Chapter Ten
As the downstairs lights in the house across the street went dark, the driver twisted the key in the sedan’s ignition for the umpteenth time, shut off the headlights and let the wipers brush away the worst of the new snow.
He gritted his teeth, at least in part, so they would stop chattering while he waited for the car to warm.
Nothing could prevent him from shivering.
He rubbed at the base of his neck and then wiggled aching fingers inside his gloves.
After three hours of surveillance, which included a possible case of frostbite, he had at least one discovery to show for it.
The single mom had a boyfriend. Apparently, one who spent the night, given that the bundled figure, who’d entered her front door a few hours earlier, remained locked inside at lights out.
“You always were a wild one, weren’t you, sweetheart?” His chuckles formed puffs of condensation inside the car as he shut off the engine again.
How had he not been aware that someone was getting a thigh squeeze from Stan’s defiant daughter when they’d been watching her for weeks?
It didn’t surprise him that the Hoffman girl had been throwing back the sheets while her little daughters were right down the hall, but he was shocked that she’d been able to keep the existence of the guy to herself.
No one in Mount Isabel could keep a secret. Well, almost no one. His lips lifted and immediately pressed flat again as he considered the effort required of those who still understood the covenant of silence.
Since he made a point of knowing everyone else’s juicy little tidbits, the fact that he’d missed this one irked him even more.
So far, he wasn’t even sure how her boy toy had appeared on her doorstep since not a single car had parked on either side of Elm Street in the past three hours.
Only four had tooled by on their way to somewhere else.
As for the girl playing house with her guest inside, someone should have taken her down a notch or two, long before she took off with that loser boyfriend.
If he’d been a few years younger, he would have taken that assignment himself.
He’d always had a taste for sweet young things, after all.
Sometimes even a touch. And this young lady still resembled her captivating mother, who would never grow old.
Though he often avoided digging his own fingernails in the dirt when he could find “volunteers” for unsavory tasks, he might have enjoyed a smooth dip in the mud with this one.
He smiled again until he caught sight of his phone in the passenger seat, the spider web of its crushed screen visible in the dashboard’s illumination. His fingers flexed and unflexed on the steering wheel.
Maybe chucking the cell at the windshield over that update on the Informer website hadn’t been a great idea, after all.
The car’s glass didn’t appear to be cracked, but he wouldn’t know for sure until morning.
After everything else that had happened the past few days, who knew what other discoveries he would make then.
He grabbed the phone and tapped the screen to awaken it.
When it didn’t work, he tried again without his glove, a splinter in the glass rough under his fingertip.
Damn thing. Nothing—and no one—could be trusted to do a job.
He returned to the newspaper website and to the headline that nearly made him throw his phone again.
Mount Isabel PD Closing in on Arsonists
Even recognizing that the local weekly wasn’t exactly The New York Times in its track record for accuracy, he bristled at the claim.
It was too close for comfort. He scanned down the article.
No one at the police department had gone on record to say they had a suspect.
Just more of the same with the Public Safety Office putting out a press release that was devoid of any facts and the local media printing it word for word.
He paused on a quote that was nothing like the ones attributed only to “police investigators” or “fire inspectors.”
“Significant evidence discovered at the scene gives us confidence that we’ll locate a suspect quickly,” said Mount Isabel Fire Chief Mick Prentiss.
“What did they do now?” He shoved his hand back through hair that grew grayer every day he was surrounded by these incompetents.
The newcomer at the fire department had to be bluffing so the suspect would get jumpy.
Even with years of experience in avoiding taking bait like that, a tickle edged up his spine.
He squeezed his shoulder blades together, refusing to let his misgivings dig in deeper.
Clearly, Prentiss didn’t know how things were done around Mount Isabel. He’d better learn quickly. In fact, a few people needed to get their acts together.
He closed the browser and clicked on his contacts, tapping one to dial.
“What the hell happened today?” he barked into the phone the moment someone answered.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t—”
“Have this under control at all,” he finished for the other person.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen. Somebody messed up.”
“What’s with all this outsourcing, anyway? That got us in trouble in the first place.”
“Outsourcing?” The other person’s voice came out as a squeak. “Um, that was your—”
At least the idiot gathered enough sense to stop there and not say it was his idea. He wouldn’t be taking the blame for any of this. “All I know is I had to clean it up.”
For a few seconds, the line was quiet.
“Really, I’m—”
“I don’t want your apologies. There were supposed to be no connections. No one was supposed to get caught.”
“And no one will. Everything will be fine. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, I’m beyond worried. Fix it. Now. Before it’s too late.” After clicking off the phone, he threw it back on the seat.
He hated working with amateurs. Already today he’d been forced to help unload an SUV for someone who couldn’t get through his pea-sized brain that intimidation didn’t have to be up close and personal.
They’d be lucky if the Hoffman girl didn’t go right to the police if she thought she could trust them.
This time the wrong few might believe her.
He still held out hope that she could be sidelined without any less palatable measures.
Like her brother. Riley had a weakness. People with those were easier to manipulate.
Rachel had two tiny, dark-headed liabilities herself.
They could leverage those, and if the new guy turned out to be married, they would have more.
She needed to learn the hard way that people living in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.
Just as the dashboard lights went dark, he turned the ignition again, this time his chapped lip splitting with his smile. He dabbed at the blood with his glove, not even minding the sting.
Though he’d never been one prone to sentimentalities, he’d seen proof that fear of losing a loved one could be a great motivator to encourage silence. If the Hoffman girl didn’t fall in line, then he would do what had to be done. It wouldn’t be the first time. Or the last.
As for working with the imbeciles surrounding him, he just might have to adjust his plans, no matter how much he preferred an administrative role. What had he been thinking, leaving the details to someone else, anyway? That old proverb remained relevant for a reason.
If you want something done right, do it yourself.
* * *
Mick took a deep breath as he entered the building housing Mount Isabel’s downtown offices on Friday morning.
He’d been called on the carpet for his behavior before, mostly in high school, but he might have set a record for it this time.
He stepped to the door with the nameplate that said, “Kenny Davison, Village Manager,” and knocked.
“Come in,” a familiar-sounding voice said from the other side.
A middle-aged man with a bad comb-over sat behind the desk. Though the manager looked up at him, he didn’t stand.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Davison.” He stepped forward and extended his hand. “In person this time.”
After an awkward delay, Davison stood, dispensed with the formalities and sat again. He gestured for Mick to take the seat across from him. Apparently, he still had a few minutes before getting fired from the position he’d held for four days.
* * *
Davison looked older than he had during their too-brief video interview.
Thinner, too. But the past few months must have been difficult for all the town’s leaders.
They’d also been busy. At least that was what Mick told himself when he’d stopped by the office earlier in the week to complete the last of his employment paperwork and met only with the manager’s administrative assistant, Shirley.
Now he knew that Davison had time for what he thought was important.
“I suppose you know why you’re here.” He planted his hands on the edge of his desk as though he intended to stand again but didn’t.
“I’m guessing it was about the incident that took place Monday.”
“Not the incident. Your response to it.”
“My response? I wasn’t at Station 1 when we received the call. I didn’t start until—”
“You know what I mean.”
Mick suspected, anyway, having guessed the moment he’d been called to the principal’s office. A few crew members had prepared him to expect that summons from by-the-book Kenny Davison as well.
“Do you mean my statement on the newspaper’s website?”
“Of course, that’s what I’m talking about. I recognize that we brought you in with little preparation and a less than rigorous background check, but you need to know that the Mount Isabel Village Council, to which you report, won’t tolerate anyone causing hysteria among our residents.”