Chapter 5 Fire On Forsythia Lane #6
“So… let me get this straight,” I say under my breath. “We’re going to read this obituary inside out and upside down until we find something we can use as leverage to force Mrs. Atwood to open her door.”
Tessa rolls her eyes lovingly at me. “You make it sound so… aggressive.”
“I’m an aggressive guy.”
“Well, I think a gentle approach is best in this case. Mrs. Atwood is probably still grieving over the loss of her husband. We need to show sympathy and compassion. And we need to know a little more than nothing about Mr. Atwood to prove we’re not just trying to get her to talk about the fire.”
I nod slowly, noticing how pretty she looks right now, in her soft pink sweater and matching headband. I can’t help leaning in close to kiss her temple and whispering, “You’d make a good detective.”
She blushes, looping her arm around my waist and grinning up at me. “So would you.”
The hum of a printer jolts me out of my moonstruck daze.
“Okay, you two lovebirds,” Rachel says, rolling back in her swivel chair to tug a paper out of the printing tray. “Here’s the obituary. Anything else?”
“That’ll do it.” I take the page and give her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Rachel.”
With Tessa’s hand in mine, we walk to the coffee break room, where a bunch of office chairs surround a long pine table strewn with abandoned mugs and pens from the last time someone was here. Happily, I haven’t seen Marcus since I walked in the door. And with any luck, I won’t see him at all.
“Coffee?” I offer Tessa, pointing to the Keurig.
She smirks, pulling out one of the chairs and sitting down. “That’s right, you’re the resident barista around here.”
I grunt, flipping over a clean mug. “You can call me anything, Tessa. But don’t call me a barista.”
She laughs. “You’re a cute barista.”
“Don’t.”
I know what she likes, so I don’t have to ask. Decaf dark roast with two sugars, one cream. I set it beside her on the table and go back to the Keurig machine to make myself a full-caf dark roast, black. That’s when a new voice slides into the room like a slithering, silver-tongued snake.
“Well, I didn’t know it was bring-your-girlfriend-to-work day.”
My muscles stiffen as I turn to look at him. New charcoal-gray suit, fancy wristwatch flashing in the light, hair slicked back like he’s about to appear on a national news broadcast.
How the hell does a washed-up hack like him afford expensive new suits every time I turn around? Maybe he has rich parents and a trust fund, and the whole reporter thing is just an excuse to get out more and annoy people.
“You didn’t know?” I say, rolling with his punches. “I guess it doesn’t matter to you—I mean, it only applies if you have a girlfriend.”
Tessa glances back and forth between the two of us, cautiously sipping her coffee like she’s expecting someone to throw a punch any minute now.
Marcus lets my comeback roll off him with an easy laugh, his gaze landing on the paper in front of Tessa.
“Don’t tell me you’ve roped your girlfriend into investigating the Montgomery fire,” he says with a disgusted little laugh, strutting up to the coffee bar and snatching a cup for himself. I take my mug of coffee out of the Keurig before he can get any ideas about stealing it.
“Actually, we’re just doing some background checking,” I answer smoothly, shooting Tessa a look that I hope she translates as Don’t tell him anything.
Marcus grunts, stabbing buttons on the Keurig. “Well, I’m afraid it’s going to be ‘case closed’ pretty soon. I just got back from delivering my evidence to the police.”
I set my coffee on the table with a thud, whirling back around to face him. “What? What evidence?”
Marcus crosses his arms over his chest, a shit-eating grin curving the corners of his lips. “The conversations I had with Jonathan Boone. The proof of accelerant found on his property. The way he refused to provide an alibi. I felt it was my civic duty to inform the police of what I know.”
Civic duty, my ass.
“Boone did provide an alibi,” I argue. “He told us he was at the bar in town the night of the fire.”
“Oh, please. Any drunk would’ve said that to cover his tracks. Are you telling me you took his word for it?” A pitying laugh. “You really need to learn the rules of this game before you play it, little boss.”
That shouldn’t piss me off. That shouldn’t make every muscle in my body lock up with the urgent and unquenchable desire to punch him in the face.
But it does.
I want to tell him that I confirmed Boone’s alibi.
That I questioned the bartender at The Howling Coydog and I hiked the whole two miles from Main Street to the Montgomery house just to figure out how long it would really take a stumbling drunk man to make that trek in the middle of the night.
