“This is my fault.” Tears stream down her weathered cheeks. “If I hadn’t stayed so late—”
“Dorothy, no. This isn’t anyone’s fault.” I keep my voice firm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
More people gather. Whispering. Pointing. Their phones are still out, still recording.
***
A man in street clothes approaches about twenty minutes later. Dark pants, polo shirt, badge clipped to his belt. Marco Reyes. Jake’s other friend—the one who makes me want to roll my eyes every time he shows up at the house because he acts like he’s got a stick shoved so far up his ass it’s permanently lodged there.
“Ma’am, I’m Marco Reyes with the county fire investigation unit.” His voice is clipped. Professional.
Like we didn’t just pass each other in Jake’s hallway two days ago. “I need to ask you some questions about tonight.”“Now?” I’m sitting on a curb, covered in soot, with my traumatized five-year-old in my lap. “Seriously?”
“The first few hours after a fire are critical for the investigation.” He pulls out a small notebook. “How long have you worked here?”
“Three months.”
“Were you closing alone tonight?”
“Yes. Well, my son and I.”
His eyes flick to Tommy, then back to me. “Any electrical issues lately? Problems with appliances?”
“Not that I noticed.”
“When did you last check the storage room where the fire started?”
My brain is foggy from smoke and adrenaline. “I don’t know. This afternoon? Maybe around three?”
“Maybe?” He writes that down. “You’re not sure?”
“I’m not sure of anything except that my workplace just burned down and you’re interrogating me like I’m a suspect.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. “Is there a point to this?”
“Just trying to establish a timeline, ma’am.”
Ma’am. Like I’m some elderly woman who needs to be handled. I’m twenty-eight and currently rethinking every life choice that brought me to this sidewalk.
Cole steps between us, arms crossed. “She’s had a rough night, Reyes. Maybe give her some space.”
Marco’s expression doesn’t change. “Just doing my job, Lieutenant.”
“So am I.” Cole doesn’t budge. “She answered your questions. You can follow up tomorrow.”
They stare at each other for a long moment. Some silent male communication I’m too tired to decipher.
Marco finally nods and walks away, but not before giving me one last measuring look that makes my skin crawl.
“What’s his problem?” I mutter.
“He’s always like that.” Theo appears with bottles of water and hands them out. “Don’t take it personally. Marco thinks everyone’s guilty until proven innocent.”
“Charming.”
“He’s good at his job.” Cole’s eyes follow Marco across the scene. “Doesn’t mean he has to be likable.”
Tommy tugs on my sleeve. “Mama, can we go home now?”
Home. Jake’s house, where I’m living in my childhood bedroom like a failure at adulting. But it has beds and running water and isn’t currently on fire, so I’ll take it.
