“Elba. Thank you for coming in.”Tim ushered her into a conference room. “This is Chief Stewart, Drake Spencer, the fire department arson investigator, and Donald Fisher from Precision Security.”
She waved nervously at the other three men as she sat. “This is about the fire?”
“Ms. Ballard, you recently installed a new security system through Precision Security, is that correct?” Drake asked.
“Yes.” She glanced at Tim, then at Drake. Her answer was hesitant. He didn’t blame her, but he’d agreed to let Drake lead the questioning.
“What was your reason for installing a security camera in the kitchen? It’s not really usual for a small restaurant, is it?
She sighed. “No, but I want to expand into dinner service and serve wine and spirits. If I’m going to have—” She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “If I was going to store alcohol, I wanted to make sure it was accounted for.”
“And you chose to have the security footage maintained off-site on Precision Security’s servers rather than have an internal recording system, is that correct?”
“Yes…”
“Was there a particular reason you chose not to have a system on-site to record the security footage?”
“Yeah. They make you rent the stupid recorder. It’s a thousand dollars less expensive per year to have them keep the footage on their server.” She leaned back in her chair. “What is this about? Did you figure out how the fire started?”
Instead of answering her, he pulled out several photos and spread them out in front of her. “Do you recognize the person in these photos?”
She leaned forward and stared at each photo and a furrow developed between her brows. “It looks like…it looks like George.”
“George Baker, the building owner?”
“Yes. When was this taken?”
Drake pulled out a laptop, placed it in front of Elba, and pushed a button to play the video they’d all watched several times.
She watched as George moved around the kitchen of her restaurant, pouring cooking oil on the floor, turning on the stove, and throwing aerosol canisters into the ovens before turning those on as well. The video played for several more minutes before the oven exploded.
She jumped and yelped, covering her mouth with her hand and then looked at the men at the table.
“Why?” she whispered? “Why would he do that?”
“You don’t know?” Chief Stewart asked.
“Why would I know? That restaurant—” She looked up and took a shaky breath. “He blew up my restaurant. He destroyed Zoe’s bookstore. Laura’s boutique. Why?”
* * *
Zoe didn’t wantto answer the door. She wanted to wallow on her couch and be miserable, but the doorbell rang again. Just in case it was someone she wanted to avoid, not that she was actively avoiding anyone, she tip-toed to the door and peeked through the peephole, sighing when she saw Elba on the other side of the door. At least she would be able to commiserate.
She swung the door open and stepped aside to let her in. “Hey.”
“Jeez, you look like shit.” Elba didn’t even bother with a side eye.
Zoe closed the door and threw the bolt. “I look like I feel. Margarita?”
“It’s three in the afternoon.”
“Life handed me a shitload of lemons. I’m putting them to use.”
Elba followed her to the living room and took in the mess. “Have you left the couch in the last two days?”
“Yes,” she said, plopping onto the couch in question. “I’ve gone to the kitchen for a refill and the bathroom for a defill. Is that a word? It should be a word. What brings you tocasa da miséria?”
After removing a magazine from the chair, Elba sat down. “House of misery?”