I want to tell him that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
Hell, I want to go straight to my dad’s office right now and tell him to fire Marcus Verne.
But that would be immature. That would prove him right—that I’m just a kid who can’t take the heat.
So I draw in a slow, deep breath. Let it out. Sip my coffee. Look at Tessa, so quiet and beautiful and in control.
Then I turn back to Marcus. “Boone isn’t the only suspect in this case, Verne. As a matter of fact, I’m starting to wonder how solid Montgomery’s alibi is.”
At this, Marcus bursts out laughing, like my suggestion is the most outrageous thing he’s heard all day. “Montgomery? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“No. It’s not unheard of for the owner of a property to commit arson. Or insurance fraud.”
“Montgomery knows Boone’s been after him, looking for revenge. He’s been threatened by that drunk before this happened—did you know that?”
“Threatened? How.”
“Emails. Unsigned and always from a different address.”
“If they were unsigned, how does he know they were from Boone?”
Marcus sighs, shaking his head like he’s been debating “why is the sky blue” with a toddler for too long and he’s just now realizing what a waste of time it’s been.
“I need to get back to work. Have fun with your girlfriend. But not too much fun, please—this is a professional workplace.” And with one final scathing smile, he takes his coffee and strides out of the room, back to his cubicle.
My blood is boiling as I sit down at the table beside Tessa. I don’t notice that my hands are curled into fists until her smooth, warm fingers melt over my knuckles.
“I know you want to punch him,” she murmurs, “but he’s not worth it.”
I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it all out again. “I guess I’m just not the kind of guy who can work in an office. I need a fighting ring to settle my differences with someone.”
Tessa hums a little laugh, leaning over the corner of the table to brush her lips softly against mine. “Cool your jets, tough guy.”
She kisses me slowly, pushing me back in my chair and melting my anger just like that.
One minute I’m a weapon, locked and loaded; the next, I’m defenseless.
Down for the count. All because of her lips on mine.
They taste like sweet coffee, and I can’t get enough of them.
But apparently this isn’t a makeout session; it’s just a tactic to make me relax and forget about punching Marcus in the face.
Tessa eases back after a moment with a triumphant smile and whispers, “Now. Let’s get to work. ”
Side by side, Tessa and I study Charles Atwood’s obituary like it contains a coded message that will solve this whole mystery.
Charles Atwood, a longtime resident of Rockford, NY, passed away on Thursday, January 22, due to heart failure.
He was known and loved by many for his generous spirit and vibrant personality.
Charles had a profound love of nature and enjoyed spending his time hiking and bird-watching.
He was an avid reader, always with a new book at his side.
His fascination with history and culture was infectious, inspiring many around him to embrace learning.
Throughout his life, Charles made significant contributions to various charities, including Limitless Life, reflecting his belief in the potential of every individual. He was a beacon of kindness and generosity in his community, always eager to lend a helping hand.
Charles is survived by his beloved wife, Marjorie, who stood by his side in every walk of life. He will be greatly missed by all who knew him. His legacy of love, generosity, and curiosity will continue to live on in the hearts of many.
“Limitless Life,” I murmur, those two words standing out to me more than anything else in the obituary. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“It’s a charity,” Tessa says, making a rapid-fire internet search on her phone. “Looks like… they help kids with disabilities.”
I snap my fingers, remembering. “That’s right. My mom applied to them back when we were trying to get my running blades. They help families who can’t afford to buy higher-end equipment like running blades, power wheelchairs, stuff like that.”
Tessa frowns. “Doesn’t health insurance pay for that?”
“For the most basic stuff, yeah. But not for ‘luxury’ devices. They’re not considered necessary. And they’re really expensive.”
Tessa slides her hand over mine, sad determination in her eyes. “Running isn’t a luxury. It’s a human right.”
A smirk pulls at my mouth. “You sound like an activist, Tessa.”
She laughs dismissively and turns her attention back to the webpage on her phone. “So, this charity… they helped you get your blades?”
“Mm-hmm. Thanks to my mom’s persistence.”
“And thanks to Charles Atwood’s generous donations.” She quirks her eyebrows at me, a sly smile on her lips. “I think we just found our leverage to open the door.”
It takes a few seconds to click. “What, me? I’m the leverage?”
She nods.
“I don’t know, Tessa.” I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “You know how much I hate it when people pity me.”
“I know… but don’t the ends justify the means this time?”