“You’re going to burn a hole through that photo with your glare,” Phoebe says from her desk.
“This doesn’t make sense.” I tap the burn pattern analysis. “Professional enough to avoid cameras and witnesses. Sloppy enough to use basic accelerant and leave obvious pour patterns. It’s contradictory.”
“Maybe they’re not professional. Maybe they just got lucky.”
“Nobody gets this lucky.” I close the file. “There’s something we’re missing. A connection we haven’t found yet.”
“Or it’s random. Sometimes fires are just fires.”
“Random doesn’t burn down buildings with people inside.” I stand up, needing to move. “I’m going to review the witness statements again. See if anyone mentioned seeing someone unusual around the café that day.”
“You already reviewed them twice.”
“Then I’ll review them a third time.”
Phoebe gives me that look. The one that says she knows I’m obsessing but also knows better than to tell me to let it go.
My phone buzzes—text from Jake.
Barbecue at my place tomorrow, 2 p.m. Celebrating the Alaska gig. You coming?
I type back:Yeah. I’ll be there.
Good. Rachel’s making her famous potato salad. Fair warning, Cole and Theo already confirmed.
Of course they did.
I pocket my phone and grab my jacket. “I’m heading out. Call me if anything comes up with the lab results.”
“Where are you going?”
“To clear my head.”
What I don’t say is that I need to stop thinking about this case before I drive myself insane looking for patterns that might not exist.
Jake’s backyard is packed by the time I arrive at two-fifteen.
Not packed like a party. Packed like Jake invited half the marine biology department, and they all showed up with side dishes. There are maybe fifteen people scattered across the lawn, most of them clustered around the grill where Jake’s burning burgers with the confidence of someone who has no idea what he’s doing.
Cole’s already here, standing near the cooler with a beer. He nods when he sees me.
Theo is on the back porch talking to some woman I don’t recognize. From the way she’s laughing, he’s probably telling one of his terrible jokes.
And Rachel.
She’s coming out the back door with a huge bowl of potato salad, wearing a yellow sundress that stops mid-thigh and makes her legs look about a mile long. Her hair’s down, catching the afternoon sun, and she’s smiling at something Tommy just said.
I look away before anyone catches me staring.
“Marco!” Jake waves me over to the grill. “Perfect timing. Tell me if these burgers look edible.”
They look like charcoal, but I lie. “They look great.”
“You’re a terrible liar, but I appreciate the effort.” He flips one, and it falls apart immediately. “Dammit.”
One of his colleagues—a tall guy with glasses—laughs. “This is why Sarah never lets you near our grill.”
“Sarah has no faith in my abilities.”
