I relaxed a fraction, paced toward them for a closer look at the ID. The city fire department ID, I read, arson investigation. “I’m Lindsey. I live next door. Brody is at my house.”
“Ah.” McAdams nodded, then returned to the front room. “Might we interview him there, Miss Lindsey?”
“I guess so.” I gestured toward the hall. “He asked me to get him some clothes. The fire sent him out in his jockeys.”
Carlson replied, also turning away, “Sure. I don’t see a problem.”
They both walked around, examining the burned carpet, the broken window, the scorched blanket I suspected Brody used to fight the blaze. I noticed glass shards in the middle of the carpet, more from the window underneath.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Molotov cocktail,” Carlson replied, bending to pick up the neck of a broken bottle with his pen. “Does Mr. Sheffield have enemies?”
“I’ve no idea. I met him for the first time yesterday.”
Both lieutenants eyed me sidelong. I shrugged. “What can I say? He needed help and none of the neighbors stepped up. I did.”
“Good of you, Miss Lindsey,” McAdams commented. “How is he?”
“Not good. He’s developed a fever.”
“Maybe he should be at the ER.”
“He won’t go.”
Leaving them, I found Brody’s tidy yet clearly a bachelor’s bedroom. Naturally, he had hung framed photos ofSports Illustrationsswimsuit models on the walls. His queen-sized bed was made, he didn’t fling his clothes on the carpet.Score one for you.I found his clothes hanging in his closet, grabbed a shirt, a pair of jeans. His boots stood nearby, and for good measure I added socks and a fresh pair of jockeys.
The cops were taking photos, discussing point of origin when I returned. “I might suggest you talk to him soon,” I said. “I gave him a Vicodin, and he may be sleeping soon.”
The pair of brows hiked yet again. “Are you a doctor who can prescribe controlled narcotics?” McAdams asked.
“Nope. If you plan to arrest me, I’ll be next door.”
Brody nodded wearily when I told him the arson squad needed to interview him. “I sorta expected that.”
I helped him don his clothes, left his boots by the sofa, then encouraged him to lie back down. After covering him to his waist with the blanket, I went into the kitchen to make coffee. As I’d anticipated, the lieutenants arrived, knocking as they entered, and welcomed cups of the coffee.
“Brody,” I said, leading them into my still cluttered TV room. “These are the arson cops.”
Carlson glanced around before sitting in an armchair. “You’re just moving in?”
“Yep.”
Brody sat up, his face drawn, pale, and shook hands. “Sorry, I’m a bit of a mess this morning.”
“That’s quite all right,” McAdams replied, sitting in my recliner. “Miss Lindsey said you have a fever?”
“Yeah. Maybe an infection.”
As they spoke of hospitals, I fetched mugs, poured coffee, and handed the mugs around. “I have sugar somewhere but no clue where it is.”
“Black is fine,” both cops murmured, and Brody accepted his mug with a half-smile.
I sat beside him with my own, observing how the pair sized us up, perhaps wondering if I’d spoken the truth when I said we’d just met the day before.Like they can’t see I’ve just moved in.McAdams sipped his coffee, offered his appreciation, thenasked, “Do you have any enemies, Mr. Sheffield? Anyone who would do this to your house?”
Brody nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do.”
“Please explain.”
