His eyebrows rise. “You don’t remember?”
“I’d had some drinks.”
He sits back as if he’s lounging at home. “The fire started from a candle in the bedroom.”
His casually tossed out statement catches me off guard and I frantically try to rifle through my blurry memories ofthat night. I remember blowing out the candles on the side of the tub. I would’ve done that because otherwise I’d be stepping over them to get out. But the one on the sink, did I take it to the bedroom?
“I don’t have a candle in my room, so it must’ve been one from my bathroom, but I don’t remember moving it.”
He looks me in the eye. “Ms. Mills, did you intentionally place a candle near the bedroom curtains to start a fire?” The condescension in his voice is almost as infuriating as the question.
Lee pushes back in his chair before I can answer. “You think she set her own house on fire then climbed into bed?” His angry voice booms, echoing around the small room.
“Don’t,” I warn, laying my hand on his arm. He looks like he’s about to reach across the table and haul the man over it.
“No, I didn’t intentionally set the fire. I don’t even remember moving the candle. I probably did move it if that’s how it started, but if so, it was an accident. I’m not suicidal.” What else could he be getting at? Nobody lights their own room on fire and takes a nap.
Mr. Wilson presses his lips together and writes something down. Each scratch of his pen feels like a judgment. He turns to Lee. “Mr. Hartman, you arrived at approximately one a.m.?”
“Yes,” Lee says. “When I pulled up, the house was already burning.”
“You described it as ‘half engulfed.’”
“That’s right.”
“And you still went inside?”
“Of course I did. I knew she was in there,” Lee says, his voice tight.
A shudder runs through me at the memory. The suffocating heat, the choking smoke, the moment of terror before his arms came out of the grayness to lift me off the bed. The air around me feels thinner.
The marshal makes another note. “You found her unconscious?”
“I couldn’t see her well. Only her feet at the end of the bed. Her body was limp at first, but she started coughing once I picked her up.” Lee’s jaw flexes. “Smoke had already filled the room.”
Mr. Wilson pauses to flip through some paperwork. “You arrived when the fire was at its most critical point. Just in time to save her. Incredible luck.”
A rock drops into my stomach at his sarcastic remark. I’m not the only one under suspicion. He’s hinting that Lee and I planned it together.
Lee’s stare sharpens. “I showed up because she invited me while we were at the party.”
Mr. Wilson lifts a brow. “If she’d already invited you, what was the purpose of the text she sent you?” He jumps on it and says it like he’s caught us out on something, an inconsistency. What does he think is going to happen? That Lee’s going to say,oh that was a message to let me know she was setting a fire and to hurry up? This is so ridiculous.
“She told me where the spare key was so I could let myself in.” He doesn’t mention the picture of me in the tub, but I don’t care if it comes up. It wasn’t even a nude.
“So, you weren’t called urgently,” the marshal clarifies. “You were coming over by mutual agreement.”
“Yes. She didn’t know when I’d get there.”
“Mm hm.”
The dismissive hum pushes Lee past his limit. He slams his hand down on the table, making me jump. “Enough. Are we being charged with something?”
Mr. Wilson seems unbothered as he taps the pen against the notebook. “No. I’m not here to accuse you. My job is to determine the cause. And right now, the cause is undetermined with suspicious elements.”
Suspicious. The word sticks like grit in my throat. “This is because of the home equity loan. It was used for my diner, and I provided all the documentation.”
“That may be, but it was a significant amount. When someone borrows against a paid off property and that property burns shortly after, arson is often the cause.”
