The probie purses his lips. “I’ll, uh . . . try to remember that.”
Marcus sets his cup down on the coffee table, crosses his legs, resting his ankle on the knee, and letting one long red alligator shoe dangle. He’s wearing a cream-colored linen suit today, and looks like he ought to be sipping a mojito poolside instead of our shitty coffee in the house living room.
“Gentlemen,” Marcus says, “we’re making headway in the arson case. We believe the culprit is selecting buildings with structural defects to increase the chance of collapse.”
I look at the long faces around the room. We all know what this means. It’s as if a dark cloud suddenly appeared above our heads, just waiting to discharge lightning.
“Working with our arson specialist,” Marcus continues, “we’ve concluded that these fires were all set by someone with intimate knowledge of fire science. We’re talking multiple ignition points linked by strips of fabric softener, twisted newspaper ropes, smokeless gunpowder. Basically, whoever’s behind this, not only knows what he’s doing, but he’s getting better at it. Each fire shows a more sophisticated approach than the last.”
Numbly registering this information, I feel a vibration in my pocket. I discreetly slide my phone halfway out, just to see who’s calling.
It’s my lawyer again. It must be important. Dread settles in my gut like silt sinking to the bottom of a murky lake, and it has nothing to do with the arsonist.
“Sorry guys,” I say, standing up. “I gotta take this.”
I walk back to my room. “Hello?”
“Harper, it’s Paul. How are you? I heard about your accident. How are you holding up?”
Paul speaks calmly and confidently, like a salesman who’s not too desperate to make a sale. Paul’s done good work for me in the past, helping me get full custody of Kailee after the she-devil flew the coop.
“I’ve had better days. What’s up?”
“Well, I have some bad news.”
I wait for him to continue as I remove the cap from my flask.
“Harper—you there?”
“Yeah, sorry—go ahead, Paul. What’s going on?”
“Harper, Laci heard about your recent accident.”
Laci’s my ex. I don’t like saying her name. Or even thinking about it. Those four letters might as well spellrotten bitch. My heart clenches in my chest like the fist of en electrocuted man.
“She did?”
“Yes. And don’t ask me how she found out, but she also knows that your blood alcohol concentration was .11 at the hospital.”
“What? How?” My heart plummets like an elevator with its cables cut.
“Like I said, the manner in which she received this information has not been brought to light. But she’s got herself a lawyer and—”
“Don’t say it, Paul. Please. Don’t tell me what I think you’re gonna tell me, because, I’ll be honest with you, Paul, I-I don’t think I can—”
I grind my teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t break. I squeeze my eyes shut. This can’t be happening.
“Harper?”
“I’m here.” Sweat beads on my brow. What Paul says next is just about the worst imaginable combination of words in the English language.
“Laci is upset about what happened, and she’s threatening to take full custody of Kailee.”
I start to weep. My body shakes.
I pick up the flask, walk to the bathroom, and hold it over the sink.
12
