second sentence. She could feel Ricky’s eyes on her back and the warm pressure of his legs. She was about to hit “send” when she added , You get anything interesting, put together a piece for Monitor Online.
Jodi put down the phone. “Done. We’ll be able to rule the twins in or out, because I happen to know that they arrived in town last summer, with another foster family. Didn’t work out, because the boys went to the Beechams almost as soon as Hattie and Silas arrived.”
“Okay.” Ricky’s breath sent goosebumps over the back of her neck. She turned her head and wriggled sideways so she could see his face.
“I’ll look through department records,” he said, absently twirling a lock of her hair, as though that was the most natural thing in the world. “And I need to go out to the retirement village again. I sealed the crime scene straight away, but some officious—I mean, well-meaning resident—is no doubt organizing a volunteer crew to throw everything into a dumpster. I want to go through it first with a fine-tooth comb.”
He clambered to his feet, and Jodi scrambled up. A strong arm snaked around her waist, and he pulled her gently towards him.
Alarm bells clanged in her ears. Standing thigh-to-thigh, feeling the hardness of his chest against her breasts—and recognizing the same intense expression in his eyes—was all so delightful that she never wanted it to end.
A deep hum of pleasure vibrated down her spine, sparking long-dormant sensations. She trailed a finger along his jaw. His dark gold skin was warm and slightly prickly under her feather-light touch.
All too soon, Jodi remembered that Ricky was not hers to dream about. Not only was the local-hero-turned-firefighter heading back to New York City some time real soon, but there was that tiny matter of trust...
She still had no idea, not really, why Ricky Sharp was back in town. And his silence spoke volumes.
Jodi was about to slide, reluctantly, from his reach when Ricky kissed her softly on the mouth. A brief, unsettling touch that was gone almost before she knew it.
He stepped back. Smiled. The physical distance between them yawned.
That was nice, his expression seemed to say . You do an okay cheese and fruit platter, and I like kissing you. Now, back to business .
“So, can I come with you?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Jodi wanted to pull them back.
“Ummm?” He shot her a wicked grin.
“I mean to the retirement home. I could...help sort the stuff...”
She looked down at her manicure, this week a stunning sunset orange. Okay, so getting down and dirty in what was essentially a soggy, charred mess wasn’t Jodi’s superpower. But she did know how to drill down on a shifty witness and how to squeeze the truth from an uncooperative interviewee.
“I could interview Bonnie about the incident. And visit Pops. Pick his brains. He’s very observant.”
Ricky’s laugh was a rumble in his chest. He kissed her on the nose.
Jodi blinked, not sure whether to be charmed or insulted.
“Appreciate the offer.” He threw her a conciliatory smile. “But the Chief has told me to keep away from the media, aka Ms. Jodi Ruskin, and I think I should chat with the charming Bonnie myself.”
He laughed at her outraged expression. “I’ll be sure to keep the door wide open.”
A few minutes later he was gone. Jodi glared at the closed door.
She began cleaning up . Almost all the cheese was gone. She grabbed a couple of raw carrots and a half-eaten tub of hummus and switched on the oven. Those Girl Scout cookies needed eating.
Good meeting , she told herself finally, enjoying the salty crunch and then the sweet warm flavor of comfort food at its best. Got some good leads. Got kissed on the nose.
It was only when she was slipping into bed that Jodi remembered her text to Dougie.
No matter, she decided, banging her pillow into shape. It wouldn’t hurt Bonnie to have to answer a few questions from the media about her relationship with the twins. It wasn’t like the daughter of the fire chief was excused from the scrutiny of the press.
And Jodi could always do a little massaging of the text tomorrow morning before the story went live.
***
R icky was battling his own demons.
He had arrived home to find his mother removing his warmed-up dinner from the microwave. The table was set for one, a reminder that he had not only missed dinner but forgotten to call his mom.
Ricky was suddenly seventeen again. Seventeen and restless. The future stretching out before him, his parents quietly hoping that he might settle down in Temple Mountain after college but knowing that his heart was set on leaving.
He thanked his mom, kissed her cheek, ate the meatloaf. Told her that he’d had a great day, and that the sessions on fire safety were a winner and that, sure, he could fit in a slice of pie.
“Uh huh.” His mom had done a lot of nodding, washing up the last dishes as he talked. Like she knew what her son was up to without even asking.
It was only when Ricky made his way down the hall to his room, making a note to fix that dripping faucet in the bathroom sink and maybe get someone in to replace that cracked tile, that he let his mind roam.
His bed creaked as he sat down to take off his shoes. The brief excitement of tackling a real mystery, of imagining a proper villain as the arsonist instead of a couple of wayward boys, faded.
Jodi .
She was so fired up about proving that Josh and Judah were innocent, but the odds were stacked against the boys.
Jodi was going to be disappointed.
And not only about the twins. If she hadn’t already found out about Chrissie’s death, then a smart newshound like Jodi would do her due diligence on the handsome firefighter who had kissed her not once but several times.
Ricky stared at the familiar ceiling, at the creeping world map and a patch of dampness in the corner.
Sure, Jodi would get that Ricky didn’t want to talk about Chrissie. But would Jodi be so understanding about the biggest secret of all?
His phone burred softly. He reached over, praying that the firebug hadn’t decided to do a midnight run.
A text. Laborious lines typed by a man who wanted to get it right. No shorthand words and no emojis.
Hi Ricky. Sure I remember you, from that time we dropped into the Big Apple to visit and of course from high school. Molly and I appreciate you getting in touch. It’s been a hard few years. We will talk to you about our Chrissie. I can’t see how the pain could get any worse than it already is. Can you come out to the retirement village after two on Thursday? Regards, Tom Caitens .