A professional courtesy, nothing more. In and out. Quick and efficient.
She definitely wasn’t here because Julia suggested it. And she certainly wasn’t curious about any perspective a fire marshal might offer that she hadn’t already considered on her own.
Lena grabbed her badge, slung her bag over her shoulder, and headed for Lavender’s purple door, the case file contents heavy against her hip.
She had work to do.
Lena stepped through the door into warm lamplight and the low hum of conversation as the inspection was underway, the scent of lavender threading through coffee and somethingbaking in the kitchen. The Tuesday evening crowd filled the eclectic space: after-work regulars claiming their favorite armchairs, students hunched over laptops at community tables, a couple sharing wine in one of the Victorian window alcoves where stained glass cast colored patterns across their hands.
It was normal, safe, and packed with people who trusted it to stay that way.
Lavender Larwood stood behind the counter, tall and silver-haired, watching the proceedings with an expression that could only be described as amused. Married life with Police Chief Diana Marten had mellowed her even further, or maybe she’d just seen enough in her fifty-five years to find bureaucracy more entertaining than threatening. She caught Lena’s eye and raised an eyebrow in greeting.
But Lena’s attention had already shifted to the woman methodically moving through the cafe’s open space.
Red hair caught the amber light from vintage lamps and was pulled back in a practical style that still managed to look striking. She was younger than Lena had expected—young twenties, maybe early thirties at most—with a clipboard in hand and an intensity of focus that would’ve been impressive if it weren’t so clearly directed at checking boxes. The fire marshal’s jacket marked her official, but it was the way she moved that spoke of someone who took her job seriously. Too seriously, perhaps.
Lena watched from the doorway as the woman—Erin Vance, Julia had said—checked fire extinguishers with the kind of attention most people reserved for defusing bombs. She made notes, measured distances, and ran her fingers along exit signage like she could read safety in Braille.
Bureaucratic box-checking and preventative theater, just as Lena had told Julia.
Except…
Lena’s professional instincts prickled as she observed longer. Erin wasn’t merely looking; she wasanalyzing. Her gaze tracked airflow from the propped-open door to the kitchen exhaust. She studied the vintage electrical fixtures, not with concern for code compliance but with the kind of assessment that mapped vulnerabilities. When she examined the storage area near the espresso machine, her attention lingered on fuel sources and accelerant risks. She was thinking like someone who understood the way fire behaved, like someone who could see what Lena needed to see.
Dammit.
Lena moved deeper into the cafe, weaving between occupied tables, and the espresso machine hissed somewhere to her left.
“Detective Soto.” Lavender’s voice carried the lazy drawl of someone who’d learned not to hurry through life. “I didn’t expect Phoenix Ridge’s finest this evening.”
“Routine check-in.” Lena’s tone was professional and clipped, but her eyes never left the fire marshal. “Security concerns.”
“Mmm.” Lavender’s sound held layers of knowing. “Diana mentioned you might stop by. Coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
“Tea? Something stronger? Maybe some moral support while you watch someone else do their job?”
Lena shot her a look. Lavender’s smile was entirely too entertained.
The fire marshal had moved to the electrical panel, her back to them and her attention completely absorbed in whatever she was documenting. The scratch of pen on paper was audible even over the cafe’s din.
Lena approached, her badge already in hand. “Fire Marshal Vance?”
The woman didn’t turn around immediately. She finished whatever notation she was making, capped her pen with a decisive click, then glanced over her shoulder. Green eyes met Lena’s with a directness that felt almost like a challenge.
“Detective.” Not a question, just a flat and professional acknowledgement. “I’m in the middle of an inspection.”
“Detective Soto.” Lena kept her voice level, though something about the casual dismissal set her teeth on edge. She was used to respect, or at least the pretense of it. “I’m investigating the recent arsons. I’d like to?—”
“I’m aware.” Erin turned back to her clipboard, making another note. “I read the case files.”
The words hung in the air between them, somehow both courteous and cutting as if saying,I’ve done my homework, have you?
Lena’s jaw tightened. “Then you understand why I’m here.”
“I understand you’re concerned about potential targets.” Erin moved to the next electrical outlet, testing it with a small device she pulled from her jacket pocket. “So am I. That’s why I’m conducting this inspection.”
