“Watched a TV show without her.”
His posture relaxes as he snorts and gets out the plates and silverware, laying them out on the bar. “Do you want orange juice?” he asks.
“No thanks.”
He sits at the counter and quietly types on his phone while I finish cooking. I wonder where he went and why. He said it had nothing to do with me, but it felt like he was running away. I’m probably overthinking it. After all, I haven’t stayed here very long. Maybe leaving at midnight for a day or two isn’t out of the ordinary for him. I’m sure I’m not the only one who would be happy for a late night booty call from him. The pang of jealousy that sends through me is ridiculous. I’m just going to blame the hangover.
We sit down to eat, and the sound of the wind draws my attention to the window where a tree branch bobs. The leaves are a stunning, brilliant red. “That tree is gorgeous. Makes all the other colors look dull.”
Lee nods, following my line of sight. “It needs to betrimmed this winter. There’s another one about its size down by cabin four. Red maples.”
“I want one in my bedroom.”
His lips tilt up. “Might be a tight fit.”
“Nah, just tuck it in one corner and cut a hole in the roof.” I take a bite of my bacon and then gesture toward the ceiling with it. “Instant jungle room with a big pile of leaves for a bed.”
“And you’ll be happy sharing that bed with squirrels, raccoons, and an occasional snake?”
“Like I didn’t share a bed with an animal last night.”
He nods, amused, and looks down at where Goblin rests by the kitchen door. “Yeah, the little demon followed you to my bed.”
“I wasn’t talking about the cat.”
The buzz of my phone interrupts us, and I excuse myself to answer when I see it’s the fire marshal. My hope that he’s calling to tell me the investigation is finished and the insurance will pay is short lived. Instead, he asks that I come in to answer some more questions about the night of the fire. He also wants Lee to accompany me, since he was there. I agree to come in, set a time for the next afternoon, and return to the kitchen.
The rest of my food doesn’t seem appetizing now. “That was the fire marshal. He wants?—”
His phone buzzes and his brow dips. “It’s the fire department.”
“It’s the fire marshal. He’s calling to ask you to come inand answer some questions with me tomorrow. About the night of the fire.”
He taps his screen. “Yeah.” A few moments of silence and he adds. “She told me. Uh-huh.” That’s the extent of the conversation before he hangs up. “Four o’clock tomorrow,” he tells me.
“I’m sorry you’re getting dragged into it.”
“It’s fine. Red tape bullshit, I’m sure. I need to go to the lumberyard on that side of town tomorrow anyway. I can meet you first.” He gets up and puts his plate in the sink. “I have to get to work.”
He may not be worried, but I am. So much hinges on them finishing the investigation and releasing the funds. Not long after he leaves, I head to work too.
The fire marshal’s conference room feels like a temporary space no one ever intends to spend real time in with its gray walls, humming light, and a table that wobbles every time someone shifts. I sit across from the fire marshal, Mr. Wilson, my hands folded so tightly my knuckles ache. Lee’s beside me, stone faced and quiet. We haven’t spoken much since I left for work yesterday. I got home late and went straight to bed while he was out by his firepit.
Mr. Wilson flips open a worn notebook and regards me. “Thanks for coming in, both of you. I need you to clarify a few details about the night of the fire. You left the party around midnight and went straight home. Is that right?”
“Yes. I’ve already gone through all of this with you and the insurance company.”
“Bear with me. I’m only making sure I have the facts right. What did you do once you arrived home? Please be specific.”
Closing my eyes, I rub my forehead and think back. Some of it’s fuzzy because of the alcohol. “I fed my cat then ran a bath. I lit a few candles in the bathroom like I usually do when I want to soak and relax. I texted Lee while I was in the tub. Then I went to my bedroom and dozed off waiting for him to show up.”
“Did you bring one of the candles from the bathroom with you or light a different one in your bedroom?”
“What the hell difference does any of this make?” Lee intercedes. “Do you want to know whether it was scented too?”
The marshal ignores him and doesn’t take his eyes off me, as if he might be able to judge whether I’m telling the truth with his stare.
My words are carefully chosen. Just because I’ve done nothing wrong doesn’t mean they can’t trip me up and make me say something they consider incriminating. “I don’t…I don’t think I did either. I usually only burn candles in the bathroom.”
